by M. M. Silva
Eileen smiled sadly. “Well, Charlie and I met shortly after his run-in with Malcolm, and we had a whirlwind courtship. We married within a year of Charlotte’s death, and we were together for over forty-five years, so it’s been a very long time, my dear.”
“That just doesn’t make sense to me,” I said. “But I guess revenge can be a powerful motivator.”
Eileen looked thoughtful. “That it can. But at this point, you only know half the story.”
Hunh? “Okay, what’s the rest of it?” I asked and wondered why all of this was coming up after we’d left the house.
Flitting her eyes back and forth, Eileen lowered her voice so much that Kayla and I both had to lean in to hear her. “Charlie was the oldest in his family, and there were ten kids.” She glanced at me and smiled. “You’re of the freckled variety, so you understand.”
I felt my freckles jump to attention and smiled. “Yes, we Irish are known for our breeding.”
“Charlie’s youngest sister was named Patricia, and she was extremely beautiful. She was fifteen years younger than Charlie and the flower girl in our wedding. Just a precious little thing,” she said wistfully. It seemed her mind had gone back to her wedding day, and I’m sure it all felt like a breath ago in time.
I smiled, and she continued.
“The whole thing was odd because it was years after Charlotte’s suicide, when Patricia was all grown up, that it became fairly well-known Patricia had become one of Malcolm’s…uh…”
“They were having an affair?” Kayla jumped in as only Kayla can do.
Eileen’s cheeks colored. “They were. And Patty was a good girl for the most part, maybe a little wild. She didn’t mean to get messed up in being a mistress and all of that type of thing. But she’d been recently divorced, and well, I don’t know…” She started wringing her hands again, and my impatient side wanted her to get to the point, but I again reminded myself this was a sweet lady who’d just buried her husband. It’s sad I have to tell myself to not be an asshole at times.
“It’s okay,” I reassured her. “Kayla and I certainly aren’t anyone’s judge and jury. Especially Kayla,” I said with a wink.
This resulted in a middle finger from Kayla that Eileen didn’t see.
I continued. “Even though Patty sounds lovely, it seems to me Malcolm was with her just to mess with Charlie. Does that sound reasonable?”
Eileen nodded. “Malcolm’s wife, Barbara, has always preferred to spend most of her time in Texas. She’s a southern belle at heart. Anyway, I think she’s known from day one about Malcolm’s little trysts but forever looked the other way.” Eileen shrugged. “It wouldn’t have worked for me, but everyone is different.”
“Different strokes,” I mused.
“Yes, well, it was over thirty years ago that Patricia became—let’s say involved—with Malcolm. She would have been somewhere in her mid-twenties at the time. She was a redhead with stunning green eyes and porcelain skin. It wasn’t surprising any man would try to woo her, but in hindsight, it was very obvious what Malcolm was up to.
“Anyway, Patty didn’t come out and tell Charlie and me who she was seeing, but we could see a change in her over those months. She appeared very happy and had a lot of new jewelry and lovely clothes. We had her over for dinner one night, and Charlie figured out what was going on, and he was furious. He called her a horrible name…” Eileen’s face colored.
“Slut? Whore? Harlot? Mata Hari? Concubine?” Kayla suggested, tact a non-issue as usual. I glowered at her for adding to Eileen’s obvious discomfort.
Eileen cast her eyes downward. “The W word,” she mumbled. “He told her no sister of his was going to be a W of a rich playboy, and Patty screamed back at him that she was having fun and being treated well for a change and he needed to stay out of it. Charlie yelled that Malcolm was just using her to get back at him and he’d never pay her any attention otherwise. Patty stormed out of the house. It was just awful.”
“It sounds like it. I’m sorry, Eileen. What happened then?” I wanted her to get to the end of this story as soon as possible, for her sake and ours. She was wiped out, and I needed to find out if she had any relevant information.
“We didn’t see her for a few months, at which point she’d been seeing Malcolm for about a year. But one night—it was pouring rain—I will never, ever forget it as long as I live. That night, Patty rang our doorbell. Her face was all puffy and bloody. She had a black eye swollen shut; a cut lip; and bruises on her face.” Eileen shuddered, and this time, I didn’t push.
Kayla even managed to stay silent, for which I said a quick prayer of thanks.
“Forgive me,” Eileen mumbled and her eyes filled with tears. “It’s been such a long day.” Her hand went to her mouth. The tears overflowed, spilling down her cheeks.
That was enough. I grabbed her in a bear hug and said I’d walk her back to the front door and get her settled with a nice cup of tea.
But as suddenly as the emotion came, a defiant flicker flared in the good woman. “No, I’m going to finish my story, Meagan.”
“Okay,” I said but kept a firm grip on her hand.
“Naturally, Charlie went berserk. Never mind the fact he and Patty had fought months before. He wasn’t the type to see his baby sister’s face mangled and not do anything about it. Who is?”
I dubbed that a rhetorical question and let her carry on.
“To make a long story short, Patty discovered Malcolm had found himself another…” Eileen actually looked over at Kayla and waited for her to fill in the blank.
“Slut? Whore? Harlot? Mata Hari? Concubine?” Kayla spouted, as if reciting her only lines in a play.
“Yes, those things. He’d moved on to another young girl who was just as beautiful as Patricia. That’s when she finally figured out that smarts and good conversation didn’t matter to Malcolm. He only wanted a trophy on his arm. He’d use them and discard them, and brains were definitely not required. And sadly, she’d realized Charlie had been right and Malcolm had just been using her to get back at him.”
“But who beat her up?”
Eileen looked surprised that I’d asked. “Malcolm did. Who else?”
I shrugged, my hands spread wide. “Well, he used Rusty to do his thieving. You said he didn’t like to get his hands dirty.”
“This time he did. Patty confronted Malcolm and his wife at a little restaurant on Thames Street in Newport. Patty was always one for theatrics. After she’d had a few drinks, she evidently went in and caused quite a scene. Malcolm excused himself from the table, said he’d see to it that his driver got her home. Publicly, he was polite and kind as he escorted her out of the restaurant and into the alley where his car and driver were waiting.
“Patty said Malcolm opened the back door on the far side of the vehicle—probably to block a potential witness’s view— and within ten seconds he pummeled her face. He knocked her to the ground with the first punch.
Afterwards, he shoved her into the back of the car and said he’d kill her if she ever made a spectacle of him again. Then he screamed at the driver for smoking in the car. Can you imagine that? The spineless little man sat there smoking the whole time Malcolm was beating Patty.
“Anyway, Malcolm then reached across the seat, and yanked the cigarette from the driver’s mouth with one hand, while grabbing Patty’s face with the other. She said he nearly crushed her jaw with his fingers. Then he put the burning cigarette so close to her eye, it singed her lashes. He told her if she called the cops, they’d never find her body.”
“My God,” I exclaimed. “He’s a monster.” Kayla’s eyes were huge, and her skin looked a little gray.
“Malcolm instructed the useless driver to get her out of there. Patty gave the man our address because she didn’t want to be alone. When he pulled up to our house, he told her it was really too bad she’d slipped and fallen like she had. Patty got the message loud and clear—no police. The people in the restaurant hadn’t seen Malcol
m assault her, and the driver obviously wasn’t going to say anything, so it was pointless.
“Patty told Charlie if he called the police she’d never speak to him again. She was terrified Malcolm would kill her as he’d threatened. And like I said, it was going to be her word against Malcolm’s because that driver was never going to sell out his boss. That man has since died, and I hope he’s rotting in hell.”
“So Charlie took things into his own hands?” I surmised.
Eileen nodded. “That he did. He was the kindest man I ever knew, but he had this switch inside of him when someone messed with his family, and it turned him into someone I didn’t even know.”
I nodded in understanding. My Uncle Larry has that same type of switch; a type of dark side I generally pretend doesn’t exist, which allows him to stay in my favorite-people category. I believe I’ve mentioned denial has always been one of my talents.
“So then what?” Kayla prompted.
“Charlie showed up outside of Malcolm’s mansion bright and early the next day. He couldn’t get to the front door because of a security guard at the entrance of the premises. So he waited outside the gate.”
“For how long?” I asked.
“Over two days,” Eileen replied with a smile. “That Charlie was a stubborn one, and he said he didn’t leave his spot on the road for over fifty-one hours. He’d taken along a bunch of candy bars and what-not, and…” Her face colored again, betraying her reluctance to say something untoward.
“He pissed on the side of the road?” Kayla supplied. “Probably crapped there, as well.”
Eileen blushed so hard her freckles disappeared. I gave Kayla a what-the-hell look and she shrugged as if to say whatever. Someone had to say it. Kayla was always that someone.
“Charlie’s bodily functions really have nothing to do with anything,” I said, and Eileen look relieved she wasn’t going to have to recap Charlie’s bowel movements.
“That’s true,” Eileen agreed readily. “So anyway, Charlie eventually spotted a dark limousine winding its way down the long driveway and through the double gates. Charlie got on its tail and followed it all the way to Logan.”
“As in the Boston airport?”
“That’s correct, dear,” Eileen replied. “Charlie followed the car into the parking garage and confronted Malcolm right then and there. Malcolm responded by saying he had no idea what Charlie was talking about and that he had been surrounded by business guests and his wife the entire evening in question.
“Charlie got in his face and told him to stay away from Patty. Otherwise, he’d make Malcolm dig his own grave before Charlie put him in it. He told me those were his exact words.” She sighed heavily and shook her head slightly. “That’s what I meant by him sometimes acting like a person I didn’t know. It made me sick with worry at times, this husband I didn’t recognize every now and again. But in an odd way, it also made me proud. It made me feel protected. My Charlie was true-blue to the ones he loved, and I guess—in his eyes—sometimes that meant he needed to turn into something dark and sinister.”
I wondered about that. Had that side of Charlie recently landed him into a boatload of trouble? Had something he’d said or done led to his murder?
“So, how did Malcolm react?” A bigshot millionaire probably didn’t take too kindly to being threatened by an average Joe.
Eileen trembled. “Charlie said Malcolm smiled and placed a hand on his shoulder, like he was going to dole out some advice.” She wrung her hands and shook her head.
I mentally smacked myself for continuing to push this kind woman, but I didn’t want to stop now.
“Are you okay to continue, Eileen?”
She thrust her head up and took a huge breath, and I knew this would be the grand finale. Whatever she was going to say right now was all she had left in her for today.
“Malcolm’s weasel of a driver came around the car and handed a package to Malcolm, who then handed it to Charlie. He leaned into Charlie and said ‘You are out of your league here, sir. Watch your step, because I have plenty of people who will certainly be watching you and yours.’”
“What did that mean?” I asked.
“Malcolm and the driver walked off, with the driver toddling behind Malcolm with a bunch of fancy suitcases. Nothing more was said.
“So Charlie went back to his car and ripped open the package—” Eileen burst into tears again.
She’d just told me she wanted to finish the story, but I simply couldn’t sit here and watch her sob. I looked over at Kayla, and she drew an imaginary line across her throat with her finger.
“Eileen, I know you want to finish this, but let’s do it another time,” I suggested. “I’m so sorry to add to your already horrible day.”
“There were dozens of pictures of our family—of my children—in the package,” she blurted. “School photos and family photos and all sorts of stuff.” She pulled a handkerchief from inside her sleeve and dabbed at her eyes. “I know there’s Facebook and the Twitter and all kinds of things like that now, but I don’t think there was much of that—if any—thirty years ago. I don’t know how or when they got so many of our personal pictures. They had snapshots of every person in my family, and even our extended family, and Malcolm said they’d be watching. I, for one, believed him.”
“Did Charlie?” I asked.
Eileen nodded. “He did. His pride was wounded. He felt Malcolm bested him. Malcolm had more time, resources, personnel, things like that. He could have made our lives a living hell if he’d wanted to. So Charlie grudgingly threw in the towel. It was best for everyone.”
“Do you know if they ever had any run-ins after that?” I asked.
“Not that I ever knew of, and Charlie never mentioned anything. They weren’t exactly in the same social circles, and Malcolm was only here a few months each year, so the odds weren’t great that their paths would cross.” Eileen’s face fell. “And they definitely won’t cross now, with my Charlie gone.” Her voice cracked on the last few words, and this time we were definitely calling it quits.
I stood up and motioned for Kayla to do the same. “Eileen, you’ve been so kind to give us some time today. But we need to go and let you get some rest. If Malcolm Johnson had anything to do with Charlie’s death, I will get to the bottom of it. I promise you that. Do you have an idea if he’s in town or how I might get an appointment with him?”
Eileen shrugged. “He’s in town, yes. I really don’t know about getting an appointment, dear. He lives in a bubble. Although…”
“Although, what?” I prompted.
“His wife Barbara does a lot of charity events. And she’s having a party—excuse me, a gala—at their home—excuse me, at their mansion—sometime soon. I don’t know exactly when. But I do know it’s a very expensive event; I’ve heard it’s about two thousand dollars a plate.”
“That leaves us out,” Kayla chirped. “You got anything else?”
“Not so fast,” I said. “I’m thinking that Mrs. Malcolm Gage Johnson might welcome a large donation from a certain Richie Rich, of which we have two.”
Eileen cocked her head while Kayla beamed and spoke out loud to our absent, unsuspecting friends. “Doob and Jeff, dust off your wallets. You’re taking us to a gala!”
CHAPTER 7
THE MINUTE WE GOT THE BOXES EILEEN HAD GIVEN ME into the car, I searched for the gala info on my phone and learned the big event was scheduled for this coming Friday night. I then left Jeff a message that he needed to call me ASAP.
“Other than finding out there’s a big shindig coming up, that was awful,” Kayla said when we got back in her car. “I felt so bad for that nice old lady. Your job sucks ass.”
I blew out a breath in shared empathy. “Sometimes it does. But doesn’t meeting her make you want to get to the bottom of this? Doesn’t it kind of charge you up?”
She slapped a palm on the steering wheel. “Fucking A, yes it does.” Then she jabbed an elbow in my side. “By the way, we need
to go shopping for this ball.”
Short-lived period of conviction for my friend.
“You’ve turned it into a ball?” I asked. Every fiber of my being screamed at me to avoid the topic—let alone the actual act—of shopping.
“Yes, Cinder-friggin-rella, it is now a ball,” Kayla said as she spread her right arm across the dashboard. “The word gala sounds ridiculous. But whatever you want to call it, it’s sure to be a fabulous party with a bunch of rich old buzzards, and we’re going to set the place on fire!”
I seriously hoped she wasn’t being literal, but I could never tell. “Both hands on the wheel, please. And I don’t want to shop at all, Kayla. You know my size, so you’re officially in charge of finding me something nice and demure. I’ll pay you a finder’s fee or something. Just. Don’t. Make. Me. Go.” I banged my head on the back of the seat as I spoke every syllable.
She cut her eyes to me. “Have some fucking cheese with your whine, Meagan. If you don’t go with me, I’ll find you the sluttiest, most revealing dress you’ve ever seen. It would be a huge mistake to not go along. More importantly, I’ll need you to help me find something amazing.”
“In which case, that will then end up being the sluttiest, most revealing dress I’ve ever seen,” I quipped.
“You are such a baby about shopping. We’re going. You made me see the sad woman, I’m making you shop. End of story.”
We drove in silence for a few minutes, which gave me time to percolate an idea. “I’ll make you a deal. I’ll agree to go on a very small shopping spree with you but propose we find a consignment shop here in Newport. If we shop for new gowns here, or even back in Boston, we’re going to pay a fortune. These rich women in Newport have probably dropped off clothes that cost more than my monthly rent. Let’s try to find something reasonably priced, considering we’ll probably never be invited to another ball.”
“Speak for yourself,” Kayla retorted. “But fine, I can live with your deal. At least I’ll agree to start at a consignment shop, but if the stuff sucks, all bets are off. My gown is going to make a statement.”
