Her Last Breath

by Hilary Davidson

  There was no one I wanted to talk to more than Juliet.

  I’d never been to her apartment, but I knew exactly where it was. The Thraxtons had their showpiece hotel on Park Avenue, but there was also a smaller boutique property on Crosby Street below Prince. Juliet occupied the penthouse suite, which had its own elevator. On my way to the subway I called her.

  “Were you serious last night about swapping sibling stories?” I asked.

  “You better believe it,” she answered. “When and where?”

  “I can be at your place in a little over an hour.” Weekend service out of Queens was brutal, but I didn’t explain that.

  “Excellent,” Juliet said. “I’ll order mimosas.”

  She hung up before I could tell her I didn’t drink.

  I got lucky and caught a train a minute after I walked into the Grand Avenue–Newtown station. The M train practically took me to Juliet’s door in forty-five minutes. This Thraxton property was prettier than the glass-and-steel behemoth uptown. It had curving sides wrapped in silver and white metal. Inside was an art gallery, with paintings on display and a cathedral-like ceiling that inspired awe even in a cynic like me.

  I asked for Juliet at the marble reception desk and was directed to another counter at the opposite end of the floor. There was a separate elevator bank there, and I noticed a gold plaque designating this one as private. How very Juliet, I thought.

  “Hi, I’m meeting with Juliet Thraxton. I’m a relative of hers, Deirdre Crawley,” I said, thinking how much Juliet would hate to be identified as part of my family.

  The concierge hid her disbelief well. “Welcome to the Penelope Hotel,” she said, smiling. “Ms. Thraxton’s in a meeting now, but as soon as she’s free, I’ll let you know.”

  I took a seat in an empty little waiting area in front of the elevators. The plush chair was covered in some kind of fancy sheepskin. It felt almost like a hug, but in a good way. I glanced at the concierge, but she was acting busy. I sat there feeling weirdly comfortable for a couple of minutes, hoping no one would notice.

  But the sensation wasn’t meant to last. The light switched on over the private elevator. “Miss, would you like me to call up now?” the concierge asked.

  “Sure,” I said. Then the elevator door opened. Ben Northcutt stepped out.

  He looked as shocked to see me as I was to see him. He froze in place, staring as if I had sprouted fangs.

  “Ben? What the hell . . . ?”

  He bolted before I could finish the question, storming past the concierge and out a small doorway. He wasn’t running, exactly, but he was moving fast. I started after him, baffled and alarmed.

  “Ben!” I called out a couple of times. He didn’t turn back or break his stride. I ran to catch up and then grabbed his arm. He swung around, shoving my arm away. He was breathing hard, and his face was contorted in fury.

  “What are you doing, following me?” he demanded.

  “I’m meeting Juliet. What are you doing here?”

  “Fuck off. I’m not answering your questions.”

  “I will beat the answers out of you.”

  “What are you going to do? Stab me like you did your father?”

  Heads swiveled on the street. Even my father—the one person who had the right to object to what I’d done—had remained silent on the subject. I felt disoriented, unsure which way to turn.

  I was too astonished to be angry. “I was just . . .”

  “You know what? There was a reason Caroline didn’t tell you anything,” he snapped. “Your sister didn’t trust you. She knew you’d overreact and do something stupid—like you always do, Deirdre.” He clomped off, and I watched him go, feeling like my knees would buckle under me.

  CHAPTER 39

  DEIRDRE

  I didn’t understand what had just happened, except that I’d caught Ben doing something he knew was wrong, and he’d lashed out. I walked back to the hotel slowly, chewing on that.

  “Ms. Thraxton says you can go up when you like,” the concierge told me. She had the same bright smile, as if nothing were amiss. Truly, she belonged in the movies.

  “Thanks,” I murmured, heading to the private elevator. The trip up took a few seconds. The doors opened, and I stepped into a mirror-covered black-and-white parlor that was like an Art Deco fever dream. At least four Juliets were waiting for me, all wearing black wraparound dresses and satin mules.

  “Come into my parlor, Deirdre,” she drawled.

  “That makes you the spider and me the fly.”

  “Seems right, doesn’t it?”

  I moved forward slowly, toward what I hoped was the real Juliet.

  “Just so you know, I have a pet python,” she said. “He slithers around, but he’s on the old and slow side, so don’t step on him.”

  “Cromwell,” I said, remembering the name. Caro had mentioned reptilian roommates as one of her sister-in-law’s many eccentricities. “Why do you have a python?”

  Juliet turned and gave me that funny half-smile of hers. “My father is terrified of snakes. My brother is afraid of large animals, period. Cromwell keeps them out of my space. Now, what brings you to my den of iniquity today?”

  “What was Ben Northcutt doing here?”

  Juliet raised an eyebrow. “You know him?”

  “He’s a journalist. I met him a couple days ago.”

  “Digging up dirt on my family, no doubt,” she said. “What did you tell him?”

  “Nothing. I didn’t like him.”

  “Most people don’t like us either. We’re not very endearing,” Juliet said. “Do you want a drink?”

  She didn’t wait for me to answer as she headed into a large room. I followed, stepping gingerly. My boots were made to kick ass, but pythons didn’t exactly have butts.

  “I was going to order some champagne,” Juliet said. “But you seem more like the beer type. No offense.”

  “I don’t drink alcohol.” I was staring at the large stone statue of an Egyptian deity at the center of the room. It was a man with the head of a jackal. Anubis, I remembered. I’d always loved Egyptian mythology. Anubis had been the god of the dead before Osiris was killed.

  “Really?” Juliet looked me over. “You don’t need to be on a diet.”

  “I’m not. I just don’t drink.”

  She blinked at me, for once without insults. “Okay. Take a seat.”

  “You didn’t say why Ben Northcutt was here,” I said, sitting down. “I know he’s writing about you. Why would you talk to him?”

  “It’s always good to know what your enemy is up to. Mr. Northcutt considers himself more clever than he really is. Anyway, I thought you were here to discuss our siblings.” Her green eyes were catlike, and I realized she thought I was a toy she could bat around. She wasn’t an opponent I could beat with force. I’d have to spar on her terms.

  “Why did you hate my sister so much?” I asked.

  “Oh, are we playing truth or dare?” she asked. “Fine, I’ll go first. I hated her because she was the perfect little blonde daughter doll my father always wanted. She was pretty and skinny and eager to please. Father thought the sun rose and set on her.”

  “Are you fishing for compliments?”

  “I know I’m hot,” Juliet said. “But I’m the plush, deluxe, sardonic version of that doll. My father started sending me to fat camp when I was eight.”

  “There’s a lot that’s messed up about your family.”

  “Unlike your family, I suppose,” Juliet shot back. “The untroubled Crawleys.”

  “Fair enough,” I admitted.

  “I answered your question. Time to answer mine. What did you hate about Caroline?”

  That caught me by surprise. “I loved my sister.”

  “I’m not talking about that,” Juliet said. “We’ve all got mixed feelings about family lurking under the surface.”

  “I don’t. Caro was a good person. She tried to help people.”

  “If you’re going
to stay, you have to be honest, Deirdre. Otherwise, you may as well leave now.”

  I wanted to walk out, but that wouldn’t get me anywhere. I liked to think of myself as a person who faced up to the truth, but I had run away from it too many times. “I hated that Caroline stayed close to our father, even after all the times he hit our mother.” My mouth was dry, and my heart squeezed tight inside my chest. It felt like it might explode through my rib cage. I put my hands on my knees and leaned back a little.

  “I didn’t know that. About your family, I mean.” Juliet uncrossed her legs and reached for a strawberry from the fruit plate on the ottoman. “I’d say I’m sorry, but that’s so patronizing. I wish Caroline had told me that.”

  “Why?”

  “Because it makes sense of her,” Juliet said. “I thought she was a little bitch who enjoyed being Miss Perfect. Instead, she was just being the good girl trying to manage every last detail. You get that in families with abuse. Some people think they can create order by doing everything right.”

  “What is this, Psychology 101?” I tried to make it a joke, but Juliet’s words landed hard. When I’d been in the psychiatric hospital at fifteen, I’d had doctors prodding at me, trying to trick me into talking. Nothing made me feel more vulnerable than that.

  Juliet shrugged. “I wanted to study psychology, but I had to go into hotel administration. This is as close to a hobby as I have.”

  “Did you ever have therapy?”

  “No. If I had, someone in my family would’ve bought off the therapist and used my ramblings against me. What about you?”

  I shook my head. “It’s been suggested, but no. Is this how you got your superiority complex?”

  “I’ve spent more time analyzing my own family than anyone else’s,” Juliet said. “Thraxtons are dysfunctional. I blame my father as the corrupting influence, but my brother is the worst example.”

  “Why?”

  “Because he wants all of the benefits but plays by none of the rules,” Juliet said. “He does what he wants, and yet my father would bring him in to run the business in a heartbeat if Theo would agree.”

  “Isn’t that more of a comment on your father than Theo?” I asked.

  At that moment, something behind me clamped onto my neck. I shouted and jumped to my feet.

  “Calm down,” Juliet said. “That’s just Bartleby.”

  I half-turned and saw a small caramel-colored mammal with rounded ears on top of his head. Its warm amber eyes were regarding me with curiosity.

  “He’s a kinkajou. They’re very affectionate,” Juliet said, putting a strawberry in my hand. “Feed him, and he’ll be yours forever.”

  “Where do you get these creatures?”

  “His owner was going to feed him to a crocodile,” Juliet said. “The creep asked if I wanted to watch, and I said, ‘I would prefer not to.’” I must’ve looked blank, because she added, “You know, like Bartleby the Scrivener.”

  “Never heard of him.”

  “It’s a short story by Herman Melville. You should read it.”

  I held the strawberry above the kinkajou’s head. He reached for it with delicate sharp-clawed paws and took a bite. His eyes stayed on mine. I petted his head, and his fur felt like thick velvet.

  “He likes you,” Juliet said. “People are disappointing, but pets never are.”

  “He’s pretty cute. Who would feed him to a crocodile?”

  “We do business with some shady characters. But you already know that, don’t you?”

  “That’s what Ben Northcutt claimed.” I petted the kinkajou, pretending to be casual. “But he’s a liar. He said my sister was a criminal. As if that would happen in a million years.”

  It was a little bit of reverse psychology, but it worked wonders. Ask a direct question, and Juliet would bob and weave. Praise my sister, and she had to tear her down.

  “Oh, you can’t imagine dear virtuous Caroline getting her hands dirty,” Juliet said. “I’m sure she kept it from you, but Caroline was up to her eyeballs in Thraxton schemes. Your sister loved money.”

  “She used it to help people,” I countered. “She gave an awful lot to charity.”

  “Hosting galas isn’t giving to charity. It’s dressing up and showing off so people can admire you.”

  “Ben Northcutt was the cockroach problem you talked about with your father last night?” At the Thraxton house, I’d wondered what they were really discussing. Insects hadn’t seemed likely, especially since Caro had told them to pay out. Suddenly, it made sense.

  Juliet nodded. “He’s been hanging around for months. He threatens to write a big exposé about us, but he runs away when he gets some cash. He’s like a squirrel with an acorn.”

  “He didn’t look happy when I saw him. No acorn today?”

  “No acorn ever again.”

  “I lied when I said I didn’t tell him anything,” I said. “Caro sent me a message to read after she died. In it, she said Theo killed his first wife. I talked to your dad, and he basically confirmed it. Did you know?”

  “I saw Theo the night it happened,” Juliet said. “My father told me he’d chartered a plane, and I had to take my brother to rehab. I’ve hated Theo with every fiber of my being since that night.”

  “Because he killed someone?”

  “Because my father didn’t care. He said I shouldn’t blame Theo, that it was an accident. It made me ill. He’s always excused my brother’s bad behavior. I don’t know why. Nothing I did was ever good enough.” She stared at the Anubis statue, as if it could give her the answers she needed.

  “I’m the outcast in my family,” I said. “Bet that’s news to you.”

  “What a shocker.” She smiled, and it wasn’t even her usual smirk. “Theo left me a message last night, and it’s looping around my brain. My father used to tell me I shouldn’t be so hard on Theo. But the truth is, if anyone screwed him up, it was our parents.”

  CHAPTER 40

  THEO

  When my flight landed, there was no one I wanted to see more than Teddy, but I headed straight from the taxi into my father’s home. The butler who answered the door gave me a frozen smile and led me inside. The air in that frigid mausoleum of a house crackled as if a storm were rolling in.

  There was something reptilian in the stone-cold stillness of my father’s face as I walked into his study.

  “The prodigal son has returned,” he said. “How was your trip?”

  “I’m here to tell you to go rot in hell.”

  “That bad?” He kept his tone light. “I always loved Berlin in the spring. We lived there for a few years while I was setting up the European side of the business. You probably don’t remember.”

  It was surreal, listening to his prattle. I was there to confront him, and he was acting as if nothing had changed between us.

  “You murdered Mirelle,” I said. “You made my life a torment—you made me believe I was a killer! I’m going to take my son to live somewhere far, far away from you.”

  “You are welcome to try,” he answered. “There’s no evidence of your being able to provide a stable home. In fact, there’s no evidence that you are stable. Let’s consider how this plays out in court before you make any rash decisions.”

  “You killed Mirelle,” I repeated. “Don’t you have any remorse about that?”

  “I didn’t kill anyone, Theo. I can prove that I wasn’t in Berlin that night.” He looked me in the eye, unflinching. “I suppose you met with Klaus on your little jaunt.”

  “He admitted to hiring Mirelle, at your request.”

  “How typical of him to foist the blame on me. Whatever he did to that woman, my hands are clean.”

  I was in awe of his steely nerve. His crime had been uncovered, and he was still confident that he could wriggle off the hook. “I also spoke with the man Harris hired to help him kill Mirelle and stage the scene,” I said. “As soon as I heard Harris was involved, I knew what you’d done. Don’t embarrass yourself by de
nying it.”

  He sighed and leaned back in his chair. “Do you have any idea how difficult it is to have your children disappoint you again and again? Teddy’s too young for you to grasp this concept. When he’s a teenager, you might understand. Imagine bringing this beautiful boy into the world and then watching him destroy himself with drugs and bad company that encourages his worst impulses.”

  It was clever of him to mention Teddy, because I’d rather die than allow my son to suffer the pain I had. I couldn’t imagine my son harming himself. But I also couldn’t envision how cruel you would have to be to create a straitjacket of guilt and force your child to live in it. That was inhuman, no matter the excuse.

  “You thought you were going to control me by making me believe I’d killed a woman. What kind of man would do that to his son?”

  “It was a lesson in consequences. You needed to understand the danger of what you were doing.”

  “My entire adult life was based on a lie you constructed. Why did you do it?”

  “It should’ve straightened you out,” my father said. “And it did, to a point. You stopped frequenting fetish clubs and using drugs. I thought there was hope for you when you joined the business and married Caroline. Sadly, I was wrong. Your feelings got all hurt, and you ran away again.”

  “What you call feelings are values. Ethics. I know you don’t have any. But I told you I didn’t want any part of your criminal enterprise. That’s why I quit. I was disgusted with you.”

  “Too bad that Caroline didn’t feel the same way,” he said. “I think I was far closer to her than you ever were.”

  I balled my hands into fists. There had always been something unseemly about the attention he’d paid to Caroline, as if he were the one courting her. “It was so satisfying to you, testing her loyalty, luring her to your team. Did you murder her? Was that to protect me as well?”

  For the first time since I’d walked into his study, my father’s self-possession vanished. “You think I killed Caroline?”