Caught Up In Raine

by L. G. O'Connor

  Chapter 34

  Jillian

  “BUT RAINE, I can just ask the clean-out service to swing by—” I say from the passenger seat of my SUV as Raine drives us to the appointment he set up with the lawyer on the business card his mother gave him.

  “No, Jillian. I can’t let you do that,” he says, shaking his head vehemently.

  “Why not? It’s no big deal. Really.” I’m trying not to sound too overbearing.

  A frown darkens his features. “I don’t want you spending money on anything related to my father,” he says.

  We’ve been debating for most of the ride from Chatham to Bernardsville.

  I blow out an exasperated breath. Being Swedish and Scottish makes him two kinds of stubborn. “Raine, a funeral is going to cost at least ten thousand dollars,” I say. God, I should know. I’m an expert, and I’m only quoting him a price one step up from Potter’s Field. Given Raine’s father’s financial situation, I’m doubtful there will be any money left to help Raine defray the cost.

  We have an appointment with my friendly neighborhood funeral home this afternoon. He’ll hear it for himself then. The sad truth is that, at this point, I should consider putting the funeral director on speed dial, or at least buy stock in them to make back some of my decade-long investment.

  “I’m not giving him a funeral. I’m just getting him into the ground next to my mother because that’s what she wanted. They bought a headstone and two burial plots before she died. It’s shouldn’t be that expensive,” he says, trying to maintain his calm, but his rigid posture betrays his agitation.

  “I understand why you feel that way. Are you sure?”

  “Damn sure.” His hands clench harder around the steering wheel, making the corded muscles of his forearms twitch.

  “Fine.” I throw up my hands. “Will you at least let me help you clean out his rental house?”

  He glances over, and his face softens. “Yeah. Thanks.”

  We pull into the lawyer’s parking lot.

  “You have no idea what this is about?” I ask again. He took me by surprise with the business card on Saturday night after Kitty and I had returned from spreading Vera’s ashes.

  The weekend turned out better than I could’ve imagined despite being overwrought with an excess of emotions. We managed to do what Vera wanted us to do. She insisted that we celebrate her life by spending time together as a family looking at family pictures and remembering. We went to church on Sunday morning and then had a family picnic on the beach before we all left in the afternoon. It was Raine’s first time experiencing a major dose of my family, and he did well. Really well. He seemed to enjoy himself despite the news about his father. I was especially pleased that he and Jenny made up. Now, if only I could make some traction with my novel . . .

  He shakes his head. “I honestly don’t know. I was so overwhelmed with grief when she handed me the card. I just did what she told me to do, and kept it in a safe place until my father died.”

  “Fair enough,” I say.

  The law offices of Brown, Nyland, and Row are on a tree-lined street in a building that looks like a two-story Victorian house.

  The receptionist looks up wearing a warm smile. “Can I help you?”

  “We’re here for a ten o’clock with Silas Row,” says Raine.

  She checks her computer, and points to the waiting area. “Please take a seat, Mr. MacDonald. He’ll be with you shortly.”

  We sit, and Raine flips the business card over and over between his fingers. The door opens just as I’m ready to lunge and take it away from him.

  A man in his seventies steps out to greet us. He looks dignified, with a full head of perfectly coiffed gray hair and a well-tailored navy suit.

  “Please come in, Raine,” he says. We follow him through the hallway to his office, upscale, but far from lush. I take a seat next to Raine in one of the leather guest chairs.

  The lawyer picks up a folder on his desk, and removes a sheaf of paper. Placing his readers on his nose, he peers down at it.

  “Uh-huh. Okay, I’ve been left some very clear instructions from your mother,” he says as his eyes travel over the page. He removes an envelope from inside the folder, and hands it to Raine. “You’re to read this first before we proceed. I’ll give you a moment of privacy.” He leaves the office and the door clicks shut behind him.

  Raine stares at the envelope. It’s blank, but thick enough to contain a letter.

  “Do you want me to leave?” I ask.

  “No.” He shakes his head, and proceeds to rip it open. He draws in a deep breath when he sees the handwriting. “It’s a letter from my mom,” he says quietly.

  I glance over. It’s written in Swedish like her note on the back of the business card.

  He reads, translating it for me.

  Dearest Raine,

  I love you so much, and I’m sorry that I’m not there to say these words to you in person. You were my world, and I’m so very proud of you.

  He stops. His bottom lip quivers, and his Adam’s apple bobs as he swallows. I reach over and rub his back. “You don’t have to read it to me,” I say softly, but he shakes his head and continues.

  When you and I discovered your father’s problem, I knew I had to take action to protect you in case the situation became dire. Unless he forges my signature, your college trust fund should be secure.

  Anger flares inside me when I think about how his father betrayed him. I add “forger” to his list of transgressions.

  There are many things I kept from you about my relationship with your father since a child should not be burdened with such knowledge. Also, I wanted you to love and to respect him, like a good son should. I pray that when you receive this letter, your life is already productive and happy with a wife and children of your own. I pray that when you receive this gift, you will not be desperate for it.

  Always in my heart,

  Mamma

  Raine folds the letter when he’s done, and wipes his eyes. I take his hand and squeeze it.

  Silas Row raps on the door once and reenters without waiting for a response, taking his seat behind the desk. He removes a larger envelope from the folder.

  “Raine, before your mother Selka died, she called me and purchased a lump sum insurance policy on your father for two hundred and fifty thousand dollars with you as the sole beneficiary.”

  I expel a sharp breath as Raine leans forward in his chair and blurts. “What?”

  Row nods solemnly and clasps his hands tightly. “Son, your mother and I knew each other a long time. She hired me when she first came to this country and started her modeling career. I did her first contract.” He releases a long sigh. “I know more about your situation than I probably should. I’m going to go out on a limb here and tell you what I know. She did this because she didn’t trust that you would be taken care of properly. Her biggest fear was that your father would gamble away his fortune and leave you a pauper. When you were a toddler, there were several ‘incidents.’ Selka threatened to leave him. He loved her enough to clean up his act, and as far as I know, he never broke her trust . . . until she was months from dying. Or maybe that’s just when she found out. She couldn’t be sure.”

  “Did my father know about this policy?” he asks.

  Row shakes his head. “No, he didn’t. Selka kept a secret rainy day account in her own name with money left over from her modeling days. It was the same account she planned on using to make her escape when you were a toddler. In the end, it was all she could get access to without his finding out. She converted it into a policy. In this form, the money could remain secret and safe until your father died. Her fear was that even if she designated you as the beneficiary on her bank account that he would somehow get his hands on it.”

  My heart warms with admiration for Selka Nilsson. I’m so pleased that her love reached Raine from beyond the grave with good fortune when he needed it most.

  “Thank you,” he says, holding the letter tigh
tly in his hands. “I appreciate it.”

  “I just need your bank account information and your father’s death certificate once it’s issued, and then we’ll get the funds transferred.”

  We rise from our seats, after wrapping up our discussion on next steps, and say our good-byes.

  Raine is silent and hasn’t spoken since we left Silas Row. I buckle myself into the passenger seat. “Are you okay?”

  “Yeah. Just thinking.” He starts the car and hands me the letter. “Can you hold this for me?”

  I take it. “Absolutely.”

  We drive in silence. I give him time to be alone in his thoughts.

  Instead of going home, he pulls into the cemetery on the border of Chatham and Madison. I’ve traveled a well-worn path through here since I was fourteen. I glance at him in confusion, wondering why he would bring me here of all places.

  And then I know. We’re going to see his mother. She must be here, too.

  Chapter 35

  Raine

  “RAINE?”

  I flinch at the sound of my name and look up at John Henshaw from where Jillian and I sit in the waiting room of the Chief Medical Examiner’s office in New York City. Jillian squeezes my hand, and I squeeze hers back as we stand. Right or wrong, I’m here to see my father’s body now that the damn Feds are finally gone.

  True to John’s word, they showed up at Jillian’s door on Monday, three days ago, after we visited Silas Row and I took Jillian to visit my mom’s grave. My brain feels like it spent the last few days inside a blender. They questioned us in painful detail. I told them everything I could which wasn’t much, since I don’t know jack. They didn’t do much better with Jillian. She knows less than I do, yet she still had to explain how we met, if she’d ever met my father before he showed up that day in her house, why she owned two guns and a bunch of other irrelevant bullshit questions. Who knows how much value any of it had regarding their investigation. And they still won’t let me anywhere near my dad’s rental house. I haven’t been back since the day I broke into the garage for the painting.

  John runs his fingers through his salt-and-pepper hair with one hand, carrying a file and a large bag marked “Evidence” in the other. “We could’ve done this back in Chatham.”

  “I told you. I want to see his body,” I reply more calmly than I feel. It’s not that I don’t believe my father is really gone, but something inside of me hungers for proof. To know he’s no longer a threat to me . . . or Jillian.

  John’s gaze shifts to Jillian with a raised eyebrow. She just nods and some silent message passes between them. I’m too wired on adrenaline to care or feel left out. It gives me comfort to know that if I asked Jillian she’d tell me. We share things now. I love that.

  John blows out a breath. “Let’s head downstairs then.”

  The elevator lets us out into a brightly lit hallway, and John leads us to another small cubicle-size waiting room with a video screen.

  “You’ll be able to view your father on there.” He points to the screen as he’s about to leave the room.

  “No way. That’s not going to do it for me. I want to see him in person.”

  “Raine—”

  I cut John off and drop Jillian’s hand from mine. “No, man. I’m serious. I need to look at his body.” To make it real.

  “I’m not sure that’s a good idea until after the funeral director . . .” Jillian says tentatively with a look of unease in her eyes.

  John swipes his face and gives me a hard stare. “Raine, it’s not like it is on TV. Have you ever smelled a dead body before? It sticks with you. Trust me, Jillian’s right. Wait for the funeral director to work some magic first.”

  My jaw grinds in frustration. I’m sure they mean well but after the week I’ve had, I don’t want to be told what to do. “I don’t care. I want to see him.”

  “Fine. Let me get approval.” John presses his lips tight and leaves the room.

  I lean up against the edge of the table, my arms locked across my chest. Jillian sits down in one of the chairs and stays silent. One glance and I see the concern engraved on her face.

  “Say something, Jillian,” I whisper, wanting her support. “It’s not like I haven’t seen a dead body before. My mom died in my arms.”

  She shakes her head, and says softly, “This will be different. He’s been dead a lot longer. But if this is what you need to do then do it. I just don’t want it to haunt you later. That’s all.”

  Her concern touches me. I get it. He could be disgusting to look at. My mom looked like she was sleeping but it was clear that she was gone after her last breath.

  “I can respect that. This might not make sense, but I need to see him at his worst. Not prettied up.” My mouth hardens into an angry line. I’m pissed. Not at Jillian but at my father. For failing me, for not wanting me, and for stealing what he could from me.

  John comes back five minutes later and beckons me to follow with a wave of his hand. “Come on.”

  Jillian gets up, but John wards her off with a shake of his head. “No, Jilly. You stay here. Hold onto these for me until we get back, will ya?” He hands her the sealed folder and the evidence bag.

  She rests a hand on my shoulder, pulling my gaze to hers. “Raine?”

  “John’s right. I’ll be fine.” I lean over and kiss her forehead, my lips lingering there for an extra moment. No use dragging her through this. Plus, I want to spare her the nightmares if I can help it.

  I follow John into the morgue. The stench of formaldehyde with an undertone of bitter cherries hits me as I walk in. It makes my head throb. For a moment, my stomach churns but not enough to make me heave.

  Eight stations including steel tables, basins, faucets, scales, and other apparatuses stand in a line along one wall. A few people in lab coats stand idly by waiting for us to move through the room where they do autopsies. We pass some tables with corpses covered with opaque plastic sheets. Watching CSI: Miami growing up hasn’t quite prepared me for the reality of seeing a morgue in person.

  I breathe a sigh of relief when we walk into a cool corridor and close the door to the autopsy room behind us. John leads me down the hall into a room the temperature of a meat locker. The place where they store the bodies they’re not working on. The chill cuts into me as we pass over the threshold.

  John walks midway into the room and rolls out one of the numbered metal drawers that line one wall, revealing another corpse under plastic.

  Even through the cold, I catch the aroma of death.

  “You sure you really want to see this?” John says. This time his voice is compassionate.

  I bite my lower lip and nod.

  Slowly, John peels back the plastic.

  John was right. Time in the water does harsh things to a body. My father’s face is a grotesque mask. His skin is a mottled darkish grey with oversized wrinkles not normally found on a human being. More like that dog breed. Even lips that should look like mine, don’t. A large piece of his ear is missing, nothing left but a ragged edge of bloated flesh.

  I choke back my revulsion and the bile rising in my throat. None of his features are recognizable except for his eyebrows. The way the over-long hairs poke out in multiple directions like they’re confused which way they should grow. But it’s the mole on his temple that clinches it. That’s all I need to see. It’s him.

  “Cover him,” I say, swallowing past the lump in my throat.

  John slides the plastic back over him and closes the metal drawer.

  “You okay?” John asks.

  “Yeah. Fine.” At least emotionally. I thought maybe I’d feel something. But I don’t. If anything, I feel even more disconnected than I did before.

  John walks stoically beside me. Rather than walking through the room with the steel tables, we take a different route back to the viewing room where we left Jillian.

  “Why didn’t we come this way to the freezer?” I ask.

  John shoots me a look. “Since you were so hell
bent on the full experience, I figured I’d give it to you.” He eyes my clothes. “You might want to change when you get home.” I don’t have to ask what he means. The lingering smell of death torments my nostrils.

  Jillian pops out of the chair the moment we walk back in, her golden eyes carefully assessing me.

  “I’m fine,” I say, grabbing her hand and heading off her concerns.

  “Let’s sit,” John says, pointing to the folder and envelope lying on the table. “Jilly, hand me that stuff.” She slides it over to him. “I wrestled some intel from my guys in the NYPD and got the Feds to release all your dad’s personal effects.”

  We settle around the table.

  John holds up the folder. “This contains your dad’s autopsy report. I was right. Even though we found his wallet, keys, and shoes at the point where his body was most likely dumped into the Hudson, this wasn’t a suicide. The M.E. found a needle mark at the base of his skull by his hairline.”

  “But why would they kill him? He can’t pay them back now that he’s dead,” Jillian asks. It’s a reasonable question.

  Shaking his head, John tents his hands on the table. “I dug a little deeper. Turns out Raine’s father had a long history with the people he owed money to. He managed some of their off-shore investments back when he worked on Wall Street. From what I’ve gleaned from my contacts, for the last six or seven years he’s been able to keep slightly ahead of his debts. About a year ago, the Feds tapped him on the shoulder and enlisted him as a snitch. They kept him paid up. But a couple of recent bad nights at the tables landed him right back in hot water. This time they refused to bail him out.”

  A hard knot forms in my stomach and I snap, “How come they never said any of that for the three fucking days they grilled us?”

  John fixes me with a hard stare. “They wouldn’t. This is all off the record. Me going out on a limb for you and Jilly, got that?”

  My mouth drops into a frown and I feel like a shithead for shooting my mouth off. “Got it. Sorry, John. I appreciate everything you’ve done. Really.”

  John’s demeanor softens. “There’s something else you should know, Raine. Your father . . . I’m not sure . . .” He huffs and stares down at his hands for a moment. “Listen, I don't pretend to know about the issues between you and your dad. But I’m not sure he did what he did to you just for the reasons you think.”