Shattered Virtue

by Magda Alexander

  “Gramps just read me the riot act. Over dinner. In front of all the servants. He said I should have been here today. That it’s time I handled my responsibilities as a member of this family.”

  “Well, it wouldn’t hurt to attend the firm events. You know how important those are to him.”

  “And be bored out of my mind?”

  Joining her on the bed, I hug her to me. “Children attend the picnic. You could organize some of their activities. You’d enjoy doing that.”

  She shrugs. “Yeah, I guess. But there’s nothing I can do at the annual holiday party except stand around and look pretty.”

  “That one’s a bit tougher, I know, but soon you’ll be an adult. You’ll need to learn how to talk and mingle with them and conduct yourself in a social setting.”

  “Who cares?”

  “Madison, what has you so riled up? This can’t be just about Gramps.”

  “Yes, it is. You don’t know what he’s like. He’s always yelling at me. Nothing I do is ever good enough for him. You’re lucky. You’ve been away from home for years at a time. And you only come home for Christmas and summers. I’ve been stuck here in this house. I don’t want to be here anymore. I want my own life. Away from here. Away from him.” And with that she flounces out of the room.

  Whatever is going on between her and Gramps—is it any different than the way he treated me? Or is the difference the way she reacts to his demands? After he punished me for disobeying him, I toed the line because I didn’t want to face the repercussions of his anger. But I was thirteen when I came to live with him, so I only had to suffer through five years of his discipline before I went off to college. Madison, on the other hand, has had to endure it since she was four. So her built-up resentment is understandable. I’ll need to continue this conversation with her after she’s had a chance to calm down so that we can get to the truth of the matter.

  Exhausted after what I’ve gone through today, I lie down for a quick nap. Hours later, I wake up. A glance at my bedside clock tells me it’s after ten. Good God, I’ve slept for over six hours. While I slept, Madison slipped a note under my door. “Sorry for all the drama.” She’d written it on her pad of kittens and butterflies, a stationery set I’d given her for her last birthday. She’d drawn a heart next to her name. In so many ways, she’s still a child.

  But I’m not. I’m twenty-four, and it’s time I take control of my life. I don’t have to marry Brad—or Steele, for that matter. I will finish out the summer internship and start work at Arlington in the fall. And with the money in my trust, I will buy a place close to the Arlington courthouse. When Madison turns eighteen, I’ll ask her to come live with me. Olivia as well.

  Having made that momentous decision, I check in on Madison. She’s fast asleep in her bed. Starving, I stroll down to the kitchen to get something to eat. Everyone’s gone to bed. After an eventful day, the house is quiet, and the servants have retired to their rooms. Except for Olivia, who follows me into the kitchen.

  “I’m sorry, did I wake you?” Has she been watching my room? First she barged in on me when Steele was there. And now? Well, it can’t be a coincidence she’s here when I come down for a snack.

  “No. I was awake, worried about you.”

  She has been watching me. “Don’t be. Gramps didn’t see a thing.” I don’t have to spell it out. She knows I’m talking about Steele.

  “That’s good. Are you still upset about what happened at the picnic?”

  “How do you know?”

  “It’s my job to watch over you and your sister.”

  A shot of anger races through my body. “Olivia, I’m twenty-four. I don’t need you to watch over me.”

  She scrunches her mouth. What I said doesn’t sit right with her. “I can’t help it, not after all these years.”

  She’s coming from a good place, I know, but it’s time to cut the cord. “I appreciate what you did for me while I was in high school. God knows I’d probably not have survived without you. But I’m old enough now to make my own way.”

  Sadness rolls over her face. “Very well, dear. I’ll try not to overstep my duties.”

  “Thank you. I appreciate it.”

  She winces as if I’ve struck a blow. Darn it. I don’t want to hurt her. She just needs to respect my boundaries.

  “Good night, then.” She turns to go.

  I don’t want to leave things like this between us. It’ll just make us both uncomfortable. “Wait. I’m going to have something to eat. Care to join me?”

  “Is that what you want?”

  “Yes.” From underneath the kitchen counter, I pull out a stool and pat it. “Here, sit. Now what would you like?” I fling open the industrial-size refrigerator. Inside is a food raider’s delight.

  “The ham was delicious, and Helga made a mean potato salad.”

  “Ooh, I love her potato salad.” I load up two plates with the food and a couple of rolls for good measure and pour glasses of lemonade.

  We spend the next hour talking about the picnic. Busy as I was, I missed quite a bit, including Dick Slayton’s drunken altercation with Steele.

  “Mr. Slayton was not at his best.”

  “Is he ever?”

  She laughs. “Ended up pouring him into the Benz and had Hans drive him home.”

  “Well, at least Hans didn’t have to drive that far.” Dick Slayton has a spread only a few miles from us. Full after the feast we shared, I’m more than ready for bed.

  “Well, good night.” Don’t know if I’ll get much sleep worrying about how to deal with Brad’s proposal. I’d rather dream about Trenton and the delicious things he’d do to me.

  Before I make my way out of the kitchen, Olivia pulls me to her. “Stop worrying about what happened today.” She always could see through me. “You’re strong. Much stronger than your mother.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Nothing. I shouldn’t have said anything.”

  She’s worked for our family since Madison was a baby. She’d seen my parents’ marriage firsthand. She’d known my mother well. “I wish I knew more about my mother, about who she really was.” Parents tend to show their children only what they want them to see.

  She squeezes my hand. “There are some things of hers in the attic. I think you’re strong enough now to go through them.”

  “What? Why didn’t you tell me?”

  “You couldn’t have handled it before. But now?” She tilts back her head and scrutinizes me. “I think you can, Madrigal.”

  “Show me.”

  The house is quiet as we maneuver our way up the stairs to the attic. Once we get there, she flips on the light switch and heads to a trunk in the corner. “Her evening gowns are in there. I held on to them, thinking you and Madison would like to see them.”

  The luggage is one of those old-fashioned steamer trunks about three feet high and covered in black leather. Split in the middle, hinges have it closed up tight. After much struggling, we finally wrestle it open. Mama’s gowns hang on the left on wooden hangers and inside clothes bags. I pull one open to discover a red satin gown she’d once worn to a holiday party. She’d looked so beautiful as she glided down the stairs.

  “I remember this. She wore it to some fancy party.”

  “The Holiday Gala at the National Portrait Gallery.”

  “That’s right. Dad’s lobbying firm held the event every year at that posh place.” The right side of the trunk contains drawers. I pull one out to find an assortment of books, including Pride and Prejudice and The Bell Jar. When I lift out the last one, it’s snagged by a strap fixed to the trunk’s base. A false bottom? I pull the strap and discover a treasure trove. “Journals. She kept journals. Did you know?”

  Olivia’s face turns ashen; her shoulders tighten. “No. I didn’t know those were there.”

  They�
��re dated, thank God. I flip through them to find the one closest to the day she died. Clutching it to my chest, I stand up. I’ll be reading it tonight.

  Olivia grasps my shoulder, a worried look on her face. “Madrigal. Those were her most private thoughts. Maybe she wouldn’t want you to know what’s in that journal.”

  “I have to know. The key to what happened to her, to why she was murdered may be in here.”

  Her brows hunch. “What do you mean? She was murdered by the men who broke into the house.”

  “No. She was not.”

  “How do you know?”

  I debate whether to reveal my investigation or keep her in the dark. If I tell her, she could spill the beans to my grandfather. On the other hand, she could become my ally and help me keep the secret from him. “Promise me you won’t tell Gramps.”

  “Madrigal. What are you up to?”

  “Promise me, and I’ll tell you.”

  Her nostrils flare as she debates what to do. If she gives me her word, I can count on it. She’s never betrayed my trust.

  “Very well. I promise.”

  “I talked to one of them.”

  Her breath cuts short. “When? How?”

  “Last Saturday.”

  “That’s where you were? Not out with your friend?”

  “Yes. Steele’s been helping me. Well, him and a retired detective.”

  “Who did you talk to?”

  “Michael Haynes. He told me he didn’t do it. He didn’t kill them.”

  Her eyes widen. “And you believed him? He’s a felon.”

  “I’m sure he was telling the truth, which means we don’t know who killed them.” I tap the book. “But maybe there’s a clue in this journal somewhere.”

  She tosses a nervous glance toward the attic door, like she expects someone to walk in on us. “Be careful, Madrigal. Your grandfather . . . if he finds out, I don’t know what he’d do. He’s come to terms with what happened. If you discover something . . . unpleasant, he might not be able to live with it.”

  I lift my chin. “And I can’t live with the lies he wove around their murders.”

  “Lies?”

  “Yes, he lied about the facts of the case. But now? No one is stopping me from learning the truth.”

  Leaving Olivia in the attic, I rush to my room, where I spend the next two hours reading my mother’s last journal, the one that covers the last four months of her life. The book contains nothing out of the ordinary until I reach the last two pages and discover that everything I believed about my parents’ marriage was nothing but lies:

  January 8, 2002. As always, he dismissed the servants. Arranged for Madrigal and Madison to spend the night at my father’s so we can enjoy our private time. Our night in. Usually he’s satisfied with degrading me. But last night he devised something new. He tied me up and dragged me downstairs to a hidden room to which he has the only key. Inside were horrible things, unspeakable things. For the first time, he whipped me, beat me, all because I told him I was leaving him. The pain’s excruciating, but I don’t dare go to a doctor. If someone finds out, Tom will take my children from me.

  February 12, 2002. Another session with that sadistic son of a bitch. This time he jammed something deep into me. I screamed that he was hurting me, but that didn’t stop him. This morning I can’t pee. He gave me the name of a doctor to call in case I had issues. I had no choice but to go. He promised not to say a word. Of course he won’t. He’s in on it.

  March 12, 2002. I’m done. Next month, I’m leaving with the kids. I’ve made arrangements. And he can’t stop me. I paid one of the workers fixing the house to break into the room and set up a camera. I now have the proof I need to hold over his head. I can do it, as long as he doesn’t find out first.

  My stomach cramps. My breath hitches as tears pour down my face. What I found changes everything I believed was true in my life. Bawling quietly, I curl into a ball. I don’t want anyone to hear me. I don’t want anyone to know. But I can’t bear this alone. And there’s only one person who can help me with the pain.

  CHAPTER 26

  Trenton

  I jar awake from the depths of sleep. Someone’s buzzing from the entrance to the condo. It’s three o’clock in the morning. Fuck. I grab my phone and tap the app that connects to the cameras fixed on the card reader. What I see there freezes the blood in my veins. Madrigal, clutching her stomach, bawling. In a panic, I buzz her in and take the elevator to the ground floor. She’s standing by the door, sobbing her heart out, with one of the security guards watching over her.

  “Mr. Steele, I didn’t know what to do.”

  “It’s okay, Bob. I’ll take it from here.”

  She falls into my arms, a lost waif in torn jeans, hair tossed every which way. The classy debutante look is no more. We ride the elevator up to my apartment with her clinging to me.

  “What’s wrong? Are you hurt?” I run my hands up and down her body, looking for the source of her injury.

  She clutches at me. “I think m-my fa-father k-killed my mother.”

  Jesus, Mary, and Joseph. That can’t be right. But her ravaged face tells me otherwise. I pick her up and carry her to the living room where I gently settle her on the couch. I tuck back her hair so that I can see her eyes. The look in them—Christ Almighty—brings me to my knees. “Why do you think that?”

  “I f-found my m-mother’s diary. He beat her, raped her.” She buries her head in my neck, crying as if her heart is breaking.

  God. What a mess. “I’m so sorry.” How could such a thing be true? By all accounts, they appeared to be a loving couple. But if there’s something I’ve learned in my life, appearances can be deceiving. “Where is the diary?”

  “L-left it at home. D-didn’t want it n-near me. Filthy, vile thing.”

  Damn. She should have brought it with her. We could have studied it for clues. But I can’t blame her for leaving it behind, not with the awful secrets it contains. We’ll retrieve it in the morning. Right now she’s my priority. She’s in shock. I don’t know how she managed to drive here in the state she’s in. I grab a fleece throw from the hall closet, wrap it around her. Pour two fingers of Dewar’s scotch into a glass and hand it to her. She gulps it down, coughs.

  I take the glass from her hand and gather her body in my arms once more. She’s still shaking, but at least the wild-eyed look has vanished. “Tell me how you came to find the diary.”

  In fits and starts, she pours out the story. Olivia telling her about the trunk. Madrigal finding her mother’s things, discovering a false bottom with the diaries hidden inside. Racing to her room to read the last journal in private. And then finding out the awful truth.

  “I ne-never knew. How could I not know?”

  “Parents hide things from their children all the time.” Like my mother did. She left one day and never came back, abandoning my brother and me to the tender mercies of our abusive father.

  “I loved him. I thought he was the best father in the world.”

  “There’s no satisfactory answer to this. Not now. We’ll have to dig for the truth.”

  She curls around me, resting her head on my shoulder. I rub her back until her measured breathing tells me she’s fallen asleep. Carefully I tend to her, tucking the blanket around her before rising from the couch.

  I pour two more fingers of the scotch and knock it back, all the while keeping my eye on her. She’s fast asleep. No wonder. Gut-wrenching emotions take a toll on your body. In the distance the sun’s peeking over the clouds. It will be light soon. While the first pink and golden rays skip over the Potomac, I try to make sense of things. Even if he knew there was something wrong with his daughter’s marriage, the old man won’t talk. He’s too proud to tarnish the legacy of his name. But there’s one person who should know something about the Berkeleys. Mitchell Brooks. Yesterday at the pic
nic, I discovered his relationship to her family is a lot closer than he let on. Holden wouldn’t have made him a trustee to his granddaughters’ trusts otherwise.

  I always wondered why he never married. Now and then he dated, but he never seemed serious about any of them. I believed him to be a confirmed bachelor, but Joss hinted he’d fallen for a married woman. Could that woman have been Madrigal’s mother? He cares a great deal for Madrigal and Madison, which means he spent time with them and their parents. Obviously, he’s a trusted family friend. But could there be something more to it? About a dozen years ago he’d become distracted, as if he was grieving about something. I’d been so full of myself about a big win on a case that I hadn’t bothered to ask what was going on with him. Madrigal’s parents died twelve years ago, so it makes sense that he was grieving for friends. But is there more to it than that? Well, there’s only one way to find out.

  It’s close to six and Sunday to boot, but Mitch’s an early riser, and chances are I won’t be waking him. I walk into the study so that I won’t disturb Madrigal and give him a call. Sure enough, he picks up on the second ring. “Trenton. Awfully early to be calling.”

  “I knew you’d be up.” Fuck if I apologize, not when I suspect he’s been keeping secrets.

  He must have caught the tension in my voice, because his own turns wary. “Something’s wrong.”

  I can’t tell him Madrigal’s tale. At least not yet. So I’ll need to get what I need from him another way. “Yesterday’s events got me thinking.”

  “About?”

  “Madrigal’s mother and you.”

  “What do you mean?” His voice vibrates with emotion.

  Just as I suspected, he’s hiding things from me. “You’ve been keeping a secret, a big secret.”

  There’s a pregnant pause at his end. “What the hell are you talking about?”

  Son of a bitch. He’s playing dumb. But I’m not about to let him off the hook this easily and tell him my suspicions.

  “You were in love with Madrigal’s mother. Probably fell in love when you were teenagers since you attended the same school. When she went off to William & Mary, you kept in touch. You decided to wait until you graduated to make your move. But that was your big mistake. You waited too long. By that time she’d met Thomas Berkeley. Maybe she fell in love. Maybe it was just a college fling that would have burned itself out. Except she got trapped. When she got pregnant with Madrigal, she had no choice but to marry him. By the time you found out what was going on, it was too late.”