by that's me
The thing is, it isn't all that difficult to imagine her cousin doing just that. Especially since the two of them haven't exactly been on speaking terms.
And…
Well, Grandaddy had some reason for writing him out of the will. What if it was because he thought Gib was… dangerous?
It seems ludicrous.
It is ludicrous, she assures herself. Whatever Grandaddy's reason for doing what he did, Gib being some kind of threat wasn't it.
"All right," she tells the detectives, "then, if I was the real target, why didn't he just finish the job? Why not gun down both of us, and shoot until we were dead?" 'Who knows? That's easier said than done. Especially from that distance, unless the shooter were an expert marksman… which by all accounts, the suspect is not."
"But why not just keep shooting until he hit something?"
"Maybe the barrel jammed. Maybe there was no more ammunition," Williamson says. "Maybe he realized he misjudged the distance after he started and that he'd have to be at a closer vantage point to finish."
"Right," Dorado puts in, "or maybe he was spooked by the first shot, or when he saw Royce fall and realized he'd missed, or when it hit him that he was trying to take a human life. The truth is, Ms. Remington, if you're dealing with an amateur, and not a professional hit man, things are bound to get messy."
"It's Mrs. Maitland," she says wearily.
"I'm sorry."
Dorado's tone is sincere, and Charlotte gets the impression that he, at least, is sorry about a lot more than using the wrong name.
It's Williamson who rubs her the wrong way; Williamson whose bemused expression rankles.
"I honestly don't think my own cousin would try to hurt me," she says firmly, mostly to him. "I mean, why would he?"
"Charlotte, you said yourself that he seemed really angry when he found out about the money," Aimee points out gently, and Charlotte's heart sinks.
She shouldn't have said anything to Aimee about that. But during the long drive back from the hospital last night, she found herself baring her soul to her stepdaughter about her loss, her cousins, the will… even her troubles with Lianna.
Naturally, both detectives are all ears now, asking questions.
"He's angry at you? Why?" That's Williamson, practically growling at her. "And why didn't you mention this until now?"
Dorado, his brown eyes focused unwaveringly on Charlotte, chimes in to ask, "What money are we talking about?"
Reluctantly, she tells them about her grandfather's will. She does her best to be brief, but they're asking countless questions and taking notes.
In the end, she's forced to admit that she has no idea why her grandfather cut out her cousins and that the will is most likely to be contested by both of them.
That clinches it. Charlotte can see the decision in their eyes before she's ended with a trite-sounding, "But none of that has anything to do with Royce being shot."
The detectives have obviously concluded that it does.
"Where are your cousins now, Ms. Remington?"
"It's Mrs. Maitland," she bites out through a clenched jaw, "and I have no idea where they are. Probably upstairs, still asleep."
"Really." Williamson looks at Dorado. "Let's wake them, shall we?"
"Lianna? Are you in there?"
She sits up in bed, rubbing the sleep from her eyes, trying to place the unfamiliar voice on the other side of her door.
"Lianna? Can I come in?"
Oh. It's Aimee, Royce's daughter, and, technically, her stepsister.
But as far as Lianna is concerned, she's a total stranger. A stranger who was with her mother all day yesterday, while Lianna was stuck here all alone.
I don't like her, Lianna decides. Who cares if she tried so hard to be nice to me last night at dinner?
Lianna can tell Aimee is a total brownnoser. But Mom can't see that, so no wonder she's crazy about Aimee. She seems like the perfect daughter.
Unlike me.
"I'm sorry. Were you sleeping?"
"Ye-ah," Lianna intones to show her annoyance. "I like to sleep late in the summer."
"Actually, it isn't that late," Aimee says apologetically.
Lianna sneaks a peek at her bedside clock and is surprised to see that it isn't. What the heck is Aimee doing waking her up at eight thirty in the morning?
"Your mom asked me to take you over to one of your friend's houses."
Okay, that's even crazier.
She opens her mouth to inform Aimee that she's grounded, but thinks better of it. Maybe Mom forgot about that, considering everything that's gone on.
Instead, she asks Aimee, "Which friend's house?"
"She said it was up to you. I'm on my way to the hospital in Savannah, and she told me to tell you to call and make arrangements so I can drop you off."
"Mom isn't going to the hospital with you?"
"No, she's…" Aimee hesitates. "She's coming later."
That's odd. None of this adds up. Why wouldn't Mom rush off to the hospital first thing? That's what she said she was going to do last night, before they went to bed.
She had kissed Lianna's forehead and said, "I'll probably be gone when you wake up in the morning, but I'll call to check in during the day, okay?"
Oh, well.
Far be it from Lianna to question any change in plans that allows her to be sprung from this prison.
She swings her legs around the edge of the bed and tells Aimee, "I just have to take a shower, and get dressed, and eat breakfast. Then I'll call my friend… Devin."
She almost said Casey, but that would be pushing it. Tempting as it is to try and sneak a chance to set up a meeting with Kevin, she'd better not risk it.
Mom might be distracted, but she'd probably remember that Casey and her family are still away on vacation, which is the root of Lianna's being grounded in the first place.
No, she can't pull that again.
Kevin will just have to wait.
Even though he whined, when he called Saturday night, about not being able to see her any time soon, which definitely made her feel wanted. Naturally, she promised she'd sneak out of the house some night after everyone is asleep. Just not for a few more days, after her mother calmed down about last week's incident.
"Wait, Lianna." Aimee holds up her hand. "You don't have that much time."
"For what?"
"You know… a shower…Just throw on some clothes and we'll go. I'll take you someplace for breakfast on the way, and you can call your friend Devin from my cell phone in the car if you want."
Lianna narrows her eyes. "What's the big rush?"
It sounds like her mother's trying to get rid of her.
"I'm sorry… It's just that I want to get to my Dad," Aimee replies. "I had a hard time sleeping last night, I was so worried about him."
"Oh."
Who is Lianna to argue with that?
Especially with imminent freedom hanging in the ba
lance?
"Just let me find something to wear and brush my teeth, and I'll be right with you."
CHAPTER 12
Standing in the window of the front parlor, Charlotte watches Aimee drive away in her rental car with Lianna in the passenger's seat.
Thank goodness.
It was all she could do to act as though everything was normal when she gave her daughter a hurried kiss good-bye in the hall just now.
"Have fun at Devin's," she said. "I'll call later about picking you up when I'm through at the hospital." 'Thanks, Mom."
Lianna, who can be especially prickly in the mornings, was surprisingly docile. Charlotte was glad to see her leave, and grateful to Aimee for hustling her right out of here.
She heard her daughter ask Aimee, as they walked down the wide front steps, about the black sedan parked in the shade of a towering oak.
"I don't know whose it is," Aimee said convincingly. Probably the nurse who comes to see your aunt."
"She drives a Honda."
"Well, maybe she sent somebody else today." Without missing a beat, she said, "Hey, you know what? I saw a Bojangles off the highway on the way back from Savannah last night. Maybe we could stop there for breakfast on the way. Do you like biscuits?"
"They're okay," said Lianna.
Just okay? Charlotte thought in irritation. Bo-Berry Biscuits happen to be Lianna's all-time favorite thing to eat.
Obviously, she isn't going to go out of her way to be accommodating today. At least, not to Aimee.
Lianna's resentment of her stepsister was palpable at dinner last night. She barely spoke two words, and Charlotte spotted her sneaking a jealous glare at Aimee when Lianna thought she wasn't looking.
Oh, well. She'll come around sooner or later. Charlotte hopes so-for Aimee's sake, anyway.
What matters most now is that she's out of here.
Charlotte doesn't need to have her teenaged daughter involved in what's about to happen in this house.
She sighs, pressing her forehead against the screen, wishing she could go, too.
Royce will wonder why she isn't there. She told Aimee to tell him that she had some things to see to at home first and that she'll be along shortly.
"If he asks what they are, make up something," she cautioned her stepdaughter. 'Tell him I… I had to pay bills, or something."
She hates to lie, or have Aimee do it on her behalf, but there's no reason to alarm Royce by letting him know what's going on around here. Not right now, when all he should be focused on is recovering from his ordeal.
A floorboard creaks, and Dorado reappears in the doorway, a questioning look on his darkly handsome face.
"My daughter's gone," she tells him.
He nods. "All right."
She sees a flicker of sympathy in his eyes and wishes he would say something, anything, to make this less disturbing.
But he simply turns to leave the room, undoubtedly going to alert Williamson that the coast is clear.
The backup officers are already on their way, she knows. As soon as they arrive, Charlotte is certain, chaos will prevail.
Gib and the others will be questioned, and the detectives will be free to execute the search warrant they obtained before they arrived.
If Grandaddy really is haunting Oakgate, he's got to be furious about this, Charlotte thinks, shaking her head in dread as she hears heavy footsteps going up the stairs already.
"I still have no idea why you left everything to me and not to my cousins, but I really don't think Gib is guilty, Grandaddy," she whispers to his ghost. "I want to help him somehow. But there's nothing I can do for him now."
Then it comes to her, as if her grandfather's spirit really does exist, and is channeling thoughts into her head.
There is one thing she can do.
She hurries out of the parlor to make the necessary phone call.
Perched in her wheelchair before the oval mahogany cheval mirror, Jeanne stares vacantly at her reflection.
One story below, she can hear heavy footfalls, creaking floorboards, doors opening and closing, and the rumble of unfamiliar voices.
"Something is going on down there." Melanie's voice is an octave lower than usual and she frowns as she runs the brush through Jeanne's long white hair. "I don't like the sounds of it, Jeanne, do you?"
"No…"
The bristles tug at a snarl; Jeanne winces.
Melanie's reflection reveals that she doesn't even notice; her eyes dart expectantly toward the door with every stroke.
"What do you think is happening?" Jeanne asks nervously.
"I have no idea. Do you want me to go down and check?"
"I don't know. I'm afraid…"
The distinct crunch of rubber tires on the crushed-shell driveway floats up through the open window at the front of the house.
"Do you hear that? Somebody else is here," she informs Melanie, who has already lowered the brush and r is hurrying over to peer out.
"It's definitely a police car," she reports. 'This time, it's marked. But I knew those others were cop cars, too. f One, two, three… Why are all these police here, Jeanne? This isn't good. It isn't good at all."
Gnarled hands clenched into fists in her lap, Jeanne remains silent, staring at herself in the mirror-this time, really seeing what is there.
A sad, lonely old woman.
There was a time, in her youth, when she was quite beautiful, almost as great a beauty as her grandniece Charlotte, minus the distinctive Remington cleft chin, of course.
The first time Jeanne laid eyes on Charlotte the day Norris and Connie June brought her home as a newborn, that chin of hers surely put to rest any doubt that Charlotte was a Remington, through and through…
More importantly, that her father was, before her.
Unlike his older brother, Xavy, Norris never did favor his father's side of the family. He had the same long, lean build, but his coloring was different, lighter. He looked so little like a Remington, in fact, that outsiders occasionally teased Eleanore about the mailman.
She never laughed.
Within these tabby and brick walls, there was no teasing about Norris's looks. Gilbert managed to treat his second son the same as he did his namesake. But Jeanne knew her brother had his doubts about his paternity.
More importantly, Eleanore knew as well. Nothing would convince her stubbornly suspicious husband of her faithfulness.
Nothing during her lifetime, anyway. Eleanore didn't live to see the granddaughter whose birth put the question to rest.
Before Charlotte came along, Jeanne herself used to stare at Norris, looking for any resemblance to Jonathan Barrow, the handsome financier Eleanore met at one of her own dinner parties not long after Xavy was born.
In the wake of Gilbert's ac�
�cusations, Mr. Barrow was banned from Oakgate forever.
Jeanne longed to come right out and ask her sister-in-law, point-blank, if it was true she'd had an affair. Jeanne would have understood-in fact, wouldn't have blamed her sister-in-law if she had packed up the babies and left Gilbert altogether.
Nor would she have been surprised if Eleanore had threatened to take Gilbert's life-and her own-just as Jeanne's mother, Marie, had threatened, decades earlier brandishing a mother-of-pearl-handled pistol.
