Fearing that things could get violent, Cassandra looked up at him, her soft brown eyes pleading. “Granger, stop! Don't say something you'll regret, something you can't take back. She's still your mother, no matter what.”
Still looking at his mother with a feral light in his eyes, he nodded his head towards his wife and said, “The lamb amongst us wolves, wouldn't you say, mother? She didn't know what a sick and fucked up legacy she was walking into, did she? I saw her, and wanted her, but never once considered the kind of evil I was bringing her into. We almost destroyed her, didn't we? We're cancer, nothing more. We attached ourselves to that sweet and honest woman, and started slowly eating away at all that is good in her. Given time, we'll destroy all the good in her and Regan, if they stay with us, isn't that right? They'll just be causalities of our thirst for power, right, Grace?”
Shaking her head wildly, she begged, “Granger, no, not Regan! Please don't say those things, I would never hurt him, I love him!”
“Give me a fucking break, you don't give a tin-shit about my son!” he sneered.
Forgetting her own fear and her usual penchant for self-preservation, she grabbed one of his arms and pleaded, “No! Hate me all you want, but you won't hurt my grandson, he's just an innocent child!”
“Innocent child? Exactly! He needs to be protected from people like you and me, right, Grace? Like I was when I was about his age, and got the shit beat out of me for trying to protect you. Did you defend me? Why didn't you protect me, Grace? Why didn't you protect my brother that I knew nothing about?” You just don't want Regan to know what kind of person grandma REALLY is, right?” Shaking himself free from her frantic grip, he in turn grabbed her arm and snarled, “ Come on, come with me. You can hear me tell him alllll about Grandma! What a lying whore you really are!” he said, his earlier resolve to not use the word crumbling. “This should be fun, don't you think? It'll be just like old times, the kind of family bonding my dad and I did the night he died!”
Grabbing one of his arms with both hands, Cassandra cried, “Granger, NO! My son will not be a party to this! This is between you and your mother to work out. I'll stand by you and support you every step of the way, but I won't let you hurt him just because you're hurting right now. And if you do this, you'll hate yourself for it once you've calmed down and started thinking clearly. Words can't be taken away, you KNOW this, look how your father's words affected you! Baby, you've been through so much, you carried this pain around so long, and have every right feel hurt and betrayed. You must know honey, good or bad, Grace is his Grandmother, and he loves her dearly. I can't stand by and allow you to destroy that love, and YOU may even lose his love and respect if you do this. Remember what you felt like when your dad was doing the things you had no control over? Do you really want to do the same to your son? You're not your father, you’re a better man than that!”
Perhaps it was her gentle touch, or her words, or both, but the raging beast within him slowly started to dissipate like fog underneath a hot July sun. He realized she was right, he couldn't hurt his son the same way he himself had been. Turning to Grace, he spoke in a slow, deliberate voice as he nodded his head in his wife's direction. “Now SHE is a mother. She wants to protect our son. She's never been worried or preoccupied over money and power, instead, she puts the child she brought into this world FIRST. Mother, excuse me....GRACE...you have one hour, exactly one fucking hour, to gather your belongings and leave. You are NOT to set foot, ever again, on any properties owned by me. The only thing you will receive is the allowance that was left for you in my father's will, and no more. Try to take it to court, and I'll personally see to it that every sleazy tabloid from coast to coast, every person that we know, will learn the entire, sordid history of the Mortensen family, from the time you first met my father, up to the night you let me believe I killed him. You'll be shunned and mocked, and to be honest, if it takes ruining MYSELF in the process in order to get you, I won't bat an eye.
“Granger, please, you can't do thi.....”
“I CAN, and I WILL.” he interrupted harshly. “You have enough money to where you'll never have to work a day in your life, you know that, and I know that, but that's not what you fear the most, is it? All the dirty little secrets coming out, that's the only thing that matters to you, isn't it? It matters more than your own children. It always has.”
“Granger please, PLEASE, where will I go, what will I d.....”
“You can decide that when you get there, Grace.” he interrupted again. “You're wasting your hour, better get to packing.”
“I'll call you, once you've calmed down!” she sobbed.
“Don't bother. I never want to lay eyes on you again, I never want to hear your voice again. Goodbye, Grace.” he dismissed her coldly.
Wailing forlornly, she turned and fled from the room, not bothering to close the door behind her.
Looking around the room, Granger was silent for a moment, then spoke in a quiet voice. “I'm sorry all of you had to witness that.” Shaking his head, he walked to the large window looking out on the estate, wishing he could run away and forget everything.
Everyone remaining glanced at one another uncertainly, not knowing what to say or do.
Walking slowly to the bar, Satin poured herself a stiff belt of Chivas Regal, then tossed it back in one gulp. This is the very reason I would never marry, it's too easy to get caught up in these twisted family dramas! She thought as she stared at the bottom of the empty glass.
Everyone in the room suddenly jumped as a loud explosion echoed throughout the mansion.
“Was that what I think it was?” Jocelyn asked, wide-eyed with shock. “Was it a gunsho...” her voice trailed off as they all heard what sounded like a young woman screaming hysterically.
“MOTHER!” Granger wailed, bolting from the window and running through the open doorway, then down the hall.
“Oh fuck.” Satin muttered as her glass slipped through her suddenly nerveless fingers and crashed to the floor. Running after Granger and calling his name desperately, she was only dimly aware that the others were following.
*********************************
Stumbling out the front door, Satin's damp hands shook as she dug through her bag and pulled out her emergency flask. The dull, dinged-up container was one of two that her late Uncle Rock, a hard-living Vietnam Veteran, had left her. The other he had left to her brother. At present the flask contained some very potent strawberry moonshine one of her clients gifted to her every holiday.
Quickly screwing the cap off, she took two swigs. Coughing as the rot gut burned all the way down to her stomach, she screwed the cap back on and dropped the container back in her bag. Sitting down on the front steps wearily, she closed her eyes and tried to tell herself that the tears stinging her eyes were simply from the strong drink, but in her heart, she knew better. Trying to force the image of what she witnessed minutes before from her mind, she whispered, “My God, I had a hand in that woman’s suicide. It was my fault, mine.” Crossing her arms over her knees, she rocked back and forth slowly and waited for the police to arrive.
*******************************
Detective Brian Lamont's unmarked sedan came to a screeching halt in front of the estate, with several police cruisers and an ambulance right behind him.
Jumping out of the car, he held up a hand to halt the rescue squad, who were already unloading medical equipment. “It's a shots-fired call, wait until we clear the scene!” he ordered. Taking the lead, he drew his weapon and motioned for two uniformed officers to follow.
Cautiously making their way to the still figure on the steps, Brian's heart sank as he recognized the woman. SATIN! Oh my God, please don't let her be hurt...he prayed. Throwing caution to the wind, he sprinted towards her. Although he couldn't see any visible injuries, there was blood on her sleeves. “What the hell." he muttered. Slowing down, he was torn with indecision on how to approach the woman, which was unusual for him.
“Let me se
e your hands! Get them up, NOW!” one of the uniformed officers, a Sergeant, barked.
Satin's head popped up like a Jack in the Box. Glaring at the two uniformed officers, whose weapons were trained on her, she gave them a contemptuous snort. Seeing them made the weakness she had been feeling moments earlier disappear, and the hard-ass people expected to see resurfaced.
Brian was overjoyed, to say the least, when the short woman he secretly admired leaped to her feet with hellfire and brimstone in her eyes.
“Put those damn guns away, you fucking Barney Fife wannabes'! You make me sick!” Smoothing her ruined silk shirt, she sneered, “What, you see a black women sitting on the steps of this big ass house and automatically think she has to be the perpetrator? So fucking typical! It was a suicide, you Mayberry flunkies! She's inside.”
Seeing that she was her usual self, Brian grinned in spite of the seriousness of the situation and quietly ordered the patrolmen to lower their weapons. Walking up to her, he still sensed something wasn't quite right though, because her entire body, from head to toe, was trembling almost imperceptibly. The hellcat really is shaken, maybe she's going into mild shock…he thought. Turning to the two officers, he said, “Go on in, and make sure only authorized personal are allowed at the scene. You know the drill.”
“Yes sir.” the sergeant replied briskly. Motioning for the younger officer to follow, he walked up the steps and glanced at Satin impassively as he passed her.
Hearing a throaty, chopping noise that was growing louder by the second, Brian glanced up at the sky and spotted what looked like a media helicopter approaching the area. Cursing like a madman, he spat, “Damn, that was fast, the vultures!”
“Like you actually care.” Satin muttered.
Ignoring the remark, he glanced at her, holstered his weapon, then reached out and gripped both her arms. Although he wanted nothing more than to pull her into his embrace and comfort her, he knew better than to even try. “Are you alright?” he asked in a soft voice.
Looking into his soulful brown eyes, she thought the man's voice held genuine compassion. Suddenly, she found herself wanting, needing, to feel herself in his arms, needed to hear his soothing voice telling her everything would be alright. What the fuck! Her inner voice screamed. What the hell is wrong with you, he'll think you're weak! You're no weak-kneed Damsel in Distress! Snatching her arms away as if they had been burned, she took a step back and mentally donned her impregnable armor. “Yeah, I'm fine.” she muttered, then bent to pick up her purse.
Hearing more cars pull up, Brian turned to see several town officials arriving on the scene. His heart sank as he saw the mayor, nearly all of the police department brass, and the Commonwealth Attorney, Darren Radcliffe, stepping out of their respective official vehicles.
“What the hell is this shit?” Satin growled as the group approached them briskly. Pushing Brian out of the way, she stopped the group at the foot of the stairs, standing in their way defiantly. “This is not a fucking side show, you leeches! You're like flies on shit, every one of you!” she sneered, her tiny nose wrinkling in disgust.
Darren Radcliffe, a dead ringer for the man who had played the role of Otis, the town drunk on the Andy Griffith Show, stepped towards his arch enemy and huffed, “Now you listen here, Johnson! This is one of the town's, hell, one of the STATE'S most prominent families. We're here to make sure things are done correctly.”
Behind Radcliffe, every man nodded solemnly in agreement, and the sight reminded Satin of the bobble head figures that could be purchased at sporting events.
“No, YOU listen here, Otis.” she fumed as she stuck a finger in his pudgy chest. “You're not dealing with the kind of person you're used to dealing with here, which is some backwater hick who only bathes on Easter Sunday and for funerals. You're not fooling me, any of you! This is nothing more than a Goddamn photo-op, at this family’s expense! I swear, Paris Hilton should take Media Whore 101 classes from you assclowns!”
Brian bit the inside of his mouth to keep from laughing. This tiny little ball of fire had the town's most powerful, connected men cowering. Although I'm really going to have to do something about that foul mouth of hers, she cusses more than a horny sailor on leave....he thought.
“As Granger Mortensen's attorney, I expect you to treat Grace Mortensen's death with respect, ALL of you." she barked as she looked at each man in turn. “Mr. Mortensen is a big contributor to many of your campaigns, and I'm sure he'll remember how you handled this situation. And you can bet your tiny little balls that I'll tell him what each and every one of you did.”
Mayor Wherry, who was currently fending off attempts from rivals to impeach him from office, visibly flinched. His public image was already in near ruin after his wife had filed for divorce and told reporters about his habit of wearing pink, lacy women's underwear underneath his suits, and all about his mistress he kept on the side. His wife had caught the two of them at a hotel one afternoon. She had bribed the clerk at the desk to let her in the room, and had caught his mistress in the act of spanking him while he wore a diaper. His only hope at all to win the next election was to get big money support from men like Granger Mortensen. Clearing his throat and stepping forward importantly, he looked at the group and stammered, “Uhhh, gentlemen, I think the young lady is right, perhaps we were a bit hasty in our....eagerness to see things done properly. Perhaps we should wait, and release an official statement to the press after the scene has been processed.”
Everyone but Radcliffe nodded, then turned and walked back to a police cruiser, where they huddled and spoke in hushed tones
Glaring at Satin for a moment with utter hatred and loathing, Radcliffe wisely held his tongue and stalked back to his county vehicle. Climbing inside, he slammed the door shut angrily and lit a cigarette.
Brian was impressed with her ability to make even his bosses back down, when the truth of the matter was, they had every right to be there. She needs a man that can control her, a man like me! He thought. The very day he had joined the department, he had been warned about her. 'The Iron Maiden' was her nickname in the squad room. It was a nickname she had earned because of her vicious and aggressive defense of her clients in the courtroom. She had made many a patrolman, character witnesses, medical experts, and even seasoned detectives look like monkeys on the witness stand, and had made many enemies because of it. The only people (besides himself) who did seem to like her were former jury members, who had been enthralled and endlessly entertained by her over-the-top courtroom antics. It was also a running joke in the community that she had spent more time in jail than most of her clients, as a result of angry judges constantly citing her for contempt of court. He only wished she would give that same kind of devotion to cops who worked hard to serve and protect the community.
“If you're done looking at me all moon-eyed, I'll explain what happened.” she snapped. But the truth was, she was uncomfortable with the way he was looking at her, and the unfamiliar, intense feelings it was stirring deep within her. He's a cop, the enemy! She reminded herself.
“I need to talk to the Mortenson's, and any other witnesses first.” he replied in a cold voice, making sure she knew he wouldn't be intimidated by her, as so many others were.
Not even realizing it herself, she took a step back and ran a hand over her face. With a heavy sigh, she reached out and grabbed his arm. “Wait, listen to me. It was a suicide. A staff member witnessed Grace pull the trigger. The Mortensen's aren't calm enough to talk yet. You can understand that Mr. Mortensen is inconsolable. Jocelyn, his mother -in- law, and Cassandra took him to the guest house. I phoned a grief counselor, she's on her way here now.”
“Ok.”
Releasing his arm, she turned and led the way up the steps and through the front door.
*********************************
Stepping inside the breath taking home, Brian saw several people standing in the foyer, trying to comfort a young black woman, who was weeping quietly.
“
That's Latasha Weeks, she witnessed it. The poor girl happened to walk in just as Grace pulled the trigger. I think the counselor will have to see her too.” Satin said in a low voice as she watched Malcolm and other staff members trying to comfort the upset girl.
“I'll speak to her after I take in the scene.” he answered in a quiet, respectful tone, then motioned with one hand at everything, and nothing. “Lead the way.”
Once they were out of earshot of the staff, he muttered, “Care to tell me how you got the blood on your shirt?”
“I was checking for a pulse, and it got on me somehow. I wasn't exactly in a cool, calm, collective state of mind at the time, ya' know?”
“Perfectly understandable.” he muttered just as she motioned to a room on their right.
Leading him inside a lavish room that looked like a private office, Satin stopped just inside the doorway and stood there in silence, staring at the floor. She had witnessed death before, but this was something different altogether. It was so senseless, and pain, coupled with guilt, lanced her heart as she again thought of the role she had played in the woman's death.
Remember Me Page 55
