The Lucky One

by Caroline Overington

  ‘That was the first you’d heard of the place?’ said Mack.

  ‘You sound surprised.’

  ‘I guess because it is kind of famous around here.’

  ‘Around here, maybe. But I’m not from around here,’ said Jesalyn, tucking a strand of blonde hair behind her ear. ‘I grew up in Orange County.’

  The sun, surf and plastic surgery capital of America. Of course you did, thought Mack.

  ‘Fair enough.’

  ‘My roommate always wanted to see inside the place. And I thought, fine, it will make a change from the clubs on Sunset Boulevard or whatever else we were doing back then. And, you know, I thought we might meet some interesting men.’

  Mack started.

  ‘Look at your face!’ said Jesalyn, snorting. ‘Don’t be so old-fashioned. We were young. We were single. And a Gatsby party sounded like fun. Beaded headbands. Long cigarette holders. Those stockings with seams down the back … God, thinking about it now, we must have looked so hot.’

  ‘I’m sure,’ said Mack.

  ‘Young and hot,’ said Jesalyn, foot swinging again. ‘So, anyway, we got into costume, and off we went. A red Miata – that was the car I had in those days. Top down. CDs blaring. Great fun. And it was only when we got to the castle that we realised: it wasn’t a Gatsby party. That had been the month before. This was a medieval costume party. Knights and dames. So all the other girls were in these long, velvet dresses, with those upside-down cones on their heads,’ she said, using her hands, with her long manicured fingers, to demonstrate, ‘and we were in dresses that were basically just long strings.’

  ‘And Jack was there?’

  ‘That’s right. He was on the gate,’ Jesalyn explained. ‘And I didn’t even notice him, at first. He was dressed as Friar Tuck. You know, in a tunic, with a cord belt? Older and overweight and just not my type. But things can change, can’t they?’ she said, reaching down to lift her slouchy studded handbag off the floor. ‘Somebody can be not your type and you can find yourself growing more attracted to them when they’re nice to you, or whatever.’

  Mack watched while Jesalyn unzipped her bag to remove a tube of lip gloss.

  ‘And he was nice to me that night,’ she continued, as she ran the pale pink wand across her lips. ‘He got me a drink. And then another one. And another one. Because – something else Jane and I didn’t know – this was a wine appreciation party, and you know what they’re like … I know it’s supposed to be just a little splash in the bottom of your glass, but I’m always like, “Just pour.”’

  She laughed and rubbed her shiny lips together.

  ‘I feel your pain,’ said Mack.

  ‘I’m sure you do,’ said Jesalyn. ‘Anyway I told Jack: “You’ll have to excuse me, I need to use the bathroom.” And he offered to help me skip the line, because the party – this was a big disappointment to my friend – wasn’t actually in the castle. It was in a marquee on the lawn with Porta-Potties, and ugh. But Jack said we could go inside and that was how I figured out he was the owner.’

  ‘That’s what he told you?’ queried Mack, curious. ‘That he was the owner?’

  ‘Oh, I can’t remember how he framed it,’ said Jesalyn, tucking the same strand of blonde hair back behind her ear, ‘but yes, he said something like: “Come with me, we’ll go inside,” and I said: “Are you sure? I don’t want to get in trouble with the owner.” And Jack said something like: “But I am the owner. And you’re already in trouble with me.”’

  ‘Cute,’ said Mack.

  Jesalyn laughed.

  ‘I guess it was cute!’ she said. ‘And he gave me a bit of a tour of the castle which, if you never saw it, was awful. I don’t know what Jack’s ancestors were trying to achieve when they built it, but as a place to live? Just terrible – full of dust and cobwebs and mouldy carpets and a lot of dead animals. And then we danced and we ate. And it was all served on spoons. I remember that. A mouthful of fish, then another spoonful of something else and you’re left starving. But anyway, when it was time to go, Jack offered to get my car, and then he said: “You can’t go without giving me your number.” And honestly, my instinct was to say no. Because there was a lot working against a relationship with Jack. I had a very nice life in LA, and like I said, he wasn’t my type. But what could I do?’ she continued, suddenly twisting the rings on her fingers, as if upset by the memory. ‘Because he was standing there, in that tunic, ready to write my number on the back of his hand. It would have been rude to say no. And I thought, Okay, well, if he calls, I can just make some excuse, but then when he did call, he had tickets to the Bowl,’ she said, her expression softening into a kind of nostalgia, ‘and I love the Bowl. Everyone does, obviously.’

  ‘So you said yes,’ said Mack.

  ‘I said yes,’ she agreed. ‘And it sort of went from there. Honestly, it just took off. Because Jack mightn’t have been much to look at … but he was a sensational lover.’

  Mack spluttered and tried to turn it into a cough.

  ‘God, men are such prudes. No, no, don’t get all funny,’ said Jesalyn, wagging a finger. ‘You wanted the story, here’s the story: big fat Jack Alden-Stowe swept me off my feet. The sex was good – very good.’

  Mack’s pen did not move.

  ‘No, come on, write that down,’ said Jesalyn, waving a hand over the notebook. ‘We got married very quickly. It was only a small wedding. I don’t have a huge family. No siblings. I have a cousin, Loren. She’s in Bienveneda. She married very well! She came along. And our marriage was good. We had a very healthy sex life. And that terrible housekeeper, Penelope Sidwell, couldn’t stand it. Honestly, from the day I arrived on the estate she made me feel unwelcome.’

  Mack dutifully made some notes.

  ‘Penelope in particular made you feel unwelcome?’ he repeated.

  ‘Yes, she did,’ said Jesalyn, adamant. ‘She, more than anyone, was over the moon when he died and I was left penniless.’

  Mack paused. ‘But you’re not penniless anymore, are you?’

  ‘No.’ Jesalyn laughed, foot still swinging. ‘Good call, Sergeant. I’m not penniless anymore, because the estate is finally sold.’

  ‘Because you sold it.’

  ‘Not just me,’ protested Jesalyn. ‘The family flogged it off, exactly when I always thought they would: right after Owen died.’

  ‘Right,’ said Mack. ‘But you’ve missed a step. Because he didn’t just die, did he? You set him on fire, didn’t you, and buried him in the clay?’

  ‘Oh, come on,’ said Jesalyn. ‘You make it sound like we did something terrible.’

  * * *

  Mack took a break from his interview with Jesalyn to prepare coffee in the station kitchen. Alexa, who had been watching proceedings through the two-way mirror, could barely contain her disgust.

  ‘She is an awful person,’ she said.

  ‘Whether she’s awful or not is not important,’ said Mack. ‘The question is: do we believe her?’

  ‘Why wouldn’t you believe her?’ said Alexa. ‘She confirmed everything Mrs Sidwell said. She’s confessing.’

  ‘Yes, but what is she confessing to?’ asked Mack, reaching for cups from the top cupboard.

  ‘What do you mean? She just said she buried the poor old man in his own graveyard. She’s horrible. And she won’t stop swinging her leg!’

  Mack opened his mouth to answer but was interrupted.

  ‘Boss?’

  A patrol officer had come into the kitchen. He was holding out a smartphone.

  ‘What’s wrong?’ said Mack.

  ‘Boss, it’s the Pinkhound people up on the estate. They found another one.’

  ‘Another what?’ asked Mack, but even as he reached for the phone, he knew.

  * * *

  Caroline Moyes was standing on the drawbridge, in front of the Alden Castle doors.

  ‘This is becoming a habit,’ said Mack.

  ‘This is turning into a nightmare,’ responded Caroline.

&
nbsp; ‘Tell me what happened,’ said Mack.

  Caroline sighed. ‘Okay, well, we had to stop digging in the cemetery so we moved over here to start … well, to start some work. And it seems like the workers were in the process of ripping the marble fireplace out and … okay, maybe you should just take a look for yourself?’

  ‘Taking the fireplace out?’ said Mack. ‘Doesn’t your agreement forbid wrecking this place?’

  ‘Again, I’m not sure that’s your jurisdiction,’ said Caroline, more wearily this time. ‘The power is off in there, so you’ll have to use your torch. You go through the first door on the right.’

  Mack stepped off the drawbridge, through the open timber door, with Alexa beside him, and a forensic officer in tow. He entered the room with the marble fireplace to find three Pinkhound labourers and the Pinkhound foreman waiting for him.

  ‘Gentlemen,’ he said.

  They acknowledged him with a nod.

  Mack flicked on his flashlight and approached the fireplace. Alexa, with a holstered gun on her hip, followed closely behind. Mack stepped onto the cavernous hearth, crouched down and shone his torch up into the flue.

  He said nothing but let his flashlight drop.

  Caroline put her hands on either side of her blonde bob.

  ‘So the foreman was right,’ she said.

  Mack said: ‘Can somebody get me a broom of some kind?’

  A broom could not be located but the foreman went outside and found a long branch from a eucalyptus tree. Mack took the stick, got under the flue, and gave the stick one good shove.

  The skeleton, caught skull down in the flue, exploded onto the hearth – dusty and small.

  A flood of horror burst through Alexa. She vomited on the floor.

  ‘Oh my God,’ she said, gasping. ‘How do you think it got in there?’

  ‘I’d say it came down the chimney,’ said Mack, then stepped back. Something else had fallen. A small, toy helicopter.

  ‘Oh God. Okay, looks like they’ve fallen quite a bit over the years, without making it all the way down,’ said Mack. ‘Let’s get some more police tape up and I want the rest of this building searched. Actually, every building on this estate should be searched. Come on,’ he said to Alexa, ‘let’s go.’

  ‘Where to?’ asked Alexa, bewildered by his sudden urgency.

  ‘To see the Kellys.’

  * * *

  The editor-in-chief of the Paso Monitor, Harry Prior, opened his laptop and began to type:

  First up today, the story everyone’s talking about: police were called to historic Alden Castle on Wednesday morning, following the discovery of a second corpse.

  The first one, they’re saying was the old man, Owen Alden-Stowe.

  This one, believe it or not, they think is Fraser Kelly, the boy who went missing all those years ago and everyone blamed the parents.

  My source – can’t name names – tells me the skeleton was stuck in the chimney, but how it got there … that’s anyone’s guess.

  Police have locked the place down because of the two bodies that have been found, I mean, that’s not the kind of thing you see every day.

  One body is mysterious but two is starting to look like a serial killer!

  No, just kidding! Nobody is saying that … YET.

  Either way, stay tuned to the Paso Monitor. We’ll keep you up to date!

  * * *

  Mack closed his laptop. ‘This is turning into a circus,’ he said.

  ‘That’s just Harry’s style,’ said Alexa. ‘But he’s right about one thing: people are going to be worried.’

  Mack nodded, because Alexa was right: the discovery of one body on the Alden-Stowe Estate was bad but two …

  ‘Where do we start?’ said Alexa.

  Mack thought for a minute. To his mind, they had two choices: he could call the FBI – Paso was a small town with its own police headquarters, but they did occasionally call for outside assistance – or he could forge on, with the solid team already behind him.

  ‘We can handle this,’ he said. ‘We just need to take things one step at a time. You’re already doing brilliantly. We need to speak to everyone who has lived there over the years: Owen’s daughter Fiona and her family, and didn’t you say that Jesalyn has a daughter?’

  ‘She does. Eden Alden-Stowe. She’s just turned eighteen.’

  ‘If she’s eighteen, we can talk to her. We’re trying to figure out who on the estate is evil, right? If it’s the mom, the teenage daughter will know.’

  PART TWO

  Eden

  Is my mom evil?

  I don’t know. It’s a hard question for me to answer. All I know is what she did – what they said she did – and I agree, it doesn’t look good, but I guess people have to hear the story and make up their own minds.

  This was how it started.

  It was September 2016. I was seventeen years old, and a boarder at the Briar Ridge Learning Academy in the San Jacinto Mountains. It’s a progressive school, which basically means the kids sit in coloured beanbags instead of school chairs, and their parents pay a lot for the privilege.

  Except for me. I was on a scholarship.

  My mother, Jesalyn, was living about two hours away in a rent-controlled apartment in Silver Lake, outside Hollywood, and working in a health food shop to make ends meet. I had a part-time job in the village of San Jacinto, so I didn’t have to rely on her for clothes and my phone and other things that kids need.

  My father, Jack Alden-Stowe, was dead.

  We were getting towards mid-term break, and I was leaning against a beanbag in my history class, when Briony from the front office popped her head around the door.

  My teacher looked up, quizzical.

  ‘Sorry to disturb,’ Briony said. ‘Could I have Eden Alden-Stowe?’

  I looked at her as if to say: ‘Me?’

  Briony nodded, saying: ‘Eden, could you come with me? Bring your things.’

  My first thought was: What could this be about? I’d done nothing wrong as far as I knew and Briar Ridge being progressive meant it was almost impossible to get into trouble.

  ‘Is everything all right?’ I asked.

  ‘Everything’s fine,’ said Briony. She was skipping down the hall ahead of me in a tight pair of ballet slippers, with ribbon laces up her calves, ‘It’s just that your mom is here.’

  My mom is here?

  Why would Mom come to Briar Ridge a week before the start of the mid-term break?

  ‘Do you know why?’ I said, running a little to keep up with Briony.

  ‘I have no clue,’ said Briony, ‘but she’s in with Dr White.’

  Dr White is Dr Helen Colvin White. She’s the founder of Briar Ridge, and she’s been principal for a record-breaking twenty-two years. People who don’t know her maybe hear she’s a school principal and think, Oh, okay, I know what a school principal might look like, but she’s not stout and sensible in a navy skirt. She’s lean like a bean, and she keeps her hair in a long grey plait that lies like a rope over her shoulder. Some people want to know, does she ever change her clothes? To which I don’t have an answer because the only thing I ever saw her wearing was the same patchwork dress with tiny mirrors.

  The door to her office was open. Briony put her head through.

  ‘Here’s Eden.’

  I went inside and Briony disappeared. Dr White was sitting on one side of her pedestal desk with her framed diplomas to her right, and a dreamcatcher in the window on her left. Mom sat facing her in the visitor’s chair, but she turned when she heard Briony’s voice, stretched a bejangled arm out in my direction, and said: ‘There’s my baby girl!’

  I hurried forward, saying: ‘Hey, Mom. Is everything okay?’

  Mom said: ‘Yes, yes, it’s nothing to worry about. Oh, Eden, I’m so glad to see you.’

  I felt confused, because on the one hand Mom looked just like Mom always looked – lean, blonde, tanned – but on the other hand, why was she there?

  ‘It�
��s not bad news,’ she said, reading my mind. ‘It’s good news. Great news!’

  Dr White rose from her desk and asked us to join her in the comfortable chairs on the other side of her office. Mom took me by the hand and we ended up sitting side by side on the sofa.

  Dr White sat opposite, in a soft armchair, adjusting the fan of brochures on the coffee table in front of her.

  ‘Eden, your mom has something she’d like to share.’

  Mom beamed and said: ‘Yes! I have great news! We’re going home.’

  Home?

  My first thought, and I remember this clearly, was: Okay, but where is that? Because my family history is complicated. I was born in Paso Robles in central California, and I spent the first ten years of my life in a property known as Alden Castle – yes, it’s an actual castle – and the next three in a new house that Mom built to replace our home in the castle on the Alden-Stowe Estate, but it had been four years since I’d been back there.

  Mom said: ‘Well, come on. Aren’t you excited?’

  ‘I guess,’ I said uncertainly, ‘but what do you mean, home? You mean the estate? Now? Before the break? But why? Is something wrong?’

  ‘Nothing’s wrong.’ Mom was laughing. ‘Let’s just say I’ve had a little breakthrough.’

  ‘Maybe we should slow down.’ Dr White was smoothing her voluminous skirt with her hands. ‘This is coming out of the blue for Eden. Let’s give her time to process. How long since you’ve been back to Alden Castle, Eden?’

  I said: ‘I haven’t been back there since I started here.’

  ‘Okay,’ said Dr White, ‘and how do you feel about going back?’

  ‘She’s going to love it!’ said Mom, her voice high with excitement. ‘She always loved it there.’

  ‘Eden?’ pressed Dr White.

  ‘Well, I guess I’m confused,’ I said. ‘Because, I mean, didn’t we get asked to leave?’

  * * *

  We took the I-5N out of Los Angeles, with me curled up in the front passenger seat, and Mom drumming her fingers on the steering wheel, like she had the most delicious secret.