They exchanged words. Eden took the handles of Margaret’s chair, and began pushing her away from the funeral home.
‘Wait,’ cried Jesalyn, who had likewise been watching. ‘Where are you two going?’
Mack was close enough to hear Margaret say: ‘She’s pushing me home. My knee is aching. I need a painkiller. And I need a drink. And I need to get out of here. Funerals are depressing for old people. The next one is likely to be mine. People forget that.’
Eden said to her mom: ‘I won’t be long. I’ll take Margaret home and come back. Or else I’ll get an Uber to your hotel.’
Jesalyn nodded, but to Mack, she seemed wary.
Eden pushed on. Margaret was light but Eden was small and the hill ahead of them was steep. He glanced towards Jesalyn, and saw that she was deep in conversation with Fiona.
They had turned their backs. They were not watching.
He strode forth, using every inch of his wide gait to catch Eden.
‘Hello,’ he said, hand already in the inside pocket of his jacket, to withdraw his wallet with the golden badge. ‘I’m Sergeant Helber. Can I give you girls a ride?’
‘I know who you are. And we don’t need a ride. Don’t you know they built the funeral home very close to the retirement village,’ said Margaret wryly. ‘That way, we don’t have far to go whenever one of us drops dead.’
‘You’re funny,’ said Eden.
‘But it’s uphill and my truck is just here,’ said Mack, signalling towards the street. ‘I can get that wheelchair in the back and take both of you.’
‘What do you think, Eden?’ said Margaret.
‘I think we should say yes,’ said Eden, clearly relieved.
Mack seized control of the handles and began pushing Margaret towards the street. Fiona rushed forward, saying: ‘Oh, Sergeant Helber, let me do that.’
‘No, no, you leave him be,’ said Margaret. ‘This lovely sergeant is taking me home.’
‘But your children are here,’ cried Fiona, ‘and the grandchildren!’
‘Yes, and I’ve seen quite enough of them. And I will see them again for lunch the first Sunday of the month, like I always do. Now come on, Sergeant, you promised to get me out of here.’
Mack pushed the chair towards his truck. Alexa was already there, waiting by her patrol car.
‘I’m going to take Mrs Stoughton home,’ he said. Alexa seemed surprised.
‘Okay,’ she said.
‘So I’ll see you back at the station.’
‘Very good.’
Mack buzzed the doors of the truck open and positioned himself in front of Margaret. She was frail and tiny and said nothing as he lifted her out of the wheelchair and into the passenger seat. She continued to sit quietly as he loaded the chair onto the back tray, while she examined the interior of the truck – the old thumbed book of maps wedged between the dash and the windscreen, and the scented four-leaf clover hanging from the rear vision mirror – before saying: ‘I take it this isn’t a formal police interview? I was looking forward to lights and sirens.’
‘This is an old man, making sure the pretty lady gets home,’ said Mack.
‘Flatterer,’ said Margaret, looking pleased. ‘Eden, you hop in the back.’
Eden climbed up.
‘You need directions?’ said Margaret.
‘I think I can find it,’ said Mack.
They drove away from the funeral home, with Mack conscious of Fiona watching them from her side of the street. It was a warm day and he reached forward and fiddled with the air-conditioner. ‘Let me get some cool air in here.’
‘Don’t mind me,’ said Margaret, folding one pale hand with loose skin and raised blue veins on top of the other one.
They pulled onto the private road inside the retirement village. Margaret directed Mack from the gate towards her cottage, the last in the cul-de-sac.
‘Nice place,’ he said.
‘No, it isn’t,’ said Margaret.
‘You don’t like it?’
‘I’ve adapted. Just stop there,’ she said pointing.
Mack stopped and said: ‘Let me help you down.’
The truck door creaked as Mack pulled it open.
‘Look at the size of you,’ Margaret said, as he reached in to take her in his arms. ‘Did you play basketball?’
‘No but I wish I had a dollar for every time a person asked me that,’ said Mack.
The skin on Margaret’s arms moved like water when he touched her. She smelt of hairspray and old age. They went up to the front door together, with Mack taking Margaret by the arm, promising to come back for the chair.
Margaret fiddled with the clip on her handbag and fetched out her door key. Her hands were cramped with arthritis, and one knee – the one wrapped in bandages under her skirt – gave her trouble when the bag knocked against it. Eden took the key from her and opened the door.
There was a walker right inside. Margaret seemed relieved to see it. Eden helped her bend slightly to grasp both handles. From there, Margaret was fine, setting off, with the tennis balls leading the way.
‘Just leave the chair,’ she said. ‘We can fold it up later.’
Before long, she was seated by the kitchen table, with the end of a cigarette in her mouth. Even while smoking, she was able to remove her blazer to reveal a thin and bra-less body under her sleeveless blouse. Eden could see the sides of her ribcage near the pale skin of her armpits.
‘There’s wine in the pantry,’ she said.
Eden opened the blue-painted door. There were at least twenty bottles inside, all labelled ‘Stoughton’s’.
‘My son just did a restock,’ she said, ‘and in a week he’ll come and find it gone and complain that I drink too much.’
Eden selected a bottle, poured and took the wine to Margaret in a goblet. Margaret sipped contentedly, then said to Mack: ‘Do you want a glass?’
‘I better not but I’d love a cup of tea.’
‘Let Eden do it,’ said Margaret. ‘She knows where everything is.’
Eden said: ‘I do?’ but got up and put the kettle on.
Mack was strolling around the cottage, admiring photographs, as Eden came back to the table carrying two mugs with teabag tags dangling.
‘Would you like some pizza?’ asked Margaret, opening a cold box and moving it in Eden’s direction.
‘I’m fine,’ said Eden and Mack said: ‘Oh no, I’m fine, too.’
‘Did you enjoy the service?’ Eden asked, as Margaret snuffed out her cigarette with one hand and reached into the pizza box with the other.
‘I thought it was a tragedy. Owen never wanted to leave that estate. You know that as well as I do,’ said Margaret. ‘What’s more shocking is how they found that little boy in the chimney but nobody seems to want to talk about that.’
‘We’re investigating,’ said Mack. ‘I might be back here to talk to you about it.’
Margaret laughed, saying: ‘You think I had something to do with it?’
‘What do they think happened?’ Eden asked. ‘Did he break in and get stuck? Why was he playing up there?’
‘I guess I shouldn’t speculate,’ said Mack. ‘But you were on the estate when he went missing, weren’t you?’
Eden nodded, saying: ‘Definitely. Dad was alive. We were living in the pavilion. But I don’t remember Fraser. I never met him. I can’t remember him coming to the estate ever.’
‘Well, he was quite clearly there at some point,’ said Margaret.
Eden turned towards Mack. ‘I remember the police asking everyone if they could check their stables, check their barns,’ she said. ‘I remember Dad going out to search. It was scary. People were saying: Serial killer! Child snatcher! That’s terrifying when you’re a kid.’
‘If you were living in the pavilion, the castle must have been sealed up,’ said Margaret.
‘I guess so. People are asking: “Why didn’t we smell it?”’
‘It’s not a bad question,’ said Margaret light
ing another cigarette. ‘But you’re not here to talk about Fraser, are you, Sergeant Helber? You want to talk about Earl.’
Mack said: ‘Me?’
Margaret said: ‘Yes, you.’
Mack thought: I don’t want to talk about Earl. Why would I want to talk about Earl?
Margaret continued: ‘And this one. She wants to talk about Earl, too.’ She pointed her cigarette at Eden, who squirmed, embarrassed.
‘I just think it’s weird that I haven’t heard anything from him since Pop was found,’ she said, ‘and every time I ask about him, they all look the other way. It’s freaking me out, Auntie Margaret.’
‘Well, no reason to be freaked out, as you put it. Money does that to people,’ said Margaret. ‘It’s the strangest currency of all, money.’ She put down her cigarette out and picked up a slice of cold pizza.
‘Yes, but just because they gave him money … I mean, why does that mean nobody’s heard from him?’
Mack echoed: ‘Nobody’s heard from him?’
‘I’m sure Penelope’s heard from him,’ said Margaret. ‘And I’m sure he’s got his reasons. He got his share of the deposit when the place got sold, and by now he’ll have the rest.’
Eden looked up from the drifting colours in her mug. ‘The rest?’ she said, confused.
‘Yes. They took the nine million, paid off the debt, gave a tip to me, and split the rest three ways. One-third to Jes, for you, Eden; one third to Fiona’s family; one-third to Penelope to give to Earl. Two million dollars. That’s what I heard.’
Mack, now, said: ‘They gave Penelope two million dollars?’
‘But why?’ said Eden.
‘Why?’ repeated Margaret. She held her lighter to another cigarette, drew back, and casually sipped at her wine like what she had to say was nothing spectacular. ‘Don’t tell me you don’t know why?’ She paused, looked into Eden’s perplexed face, then at Mack. ‘Oh, my heart. You really have no idea, do you?’
‘I guess I don’t,’ said Eden.
‘I’m sure I don’t,’ said Mack.
‘Jack was Earl’s father,’ said Margaret. ‘He’s your half-brother. Don’t tell me they didn’t tell you that?’
Eden put her mug down so suddenly the contents slopped out.
‘Are you sure?’ she said.
‘Am I sure?’ repeated Margaret, clearly enjoying her moment. ‘I’m a witness to the document.’
‘The document?’
‘Yes, yes,’ said Margaret. ‘Your father signed a document, after he got married, to make sure that Earl would always be acknowledged. And I have a copy. To make sure the boy didn’t get cheated out of his share.’
Mack said: ‘Do you still have a copy of this document?’
‘Obviously I do.’
Margaret lifted her bony bottom out of her chair and reached across the table to the cookie tin.
‘Of course, you only have to look at him,’ she said, as her old, bent fingers began easing the lid off. ‘Here,’ she said, passing a manila envelope she’d retrieved from the tin directly to Eden.
Eden took it and held it for a moment, before quietly untying the string. The document was long and the language was formal, but the key part was this:
By my signature, I acknowledge paternity of the child known as Earl James Sidwell, eldest son of Penelope Louise Sidwell, of the Alden-Stowe Estate, on the Chimney Rock Road, Paso Robles.
By my signature, I accept my responsibilities in this regard.
In particular, I acknowledge my son’s right to live on the Alden-Stowe Estate at least until he attains the age of twenty-five.
I further acknowledge my son’s right to an equal share in the profits from the eventual sale of the estate by the Alden-Stowe Family Trust.
It was signed: ‘Owen James Alden-Stowe IV’ and in brackets, as if to make things clear, ‘(Jack)’.
* * *
Eden left Margaret sitting at the pine table with her goblet of wine. Mack had to piece together what happened next, but from what she later told him, she walked briskly back to the funeral home.
The crowd had dispersed. She turned left, down White Street, towards the hotel where her mother was staying.
Mid-morning had become afternoon and the sun was high. Eden went through the reception area. The motel was of traditional design, with one floor of rooms around a central courtyard containing a kidney-shaped pool.
Nothing posh.
She found her mother stretched out on a pool bed, wearing sunglasses and coconut oil.
‘Why didn’t you tell me?’
Jesalyn sat up.
‘Tell you what?’ she said.
‘You know what.’
‘You’re talking in riddles,’ said Jesalyn, but it seemed to Eden that she was panicking. She stood and wrapped a nautical-patterned towel around her body, a defensive move, and got up from the pool bed.
‘Why didn’t you tell me about Earl?’
Jesalyn pursed her lips, resigned.
‘Well, what was I supposed to say?’ she said. ‘The whole thing was ridiculous, anyway. What were you even doing, hanging around with him? I told you to stay away from him,’ she said, ‘but you didn’t listen, Eden. You never listen.’
‘You didn’t say why.’
‘I shouldn’t have to say why. I’m your mother. Your father made a mistake. A silly mistake. It was before I came on the scene. Penelope didn’t want anyone to know. So we kept her secret. Not that it stopped her, always being so hideous to me! But finally, she told him. She gave him his money and now he’s gone.’
Eden said: ‘You should have told me.’
Jesalyn tightened the towel around her breasts.
‘Why?’ she said. Then: ‘Oh my God. You didn’t do anything did you?’
Eden didn’t answer.
‘Oh Eden, don’t tell me … oh, my God, you did.’
* * *
Mack drove his truck home. Margaret’s decision to reveal what she knew about Earl had changed everything. He would need to speak to Penelope again. And to Jesalyn. To everyone. He prepared a simple meal of store-bought taco shells, ground beef and lettuce and sat in his favourite armchair, ready to examine the files again, when he heard a knock at his door.
He checked his watch. It was almost midnight. He wondered who it could be.
He rose from the armchair, strode down the hallway on long legs, and peered through the peephole. He raised his hand to turn the deadlock, and opened the door, leaving the chain in place, as if to confirm what he’d seen.
Who he’d seen.
He removed the security chain and opened the door more fully.
‘Hello there,’ he said.
Eden stood on the porch. She was wearing the same outfit she’d been wearing all day: a black nylon top with a short skirt and white sneakers, with hair short and slicked back.
She looked tired. Not physically tired. Emotionally.
‘Would you like to come in?’ said Mack.
Eden shook her head. A moth, attracted by the porch light, fluttered around her face and she waved it away with a tiny hand. Mack was remembering something Alexa had said when she’d seen Eden at the service for Owen: ‘Look at her. She’s California-pretty.’ But also achingly young.
‘What can I do for you?’ said Mack, looking down at her.
Eden had a slouchy bag with pointy studs strung across her body. She reached inside and handed Mack a small square device.
Mack reached out and took it.
‘I found this at Alden Castle last time I was there,’ Eden said. ‘I wasn’t sure what to do with it. But now I think you should have it.’
Mack turned the device over in his hands. It looked to him like a camera, although not a traditional one. This device was much smaller than cameras he’d known as a boy. It was a small cube, encased in a clear plastic shell, with some kind of digital display, and a tiny lens and no embellishments.
‘It’s a GoPro,’ said Eden. ‘It had a motion-sensor attached to it bu
t I took that off. It belongs to Fletcher’s old girlfriend, Sol.’
‘Is there something on here that you want me to see?’ he asked, but Eden didn’t answer that question directly.
‘I just thought you’d be interested,’ she said. And with that, she turned in her white canvas sneakers and hurried back down the path.
* * *
Mack’s first call the next morning was to Penelope. He told her straight: ‘I need to see you either at your home or in my office.’
There was nothing in his tone of voice that gave her room to move.
‘I’ll come to you,’ she said. ‘I’ll be on the bus. It might take me half an hour.’
Mack said fine, and waited impatiently, then directed her into one of the visitors’ chairs with a high loose back and a broken caster.
‘This here is my colleague, Trent O’Loughlin,’ he said.
Penelope turned to acknowledge a uniformed police officer standing near the window in the corner of Mack’s office. ‘Hello,’ she said. ‘Where’s the young woman? Your daughter?’
‘Officer Helber is attending to another matter,’ said Mack. ‘Did you bring an attorney?’
‘Do I need one?’ Penelope’s sparse eyebrows were raised in surprise.
‘You have the right to an attorney,’ said Mack, ‘and if you can’t afford one we can provide one.’
Penelope said: ‘You’re making it sound like we’re in a movie.’
Mack said: ‘I’m obliged to say these things.’
Penelope tightened her hands around the upright handles of her handbag.
‘Well, if this is what I think it is, I don’t think I need an attorney,’ she said. ‘A divorce lawyer, maybe.’
Mack nodded, saying: ‘Well, you’re on the right track. We know about Earl.’
Penelope’s gaze shifted downward. She didn’t speak at first. She opened the clasp on her bag and took out a scrunched-up tissue. Then she said: ‘Who told you? Jesalyn?’
The Lucky One Page 20
