“For what? What’s in it for him?” Bill was as passionate about it as Peter had been at the same age. He had been certain his brother was the devil incarnate then, but now he seemed like a gentle, loving man. Michael had been demonstrating that since Peter moved to the lake. But listening to Bill now, Peter was confused. Which vision of Michael was true? Was what he had experienced with his brother recently just pure manipulation or sincere? Was Michael devil or saint?
“I think it’s all about money with him, no matter what he claims,” Bill said simply. “And control, of course. But there’s always something in it for him. And I don’t think it’s an accident that my mother has had Parkinson’s for the last two years, ever since my grandfather died. That seems like a weird coincidence to me.”
“I don’t think you can give someone Parkinson’s with mind control,” Peter said reasonably. What Bill was saying was just too unlikely. His theories about his father didn’t hold water. Bill sat there and shook his head, as he saw Peter’s skeptical expression.
“I don’t know what he does to her, but whatever it is, she gets sicker every year.” It was also possible, Peter knew, that Maggie truly suffered from ill health, ever since her accident. “I think that’s why he married her,” Bill went on. “All he had to do was keep her alive long enough to inherit my grandfather’s money. My grandfather was a great man. He never showed off, and he was a hard worker. The mill was worth a fortune. Do you know what my mother sold it for? Ten million dollars. All my father had to do was wait for my mother to inherit it. That’s worth waiting twenty-three years for. He knew it was coming. I think he’s going to kill her one day. He knew she was sick when he married her and wouldn’t live forever. We’ll never know how he did it, but he will. All he had to do was keep her going until she inherited Grampa’s money. She’s been getting sicker rapidly ever since he died two years ago. I think he’s helping her along.”
The two men looked at each other sadly across the dinner table, and Peter didn’t know what to say. What Bill was saying to him sounded crazy and horrifying. But for twenty years and until a few months ago, he would have believed every word of it. Now he no longer did. He wondered if Bill had ever been on drugs or had psychiatric problems. It sounded more like that to him. His theories were too wild and sounded like acute paranoia.
“I know what you’re thinking,” Bill said sadly. He could see it in his uncle’s eyes as he looked at him. “You think I’m crazy. I can promise you I’m not. But he is. Mark my words, he’ll kill her one day. I don’t know how, but I’m sure he will. I think he influences her. He convinced her she’s dying. And now that she has Grampa’s money, I worry about her every day. That’s why I’m here. He’d kill me too, if he could. He knows I’m on to him, and that I know what he is. That’s why he hates me. And that’s why he hated you. From everything my mother ever told me about you, you saw the same things in him I do. And now he’s got you fooled. But I’ll bet that he doesn’t like you any better than he ever did. And he’s got Lisa brainwashed too. She thinks he walks on water. He acts like he’s married to her. It makes her feel important. She’s his little minion. I was never fooled by him, not even when I was a kid. I’ve always hated my father for what he does to my mother. I’m the only one who sees it,” Bill said sadly, “except for you.”
“I’m not sure I see it either,” Peter said sincerely. “He was rotten to me when we were kids, and he knew how to work my parents. They believed every lie he told them, and they never believed me. I was dyslexic, so everyone thought I was stupid. He was the smart one. And I used to get into rages and start fights at school. I was the troublemaker and the problem child, until I got to college and finally got some help with my learning disability. And Michael always set me up at home, but I think all he ever wanted was all of my parents’ approval. He wanted them to love him more. Maybe he needed that. That makes him needy, but not a killer. Whatever he did, he saw to it I got blamed for it. And I always saw through him, just like you think you do. But I don’t think he’s as evil as we both wanted to believe. Maybe he was jealous of me in some way. But I honestly think the only thing he wants to do now is protect your mother and keep her alive for as long as he can.”
“Until he kills her,” Bill said grimly. “I know I can’t convince you, but I’m right. I know I am. And I can’t stop him. I could never figure out why he would do that to her, until my grandfather died, and I realized how much he’d been worth.” It had destroyed his childhood worrying about her, and he hated his father for it. He knew that his father had the whole world fooled. But Peter couldn’t see his brother being motivated by greed. He had spent a lifetime taking care of people. He was a dedicated doctor and devoted husband, and he was a man of modest needs.
Peter tried to change the subject then, and he wished that he could reassure him, but there was no convincing Bill of his father’s innocence. Peter had seen a whole other side of his twin brother lately. It had convinced him that Michael was actually a decent man, and Peter felt he had been too harsh about him in his youth. But he could do nothing to change Bill’s mind, just as no one could have changed his until recently. Michael’s solid life spoke for itself. It saddened him that Bill had exiled himself to escape the agony of watching his mother dying slowly. It made Peter suddenly remember something Michael had said, that some people can’t accept the death of loved ones and have to find someone to blame. Bill was demonizing his father in order to brace himself for the inevitable with Maggie, that no matter what anyone did for her, she wasn’t likely to live long. That was true and would have been whether she inherited her father’s money or not. The accident she had at twenty had destroyed her health, and she had been spiraling down slowly ever since, whether her son was able to face it or not. Peter thought it far more likely that Michael had extended her life by years.
Peter turned the conversation to the financial crisis as they finished their dinner, and then ordered bread pudding for dessert. It wasn’t Peter’s favorite dinner, but it was hearty fare and typically British, and they ordered a glass of port for each of them afterward. In spite of Bill’s suspicions about his father, it had been a pleasant evening, and Peter had enjoyed him. His nephew had a good grasp of economics, and they talked about the current banking crisis late into the night. Other than his paranoia about his father, he seemed like a rational, intelligent person. And Peter couldn’t help wondering how many people had thought he was crazy when he talked about his evil brother when he was young. That kind of deep malevolence was impossible for normal people to believe. But in this case, Peter was convinced that Bill was wrong. Michael had undergone a deep and benevolent change.
They left each other outside the hotel, and Peter went back to his hotel room. He was planning to sleep in the next day. Instead, Bill called in the morning to thank him for dinner, and Peter spent the rest of the day walking around London, and visiting some familiar haunts. He had lunch by himself at the Maze Grill, and wound up in the bar at Claridge’s for a drink in the late afternoon. And feeling tired from all the walking he’d done, he had room service that evening. He was flying back to Boston the next day. And he called Bill that night, just to check in before he left. He had already promised to stay in touch with him, let him know how his mother was doing, and warn him if she got any worse. Bill was convinced that with his father’s help, she inevitably would. Peter urged Bill again to come home and visit her whenever he could. He didn’t say so, but he knew from his own experience with his own mother, that it would spare Bill the agony of guilt later on. And Bill expressed the hope, before he hung up, that Peter would get the job at the London firm. He would have liked that too, but for now no offer had been made.
His flight back to Boston was uneventful, and with the time difference and the drive, Peter got back to Lake Wickaboag just after eight o’clock at night. And although he had done nothing all day except eat and watch movies, he was exhausted from the trip. He called Ben and Ryan as soon as he got in. They were excited about the e
nd of school and the upcoming summer vacation. And after he talked to them, Peter went to bed.
When he got up the next morning, because of everything he’d heard from his nephew, Peter decided to visit Maggie that day. He wanted to see how she was. And contrary to Bill’s dire predictions, when Pru let him in, he found her sitting in the living room with her walker standing near her, looking better than she had in months.
“Well, don’t you look fresh and pretty today,” Peter said, looking pleased as he sat down next to her. “I go to London for a few days, and you blossom like a flower.”
“Michael put me on a new medication for the Parkinson’s, the FDA just released it, and I haven’t felt this good in two years,” she said, looking pleased. It made Peter doubt Bill’s fears even further. Michael was doing everything he could to extend her life and make her feel better, even researching new medications for her. It convinced him yet again of how off base Bill’s accusations of his father were, and made him sad for him. He almost wanted to ask Maggie if her son had ever suffered from psychiatric problems, but he didn’t want to upset her, and didn’t dare. Clearly, Bill was suffering from severe paranoia, and all Peter said was that they had had dinner together, and the moment he said it, a cloud passed over her eyes. She knew about their dinner from an e-mail Bill had sent her, but she wondered if Bill had ranted about his father. She knew only too well how consumed with rage against him Bill was.
“Did he go on for hours about his father?” she asked, and when Peter hesitated, she knew he had. She hated it when Bill did that. Peter sighed in answer. Maggie obviously knew her son well.
“He sounds like me at his age,” he said with a smile. “Maybe Michael just has a way of upsetting young males. Bill will calm down eventually. He says he’s really enjoying the London School of Economics. He’s very angry at his father. I told him how wrong I think he is. I hate to see him expend all that energy needlessly on that.”
“I hope he doesn’t take as long to get over it as you did,” Maggie said sadly. It had torn their family apart. “I wish he’d come home one of these days.”
“He will in time. To see you anyway. We hit it off pretty well.” And then Maggie laughed.
“He looks just like you, doesn’t he? Michael used to tease me about it. From his appearance, he could be your son.”
“I hope to see him again sometime,” Peter said sincerely, ignoring her comment.
“What happened with the interview?” She was interested in what he had to say.
“They’re not hiring yet, so it was kind of a false alarm. Something will turn up at some point.” She nodded, but she knew he was worried about what the next step would be. He couldn’t stay at the lake forever, doing repairs on the old house. By the end of summer, he hoped to be back at work, hopefully in New York, which was his preference, or anywhere he could get a job.
He left Maggie after a while and drove to the lake. He had been reassured to see her in such good form. The new drug Michael had started her on had had miraculous results in a short time. And not in a million years did he believe that his brother would murder his wife for her money. He just wasn’t that kind of man. He may have been a pain in the ass when they were kids, but that didn’t make him a murderer now. And just because his elderly patients left him a few thousand dollars in their wills, it didn’t mean he killed them. If Michael tended to them devotedly and made life easier in their final years, he had a right to their gratitude. He had seen in his mother’s journals just how attentive Michael had been to her, visiting her several times a day. And he did the same for many of his patients, not just his parents. Michael had turned out to be a dedicated doctor and devoted son, and even a good brother now. He was absolutely certain that all of Bill’s incredible theories were wrong.
Peter was thinking about him as he pulled into his driveway at the lake. There was more activity there now, and in the warmer weather, people were starting to take their boats out on weekends. Peter wanted to rent a small sailboat for the boys when they came out to visit. His parents had gotten rid of his old one years before.
As he got out of his truck, he was startled to see that there was a man sitting on his porch, waiting for him. He didn’t recognize him, and his visitor was wearing overalls over a plaid shirt, and he had a tool belt around his waist. He looked like an electrician of some kind.
“Can I help you?” Peter asked with a curious expression. The man nodded and waited for him to approach. And for a moment, Peter was concerned. The house was isolated, and he had no idea why the man was there. He looked distressed, and Peter waited to hear why he had come.
“I want to talk to you about your brother,” he said, sounding ominous for a minute.
“What about?”
“My father was a patient of your brother’s. He died two weeks ago.”
“What does that have to do with me?” Peter asked, and didn’t invite him into the house.
“I want you to know what he did. Walt Peterson says you’re a good man.”
“Thank you,” Peter said curtly. “So is my brother, and a good doctor.” He was proud to say it now.
“He killed my father,” the man said with a dark look.
“I doubt that,” Peter responded, thinking again about what Michael had told him, that sometimes people who had lost loved ones needed to find someone to blame. And apparently, Michael was it in this case.
“I think my dad may have asked him to do it, but even if he did, that was wrong of him. My father had liver cancer, and he went out like a light the night your brother came to see him. He lived alone. I found him in the morning. He died in his sleep.”
“Maybe it was just his time,” Peter said, trying to sound calmer than he felt. He didn’t like this man confronting him on his doorstep. There was something ominous about him, and threatening. He hoped that Michael wouldn’t be in danger from him.
“No, it wasn’t. I’m sure of that. We took him to an oncologist in Boston last month, and he said he had six months to a year. Two weeks later he dies in his sleep. I think your brother helped him out. And that ain’t all.” He waved a folded document at Peter. “He left everything he had to your brother. And he wasn’t senile. I think your brother charmed him and made him feel so special that he wanted to give it all to him. He didn’t leave anything to me or my sister, or our kids, just your brother. That ain’t right. Everything he had. Forty thousand dollars.”
It struck a chord of memory with Peter, remembering what his nephew had said. But you couldn’t prevent old people from leaving whatever they wanted to their doctor. It was the only way they had to show their gratitude to the doctor who had been so attentive to them. And for a fraction of an instant, Peter remembered how he had felt when he had discovered that his parents had left almost everything to his brother. He had been just as angry as this man looked now. “I want an autopsy done,” the man said with a look of fury. “I’m going to the police.”
“How old was your father?” Peter asked with curiosity, taking the paper the man had stuck in his face.
“Seventy-nine. But he had been sick for two years. Your brother took care of him the whole time.”
“Maybe your father was grateful he kept him alive that long,” Peter said, looking noncommittal. “Leaving him something in the will doesn’t mean he killed him.”
“I think he talked my father into cutting us out. My father would never have done a thing like that. He loved his kids and his grandkids. I think your brother is an evil man.”
“You know, going after my brother isn’t going to bring your father back,” Peter said with a sigh. “It’s just going to make trouble for everyone. What do you want from me?” Peter asked bluntly.
“I want your help. The police will really listen if you come with me.”
“I can’t do that,” Peter said, looking outraged. “He’s my brother, and I have no reason to believe he killed your father, even if he did give everything to him in the will. That’s not proof of murder, for God’s
sake.”
“It’s proof of some kind of influence on him. I want my dad exhumed for signs of foul play. I didn’t know about the will until today.” It sounded like sour grapes to Peter, and this man’s anger over the money.
“I wouldn’t do that if I were you. You’re just going to upset a lot of people. And I’m sure my brother didn’t kill your father.”
“You don’t know that,” the man said angrily. “I think he did.”
“You don’t know that either,” Peter shot back.
“Then we’ll let the police figure it out. I thought maybe you’d help me.”
“Why would I do that?”
“Walt said he screwed you out of your inheritance too. You ought to know how I feel. Besides, he killed my daddy,” the man said with tears in his eyes. “I’m sure he did.” He looked overwrought to Peter. He just hoped the man didn’t have a gun and decide to shoot him instead. He hoped he didn’t go to Michael’s house and scare Maggie out of her wits, or Lisa.
“He didn’t screw me. He’s my brother. And he deserved what he got. That’s nobody’s business but ours.”
“Fine, then. Don’t help me. I’ll go to the police.” Peter said nothing as the man got into his car, revved the engine, and drove away, and he spat at Peter out the window as he drove past him, just missing Peter, who went into the house then to call Michael. He wanted to warn him that there was a nutcase on the loose. But Michael sounded unconcerned. He said he knew all about him and what he was saying. He was saying it all over town. Michael said he had already warned the police to keep an eye on the house. He told Peter that the man who had come to see him had a severe problem with alcohol and suffered from delusions, and his sister had had psychiatric problems for years. The whole family was nuts. And his father had been riddled with cancer before he died, “of natural causes,” Michael added.
“I’m sorry he bothered you. I’ll report it,” Michael said calmly, sounding undisturbed. “It’s one of those things I told you about. People who come unhinged when they lose a loved one. I feel bad that the old man left me his money, but it was the wish of a dying man. If they were decent people, I’d give it back to them, but their father wouldn’t want that. They’ll just spend it on drugs and booze. They’re a bad lot, and their father knew it.” Peter could see that they were. “That’s why he left the money to me. He didn’t have anyone else responsible to leave it to.”
Prodigal Son Page 15
