by Savage, Tom
But my biggest secret is the one I’ve kept from everyone, even Holly. It is this:
I said she was the most beautiful woman I’d ever seen, and I fell in love with her instantly. That’s true; I did. But it wasn’t on that snowy November day when she arrived at Randall House. It was three months earlier, in August, when I first saw Holly on the grounds of Randall House, watching it. She was there for three days, following Miss Alicia whenever she went outside the house. Getting to know her habits and routines. She followed Miss Alicia to the pond that morning, and got in the pond with her. I saw the whole thing, and I remember Miss Alicia’s final shouted word.
“Holly!”
It was a startled cry of recognition.
Holly didn’t realize that Miss Alicia was going to die soon in any case, and she was impatient to get out of Indio. Now that I’ve seen her hometown, I can hardly blame her. I would have done the same thing. I wouldn’t let one old lady stand between me and freedom, not for a moment. And neither, obviously, would Holly: that’s why she went to the pond.
Holly doesn’t know I know about it. And she won’t ever know, unless this journal sees the light of day. I’m not expecting that to happen anytime soon.
There’s one more thing I wish to include in this document. I’ve told you a secret about Holly, and now, perhaps, it’s only fair that I share a little secret about myself.
In a remote corner of the little, well-tended cemetery near the chapel, there is a small marble headstone. For most of the hours of the day it is shaded by a nearby oak, and at night the marble is cold to the touch. I find myself drawn there at odd times, when I want to get away from things, or merely when I want to sit quietly on the ground before it and rethink my life. I imagine how my life might have been—how I might have “turned out,” as they say—if the woman who lies there had been more fortunate. I stare at the stone for hours, and eventually my gaze travels over to the crude little wooden cross that juts up from the earth beside it, where Dave and Zeke found the baby doll buried.
The doll is there now, next to her in the ground, because I decided that this was what she would have wanted. I watched her bury it many times, only to return the next morning and dig it up again.
The doll’s grave is my grave, in a way, and sometimes I get up from the ground where I am sitting and walk across it, crushing the soil beneath my shoes, because it amuses me to do so. But the woman who lies beside it is another matter: I have made my peace with her. When I utter her name aloud, she comes up quietly behind me and joins me in my vigil. She reaches out a pale hand from the folds of her black cloak and rests it, ever so lightly, on my shoulder. I expect that, at the moment of my death, I will feel her soft caress. I will look up into those dark eyes in that pale face, and perhaps then she will, finally, smile at me.
That is a long way off, I trust. I’m here with Holly now, inside our iron gates, and I intend to stay here with her forever. I intend to help her keep the secrets of Randall House. If Holly and I have our way, Randall House will always look perfectly innocent—from a distance.
But you should never be deceived by appearances.
Well, that’s all, I guess. It’s time to print out this manuscript and feed Tonto, and to finish packing. I’ve been told to pack my lightest clothes for this trip. In the morning, before we leave for the airport, I must remember to go to the chapel and light another candle for Holly.
Tomorrow, she’s taking me to the Greek islands.
BARTLETT, SANTIAGO & KLEIN
ATTORNEYS AT LAW
To: Danielle Perez
From: Vincent A. Bartlett
Re: THE INHERITANCE by Toby Carter Randall
Dear Ms. Perez,
Enclosed please find the manuscript, THE INHERITANCE by Toby Carter Randall, as per our telephone conversation of last week.
I am pleased that you have decided to publish this. It is more than a “novel,” as you are no doubt aware. It is an important document. I am certain the Randall police will be as interested in it as the general public.
As for the events in Crete one year ago, I’m sure you know as much as I. It was a fortunate chance that the local fisherman witnessed the incident on the beach, and that he testified. Otherwise, Toby Carter Randall’s drowning would probably have been ruled an accident. Holly Randall finally confessed to the Greek authorities that she did it for Toby’s half of the inheritance, which he had not willed to her in any case. It’s ironic, if you think about it: Holly always wanted to see Greece, and now she’ll be spending the rest of her natural life there.
Please forward the advance payments and any royalties to me at this address. I will send them on to Toby Carter Randall’s sole heir, the new owner of Randall House: his uncle, Kevin Jessel.
I wish you all success in this endeavor.
Sincerely,
Vincent A. Bartlett
TOM SAVAGE is the author of four suspense novels: Precipice, Valentine, The Inheritance, and Scavenger. He wrote two detective novels under the name T. J. Phillips, Dance of the Mongoose and Woman in the Dark. His short stories have appeared in Alfred Hitchcock Mystery Magazine, Ellery Queen Mystery Magazine, and anthologies edited by Lawrence Block, Harlan Coben, and Michael Connelly. His bestselling novel, Valentine, was made into a Warner Bros. film. Raised in the Virgin Islands, he lives in New York City, where he worked for many years at Murder Ink, the world’s first mystery bookstore. www.tomsavagebooks.com.
