The Betrayal

by Terry Lynn Thomas

  During the week before Thanksgiving, Olivia sat in Lauren’s kitchen, a towel around her shoulders while Lauren snipped away at her hair. Olivia had approached her own hairdresser about cutting her hair short and letting her gray hair grow in, but her hairdresser had balked at the idea. “You’ll look like an old lady. I can’t let you do that.” The response had made Olivia so mad, she’d left the salon and had no plans to go back.

  “Why do women have to expend so much energy looking young?” Olivia asked Lauren. “I mean think about it, we’re so conditioned to stay thin, wear makeup, keep up appearances, and for whom? Men?”

  “Aside from the fact the promise of youth is a billion-dollar industry,” Lauren said, staring critically at Olivia’s hair. “I don’t think men even notice. We do it for other women. Women judge each other, compare themselves to each other. That, my friend, is the tragedy. Now that you don’t have a conventional job, you can be free. Embrace your wild side. You can reinvent yourself and do and be whatever you want. What do you want to do, Olivia?”

  “Something useful. I want to help people. Beyond that, I have no idea. I don’t even know myself anymore.”

  “You’ve got lots of time to figure things out.”

  “I wonder how many innocent people are in prison for crimes they didn’t commit. I had a good lawyer – I should say I could afford a good lawyer. What about those who can’t? How many Jonas Greensboros are out there, ruining the lives of innocent people to advance their career or political agenda?”

  “You can be a criminal defense attorney and hire that hunky detective. I could get used to feasting my eyes on him every day.” Lauren put her scissors down and stepped back, a pleased smile on her face. “Come with me.” She took Olivia’s hand and led her into the bathroom. The two women stood side by side, looking at each other in the mirror. Lauren with her long gray hair, which curled in wild tendrils, and Olivia, her hair a mixture of gunmetal gray and white, cut short like a man’s.

  Olivia barely recognized herself. She saw a woman who had lived and loved and lost, a woman who looked every second of her sixty-two years.

  “Your metamorphosis is complete, my friend. Now you can go out and meet a man who deserves you.”

  “I don’t need a man to be happy,” Olivia said.

  “Agreed. But that doesn’t mean you can’t be open to the possibility, Olivia. All men aren’t like Richard, and I know it’s going to take some time to get over everything that’s happened, but you don’t know what your future holds. You’ve said that yourself. Be open-minded. Good things are coming to you. I can feel it.” Lauren rubbed her hands together. “Let’s have some champagne and plan our Thanksgiving feast.”

  Chapter 35

  After the Sandy Watson murder case came to its sensational conclusion, Stephen Vine and a handful of other attorneys started throwing Brian more work than he could handle. Unable and unwilling to deal with rebuilding, Brian had sold his lot in Larkspur for way more money than it was worth and had moved to a small studio apartment. He had signed a one-year lease, thinking of it as a self-imposed commitment. After that, he’d have to make a decision, either start over someplace else where no one knew of his past or stay in Marin County. If he stayed in Marin, he’d have to work. Maybe he’d rent an office and hire someone to help him. He trusted things would sort themselves out in good time.

  On this particular Monday morning, Brian braved the commuter traffic, sitting on 101 southbound, prepared to spend a good hour driving ten miles into the city. When The Eagles’ “Life in the Fast Lane” came on the radio, Brian turned it up, letting the memories of Maureen come as they may, feeling the pain of what he’d lost and the sorrow of what would never be. When the song came to an end, all that was left was nostalgia. What a life they’d had. What a love they’d shared. That’s what mattered.

  Brian made a mental note to replace the records he lost in the fire. When he felt lonely for Maureen, he could blast Eric Clapton, The Eagles, and a dozen other records that would bring Maureen to life. He could remember being young and going dancing with her at Uncle Charlie’s. Those memories needed to be saved and tended to, in the same way that Olivia Sinclair tended her garden.

  Sharon was waiting outside of her apartment as Brian drove up, two large cups of coffee in a tray. She had lost weight and had a worried look in her eyes that Brian had never seen before. “Good morning. Got you some coffee.”

  Brian took a sip from his cup. “Thanks.”

  They headed towards Alana Maycott’s house in Sea Cliff.

  “I remember when it was foggy out here almost every morning,” Brian said.

  “Me too. Climate change, I reckon,” Sharon said. “Are you keeping busy?”

  “I am,” Brian said. “Stephen Vine and a couple other attorneys are giving me more work than I care to deal with.”

  “Maybe you’ll hire me,” Sharon said.

  “You’re not thinking of leaving are you?” Brian asked.

  “Not yet. But soon. Twenty more months and I’ll have done my twenty-five.”

  “I thought you were a career cop, one of those people who would stay on the job until they kicked you out.”

  Sharon stared out the window, quiet with her thoughts. Brian let her be, and after a few moments she turned to him and said, “I could have died if Olivia Sinclair hadn’t been there. There was no way someone from shore could have reached me in time to pull me out of the water. I screwed up big time going on that boat without backup. Now I don’t trust myself to make good decisions, and I’m scared of my own shadow.”

  Over the years Brian had seen Sharon overcome the obstacles faced by all women cops with a stoic grace that had not only amazed him but also earned his respect. He had seen her browbeaten by obnoxious officers who outranked her; he had seen her physically attacked on more than one occasion when making an arrest. Throughout it all, Sharon had been strong, both psychologically and physically. So when she wiped her eyes now, Brian was surprised.

  “This will pass, Sharon. You need to give yourself some time.”

  “I wish I could believe that.” She turned her gaze away from him and fell silent, her subtle way of saying conversation over. After a while she said, “The last time I saw Alana Maycott she wasn’t terribly kind.”

  Brian remembered Alana Maycott storming into the police station, bossy and imperious, demanding to know exactly what was being done to catch her daughter’s killer. The team investigating Janelle’s murder had dismissed her. She was a mother suffering immeasurable grief. But Sharon, the pretty young blonde who looked like she should have been a fashion model, had caught not only Alana’s eye, but Alana’s ire.

  “Do you remember how she lashed out at me? Asked me if I was qualified to do this job?”

  “You handled her well, Sharon.”

  Sharon snorted. “I wanted to die. Felt like a deer in the headlights.”

  They parked the car and walked up to the house. When Alphonse opened the door to let them in, he said, “She’s not doing very well, but she’s anxious to see you. I’m asking you to not stay long, if you don’t mind.”

  “Of course,” Brian said.

  Alana lay in the hospital bed, the view hidden by swirling fog.

  “I know I look like death. I’m just about done here, I think. Now I can die in peace, thanks to both of you.” She looked at Sharon. “Young lady, I remember back when you were a slip of a woman investigating Janelle’s murder. I wasn’t terribly kind to you then. Will you forgive me?”

  A look of surprise flashed in Sharon’s eyes, as though she wasn’t expecting humility. “Of course, Mrs. Maycott. You were in a horrible state of shock.”

  “That’s no excuse, but thank you for trying.” She focused on Brian. “And you, Mr. Vickery, what are your plans?”

  “I’m adjusting to being without my wife. And, yes, I’ve got a few clients.”

  “And what about the Sinclair woman, the one who was being framed for the murder? I watched her dive into the
water. Are you going to date her?”

  Brian chuckled. “Hadn’t really given that much thought, Mrs. Maycott.”

  “Nonsense.” She grabbed his hand and held it with surprising strength. “She’s a warrior spirit, just like you. Don’t let her get away. Do you hear me?”

  “Yes, ma’am,” Brian said. She let go of Brian’s hand. “My morphine is kicking in.”

  Sharon and Brian stood.

  “Goodbye, you two. Thank you from the bottom of my heart.”

  As they drove away, Brian thought of Alana’s comment about Olivia Sinclair. He had to admit that he missed Olivia’s company. He pulled up to Sharon’s studio.

  “I’m glad we did that, Brian. Thanks for bringing me.” She got out of the car and tapped on the window. When Brian rolled it down, Sharon leaned inside and gave him a sly smile. “And I agree with Mrs. Maycott. You should date Olivia Sinclair. I can see you two together. Don’t look at me that way. You don’t have to marry her, just spend some time with her.”

  “Goodbye, Sharon. See you at Thanksgiving.” Brian pointedly ignored Sharon’s comments, but as he drove away, he found himself smiling at the thought of Olivia Sinclair. Maybe he’d take Alana’s advice and give her a call. There was no harm in going for coffee. Was there?

  Chapter 36

  It rained on Thanksgiving Day. Olivia and Lauren ate Dungeness crab, accompanied by an iceberg lettuce salad with homemade bleu cheese dressing, and crusty French bread, on the floor in Olivia’s living room, before a roaring fire. For the first time since her marriage, Olivia didn’t host a giant sit-down formal dinner.

  “That was delicious.” Lauren took their empty plates into the kitchen, returning with the cold champagne. “How does it feel, not having all the responsibility of entertaining Richard’s clients on the holidays?”

  “I don’t miss Richard or his clients one bit.” Olivia scooted up to the couch.

  “Have you spoken to him at all since you saved his life?”

  “He’s been calling. I’ve been avoiding him.” Olivia sat back on the couch. “I’m worried about Denny. I’m afraid I’ve lost her.”

  “You’re going to have to fix things with her somehow and do so without interfering.”

  “And just how do you propose I do that?”

  “Tell her you’re sorry. Promise not to meddle again.” Lauren put her glass down and gave Olivia an inquisitive, all-knowing look. “Liv, what have you done? Tell me right now.”

  Olivia closed her eyes, wishing things weren’t so complicated, wishing Lauren didn’t know her so well. “I hired Claire Montreaux to represent Denny.”

  “You what?”

  “Please don’t judge me. David’s cheating on her. The PI I hired was close to getting proof of that.”

  “After she specifically asked you to stand down? That’s so disrespectful. I can’t believe you would do that.” Lauren moved closer to the fire, holding her hands out to its warmth.

  “There are things you don’t know.”

  “Okay, enlighten me.”

  “After my arrest, Denny was supposed to come here. I was all set to apologize to her, throw myself on the sword, and swear to never involve myself in her life without an express invitation.” Olivia shivered, cold all of a sudden, as she remembered the day David Grayson had come walking up her garden path. She told Lauren of their conversation, how David had mocked Olivia that day. “He told me that he forbade Denny from seeing me. How he had won and Denny would always choose him. He’s a sociopath. And I’m not just saying that because I don’t like him. He enjoys power.”

  “I had no idea.” Lauren sat next to Olivia on the couch.

  “I explained the situation to Claire and hired her to represent Denny. She has a PI following David. This time David won’t know. And before you say anything, Claire is Denny’s lawyer, so she won’t be reporting to me. If Denny stays married to David, nothing will happen and Denny won’t need to know what I’ve done. But if she shows up on my doorstep, which I believe she will, she’ll be well equipped to take on David and his family.”

  “I can’t believe she married into that family.” Lauren patted Olivia’s hand. “If this all comes out, explain to Denny what you just said to me. She’ll understand.”

  “I’m going to be honest with her. And if she doesn’t like it, I’ve no one to blame but myself.”

  Denny came at 5:32 the following morning. Olivia was deeply asleep when she heard a soft rapping at the door, but mothers know things, even if their children are long out of the house. She jumped out of bed and hurried down the hall. “Denny? Coming.” She threw the door open, and there stood Denny, pregnant, bedraggled, and exhausted.

  Olivia stared at her daughter, trying to figure out what she could say to repair their damaged relationship. “I’m so sorry for meddling in your marriage. Can you ever forgive me?”

  “Mom? What have you done to your hair?”

  “I’ve cut it off and set myself free. Now come in out of the cold.” Olivia stepped aside, her heart full, as her daughter came into the house.

  “I drove straight through. I’m starved and exhausted.”

  “Of course. I’ll make you something. Eggs? Pancakes?”

  “Both?”

  For a brief second, Olivia saw Denny as a little girl, with her towheaded curls and chubby legs, smiling gleefully at the flower-shaped pancakes Olivia used to fix for her. While she mixed the batter and heated the griddle, Denny talked.

  “I spoke to Dad. He told me about the divorce.”

  “Sorry you had to hear it from him.”

  “I’ve no one to blame but myself for that. David wanted me to stay away from you. He convinced me that you were a toxic influence in our relationship and that if I wanted to make our marriage work, I would need to get out from under your control.” She ran her hand through her hair. “And I was stupid enough to believe him. But we were talking about Dad. He said he’s been trying to call you. Why haven’t you been taking his calls?”

  Denny watched as Olivia scrambled eggs and flipped pancakes. “I’ll speak to your father when I am good and ready, on my terms, not his. I’m done dancing to his tune.” She served up the pancakes and set them before Denny.

  “You’re different. It’s not just your hair. You’re – I don’t know – tougher, maybe. Like you’ve got some street smarts. The privileged Marin County lawyer has some grit to her schtick.”

  Olivia laughed out loud. “Nice, Den. Have you ever thought of writing?”

  Denny’s face grew serious as she loaded maple syrup onto her pancakes. “It turns out you were right all along. David basically stopped coming home at all after he forbade me to speak to you. His absence made me suspicious, so I got one of those GPS trackers and put it on his car. Like an idiot, I followed him right to the no-tell motel. Caught him in the act with his secretary.”

  “You don’t seem too upset,” Olivia said.

  “I was at the time. I cried for a week. David swore up and down it would stop, but then he got tired of what he called my emotional outbursts. When I told him that I could no longer trust him, he promised to put me out on the street with no money.”

  Olivia bit her tongue as she flipped another batch of pancakes.

  “When he threatened to take my baby, I saw him for who he really is. You were right, Mom. I should have listened to you. I lied to him, acted like I understood why he cheated on me, told him I loved him and would do anything to make our marriage work. He had a business dinner. The minute he left the house, I packed my suitcase and left. I drove all night and here I am. Anyway, you were right all along. I know I said some horrible things to you, and so did David. I apologize. Now I need you to help me because I swear to God I’ll run away and go into hiding before I’ll let David Grayson take my baby.”

  “You might want to hold off on your apology because I did something, and you might not like it.” Olivia pushed her plate of pancakes away. “I hired an attorney for you. Her name is Claire Montreaux. She�
��s good, a fighter. I gave her a retainer to hire a private investigator – a good one this time – to follow David and find out what he was up to.”

  “Jesus, Mom,” Denny said, the look on her face an equal measure of admiration and disgust. “Did she find anything?”

  “I don’t know. She doesn’t work for me. She works for you, so she won’t discuss your case with me without your permission.”

  “So her PI doesn’t work for you either?”

  “No, honey. They work for you. And you can fire her, if you want. I’ll pay for another lawyer if you need me to.”

  Denny continued to eat. Olivia didn’t press her. Finally Denny took her plate to the sink and rinsed it. “I’ll meet her. Do you think she can see me this afternoon? David will be on my heels. I didn’t tell him where I was going, but he’ll figure it out.”

  “I’ll call her right now,” Olivia said.

  “I’m going to shower, put on my pajamas and sleep for a couple of hours.” Denny stood and wrapped her arms around Olivia, resting her head on her mother’s shoulder. “I should have listened to you from the beginning.”

  “And I should have let you figure this out on your own,” Olivia said.

  “There’s going to be hell to pay,” Denny said. “David is very sure of himself.”

  “You have a good lawyer, Den. You need to sit back and let her do her job.”

  Denny rested her hands on her stomach. “He’s not taking this baby.”

  “We’ll fight,” Olivia said.

  “I know.” She ruffled Olivia’s hair. “I like it. It suits you.”

  Olivia, Denny, and Claire Montreaux were ready when David showed up at Olivia’s house the next morning, full of anger and self-righteous indignation, ready to drag Denny by her hair back to the cave. After Claire and Denny had met for the first time and planned their course of action, Claire had removed the glass covering and the light bulbs in the fixture above the dining room table and in the middle of Olivia’s living room, replacing them with ordinary-looking lightbulbs that held a camera. Claire had fiddled with the bulbs and soon was able to transmit images and sound directly to her phone. With Denny’s permission, Olivia had been given the task of monitoring the recording on Claire’s phone.