“Well, it’s only been a few days,” Grace said in her Law and Order tone.
“Are you coming with us?” Grace had flagged Claire down before she could drive off. The Corrigan clan, minus Connor and Deborah, was headed for the crypt. Claire opted out. She’d gone to look it over with Joe before the service. Her deed done, she was ready to go home.
Claire started the car. “You guys go ahead. Emmet’s on the left. The stone guy still has to do the engraving. They’re going to plant flowers, a couple more trees. Everything was such a rush job, we’re lucky everybody’s in.”
Chapter Sixty-Two
Claire squinted at her boarding pass. She reached into her Prada bag, pulled out Rob Rhino’s bifocals. They worked like a charm. They were too wide for her head but she didn’t care. They were perfect enough.
O’Hare buzzed. She searched the terminal floor for a hobo-like man knowing she wouldn’t find one. At least not the right one. Her eyes clouded. A low ringing cleared her head. She pulled her phone out of her bag, took off the glasses.
“Hello?”
“I don’t believe it. Your phone is still working?”
“Hello to you too Jordan.”
“How far are you?”
“Chicago.”
“Thank God. Civilization.” Sounded like Jordan was driving. “No one’s tried to shoot you or anything?”
“Not so far, but I’m only halfway.”
Someone else was calling. Claire held her phone away from her ear. Pennsylvania area code. It could wait. She’d just left for Chrissake. Number looked familiar, hard to tell without the glasses. Maybe Joe Lansing or Freddie Eddie.
“Okay, well, just checking.”
“So since I have you on the phone, I ah... well, I—”
“You’re cutting out.”
No she was chickening out.
“I thought I might come up. To San Fran, to see your new place.” Claire twitched. “I mean, when it’s a good time for you... and... for Steven. Annabelle could come too after we’ve talked some things through. She says she has a new boyfriend and a job. God help us.”
No sound.
Still nothing.
“Jordan? Can you hear me?”
“Yeah. Sure,” he said in his what the hell tone. “Mother, you know Steven lives here. With me. This is our house together. We sleep in the same—”
“I know. So what?”
“So what? Who is this?”
“Very funny.”
The connection went quiet again. Then Jordan said, “We’d love it, Mother. You’ll love the house. You’ll want to decorate.”
Claire didn’t want to cry in the airport again. “I’m sure I will.”
She told him the dates she preferred. He didn’t think there’d be a problem. She didn’t mention his arrest.
“I thought I’d stay a few days before I go to... well... before I go to rehab.”
“What?”
“I’m going to rehab. Sixty days. There’s supposed to be a good one up there.”
She’d go first. Think that over, Jordan.
She could hear him cover the mouthpiece, say something muffled. “Mother, that’s... that’s wonderful. I mean it really.”
“Yeah, okay whatever.” Claire tried to clean a bifocal lens one-handed.
The same someone from Pennsylvania called again. Pants on fire? She ignored it.
“Anything from Andrew?”
“Steven was going to wait ’til you landed but it looks like they’re going to accept your generous offer of nothing down, zero later and go away quietly. He’s already sent you a hefty refund. It’s over. I think he realizes it’s only because of Meg you’re not bringing down the house.”
Claire plopped the glasses down, let the tears run. She didn’t care who stared. They stared anyway. Crying or not she was still bald.
“He’s not going to call me “Mom” is he?”
“Who?”
“Steven.”
Jordan laughed. “We were thinking more like Mommy Dearest.”
****
Claire rounded the corner of the terminal walkway headed for the bookstore. Rob Rhino’s face on the TV monitors hanging from the ceiling stopped her in her tracks. His murder wasn’t under wraps anymore. She read the running captions at the bottom of the screen.
“Reality TV and Seventies Adult Film Star Rob Rhino Killed in Bizarre Murder Suicide.”
Old footage and photos accompanied the story. They interviewed Freddie Eddie. A photo of Liam and Bonnie ran across the screen. Good God. And one of Claire. With hair. She felt sick. Her phone rang. She answered without taking her eyes off the monitor.
“Claire?” Freddie Eddie’s voice, beleaguered.
“Did you just try to call me?”
“No.”
Must’ve been Joe.
Freddie Eddie sounded hesitant. “Have you seen the news?”
“I’m looking at it right now. In the airport.”
“I didn’t think it was going to air until tonight.”
“Where did they get the pictures?”
“Who knows?”
Claire found a row of chairs. “Well, it was bound to come out. I’m shocked you held it at bay for as long as you did.”
“Yeah, it should fizzle out quick. He was famous but he wasn’t Brad Pitt. You’ll get some calls initially but direct them to me. They’re going to be looking for a woman with hair.”
An upside to bald. Finally.
Her phone did that thing it did when someone tried to call through. Again. She held it out, same number. Give it a rest.
“What a scandal.”
“I’ll say.”
****
Claire prepared for landing.
The guy sitting next to her seemed perfectly normal. Cretin. He’d even helped her shove her carry-on into the overhead. Like a gentleman. He probably thought she wouldn’t survive the plane ride. She’d caught him stealing furtive glances at her head the whole way.
She pushed her tray back up, rearranged her purse, put her seat into its original position. Her stomach lurched, she felt anxious, panicked. Times like these she missed taking a bunch of pills with a drink or two. She took fewer now, her intake ratcheted down some. But she missed the lull she got with an alcohol buzz. With no one to monitor her she could’ve had a heyday on the plane. But she didn’t.
The plane taxied and came to its shriek of a stop. Claire jumped into the aisle. She felt ready to start her life. It was good to be home. She leaned over and peered out the small commuter plane window. Overcast. As usual. Beach towns were always socked in. The plane door opened. It was time.
Claire bounded down the steps onto the tarmac. Her Tods loafer no more than hit the pavement when her phone rang. Jesus. Probably that same number. She’d never answered or called it back. No wonder she never plugged the damn thing in. She fished it out of her purse, narrowed her eyes, held her arm out to bring the number into focus. Nope. Hometown call.
“Hello?”
“Hola.”
Christ, not this.
“Conchita. I’m on the tarmac, I’ll be home in half an hour. What is it?”
“Oh si. I forgot you were coming in this afternoon. I never know what you’re doing on the weekends.” Conchita never worked weekends. “Well, you’ll never believe it. Grace Corrigan called.”
“Oh she can call California then? What pray tell did she want?” As if Claire didn’t know.
“She was so mad it was hard to tell. Said she called your cell, but you wouldn’t answer. Anyway sounds like there’s been some mistake. At least I told her it must be one.”
Claire stopped walking. “Oh? Mistake?”
“Si. They engraved the wrong name on Liam’s stone. In the crypt.”
“What name?”
“It’s weird. I had to write it down.”
“Conchita what—”
“Rob Rhino.”
Claire looked out across the tarmac and smiled.
“Claire? Did you hear what I said?”
“Yes I heard.”
“It’s a mistake no?”
“No. No mistake.”
“Who’s Rob Rhino?”
How long do you have?
“He was my friend. My very good friend.”
“Excuse me.” The guy she’d sat next to on the plane tapped her on the shoulder.
“I’ll call you back Conchita. Turn on your TV.”
He’d rolled her Louis Vuitton across the pavement.
“I think this is yours? You forgot it in the overhead.” He handed over her carry-on.
The one with Liam in it.
“Oh thank you. Yes, it is.”
****
She hit the trunk button on her key fob. It opened almost without a sound. The baggage guy (or whatever they called themselves these days) schlepped her suitcase along with her carry-on. She’d had to ship a lot of her stuff back via FedEx so she traveled home pretty light. She gave him a twenty and slid behind the wheel of her red Mercedes CLS 550 sedan, ran her palm over the coffee-with-cream colored supple leather. Ahhh... to the manor born. Not. But she’d warmed up to it quick.
As she pulled out a yellow taxi veered to the left and nearly hit the minivan coming around the corner. The driver laid on the horn and yelled obscenities out his window. They hadn’t learned to drive in her absence. Serene as a monk Claire headed toward home and thought about the switch.
It was easy.
Probably a lot easier than when Rob did it with Gloria’s ashes.
He’d been right though. You can’t get through this life without good friends. Joe Lansing turned out to be a good friend. He pulled the switch. Freddie Eddie took Rob’s cremated remains to the chapel right before the memorial service. Joe dumped out Liam’s into a brand-new urn and put Rob’s in Liam’s old one and there you had it.
Digging Gloria up was a little trickier.
It had been dark after all. But Freddie Eddie did all the labor, Claire supervised with a flashlight. Gloria’s urn was right where Rob said it was. At least that had been true. No laws were broken. Rob was interred in Liam’s spot with Gloria his beloved wife. In the only place he felt at peace in the cemetery, where he belonged.
That he happened to be next to Emmet Corrigan, aka Pat the Janitor, his partner in porn and crime... well, coincidences do happen once in a while, despite Freddie Eddie’s assurances to the contrary. And Claire took Liam home where he belonged. Near the kids he loved, and who loved him, and the wife who liked him just okay.
Claire pulled over, dug out Rob’s glasses, and did a quick search through her missed calls.
“Grace? It’s Claire. Were you looking for me?”
Let’s go to the mat once and for all.
“If you think you’re going to get away with this you’ve got another thing coming,” Grace said in a rabid dog snarl. “I know exactly what you did and why.”
“That makes two of us.” Claire felt a calm settle over her. “Game over, Grace. You wanted to get back at Liam for not bailing you out, for leaving the church, for Bonnie, for everything. And you wanted to get back at Emmet for his porn. All on my dime. So don’t cry foul.”
“Well, what if I did? What’s it to you?” Grace yelled louder than Claire thought an old lady could. “I never bought your sob story, your peacemaking. Whatever you came here to do it wasn’t to make peace.”
Claire thought about that for a few seconds.
“You’re right. But I did anyway.”
Claire hung up. She’d had enough of Liam’s mother. They both spoke the truth though. Claire hadn’t gone to make peace but she’d found some. Along with forgiveness. Enough, anyway. Claire pulled back into traffic, horns blaring around her like a presidential motorcade.
Her phone rang.
Her good friend Joe.
“I was just thinking about you,” she said.
“Just saw the news and heard from your lovely mother-in-law. As soon as it hit the airwaves my phone rang. Such a treat,” Joe chuckled.
“She might get carpal tunnel with all the calls she’s making.”
“She’s livid. Naturally. Wants us to move Emmet. She called Rob the most hideous names. Some I’d never heard,” Joe made clucking sounds. “From a God-fearing woman no less.”
“I’m not surprised, but she’d better not move him an inch.”
“I told her it’s a bit late with everything and everyone set in stone, so to speak.” Joe laughed at his own cleverness.
“I’m not paying this time. I hope she’s got a lot of money to foot the bill.”
“I told her I suspected that’d be the case. She hung up on me.”
Claire felt much too pleased. “Oh well.”
“I don’t think there’s much danger of her moving him anyway even if she could afford it,” Joe said. “No love lost for the dear departed mister if you know what I mean.”
Claire mulled that over. “I think you’re right. In the end she doesn’t care. I think she hated that poor man.”
“My, my,” Joe said.
Claire could imagine Joe kicked back in his chair, his Brooks Brothers clad legs crossed, propped up on his desk.
“That was quite a story you told me about Rob and your father-in-law. The naughty priest. One for the record books. No wonder the old battleaxe is so peeved. Brothers in porn together for eternity behind the marble walls of a crypt. The gift that keeps on giving.”
“She had it coming.”
Revenge. It’s the Lord’s work. Claire was happy to do it.
“Did Freddie Eddie tell you they had a little service out there this morning?” Joe said.
“No. Last time I talked to him I was running for my plane.”
“Well, as he said himself, it was quite a gig,” Joe laughed. “We gave the big guy and his missus a lovely sendoff.”
“Who’s we?” Claire missed them all already.
“Well, there was a crowd I can tell you. I didn’t catch all the names, but I do remember two gifted blonde girls named after an ice cream and a very large man named Alex,” Joe said. “We bought some gorgeous arrangements, planted a lovely shrub. Freddie Eddie led everyone in a rousing rendition of ‘He Stopped Loving Her Today.’ I’ve never heard a more hideous tune for a funeral. Glorious. Lawrence and I cried like babies.”
Freddie Eddie warbles George Jones.
“You know his catalog really suffered after he and Tammy called it quits.” Claire’s tears hit her lap.
“What?”
“Nothing. Wish I could’ve been there.”
“Bad timing for you.”
“That’s okay. Everything worked out just fine.”
“Things have a way of working out the way they’re supposed to.” Joe sounded weepy. “Rob was a good man.”
Who knew what sort any man was?
Rob Rhino might’ve been the most fucked-up knight in shining armor on record. But he’d been hers. He’d ridden in on his thirteen-inch stallion and saved her.
“I’ll miss him every day of my life,” she said.
“I hate to point this out, Claire,” Joe paused. “I feel bad about the whole thing. I mean besides losing Rob, not to mention your husband, you went to so much trouble, donated all that money. Only one Corrigan is buried there and it isn’t Liam.”
Claire drove smiling into the long driveway leading to her Mediterranean-style estate. She hung her arm out the car window, felt the southern California sun warm her skin. She pushed in the security code and counted herself lucky.
“Best five million dollars I ever spent.”
~~ The End ~~
Read on for a preview from:
The Invisible Heiress
Dark, disturbing, deliciously inappropriate.
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Preview:
The Invisible Heiress
Chapter One
Preston
I don’t know which scene satisfied me most—my posh parents waiting in the concrete-walled visitors’ room or me deposited in front of them by a uniformed guard.
They sat across from me at the Formica-topped table. My father’s face was tight, eyes damp. Seeing him distressed kicked a dent in my smug demeanor, so I stopped looking at him, my eyes ping ponged toward my mother. Despite the sordid circumstances, she shone, her beauty ferocious, perhaps highlighted even more by the dour surroundings. Thick hair still a perfect shade of bombshell blonde, skin pale but flawless despite time’s march, the blue of her eyes a perpetual shock.
So entranced I forgot to insult her.
Almost.
“My incarceration poses a real problem for you. Doesn’t it, Mother? Harrison Blair doesn’t sully herself with the downtrodden.”
She shifted backward then forward quick.
“You’re the problem, Preston. Downtrodden? That’s how you think of yourself? You—”
“Harrison, Preston,” Dad said. “Please. Let’s start right. Preston, your mother and I haven’t seen you in so long. Though God knows I’ve tried. Let’s all make a real effort.”
He paused, probably to steel himself for objections in stereo. None came.
Dad continued. “You’re not incarcerated. You’re hospitalized. Your new therapist what’s her name.” He squeezed his eyes shut like her name had been tattooed inside his lids. “Um, she, Isabel, says you’ve made some headway, participating in therapy now.”
“Might as well,” I said.
The Last Day For Rob Rhino Page 25
