by L. A. Fiore
She looked positively ill when her blue eyes lifted to meet mine and it was an almost inaudible hiss when she replied, "Why are you doing this?"
"Because my mother is dead and so is Trace's and we want to know why."
I didn't think it was possible but the woman paled even more before she managed to ask, "You don't think I had anything to do with their deaths, do you?"
Trace was stunningly frank when he replied, "The thought has crossed our minds."
Vivian lifted her martini, downed the entire contents and signaled for another, before she turned and met our unwavering stares.
"What do you want to know?"
"Were you getting scripts from Dr. Grant to drug Victoria?"
It was guilt and shame that covered her expression before she answered, "Yes. It was Doug's idea but, yes."
"You and Doug grew up together."
"Yeah. We were dirt poor and then along came the Michaels and we saw a taste of how the other half lived and we wanted it; we wanted to live like the other half."
Trace's arms came to rest on the table as he leaned closer to Vivian. "So you planned, from the beginning, to ingratiate yourselves into Charles and Victoria's lives."
"Yes."
His voice grew hard when he asked, "...and the drugging of my mother?"
"Doug told me Victoria was having trouble sleeping but she was too embarrassed to go to the doctor. She didn't want rumors to circulate that a Michaels was a pill popper because she had been conditioned by her family that private matters stayed private. I didn't realize what he was doing, I honestly didn't, and then I met Charles and really fell for him. I left Fishtown not long after that and went to New York with Charles."
She reached across the table and covered Trace's hand with her own.
"I didn't know what was going on in that house. I swear to you I didn't know. I wanted a different life and that is what I've done. On the few occasions that I reached out to my past to touch base, Darlene never made mention of anything going on so I just assumed all was well."
"Wait, what's this about Darlene?" I asked.
"Darlene, Doug and I were like the three musketeers ever since the fourth grade."
Trace's reaction to that matched my own.
"Are you saying that Darlene and Doug hung out even after he married my mom."
"Yeah, she loved him and was really pissed when he married Victoria. He told me once that Darlene was getting too possessive and that he was going to tell her to stop coming around but after I moved to New York they started spending more time together not less."
"She failed to mention that." Trace hissed.
It was genuine surprise that flashed over Vivian's face. "You found Darlene?"
"Yes, why?" I asked.
"She just dropped off the face of the planet after Doug and Victoria died. I always wondered what happened to her."
"Did you know about my mother?" I asked.
"I knew your mom had suspicions, particularly after Darlene mentioned that Mandy knew about the scripts. I also knew that Darlene was nervous, scared even, of what Mandy might uncover. I should have paid better attention but I was very self-centered then; hell, I still am."
"Did you know my mom was trying to get DHS involved and that she was trying to get Trace and Chelsea out of that house?"
It wasn't feigned surprise that flashed over Vivian's elegant features. "No, I didn't. Your mom suspected what was happening?"
"We think Victoria told my mom that she feared for her children's safety but before my mom could make anything happen she was killed in a hit-and-run by a car that matched the description of Douglas' car."
Vivian looked downright sick. "Oh, my god."
"What?!" Trace all but barked.
"Douglas rode around on a motorcycle; Darlene had been using his car."
"Shit." I said as Trace reached for my hand. "That explains why your dad had that newspaper article and the receipt to the garage. He really was trying to get proof. How much do you want to bet Darlene was blackmailing him? Take out the person who could potentially take away the man she loved and use that crime to bind that man to her."
Trace's voice was so very soft when he said, "I'm sorry, Ember."
I leaned over and pressed a kiss on his mouth. "Silver lining, Trace, I got you."
Uncle Josh called a few days later with news on Mrs. Fletcher and, sadly, when I learned what he had uncovered I wasn't all that surprised since it was what I had suspected.
"She's dead, Ember, she died in 1994 in a car crash after someone ran a light." As soon as the words were out of his mouth I needed to sit since my legs were refusing to hold my weight.
"That seems suspect." I said.
"I agree. Who was she?"
"...their cook. Trace really bonded with her and it was she who taught him everything he knows about cooking. She discovered Doug's secret and then she just stopped coming to work."
"Jesus." My uncle hissed through his teeth. "He has had more than his share of shit."
My gut told me that Darlene was responsible: another way for her to protect Doug while at the same time binding him more tightly to her.
Trace and I had not yet shared what we learned from Vivian because once my dad and uncle learned of it, Darlene would be in some serious shit.
It seemed probable that it was Darlene who killed Douglas and Victoria in a jealous fit of rage but the only thing that kept me from completely getting behind that theory was the police report or, more to the point, the lack of victim-identification. We were missing something and until we knew why Detective Vincent Gowan withheld certain information from his report, I couldn't take that final step.
That night, while Trace and I got ready for bed, I told him about Mrs. Fletcher.
"Trace?"
He was already dressed for bed and was standing at the counter in the bathroom brushing his teeth. His eyes found mine in the mirror as I approached. I waited for him to finish and turn to me before I reached for both of his hands.
"I asked my uncle if he could find out what happened to Mrs. Fletcher."
I felt, as well as saw, the tension that entered his body in reaction to my words but a part of healing was closure and he needed to know that Mrs. Fletcher wasn't one of the angels who saw, heard and spoke no evil. I wasn't sure how to break it to him so I decided to just come right out and say it.
"She died, Trace, in 1994 when her car veered into a median to avoid a car that had run a light."
It took him a minute to comprehend my words but when he finally did, I saw his eyes turn moist as understanding dawned. His voice was hard when he said, "Silenced?"
"If Mrs. Fletcher learned Douglas' secret, and Darlene was the one to kill my mom, then it would follow that Darlene would want to silence Mrs. Fletcher to protect Douglas," I said.
"She was a good woman; she had a family."
"I know where she's buried, Trace, if you want to visit her."
I watched as fury quickly replaced sadness. Trace pulled from my hands and, in one swipe, knocked everything from the bathroom counter: the sound of shattering glass filling the silence.
"How many goddamn lives had to be ruined?"
Every muscle in his body was flexed as his anger rolled through him. There wasn't anything I could say and knew he just needed time to process it, so I slipped from the room and headed down the hall for the pan and brush. He was still standing there with his palms flat on the counter when I returned. His head was hung low and the scroll work of his tattoo was rigid and flexed. I knew what he wanted, he wanted to walk because he needed to vent. He needed a fight but he wasn't going because he vowed that he would never walk out again but this was different because he wasn't walking out on me.
"Go, Trace." He lifted his head as his eyes found mine in the mirror.
"I'll clean this up. Go."
I could see his confusion so I added, "I understand the draw of the fight for you, it helps you cope, so go. I'll be here when you get back."
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He turned, pulled me into his arms and kissed me hard on the mouth.
"Thank you, Ember."
"I'm sorry."
He said nothing, only kissed me again, before walking out of the bathroom. I heard him moving around for a few minutes before I heard the sound of the front door closing. I cleaned up the mess and then settled into bed with a cup of tea and a book. An hour later, the phone rang.
"Hello."
"I was asked to check in on you."
"Hi, Rafe. Tell him I'm fine. How's he?"
"When he first called me, not good, but he's better now. He's always better when he gets to work out his issues with someone else's face."
"Tell him I love him."
"I will. Goodnight, Ember."
"Night, Rafe."
I was dreaming about pie-pops, more specifically wondering if it was actually feasible to make a pie-pop or would the juice drip out of the hole where the stick was inserted into the crust? I grew rather warm in my dream, so warm that I was seriously thinking about jumping into the lake of cold milk that existed in the cake-pop forest. I felt desire stirring in my belly and little shots of electricity shooting down my arms and forced myself to wake up because I realized why I was growing so warm.
Trace's naked body was covering mine as his mouth glided over the skin of my neck and shoulder. I was still half asleep and hadn't realized that he had already divested me of my clothes until I felt him slide into me in one, long, smooth stroke. My hips lifted as the heels of my feet dug into the mattress. I wrapped my arms around him as I trailed my fingertips up and down his back. He moved so slowly and each roll of his hips ignited a fire in me. His mouth found mine as he very deliberately brought my body to bliss and, as I floated back down, I slipped back into sleep.
I awoke the next morning to the smell of bacon and peeled my eyes open to see Trace standing before me with a breakfast tray.
"Good morning, sleepyhead."
"Good morning," I sat up and settled against the headboard.
"Hungry?"
I smiled. "Yes."
Trace settled down next to me and handed me an egg sandwich that was loaded with bacon and cheese. I took a hearty bite and watched as he did the same, before I asked, "How are you feeling?"
"Better. Thank you for understanding."
I leaned over and brushed my lips over his before I took another bite and chewed.
"This is delicious."
"Ember, I would like to visit Mrs. Fletcher's grave."
"Okay."
He held my gaze before he whispered, "Thank you." I knew the thank you wasn't just for going with him to the gravesite but also for looking into what happened to her.
"You're welcome."
"How was your evening?"
He asked this with a knowing smile so I answered, "Uneventful."
He looked almost hurt before he asked, "Are you certain?"
"...yes. I had a most excellent dream though."
He leaned up and looked at me with a grin. "Really, and what was this dream about?"
"Pie-pops."
"What?!" He moved the tray, luckily for me I had already finished my sandwich, before his body covered mine.
"Is this sparking your memory?"
I purposely looked clueless before I said, "No."
He looked positively put out so I decided to cut him some slack.
"...any time, Trace."
"...any time what?"
"...you want to wake me like that, any time."
He grinned before his mouth found mine.
Chapter Thirty-One
My uncle called and asked if Trace and I would join him for dinner. I was surprised he was in Manhattan since he hadn't told me he was coming. The place he selected was a small eatery in Midtown and when Trace and I entered we saw that my uncle wasn't alone. We made our way through the tables and as soon as my uncle saw us he stood, his guest following him.
"Ember, Trace, thanks so much for coming."
"Any time, Uncle Josh, you know that."
"Ember, Trace, I would like to introduce you to Vincent Gowan."
I recognized the name immediately as my eyes moved to my uncle's guest. He was middle-aged, late forties, but he was still wide in the shoulders and narrow in the hips. His black hair was gray at the temples and there were a few lines around his eyes but outside of that, the man could pass for ten years younger. There was a warmth to his smile and a sincerity in his eyes and I found, on first impression, that I really liked Vincent Gowan.
We sat and placed our orders and then my uncle glanced over at me before his eyes settled on Trace.
"Vincent is the detective that investigated your parents' deaths, Trace. Ember had some questions and asked that I look into it and when I tracked down Vincent he shared with me a story that I knew he needed to share with you."
Trace and I both looked at Vincent, who I noticed was looking specifically at Trace, and then he shared his tale.
"About twenty years ago, I was a rookie on the force in Bellville, Ohio. I responded to a domestic-disturbance call and that was when I met Victoria. She was terrified and the huge black bruises on her jaw and cheek explained why. Like most abused women, she didn't want to talk and wanted me gone but every time the neighbors called in a complaint, I responded with the hopes that at some point Victoria would grow comfortable enough with me to ask for help. She didn't though, not once in the dozens of times that I was called to her house."
"One night, months later, she called me and asked me to help her children. She feared for them: feared what her husband would do to them. It was a difficult situation since she had never pressed charges against the man so trying to remove his children without any legal ground was close to impossible."
"I didn't know about Amanda Walsh and what she was trying to do until after she died. Victoria felt responsible for Amanda's death and she was terrified of what would become of her and her children if she went against her husband -- so much so that she stayed."
"No further calls were made and the times that I would drive by the house to check on Victoria, I'd see her sometimes in the garden and she looked peaceful, almost serene, so I assumed everything worked out. That was a mistake, a rookie mistake, since abusers don't just stop but it was naive hope that allowed me to believe in the impossible."
"It was six years later when I actually got the call. I drove to the house and immediately knew something terrible had happened but when I heard the whole of it, I was compelled to help. The Bellville police force is very small and I wasn't much more than a rookie so the inconsistencies in my report were chalked up as inexperience. Without any hard evidence, the case eventually went cold. Most cold cases are never solved and that was what I wanted -- for this case to never be solved. I had seen her husband's handiwork and when she shared with me his sick interest in his children, I couldn't condemn her since I would have done exactly the same in her shoes."
"What the hell are you saying?" Trace demanded as his jaw clenched hard with his anger.
Vincent leaned closer before he whispered, "That night, thirteen years ago, it wasn't Victoria Michaels who died it was Darlene Moore."
My eyes flew to Trace's who was completely immobile. I reached for his hand, which was icy cold, and held it in my own as the full meaning of Vincent's words settled over me. Darlene Moore was dead which meant the woman we met, the one we believed to be Darlene Moore, was really Trace's mom alive and well. My heart went out to him and though I knew he was currently in shock, his mother was alive, and his mother did care. She did love them and in the end sacrificed her own life to save those of her children.
"I learned in the years that followed that Darlene killed Amanda to protect Douglas and vowed to Victoria that she would do the same to Victoria's children if Victoria ever told anyone. It was then that Darlene upped the dosage that Douglas had already been feeding Victoria, keeping her in a near comatose state, but even in that condition she found the strength to fight for you -- knew t
hat you were both in danger. She didn't help you that night because she wanted you out of the house. She wanted you away and safe so that she could do what she knew she had to in order to ensure that you were both safe once and for all. The bodies were as gruesome as they were because I hadn't wanted anyone to be able to identify the female victim. And, yes, I knowingly aided and abetted but Darlene Moore was a murderer and Douglas Stanwyck was an animal. Legally I crossed a line but morally I didn't. I called in a favor with a doctor-friend to help with Victoria's withdrawal and he said it was nothing short of a medical miracle that for someone who had been drugged for as long as she had been that she wasn't brain-fried."
Trace, who had remained completely frozen, suddenly stood and reached his hand down to me.
"I would like to go see my mom. Would you please come with me?"
I stood and took his hand. "Absolutely."
I drove my uncle's car, since Trace really wasn't up to driving, and when we arrived at the bar in Ramsey I turned to him.
"Do you want me to stay here?"
"No, please come in with me."
Five minutes passed but Trace made no move to leave the car so I turned in my seat to face him.
"Tell me what you're thinking?"
He was silent for a minute, and I didn't think he was going to answer, and then he offered very softly, "There's so much going on in my head but the only thing I can seem to focus on is that my mom is alive."
He turned then as tears filled his eyes.
"She's not just alive, Trace, but she fought for you and was the one who ultimately saved you."
He moved then, with such speed, to pull me across the gear shift into his arms and when he spoke his voice was hoarse from unshed tears. "No, Ember, she made sure that Chelsea and I were safe but it was you, Ember, who saved me."
I felt my own tears stinging my eyes and not just because of the conviction in his tone but also from the magnitude of his love for me that was burning in his eyes. He wrapped my face in his hands as his lips lingered just over mine. "Never, ever forget that."