Eustacia withdrew. “I don't have any letter. I'm not sure what she's talking about!”
Sheriff Montague replied, “Well, give it some thought while we read through the rest of the will. This is important.”
“What do you depend on, Eustacia?” I asked while walking toward her in confusion.
“Maybe it's somewhere back at my place in Willow Trees. I'll check tonight,” Eustacia noted while squinting her eyes and tapping her cane against the floor. “Confounded woman.”
“Who were the witnesses?” I asked thinking that might help us move forward in the meantime.
“Brad Shope and Bertha Crawford,” Finnigan replied. “The will appears to be in good condition. My legal secretary will match it word-for-word, but this is what we can use to probate the estate.”
“Bertha signed it with no vested interest. She's just an employee who probably did Gwendolyn a favor that night by helping her get the new will finished. I'm more concerned about Brad being the other witness,” the sheriff noted while twisting her fingers together.
I wasn't sure where the idea came from, but I suddenly thought of a way to lure the killer out of hiding. “What if we inform the whole Paddington family that the new will has been found. We tell them that Gwendolyn mailed it to herself and it's in Paddington's Play House, but we are waiting for the proper approvals to open it.”
“Go ahead, I think I understand where you're going with this, Little Ayrwick.” The sheriff had the early formation of a smile.
“If the killer wants to keep this new will from being found, he or she might sneak in to steal or destroy it. The murderer probably thinks it was either lost or thrown away, but if the will were to show up, the killer would need to do something to protect their interests.” I felt my face flush, uncertain if it was the medication kicking in or the excitement over discovering a potential way to solve the case.
“Set a trap is what you're saying,” Eustacia noted. She attempted to stand up but couldn't push the chair away from the table. “That's a smart idea. I can get the family together tomorrow to tell them we are reading the will. Then we can tell them about the new one!”
Finnigan rose to help Eustacia. “I'll play along if the sheriff thinks this will potentially help.”
Sheriff Montague consented. “It's a strong possibility. Let me think through how I want to handle it. But go ahead, let's schedule it for ten o'clock tomorrow morning at the Paddington estate.”
After we agreed on the basics, everyone left Finnigan's office. The sheriff pulled me aside in the parking lot. “I discussed everything with the Paddington accountants. It seems Ophelia was responsible for those unexplained withdrawals from Gwendolyn's accounts. She had access for years but had never used it until recently. I'm assuming Gwendolyn never realized her daughter was able to withdraw money when Charles died last year. Ophelia might be the person we're after.”
“She's been cagey about the entire situation throughout the last week. Now that her husband is back and he's head of the company, it looks like everything's coming together for her,” I remarked. “If she was removed as a beneficiary with the new will, killing her mother before the new will turned up is definitely the opportunity and motive we need. Maybe we'll catch her tomorrow.”
The sheriff was surprised at how quickly I had thought of the idea to bait the killer. “This approach is the best chance we have to getting close to solving the case. We don't have a weapon to trace nor any alibis to confirm or deny. This kind of murder is always difficult to pin down.”
“I'm glad I thought of it. We might solve the investigation together,” I noted with a smile despite a desperate need to crash in my bed for a few hours. I decided to push my luck. “You're welcome, April.” Sheriff Montague nodded at me as she got on her motorcycle and left the law office parking lot.
On the drive home, I called my parents to thank them for bringing Emma to Philadelphia. Emma had convinced them to take her to the zoo for the afternoon, and since her school was closed for a teacher conference that day, my parents offered to watch her. I pulled into the driveway at the Royal Chic-Shack dragging myself upstairs to take a nap. When I got to the top landing, my bedroom door was open and a light shined through the crack. I knew I'd left the door closed and no one else was home.
I turned the corner while calling out, “Hellooo…” In retrospect, knowing the Castigliano family had sent a goon to scare me in the Pick-Me-Up Diner's parking lot earlier that week, I shouldn't have walked in the room without worrying. Maybe it was the medication I had taken or the illness zapping any remaining common sense I had left. When the door swung fully open, I saw someone sitting on the edge of my bed. She looked back at me with a devious yet comforting grin and said, “Surprise.”
“What are you doing here? Someone could've caught you!” I stood almost paralyzed.
“Your parents are gone for the day. I knew I could hide out here until you got home,” Francesca said walking over to hug me.
“But how did you know? When did you get here?” I said feeling lightheaded.
“My mother bugged the house the last time she was here. She's been listening to all your conversations to see if you'd said anything about me being alive. I overheard you and her talking the other day, and I caught a flight out here the next morning.” Francesca explained that she'd stayed at a hotel the previous day waiting for the right moment to reveal herself. I was glad to see her, and we needed to talk despite me not feeling well enough to focus. “But don't worry, I disconnected the listening devices in your room when I got here.”
My body started to weaken. Just as I realized I'd never eaten breakfast or lunch, and that I'd probably overdosed on too much medicine trying to knock the original cold-turned-whatever-virus out of my system, I fell to the floor. The last thing I remember before passing out was Francesca leaning over me saying, “It's okay… you get some sleep. Let your wife take care of you.
* * *
As I rolled over onto my back, a stream of light hit my face. I was in my bedroom, but I had no idea what day or time it was. I felt around the night table for my glasses, then stared at a clock that read seven thirty. Something didn't feel right. I lifted the covers and felt a sudden chill. When I looked down, I had nothing on but a pair of boxer briefs. I didn't remember getting undressed. Then I realized if it was seven thirty in March, the sun had already set. Why was light coming through the window? I sat up in the bed and wrapped myself in an extra blanket lying nearby. That's when I remembered Francesca was in my bedroom. I was about to jump from the bed when the door creaked open.
“Good morning, sunshine. How are you feeling?” Francesca asked with a huge grin. “I'm so glad you slept through the night. I was worried when I took your temperature and you had a high fever.” She set a breakfast tray on the desk across from my bed and brought me a cup of coffee.
“What happened? How did you… where's Emma?” I said. Then I remembered my parents had taken her to the zoo in Philadelphia and were staying overnight. But I also remembered I was supposed meet Maggie for dinner. If it was morning, I'd missed the whole evening.
“Calm down. Don't get yourself even sicker. You were in bad shape last night and passed out. I had to drag you into the bed and get you comfortable,” Francesca said while sitting on the edge of the mattress and feeling my forehead. “No more fever.”
I pulled the covers away and verified I really did have underwear on. “Did you take off my clothes, too?”
“You're acting like this is unusual. I am your wife, right?” Francesca patted my lap and kissed my cheek. “You're looking pretty amazing, hon. I missed snuggling up with you at night.”
“Did we… do anything…” I asked urging my brain to recall what'd happened the previous night. “Where did you sleep?” I wasn't sure that it mattered since she was my wife.
“You were way too sick to do anything like that, Kellan. I got you all tucked in by late afternoon. You've been asleep for almost sixteen hours. Not that I didn't w
ant to, of course, but I prefer you to be awake enough to remember our first time together again,” she cooed. “I slept next to you for most of the night to be sure you were okay.”
“Where's my phone?” I asked hesitantly and feeling a weird grogginess in my head. When Francesca handed it to me, I unlocked the security code and checked what I'd missed. I had over twenty missed calls and multiple voicemails from the sheriff, Nana D, Eleanor, Maggie, and my mother.
“Your phone kept ringing, so I turned it off while you slept. I tried to access it, but you must be using a different code now. I couldn't unlock the infernal device,” Francesca noted. She grabbed a slice of toast from the tray and handed it to me. “Eat something, hon. You need your strength.”
I suddenly felt a pit in my stomach growing so large I couldn't even swallow a bite of toast. “Does anyone know you're here?”
Francesca explained her mother was horrified and incensed that she'd run off, but Cecilia ultimately backed down as long as Francesca would return that evening. “I called Eleanor, too. I let her know you were with me and not feeling well. I asked her to let Nana D know were fine. Your grandmother kept calling before I turned the phone off. I didn't want her to worry.”
“Thanks,” I mumbled while scrolling through all my text messages. I could respond to everything later except for the sheriff and Maggie. But I couldn't call Maggie with Francesca in the room. “Could you get me some ice water? I need something cold for my throat.”
Once Francesca left, I dialed Maggie's number to apologize to her. She didn't pick up. Her voicemail and text message didn't sound like she was angry I'd bailed on our dinner, but I wasn't certain. I left her a voicemail apologizing for not calling. I told her I'd been so sick, I intended to wake up to call her but slept through the night. I'd fix it the next time I talked to her. Then I rang the sheriff.
“Where have you been? We need to discuss the plan for the meeting with the Paddington family? I thought I could trust you based on our last conversation,” she yelled through the phone.
“I'm so sorry. I will be there soon. I'll explain everything later. Is it still ten o'clock? I'll arrive a little beforehand to talk with you.” I managed to squeak out a quick apology before sneezing again.
“Fine. But you've taken quite a step down in my eyes, Little Ayrwick. I'll be watching the security camera at the Paddington estate to get a reading on everyone's facial expressions and comments,” Sheriff Montague growled. She was beyond angry with me.
When I hung up, Francesca ambled into the room and handed me a glass of water and more medicine. “Take these. It's the same pills you took last night. The directions said every eight hours, but you missed a dose while you were sleeping. I didn't want to wake you.”
For a moment, I debated whether to swallow them. Someone had been messing with Gwendolyn's medication, and it killed her. Francesca surely wouldn't do that to me, but I wasn't feeling like myself given everything that had happened in the last day. “Thanks. I need to be somewhere important in two hours, but we should chat.”
“That's why I'm here, Kellan. Let's talk.” Francesca climbed into the bed and snuggled against my chest. “It's like before the accident. We're wrapped up in each other's arms discussing our future.”
I swallowed the pills with a big gulp of water, told myself I'd thoroughly considered all my options, and prepared to have a very difficult conversation with my wife.
Chapter 21
“You know how much I love you, right? It absolutely breaks my heart to think about where we ended up after everything we've been through together,” I said to Francesca as we held hands sitting on my bed. I was slightly more certain of my decision than I had been the prior day. Despite how well she took care of me, and the moments of happiness I felt being so close with her, Francesca's re-appearance in my bedroom helped confirm the correct next steps.
“We're soulmates, Kellan. From that first day we met at the pier in Santa Monica, I knew you were the one. I can't wait to bring Emma back home so I can see her all the time.” Francesca kissed my cheek and squeezed by hand.
“I've thought about us a lot lately. Ever since I found out you were alive, I dreamt about cooking Sunday morning breakfasts together, teaching Emma how to read with you, and walking on the beach holding hands as we look for buried treasure.” And it was the truth. For a little while, I was caught up in all the amazing things we could do as a family once Emma was a little older and we were back in Los Angeles. Then I realized how scared and nervous I was with Francesca in my parents' house.
“Let's go home today. My flight leaves in a few hours. I'll go ahead now, and you can meet me there with Emma later. I'm sure there will be two seats available for you both,” Francesca said looking as beautiful as always. The hope and desire in her face was as contagious as it had ever been.
I changed positions on the bed so I could look directly at my wife. “But I've also felt scared and angry the last couple of weeks. Maybe even angrier than I was the first year after I thought you had died. When I wanted to kill that drunk driver and had almost no will left to live without you. The only thing that kept me focused was knowing I had to protect our baby girl. Emma needed me no matter what I was feeling.” I found my strength and prepared to tell Francesca what I'd decided.
Every nerve in my body was on high alert. What if someone walked in on us? Could the Vargas family suspect something was going on if Emma and I returned? Were we being watched already? I couldn't live like that. As awful as it sounded and felt, letting my daughter think her mother was dead, even if the smallest chance existed to try to make this bizarre situation work, was the best solution. How could anyone be expected to know the right answer?
“I know it hurt you, but I'll make it up to you. We'll figure it out as long as you're back in LA. I promise this won't be forever,” Francesca said with tears rolling down her cheeks. When she reached forward to hug me, I felt a few begin to drop from my broken eyes as well.
“I'm so sorry,” I whispered in her ear. “But I can't do it. I'm not going to move back to LA and take any risks with Emma's future. I know it means you won't get a chance to see her, but that's my final decision. I'm so sorry, Francesca.”
At first, she was quiet. I could feel her body tense up then quiver as if she'd been going through shock. I mumbled more words to try to explain how I felt, probably still trying to convince myself that I knew what I was doing. Francesca eventually reached the point of anger and lashed out at me.
“You can't, I won't let you. She's my daughter!” Francesca screamed pushing me away from her. We continued to search for a solution but one didn't exist. At least none that would work for the both of us. For a few seconds, Nana D's advice remained steady in my head. 'If you love something, let it go. If it's meant to be yours, it will come back to you.' I didn't dare say those words to Francesca because I didn't know in this situation who was truly letting whom go.
When my phone rang and Francesca saw it was my mother, she went to grab it thinking it was Emma calling from Philadelphia to say good morning. She was about to hit the accept button, then stared back at me. “You have to answer it.”
“I'll put it on speakerphone so you can hear her voice, too.” Francesca and I sat together listening to our daughter excitedly tell us about her trip with her grandparents. When we hung up, I grabbed Francesca's hand. “Maybe one day things will change. And we'll figure out a way for you to see her. I'll come back on trips to LA and stay with your family so you know what's going on with Emma.”
“It won't be enough,” Francesca cried. “I want my life back. I deserve it. You deserve it.” Her warm, quivering lips kissed me with years of longing reminding me why I'd fallen in love with her. As she rushed from the room and down the stairs, I felt each of her steps bouncing in my chest breaking my heart into tiny little pieces. I had caused this pain by deciding not to put our family back together. I'd have to live with the consequences of lying to our daughter. If we ever found a way for Francesca t
o come back to life again, would Emma forgive me for what I'd done? I could hardly forgive myself.
* * *
An hour later after a long cry and an even longer shower, I made it to the Paddington estate with a cloudy head. Although I should've stayed in bed, I'd grown accustomed to putting myself in uncomfortable situations and needed to draw out Gwendolyn's killer. In a weird and cathartic way, the potential to close the door on Gwendolyn's pain might alleviate my own.
Eustacia and I chatted with the sheriff on the drive over to establish protocol for the family meeting. April and I would be listening in from a nearby electrical closet. At first, I was not pleased about being locked together in a small space with the sheriff for an hour. Then I learned that an electrical closet in the Paddington estate was larger than my entire bedroom at the Royal Chic-Shack. April and I would have the comforts of plush recliners, sound-proof padding so no one could hear us talking, and a large video screen to monitor the Paddington family's every move and word.
Twenty minutes later, Bertha snuck us through a servant's entrance and led us to the electrical closet. When she closed the door, April turned to me and said, “Certainly not my idea of a fun way to spend a Saturday morning. Just keep quiet and do your part when the time comes. Don't veer from our script. I'm still not sure I can trust you after your disappearance last night.”
My energy was so non-existent, I didn't even try to continue the repartee I'd come to enjoy the last few weeks. “Okay, I'll be ready. You don't have to worry. I'm truly sorry.”
“Wait, who are you?” April replied with a confused glance. “Did Martians kidnap the real Kellan Ayrwick and replace him with the automaton I'm stuck in here with?” For added emphasis, April walked across the room toward me like a robot swinging her arms in exaggerated slow motion up and down.
“I knew you could be witty and sarcastic, but I never expected regular, old-fashioned jokes,” I said trying to rouse a tease out of myself. I wasn't ready to laugh. “Sorry. It's been a rough morning.”
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