by Gina LaManna
Elsie Adler: He was…er, um…he was going after the baby.
Detective Ramone: Yes, but what if I told you…the baby belonged to him?
Elsie Adler: The baby belonged to Sydney too.
Detective Ramone: I’m going to ask you one more time, Elsie. Who killed Henry? Where’s the second gun—or was there one?
Elsie Adler: It was me, sir. I killed Henry. A baby belongs with her mother.
Detective Ramone: That’s not for you to decide.
Elsie Adler: It was self-defense.
Detective Ramone: Last question, Elsie. Where did Sydney Banks go?
Elsie Adler: Sydney? I’ve no clue. I imagine she’s outside recovering with Lydia.
Detective Ramone: She was. An hour ago. But somehow, she got away from the medical examination team. She’s gone.
Thirty-One
Lulu dragged her old, weary bones up to the resort room.
Her whole body, mind, and soul were weary. Maybe it was leftover adrenaline from the commotion on the patio seeping from her muscles, or maybe it was the thought of facing her husband for what could easily be the most difficult conversation of their marriage. Or maybe she was just getting old, dammit, and needed to get used to feeling tired.
With a hefty sigh, she placed her key card in the door. The detective was still downstairs sorting through testimonies, but once Elsie had come forward, the jig was more or less over. Except for the tiny detail of Sydney’s escape…along with the baby. That, Lulu knew nothing about.
Poor Elsie, Lulu thought. She was one of the real victims in all this. Nobody, no child, should have had to see what she’d seen. Or have made the decisions she’d made.
Lulu pushed the door open, tears sprouting in her eyes the second she saw her husband pacing before the window. All thoughts of the case downstairs slipped from her mind at once.
Pierce looked worried, harried. Instead of his usual dress slacks and a fine shirt, he had on jeans and a long-sleeved, pale-gray sweater that looked like butter. The effect was jarring to Lulu. He really was out of sorts—either in worry over Lulu’s whereabouts, or something else. Even his neatly trimmed hair stood at odd angles, and he had the beginnings of a five o’clock shadow. It made him look older, rougher.
Lulu didn’t feel nervous around him any longer. She wasn’t frightened by the glint in his eye or the story he’d likely try to spin when she asked about his secret phone. After a night of lies, all Lulu wanted was the truth.
“Finally,” he said, turning around, an expression of relief on his face. “Lulu, I was so concerned for you! They said you might be involved in the death of a man, and I couldn’t get to you. I tried to find you. What happened?”
“I’m sorry,” she said, her lip trembling. “I—”
“Sit down,” her husband said, gentle but firm.
He rarely took on a controlling tone, but when he did, there was no arguing with him. Lulu sat.
“Tell me one thing,” she whispered. Lulu shifted onto the bed, her shoulders hunched over as her hands fiddled on her lap. “Are we over, Pierce?”
Her husband didn’t look surprised enough by Lulu’s question to make her feel any better. “I don’t want us to be over.”
“But we are.” The tiredness came on stronger. Lulu closed her eyes. “Give me the truth. Who is she?”
“Who?”
“S,” Lulu said. “You’ve got to have figured out by now that I found your secret phone. And I might be naive, Pierce, but I know about the locked drawer in the study. The calendar appointments. The late-night meetings. The money funneled out of our account. It all links back to S. So tell me, who is she?”
“Oh, Lulu.” Pierce shook his head, ran a hand down his face. “It’s not what you think. There’s no one else. It’s always been you.”
“Don’t lie to me!” Lulu wiped angry tears from her eyes. “All I’m asking for is the truth. I heard her fucking voice.”
Pierce’s body went perfectly still. That unfamiliar, stony expression returned. Lulu wasn’t used to seeing her husband’s face harden, nor did she like it. He seemed foreign to her, unfamiliar. As if she hadn’t really known him the entire duration of their marriage.
“There’s no easy way to tell you this,” Pierce said. “But maybe if I show you…”
“Goddamn it, Pierce. I want a name,” Lulu said, her voice raising. “If you’re leaving me, I want to know—”
“There’s a chance I’ll be indicted, Lulu.” Pierce’s voice rang crystal clear throughout the room, like the sound of a flute echoing across a cold, winter morning. Soulful, piercing. Chilling. “My company has been under investigation for some time now.”
“But—” Lulu looked up at her husband. “I don’t understand. Your secret phone…”
“I use it to talk to my head lawyer—Sheila,” Pierce said. “She’s in my appointment book as S. I’ve not mentioned her to you on purpose. She was instructed to leave you entirely out of things, which is why she hung up when you answered this morning. I have been doing everything I can to keep this mess out of our personal lives, hence the phone, the meetings at the office, the appointments I couldn’t tell you about.”
“But the note I found… It said you met with S at a hotel.”
“We often meet at the lobby bar or the restaurant at the Ritz,” Pierce explained. “You can check my credit card—there are no room charges or anything of the sort. I wouldn’t do that to you, Lulu. You have to understand, it’s not good for company morale to take such frequent meetings with Sheila at my office during business hours.”
“No, as a matter of fact, I wouldn’t understand, because you haven’t told me anything. Why wouldn’t you trust me with this?” When Lulu spoke, her voice sounded flimsier than she would have liked. “If you’re in trouble, I would have supported you. You’re my husband, Pierce. What made you think you’d have to suffer through this alone?”
Pierce sat, the stony facade cracking as he took his wife’s hands and grasped them in his own. “Lulu, what you have to understand is that I love you more than anything. The mistakes I’ve made—well, they happened long before I met you. If I’d known what I know now…if I’d known I could be as happy as I am with you, maybe things would have been different. But they’re not, and I don’t want your name and reputation sullied because of my choices.”
“But I love you.”
“And I love you. But I don’t know how long this whole process will take. The investigation is ongoing and will likely end in an indictment.”
“What does that mean?”
“There’ll be an arrest, a grand jury, media attention…” He stared intently at the wall. “You’re such a wonderful woman, and I hate what I’m doing to you, to us. If I’d known…”
Pierce had slipped into a pattern of not finishing his thoughts, leaving Lulu to pick up the pieces and place them together. “Are you telling me you’ll be taken to jail? But that’s impossible! You’re a good man.”
“I’m a flawed man. That’s the beautiful thing about you—you see the good in everyone. Even me.”
Lulu raised her hand, pressed it to her husband’s cheek. “So there’s nobody else? Sheila is…your lawyer? And the late-night meetings?”
“All related to the investigation. I may have told half-truths—or worse—in my professional career, but I swear I’ve never lied to you. It’s always been you. Only you, Lulu.”
Lulu’s tears streamed down her face. “What did you have to show me?”
“Inside my locked drawer at home, along with a few papers related to the case files, I keep a notebook,” Pierce said, brushing a kiss across Lulu’s forehead before he stood and crossed the room. He retrieved a tiny black book from the same pocket in the suitcase where he’d stashed his secret phone and paused, holding it lovingly in his hands. “In it, I write down all the things I can’t seem to
voice now, and all the things I know I’d like to tell you later.” He hesitated again. “That way, even if I’m not beside you physically in the future, you’ll have a little piece of me left behind—if you want it, of course.”
“Oh, Pierce,” Lulu said, her throat clogged with emotion. “I confessed to cracking a man’s skull tonight, rather than face the thought of life without you!”
“Lulu, honey.” Pierce pulled her close. “What’s all this nonsense about cracking a man’s skull open? Who would ever believe you could do that to someone?”
“That’s the least of our problems for now. Why didn’t you tell me?” she whispered again.
“I—” He cleared his throat. “I’ve been alone a long time, Lulu. Almost seventy years I’ve been on my own, taking care of myself, making decisions that affected nobody but myself. If only I could have foreseen the fallout.”
She pulled back with stark realization. “You thought I would leave you if I knew the truth.”
“I am encouraging you to do so. See, I don’t want to hold you back,” Pierce said. “I wanted to make it to our five-year anniversary—for both our sakes—and then I was going to sit you down and explain everything. I would’ve told you next week. I wanted to give you the option to divorce me quietly before things got too difficult. I don’t want to be a burden on you, Lulu. I love you too much for that.”
“Sweetheart…” Lulu choked on her tears. “I’m not going anywhere.”
Pierce gave a sad smile at his wife before he handed the booklet over and watched as she thumbed through pages of love notes, of words he couldn’t say, of dreams he’d never live out next to Lulu. When she looked up, her eyes moist and full of love, she shook her head.
“I hope you’ll tell me more when you’re ready,” Lulu said in a thin murmur. “And until then, will you come here, Pierce? If you will be taken away from me, please—at least let us enjoy the time we have left together.”
Thirty-Two
Emily raised a hand and knocked on the room door. Her breath hitched. It’d been a long night of tying up loose ends, and by the time it was all over, it must have been 4:00 a.m. before she tumbled into bed.
Emily hadn’t been able to sleep, nor had she been able to eat. She’d merely sat on her deck with a cup of cold coffee in her hand, frozen in thought, through the early morning hours. She’d considered all that had come to pass—and all that hadn’t. How close she’d come to ending her life. How close she’d come to ending another’s. How close she’d come to falling for Henry fucking Anonymous, only to find out he’d been no better than Daniel.
Eventually, she’d pulled herself from the gloom. The walls had begun to close in, to suffocate. The sour stench of milk from her creamer jug—left on the balcony to warm in the sun—spiraled into her nostrils and caused her stomach to churn. She vomited into the toilet for half an hour, then forced herself to shower, brush her teeth, and dab on some makeup that made her look less like the complete and utter mess she was.
Ginger pulled the door open, stopping abruptly the second she saw Emily on the other side. She gave a furtive glance behind her, as if concerned Emily might somehow rub off on her children.
A good fear, Emily thought. Because the darkness around her was all consuming, a growing, living thing that fed off her soul—all the good and bright and colorful. And left behind nothing but a brittle shell.
“What are you doing here?” Ginger asked. “I thought—is the wedding still on?”
The wedding had been pushed back a day, much to Miranda Rosales’s dismay (and very loud shrieking). The entire resort had heard shouts about how the flowers were wilting, the ice sculptures melting, the food spoiling. Not to mention the new pergola that had needed to be ordered. They’d have to pay tens of thousands of dollars, she’d screamed at the concierge, but the resort had planted its foot in light of the circumstances—and declared the wedding venue closed.
“No,” Emily said. “I came to say…I’m…”
“Just a minute, all right?” Ginger called over her shoulder to her kids. “You guys get ready for the pool. Have Daddy take you down when he’s out of the bathroom. I have something to take care of.”
“But, Mom,” Poppy shouted. “I can’t find my underwear!”
“I’ll help,” Emily heard Elsie mutter quietly. “Go on, Mom.”
Late the previous night, after Elsie had slipped out of her father’s clutches and come forward with a mostly true story, the gig had been up. The detective had called all four women back into the makeshift interview room to go over their stories one more time. Bit by bit, the real truth had slipped into place.
In light of the situation, and the circumstances, Detective Ramone had agreed not to hold Elsie in juvenile detention but to leave her under the care of her family. With four eye witnesses all claiming that Henry had lunged at Elsie and she had reacted the only way she’d seen how, self-defense had been reinstated as a viable explanation, even without the second gun Elsie had fabricated in her nervous confession.
Sydney’s injuries and testimony had also backed up the women’s stories. Before she’d escaped, she’d gone on record explaining that Henry had hit her over the head with something—she wasn’t sure what—and knocked her unconscious. It was the last thing she remembered before waking up with a splitting headache in the courtyard.
The attack had been unprovoked, according to Sydney, which made Henry’s aggression toward Elsie all the more believable. And, as Detective Ramone pointed out, it wouldn’t be long before the autopsy confirmed or rejected the women’s confessions. It would be easy enough to prove whether it was the bonk on the head, the pergola, or the bullet in Henry’s chest that had delivered the killing blow.
Ginger slipped out of her room, closing the door against the noise of her children as they prepared for the day ahead. “What is it?”
There was a look in Ginger’s eyes, a look of remorse, of trepidation, that somehow weaved its way into Emily’s heart. A concern, almost motherly, as Ginger asked if she was feeling okay, told her she didn’t look good, and would she like to sit down?
Emily felt the tears come. She hadn’t cried in so long, in oh so long. After losing a child, what else was there to cry over? But somehow, she’d never allowed herself to feel the pain of it. To truly mourn Julia. She’d felt guilt—horrible, crippling guilt—over the fact that she hadn’t left Daniel earlier. She hadn’t been there to hear her baby—if there was anything to hear. Maybe there was nothing she could have done, but Emily had never let the thought cross her mind. It had always been her fault.
“Why couldn’t you forgive me?” Emily gasped, then burst into tears all over again. The horrible, gut-wrenching, awful sort of cry that had her rocking against the wall like a maniac, curling against her knees as she slid to the floor. Howling, wailing. Doors popped open in the hallway, voices murmured over the hysterical woman.
“Come inside,” Ginger said, opening the door and shooing Emily inside. “Kids, get out of here. Frank, now.”
Ginger’s family leapt to attention and vacated the room. Poppy was only half-dressed, but Elsie threw a towel around her, and Frank picked his littlest daughter up and slung her over his shoulder while Tommy scrounged for the rest of Poppy’s suit. They worked in unison and vanished before Emily could breathe.
“I’m sorry,” Emily said, her shoulders shaking as she exhaled her words. “I’m sorry I ruined our friendship. You have no idea how sorry I am.”
“Really, it’s okay,” Ginger said. “I should have let it go so much sooner. It was stupid of me to hold onto a grudge for this long. I was hurt, but I got over it. Frank got over it. And I’m sorry, Emily—oh, honey, why are you still crying? Look, I was meant to be with Frank. It all worked out. You got back with Daniel, and there was no harm done. Maybe I should be thanking you for the kick in the pants that I needed to realize I belonged with Frank.”
“I stayed with Daniel,” Emily said. “We had a child together. Her name was Julia.”
Ginger’s shoulders stiffened. “I didn’t know that.”
“Of course you didn’t,” Emily said. “You were off having your beautiful children with nice, thoughtful Frank. And Daniel…”
Ginger looked mostly confused as Emily trailed off, and though she tried to offer comfort, she clearly didn’t know what to say. “I’m—um, happy for you! Where is your daughter now? Is she with him?”
Emily raised her bleary eyes, looked at her ex-best friend, and shook her head. “She’s gone.”
The story flushed out of Emily, poured forth like it never had before. Every aching detail, every poisoned memory, every sweet, tiny detail she could remember from Julia’s short time on earth. Every awful detail of her life with Daniel. Every wave of guilt she’d felt in the following years. She continued through to the previous night and explained that the reason she’d had the gun was so she could end her own life.
“Emily,” Ginger said, and true sympathy gushed from her as she pulled her old friend into her arms. “None of this is your fault. You were a victim, sweetie. What Daniel did is inexcusable. It’s not—your—fault.”
“If I’d only left—”
“I’ve had friends—wonderful mothers, wonderful fathers, wonderful families—lose children for reasons beyond their control. They never deserve it. There’s always guilt. I can’t imagine—if it had been me, or Elsie…”
The women both lapsed into silence.
“I see why you are so angry at me,” Ginger said quietly. “I’m sorry I never knew, and I’m sorry I handled the situation so poorly and made things worse. While I had my children, and Frank, you had…”
“It’s not your fault,” Emily said quickly. “But, Ginger, I can’t go on like this. I need…I need help.”
Ginger ran her hand through Emily’s hair, motherly, softly. “It’s going to be okay, Emily. You’ll get through this. You were ready to save my daughter’s life yesterday. Whatever you need, whatever I can do for you—it’ll be done.”