by Shari Lapena
She shakes her head. “No.” She sits completely still as he goes over what she will inherit. When he’s finished, she takes a deep breath and says, her eyes fixed on the surface of his desk, “I had no idea about any of this. I didn’t know he was my father. This is—unimaginable.”
As she gets up to leave, Walter says, with a warning in his voice, “You should prepare yourself—the others don’t like it.”
* * *
• • •
rose drives directly to her mother’s house. Her mother is surprised to see her.
“We need to talk, Mom,” she says, walking briskly through the front door.
They sit down across from each other in the small living room. Her mother looks at her expectantly. “What is it?” she asks.
“Dad wasn’t my real father, was he?” Rose says. It sounds accusatory. Her mother’s face takes on a pained, almost frightened expression as Rose stares at her. Her mother looks down into her lap and says, “No, he wasn’t.” She hesitates for a moment. “Your father couldn’t have children,” she explains. “So I found someone else.”
When her mother doesn’t fill the silence, Rose says, “You had an affair.”
Her mother looks at her, almost pleading. “I wanted a child so badly, Rose. It was the only way.”
Rose stares at her mother. She’d never known the man she’d believed was her father; he’d died when she was about a year old. Still, it’s a strange thing to know about your parents. About yourself. “I just found out that Fred Merton was my father.”
Her mother asks, clearly surprised, “How?”
“Fred Merton made me a beneficiary in his will,” she says, and watches her mother’s face transform. Astonishment first—and then pleasure.
“He did? How much did he leave you?”
“About six million,” Rose says, hardly believing it, even now. “The same as the other kids.”
“The same—oh my God,” her mother says, with an expression of utter amazement. “I had no idea you were in the will at all!” Her mother leans forward and takes one of her hands and clasps it in her own. “This is wonderful, Rose! Because you’re his flesh and blood just as much as those other kids are. You deserve an equal share of his wealth.” Her mother continues excitedly. “He always knew you were his. And he gave me money for your care, every month, from when you were little until you graduated law school.” She becomes more serious and adds, “I’m sorry I kept it from you. Perhaps I should have told you. But he didn’t want that, and I didn’t want to rock the boat. At first I was afraid he might stop sending money, and I needed it. And then, after that—I guess I was just a coward.”
Rose feels a fluttering in her stomach. This really is the sort of thing you dream of, if you’re raised by a single mom and your friends are wealthy. It’s like a fairy tale. But all fairy tales are tinged with darkness.
Her mother says, “They might not accept you as a sister right away, even though Catherine’s your friend. But I’m sure they’ll come around. Oh, honey—this will change your life!”
But Rose is only half listening now.
* * *
• • •
lisa walks around the house, numb, disoriented. It’s a week exactly since the bodies were discovered. She tries to act normally, but it’s hard. When Dan arrived home earlier from his police interview, he was angry and upset. He didn’t want to tell her why. But she finally got it out of him. He admitted they had a witness who saw him in Brecken Hill the night of the murders.
They were sitting in the living room, across from each other. He was on the sofa, and she was in the armchair. That’s when she realized that she’d been keeping herself at a distance from her husband lately. When, exactly, had she stopped sitting beside him, her hand on his shoulder, looking up into his face, commiserating with him? Instead she sat coldly opposite, watching him while he had his head down, staring at the floor.
She sat rigid in her chair. “Is it true?” she asked, a quiet horror and bitterness in her voice. The disposable coveralls had been concerning, but she knew why they were there; he’d used them for the work in the attic. He’d told her that he’d been driving around that night, trying to calm down, that he hadn’t been anywhere near Brecken Hill. She’d believed him.
“Yes,” he admitted. “But I can explain.”
She sat there reviewing her options, as he tried to beg his way back into her heart.
“I never went to my parents’ again that night, I swear,” he said. He told her then how Rose Cutter had swindled him. The money was gone. It was the owner of the house who had seen him.
She sat there thinking what a fool her husband was, to be taken in by Rose Cutter, to lose half a million dollars like that. Maybe his father had been right about him all along. Still, if he wasn’t convicted and inherited all that money, they’d be rich. She didn’t necessarily have to stay married to him forever.
“I drove to that house in Brecken Hill and just sat there, thinking,” Dan said, speaking quickly. “I was so angry at myself for tying up our money for so long—I didn’t know we’d need it. The police think I knew what she’d done and that I’d never get the money back, and it makes it look like I killed Mom and Dad.” He stood up, in a rage. “That fucking bitch—this is all her fault! If she hadn’t pushed that deal on me we wouldn’t be in this mess!”
Lisa could see his point. They’d had half a million dollars in investments. The house was fully mortgaged because interest rates were so low. But Dan had taken that money out without telling her at first, and been duped. That money could have kept them nicely for a long time, until he got himself sorted out. And now the money is gone. It struck her that because of Rose Cutter, her husband might have been driven to murder.
Now, she thinks about it all again. Dan is out in the garage, trying to take his increasingly unhinged mind off things. She’s inside the house, tidying aimlessly, thinking about how one thing leads to another.
49
Irena pulls her cat up onto her lap and listens to it purr as night falls.
She was grateful when Catherine called her last night about the will, but it would have been nice if she’d come in person with the news. Irena knows she’s peripheral to their lives now. It smarts a little, after all she’s done for them. But she pushes the wounded feelings aside.
Irena has just returned from going to Catherine’s herself this evening. She wanted to know what was going on, how everyone was holding up, and Catherine was the one most likely to know. When Catherine told her that Lisa had called to tell her the police had a witness putting Dan in Brecken Hill the night of the murder, Irena had felt a chill roll up her spine.
She remembers her last interview with the detectives, her reluctant admission that any one of those kids might be capable of murder.
She remembers how Fred used to delight in pitting them against one another. He believed in a zero-sum game, Fred did. There could only ever be one winner in any situation. He would set them up in competition, and it was never fair.
Things look bad for Dan, Irena thinks. She’s not so sure Catherine cares, despite her protestations. Or Jenna either. Dan, as always, has been left hung out to dry.
* * *
• • •
the next morning, Wednesday, Ellen is bracing herself for a difficult conversation. Audrey is on her way over for coffee, and she doesn’t think Audrey is going to like what she has to say. She’s not going to like hearing that Ellen’s daughter, Rose, is her brother’s daughter. And that Rose will get more from Fred Merton’s estate than Audrey will. But she will undoubtedly hear it sooner or later, and it’s better that it come from her.
She tells herself that, on the other hand, Audrey might be pleased that those spoiled kids are going to have to share their fortune with an outsider. They don’t like to share. And Audrey has always been fond of Rose. Perhaps she will be pleased, after
all, that she is Rose’s aunt, and that Rose is her niece.
Ellen thinks it might get a little ugly with the Merton kids—maybe not with Catherine, who’s so fond of Rose, but with the other two—and she’s hoping Audrey will be on her side.
But Audrey has been so different lately, a more extreme version of herself; Ellen is quite nervous.
* * *
• • •
rose doesn’t bother going to the office, for the second day in a row. She calls her assistant, Kelly, and tells her again to hold the fort and cancel any appointments. She tells her she has a cold.
She’s hiding. She doesn’t want to face anyone, knowing that she will soon be prosecuted for fraud. Her law career will be over anyway, and the practice will fold. She hopes she can avoid prison. With her inheritance money she can make restitution, throw herself on the mercy of the court.
She’s going to have more money than she’s ever dreamed of, so she really doesn’t need to go into her shitty little practice ever again.
Her mind turns uneasily to those detectives, to her meeting yesterday with Walter Temple. She tells herself that everything is going to be fine.
* * *
• • •
later in the morning, Reyes is notified that Audrey Stancik is at the front desk and wants to speak to the detectives.
She looks better than the last time they’d seen her in the hospital, Reyes thinks. There’s more color in her cheeks.
Audrey barely waits until they’re seated before she says, “Have you made any progress on who tried to kill me?”
“There was definitely antifreeze in the iced tea,” Reyes says, “but no evidence of who was in your home and might have put it there.”
She sighs dramatically, clearly disappointed. “Last night, Dan Merton was sitting in his wife’s car, watching my house.”
“You’re certain it was him?” Reyes asks.
“Yes.” She adds, “He does that, you know, I told you that.” She leans forward. “I have some other information that I think will be of interest to you. I imagine you already know that Rose Cutter is Fred’s natural daughter, and that she’s named in his will.”
“Yes.”
She gives a little snort. “Well, I just found out.” She takes a moment to smooth her ruffled feathers. “Her mother, Ellen Cutter, is a friend of mine. I’ve known her for almost forty years. She worked for my brother as his secretary a long time ago—that’s where we met. We both worked for Fred’s company then.”
She continues. “It’s just that—Ellen knew that Fred was going to change his will to give me half right before he died. Because I told her—the same night he told me.” She adds, “And I don’t believe for a second, no matter how much she pretends otherwise, that Ellen and Rose didn’t know Rose was in the will. Fred would have told Ellen, and Ellen would have told Rose.”
“Why do you think that?”
“Because Fred liked to let people know when he was doing them a favor. Just like he enjoyed letting people know when he was doing something to hurt them. He liked the feeling of having power over people, of being able to give things and take things away. If you’d known him, you’d understand what I mean.”
50
Rose Cutter is at home, trying to enjoy her day of playing hooky from work. She needs to think. There’s so much going through her mind. A sudden, sharp knocking on her door makes her jump.
Her entire body tenses. Maybe she should pretend she’s not home.
But the knock comes again, persistent. She hears a shout through the door. “I know you’re in there, Rose.” She recognizes Catherine’s voice. “I’ve already been to your office and I can see your car in the driveway.”
Reluctantly, Rose gets up and opens the door. She has to face her sometime. She steps back and Catherine enters the house. Rose tries to gauge her expression. But Catherine, as usual, is hard to read.
“Can we sit down?” Catherine asks.
“Sure,” Rose says, moving into the living room, where two small couches face each other over a low table.
“So,” Catherine begins once they’re settled, because Rose can’t bring herself to speak. “I’m supposed to believe you’re my half sister.”
“Catherine, I know this must be upsetting,” Rose begins. “I had no idea. My mother only admitted it to me yesterday, after I learned about the will.”
Catherine looks away in disdain.
Rose now sees how this is going to go. Catherine isn’t happy about having a half sister. She’d hoped she would be—that their relationship might develop from one of friendship into one of sisterhood. But Walter had warned her. Rose’s misgivings escalate; she feels almost like she’s suffocating. She speaks, rushing her words. “I’m sorry, Catherine. It must be upsetting for all of you. I don’t mean to cause any harm. You’re my friend.”
“Your friend?” Catherine says. “You stole Dan’s money! Oh yes, I know all about it. What kind of friend does that?” She leans forward. “How could you?”
“It wasn’t like that, Catherine,” Rose protests desperately. “I was just—borrowing the money. I was going to pay it all back. No one was ever supposed to know.”
“Well, we all know now, don’t we?” Catherine looks back at her with contempt. “So you can pay him back.”
“I can’t,” Rose whispers, looking down. “I don’t have the money to pay him back. Not yet.”
“What?”
“I invested it and lost most of it.”
“How could you do something like this?” Catherine repeats angrily.
“How? I’ll tell you how,” Rose says, finding her mettle. “I didn’t have what you had, growing up. I wasn’t rich and connected. I’ve had to work for everything I have. And I got greedy and impatient. You wouldn’t understand.” But then she tilts her head and lowers her voice and says, looking at Catherine intently, “Or maybe you would. Maybe you got greedy and impatient and murdered your own parents. Is that what happened, Catherine? Or was it Dan?”
Catherine glares at her with cold eyes. She stands up quickly and looks down at Rose, still seated. “We’ll sue you if we have to, to get back what you owe my brother. And I will make it my personal mission to make sure you are prosecuted to the fullest extent of the law. And you will never be accepted as part of this family.”
* * *
• • •
audrey arrives home from the police station, her mind racing. She believes what she told the detectives—Fred would have told Ellen about the will. And Ellen would have told Rose. And Rose has the same troubling genes from Fred that the others do. It might have been any one of those four kids who killed him and Sheila. Audrey feels utterly betrayed by Ellen, who has always been her best friend. Ellen had never revealed anything of this to her.
She wonders if Rose is capable of murder. Ellen might soon have to ask herself the same question. If so, she’ll be all alone in her own private hell.
Audrey is grateful that she’s never had any cause to worry about her own daughter.
* * *
• • •
jenna rolls out of Jake’s bed and starts pulling on her clothes. It’s late afternoon, but she’d come into the city to see him, and, as usual, they ended up in bed before they did much of anything else. He’s gotten little marks of paint all over the sheets. He’s going to need new bedding.
She’s pouring herself some juice from the fridge when he enters the tiny kitchen, doing up his jeans. She looks at him for a moment—admiring him.
“There’s something I have to talk to you about,” Jake says.
She tenses; there’s a hint of something in his voice that she doesn’t like. What is it, nervousness? “What?” she says, smiling over her shoulder at him to cover her own uncertainty.
“I’m a bit short.”
She pretends not to understand, to buy time. �
�What do you mean?”
“My rent went up, and I don’t have enough to cover it.”
Jesus, she thinks. That didn’t take long. What’s it been, a little over a week since her parents were murdered? And he’s already asking her for money. She takes her time putting the juice back in the fridge, her back to him. Then she closes the refrigerator door and turns to face him, still not sure how she should handle it. “Can they do that?” she asks, playing for time. “Just raise it without notice?”
“I’m talking about my studio space. They can do whatever the hell they want.”
She knows he’s right. She’s seen his studio space, and it’s all under the table.
“I can’t lose my studio,” he says, with a bit more flint in his voice.
He doesn’t like it that she’s stalling, that she’s not just throwing money at him, she thinks. But it’s a delicate dance they’re doing here, something that will likely set the tone for the future. They don’t know how they’re going to do as a couple, long term, or if there’s even going to be a long term. He knows she has money or will eventually. A lot of money. And he’s lied to the cops for her. He witnessed that awful fight with her parents the night they died, and he told the police he was with her all night. She owes him, but still, she doesn’t like it that he’s asked.
“How much do you need?” she says, trying to sound like she really doesn’t mind, that this is something a new lover would do. She’s thinking a few hundred will be enough to help him out.
“Could you manage five thousand?” he asks.
She turns to him in surprise. “How much is your rent?”
He looks back at her, meeting her eyes. “It’s just that I want to have some in reserve, so that I don’t have to worry. You know I’m doing a big installation piece right now—I can’t be thinking about having to move.”