A View to a Kill

by Cheryl Bradshaw

  She faced Sandra. “Sorry for shooting you, Sandra.”

  CHAPTER 51

  In hindsight, the lobby of my hotel may not have been the best place for me to meet Sandra and Paula, but it served a purpose I needed it to serve. Armed with the news Paula was responsible for shooting her the night her parents died, Sandra dove from her chair and went straight for the jugular, turning the hotel lobby into a boxing arena featuring one seriously furious, and possibly high, middle-aged chick. Sandra tackled Paula to the ground, knocking over Paula’s chair with Paula still in it, then straddling her on the floor. Hands gripped around Paula’s neck, Sandra made good use of every foul word in her extensive arsenal.

  A curious crowd gathered, eyes wide, more interested in watching the girl-on-girl display than breaking it up. As Paula gasped for the smallest pocket of air, her face reddened to various shades. Finch reached down, grabbed a fistful of the back of Sandra’s shirt. He yanked her off Paula, pushing her back into a chair. He commanded she stay there.

  For the moment, she listened.

  “Catch your breath, and get a grip,” Finch said. “But your ass stays in that chair.” He turned to the growing crowd. “This is private business. Get lost.”

  I gazed across the mass of people still unwilling to separate, studying their faces before kneeling next to Paula. She was half-coughing, half-gagging, and one-hundred-percent struggling to breathe. Her neck was swollen and red with visible imprints of where Sandra’s fingers had just been. I did my best to calm her down, settle her breathing. When she’d swallowed enough air to form words again, she turned her head toward Sandra, and yelled, “I said I was sorry!”

  Sandra rolled her eyes. “Sorry? Sorry doesn’t cut it. You shot me! I could have died!”

  “You should have died, but you didn’t. Elias plugged the bullet hole in your chest. That’s why you’re still alive.”

  Sandra shook her head. “What are you talking about?”

  “Don’t you remember? He took his mask off, and you looked at him right before you passed out.”

  “When I came to, it was all a blur. I remember seeing his hands when they cuffed him. They were red and bloody, and I didn’t know why.”

  “Now you know. He saved your life. A life you’ve wasted.”

  “What do you know about my life?”

  “A lot more than you think. One of my friends is a friend of yours. I hear things. Even when I don’t want to, and believe me, I don’t.”

  “What about my parents?” Sandra asked. “Did you shoot them too? Leave Elias to take the blame for two murders that weren’t his?”

  “I didn’t have anything to do with your mother and your stepdad. He killed them. And you know why he did it.”

  “No, I don’t.”

  “Sure you do. Your mother knew your stepdad was sexually abusing you, and she did nothing to stop it.”

  Sandra’s eyes narrowed. “How do you know about that?”

  “After I shot you, he told me.”

  The conversation had taken a personal turn, with both women speaking to each other like they’d forgotten they were in a public place. The way Sandra dressed, the way she talked, fast and loose—it all made sense now.

  “Elias didn’t even know me,” Sandra said. “Not really. Why would he risk everything for me? I don’t get it.”

  “He knew your story.”

  “How? I never even met the guy.”

  “You did. You just didn’t know it. Elias saw you out one night. He overheard you telling a friend all about your situation at home. You were crying to her, admitting what your stepdad had done. Your friend told you to tell your mom and you said you had. Your mom didn’t believe you. She chose to ignore your accusations and pretend it wasn’t happening.”

  “It still doesn’t explain why you shot me,” Sandra said.

  “We were going to run away and get married, and then he saw you. Sad, considering you never noticed him. Once he knew your story, he obsessed over you. I became nothing to him. I was jealous. I’m not a mean-spirited person.”

  Sandra snorted a laugh. “Yeah, uhh, right.”

  “I mean it. I’m really not. I was just young and stupid and in love with the wrong guy.”

  Sandra laughed. “Save it. I don’t need your excuses. I don’t care.”

  “If you don’t care, why choke me?”

  “You deserved it.” Sandra pulled her tank top down, exposing a faded scar on the front of her chest. “Every day for the last twenty-five years, I get out of the shower, see this scar, and am reminded of that night.”

  I crossed my arms in front of me, stepped forward. “You both have cleared up a lot of past history, but it still doesn’t solve Alexandra’s and Barbara’s murders.”

  “I already told you, I didn’t do it,” Paula said.

  Sandra looked at Finch like she didn’t dare make a move without his permission. “Same. Can we go now?”

  “Soon,” Finch said.

  “Alexandra was going to include a chapter about Elias in her memoir and, more than likely, expose both of your secrets,” I said. “Paula, my guess is Alexandra found out you shot Sandra somehow. What I don’t understand is why wouldn’t Alexandra put it in the original book she wrote about him then?”

  None of us had a good answer for this, and with Elias and Alexandra dead, odds were it wouldn’t change. “Paula, when did Alexandra tell you she knew you shot Sandra?”

  “A couple months back. She said she wanted to give me a chance to tell my side of the story. I refused. She was upset I didn’t give her what she wanted, and she left.”

  “And you didn’t have any contact with her again?”

  “Not until Elias’s mother showed up with the old letter Elias had written. I knew then I had a way to stop her. I knew her kid wasn’t her husband’s. I called Alexandra, threatened to expose her if she exposed me.”

  “She came to my house too,” Sandra said. “She told me she knew about my situation with my stepdad. I didn’t have the trump card Paula had. My letter from Elias was a simple apology. He was proud he’d killed my parents. He thought I’d be happy. Free. When I cried over them the night they were killed, he didn’t understand why. Were they bad parents? Maybe. But they were my only family.”

  Hearing her story, Paula’s eyes welled with tears.

  “Don’t get all weepy on me,” Sandra said. “I just tried to take you out.”

  “You were right though. I deserved it.”

  Paula stuck a hand out toward Sandra. “Truce?”

  Sandra smacked it away. “Get your truce the hell away from me. We’re not friends. We’ll never be friends.”

  “I asked both of you to bring the letters tonight,” I said. “I’d like to see them.”

  “What are you planning to do with them?” Paula asked.

  “I don’t know yet. For now, I’d just like to read them.”

  The letters were handed over. I read them, handed them to Finch to read too. I had a gift for forgetting things. Anything he read was committed to memory.

  The letters were just as Sandra and Paula said. Nothing more. I handed them back. “If you can agree not to attack each other, I have one final question for you, Paula, and then we’re done. What did you do with the leverage you had about Alexandra’s daughter?”

  “Nothing. I threatened her, said if she published the information about me, I’d destroy her life. And by destroy, I don’t mean kill. I’d tell everyone about the child she had with Elias, but first, I’d tell her daughter myself. Part of me thought I’d tell her anyway. The girl deserves to know the truth.”

  “How did she respond?” I asked.

  “Not in the way I expected. The only thing she said was, ‘You’ll never get anywhere near my daughter, and even if you do, by then it will be too late.’”

  CHAPTER 52

  Alexandra Weston

  December 5, 2015

  Alexandra sat on the sofa, jaw clenched, watching the tears flow down her daughter�
�s cheeks. It wasn’t easy telling Chelsea the man she’d called Dad all her life wasn’t really her father, but life wasn’t easy. Chelsea was getting married soon, moving out, living on her own. It was time she learned to deal with challenges like a grown-up.

  Though Alexandra had given up smoking a decade before, the past few weeks had been grueling. So now, as nothing she could say offered Chelsea the degree of solace she was looking for, Alexandra reached for the matte-black pack of Wills Insignia cigarettes beside her, ready to indulge in a few relaxing puffs. “Really, Chelsea, you need to calm down. It’s hard for me to talk to you when you’re like this.”

  “Calm down? Are you kidding me? How am I going to tell my fiancé? How am I going to tell his parents? They’ll never understand. They’ll never allow him to marry me after they find out.”

  Alexandra leaned back, flicked the metal on the side of her lighter, and lit up. She took a long drag, tried to keep calm as Chelsea’s anger flared.

  “So what, you’re done talking to me now?” Chelsea asked. “You think you can tell me something like this, and then move on?”

  “I said what I had to say. I told you the truth. I’m not sure what else you need from me.”

  “I need answers! How’s it even possible that man ... that horrible, disgusting man was my real father?”

  The single infraction, the one, scandalous transgression between Alexandra and Elias, had lasted less than two minutes. Two short, premature ejaculatory minutes and poof, she was knocked up with his baby. Explaining how it came to occur or why it occurred was pointless. “What matters is it happened, and I felt you were old enough to hear it. Apparently, I was mistaken.”

  “Old enough? You’re lying. I know how you work, Mother. You never would have told me if you didn’t have to, so why are you?”

  Alexandra curved her body forward, dipping the cigarette into a square metal tray on the coffee table. “You’re right. I spent my life trying to forget it, trying to give you a good life, trying to keep it contained.”

  “How did it get out?”

  “I suspect Elias’s mother had something to do with it,” Alexandra said. “When I visited with her recently, I told her I was writing a memoir about my life.”

  “Why did you tell her about me? She didn’t need to know.”

  “I’ve asked myself the same question. I’m not sure why I did it. You’re grown now. The woman looked like whatever life was left in her was trickling out. Surprise was on me though. She knew about you already. She’d always known. Before Elias died, he told her.”

  “How did he know?”

  “I told him.”

  “Wait ... what about Dad? Does he know?”

  Alexandra nodded. “Your father found out when you were a little girl. I hadn’t planned on telling him either. He happened upon some information, and there was no denying it. I may not love him, and he may not love me, but he loves you, and I love you. Nothing else matters.”

  “Why didn’t he tell me? Dad never keeps things from me.”

  “He had his reasons.”

  Chelsea snatched her phone off the sofa cushion. “This isn’t fair! I’m calling him. I’m calling him right now!”

  “Put the phone down, Chelsea.”

  “No!”

  “Put the phone down. Your father doesn’t know I’ve talked to you about this yet.”

  “Why, Mother? Why didn’t he tell me?”

  “Because I threatened him. I told him if he did I would divorce him and fight for full custody. He would have never seen you again.”

  Thinking the effort she’d gone to all these years to shield Chelsea from the truth would mean something to her daughter, she expected understanding and appreciation. Instead, it backfired.

  “What’s wrong with you?!”

  “What’s wrong with me?” Alexandra asked. “Nothing is wrong with me. I protected you by keeping the secret. I kept it from you because I love you. You’re the one who’s being irrational now. This isn’t just about you. This doesn’t just affect you. It affects me too. You think I wanted this to happen? You think I wanted it to come out? I’m not proud of it. If I had my way, it would stay buried forever.”

  “Stop saying you protected me! You only protected yourself. It’s what you always do. You’ve ruined my life.” Chelsea snatched a figurine of a bird off the coffee table and threw it across the room. It smashed to pieces against the wall.

  “That’s quite enough,” Alexandra said. “Do you understand?”

  “I hate you for this!”

  Alexandra raised a hand, striking Chelsea across the face. The slap was firm and hard, echoing throughout the room. “I could have had an abortion and been done with it. Believe me, I thought about it multiple times.”

  Chelsea stood. Running from the room, she said, “You should have had an abortion. I wish you did!”

  CHAPTER 53

  Chelsea Wells

  Five Minutes Later

  Enraged, Chelsea ran upstairs, locking herself inside her room. She stared into the mirror, horrified to see the imprint of her mother’s hand on her face. Days like today she hated her. Really, really hated her.

  It was around age nine when Chelsea had first felt abandoned by her mother. While other girls whined about their own mothers being “too involved” in their lives, Chelsea was jealous of the relationships they all had. Her friends didn’t know how lucky they were. Her mother may have been around a majority of the time, but she wasn’t really there, not in the way a mother was supposed to be.

  Their relationship was routine. Her mother asked if she had a good day at school. Chelsea said yes. Her mother smiled, and then returned to her office where she buried herself in whatever book project she was working on. Over time, Chelsea felt alone. If it hadn’t been for the love of her father, a man who wasn’t even her own flesh and blood, she wouldn’t have had any parental support in her life.

  The neglect from her mother over the years had left a gaping hole inside her, a void that wasn’t filled until the day she met Bradley Claiborne. If his parents ever found out who her real father was, she knew they wouldn’t approve of the marriage, and their approval had always been important to Bradley. She leaned back on the bed, weighing all possible outcomes.

  They would marry just like they planned, and her mother’s secret would stay buried.

  She’d finally found real happiness, and nothing was getting in the way.

  CHAPTER 54

  Present Day

  The shot rang out with a loud crack, the bullet whizzing by me in surreal slow motion. It was a crap shot fired with a pistol loosely gripped inside a shaky hand, and yet, it still connected with Finch’s chest. Undeterred and unwilling to allow something so small to take him down, Finch shoved me behind him and lunged forward, swiping at the gun.

  The gun cracked again.

  This time, Finch went down.

  I screamed.

  Using the gun like it was an extension of his hand, Porter shifted his body, aimed at me. “Don’t even think about moving.”

  Red liquid soiled Finch’s shirt. I dropped to his side, my emotions clouding the rational thought I needed in this moment.

  “I said don’t move!” Porter barked. “On your feet. Get up. Now!”

  I was unarmed and outmatched, but not outwitted.

  “Fuck off!” I replied.

  “I’ll shoot you. I’ll shoot you right now.”

  “No you won’t. When I walked through your door, I told you I had something you needed. Something you’ll never get if I’m not alive to give it to you.”

  “Where is it?!”

  I turned toward Finch. “Don’t move. Please. Stay where you are. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

  He coughed through his words. “No ... I’m sorry ... I should have done a better job of protecting you.”

  “It’s going to be okay,” I said. “Hang on for me, okay? Just hang on.”

  “Save your breath, kid,” Porter said. “Stand up, Joss. M
ove away from him.”

  I stood. I didn’t step away. “I thought you said you were moving out of Alexandra’s house? And yet, here you are, in your pajamas no less. Did you pop back for one last sleepover, or were those boxes I saw the other day all a part of the lie?”

  No reply.

  “Where’s Chelsea?” I asked.

  “She’s eloping with Bradley, then taking an extended honeymoon. She won’t return for a month, at least. When did you know it was me?”

  “I saw you earlier tonight at the hotel, standing behind the crowd, watching the fight between Paula and Sandra. Your fake beard and hat was a mediocre disguise; I could tell it was you.”

  “You think you’re such a clever girl, don’t you? I knew the moment you recognized me tonight. Your eyes doubled in size. You looked nervous. I knew you’d come for me tonight. And, as you can see, I was fully prepared for you to come through that door.”

  “I’m a lot more clever than you think.”

  “You? You spent the entire week running in circles when the person you were searching for was in front of you all along.”

  “Did I really? Are you certain what you’re saying is true?”

  There it was. My confidence. His fear.

  I’d rattled him.

  “I see you switched from poison to a classic, old-fashioned gun,” I said.

  He shrugged. “You two gave me no choice. I offered you a drink the other day. You accepted. Your sidekick refused. I realized if I needed to kill you both, poison wasn’t the answer. I had to get through him to get to you. A pistol provided the best solution.”

  “Would you like to know something? For days I’ve been thinking about something Roland Sinclair said to me after Alexandra’s funeral.”

  “Yeah? What’s that?”

  “He didn’t believe you were capable of killing Alexandra,” I said.

  “He was jealous. I had her—really had her. The ball and the chain. He didn’t.”

  “Jealousy had nothing to do with his reasoning. Besides, if we’re talking about who had her heart, I’d say Roland wins that category. He said you weren’t smart enough to pull off her murder. At the time, I disagreed. Anyone is capable of murder, even the simpleminded ones like you. I am curious about one thing though. Why poison?”