Don't Believe a Word

by Patricia MacDonald

  The next morning she was groggy on the train to Manhattan, but she felt a bit more awake by the time she had walked from the subway stop to the offices of DeLaurier Publishing. She had worked for the publisher for four years, and she had recently been promoted to the position of Associate Editor, with a small office all her own. Eden greeted the editorial assistants whom she passed in the hallway with a hail of ‘Good morning’ and ‘How was your weekend?’

  ‘Looks like you had a rough one,’ observed Gillian Munroe, a roving assistant who worked for Eden as well as two other editors.

  Eden shrugged. She was not fooling anyone. ‘I wish I could tell you I was doing something exciting. But I couldn’t sleep after watching the Giants game.’

  Gillian grimaced. ‘Football?’

  ‘Absolutely,’ said Eden.

  ‘Whatever floats your boat.’ Gillian was only twenty-two, and had a peachy complexion which no amount of sleeplessness could dim. Eden thought that twenty-two seemed like a lifetime ago, although in truth she was only twenty-seven herself. But sometimes Gillian made her feel a little bit … past her prime.

  Don’t forget, she reminded herself, Gillian works for you. She’d love to be in your shoes. Eden was pleased with her progress at DeLaurier Publishing. She was on the editorial fast track. The editorial director, Rob Newsome, was already including her in new, high-level projects, encouraging her ambition. All in all, Eden reminded herself, as she poured a cup of coffee and picked up a muffin in the break room, she was doing pretty well. She took her breakfast back to her office and sat down to eat it at her desk. It was a morning ritual she thoroughly enjoyed.

  When she went to college, Eden’s dream was to get her degree and move to New York City so she could become part of the publishing industry. In this one way, she had been more like her mother, always gravitating to books and literature. Of course, unlike her mother, she reminded herself, she had made her dream come true. She was actually working with authors on the publication of books, not just daydreaming and selling a few copies in a bookstore.

  ‘Hey,’ said a friendly voice.

  Eden put down her coffee cup and looked up. Sophy McKay, a senior editor, stood in the doorway, tapping on the open door.

  ‘Come on in,’ Eden said, indicating a chair.

  Sophy came in and slid into the chair in front of Eden’s desk. ‘So … how was your weekend?’ she said suggestively.

  Eden shook her head. Sophy had met her husband on match.com, and was a tireless proselytizer for the benefits of internet dating. Sometimes Eden wondered if it wasn’t a case of misery loving company. ‘It was fine,’ she said.

  ‘So. Spill. You had a date?’

  ‘I had a date,’ Eden said. ‘But he didn’t show up.’

  Sophy frowned. ‘I’m sorry.’

  Eden shrugged. ‘No big deal. I met a nice bartender while I was waiting.’

  ‘A bartender? Eden, you’re trying to meet a professional.’

  ‘No, I’m not,’ said Eden evenly.

  ‘Did you see your dad this weekend?’ Sophy asked.

  Eden knew that this question was a trap. Sophy made no effort to disguise her opinion that Eden spent too much time worrying about her father. She shook her head. ‘My dad went to a Beef and Beer for some guy he used to work with. I think he took our neighbor across the street.’

  ‘Ah, chasing after the ladies, is he?’

  Eden laughed. ‘Hardly,’ she said. ‘They’re old friends.’ Gerri Zerbo, who, with her husband, had owned the bookstore where Tara had fatefully gone to work, was recently widowed. Magnus had been ill for several years before his death from lung disease, and they had been forced to close the bookstore. Now, despite having two grown children – a son and a daughter, who were married with children and lived nearby – Gerri found her new, unwanted status to be lonely. Hugh sometimes invited her to events he thought she might enjoy.

  ‘Maybe there’s more to it than that,’ said Sophy. ‘You never know.’

  Eden shook her head. ‘Trust me.’ For as long as she could remember, Gerri and Magnus had been a fixture in their lives. Gerri was more shocked and dismayed than almost anyone when Tara ran off with her short story writer. Part of her felt guilty for having offered Tara the job at the bookstore which led, ultimately, to Hugh and Tara’s breakup. ‘Your mom and dad had a good marriage,’ Gerri often said, shaking her head as she dropped off a plate of cookies, or drove Eden to the train station when her dad was working. ‘What was she thinking? I will never understand it.’

  ‘How was your weekend?’ Eden asked politely.

  Sophy ticked it off on her fingers. ‘Holiday dance recital. Dinner at Jim’s parents’ house ’cause his younger brother is home from India …’

  As Sophy recounted her busy domestic life, Eden’s attention wandered. She glanced at the homepage on her desktop. The usual headlines with photos were on display for a moment, and then they were replaced by the next tragedy. ‘Murder/Suicide in Cleveland, Ohio.’ Cleveland, Eden thought with a shiver. That’s where her mother lived. ‘Police in Cleveland, Ohio have reason to believe that a mother killed herself and her severely disabled young son by carbon monoxide poisoning …’ Eden glanced at the house on the screen, surrounded by snow. She had never been to visit Tara in Ohio. But she had seen photos on Facebook of Tara with her new family, in front of their house. It was a small, relatively new house painted French blue, like the house on the screen. Gooseflesh rose on her arms.

  ‘… and I had to bake cupcakes for Jenny’s preschool. Eden, are you listening?’

  Eden shook her head.

  Sophy frowned. ‘What’s the matter? You look white as a ghost.’

  ‘This headline,’ Eden muttered.

  ‘What about it?’ Sophy asked.

  ‘It sounds like … But it couldn’t be.’

  Sophy frowned. ‘What happened?’

  Eden shook her head. ‘A woman and her son. They’re saying it was a murder/suicide.’

  ‘So?’ said Sophy.

  ‘My mother lives in Cleveland. The house in the video. It looks just like my mother’s house. Their house is that same French blue.’

  ‘Oh, Eden. The colors are always distorted on those videos. Besides, I’m sure you would have heard something …’

  Eden ignored her, scrolling through the article, as sweat broke out on her forehead and under her arms. Details were scant. They were withholding names until the next of kin could be contacted.

  Just then, the phone rang on Eden’s desk. She picked it up.

  ‘Eden Radley,’ she said.

  ‘This is Melissa in reception. Your father is here to see you.’

  Instantly, Eden’s hands began to shake. She knew. ‘I’ll be right out,’ she whispered.

  She stood up, brushing off the muffin crumbs from her shirt. ‘My father is here,’ she said to Sophy. Her legs felt stiff as she stood up. It was difficult to move.

  Sophy looked worried. ‘Do you want me to come with you?’

  Eden shook her head. She went down the hall and out the doors to the reception area. Melissa sat alone at a large desk beneath the DeLaurier logo. She inclined her head toward the comfortable furniture grouping in the corner.

  A man stood up from his chair. Hugh Radley was a tall man, as wide as those Giant linebackers whom he admired so much. Even though he was balding, and slightly too thick around the middle, Eden always thought her father was handsome. He had even features, keen eyes, and he exuded a quiet authority. He was solid, but not suave, even under the best of circumstances. He rarely came to New York. He found Manhattan baffling. Eden saw the look in his eyes, and her knees felt as if they would buckle beneath her.

  ‘Dad …’ she whispered.

  ‘I didn’t want you to hear this on the phone,’ he said.

  Eden tried to speak, but she could not form the words. ‘What is it …’ she managed to croak.

  Hugh’s face was pale and grim. ‘I’ve just had a call from the Cleveland police.’


  Eden’s heart lurched. She felt her world crumbling into pieces again, the way it had nine years ago, when her mother announced that she was leaving them to remarry. ‘What happened?’

  Hugh gave a shaky sigh. ‘Sweetie, I’m so sorry. It’s your mother. And your half-brother, Jeremy. They were found this morning. Dead. In the house.’

  ‘It was online. I saw it was Cleveland, I had a bad feeling …’

  Hugh shook his head sadly. ‘Carbon monoxide poisoning.’

  ‘They called it a murder/suicide.’

  ‘I wish they’d stop saying that,’ Hugh said angrily.

  Eden was trembling all over. ‘She just texted me last night.’

  ‘Your mom? What did she want?’ Hugh asked.

  ‘To talk,’ Eden whispered. Was it possible that her mother was considering the most terrible deed imaginable and called her for help? Eden shook her head. That simmering anger which she frequently felt toward her mother was like a crutch. A crutch which had now been unceremoniously kicked out of her reach.

  ‘I thought you might want to come home with me,’ said Hugh. ‘It’s such a shock. You can’t possibly stay at work. I know I couldn’t.’

  Eden was thinking about that text. Watching the game, she had said. You can wait, was the subliminal message, until I’m damn good and ready. She had enjoyed defying her request to talk. Now, they would never talk again.

  Melissa, the receptionist, came tiptoeing up to them, her face at once concerned and apologetic. ‘Can I help? Is there anything …?’

  ‘My daughter’s things,’ said Hugh. ‘Her pocketbook and such. They’re probably in her office. Could you go and get them for us? I’m taking Eden home. We’ve had a death in the family.’

  ‘Sure,’ said Melissa. ‘Oh, Eden, I’m so sorry. I’ll be right back.’ She hurried past her own desk and pushed open the door to the editorial offices.

  Hugh had his arm around Eden, supporting her. She was reminded of the days after his heart attack when he would lean on her in order to walk. It had been quite a while since she needed to lean on him. ‘Take it easy,’ Hugh said. ‘I’ll get you home and you can rest.’

  Eden shook her head as a tear streaked down her cheek. ‘I said no to Mom. I wouldn’t talk to her.’

  ‘Oh, sweetie,’ said Hugh. ‘Don’t beat yourself up over it. You didn’t know …’

  ‘I should have talked to her.’

  ‘This is not your fault. None of this,’ Hugh said firmly.

  But Eden was not looking for consolation. She was miles away. Thinking about the small, cookie-cutter-style house she had seen on the screen, where Tara had lived with her boyish husband and their son. ‘Where was he?’ she demanded.

  Hugh frowned. ‘You mean …’

  Eden turned and looked straight into her father’s sad eyes. ‘Yes. Flynn. Where was he when it happened? Is he dead too?’

  Hugh hesitated, and shook his head. ‘No. He wasn’t there. I don’t know why. I don’t know all the details.’

  Eden felt a sudden fury flash through her like an electric shock. ‘He wasn’t there?’ she asked. ‘How lucky for him!’

  ‘Eden, his wife and child are gone,’ Hugh admonished her gently. ‘I wouldn’t call that lucky. He’s lost his family.’

  Eden’s eyes suddenly filled with tears, but not for Flynn Darby. For herself. For her own mother, who had once been the glowing center of her world. ‘Now he knows how we felt,’ she whispered.

  TWO

  Hugh drove home, his grim gaze fixed on the road, while Eden shivered, blanketed with both his coat and her own, in the seat beside him. The crowded buildings of the Bronx gave way to the scenic towns and villages of Westchester County. The town of Robbin’s Ferry was a mere twenty miles from New York City, but it might have been a thousand miles away. There were plentiful trees and parks, and old houses in the village which had been beautifully, elegantly restored. Robbin’s Ferry, a working-class suburb when Eden’s parents grew up there, had become, over the years, a high-end place to live. Now, real estate prices were sky high, and most of the old family businesses downtown had given way to sleek furniture and clothing stores, and upscale florists, bakeries, delis and restaurants.

  For many, living in Robbin’s Ferry was an impossible dream, but for Eden it was just home. She had grown up here and the sight of Robbin’s Ferry was always balm to her spirit. Well, not always, she reminded herself. After Tara left them, and Hugh fell ill, home seemed a hollow word for a while. Gradually, over time, it had become dear to her again.

  Hugh turned into the driveway and pulled up beside the gray-green gingerbread-style Victorian house with white trim and black shutters. Those colors had been Tara’s choice, but Hugh had never wanted to change them. He parked in front of the closed doors of the garage. As soon as he switched off the engine, Gerri Zerbo appeared at her front door across the street, and came outside without a coat. She was middle-aged and doughy, her short, graying hair framing her round face with soft waves, but Eden knew well, it would be a mistake to underestimate her. Gerri had a keen intelligence, and a steely side. Today she opened the door on Eden’s side of the car and gazed in at her, her blue eyes brimming with sympathy.

  Eden avoided her gaze, unbuckling her seatbelt and handing her father’s coat back to him. Gerri stepped aside so that Eden could get out of the car. Eden pulled her coat tight and slung her purse over her shoulder. Then she met Gerri’s gaze.

  Gerri shook her head sadly. ‘Oh, Eden, I’m so sorry,’ she said.

  Eden’s fragile composure collapsed. She hung her head, and tears began to spill from her eyes. She was gently pulled into Gerri’s embrace, and felt a pudgy hand smoothing her hair as Gerri murmured words of comfort. Hugh came around the car, and sighed.

  ‘How are you doing, Hugh?’ Gerri asked.

  Hugh shook his head. ‘Terrible,’ he said. ‘What a terrible day.’

  Gerri gathered herself up briskly. ‘Come on,’ she said. ‘It’s freezing out here. Let’s go in.’

  Eden stumbled up the walkway to the front steps, and followed Gerri into the house. Gerri took Eden’s coat and hung it up, while Hugh ushered her into the living room. Eden sank down on one of the faded sofas and pulled a throw over herself.

  ‘I’ll be right back,’ said Gerri. ‘I’m going to get you some snacks.’

  ‘I couldn’t eat,’ said Eden.

  ‘You never know. You might want something,’ said Gerri, disappearing down the hall toward the kitchen.

  Hugh sat down on Eden’s right in his well-worn leather club chair, and reached out his hand to her. Eden put her hand in his. They had hardly spoken on the way home, but the understanding between them was, as always, comforting.

  ‘Thanks for coming to get me, Dad,’ said Eden, wiping her eyes again with a soggy Kleenex. ‘I don’t know what I would have done.’

  ‘You never have to worry about that,’ said Hugh. ‘You know you can always count on me.’

  ‘I know,’ said Eden, nodding.

  They were silent again for a few moments. Then Eden looked at her father. ‘They said on the news that it was a murder/suicide, but I can’t believe that. She couldn’t have done that to Jeremy on purpose,’ she insisted.

  ‘I understand that life with Jeremy was … very difficult.’

  Eden knew what he was saying. The terrible effects of Katz-Ellison syndrome meant that Jeremy couldn’t speak, or walk on his own. His life expectancy was uncertain, but most Katz-Ellison sufferers didn’t live past the teenage years. He was prone to angry, inchoate outbursts, lashing out at anyone who tried to soothe him. ‘I know. But still,’ said Eden.

  Gerri’s footsteps could be heard on the hardwood floor of the hallway, and then she came in carrying a tray of food. ‘Here,’ she said, setting it down on the coffee table. ‘Have something.’

  ‘Thanks,’ Eden whispered, but she looked at the tray as if the sight of it made her feel slightly ill. ‘I just keep thinking,’ she said, ‘that people die a
ll the time of carbon monoxide poisoning. Why would they think that it was deliberate …?’

  ‘I don’t know all the details,’ said Hugh gently.

  ‘But why are they even considering this as a possibility?’ Eden cried.

  Hugh was calm, but definite. ‘I spoke to a police detective this morning. I’m afraid they are quite sure this was not an accident. The detective I spoke to said that your mother closed the house up tight and left the car running in the attached garage. The door connected to the house was left wide open.’

  ‘Maybe she forgot,’ Gerri suggested stoutly. ‘Sometimes when you come in with a load of groceries, and a kid who’s giving you a hard time …’

  Hugh shook his head. ‘Apparently, the carbon monoxide detector had been disabled. The windows in the house were taped shut, and the other doors in the house had towels wedged beneath them to keep the gas from escaping. Barbiturates were found at the scene.’

  Eden was silent for a moment, picturing it. Her stomach was churning. ‘Did she … was there a note?’ she asked.

  ‘There was,’ said her father.

  ‘What did it say?’ she demanded.

  ‘They wouldn’t tell me that.’

  Eden looked helplessly at her father. ‘Surely we have a right to know these things.’

  Hugh frowned. ‘As the detective put it to me, this is a criminal investigation. Maybe when it is over …’

  ‘She wouldn’t do this,’ Eden said stubbornly. Then she faltered. ‘I just don’t think she would …’

  There was a silence during which Hugh refrained from pointing out that, all the same, she did, indeed, do this. Eden drew in a breath. ‘Where was he?’

  ‘Who?’ her father asked patiently.

  ‘Flynn Darby.’

  ‘Apparently he was away somewhere. He found them when he came home this morning.’

  Eden glared at him. ‘But if she was suicidal, he must have known that. Why didn’t he try to get her help? Why wasn’t he with them that night? Where was he? Out on the town?’