by Pamela Crane
‘Hon,’ her southern accent was as potent as her Versace perfume, ‘women like us have to be careful these days. Look at the madness in the news! You just don’t know what kind of crazy people are out there.’
I didn’t know what ‘women like us’ entailed, or what it had to do with the news she was referring to, but the advice was sound. We did need to be careful. And there was a whole lotta crazy out there.
Hanging on the wall in the corner was a huge television, the sound muted but closed captioning ran across the bottom of the screen. A Deaf hairdresser two chairs down signed to Gisele:
Isn’t that the same woman who was interviewed by the police a couple days ago?
I still remembered the sign language my mother had taught me after she lost hearing in one ear during a battle with meningitis. My insecure father had forbidden us from signing in front of him, but my mother and I took advantage of any chance we got to use it when he wasn’t around. It was our secret language.
Gisele signed back, her wrists jangling and my surprise piqued. She didn’t look like the … bilingual type. Especially not one well-versed in American Sign Language:
I think you’re right. That’s her.
The Deaf woman continued, her hands animated:
They think she was murdered in her home.
Murdered? I recognized that sign right away and looked up to catch the tail end of the news brief:
‘Police are investigating after Michelle Hudson, neighbor of victim Benjamin Paris, whose murder case is still ongoing, was found dead in her home late last night,’ the closed caption read. ‘When a local resident of the quiet neighborhood came to check in on Hudson, she found the front door unlocked and called 9-1-1. Responding emergency workers pronounced Hudson dead at the scene. Investigators have classified the death as suspicious, given Ms. Hudson was a witness in the Paris murder. Police ask that if anyone has any information that might help in the investigation to please come forward.’
Scary! So much evil people are capable of, the Deaf stylist signed. I hope they catch whoever did it soon.
Gisele replied, I know. I hope they catch him soon too.
I wondered if Harper had seen the news. Or if the investigating detective on Ben’s case would notify her. It was a strange turn of events. And a little too coincidental that the only witness in her husband’s murder was now dead.
After generously tipping Gisele for proving my stereotype about her wrong, I waved goodbye and headed outside, running my fingers through new, short black layers tipped in pink. The bob was sassy, like me. The sun dappled my face, and my flip-flops smacked the concrete sidewalk. At the end of the plaza was a gluten-free, soy-free, taste-free bakery, so I figured I’d pick up a muffin for Harper and then hit the donut shop to grab a cronut for myself. I wasn’t done trying to make amends with Harper, no matter how much I wanted to give up. And the baby insisted on sugar and starch, so sugar and starch I would give her.
As my sandals smack-smacked along the sidewalk, a movement in my peripheral stopped me mid-stride. I glanced behind me, sensing eyes watching. Observing. Idling in the parking lot was a black car, sitting in the middle of the road like it was waiting for someone. I couldn’t tell the make or model; I was no automotive aficionado. My knowledge of cars was as basic as my knowledge of tools: black car, white truck, hammer, unbolt-thingy. The only screwdriver I was familiar with was one I could drink.
By the time I reached the no-taste bakery, the car had drifted forward along with me, but the reflection of sunlight on the window cast a glare I couldn’t see through. I thought I caught a glimpse of aviator sunglasses through the glass, but I couldn’t be sure. First, the sighting at the mall. Now, a vehicle tailing me. All signs pointed to a Harrison Ford action movie.
It wasn’t until after I slipped into the bakery, bells on the door jingling as it slammed shut, that the car slowly rolled past. The driver turned his head toward me, I could see that much, but his face was hidden beneath the sunglasses. I was slammed with a sudden sense of familiarity as the incident at the mall revisited me.
Noah. He must have found me.
I didn’t want a cronut anymore. I wanted to survive. Survival was a battle, one I knew how to fight, because I had been training since the day I left home. I wasn’t afraid of Noah anymore; I was afraid of what he brought out of me.
Chapter 26
Harper
‘What do you mean there’s another name on my husband’s life insurance policy?’
With my hand giving my phone a death grip, nothing the insurance agent said made sense. I had called to get an update on the status of the funds, just in case they were able to start processing the check. It was wishful thinking, I know, but worth a call. I didn’t expect to find out that I was the recipient of only half of Ben’s policy.
‘There are two benefactors listed for the policy, ma’am.’ I could tell that the girl on the other end of the line was losing her patience with me, but I was losing my patience with her as well. None of this made sense.
‘Who is the other benefactor? One of my children?’
‘I’m sorry, but I’m not at liberty to say.’
I didn’t know why this hadn’t come up before. It was infuriating! Not only did the life insurance company make me chase them down for my entitled payout, but then they wouldn’t release the information on who was on the policy.
‘Please, I’ve just lost my husband a year after we lost a child and I’m only trying to get our finances in order. Can you just bend the rules this one time and tell me which of my children is on the policy so that I can start trying to get my family taken care of?’
The lady inhaled in my ear, and her voice grew soft with sympathy. ‘I’m so sorry for your losses. But my hands are tied.’
There had to be a way to get this woman talking. All I wanted to know was who my husband was giving half of my money to – our kids’ money, their future.
Could it be the same person Ben had created a bank account for? I couldn’t pull the name from my memory; it was a strange name. Not one I’d ever heard before. I had written it down somewhere. In my purse, maybe?
‘One second,’ I told the agent, stalling while I rummaged through my purse contents. The crinkle of an envelope told me I’d found what I was looking for. I re-read the name I had scribbled on my to-do list during my chat with Detective Meltzer: Medea Kent.
‘Is the other beneficiary Medea Kent?’
‘That’s correct, ma’am.’
Medea Kent. Medea Kent. Her name kept popping up everywhere like a bad case of whack-a-mole. Who the hell was Medea Kent? And why was she listed on Ben’s policy? God help me, was this his mistress? Did he have the balls to leave his lover half of the life insurance policy that belonged to me and his kids? We were his family, for crying out loud! Unable to wrap my brain around what all of this meant, I tried to slow my thoughts.
Smell a flower, blow out a candle. But it didn’t work. I was flooded with a mix of confusion and anger and sadness. How could Ben have done this to me, betraying me all over again from beyond the grave? I couldn’t handle another secret; I was sure this one would break my back.
‘Are you still there, ma’am?’ the lady asked hesitantly, pulling me out of my hysteria.
I wrote Who is Medea Kent? on the paper where I had been jotting down notes from my call with the insurance agent.
‘Oh, um, yeah. Can I also verify that the address you have on file is correct? We just recently moved so I wanted to check on that.’
I heard her fingers tapping a keyboard, then a minute later she spoke. ‘Yes, ma’am. I have Summer Lane listed as your primary mailing address.’
Summer Lane? Why did that sound familiar? Opening the envelope, inside was the scrap of paper with the address 3 Summer Ln written in Ben’s print.
‘Yep, that’s the right address.’
Beneath Medea’s name I wrote 3 Summer Lane? Closing my eyes, I found my breath again. My thoughts stopped whirring just long enough to catch a thought.
I needed to know who this Medea was, why my husband had decided to leave her a million and a half dollars. Certainly the sex couldn’t have been worth that much.
After a weak thank-you for all her help, I hung up and cried.
‘Damn it!’ I slammed my cell phone down on the kitchen counter, realizing I’d likely cracked my screen after the fact. I couldn’t take another lie, and now my cell phone had a splinter running up the corner.
‘How could you?’ I screamed, waiting for an answer from Ben’s ghost that would never come. With fists clenched, my wail grew into a solid wall of sound. I yelled until I ran out of voice.
While I threw my grownup-sized fit, Lane snuck up behind me and pulled me into a bear hug. Part of me wanted to shrug him off, punch him in the gut because I just wanted to hit something, but I knew I needed a hug more than a fist fight.
‘Hey, you okay?’ he asked.
‘Eff my life!’
‘Eff my life, huh? You must be pretty pissed to start talking teenager.’
I laughed as I cried, because Lane had a way of doing that to me. He could turn sobs into snorts. It was his gift.
‘What’s going on, Harp? If you’re about to have a mental breakdown, no one would blame you. You’ve been through a lot.’ He pulled out a barstool and sat beside me.
‘It’s everything, Lane. I just found out Ben’s mistress is listed on his life insurance policy for half of it. A million and a half dollars, Lane! I mean, why? What did she ever do for him other than a few months of screwing? I gave him my heart, my entire life, his children, his home … and that’s what he leaves me with? A final act of betrayal – seeing her name listed next to mine as if we’re equals! I don’t understand, Lane.’
I wept in Lane’s arms as he held me, my sobs soaking into his shirt. ‘It’s okay.’
It didn’t feel okay. Not even on the same continent as okay.
When I found my voice again, I looked up at him through the tears. ‘Everything is falling apart. And I got a call from Detective Meltzer, who wants me to come down to the station to discuss some “recent developments,” which I’m sure is code for an arrest warrant.’
‘Pornstache called you? What exactly did he say?’
‘He told me that Michelle Hudson was found dead in her home. Murdered.’
Lane’s eyes widened with shock. ‘Murdered? How?’
‘I don’t know. He won’t tell me, but I’m starting to wonder if Ben didn’t kill himself after all. Do you think someone killed him and staged it as a suicide – y’know, before we restaged it as a murder?’
‘You want me to be honest, Harp?’
I sensed our conversation was taking a deeply personal turn. ‘Always.’
He dropped his gaze to the marbled countertop, then sighed. ‘Ben wasn’t the man you thought he was. I know you know this, but it was worse than you can imagine. He hurt people, people who trusted him. Was it bad enough to get him killed? It’s possible. I’ve been wondering that since the night you called to tell me he had died.’
I had no idea what Lane was talking about, and that scared me terribly. ‘What kinds of things did he do? Am I in danger? And the kids?’
‘No, nothing like that, Harp. I just think the best thing for you, for the kids, would be to get as far away from all of this crap as you can. Forget the life insurance money, sell the house, and start over somewhere new.’
‘You’re starting to sound like Mom.’
Lane glanced up at me with an urgency. ‘Maybe Mom could go with you. She’s always wanted to retire in the Midwest with all that open space. It’d be a perfect place to raise kids.’
I shook my head. ‘Why the sudden push to run away? You’re talking nonsense.’ Unless it wasn’t nonsense. Unless Lane knew something I didn’t. Was Mom connected to Ben’s death?
He didn’t answer at first. Then the words came softly. ‘Because I’m afraid if you don’t leave, something bad is going to happen. I just want you safe.’
What if safe wasn’t possible? That thought plagued me daily. ‘It’s not like I can leave until the investigation is over. I’m scared, Lane. First Ben’s dead. Now Michelle. And after the baby’s death last year … what if the cops start thinking I’m some serial killer or something?’
‘Hey, take a breath. It’s okay. You’re innocent, which means they can’t prove you’ve done anything. And Kira’s death was already ruled an accident; there’s nothing they can pin on you. The only thing you could possibly get in trouble for is tampering with evidence, which would probably be a slap on the wrist. You’re not a killer. You’re a scared widow who lost her child last year, then did something stupid in a moment of panic when you found your husband dead. Who would ever want to convict you after all you’ve suffered?’
I may have appeared blameless on paper, but I didn’t feel innocent. ‘The only good thing about Michelle’s death is that she won’t be talking anymore.’
A curl of horror lifted Lane’s lip. ‘Did you really just say that? Who are you? I thought you liked that lady. You sound like you’re glad she’s dead.’
‘I’m not trying to be callous, Lane, but she could have put me in jail. I’m not happy she’s dead … but it does kind of relieve the burden a little.’
‘So you’d rather she die than you go to jail?’ His face was disappointment marred with judgment.
Two months ago, Lane was my salvation. Now he was my damnation.
‘Please don’t put words in my mouth. I’m not saying that. I’m already dealing with enough. I don’t need you adding more guilt to the circus of emotions I’m already feeling.’
The problem with evil was that it was sticky. It left a residue that you spent every waking moment trying to wipe off. But you couldn’t. It stained your soul. And over time it spread, making you ugly to the point where you didn’t recognize where you end and the evil begins.
Lane shifted away, creating a distance I felt growing.
‘I’m sorry,’ I apologized. ‘I don’t know what’s going on inside me anymore … if it’s grief, or fear of getting caught, or what. I just know I feel utterly helpless and hopeless.’
‘I understand’ – I must have pulled him back in, because he squeezed my shoulder affectionately – ‘but you have to trust that everything will work out. Just try not to react. That’s when people make mistakes.’
‘Yeah, I’ve already filled my quota of them.’
Lane picked up the paper I had written notes on from my call with the insurance agent, along with Medea’s address. ‘What’s this?’
I tapped my pen against the granite. ‘Basically, the reasons why they’re not paying me yet. And Ben’s mistress’s name and address.’
‘Yikes.’
He slid the piece of paper back toward me:
Autopsy still in progress; needs to be completed
Need death certificate to get payout
No suicide death benefit; murder still has to be determined
Who is Medea Kent?
3 Summer Lane?
Until the autopsy was completed and cleared as a murder, I couldn’t get a death certificate. Without a death certificate, I couldn’t begin the claims process. Detective Meltzer told me it could take up to twelve weeks just to get started on the autopsy, then it would be another sixty days after I had the death certificate before the payment processed. In total, at least five months would pass before I’d see a payment. Five months of struggling to pay my mortgage, the astronomical attorney fees, plus rent and groceries and gasoline and utilities and my cell phone plan. Five months of hell, and that was the best-case scenario.
‘What does all this mean?’ Lane prodded for an explanation.
‘It means the murder investigation is still under way, so I have no idea when – or if – I’m going to see a dime. And I can’t afford to ask my attorney to intercede, since I’m broke. I can’t believe they’re doing this! I’m a grieving widow unable to pay my bills until they pay me what I’m entitled to. Ben has been paying into
it for years, and they’re going to dare dispute my payout until a killer is found? Because we both know, Lane, that no killer will ever be found. And if they can’t find a killer, they might not rule it as a homicide. If suicide is determined, that means no money – not now, not ever.’
‘Don’t worry about the money. I’ll cover you until you’re on your feet. I won’t leave you hanging.’
Lane never left me hanging, that was the problem. He had helped me commit a crime. There was no coming back from that. So many memories together, but the night of Ben’s death alone defined us. That one decision followed us. And it would track us through the remainder of our years, scuffling behind us day by day as we tried to pretend it away with birthday parties, and holidays, and family dinners. But it would always be watching us, always haunting us, always binding us.
‘I’ll go down to the police station with you and we can talk to Pornstache together. If Michelle had identified you, don’t you think they would have hauled you in already? It’s an elderly woman with failing vision peering into pitch-black. How accurate could she have been?’
‘Accurate enough that someone killed her. I spoke to her.’
‘You what? I told you not to get involved!’
‘Well, I had to know what she saw. And she saw me, Lane. Though she hadn’t mentioned me by name specifically to the cops yet. She merely told them she’d seen two people breaking into the house. She told me she suspected it was me after she read about the life insurance policy online. All this time she was convinced I had killed my husband.’
Lane didn’t reply at first, and I wondered momentarily if he thought I had killed Michelle to shut her up.
‘I didn’t kill her, if that’s what you’re thinking.’ I couldn’t believe we were having this conversation.
‘I know you didn’t, Harp. Regardless, you can’t act guilty. Go to the station like an innocent person would do. And it wouldn’t hurt to pressure the police to finish the autopsy since you’d like Ben’s body released so you can have a proper burial.’
I shrugged in agreement. He was right. Lane always was. I exhaled the tension gnawing into my shoulders and lower back. It sounded like the only logical thing a blameless person would do. I began to write Request Ben’s bod— when the pen ran out of ink. After a futile scribble in the corner of the paper, Lane rooted around the junk drawer, then handed me another pen.