The visitation reception held at Vanderley Hall for Lulu had been a grand affair, with everyone who was anyone within their social circle in attendance. Uncle Louis had told Annabelle several times how pleased he was with the turnout and with how beautifully she had planned the event, which had been executed to perfection. As the evening wound down and the huge crowd dissipated, Annabelle sought her aunt and found her in the dining room, a small plate of boiled shrimp in her hand.
“I think Uncle Louis held up quite well, don’t you?”
“His nurse had him so doped up he barely knew where he was,” Perdita replied as she dipped a shrimp into the cocktail sauce. “But that’s good. God knows how he’d get through this otherwise. I thought my heart would break when he leaned over and kissed Lulu good-bye.” She dropped the saucecoated shrimp into her mouth.
“I wish he would let Mr. Turberville take her back to the funeral home tonight. But he gave me strict instructions to keep her here until time to move the coffin to the church tomorrow afternoon.”
“Maybe you should disregard his instructions just this once. After all, if Lulu’s still here in the morning, you know he’ll want to see her again…to say goodbye again.”
Hugging herself, Annabelle huffed softly. “Oh, God. I wish this was all over.”
Perdita set her plate down on the nearby table, then put her arm around Annabelle’s shoulders. “I haven’t been much help, have I? It’s just not right that you bear all the burden. That worthless Wythe should be helping you.”
“I don’t want Wythe anywhere near me,” Annabelle said without thinking.
Perdita eyed her curiously. “Has that creature done something—”
“Shh…” Annabelle cautioned her aunt when several members of the catering staff entered the dining room.
“Is it all right for us to begin clearing away now, Ms. Vanderley?” Joanna McIntyre asked. Joanna was the caterer from Jackson that the Vanderley and Austin families always used.
“Yes, certainly. I believe just about everyone has left now.”
“Why don’t you and I say good night to the few stragglers, send them on their way and then go upstairs?” Perdita urged Annabelle toward the foyer. “After we get ready for bed, I think we should talk, don’t you?”
Annabelle sighed. Her aunt was the only person she could trust with her secrets, the only person who knew that Wythe had once tried to rape her.
“Yes, we need to talk.” Annabelle grunted. “I need to talk. I need someone trustworthy who’ll listen and tell me what to do.”
Perdita slipped her arm around Annabelle’s waist and herded her out of the dining room. Pausing in the doorway, she looked at Joanna McIntyre. “Prepare two plates with a variety of food and send them upstairs to Miss Annabelle’s room in about twenty minutes, along with a bottle of wine.”
“Yes, ma’am,” Joanna replied.
“I don’t think I can eat a bite,” Annabelle said. “I seem to have lost my appetite.”
“Nonsense. A decent meal is just what you need, along with a trustworthy confidante.”
When Perdita winked at her, Annabelle couldn’t help smiling. Pausing in the foyer, she put her arms around her aunt and hugged her. “You just don’t know how glad I am that you’re here.”
I must be very careful. Locking my door and turning off the lights should be enough to deter anyone from bothering me. If they knew, they wouldn’t understand. No one understood. Sometimes, even I don’t understand why I do the things I do.
But I’m not crazy. And I’m not bad. She was wrong about my being a bad boy. I tried to tell her, but she wouldn’t listen. It was her fault. All her fault.
“I’m sorry, Mama. I’m so sorry.”
Why should I be sorry? I don’t have to justify myself to her. Not any longer. I will never again have to plead for mercy. I have all the power now. The power of life and death.
You’d be so proud of me, Mama. I put them out of their misery, just as I did you. I kill them softly. Gently. No pain. It’s so much better for them to die than to suffer the way you did for so many years. Didn’t you tell me that over and over again? Didn’t you say that you’d rather be dead than to live in such agony?
I can see moonlight coming in through the windows now that my eyes have adjusted to the dark. But if I get out my case and look at my souvenirs, I’ll need to use a flashlight. And I’ll have to be very quiet. I don’t want anyone to pass by my room and think I’m still awake.
Maybe I shouldn’t take the case from where I’ve hidden it. After all, it’s been only three days since I looked at it, when I placed the latest addition with the others in my collection.
But you want to look at them again. You know you do, that haunting inner voice said. After all, that’s the reason you carry the case with you, isn’t it? So you’ll have them with you, so you can look at them whenever you’d like.
Yes. Yes, of course. I can do whatever I want to do. No one can tell me that I can’t take the case from its hiding place, open it and look at the contents.
That’s it. Go over there and get the carryall, then lift up the bottom flap.
It’s so simple. I can see the carryall lying on the floor beside the TV, just where I left it.
Pick it up.
Yes, I will.
Lay it on the bed.
I am.
Lift up the bottom flap.
I need a flashlight.
You left the flashlight on the TV stand. Just reach out and get it.
Yes, of course.
The light shone brightly, focusing on the hidden compartment in the carryall.
Just look at those five small glass bottles glistening in the yellow-white glow. Lined up, side-by-side, they are a beautiful sight.
My souvenirs.
After what I did for Mama and those other women, killing them in the kindest way possible and ending their torment, I deserved to take some small token, didn’t I? Something to remember them by.
I wait until they’re dead, until they can’t feel any pain, before I do it. I’d never want to hurt someone because I know how it feels to hurt. To hurt really bad.
Inside the case were his prizes. Five identical clear glass bottles, filled with formaldehyde. Each one containing an index finger.
Aren’t they beautiful?
Touch them gently. Remember to show the proper reverence. Trace your finger up and down each bottle, the last one first.
Kendall.
Her fingernails had been painted a bright red.
Now the next to last.
Lulu.
Her finger was long and slender, just as she was.
What’s that sound? Is there someone outside my door?
I have to put my prizes away. I can’t let anyone else see them. No one would understand.
Hide them. Do it quickly. Now!
Wearing a bright turquoise kaftan trimmed in heavy beige lace, Perdita Austin sprawled out on the chaise lounge in Annabelle’s bedroom. With her stylishly short, salt-and-pepper hair swept away from her face and all her makeup removed, Perdita still didn’t look her age. Anyone would guess her to be at least ten years younger than the age on her birth certificate, which Annabelle knew was fifty-seven.
Perdita balanced a plate, piled high with edible delights, in her lap and held the crystal wineglass with her right hand. “If you don’t eat at least half the things on your plate, I shall be very cross with you, Annie Belly.”
Sitting at the antique desk by the windows, Annabelle chuckled softly as she glanced at her aunt. “It’s been years since you called me Annie Belly.”
“Oh, my sweet girl, you’re like my own daughter and I’m afraid I’ve neglected you lately, ever since Christopher died.” Perdita shook her head sadly. “I suppose I thought that once he was gone, you’d be too busy living and loving to need me. But I was wrong, wasn’t I? There hasn’t been anyone since…well, since Christopher died, has there?”
“No, no one.”
“Why
ever not?” Perdita popped a chocolate-dipped strawberry into her mouth.
Annabelle shrugged. “I haven’t met anyone.”
Perdita eyed her contemplatively. “That’s nonsense. The world is full of gorgeous, eligible men.” Squinting, Perdita scrutinized Annabelle pensively. “You haven’t let that nasty incident with Wythe turn you off men, have you?”
Annabelle gasped. “Good God, no.”
“You should have called the police that night and had the scoundrel arrested. It makes my blood run cold to think what might have happened if he hadn’t been drunk and you were able to coldcock him with that marble statue.” Perdita tsk-tsked. “Damn shame about that lovely statue. I brought it back to you from Venice.”
“Exposing Wythe for what he is would kill Uncle Louis.”
“If he ever tries anything like that with you again, I’ll cut off his pecker with a dull knife.”
Annabelle smiled. “And you would, wouldn’t you?”
“Most definitely.”
“I don’t think that will be necessary. I’m perfectly capable of dealing with Wythe. He’s made numerous overtures since that night, but he never puts his words into action. I actually think that after I knocked him out and he had to get stitches in his head at the ER, he’s just a little bit afraid of me.”
Perdita giggled. “I love the thought of Wythe being afraid of you.” She sliced into a piece of prime rib, speared it with her fork and lifted it to her mouth.
Annabelle’s cell phone, tucked away in her purse, jingled the distinctive Mozart tune she had programed into it.
“Is that your phone?” Perdita asked, her mouth half full.
“It’s my cell phone.” Annabelle shoved back the chair, hurried across the room to the nightstand where she’d laid her purse earlier in the day. After unzipping the side compartment, she retrieved the phone, flipped it open and placed it to her ear. Surely this wasn’t a business call. Not at ten in the evening, the day before Lulu’s funeral.
“Hello.”
“Annabelle?”
Her heart skipped a beat when she recognized the voice of her caller. “Yes.”
“You probably don’t want to talk to me, but I had to call,” Quinn Cortez said. “If you want me to hang up, I will.”
“No, don’t. It’s all right. Really.” Annabelle glanced across the room at her aunt Perdita who was watching her like a hawk.
“I’ve been worrying about you,” Quinn told her. “Under different circumstances, I’d be there tomorrow. I would give anything if I could be there for you.”
“I wish—I wish the same thing.”
“How are you? Really.”
“I’m all right.”
“You don’t sound all right.”
How could this man who barely knew her, whom she’d met less than a week ago, conclude only from the sound of her voice that she was barely holding on, barely managing to put up a brave front and keep her emotions in check?
“You’re very perceptive.”
“Annabelle…honey…”
“It was very kind of you to be concerned, but I’ll be fine. My aunt Perdita Austin is here with me, so I won’t be facing Lulu’s funeral alone.”
“I’m glad you have someone there with you.”
“Is everything all right there?” she asked, doing nothing more than making idle conversation, but reluctant to say good-bye. The sound of his voice soothed her, reassured her. But she didn’t understand why.
“Things here in Memphis are about the same. No updates from Griffin, yet. And the police have stopped harassing me, at least for the time being.”
“So the police don’t have any new leads, no other suspects?”
“No new leads. No new suspects. Just me.”
Annabelle sighed. “I—I really should go…”
“I miss you.”
Her breath caught in her throat. Oh, Quinn, I miss you, too. “Thank you for calling.”
“Annabelle?”
She hit the OFF button and closed her cell phone, then tossed it on the bed. Nothing Quinn could say or do would change the basic facts. One: He was a suspect in Lulu’s murder. And two: She couldn’t trust him, no matter how much she wanted to.
“Who was that dear?” Perdita asked.
“A friend.”
Lifting a questioning eyebrow, Perdita studied Annabelle. “Your cheeks are flushed and you look like a woman who’s been talking to her lover. Who was that? And don’t lie to me. I’ve been able to tell when you’re lying ever since you were a little girl.”
“It was Quinn Cortez.”
“The man who might be a suspect in Lulu’s murder?”
“He didn’t kill Lulu.”
Perdita’s eyes widened in speculation. “You met him in Memphis, after Lulu’s death, right?”
Annabelle nodded.
“You’ve known him for how long? Five or six days?”
“Yes.”
“Oh, my dear girl, you’ve fallen in love with this man, haven’t you.”
“No, I…” Tears misted her eyes. “I don’t know. Maybe I have.”
“Oh, my…my…”
“Nothing will ever come of it. We aren’t going to see each other again.”
“That’s where you’re wrong, Annie Belly. You might have the best intentions, but in the end, you won’t be able to stay away from him. I know all about loving a man that you don’t want to love, a man who’s nothing but trouble. I just pray to God that he doesn’t wind up breaking your heart.”
Chapter 19
Friday dawned warm and bright, not a cloud in the brilliant blue sky. Springtime birds chirped happily and all along the winding brick walkway leading to the front portico of Vanderley Hall, dew-kissed yellow daffodils glistened in the morning sunlight. Annabelle opened the double French doors leading to the balcony and stepped outside for a closer look at this momentous day—the day Louisa Margaret Vanderley would be laid to rest alongside generations of her ancestors in the private family cemetery. But the burial wouldn’t take place until after a lengthy and heart-wrenching funeral at the Austinville Presbyterian Church on High Street.
Today would be a day for remembering the good times, the happy moments of Lulu’s life. Uncle Louis had asked Annabelle to give the eulogy. She had known he would— had dreaded that he would—but after her father’s death, she had accepted the fact that it fell to her to take over his role of family caretaker. Caretaker of the Vanderley name, the Vanderley fortune and the members of the Vanderley family.
Long after Aunt Perdita went to her own room last night, Annabelle had stayed up working on the eulogy. She hoped that her words did justice to Louisa Vanderley, to the person she could have been, should have been, to the beautiful, wide-eyed child who had embraced life with such exuberance. That Lulu Annabelle remembered so well. That Lulu Annabelle had loved.
As she looked out over the vast lawn of Vanderley Hall, kept in immaculate condition by a crew of hardworking gardeners, Annabelle thought about how much of her childhood had been spent here at her ancestral estate. Although several years older than her young cousin, she and Lulu had played together as if they were sisters. And indeed there had been a time when she’d loved Lulu as if she were her own sibling. They had hunted Easter eggs out there in the yard every year at the annual Easter celebration the family hosted for their friends. They had trapped lightning bugs in vented jars on warm summer nights after frolicking in the backyard pool all day. Although both of them had fair complexions, Lulu had tanned as brown as a little gingerbread girl, where Anna-belle had often blistered. And they had played hide-and-seek countless times, finding numerous hiding places within the gated walls. Always happy. Always safe. Or so Annabelle had thought.
If only Lulu had told someone what was happening to her. If she’d gone to Uncle Louis or to Aunt Meta Anne or to Annabelle’s parents. Or even if she’d come to Annabelle and told her. But she had kept the horrible secret, lived with it, endured it and let it change her from a sweet, i
nnocent child into a wild creature with no morals.
She had finally told Annabelle, confessed her secret shame, only a few years ago, on one of those occasions when Annabelle had tried to persuade her cousin to do something meaningful with her life. And perhaps the truly awful thing about it all was that Annabelle hadn’t been surprised. Shocked? Yes. Surprised? No.
If only things could have been different for Lulu. If only…
It was too late for if only. There would be no tomorrow for Lulu, no future. At least not here on this earth.
Breathing in the fresh springtime air, Annabelle gripped the wrought-iron railing around the balcony and rejoiced in being alive as only a person who had recently lost a loved one could rejoice. A death in the family reminded her how very fragile mortality is, how quickly a life could end.
A ringing telephone caught Annabelle’s attention. Listening for a couple of seconds, she realized that it was her cell phone. Could it be Quinn calling her again? Leaving the French doors wide open, she rushed into the bedroom and to the nightstand where her phone lay. She picked the phone up, flipped it open and held her breath.
“Hello.”
“Annabelle.”
It was Quinn. She released her suppressed breath.
“How are you this morning?” he asked.
“Weepy. Nervous. Dreading giving Lulu’s eulogy.”
“It’ll be okay. You’ll say all the right things.”
“Will I?”
“You’ll tell everyone what a wonderful person she was, how much you loved her, how close you two were as children.” Quinn paused, apparently giving her time to respond, but when she didn’t say anything, he continued, “Lulu had a hunger for life. She wanted to do everything, try anything, take risks.”
“There was another side to her, you know.”
“No, I’m sorry to say I didn’t know,” Quinn admitted. “We didn’t share intimacies. We seldom talked about our personal lives. Our childhoods, our families.”
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