Shattered

by Olga Bicos

  “That you’d done the right thing by keeping quiet? Because it helped Daniel.”

  She looked at him, those eyes suddenly seeming too old for her sweet face. Come morning, she’d have one hell of a black eye. He’d already stopped the bleeding from the split lip. He picked up the peas and placed them back on her face, but she took his hand away.

  “It’s part of what kept me here,” she said. “That awful secret we shared. I tried to get away a couple of times—starting the catering business with Beth—but Daniel always found me. Always brought me back.”

  “And now?” He squeezed her hand. “What do you want to do now? Do you want me to keep your secret?” Because he would, if that’s the way she wanted to play it.

  But Emma shook her head. Letting go of his hand, she stood and walked to the phone. She punched in a number.

  The police, Harris figured, coming to stand beside her. It’s what he would have done.

  That one last step to redemption was always the hardest.

  Vanessa stared at the gun in her hand. She was seated in one of the wing-backed chairs by the fireplace at Cutty House, but in her mind she was back at the apartment where she’d followed Samuel.

  She could see that poor woman falling in slow motion, like some horrible movie, the wig blown off now, along with half the woman’s face.

  “Vanessa?”

  Holly was kneeling beside her chair. She’d placed a hand on Vanessa’s arm. Vanessa looked down at her, seeing Nina—not seeing Nina.

  “That’s where I made my mistake,” she told Holly. “I wanted her to be Nina.” Nina, who had stolen from her—her son, her husband. “I came only to threaten Samuel. But then I saw him with that woman.”

  She was looking at Holly. For the first time, she realized her eyes were wide and brown, nothing like Nina’s, really.

  “We had a fight that morning,” she said, needing to document every step. “I knew he was having an affair.” Of course, she’d known. But after Daniel’s call, it had all seemed so much worse and hurtful. She’d felt in agony, remembering the past. “I found Foster’s gun and I followed him. I was thinking, he can’t do this to me. Not again.” She shook her head in disbelief. “Then I saw the name N. Travers on the buzzer, on the nameplate.”

  That’s how far Samuel had taken his fantasy. He’d put the girl in an apartment under Nina’s name. He’d made her wear a wig.

  “I couldn’t catch my breath when I read that name. I had one of the neighbors buzz me in. A delivery, I said. They hadn’t locked the door. In too much of a hurry, I suppose. I just stepped right in and found them together. And I killed her. I killed Nina.” She looked at Holly, letting her know the horrible truth. “But it wasn’t Nina.”

  “Vanessa—”

  The older woman stood, surprised when her feet actually held her up. She pushed her shoulders back, the matriarch once more. “I want you to tell Ryan. I want him to know the truth. And that’s all I needed to say to you, really. I’m going to call the police now. I would appreciate it if you could leave.” Suddenly she sounded so in control that she almost laughed.

  In control? I just killed someone!

  “I think I should stay,” Holly said.

  “Please, I need to do this on my own terms.”

  But she could see that the girl suspected something. In the end, Vanessa had to push her out. On the landing, she pointed the gun at Holly, her hand shaking.

  “You need to leave,” she said. “Leave now.” And then, some strange instinct taking over, she added, “Take care of my son.”

  She watched Holly back away. She waited, hearing her feet running down the steps.

  Vanessa knew she wouldn’t have much time. She walked back into the room, shutting the door tight behind her. She knew what she had to do. She was ready. At the hearth, she took the gas key she’d found on the mantel earlier. She turned on the gas, but didn’t light the flame. She wondered how long it would take.

  She stepped over to the window, making sure it was shut. The fog wasn’t too bad tonight. She could see Holly running out of the house, across the lawn. Just then a car drove up. Ryan.

  She watched as they ran into each other’s arms. She wondered if it was possible that they could be happy together. She was starting to feel light-headed from the gas and knew it wouldn’t be much longer.

  Vanessa stepped in front of the portrait of Nina and raised the gun to her temple.

  “You win, Nina,” she said.

  The first person Holly saw was Ryan, miraculously driving up as she punched his number into her cell phone. Her own little cavalry.

  She dropped the phone onto the seat of the car and ran toward him. She flung her arms around him, holding tight.

  “I went to the apartment first,” he said. “I found the note.”

  “Ryan, your mother—”

  “I know. I just left my father. She killed his mistress.”

  “I left her upstairs. She forced me to go. She wanted to be alone when she called the police to turn herself in. She had a gun.”

  “Christ, Holly. Are you all right?”

  She nodded, stepping back. “She wasn’t going to hurt me. She just wanted to tell me—”

  And then she realized what it was that Vanessa Moore wanted to tell her. She glanced up at the house, seeing Ryan’s mother there silhouetted in the window. Take care of my son.

  “Oh, my God,” she said. She pushed Ryan away. She started running for the house, Ryan running with her.

  They hadn’t even reached the gate when the house exploded, pushing them back into the night.

  34

  Emma sat directly across the glass from Daniel. She picked up the phone, the only method of communication in the county jail.

  “I’m keeping a seat warm for you,” he said into his handset, because today, it was Emma on the outside.

  She’d been meeting with the district attorney about Nina’s death. They weren’t certain about the charges. The lawyer she’d hired was asking for negligent homicide. She’d been a minor, and it would be hard to prove she’d intended to kill Nina under the circumstances. Any jury would be sympathetic. And she was cooperating.

  “You think you’re so clever,” he said, leaning toward the glass. “Putting me in here?”

  She wondered what he saw when he looked at her. Did he see past the dark glasses to the black eye beneath? The swollen cheek and split lip?

  “I talked to Holly,” she said. “She told me something interesting, that you called Vanessa the morning she followed Samuel to that girl’s apartment.”

  The smile on his face was fairly beaming with pride. “That’s right. I did talk to her that day,” he said, as if he’d just remembered.

  “Vanessa didn’t tell Holly why you’d called, but I think I know.”

  Because she knew Daniel, knew how he worked. He’d just found out that Holly was leaving with Ryan. She’d quit. He’d be sulking, wondering what to do, watching his dreams slip away.

  She told him, “I think you knew about that woman Samuel was seeing. Maybe that’s even how you got the idea to bring Holly on board when you saw her picture in that magazine. You knew how it was driving Samuel crazy, having Nina back in his life.”

  Yeah, she could see Daniel putting his plans for Ryan together. By then the renovation was going to shit. He’d realized that his dream of Cutty House being resurrected was just that—a dream. So why not get even? Why not find his own Nina to torment Ryan, just like Samuel.

  “So you called Vanessa and let her know about the new Nina in her husband’s life. Maybe you twisted it around a little, pushing her to that edge. The past repeating itself. You knew she was vulnerable. Isn’t that the way you like to do things, Dan? Working behind the scenes?”

  “Come on, honey. How could I possibly know that she would kill herself?” He leaned forward, whispering into the phone. “But wasn’t it lovely that she did. Though, honestly, I was hoping she’d shoot Uncle Samuel and not the girl.” He leaned b
ack, a wicked smile on his face. “You see, darling, I’m not completely heartless.”

  For twelve years she’d loved this man. She wondered if it was possible to love and hate someone at the same time.

  “When I get out of here, I’ll find you,” he told her. “You know that, don’t you? You’re not getting away from me.”

  But it was her turn to smile. It’s what she’d planned, her own form of penance. To be Daniel’s new obsession. Now he’d leave Ryan and Holly alone.

  “Somehow, Dan—” she put her palm against the glass, bidding him goodbye “—I’m not too worried about it.”

  She left, having had her say. Soon enough he’d be out of jail for assault and battery, the only charges that would stick. She knew he’d come after her then, because that’s who Daniel was, a man who never faced up to what he’d done, never took responsibility. He’d be searching for the next person to blame, a pattern that wasn’t changing.

  But Emma, she was moving on.

  Ryan walked through the rubble of what had once been Cutty House. It was one of those blinding bright days rare for the city. Holly stood back, giving him the time and space he might need.

  The funeral service had been Monday. For Holly, the service had seemed surreal. The minister’s eulogy and the many charity organizations who spoke of Vanessa presented the image of a woman very different from the one she’d come to know.

  Ryan spoke, as well, but said little. He’d loved his mother. He would miss her.

  There’d been no mention of murder or suicide. That wasn’t the woman they wanted to remember.

  In the last weeks he’d been responsible for taking care of all the arrangements concerning his family. His father had entered a rehabilitation home called Reflections. Interestingly enough, it had been Gil and Marta who helped Ryan through most of the difficult preparations. As Gil had said, Ryan sold him short. These days, he was a stronger man.

  She’d been astonished to hear her brother confess about his involvement with Emma. She’d been even more astounded to discover it had been a fourteen-year-old Emma who had taken that ride with Nina, eventually causing the accident that took her life. Now Emma was taking all the blame.

  But Ryan saw things a little differently. He knew Nina had been out of control that night, going for one last high. And she’d taken it too far.

  To Harris’s great disappointment, Emma was leaving town. She’d pleaded guilty to negligent homicide, but the judge had granted a suspended sentence, citing “extraordinary circumstances.” Case closed.

  “Emma told me that, no matter what I thought now,” Harris had said to Holly, “I couldn’t forgive her for putting you in danger. And maybe she’s right. It wouldn’t have worked out between us.”

  So he was back at the bar. But she saw a new darkness in him, one she’d never seen before, not even when he’d shown up on her doorstep fired from his job.

  He loved Emma. He’d wanted a chance to make it work. But he wasn’t going after her. Not Harris. He’d let this chapter, like so many others in his life, simply close. Which made Holly terribly sad. She didn’t think life should be about giving up, making do, trying desperately not to get hurt again.

  Holly turned back to Ryan. She had her own fears, of course. What if one day the electric excitement that defined how they’d come together should fade. They’d been forced on this roller-coaster ride, but could it really end in love ever after? What would happen when Ryan discovered she didn’t cook? That what she enjoyed most was watching a video with popcorn or a lazy day sleeping in? And she wrote everything down on these tiny pieces of paper that she always, always lost. What would become of them once the adventure waned and the annoying habits of life were revealed?

  She watched Ryan bend down and pick up something. She couldn’t see what he held in his hand, but he tossed it aside soon enough. When he turned to look at her, he smiled—and she felt it all the way down to her toes.

  Holly smiled back, suddenly getting a burst of that infallible intuition. Everything was going to be okay, because she couldn’t imagine not loving this man more every day. Ryan had her heart and she had his.

  Slowly, he came walking toward her, the sun streaming down on him. She tried to find some of the darkness she’d seen the first time they’d met—a man dressed in black, with an enigmatic expression that kept others at bay—but the shadows had all but disappeared.

  She wondered if the same thing had happened to her, if somehow the last weeks had changed her to the point where it became a physical difference. How she held herself, the expression on her face. Just yesterday Harris had commented, “Uh-oh. Someone’s in love.”

  She smiled, liking the idea that if she looked in the mirror she’d see some of what was so clear in Ryan’s face when he looked at her.

  “So,” she told him, slipping her hand into his as he reached her. “What’s next, bucko?”

  He kept his eyes on the horizon. “You move in with me. In time, you get over your I-once-married-a-loser phobia and we get married, build a place at the vineyard.”

  Another interesting self-discovery. All this time, Ryan thought he’d been tied down to Viña Dorada, hiding there. But instead, he’d found something of his own, something he was proud of, and a place from which he no longer wanted to run away.

  “I figure,” he continued, “we should have at least three kids, but I’m open to debate on the actual number. Just not one.” He was still staring at the horizon. “Too lonely.”

  She had to smile, thinking she’d been right with that intuition. “You know, when I asked, ‘What’s next?’ I kind of meant, did you want to get some lunch? Maybe grab a couple of sandwiches and go to the park?”

  “I know what you meant,” he said, putting his arm around her.

  He guided her back to the car, turning his back on what had once been Cutty House. At the curb, he held the door open for her, a gentleman to the last.

  But Holly wasn’t through with him. “You know what I really want?” she asked, strapping on her seat belt. This car was a little too sporty for her taste and the streets here weren’t getting any straighter.

  “I can’t imagine.”

  She smiled, thinking about it. “I want to go sailing. What did you call it, running with the wind? Come on, buddy. You’re taking me sailing.”

  He grinned, shifting into gear. “A woman after my own heart.”

  ISBN: 978-1-4603-6400-0

  SHATTERED

  Copyright © 2003 by Olga Gonzalez-Bicos.

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