‘And she wanted to leave?’
‘She did. She wanted us to sell the estate so she could get what she described as her share – my brother’s share, her daughter’s share – and get on with her life.’
‘But you refused?’
‘Of course. That was my father’s estate. Where was he supposed to go?’
‘I guess he could have gone to live with you in the Bay Area?’
Fiona snorted.
‘My father in the Bay Area? He’s a rancher. He was raised under big skies. Open plains. He wouldn’t have come with me to the Bay Area.’
An old rancher on the jury nodded his head knowingly.
Kate turned a page in her ring binder. She paused, then continued: ‘So you agreed to let Penelope move into the pavilion?’
‘Yes. It was the best solution. He’s my dad not Jesalyn’s. She shouldn’t have to stay there and care for him. She didn’t want to stay there and care for him, actually. She wanted us to sell. But Penelope was happy to move in, and I liked that solution better.’
‘Penelope … but not her husband, Rex Sidwell?’
‘Not Rex. He’s quite a bit older than Penelope, as you probably know. Set in his ways. A smoker, which wouldn’t do. He’d stay in the cottage.’
‘And that was a better deal for you than selling?’
‘Yes. Because my feeling was, the boys will finish college and then who knows? They might want to take over the estate.’
‘They could do that? Under the trust, I mean?’
‘Why not? The estate belonged to all of us.’
Kate nodded.
‘Very well. So Jesalyn leaves the estate … I think I have it right here, where it says, “in a huff”?’
‘She left, yes. She went to live in Silver Lake, and Eden went to Briar Ridge.’
‘And some years go by and then you get the email from her.’
‘That’s right,’ said Fiona. ‘And it was quite a shock to get that. We weren’t Facebook friends or anything. I used to send Eden a card for her birthday, because she was my niece, and my only link to Jack. I didn’t often get a response. But then Jesalyn got in touch saying she wanted to meet somewhere neutral.’
‘That came out of the blue, did it?’
‘Yes. And my immediate thought was: she’s found out that we’ve moved into her pavilion and she wants to scream at me.’
‘Objection,’ said Mr Weymouth, rising.
‘Sustained,’ said Judge Cox.
Kate continued: ‘But that wasn’t it?’
‘No. She had no idea about that.’
‘So what did she want?’
‘I wasn’t sure until I got there. Jesalyn chose the place. A restaurant in Pismo. I arrived and she was sitting at a table with a chilled glass of Californian chardonnay and a plate of rock oysters, like we were old friends. She said: “Join me!” Her mood was buoyant. I was wary, like what was this about? And that was when she told me. She had a buyer for the estate. Ten million dollars.’
‘And you said?’
‘I said, well, that’s lovely, Jesalyn, but we’re not keen on selling right now. I didn’t tell her we’d moved in. It was none of her business. I told her I didn’t want to sell while my father was alive, something she should have known very well.’
Kate looked up.
‘But she had an ace up her sleeve, didn’t she?’
Mr Weymouth rose.
‘I think you know I’m going to object to that,’ he said.
‘Fair enough,’ said Kate. She came out from behind her table, to pace the courtroom. ‘Just tell us what she said, Mrs McBride.’
Fiona sighed heavily. Her bosom rose up, then came down. Beads of sweat had begun to form on her brow. She looked out at Tim, who nodded more encouragement.
‘She told me that Penelope’s son, Earl, was an heir to the estate.’
In his press seat, Harry Prior looked up from where he’d been tapping away on his device. Then he looked around, mouth open like a circus clown, to gauge the reaction of others.
Kate said: ‘Did she now?’
‘She did. She told me Earl is Jack’s son. And I was floored. But suddenly everything made sense. So that was why Jack kept Penelope on all those years. That was why he always scoffed at any suggestion that she might want to leave. I had always thought Penelope stayed because Jesalyn refused to do all the things Dad needed done after his stroke, like bathing him, mashing his food, putting him into bed. But apparently it was way more complicated than that.’
‘And you had no idea?’
‘None at all. She kept that a secret from everyone. Well, she kept it from Earl, and from her husband, obviously.’
‘Do you know why?’
‘Why what?’
‘Why did she keep it a secret?’
Fiona opened her mouth like a fish, then closed it again, before saying: ‘I should think that’s obvious. She was married.’
‘People have affairs,’ said Kate, shrugging. Alexa, sitting next to her dad, winced a little on his behalf. Affairs were a topic her parents – her poor dad, in particular – knew a bit about.
‘Well, I suppose you’ll need to ask Penelope,’ said Fiona. ‘My guess would be that she and Rex couldn’t have children. Because they didn’t, did they? Not in all those years they’ve been married. She has one child and it’s Jack’s apparently.’
‘How did you react?’
‘I was shocked. I saw my brother with Earl. He seemed to like him. They did jobs together around the estate. Fixed fence palings. Turned broken branches into firewood, things like that. But I never, ever suspected. And Jack and Penelope? I mean, it didn’t make sense.’
Kate rustled her papers.
‘What did Jesalyn say next?’
‘She said, “You have to accept this offer. Because if you don’t, I’m going to tell Earl, and Earl will make trouble. He’ll try to get himself listed as a descendant. He’ll stop the sale for sixty years.” So I’d never see any money. Penelope would never see any money.’
‘You realise that’s fraud?’
‘I’m not sure that it is, exactly.’
‘But you didn’t really care, did you? You just wanted your cash?’
‘I wanted my cash and I wanted to secure a future for my boys. Don’t think I didn’t curse Jack! How could he be so stupid, to leave that ticking time bomb – another son, to the housekeeper! – in our family? But he did, and so I went along with Jesalyn’s plan because my only other choice was to end up broke and homeless.’
‘Like me!’ muttered Jesalyn, from the dock.
‘Order,’ said Judge Cox, evenly.
Kate continued: ‘So Jesalyn did the deal with Pinkhound?’
‘Yes. And we all went in and signed the contract.’
‘Everyone except Earl?’
‘I told you, Earl wasn’t listed as a beneficiary. That would have given the game away. There was a side agreement. Signed by Jack. Penelope could have produced it but she didn’t want to do that. She was all for the sale.’
‘Because she wanted her share of the money, too?’
‘Also because of Rex. She didn’t want Rex to know about Earl.’
‘So the deal was done.’
‘Yes.’
‘And you say everyone got their money.’
‘Yes,’ said Fiona, miserably. ‘We were due to get two cheques: a deposit of one million dollars when we signed, which we cut three ways; and then the balance – nine million – when we vacated the property, which we would also cut three ways after we paid all the debts.’
‘And your plan was to stay on the estate until your father died?’
‘That’s right.’
‘Which he then very conveniently did, a month later.’
‘He’d been sick a long time …’
Kate Baldwin held up her hand. ‘No,’ she said. ‘I didn’t ask if he was sick. I asked if he died very soon after the deal was done. Quite soon. Amazingly soon.’
Jesaly
n’s lawyer – she had Mr Walsh in his crazy candy stripes – rose to object.
‘I don’t think we need the smart remarks,’ he said.
‘Sustained.’
‘All right. Let’s acknowledge at least that very soon after you received the first instalment, your father died. Were you there?’
‘I’m sorry?’
‘Were you there, when he died?’
‘You mean, right at the moment that he died? No. Well, yes, we were in the pavilion, but not right at his bedside.’
‘“We” being?’
‘My husband, Tim, and me. And my sister-in-law, Jesalyn.’
‘You were all in the pavilion?’
‘Yes. Jesalyn had stayed on to make sure the first cheque cleared. And she had offered to stay and help me clear out Alden Castle, which is something I’d been meaning to do since my brother died because that was going to be a huge task. My family lived on that estate for more than one hundred years. We had old chairs, a big table, my father’s egg collection … it all had to be catalogued or sold or moved.’
‘Very well, so, for the benefit of the jury, you’re in the pavilion, Tim’s in the pavilion, Jesalyn’s in the pavilion, and where’s Penelope? She’s in the cottage with Rex? And wait … where’s Earl?’
‘He’d gone.’
‘Gone where?’
‘I don’t exactly know. Penelope gave him his share of the deposit and told him the truth about his father. So you can imagine how shocking that would be. And after that, he had to go because … well, I think he’d fallen in love with my niece. With Eden Alden-Stowe.’
‘Who is actually his half-sister?’
Fiona paused, sighed deeply, then said: ‘Yes.’
‘And remind us, where is Earl now?’
‘I don’t know.’
‘You still don’t know?’
‘No. He has made no contact with any of us. Certainly he’s made no contact with me.’
‘Well, I guess I can see why.’
In the media seats, Harry looked up, like he was very interested in this part of the exchange but Kate moved on.
‘All right. That’s all very scandalous, of course, but it’s not why we’re here. Now, I know it’s difficult, but can you tell us how you found out your father was dead?’
Fiona touched a tissue to her nose.
‘Yes. I came out of my bedroom in the morning, intending to go straight down the stairs to make Dad’s coffee and oatmeal. I was headed towards the glass staircase and … he was at the bottom. And I knew straightaway,’ she said, ‘because his eyes were open. I ran down. Everyone came running.’
‘Did anyone check on him?’
‘Yes, I did. And Tim did. He was completely cold.’
‘You didn’t suspect anything?’
‘Not at all. Because my father had wandered to the top of the stairs once before. We knew it was a risk. I’d been planning to get a lock …’
Fiona wept. Kate waited for her to compose herself.
‘But you didn’t call an ambulance?’ she said.
‘That was how we’d always planned things,’ said Fiona. She was searching for more water, having drained the glass next to her. The judge’s associate leant forward with a refill. ‘My father wanted to be buried on his estate and if we called an ambulance that would never have happened.’
‘So you contacted the rest of your family?’
‘My two sons, yes. I reached them on their cell phones. They were back at college in LA. And Jesalyn called Eden at Briar Ridge. And we called my aunt Margaret.’
Kate paced the floor as if gathering momentum.
‘And then the family arrived and you moved him back upstairs?’
‘Yes. My sons, Fletcher and Austin … they tucked him back into bed.’
‘And then … the same day, the next day, you buried him?’
‘The next day.’
‘And you see, this is where I need help,’ Kate Baldwin said. She had been striding around the room, but now stopped. ‘I’m probably in a better – or maybe worse – spot than most people on the jury. I’ve seen quite a few corpses over the years, and it’s never pleasant. And yet you’ve dressed your dead father – I have that right, don’t I? – and then you’ve had your sons and your husband bundle him up with the intention of burying him in your family cemetery without notifying the authorities. But first – and this is the bit that really get’s me – you stuck him in the pizza oven.’
Fiona drew a deep breath. ‘Yes. And I can see that we made a mistake.’
‘Was it an easy thing to watch?’
‘I’m sorry?’
‘I mean, who actually did it?’ said Kate, swinging around to face the shattered Fiona. ‘Who picked your father up and put him in the pizza oven?’
Mack noticed Tim, in the public gallery, make like he was going to stand, then think better of it and settle for closing his hand tight over the armrests.
Fiona said: ‘Well, I wasn’t there. But my sons did it. Only because they knew what their pop wanted as well as anyone.’
Kate, at the table in the middle of the room, put her files to one side.
‘Very well, but you know that’s against the law, don’t you? You can’t just burn somebody, or even bury somebody without getting a death certificate? You can’t put somebody in an incinerator before you put them in the ground … speaking of which, when did you realise that the pizza oven wasn’t going to get hot enough?’
‘I don’t know,’ said Fiona. She was crying hard now. ‘I just told you. I stayed in the pavilion.’
‘But that’s why they stopped, wasn’t it? Because your father wasn’t burning up the way they hoped, was he? He wasn’t being reduced to ash? So they took him out again and you buried what was left?’
‘We buried him, yes.’
As suddenly as it had started, the harshness dropped from Kate Baldwin’s voice. She smiled encouragingly. ‘All right. You buried him. And can you tell me where you were when you heard that he’d been dug up again?’
Fiona nodded: she’d been cruising down a Californian freeway, top down in her new convertible, bopping along to an oldie-but-a-goodie when the news report had come on the radio.
‘And what did you do?’ said Kate.
‘I couldn’t do anything. I didn’t have my cell phone. It was in for repairs.’
‘Well then, once you could do something, what did you do?’
‘I tried to call Jesalyn.’
‘And why did you try to call Jesalyn?’
‘Because I thought the police might call me and I wouldn’t know what to say.’
‘And what did Jesalyn say?’
‘She said she’d handle it.’
‘Those were her exact words?’
‘Yes. She said she would simply explain: that’s what Owen wanted. People are suspicious, but they didn’t know my father,’ said Fiona, suddenly passionate. ‘He was a very determined man.’
Kate Baldwin turned on her heel.
‘You’re quite right. We didn’t know your father,’ she acknowledged. She was looking directly at Fiona, her expression more pitying than sympathetic. ‘But as I understand it you don’t know who your father is, either, do you?’
* * *
Hardly anyone in the courtroom had known what Kate meant when she asked Fiona: ‘You don’t know who your father is, either, do you?’
But Harry Prior did. And he couldn’t wait to explain.
Court had gone into recess, meaning he’d been thrown out of the public gallery but that was fine. Harry quite liked being the centre of attention in the field-to-fork place across the road, with the rough-hewn tables and the waiters in their butchers’ aprons carrying carpenters’ pencils.
He ordered the Cobb salad, with molasses bacon and free-range eggs, and began to tap away. Some of our older readers might remember Fiona from when she was Fiona Alden-Stowe at Paso High, he wrote. She wasn’t exactly Homecoming Queen but still pretty popular, given she lived in a cast
le!
He forked up some salad, chewed, then put the denim napkin to his lips.
Obviously she grew up thinking she belonged there, being the daughter of Owen James Alden-Stowe III, but guess what … she’s not his daughter!
Alexa was watching the words as they appeared on her own little screen at a neighbouring table and they made her feel ill. Did everyone in the world really have to know?
What they’re not saying is that when the cops were trying to confirm that it was Owen’s body buried in the cemetery, they took DNA from him and DNA from her and guess what? NO MATCH.
That threw them for a second. Maybe it wasn’t him. Except Fiona said that’s who they buried: HER DAD. So the only explanation is, he’s not her dad!
That sent them scrambling to figure out who Fiona actually is. Like, maybe she was adopted? But no. Turns out, she’s Nell’s daughter, all right. They got Nell’s DNA from the old hairbrush, and that was a match! Plus, they had a birth certificate with Nell’s name on it. An original! Meaning Nell, like Penelope, was a very naughty girl!!! Which also makes me think, what’s with the men on the Alden-Stowe Estate? Can’t satisfy a woman?!
Alexa winced. Harry’s report was nasty in its conclusion but it wasn’t wrong. The DNA tests had been explosive: they’d been able to prove that Owen was Jack’s father, and Nell was his mother; and that Earl was Jack’s son, but when it came to the identity of Fiona’s father they had no idea at all.
Mack had broken the news to her, as gently – and as soon – as he was able.
‘What are you talking about?’ she’d said, while Tim had rested a hand on her broad shoulder.
‘It’s all in the DNA,’ said Mack. ‘Jack’s a match for Earl. Owen is a match for Jack. But when they tried to match you … they got nothing.’
‘What does that mean?’ cried Fiona, confused.
‘It means the corpse you buried was Owen. But you are not Owen’s daughter.’
For a minute there, Mack thought Fiona had stopped breathing.
‘I’m not?’
‘I’m afraid not. We ran three tests, to be sure.’
The shock of it had set Fiona far back into her chair.
‘Then whose daughter am I?’ she said.
But Mack had no answer for her. ‘The tests rule out Owen, but no one else in,’ he said. ‘We simply don’t know.’
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