“What do you mean?”
Had he snapped, become angry, and killed her? Looking at Milton now, at the pillow still clutched in his hands like a child’s security blanket, the truth of what had transpired was clear. “Milton, did you suffocate her?”
He didn’t respond.
Addison persisted. “Answer me, Milton! Did. You. Suffocate. Her?”
Luke pulled his phone out of his pocket. “I’m calling the police.”
“Put the phone down, Luke,” a female voice echoed from the bathroom.
Luke and Addison turned, both staring at the woman who’d just stepped out of the bathroom. The woman directed her attention at Addison. “You mustn’t blame Milton. He’s not to blame for Helen’s death. I am.”
CHAPTER 29
Dressed in a long skirt, a navy V-neck shirt and a jean jacket vest, Marjorie Grayson leaned against the bathroom door. Her usually impeccably applied make-up was smeared around her eyes. In one hand, she held a washcloth. It was stained black.
“Marjorie, what are you doing here?” Addison asked.
“Hello, Granddaughter.”
“I’m calling the police, Marjorie,” Luke said. “I don’t know what’s going on, but the cops can deal with it.”
Marjorie shook a finger at him. “You’ll do nothing of the kind.”
“Look, whether you’re Addison’s grandmother or not, I can’t protect you from this, and I won’t.”
“Nor should you. If you’d allow me to explain, I believe we can sort this whole mess out.”
“I’m not interested in anything you have to—”
“Luke, please,” Marjorie said. “She’s already passed. Surely you can spare another moment or two.”
Luke pressed the end-call button on the phone. “Two minutes. Then I’m calling.”
“Understood.” Marjorie walked to a nearby chair, sat down. “A few months ago, Helen learned she had stage four breast cancer. She always hated hospitals, and by the time Milton forced her to go and it was detected, it was much too late. The cancer had already spread to her liver, her spleen, her bones. She was in pain. So much pain.”
Addison thought back to her visit a few days before, to the cup of tea in Helen’s unstable hand. “Weren’t there treatments, something that could have helped her?”
“Although the prognosis was bleak, and she wouldn’t have had much time left either way, the doctor suggested radiation. She refused.”
“Why?” Addison asked.
“She’d witnessed the side effects firsthand. One of her friends died last year after a slew of procedures. None of them successful. Illnesses like this aren’t so easy to treat when you get to be our age.”
Marjorie stood, walked over to Helen’s bedside table, and removed a series of documents. She handed them to Addison. “See for yourself. It’s all in there. Her diagnoses, her life expectancy, the doctor’s recommendations—all of it.”
Luke leaned in, and together they scanned the pages.
What Marjorie said was true.
“But you killed her,” Addison said. “No matter how sick she was … how could you?”
Marjorie looked at Milton. “Give Addison the letter.”
He reached into his back pocket, handing over a crumpled envelope. She broke the seal, withdrew the letter inside, and read it aloud.
Addison,
I realize now how unkind I was to you the other day, and I’d like to apologize. If you’re receiving this letter, Milton has delivered it to your doorstep and has left Rhinebeck for good. It doesn’t matter where he went, he won’t be returning, so don’t try to find him.
I’d like to impose on you now and ask you to call the police. Tell them you stopped by my house for a visit and found me in bed, deceased. Yes, I did say deceased. Burial instructions and all other pertinent information are in my will, so you needn’t trouble yourself with any additional details.
Right now, I’m sure you’re caught up in all of the “why” and “how” of my passing. Ever since you came to Rhinebeck, you seemed to have a knack for sticking your nose in everything. Truth is, I’ve always admired the quality in you. I also found it irritating. Maybe because it reminded me of your grandmother, and I must confess she’s always been a true friend to me, despite what I said before.
You see, when I learned I was dying, I was angry, at everything and everyone. Then I came up with a way out, a way to be set free, relieved of the excruciating pain I experienced during the final days of my life. I know you don’t understand. I don’t expect you to. You’ve always been the girl with her heart set on doing the right thing.
Milton is not a killer. He’s a savior. My savior. He couldn’t stand to see me in pain any more than I could bear enduring it. I didn’t just ask him to end my life, I begged him for it. I hope you understand.
And now if you’d be so kind to burn this letter, you will have my eternal gratitude.
Helen Bouvier
Addison refolded the letter and breathed, trying to take it all in.
“How do we even know she wrote that letter?” Luke asked.
“She wrote it,” Addison replied. “I recognize the handwriting. When I first moved to Grayson Manor, she brought me a pie. It had a handwritten note attached to it. The writing on that note and on this letter is the same.”
Luke wiped his brow. “It still doesn’t make sense. The letter says Milton is the one responsible for Helen’s death. Not Marjorie.”
“You’re right,” Marjorie said. “Helen’s original plan was to ingest a bottle of pills, fall asleep, and die peacefully.”
“Why didn’t she?”
“She tried. They made her ill. She vomited most of the night, but she lived. The next day, she beseeched Milton, asked him to help her end her life. She didn’t care how. He couldn’t go through with it, so he called me. I flew in very early this morning, and here we are.”
“No matter how much pain she was in, it doesn’t give you the right to play God,” Luke said. “It’s not for you to decide. You could have taken her to the hospital or done something else, anything else … not this.”
“Put yourself in my place, Luke,” Marjorie said. “Think about what you would do if it was Addison. If you knew she was going to die anyway, how long would you make her writhe in agony before even you gave in? Can you honestly say you wouldn’t do whatever was necessary to bring her peace?”
Luke lowered his head, shaking it from side to side. “So what now? You were just going to what, walk out, leave us to deal with it?”
“On the contrary. I’m not going anywhere.”
“You’re not?” Addison asked.
“It’s time I make my peace with my past. If it comes back to haunt me, so be it. I’d never leave my granddaughter to handle this on her own.”
“She’s not on her own,” Luke shot back. “She has me. She’ll always have me.”
She’d always have him. Hearing those words was a huge relief.
“What now?” Addison asked. “We can’t pretend none of this is happening. I’m not leaving Helen like this. It wouldn’t be right.”
“Who said anything about leaving her?” Marjorie said. “The conversation we need to be having is about what we’re going to tell the police when they get here, and whether we’re all planning to tell the same story.” She shifted her gaze to Luke. “I know you’re not pleased with what’s happened here. Whatever you decide to do, I won’t stop you. But we need to get our stories straight, for all our sakes.”
Luke took what may have been the deepest and longest breath of his life. “When she’s examined, won’t the medical examiner be able to prove foul play was involved?”
“The ME may be able to prove asphyxia,” Marjorie said. “But as to the proof she’ll need, she won’t get anywhere if we dispose of the pillow. So, Luke … what’s it going to be?”
CHAPTER 30
After a lengthy amount of time spent soothing Milton’s anguished heart, Marjorie finally pried the pillow
from his hands. She disappeared for a short time then reemerged without it. A story was formed, and everyone agreed. The only thing left to deal with now was a tall, blubbering wild card, who looked like he was about to blow.
“Before the call is made, I want to be clear,” Marjorie said. “If this doesn’t go as planned, and the police decide one of us is to blame, I’ll be turning myself in. I won’t have it any other way, and none of you are to try to stop me. Understood?”
Addison and Luke nodded.
“Milton?” Marjorie asked. “Do you hear me? I need to know you understand.”
Milton’s head rose partway. “Yes, ma’am.”
“All right then, it’s settled. Who wants to make the call?”
Luke dialed the phone, remaining on the line while police were dispatched to their location. Marjorie and Addison moved to the living room, where they watched and waited.
“I don’t believe it was you,” Addison said.
“What do you mean?”
“Milton is torn up, more than he should be. It’s not because Helen’s gone, is it? You didn’t do it. You didn’t kill her. He did.”
“Nonsense. You’re allowing your mind to run rampant. Stick with the plan, Addison. Don’t give it another thought.”
“I felt her, you know, felt Helen pass through me the moment she died. You said you sent Milton to the store earlier so an alibi could be established for him if it came down to it. I felt Helen’s death after Milton returned home.”
“How would you know when he arrived back at the house?”
Addison thought back, remembered seeing Helen’s car drive past her house. “I saw Milton in Helen’s car earlier today.”
“It doesn’t mean he’s to blame for what happened.”
“But he is, isn’t he? You don’t have to take the fall for him. You don’t have to protect him.”
Marjorie clenched Addison’s hand, patting it several times before speaking. “I see what you’re trying to do here, Addison. We need to stick to the plan.”
“Even if the plan backfires? You’re really willing to turn yourself in?”
“To protect all of you, you bet I am. I’d never planned to involve you in the first place. I wasn’t even going to give you the letter Helen wrote.”
“You never planned to involve me? Did it ever occur to you to ask for my help, my opinion about all this before you put your plan into action?”
“Addison, please. Take a breath, take five if you need to. I don’t want you all riled up when the cops get here. It won’t help the situation. Milton was the one person in life Helen adored more than anyone. The one who remained by her side through it all. He doesn’t deserve to spend the rest of his life behind bars for honoring her dying wish, does he?”
CHAPTER 31
Lia McReedy was beginning to think there was a lot more to Addison Lockhart than the doe-eyed, sweet-faced girl she made herself out of be. Wherever Addison went, death seemed to follow like a bad habit. Over the past five minutes she’d eavesdropped on Addison’s conversation with Officer Waters and Jackson. Listened to the same regurgitated story Luke and Marjorie told. It was all a bit too coincidental for her liking. The only one who wasn’t talking was the tight-lipped old man sitting at the kitchen table, staring at the floor. Too inconsolable to speak, no one had managed to get a word out of him.
Helen’s body was lined out perfectly straight on the bed when Lia had walked in. A little too perfect. And her head was covered with a sheet. Maybe out of respect, maybe out of guilt. It was too early to tell. Lia aimed a pen at Albert, the crime scene photographer. “You get everything you need to in here? I’m ready to take a look at the body.”
He snapped another picture. “Just a few more.”
Officer Jackson entered the room, a man she also referred to as “Officer Pain in the Ass” on occasion, partially because he was her ex-boyfriend and partially because the shoe fit. He cleared his throat. She ignored him, using the edge of her pen to lift the edge of the sheet away from Helen’s head.
Officer Jackson cozied up behind her, leaning so far forward the steam from his breath made the hair on her neck bristle.
She arched her body to the side.
He laughed.
“Still jumpy after all this time,” he grunted.
“You don’t have to get so close.”
“You used to like it.”
“TJ, I’m working here. Back off me.”
He raised his hands in surrender. “Fine, fine. Just trying to be nice is all. Sheesh. What you thinkin’? She been dead long?”
“Not long. Couple hours maybe. Her muscles are starting to stiffen. The area around her eyelids has changed, but her neck still looks normal.”
“Fits with the timeline Marjorie Grayson gave us.”
“I bet it does,” she said.
“What does that mean?”
“Nothing.”
“It’s never nothing with you.”
“Right now it is.”
“Am I the only one who finds it strange that the Lockhart girl has been in the center of more than one death over the last year?”
“She was Helen Bouvier’s neighbor, TJ. It wasn’t her fault a dead woman was found in her house when she inherited it.”
“Yeah, well,” he thumbed toward the door, “the mute out there at the table could have dialed 9-1-1 when he found her. He didn’t. Instead I’m to believe he drove to the neighbor’s house where Marjorie Grayson just happened to be visiting, the same woman involved in her own husband’s death several decades ago.”
“Allegedly,” Lia said. “She was never charged.”
“Still. You know what I mean.”
“If you’re looking for answers, maybe you should get out there and push the old dude to talk.”
“Tryin’ to get rid of me, McReedy?”
McReedy. She’d always been Lia until the day she ended their relationship. Now he only referred to her by her last name, his manipulative way of making her feel like she was nothing to him anymore. Good. It was about time he moved on.
“Not trying to get rid of you,” she lied. “Just trying to do my job.”
Instead of exiting the room, he leaned out the bedroom door, pointed, and said, “You. Come here.”
Milton skulked into the bedroom, his legs unsteady, eyes glossed over in a haze.
“I’m gonna need you to tell me what went on here today,” Officer Jackson said.
“Marjorie told you,” Milton muttered.
“I don’t want Marjorie Grayson’s version. I want yours.”
Marjorie entered the room. “What are you doing? Why have you brought Milton back here? Can’t you see he’s under distress?”
Officer Jackson curved his lips into a smile. “All due respect, I’m not talking to you right now. You had your turn.”
Marjorie shoved Officer Jackson aside, looping an arm around Milton. “Fine. If Milton stays, I stay.”
Lia glanced up, recognizing the look in Officer Jackson’s eyes—the same look he always had when he was about to burst.
Officer Jackson reeled around. “Look at her, Milton. Look at Helen.”
When Milton didn’t do as requested, Officer Jackson prodded further. “Oh, come on now. You can do it. She was your friend, wasn’t she? Aren’t you the one who found her?”
Tears streaming down his cheeks, Milton looked at Marjorie.
Officer Jackson gripped Milton’s jaw in his hand, twisting it to face Helen. “Don’t look at Mrs. Grayson. Look at Helen. Look at her! Yesterday this woman was alive, full of life, full of color. Now she’s a corpse, withering and rotting away, and you expect me to believe she just passed away in her sleep?”
In an attempt to keep Marjorie from being arrested for assaulting an officer, Lia said, “Take your hands off him, TJ. He hasn’t done anything.”
His hands remained. Lia called for backup, yelling for Officer Waters. Officer Waters entered the room and issued TJ a warning. This time he listened.
“If everyone could just calm down,” Marjorie said. “I’d like to at least try to clear the air. You’ve all asked about her death, how she died, how we’re involved. But no one has bothered to ask about Helen. She had cancer. And as you can see, she’s not exactly a spring chicken. So before you make allegations, get your facts straight first.”
CHAPTER 32
Two hours later, Marjorie, Addison, Luke, and Milton reconvened at Grayson Manor after Helen’s body was taken by ambulance to be examined. To Addison, the waiting and the uncertainty of what Lia would find during the autopsy was the hardest.
Addison’s cell phone vibrated inside her pocket. She pulled it out and answered.
“I was surprised I didn’t hear from you today,” Rose said.
“I meant to call,” Addison replied.
“Then why haven’t you?”
“My neighbor passed away several hours ago, and the day just got away from me.”
“I’m sorry to hear that. Are you free now?”
“I am.”
“Good. I spent the day putting together a list of names of everyone I can recall being invited to the Easter party. Then I listed their children. I found only two possibilities, two couples with boys matching the age and description of the person you mentioned in your … whatever you call it. Grab a pen and paper and I’ll give them to you.”
She opened a drawer, fiddled around. Nothing to write on but the flip side of the utility bill. It would have to do. “Ready.”
“Rick Snider and Dean Robertson.”
There was, of course, a third boy Rose hadn’t mentioned yet. Derek. Addison questioned whether Rose could even bring herself to suspect her own son. She must have.
“Any idea how old they were at the time?”
“Fifteen, sixteen, seventeen. Can’t be sure exactly. They were both friends of my son. He was fifteen at the time.”
Interesting.
“Any idea where they’re living now?”
Addison Lockhart 02-Rosecliff Manor Haunting Page 9