Chapter Thirty-Six
CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX
I’m at home with Rory and Storm. Dalton is working—with everything that happened, we decided he needed to get back on duty. In a couple of weeks, we’ll start shift-sharing. I suspect I’ll feel guilty about going back to work so soon, but it’s the right thing for me, and Dalton having time alone with his daughter is right for both of them. It’s not like working in the city, with an hour-long commute. We can easily pop home for lunches, coffee breaks, or just to check in.
I’m half dozing on the sofa while Rory sleeps when a knock comes at the door, one I’ve heard often enough to recognize it—firm and a little bit imperious.
“Come in, Yolanda!” I call.
She does, and the sound of outerwear being shed follows.
When she enters the living room, she goes straight to the bassinet. “Sleeping? Are you sure that’s a kid and not one of those creepy lifelike dolls? I haven’t even seen her with her eyes open.”
“Don’t worry. Once they’re open and she’s screaming, we’ll bring her to you.”
She jabs a finger my way as she plunks onto a chair. “You jest, but I’ll have you know I’m actually very good with kids.”
I smile. “I do know. I’ve seen you with the boys.”
“I like kids,” she says. “Never wanted my own, but I am the best auntie.” She leans toward the bassinet. “You’re going to be very lucky to have me around, kiddo. Just wait.”
Yolanda thumps back to the chair. “And, in case you were wondering, I am sticking around. Gran thought this might finally bring me home, but I’m not giving that bastard any power over me, even in death. I got away. I’m still alive. Seems like I’m going to lose one of those toes, but I figure that’s for the best, really. It’s a piss-poor serial-killer-escape story if I don’t have something to show for it.”
She looks over. “Will has even promised me a T-shirt. ‘I escaped a serial killer, and all I lost was this lousy pinkie toe.’ I will be sorely disappointed if he’s joking. I want that shirt.”
I smile. “I’ll make sure you get it.”
“Oh, he’s getting you one too.”
“‘I escaped a serial killer, and all I got was this lousy baby’?”
“ Awesome baby. Wouldn’t want to give the kid a complex too soon. Plenty of time for that later.”
“True.”
She pulls her legs up under her. “I know you thought I’ve been hanging around hoping to say I told you so. Well, that and not wanting Gran to know about my Parkinson’s, which is true. Also true that I wanted to be sure you and Eric weren’t fleecing my gran. I realized you weren’t a while ago. But I was never trying for a gotcha, Casey.”
She looks me in the eye. “I want you to succeed. I want all of you to succeed. I’m not sure you can pull it off, but if you guys can’t, then no one can.”
She leans back, gaze going to the ceiling. “Growing up rich, Gran and Pops taught us we had a responsibility to the world, especially because of where our money comes from. Big Pharma has a problem, and some families might love to throw money around and play philanthropists, as if opening a wing at a museum makes up for getting millions of people hooked on opioids, but it really doesn’t.”
“Shocking.”
“Right? Gran and Pops were never into those, but they still profited from lifesaving medicine, so they taught us to give back. I thought I was, with my company. Environmentally conscious, hiring mostly women, doing plenty of pro bono work, but…” She shrugs. “Corporations like to pretend they’d lose money if they did that shit, but my coffers filled faster than I could empty them.”
She rises and walks to the window. “This feels right, for now. It’s more active. Take a break from being the bitch in charge and be the bitch who criticizes those in charge.”
“You do an excellent job at that.”
“Keeping you on your toes.” She looks over at me. “I’m not your enemy, Casey.”
“I know.”
“Good.”
She looks out again, leaning on the thick windowsill now. “Gran told me what happened to Jerome. She thought I should know.”
I say nothing. We’d asked émilie about that, and she’d said yes, Yolanda should know and she’d tell her herself. Except for Anders—who bore witness—everyone else only knows we found Jerome’s body, and if they think we mean we found it under the ice, that’s fine.
“I keep thinking about it,” she says. “Not how he died, but that moment when he realized what was happening.”
“Eric and I didn’t do that to him.”
She snorts a laugh. “Uh, yeah, obviously. You guys wouldn’t do that to anyone. I have a good idea who did, but that’s between me and myself, though I suspect, if you aren’t charging around looking for the person responsible, you already know, too. That’s fine. Jerome deserved what he got. What I think about is that moment when he understood his fate. He survived falling in freezing water. He must have been so fucking pleased with himself. And then…” Her lips curve in a slow smile, and she doesn’t finish the line.
“He suffered,” she says. “More than he would have dying in freezing water. He had time to think about Lynn, to experience what he did to her. So I’m glad he suffered. For Lynn and all the others. What he did to them. What he tried to do to you.”
“And you,” I say softly. “For what he did to you.”
She goes quiet. I rise from the sofa, go to the window, and stand beside her.
After a moment, she says, “Yes, for what he did to me, too,” and we stand there together, looking out at the falling snow.