Chapter 24 RIGHTING WRONGS
Chapter 24
R IGHTING W RONGS
Present Day
Charli draws close to the Smythun Inn the beer glasses rattle. “Noah will be happy to hear it.”
“Is he working today?”
“He’s not; he’s got the day off. Shall I tell him you’re looking for him?”
“No, please don’t. I think I’ll surprise him.”
Noah’s sister comes around the corner as Charli is turning to leave. “Ah, she’s back for more,” Marianne says, twisting her hair into a ponytail and assuming her place behind the bar.
“Hey there ... how’s ... how are you?” Charli is less than thrilled to see her, only because she has to explain herself now. Victoria goes to the opposite side of the pub and busies herself cleaning tables. It seems obvious she’s getting out of the path of Hurricane Marianne.
Marianne looks at her curiously, suspiciously. “I’m ... fine?”
“Good, that’s good.”
“What brings you back?”
“The good food?” Charli can’t even say it with a straight face.
Marianne chuckles darkly. “Right. Look, I think you’ve had your fling, and now it’s time to let it go.” And the prickly one rears her head.
“Trust me,” Charli says, “I know we don’t have a chance in the long term.”
She nods in what feels like a distrusting way. “Can I get you a drink or something to eat?”
“Maybe a water would be great.” Come to think of it, Charli does have a headache.
As Marianne fills a glass, Charli asks, “How is it that your family gets along so well? I’m sure you butt heads, but you seem to all find a way to get along, to have fun. Know what I mean? You’re not all perfect, but you’re far more perfect than my broken family.”
Marianne slides her the water. She doesn’t bother putting a lemon wedge on the rim, per the usual treatment of guests. “Yeah, well, we make a good show of faking it sometimes. You have to in a small town like this.”
Charli hates that she’s bending the truth, but she’s good at it. “I swear, sometimes I think my family is cursed. Like something bad happened long before me, and we can’t seem to recover.” It’s like she’s chumming the water and seeing if Marianne smells blood. Sure, Charli will soon talk to Helen, as she probably has more answers, but Marianne is a good place to start. The trick is not sounding like a journalist as she probes for not only the truth, but a way to possibly make right the wrong set in place so many years ago.
Marianne’s suspicious eyes beam a little harder at Charli. “We all have our family secrets, don’t we?”
Charli can’t stop herself. “What kind of secrets could you guys have? Noah mentioned that something happened a long time ago. Was it to Helen’s grandmother or great-grandmother?” She’s neck deep in lies now, no turning back.
The question goes out into the air and lingers for what feels like hours. Charli can’t even bring herself to look into Marianne’s eyes.
A boisterous couple comes rushing through the door. The woman is half in the bag, and if she’s not careful, she’s going to snap one of those long heels. The husband in his fine cashmere scarf approaches the bar and asks if they can take a table.
Charli sits on a stool to wait, that question still hovering in the air.
“Anywhere you like in the bar,” Marianne says to her new guests. “We start serving food again at five.”
“Thanks,” the husband says. “Let me do a pint and what do you care for, wifey? Never mind, let’s get you a water.”
“As long as there’s vodka in it,” she slurs.
The husband looks at Marianne. “A water for her, no vodka. Maybe some chips if you have them.”
“Yeah, sure,” Marianne says, unfazed by these people.
As the couple surrounds a table in the corner and falls back into their lively conversation, Marianne says, “What were we talking about?”
“Oh, just families and history.” Charli’s not sure she can ask again about Lillian’s name and what happened; it was too much the first time. Marianne is not dumb.
She calls out to Victoria, “See if you can drum up some chips from the kitchen.” As she starts on the drink order, she says to Charli, “Helen’s great-great-aunt, Lillian, was murdered by her lover. And then Lillian’s brother—who was Helen’s great-grandfather and obviously my grandfather a few times back, tried to get revenge and was killed too.”
“Get out of here!” Charli is genuinely surprised. She knew nothing about the brother’s death. What a tragedy.
“True story,” she says as casually as if she’s reading off the latest specials. “I’ve been rather fascinated with it since I was a child. She fell in love with a kid from the college who lured her back to his house and shot her.”
Charli’s telling her heart to settle down. More than anything, she now knows that there is far more to be discovered. She wishes she could pull out the photo and ask, “Does he look like the murdering type?” Marianne’s making it sound like he’s a predator.
That being said, she does feel the darkness inside her. Like her, maybe he looks far more innocent than he is.
Charli pries. “Why would he do that? Did he go to jail?”
“You know ... a well-to-do brat with too much money. He was arrested and then escaped before his necktie party.”
“Necktie party?” Charli asks, but the reference makes sense.
“That’s what they called a hanging.”
Charli can’t imagine the boy in the photo facing the opening of a noose. A rope slips around her neck and tightens as if it’s her own necktie party. She stops breathing for a moment before she realizes she’s sitting at a pub in the present.
She clears her throat. “What happened with the brother?”
“Arthur was his name. He went after the family years later, attacked their carriage up the hill on High Street. He shot the brother in the shoulder but was killed in the process.”
Charli’s getting somewhere. “It probably takes a family generations to get past something like that.”
“Maybe that explains our malfunction,” Marianne says.
Charli would have loved to come clean and say, “Exactly! I think it explains my family’s, at least!” But outing herself will make it all but impossible to forge ahead and figure out exactly how to restore the imbalance in her own family.
Still, she’s getting somewhere, and Clarice Starling would be proud.
Charli shoots back the last of her water like it’s whiskey. “But you guys seem so happy.”
“We’ve got you fooled. I suppose we’ve learned to be happy despite the struggles.” Marianne seems to shed her skepticism and opens up like a flower—or maybe a Venus flytrap. “Is it any wonder that I won’t marry again? I’m surprised my husband didn’t shoot me either. I fell for the same tricks and married a rich man. No surprise, he turned out to be a terrible person.”
Compassion softens Charli’s face. Perhaps there is some fallout in Noah’s family from the murder. “But ... I’m sure there’s someone out there for you.”
“Oh, are you sure, Charli? What do you know? How old are you, twenty?”
Charli fends off the barb. “Almost thirty,” she says calmly. What is she supposed to do, help Marianne climb out of her own shit? Is that how she brings everything back to normal?
Marianne wrinkles her forehead. “Yeah, talk to me about love when you’re forty. I’ll be right back.” She takes the couple their drinks. The inebriated woman is complaining about her water not having vodka in it. Marianne plays it like she’s grown up dealing with drunks. Considering she’d been working in the pub most of her life, she certainly has.
“Finish that one up, love, and then we’ll find you something with more bite. Deal?”
“Deal,” the woman says with a pacified satisfaction.
When Marianne returns, Charli asks, “How did your ex lure you in?”
“Like they all do. With good looks and flowers. A few one-liners. You can’t be too picky in this town, so I let myself fall in love.”
“Can you actually let yourself fall in love?” Charli asks. “I think it just happens—not that I’m an expert.”
“Apparently you’re right. Because I sure as hell don’t love him now. What about you? Ya falling in love with my brother?”
Charli prepares to deflect but can’t find the words. “What? I ... it’s ... it’s complicated.”
“Yeah, it always is.”
No, it really is in this case, Charli says to herself. More than you could possibly understand.
Marianne sets her elbows down on the bar and clasps her fingers in a dominant gesture. “Yeah, well, you best not think you can take him away from here. He’s where he belongs.”
“Yeah, I get that.”
Marianne doesn’t move a muscle. “What are you really doing here?”
So much for Charli’s stealthy questioning. They hold eye contact, and Charli decides that she’s got to stop lying. “I wish I knew, Marianne. But I do know that I’m here for a reason and that I need to see him again.”
His sister laughs. “Well, don’t say I didn’t warn you. This family doesn’t want him leaving again.” She goes cold after that, standing tall and turning away. “Victoria, where are those chips?”
Charli stands too. “I’m gonna go see if I can find him.” The words barely escape her mouth. Marianne has successfully intimidated her.
“Okay, you do that,” she says without even glancing back.
Charli reaches the entrance to Noah’s building and texts him. I’m downstairs. Can we talk?
A window opens above and his head pokes out. “Charli?”
“Don’t tell me you weren’t expecting me?”
“I wasn’t.” He flashes that smile of his, and she knows he’s glad she’s back. He stares down at her for a while, clearly attempting to charm her.
“Aren’t you gonna let me in?” she hollers up to him.
“You’re like a yo-yo, you know? Up, down, up, down. It’s a good thing I’m long on patience.”
That’s not the only thing he’s long on, but she doesn’t say that. “I know, and I’m sorry. Believe me, I grind on my own nerves way more than anyone else’s.”
He stares down at her, probably wondering what to do with her. If he was smart, he’d shut the window and wait until she’s gone. Instead, he looks past her for a moment and then raises the volume of his voice and says rather dramatically, as if he’s performing Shakespeare, “Dear lady, what are your intentions?”
Her mouth falls agape. She turns to see what he’d seen. A tour group of seven people is walking by. He’s trying to embarrass her. Is that punishment? As silly as it is, it feels like flirting to her, and she kind of likes it. Either way, she’s not going to let him win.
“Oh, wouldn’t you like to know,” she shouts back.
He smiles, apparently pleased she’s not shrinking away.
The tour group draws closer. Noah is still looking down at her, his smirk frozen on his face.
Charli finds a little mojo and calls out loud enough for the people back on High Street to hear, “I think you were still wearing my panties when I left. Mind if I get those back?”
A round of giggles rises from the tour group.
Noah shakes a finger at her. His eyes say, Two can play at this game. He shouts back, “I’m missing my wallet. Did you run off with it?”
More laughter from the group passing by. They’ve slowed to enjoy the exchange.
Charli will do this all day. Below the surface, she appreciates that this is his way of letting her off the hook. Never has she met a man so patient with her. “I didn’t even realize you had a wallet. You’ve stuck me with every bill.”
“Ouch.” His voice echoes against the other buildings. He takes his time coming up with something else. “I suppose I do owe you something then.”
“I just want my panties back.”
“Yeah, okay, I’ll let you in.”
She hears a buzz and is smiling all the way up the stairs. He’s standing in the hallway when the doors open. He’s shirtless and wearing sweats.
“Oh, you dressed up for me.”
“I’d no idea you were coming.”
The lingering surprise on his face corroborates his statement, and she’s glad she’d broken from the mold of being a foregone conclusion.
“What brings you back?” he asks, staying at a safe distance away. He’s keeping it light, but he’s definitely annoyed, justifiably so.
If only she could tell him the truth, but she will not. At stake is her father’s life, her own life. Perhaps the life of everyone in her family. She must keep their relationship surface level and get down to the truth. Figure out exactly what happened and how she can make it right. And, of course, there are worse things than spending a little more time with him in the process.
“The strike with the trains didn’t help.”
“Ah, so you couldn’t leave.”
“It’s more than that,” she says.
“Yeah?”
“I’m sorry, Noah.”
“There it is. But does she mean it?” There’s more of that frustration he should be showing. For a moment, he’d become something of a milquetoast.
“Seriously, I’m sorry that I walked away. I’m not good at this kind of thing, which I did forewarn you about.”
“I’m sorry that I ignored your disclaimer.”
Warning, she thinks, he should still heed the disclaimer. Guilt comes crashing down on her. She’s doing this, taking advantage of him. What an awful person she is. But she did warn him. And her father comes first.
For good measure, she says, “I’m back for a few more days and would love to see more of you. But the disclaimer still stands.” She can’t help herself from injecting some humor. “Besides, I don’t have anywhere else to go.”
He takes a step back toward his door. “Ah ... so now you’re using me.”
“You wouldn’t want me to sleep in the street, would you?”
He fakes a smile that shows his anger.
“Look,” she says. “I really am sorry. I’m trying here. I don’t want to leave with a bad taste between us. But I’m not looking for anything serious.”
He’s searching her for sincerity.
She shrugs. “That’s about as good as it gets with me. And if it’s not enough, I can turn around and leave you for good right now. Believe me, I would not blame you.” Though she’s working him some, her honesty surprises her.
Distrust creases the skin around his eyes. “I suppose we can take this inside.”
A football match plays on the television. Or telly as he calls it. The commentator sounds like he’s about to have a heart attack. “Ramon kicks it to Alejandro. But heeerrre comes Pi?a from behind and ...”
“Who’s playing?” she asks, following him into the main room.
“Do you really care?”
She side-eyes him.
He bites his lip and steps toward her. “I don’t know what to do with you.”
“That makes two of us,” she admits. “And that’s why we go day by day.” She turns fully toward him and takes his hand. “We have no chance of survival, so we accept that and enjoy a few more days before I go back. We’re like kitty cats trying to survive in the wilds of Zimbabwe.”
Meanwhile, she thinks, I will be simultaneously searching for facts in a cold case from 1881 while also infiltrating the depths of your family to assess exactly how I might make up for my grandfather killing your great-aunt. Even thinking the idea is absurd, but this whole trip has revealed a world that allows for the absurd. The unbelievable keeps happening.
“Kitty cats in Zimbabwe ...,” he says. “Has anyone told you you read too much?”
“My mother did. All the time.”
“Well, I guess I’ll take what I can get right now.” He holds her cheeks and kisses her. They could have saved a lot of headaches if he could have had that attitude from the beginning.
The commentator on the telly yells, “Goooooooaaaaaall!”
Noah smiles into her lips and she smiles back, and they press into one another.
“They scored,” he whispers.
“Yeah, I kind of figured,” she says, feeling him grow against her. She reaches down. “Are you jealous of them?”
He shivers as she touches him. And he tries to speak, but only a gasp escapes. Looks like they’re going to score too.
Charli’s lying next to him later. They’re chatting. The football match is still on in the other room. The announcer is going wild over something. Charli is less thrilled herself. As much as she wants to come out and say exactly why she’s back, it would be easier if she actually knew what that was, but she’s hoping—with giants heaps of skepticism—that her intuition will guide her.
Does she have to help every one of Noah’s family members? If she starts with Noah, what would that be? Encourage him to leave the pub and chase his dreams? She’s not exactly equipped with motivational-speaker skills. It’s certainly not a Sleeping Beauty kind of thing where a kiss will set him free. That train has already left the station.
Or is there some other issue in his family that will soon reveal itself? The Armstrongs seem normal enough to her—far more normal than her own family.
Which sends her back to considering Miles ... if he didn’t kill Lillian, then the truth has been suppressed. But, seriously, how is she going to figure out who killed her? If the stakes weren’t so damn high, if her father’s life wasn’t on the line, she’d allow all the doubt floating in her mind to win out. She keeps forcing herself to revisit all the serendipitous things that have happened, most recently coming upon the exact spot where the photo was taken—and where they’d carved their initials. It might not be fairy-tale stuff going on, but there are forces at play that continue to blow her hair back.
If only she could come out and tell Noah what she’s thinking. And she will, soon enough. Her darn intuition is bucking like a feisty bronco, telling her that the lies must stop.
But not yet. “I ran into Marianne at the pub when I was looking for you.”
Half of Noah’s body is covered by the white sheet of the bed. His head is propped up on his hand. “Oh, yeah?”
“I’m not sure she’s a Charli fan.”
“If she spoke to you, she likes you.”
“She seems afraid that I’ll take you away.”
He lets his head fall back on the pillow. “I suppose it’s nice to be wanted.”
Charli seizes the opportunity to ask, “She told me about what happened to your ... who was it? Helen’s great-great-aunt?”
He glances over and asks with a strong dose of curiosity, “How did that come up?”
Charli decides that she has a lot to learn before she opens her own PI business. “We were just talking. It came up when we were chatting family stuff.”
Noah seems satisfied by her explanation. “Yeah,” he says. “She has always been interested in it.”
“Aren’t you?”
“Not really, to be honest. You and Marianne must be alike in that way, curious about the past.”
We’re alike in more ways than that, Charli thinks. “I wonder if my grandfather knew your family. He surely ate in the inn at some point.”
“Yeah, could be. Funny to think about. How’d the meeting go, by the way?”
“A dead end so far, but I’m going back tomorrow.” She keeps on with her curiosity. “Why would someone murder her?”
He blows out a breath of air. “No idea. I can’t remember. Why are you so interested?”
“Well, it’s an unsolved murder. I’m into mysteries. I almost opened a bookstore, remember?”
That seems to quell his suspicion.
Charli sits up and reaches for her underwear. It’s stupid, really, the idea that she can make things better. What is she supposed to do? Help Marianne find love again? Restore Noah’s faith in love after his failed engagement? Noah’s brother, Wesley, is a mess—tied up with some bad people—but Charli can’t help with that either. She’s in way over her head.
The one thing she does know is that saying sorry doesn’t quite cut it.
Oh, Noah, I’m a descendant of the man who shot your relative. Sorry about not telling you earlier. While I’m at it, sorry about him shooting her. Will you forgive me? Or us? Actually, I don’t think he did it anyway. Oh, why’s that, you ask? I don’t know. A feeling.