42. Charlotte Be My Guest
Charlotte Be My Guest
Call 911 is probably the worst text you could get from your child. It’s at least in the top ten. Poor Addie Walker, one of Juniper Shores’ most lauded matriarchs, was sitting across from me discussing which pieces of jewelry she had gifted to her children and therefore no longer needed to keep on her insurance policy, when Iris’s text dinged to my laptop.
I picked up the office phone and said, “I’m so sorry, Mrs. Walker! We’re going to have to do this later,” while dialing 911.
When calling 911, one should know one’s emergency when asked. I did not. In fact, I didn’t even know the number that had texted me. But I wasn’t going to wait to find out if it was some sort of unfunny hoax. “I need police to Four Twenty-Seven Ocean Avenue right away. Hurry, please!”
And then I hung up and, grabbing my purse in one swift motion, threw my pumps to the floor and ran out the door as fast as my bare feet would carry me. I was so panicked I felt light-headed and, for sure, should not have been driving. I laid on my horn, ran a stoplight, and drove a solid twenty miles an hour over the speed limit the entire way home. I had to get to Iris.
A car I didn’t recognize pulled into the driveway right behind me, but I didn’t wait to see who it was. I ran up the stairs, threw open the door, and screamed, “Iris!”
“I’m here, Mom!” she called, her head popping up from the downstairs landing. I ran to her, threw my arms around her, and covered her in kisses. “Are you okay? What is going on?”
Before she had time to explain, there was a knock on the already open door, and a voice behind me said, “FBI.”
My stomach flipped as I turned to look at the man who had spoken. What in the world could be happening now ? It was only then that I noticed Alice sitting at the dining room table with a man who was now scrambling up from his seat.
“Jeremy Isaacs,” the agent said, holding up his FBI badge, “you’re under arrest.”
I had no idea who this person was, but even without knowing him, I could read his face. Try to run? Stay and face the music? As if on cue, sirens rang out from what sounded like both ends of the street.
“Son,” the agent said, “let’s do this the dignified way.”
Jeremy looked at Alice. “I love you. I’m so sorry. We were so close to being together again.”
Alice looked mystified.
A group of firefighters—our town’s first responders—came to the door as the FBI agent was saying, “You have the right to remain silent…”
“Are we okay here?” one asked.
I looked at Iris. “Are we okay here?”
She nodded, and Alice ran over to hug her. Iris pushed her away. “No way. You were just going to let my dad rot in jail? Take the fall?”
I felt my brow furrow.
“Iris, oh my gosh, no!” Alice exclaimed. “I was saying anything I could to get Jeremy to talk. I was trying to memorize every single thing he said so that I could tell the FBI and get your dad out.”
Iris raised one eyebrow at Alice. “Are you sure?”
“Honey, yes. I was playing a part.” She paused. “I have been through a lot in my life, and that was the scariest thing yet. The man faked his death. No, I was definitely not planning to run off to Panama with him. I was trying to stall because I was afraid if he got me in his car, he’d kill me.”
Before Iris could say anything else, another FBI agent strode through the door.
“Ms. Bailey, we’re going to need to ask you some questions.”
She nodded. “That’s fine. I will try to tell you what he told me, but I can promise you on my life I thought that man was dead.”
“Wait. What?” I asked.
Iris stepped forward and handed the agent her phone. “I recorded his confession here.” She grinned at me. “My dad is Bill Sitterly, and this definitely proves his innocence. And if that isn’t enough, I have the paperwork to back up all of Mr. Isaacs’s claims.” She was practically singing.
My head was spinning. “What is happening? Who was that?”
“My dead first husband,” Alice said.
I gasped, remembering something. “Jeremy Isaacs. Dan Isaacs’s son?” I pointed to Iris. “He set Dad up?” I was just guessing.
“Ms. Bailey, Miss Sitterly,” the agent said, “I think we need to talk.”
“Not without an attorney present!” I chimed in.
“Why?” Iris asked. “It’s not like we did anything wrong.”
“Doesn’t matter,” I said. “Wait until Oliver gets here.”
“Oh!” Alice said. “I accidentally grabbed your phone this morning. I put it back in the pouch.”
I walked over to the leather pouch and retrieved my phone, hugging it to me, then dialed Oliver. When he answered, I said, “I have no idea what is going on, but you need to get to the mommune stat.”
“So does this mean my dad gets to come home?” Iris was asking.
I shushed her, suddenly noticing how incredibly pale Alice was. I sat down beside her and took her hand. “Alice?” She was trembling ever so slightly. “Iris, get Alice some water, please.”
Alice’s eyes were wide as she whispered, “I have mourned that man for almost twenty years. Is he honestly not even dead?” Tears rolled down her cheeks, and I held her to me.
Any notion I might have had that she was somehow involved in this calamity suddenly flew out the window. This was not a woman in on the scheme.
“Could you come back tomorrow?” I asked the agent. “I think I’d like to get her to bed.”
“No,” she said, shaking her head. “Bill deserves to be free, and no one is going to have to wait on me to see that that happens.”
My turn to tear up. I wanted to ask Alice why she hadn’t told me about Bill and her money, but this obviously wasn’t the time.
“Mom,” Iris interrupted huffily. “Can I at least play my recording for the agent while we wait for Oliver? You’re going to want to hear this.” She crossed her arms and gave me that None of you would even be able to process oxygen into carbon dioxide were I not here look.
I gestured like, Be my guest.
And, as I listened, that tiny 1 percent of me that was afraid my husband was guilty floated away into the ether. He was innocent. He was going to come home. And I had a feisty fourteen-year-old to thank for all of it.