Chapter 21
“Me?” Rachel sputtered, her face red, her eyes wildly darting from me to Wiley to Deputy Duncan. “Me? Why would I kill Tawny?”
“I think you just told us,” I said softly. “You couldn’t bear the thought of Tawny having Richard’s baby, and raising it on Cecilia’s millions. The infidelity, the loss, the betrayal—I imagine it all became a bit too much for you.”
She lunged forward into one of her savage points, thrusting a finger wildly in my direction. “Think! Imagine! You have no proof! You can’t point the finger at me without proof!”
“It’s funny you should say that. I do have proof, and the proof is actually on my finger.
” I raised my right index finger up, looking at it and realizing there was no longer anything to see there.
“That is, it was on my finger. Under my fingernail. It was still there when we went to the sheriff’s office last night, but Deputy Duncan got it out and sent it off to be analyzed.
I have photos, too, from the scene of the accident.
And we verified the damage when we got here this morning, out in the parking lot. ”
“What on earth are you talking about, you stupid boy?” Rachel screamed, clutching the sides of her face in her hands.
“You probably didn’t even notice in the dark last night,” I said.
“I hit your car. The green BMW—that’s yours, right?
The deputy retrieved fragments from your reflector from the ground in the parking area at the lighthouse, too, did I mention that?
And I had paint from your car under my fingernail, where I had scraped it off Ricky’s bumper. Beautiful color, by the way.”
Rachel’s face had gone pale, her hands frozen to her head. Only her eyes still shone wildly, flashing as they bored into me, searching, denying that what I was saying could possibly be true, that she could possibly have been caught.
“It was only his second time driving,” Ricky added in my defense. “He doesn’t even have a license, so I’m kind of relieved we’re not gonna have to report this to insurance, honestly. My car was fine,” he assured the room.
“That’s good news,” Denise said, sounding genuinely relieved. Rachel swiveled wildly in disbelief that anyone else would dare to speak. Denise was unmoved. “Your car is so cute. And, Oliver, good for you for getting back on the horse and driving! Sounds like it went a lot better this time.”
“Oh my god,” Rachel half shouted, half moaned, slumping back into her chair and bringing her hands down on the table with a loud slap.
“Fine. Make it stop. I did it. I killed her.” In defiance of her usual brittle poise, she had fallen into a truly magnificent slouch, her sharp, still-disapproving eyes daring anyone else to challenge her.
The room hung suspended in an electric silence at this confession.
Even Denise was finally cowed into wide-eyed submission.
Deputy Duncan was edging toward Rachel, but seemed unable to break through the thick atmosphere to make a more rapid approach.
Not that it mattered; Rachel wasn’t going anywhere. She seemed as frozen as the rest of us.
Finally Erik, his natural curiosity getting the better of him, coughed and said, “So was that really why you did it?”
The fire in Rachel’s eyes was flickering lower.
I saw a woman who had been so tightly wound for so long finally starting to unspool in recognition of what she had driven herself to.
“Basically, yeah, I think,” she sighed. “Richard was such a drain on me. He was bleeding me dry, cleaning out my inheritance. I’m sure he gave Tawny money.
He made that loan to Mary Alice without even consulting me.
He kept taking and taking, and then—to betray me?
With that? I had tried to hang on, to see it through until Cecilia died so I could at least recoup what was mine, but that old bag simply would.
Not. Die. And then Richard had to go and die in such a stupid way, and the second her money was out of reach, Cecilia finally drops dead?
And that thing, that awful creature, would get the money and wave Richard’s betrayal baby in everybody’s face for the rest of our lives?
I don’t think so. She didn’t deserve that. She couldn’t have that.”
Deputy Duncan had made it to Rachel’s side. She put a hand on Rachel’s shoulder. “Ready to go, Miz Rose?”
“Don’t have much of a choice, do I?” Rachel stood, her posture still uncharacteristically loose, only recovering a little bit of her usual poise when her gaze landed on the bar stools vacated by her daughters.
“Deputy,” she said, the hauteur creeping back into her voice. “My girls. I have to see my girls, but I need a moment to figure out what to tell them. We have to call my sister to take care of them. I won’t have them stuck in this family a minute longer.”
“We’ll see what we can do,” the deputy said, leading her toward the lobby. “But it’ll have to be at least a few minutes longer, until someone from Child Protective Services can come.”
I thought Lis and Denise could probably be perfectly capable caretakers, especially with the inheritance coming their way, but maybe getting out of the orbit of the Rose family wasn’t an entirely bad idea, either.
Thinking of the inheritance reminded me that the family had purportedly gathered this morning to hear Cecilia’s will being read. I was ready to turn the room back over to Brad. Maybe I didn’t want to be stuck with the Rose family much longer, either.
I helped Ricky out of his chair, and we each wrapped an arm around the other’s waist to support his weight as we hobbled into the lobby.
Rounding the desk, we nearly stumbled over Wiley.
Nobody had noticed him get up from the piano bench and leave the room, but now, here he was, sitting cross-legged on the floor, weeping into his hands.
I crouched down next to him. “Wiley, I’m sorry,” I said. “I’m sorry you’ve had to go through so much in such a short time, and that—what Rachel did was horrible, no matter what else Tawny might have done.”
He looked up at me, his face streaked with tears. “Why did I tell her? Why did I think Rachel needed to know? I thought she’d be mad at Richard, like I was at Tawny. I didn’t mean to—”
Ricky bent down awkwardly to lay a hand on Wiley’s shoulder. “Nobody thinks you did. None of it is your fault.”
Wiley sniffled for a minute. “Thanks for being her friend. You were right, we had a deeply unhealthy relationship, but I did love her. At least, last night, I really hoped I still did.” He looked blearily from me to Ricky, craning his neck as he shifted his gaze.
“We made things too complicated. Try not to do that in your relationship, you know? Keep things simple, and you’ll keep the romance alive. ”
We’d never managed it before, but Ricky and I tried to keep things simple for the next couple of days.
We’d spent one more night at the Rose Beach Inn, spending a good chunk of our day after the will reading with Deputy Duncan, making additions to the statements we’d already given the night before.
In the evening, Ronnie Wise came back to the inn bearing a tray of sandwiches and a big bowl of salad, and she, Mary Alice, Erik, Lis, Denise, Ricky, and I all ate together in the lounge.
“I wonder what I should do about my loan from Rachel now,” Mary Alice said, absently rooting around in her salad bowl with her fork.
“Do I still need to pay? What happens to someone’s money when they go to prison?
I guess there’ll need to be some money to support the girls.
Maybe I should ask Brad.” She pulled her phone out and began composing a text.
“Rachel’s not in prison yet,” Lis pointed out. “And I think you’d feel better if you fulfilled your obligation.”
“You’re probably right,” Mary Alice sighed, looking up from her phone.
“Would you feel even better if, say, a modest inheritance from your late Aunt Cecilia helped you fulfill your obligation?” Lis smiled shyly at her cousin.
“I wasn’t in Aunt Cecilia’s will,” Mary Alice said.
“Maybe not on paper,” Lis said. “But there were a lot of people, and organizations, and causes, that weren’t named in the will, per se, but are definitely in the will, as far as I’m concerned. Starting with you.”
Mary Alice leapt up and hugged her seated cousin’s startled head.
As we finished dinner, and Mrs. Wise produced and began slicing a giant chocolate cake, Brad Benson joined us, dropping into a chair next to Mary Alice and draping an arm around the back of her chair.
I gave Ricky a little kick under the table and a triumphant smile.
He responded by putting his arm around the back of my chair.
“So, Erik,” I said as we tucked into our cake, “with the caveat that what you saw is in no way what my job is usually like, are you still interested in being a travel writer?”
“Are you kidding me? Of course I am,” Erik enthused, his eyes lighting up. “Your job is so incredible! I can’t believe the stuff you get to do. Solving murders, nighttime rendezvous, chasing suspects … I never knew being a travel writer would be so exciting!”
I sighed. “Again, none of that is a typical part of my job.”
“Oliver,” Ricky said, “how many feature assignments have we been on?”
“Two,” I said.
“And how many of those have we spent most of our time chasing a murderer?”
I put my head in my hands, trying to choke down my frustration. “Two,” I admitted grudgingly.
“Maybe this is what your job is typically like,” Ricky said. “I mean, at this point, I feel like I expect it when I’m assigned to one of your stories.”
“No! It’s not,” I howled in protest.
“God, I can’t wait,” Erik said.