Chapter 12 #2
I’m hoping they'll know the name Evans because it was on that piece of paper we found in John’s desk.
The receptionist, a woman in her twenties with blonde hair, understated makeup, and wearing a dark pantsuit, blinks at me.
'What was the name?' she asks, as if she’s already forgotten.
I say it again, giving her another friendly smile.
‘Do you have an appointment?’ she asks.
‘No, I don’t. I was hoping to get some information.’
‘Just a moment,’ she replies.
I nod and turn away from her desk, looking at a painting on the wall beside it. I see Shade frowning next to me and I give him a questioning glance, not sure what the problem is.
'What is it?' I whisper.
He shakes his head. 'I don't know. It's just the way she looked at you when you said your name. She recognized it. I'm sure of it. I think we can already deduce that this is about you.'
I turn to face him more fully. 'But what could it possibly be about?'
'Maybe your mom left you something in her will, and John didn’t want you to have it,’ he suggests.
‘My mom had nothing,’ I argue quietly. ‘Remember her diary.
She pretty much married John to get us out of that hell hole in Philadelphia.
I mean, she cared about him too,' I concede, 'but the diary doesn't lie.
She was desperate. A desperate woman doesn't have, you know, savings or a nest egg or property. '
He shrugs again.
‘Well, hopefully they will tell us something.'
I turn and look at the artwork again with a frown, trying to make it out. It looks like ink blots and splatters. It has pretty colors though and I wonder if we could get something similar for our room under the club.
'I hope so,’ I murmur. ‘It would suck if we came all this way for nothing.'
Shade
The receptionist leaves her desk, and I watch her walk quickly to a glass office all the way down at the end of the hallway with a frosted door. She knocks once and goes inside, closing it quietly behind her.
I glance at Daisy again, wondering if the blonde is going to speak to Meyer and Fussell or if we’re going to get security called on us instead.
Daisy just stares at the painting.
‘Do you like it?’
‘The art?’ My eyes move over it. ‘It’s okay, I guess.’
‘I really like it,’ she says, not looking away from the large canvas. ‘When we first came in, I wasn’t sure, but the colors… Yeah. I really like it.’
‘Well, maybe we can—’ I stop talking as the receptionist reappears.
'I'm sorry,’ she says as she nears her desk, ‘but Mr. Meyer is very busy and you don't have an appointment.’
She gives us a tilt of her head as if she's delivering terrible news.
'I know we don’t have an appointment, ' Daisy begins, sounding like she’s struggling to stay patient.
I step closer to her and stoke her hand subtly.
'I called the other day,' I interject, 'and I understand—'
‘Oh, it was you,’ she interrupts, looking at me like I’m inconveniencing her terribly. 'I’m sorry but without an appointment, you're going to have to leave.'
I step forward, drawing myself up to my full height. 'We aren't going anywhere until we've spoken to someone who can tell us why this office has been corresponding with my father, John Novelle, about his stepdaughter, Marguerite Evans, without her knowledge.'
The receptionist’s lips purse and her eyes are almost reptilian as they move over me. She’s getting annoyed.
'Fine,’ she snaps, hands on her hips and her jaw clenched. ‘Please wait here.'
She goes back to the office with the frosted walls, and I see her gesturing at us through the opaque glass a little. She comes back out quickly this time, followed by a tall, portly man in his fifties.
'I’m Charles Meyer. What seems to be the problem here?'
'I'm Jack Novelle, and this is my stepsister, Marguerite Evans. We're here to ask you about my father’s correspondence with you.'
'You're Marguerite Evans?' He looks Daisy up and down, appearing a bit uncomfortable.
'I'm sorry,' he says after a moment, clearly flustered 'It’s just…
I was told that you were… Well, that is…
Look, I don't know what's going on here, but I can't talk to you, Jack, was it?
I'm sorry to hear about your father's passing, but I can't speak to you without Ms. Evans’ current guardian present.
Andrew Novelle. Your brother, I assume?'
'That's right,' I mutter coldly.
'With Ms. Evans under guardianship, I can't discuss this any further.'
'But I am Marguerite Evans,' Daisy says. 'Are you telling me you can't discuss whatever this is about with me when it's about me?'
'I'm afraid not. There are rules for this.' He looks at me again. 'This man could be tricking you or coercing you. You need to speak with your guardian. If you come back with him, I can speak to him and you together. Now, I really have to ask you to go, or I'll have to call security.'
'This is bullshit,' I snarl. 'She's an adult woman—’
‘A vulnerable adult woman with learning difficulties,’ Meyer fires back.
I glance at Daisy to see her rolling her eyes hard.
'Do I look like a vulnerable adult with learning difficulties to you?' she snarls.
'No, you don't, ma'am, which makes this even more suspicious. Marguerite Evans is a mentally challenged woman who needs constant, 24/7 care. You clearly aren't even her. What are you two grifters trying to pull?'
'I have ID,' I say, pulling out my license.
He glances at it with a scoff. 'Does she?'
Marguerite shakes her head. 'I don't have a license,' she mutters. 'And my passport is,' she looks down at the floor, 'in John's…Andrew’s house somewhere. I have my campus ID, though.’
She begins to search the pockets of her blue coat, but the lawyer shakes his head.
‘I can’t accept a student ID, and even if I could, I told you already that I need Marguerite Evans’ guardian present for any discussions.’
'Come on,' I say to Daisy, tugging her toward the elevators as I eye Meyer angrily. 'There's nothing we can do here.'
We leave the office empty-handed, and we’re watched like criminals as we walk out.
'Are you okay?' I ask, almost afraid to inquire as we make our way back to the car.
She shakes her head. 'Same shit, different day,' she answers.
'I don't know. I guess I was naive. I thought, with your dad being gone, that this would be over, but I've just traded one master in for another.
We need to figure out what all this is about, and this place is the key.
The correspondence. We need to find more of it if they're not going to tell us anything.
I'm just so sick of being talked to like I'm not a real person. I hate this.'
'I'm sorry,' I say.
She makes a noise of annoyance. 'It's not your fault. It's just this fucking guardianship. Why did my mom do this to me?'
'I don't think she wanted it to be this way,' I say. 'I can't imagine your mom signed those papers thinking that this is what John would do with his power over you.’
‘None of it makes any sense. What was the point? What was the point of all of this? When my mom died, John could have just pretended I didn't exist, but he brought me back here. He set up this contract with the Bandervilles that I’m not allowed out of. Why?'
We get in the car and she looks over at me, her face mulish.
'I'm gonna go and see Andrew,' she says.
'Not by yourself,' I say.
'Yes,' she says. 'He might open up more if you're not there. All you guys do is antagonize each other. If I can get Andy on my side, maybe I can figure out what all this is about. Maybe I can get him to change his mind, go through the process of rescinding this guardianship nonsense after all.'
'Okay, but I'll come with. I can wait in the car,' I say.
She gives me a look. 'I'm an adult woman.'
'I know,' I say, 'but in that house… Daisy, you were… All the shit that happened.’ I take her hand. ‘We found stuff on Joe's phone.'
She freezes and pulls her hand from mine, wrapping her arms around her middle.
‘Stuff?’ she asks quietly.
'Videos,' I elaborate.
She looks vaguely ill.
'Oh,' she says softly, looking out the window.
'Were you ever going to tell us about any of that?'
She rolls her eyes and looks back at me.
'No, probably not,' she says truthfully. 'I don't see the point of dredging stuff up over and over and over again. What's happened, happened. The nurse is dead, and so is Joe, and so is Joseph. If I could get away with killing Marcus, I might just do that, too.’
Her eyes widen and she gets her phone out. ‘Oh, I forgot.’
‘What is it?’ I ask.
‘I got a call from that detective earlier today. She left me a voicemail. I haven’t even looked at it yet. Let me just read the transcript real quick.’
She goes silent for a few seconds.
‘Well?’ I ask when she doesn’t come right out and tell me.
‘She says that she heard I'm back in town and she wants to meet with me. I guess about Joe’s death, or maybe it’s about John and Joseph.’
Daisy glances up at me.
‘Anders is sort of like a dog with a bone, isn’t she? I guess detectives have to be like that. Do you think Andy will spend money on a lawyer for me? I don’t think I should meet her without one.'
'Definitely not. I'll make sure you have a lawyer there,' I say, my hands gripping the steering wheel so tightly it creaks. 'There's no way you're meeting with her alone.'
She nods and the rest of our way back to Richmond is made in relative silence, each of us in our own heads.
We listen to music, and every once in a while, Daisy touches my hand or squeezes my thigh.
'How was Blake last night?' I ask as the hotel comes into view.
'Troubled,' she says quietly. 'We worked out our issue, but things are worse for him now. I wish I could help him. All of you.'
'You do,' I say, giving her what I hope is a reassuring smile, 'just by being with us. Just by being you.'
She gives me an incredulous look, like there's no fucking way that's the truth.
'No, really,' I say. 'I don't think you understand how much we care about you, and how glad we are that you're around, how amazing being with you feels.'