Chapter 30
Before
Memories of Oliver rumbled and spun.
Our first meeting. The overnight trip to Boston for my birthday. His smile. All the times he made me laugh, and how I’d depended on those moments to carry me forward. Now his lifeless body sprawled across the floor, Marmee’s stolen jewels tumbling from the top of the backpack.
My mind raced with possibilities. I could call the police and report a burglary.
I could say I caught him in the act of stealing and had no choice but to defend myself.
Of course, this wasn’t some random burglar.
Oliver was my fiancé. It would be hard to argue there wasn’t some type of premeditation or personal motive involved.
Marmee slept in the next room, her medication keeping her in a sound slumber despite the commotion of our argument.
I imagined her shock and horror and embarrassment as I explained to her what I’d done, the invasion of policemen tramping through her beautiful home.
And then what would happen to me? I’d spend the rest of my life shackled behind bars.
All because Oliver chose to steal and lie and threaten.
Even if I were to tell the police all the information I’d uncovered regarding Danielle, nothing proved Oliver’s connection to her death. Nothing proved he was a murderer.
Possibilities swirled inside me, pressing on my chest. There wasn’t enough air inside the walk-in closet, the walls seeming to close around me.
I hurried out of the room, searching for the closest access point.
I darted through my bedroom to my balcony door.
I rushed past the collections of books and trinkets, pushed open the French doors, and gulped down the fresh night air.
The moonlight shone over the trees, illuminating an idyllic scene above this living nightmare.
That’s when I saw the crow fountain, still blocked off with sawhorses and caution tape.
It appeared the entire area had been undone, preparing for new concrete to be poured the following morning.
I wondered, what would the heroine in a movie do?
She wouldn’t turn herself over to the police, whining about regret and punishment.
She’d find a way to conceal her misconduct—a crime I was pushed to commit in the first place—and that was what I planned on doing.
I believed things were meant to be. Karma might not always be kind, but it was certainly just.
Oliver made a mistake in threatening Marmee, and he paid for it with his life. In return, the universe had gifted me with the perfect place to hide his body.
The hardest part was lugging him down the stairs. I rolled him onto an old bedsheet and tugged on the thin fabric as I guided his body down the hallway. I nearly fell pushing him down the staircase, and I couldn’t help thinking of meeting a similar fate as my grandfather, a man I’d never known.
Once I’d made it to the foyer, it took a bit more effort to get Oliver’s body outside. I used one of the dollies near the construction site to wheel his body through the front door. All I had to do now was dig.
I ducked under caution tape, inspecting the area around the fountain.
Soft soil layered the bottom of the hole.
I used a shovel lying around to make it deeper.
I climbed out of the opening in the earth and stood beside Oliver’s body in the rolled-up sheet.
Nighttime swirled around me. Wispy clouds drifted across the sky, owls cooing in the distance.
I thought I saw a flash of light, and wondered if my adrenaline wasn’t beginning to wane, if I was starting to see things that weren’t there.
I lugged his body into the hole, covering it with more dirt.
When I finished, it looked no different than when I’d first inspected the space.
The newly poured concrete would do the rest of the work.
I brushed the soil off my clothes and spent the next hour scrubbing the walls and floors of Marmee’s closet, hoping her medication would keep her in a deep enough sleep that she wouldn’t hear anything.
When I finished, I gathered every cleaning item and blood-soaked material into one bag, then threw it into the same hole where I’d disposed of Oliver’s body. I was desperate for the night to end, but as exhausted as I was, I still had to do something with Oliver’s car.
The make and model were unique enough that it could be easily traced if I tried to sell it.
I could conceal it in Marmee’s garage temporarily, but eventually she would start asking questions.
If I was going to rely on the ploy that Oliver had left town, I would have to at least make it look as though he’d taken the Alpine with him, and the best way was to make it disappear. Like him.
I stole my idea from yet another Hitchcock film, his most iconic.
I slid behind the wheel and drove the drophead coupé along the roadway leading to the pond.
Once there, I slipped out, putting the vehicle in neutral.
I watched as the vintage car rolled into the water, the murky liquid soon swallowing it whole.
I watched it sink deeper and deeper, until all that was left was the mirrorlike shine of the water’s surface.
Relieved that the task was over, I started walking back toward the house.
“Who’s there?” A voice from behind startled me so much, I felt my heart sink into my stomach. I turned quickly, finding Mrs. Wilson standing by one of the garden benches, a lantern in her hand. “Tippi, is that you?”
“Just me, Mrs. Wilson.” I forced a smile and waved. “I decided to come up for the night.”
“I never heard you at the gate. The damned thing still won’t work,” she said. “You must have arrived while I was at the store.”
“I didn’t mean to disturb you.” My heart drummed in my chest. How long had she been outside? Could she have seen what I’d done? I looked at my clothes, grateful to be wearing a dark color that concealed the dirt and soil.
“It’s fine. I only wish I knew you were coming,” she said, stepping in the direction of the house. “I can make up your room—”
“No need. Really,” I said. “I’ve already unloaded my things, and Marmee is sleeping. I don’t want to wake her.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yes,” I said. “What are you doing out here by yourself? I didn’t hear the golf cart.”
“I go on walks after dinner. My doctor says it will help with digestion.” She shook her head. “Growing old isn’t very fun.”
I laughed nervously, grateful our interaction was coming to an end. After she walked away, I stood for several minutes, listening to the sounds of the whistling breeze and chirping insects, making sure I was alone once again.
I spent the night in my bedroom, replaying everything that had happened in minute detail.
Other than Mrs. Wilson’s interruption, everything had gone smoothly, deceptively so.
I kept thinking of how I might have messed up, how my crime might be revealed.
And yet, Oliver’s conning and lies assisted me.
He didn’t have close friends and family.
All he cared about was himself, and he existed no more.
The next morning, Marmee was happy to see me, but not surprised; I would often drive in from the city and stay with her.
“Is Oliver here, too?” she asked, when I joined her at her bedroom balcony.
I exhaled, reciting the first of what would be many times I’d tell this story.
Oliver and I were over. I’d found out he was in the process of purchasing a condo in Florida.
It served as the catalyst for a dozen other conversations, highlighting how incompatible we truly were.
We’d decided it was best for him to leave; he and the rest of his belongings would be gone by the end of the week.
“I’m sorry, darling,” she said, her pillowy hand resting over mine. “Are you okay?”
“I will be,” I said, not even having to fake the tears springing into my eyes.
“Of course you will,” she said, admiring the pristine sky before us. “What a lovely Sunday morning.”
“Beautiful,” I agreed. “Maybe Mrs. Wilson could serve our breakfast out here.”
“That’s a wonderful idea,” she said, and then a sound from below interrupted. The lead landscaper and his crew had arrived and were beginning to pour concrete around the fountain. “I forgot about the workers. All this noise will disturb us.”
“It won’t bother me,” I said, watching the crew assemble around the fountain. “I can block it out.”
Mrs. Wilson served a quiche lorraine that morning. Marmee and I sat on the balcony, watching as the construction crew put the finishing touches on the revitalized fountain. I watched the grainy liquid pour out of the machine, creating layer upon layer of concealment. It was done.
Oliver would remain here for the rest of time, and I would be the only person who knew it.