Chapter 41
We sneak into the conservatory through the back entrance. The smell of soil and pollen itches my nose. I tread lightly, aware any sound will only be amplified inside the glass enclosure.
Preston is close behind me. He’s lowered the gun, arms dangling at his sides, but the sheer existence of the weapon poses a threat, as does the information he has against me.
I still can’t believe Preston was working with Oliver this entire time.
The only silver lining, if there is one, is that I believe he’ll be willing to keep my secret for the right price.
Maybe I can make all my problems disappear with a signature on a check.
I pause when I reach the doors leading from the conservatory to the Reading Room. I look back at Preston, silently asking for permission to continue. He nods. The door opens with a creak, my head moving from left to right. The room is empty.
I tiptoe forward and peer into the foyer.
Again, there’s no one. The double doors leading to the parlor remain closed, shifting shadows waving behind the textured glass.
Relief floods through me. At least Ava and Constance haven’t killed each other.
Yet. If we remain quiet, we might have a chance of making it upstairs unseen.
Part of me considers calling out to them, warning them, but I fear that will only make things worse, put us all in danger.
Preston and I rush to the staircase, breaths held. We don’t speak again until we’ve reached the entrance to the narrow hallway.
“When the police arrive, how do you plan on explaining what happened to Damien?”
“We can tell the police we confronted Damien about pushing Marlowe and had no choice but to attack,” he says, rubbing the back of his neck with his free hand. “Ava and Constance won’t have a reason to question us. Neither will the police. The guy’s a murderer, Tippi.”
He doesn’t know that Constance has already confessed to killing Marlowe. She might gladly let Damien take the blame, but she’ll still have questions.
“Now what?” I say, pausing as we reach the entrance to Marmee’s closet.
“We’ll start by taking the jewels Oliver failed to steal,” he says. “Doc is still expecting what’s been promised. He never knew where we got the jewelry, just thinks Oliver skipped town. I haven’t let him or anyone else in on the truth. Yet.”
I bite my lip to stop from cursing. Handing over a large sum of money is one thing.
Stealing Marmee’s jewelry is personal. We enter the walk-in closet, and I’m overcome with memories from the last time I was here with Oliver.
I recall the weight of the marble statue in my hand, the expression of shock and loss on Oliver’s face as life poured out of him.
“And then what?”
“You were supposed to get married in a few weeks’ time. That would have given Oliver some leverage. Since that’s no longer an option, I’ll settle on a flat sum,” he says. “I’m thinking two million dollars.”
I laugh, painfully. “I can’t just give you two million dollars!”
“Ava told me you’re due to inherit more than double that,” he says. “I’d say it’s a fair amount to keep you out of prison, don’t you?”
Whether I like it or not, Preston has control over this situation. He grabs an oversized satchel off one of the display shelves and hands it to me. “Open the safe,” he says. “Now.”
I type today’s date into the keypad. The numbers illuminate a sickly shade of green, and I hear the soft click of the locking mechanism. “It’s open.”
“Fill it up,” he says, nudging the satchel with the tip of the gun. “We’re running out of time.”
I sift through the safe, my fingers caressing each item, a different memory or story attached to each one. Marmee spent an entire lifetime curating this collection. These gems hold no sentimental value to Preston. All he sees are more ways to feed his greed.
“Doesn’t it bother you at all, putting me in this position?” I ask him.
“Life doesn’t always work out the way you expect it,” he says. “I mean, I still thought I’d be in the big leagues by now. Maybe considering retirement. I didn’t think I’d be unemployed.”
“Is that what this is about?” I ask. “You not being able to play baseball anymore?”
“I require a certain type of lifestyle, and I’m sick of relying on Ava to provide it.”
“Ava loves you,” I remind him.
“I know she does.” I notice a small hitch in his voice. “But that’s not enough anymore. I had this idea of what our lives would look like, and it hasn’t worked out. Trust me, the writing has been on the wall for years.”
It’s not as though Ava is too dense to see that same writing, but she wanted to make better of it. Fix it. Not out of naivety or desperation, but out of love. For him.
“She always puts you first,” I say. “You’re a team.”
“There is no team,” he says. “No friendships. No soulmates. At the end of the day, it’s a one-man show.”
I retrieve the last piece of jewelry from the safe, the satchel so full the zipper refuses to close. I hand the bag to Preston, and he can’t resist taking a peek inside.
“Unbelievable. All this is just sitting in some closet,” he says. “How much do you think it’s worth?”
“Enough you won’t have to rely on your wife’s business anymore.”
“Smartass comments aren’t necessary, Tippi.” His expression hardens. He reaches into his jacket pocket, retrieving the gun. “Take out your phone. You need to transfer the funds to my account.”
I comply but remind him, “We don’t have service. Or internet.”
“Fuck.”
“You might have to wait—”
“I’m not waiting for shit,” he says. “Enough has happened already. You’re stuck with me until the transfer goes through.”
“What are you going to tell the police when they arrive?”
“We’ll stick to the story about Damien,” he says. “Everything else stays between us. I’m willing to keep your dark secrets if you can keep mine.”
“What dark secrets?”
Ava stands in the doorway, her gaze shifting from me to Preston to the gun in his hand. We lock eyes, a dozen different questions reverberating between our stares, paralyzing fear looming over them all.