Diner Impossible, page 24
“Yeah, you told me, remember? We spoke on the phone?”
She shook her head.
I stepped closer. “Where’s Annabelle? She needs to be with you now.”
Tilting her head to the side, she smiled. “Shhhh. She’s sleeping.”
Something was off. Goose bumps broke out along my skin.
“Which room is it, Molly? Take me to Annabelle.”
“She won’t wake up. Not this time.”
With my heart slamming against my chest, I spun and fled the room. Then I ran down the hallway, opening every door, flipping on every light. When I didn’t find her, I retraced my steps and ran the other way. I finally found Annabelle in the third room on the opposite wing. She lay on the canopied bed, fully dressed. She wasn’t breathing.
I felt for a pulse. Nothing. And her skin was cold to the touch.
I dug my phone from my purse and called 911. I told them she was dead and gave them the address, told them White Oak Bridge had flooded. When the dispatcher kept asking me questions like who I was and if I knew for certain Annabelle was deceased, I hung up.
I stood next to the bed for a moment, staring at the white, Battenburg lace bedspread, tears blurring my vision. My cell rang, and although I was tempted to ignore it, it was Axton.
Before I could talk, he spoke first. “Thallium.”
“What?”
“Thallium is a metal, used in window making, mining, stuff like that. But it matches your description of Annabelle’s symptoms. The hair loss, the jaundiced look, the nausea, and vomiting blood.”
I forced myself to glance at her. Her ashen skin held a yellow cast. Enormous bald patches exposed her scalp.
“She’s dead, Axton.”
“What?”
“I’m at the Mathers’ house right now. She’s dead.”
“I’m sorry, Rose. Do you need me there?”
“No, the roads are dangerous. I’ve called 911. She was poisoned? How?
“It’s tasteless, odorless. It can take a while to kill you if it’s given in small doses. Used to be, you could find this stuff in herbicides and rat poison. But they banned it in the mid-seventies. You said she was losing her hair. That suggests weeks of being poisoned. A little bit at a time. A higher dose would have just killed her outright.”
My stomach heaved. I remembered seeing old containers in the barn. Barrels of what could be herbicide.
Only one person could have poisoned her. Even if Annabelle died, Martin would never get any of her money. It was tied up in a trust for the kids. Mason had been in rehab for weeks and he was too scattered to plan a slow death.
That left Molly.
“Thanks, Ax.” I hit the end button on my phone and walked numbly out of the room and back to her.
With her mother out of the way, Molly could use the trust fund to take care of herself and Mason. Get as far away from Huntingford as possible. But had she killed Delia as well?
Molly was in the same position as when I’d found her.
“Annabelle’s dead,” I said.
She nodded.
I cast my eyes around the room, and they landed on her canvas tennis shoes next to the bed. I walked closer and noticed sawdust stuck to crevices in the rubber toe. “Why, Molly? There had to be a better way to break free.”
“I needed money to take care of Mason, but I couldn’t do that without the trust. And I couldn’t leave him by himself. I had to help him.” Her eyes were glazed and unfocused.
I sat down on the bed and clung to the footboard with both hands.
“She killed Delia Cummings, you know,” Molly said.
“What?”
“Annabelle. She stole Julia Baxter’s purse. I was supposed to be in the charity fashion show, but my arms were bandaged because I couldn’t stop cutting.” She held them out for me to see. “They had a sleeveless dress for me to wear. Annabelle told them I wasn’t feeling well and couldn’t participate.” As she spoke, she seemed more coherent.
She gazed down at her arms. “My mother told me in that quiet, sweet voice of hers how much of a disappointment I was. That if she’d had other children, they wouldn’t have turned out like me or Mason.” Tears began coursing down her face. “So I went backstage to look at the dress I was supposed to wear and I saw her take Julia’s bag. I didn’t say anything.”
This girl, this young girl who reminded me so much of myself, was a murderer. And yet, I felt nothing but compassion for her. Fresh, hot tears stung the backs of my eyes.
Molly was in such pain. She thought eliminating the source of it would make things better. She was too young and naïve to realize that she’d just ruined her entire life. Letting go of the footboard, I reached out and held her hand.
“Is that when you gave her the thallium?”
She nodded. “I just wanted her to go away.” With her free hand, Molly rubbed at her nose. “I learned in Chemistry class that thallium used to be the poisoner’s poison. That’s what they called it. And we had some in the barn, in the utility locker. I wore a mask and gloves and replaced the medicine in her caplets with the old rat poison.”
“But how do you know Annabelle killed Delia?”
I believed it was true. All the reasons I’d used for Charlotte Ashby applied to Annabelle Mathers. The miscarriages, the jealousy over Delia’s pregnancy. I had the right reasons, but the wrong suspect.
“Delia called the house and she and my dad would talk for hours. My mom knew. Annabelle knew and she stayed with him. She retaliated by withholding money. Annabelle gave him an allowance, as if he were a child instead of her husband. Her money was the only thing that kept him around. But even that’s running out.” She glanced around the room, taking in the landscape painted in oils and the antique furniture.
“She always played the victim. Poor Annabelle. Look at her fucked up kids, look at her cheating husband. Poor, poor Annabelle. It made me sick. She liked that everyone felt sorry for her. He’d leave for the weekend, and she’d cry and cry. Mason fell for her bullshit, but not me. I read about these people in Taiwan. They’re professional mourners. You pay them to cry on demand. That was Annabelle.”
She took a deep breath and pulled her hand from mine. “I heard her leave that night. The night Delia died. And I watched for her to come back.”
“What happened next, Molly?”
She sniffed and wiped the tears from her eyes. “She didn’t come into the house. Instead, she ran out to the barn with a duffle bag. She used to forbid us from going to the barn. Like it was some sacred place because her grandfather built it. The next day, I found the bag hidden in the loft.” She choked back a cry. “It was filled with her clothes. Her leather gloves were stiff with blood. And she’d used one of Mason’s knives.”
When Molly began sobbing, I pulled her into my arms and stroked her hair. The convulsions wracked her thin body, and it took some time before they subsided. When she shoved against my shoulders, I let her go.
“I overheard Julia on the day of the fashion show,” she said. “She told Judge Keeler that if she lost her e-key, she could lose her license. She was too scared to report it missing and Mills said it would turn up. I know how those keys work. My friend’s mom sold their house after the divorce. Annabelle used the e-key to get into Delia’s house.”
“What do you think pushed her over the edge?” I asked. “Delia’s pregnancy?”
Molly nodded. “My mom had so many miscarriages. She said it wasn’t fair. Mason was away at rehab, and I had to hear about it constantly. I took comfort in the fact that she’d be dead soon. Every time she whined about my dad, I thought, ‘I’ll be out of here and I’ll never have to hear her bleating again.’”
She slowly panned her gaze to my eyes. “You of all people should understand, Rose. I needed to get out, but I couldn’t leave Mason behind. The first place they sent him to was a wilderness camp. When he came home, he’d lost twenty pounds. He told me if they ever sent him there again, he’d kill himself. The next two places were these rehabs by the ocean. It didn’t matter. As soon as he got back, he started using again. He can’t stay clean in this house. My parents were destroying him. Do you know what happens to teen addicts?”
I shook my head.
“They die.”
A bell sounded at the front door. The first responders had finally shown up.
“Are you going to tell them the truth?” she asked. “Please, Rose. Please help me.”
Chapter 29
Three hours and forty-seven minutes later, I was free to go.
I was free, but Molly Mathers was in custody for murder.
I’d texted Sullivan, letting him know what happened. He called a few seconds later.
“Talk to me. Are you all right?”
“Yeah,” I said. “That guy you’ve got following me, can he give me a ride home? It’s been raining so hard, I don’t think my car will make it over the creek.”
Predictable pause. “He saw Mathers had been arrested and stopped following you. He’s been terminated.”
I stood in a corner of the foyer and watched the police move in and out of the house. “Please tell me you don’t mean that literally.”
“I don’t.” When he hung up, I didn’t even have the energy to be annoyed. I should have called my mom but didn’t.
Seeing the black body bag that contained what was left of Annabelle Mathers, watching Molly get arrested—it made me feel like everything was happening in slow motion. As the police brought Molly down the stairs, arms cuffed behind her back, her eyes never strayed from mine.
The dining room became command central and that’s where I gave my statement. Several times. When the detective in charge asked me to go over it all again, Andre Thomas walked through the door like my hero.
“She’s had enough for one night.”
The cop looked up into Andre’s hard face. “That’s not your decision to make, Officer.”
Andre motioned for me to follow him. “Come on, Rose.”
The detective looked ready to protest, so I hopped out of the chair and scuttled behind Hardass. I followed him out to the courtyard. The rain had stopped, but the night was cold, and the air felt damp against my skin. I shivered and thrust my hands into my coat pockets.
“What a mess,” he said.
I remained quiet. I was out of words.
Andre pointed toward the portico. “Your ride’s here.” Sullivan.
He’d come for me. In the middle of a murder investigation teeming with cops, he’d come for me.
“Give me your keys,” Andre said. “I’ll make sure your car gets back to your apartment.”
I dug them out of the purse and with shaky hands, removed them from my ring before practically throwing them at Andre. Then I ran to Sullivan.
He caught me in his arms and kissed the top of my head. “Are you all right?”
I shook my head against his shoulder. “No. And you shouldn’t be here.”
“You’re here. Where else would I be?” He walked me to the SUV parked along the edge of the drive. Red and blue lights swirled around us, police scanners squawked, cops loitered everywhere.
Sullivan drove us back to his house and I spent the night in his arms.
*
It was almost noon by the time I awoke. As I lay in Sullivan’s wide bed, I stared at the ceiling. He’d left me a note telling me he’d called Roxy and Ma to let them know I was safe.
I wasn’t sure what to do with myself and my brain was clogged with memories of last night and the look in Molly’s eyes when she walked out of the house. Like I’d betrayed her.
I finally crawled out of bed and wandered into his colossal bathroom. The soaking tub looked like it needed to be taken for a spin, so I ran the water, shed my clothes, and grabbed Sullivan’s shower gel to make bubbles.
I opened my eyes when he walked in fifteen minutes later. He carried a tray of sandwiches, which he set on the countertop. He was also minus a suit. Seeing him wear tight, faded jeans and a navy t-shirt threw my paradigm on its head.
“How are you doing?” he asked.
I sat up. “I don’t know.”
Lowering himself to his knees, he propped elbows on the side of the tub. “Martin was released from jail this morning and read from a prepared statement. He’s leaving the job. Voluntarily. He stressed that word three times.”
“You’re going to have to find a new chief to blackmail,” I said.
“There’s always somebody ready to make a deal.”
I took a deep breath and blew it out. “Your philosophy should disturb me.”
“But it doesn’t?” He snuck a glance at the girls bobbing along the surface of the water.
I shook my head. “No. And my eyes are up here, Thomas Sullivan.”
“You sound like one of the nuns,” he said.
Well, that was intriguing. Had he gone to Catholic school? If so, none of their rules stuck. While I wanted to ask him for more info, I knew if I did, he’d clam up. So I didn’t bother.
“At the beginning of all this,” I said, “you told me the truth is relative, that it’s all a matter of perspective.”
He caught hold of the wet end of my ponytail and gave it a tug. “You told me I was full of shit. You weren’t wrong.” A smile graced his lips.
“That’s not exactly what I said. I just feel sorry for Molly. Her whole life has been destroyed. The truth is, she’s a murderer. But it’s also true that she was a very messed up, troubled girl.” I watched the bubbles pop and dissolve. “Did I do the right thing, telling the police she’d killed her mother?”
He stuck his hand in the water and laced his fingers with mine. “Do you really want to have a discussion with me about right and wrong? You probably won’t like my opinions on moral dilemmas.”
“I care more about justice than morals.” I looked into his eyes, felt my own tear up again. “Where’s the justice for Molly? Or Mason? She’s a kid. And I was just like her, Sullivan, wanting to break out of that life, to be away from my mother and all of the pressure to be perfect. Molly’s going to pay for the rest of her life while Martin walks off, scot-free.”
“There’s a fundamental difference between you and Molly.”
“I didn’t find a barn full of poison?”
“You had the courage to go it alone.” He leaned forward and kissed the tip of my nose. “And you’re a good human being.”
“I didn’t have a drug addicted little brother to look after, either.” I sank back down in the cooling water.
*
Later that evening, Sullivan dropped me off at my apartment. I picked up my car and stopped by my mom’s house before heading over to the Ten Forward Lounge for a final showdown with the Fleeties.
I was feeling better about my decision to tell the truth. A little better, anyway. Spending the whole day with Sullivan, talking it out with him, eased some of my guilt. Molly couldn’t have cured Mason, and no matter how much love or money she had, she was as messed up as her brother. Hopefully, she’d get the help she needed.
My mom answered the door looking pale and her eyes were a bit bloodshot. “Come in, Rosalyn.”
She led me to the informal living room where she settled on the edge of an armless chair. “I am still in shock. Your father is as well.”
“Yeah, shock’s a good word for it.”
“I can’t believe Annabelle killed Delia Cummings. And poor Molly killed Annabelle.” She shook her head. “She obviously wasn’t in her right mind. Neither one of them were. They must have been mentally unstable. How could we all have missed it?”
“Molly wanted to get away from her life. And she wanted to take Mason with her.”
The corners of Barbara’s mouth pulled down. “Why? What was so awful about her li…” she broke off and flitted her eyelids rapidly as she fought back tears. “Poor Annabelle tried her hardest with those kids. She did everything for them. Some children are never happy. You do your best, but it’s not good enough.”
She saw herself in this scenario. The harried, put-upon mother who did what was right for me, even though I never appreciated her sacrifice.
“Mom.” I wanted to tell her I was grateful. Grateful for her parental concern, misguided though it was. She’d tried to be a good mother, in her own warped way. And I was grateful that I’d gotten out unscathed, especially compared to the Mathers children. But I couldn’t actually say any of it. I was feeling too emotional. All I could manage was, “I’m so sorry about your friend.”
I patted her shoulder as I left to pick up Roxy.
When I parked in front of her place, she hopped into the car and not so lightly smacked my face a couple of times. “I was worried about you. You should have taken me with you last night. You holding up okay?”
I rubbed my cheek. “Yeah, Slugger. I’m doing all right.”
“That’s some harsh shit, that chick killing her mom. Who herself was a killer. It’s like a freaking soap opera.”
I nodded but didn’t want to talk about it anymore. “Yeah. Ready to face the Trekkers? Brian will be there.”
She rolled her gum with her tongue. “Please. He’s a bug on my windshield. I’m so over it. And if that Beehive chick starts with me again, I’m going to stick my boot so far up her ass, she’ll shit leather for a week.”
“Just make her swing at you first. You don’t want to be arrested. I can’t go through any more crap this week.”
She winked. “You got it.”
Next, we stopped to pick up Ma. As soon as she opened her front door, she gripped my shoulders and pulled me into a hug. “Oh, toots. I’m so sorry.”
I hugged her back. “It’s awful. And sad. But thanks for letting me have the day off.”
She pulled back and peered at me through the bottom half of her glasses. “Don’t be an idiot. And I like the sound of that Sullivan. His voice is sexy.” Then she purred. Talk about your cougars.
She climbed in the front seat. “So, do you know who took the uniform?”
I shrugged and backed out of her drive. “Yeah. I think so. But I’m going to put the screws to some of those SPuRTs first.”
