A Wicked Truth (15 page)

I stood and walked to the far back corner where my boxes stood. If only I could remember which one the book was in. I looked at them, trying to decide if Allen would've put the box back on the top of the pile or if he would've assumed I'd go for the top box and put it lower in the pile, just to make things more difficult.

I opened the top box, took a quick peek and then set it aside. That was all of Mitchell's stuff. I had more storage room than he did, so I'd taken his things as well when he'd sold our parents' house.

The second box was the winner. The book was right on top. I opened it and the note was written right on the inside.

Clue #2: Paris 1821.

I frowned. History wasn't one of Allen's hobbies, and we'd never gone to Paris, or even talked about going, so there wasn't any sort of personal connection to the city. What would Paris 1821 mean?

I felt like an idiot when I realized what it was.

Wine.

Of course, it had something to do with wine.

I folded up the first note and put it in my pocket, then headed back downstairs. I went into the wine cellar first, looking at the label of each one until I found it. Under the bottle was another note.

Final Clue: The monkey chased the weasel. 32-15-27-08

A part of me wondered if Allen had been high on some sort of medication when he wrote this last one. Then the answer hit me and laughter bubbled up and out. I shook my head, still laughing as I headed for the stairs.

I pulled on my coat and slipped on a pair of tennis shoes. It wasn't freezing out, but the wind was still cool enough that I was glad for the extra layer, even for the distance between the house and the office. Jacques's car was parked it its usual spot, but he wasn't in the office. That wasn't surprising. He was most likely checking the wine vats like he did every day.

I didn't go looking for him. I'd talk to him about the lights tomorrow. What I wanted was in here and it was more important than the lights at the moment.

Hanging behind Allen's desk was a large picture of a tree. Or, at least, it was supposed to be a tree. It had been a running joke between the two of us. We'd seen the picture at a flea market and had started arguing about whether it was a tree or a bush. For some reason, it had struck us as funny and we'd bought the picture. Allen had insisted it was a maple tree. I'd said it was a mulberry bush. Like the one from the nursery rhyme...about a monkey chasing a weasel.

I took the picture off the wall and there it was, a small safe. I turned the dial left, then right, then each again, stopping at the numbers Allen had written down. When I got to the last one, I took a deep breath, my heart hammering in my chest. With trembling fingers, I pulled it open.

Chapter 18

It wasn't very big, but it didn't need to be to hold what was inside. A small, wrapped box sat on top of an envelope. I took both out and looked at them. I didn't need to see my name written on both, but there it was. One on a small tag on the box, the other on the envelope.

Neither one was typed. The handwriting matched the notes I'd found, but I would've know it anyway. It was Allen's. He'd always made fun of Jasper for his “doctor's scrawl,” but his own had only been decent when he'd concentrated on making it that way.

Part of me wanted to rip into the letter here and now, but I knew that probably wasn't the best idea. I didn't know what the letter said, but I knew I'd want to read it in private. While the office was empty now, I didn't know when Jacques would be coming back, and I didn't want to be in the middle of something emotional when he did.

I put the box and the letter in the pocket of my coat, then headed back up to the house at a regular pace. I forced myself to take off my shoes and put them away, then hung up my coat before I took the gift and the envelope, and went to the couch. I considered taking them upstairs, but a part of me felt weird at the idea of reading something from Allen in the bed where I'd been sleeping with Jasper.

I sat down on the couch and put the little wrapped box on the coffee table. I wanted to open it, but I wanted to read the letter first.

My hands were shaking, making my name jump as I stared at the envelope. I wanted to read it, but I also didn't. The last time I'd read something that was supposed to have been from Allen, it had blown up in my face.

Then again, I had no way of definitely knowing where those other things had come from. I wanted to believe that letter I'd gotten in the mail had been from Allen, but it had been typed, even my name on the front.

The one I held in my hand had Allen's handwriting. It was from him. No doubt about it.

I opened the envelope and unfolded the letter, letting my eyes skim over the paper without actually reading anything at first. I just wanted to make sure that it was all handwritten. No point in getting my hopes up if it wasn't from him. But there it was, scrawled at the bottom. Two words I never thought I'd see in his handwriting again.

Love, Allen

I went back to the top, but I had to close my eyes for a moment, take slow breaths to try to steady my hands. It was going to be hard enough to read without it shaking all over the place.

When I opened my eyes again, the paper was still.

Dear Shae,

I hope that by the time you find this, you'll have grieved enough that you won't hate me for what I'm about to tell you. Is that selfish of me? To wish that you won't hate me? I suppose it is, but it's hardly the only selfish thing I'll have done to you. And now I'm going to do it again because I can't handle the thought of you not knowing the truth.

I'm sick, love. I won't go into details, because I don't want you doing what I know you'd do and looking up everything you can find about the disease. Just know that it would've been horrible and I couldn't die like that. I couldn't make you watch me die like that.

Maybe suicide is the coward's way out. I'd always thought that, but it just goes to show that we never really know how we're going to handle something until it happens. I suppose I should've gone about it a different way, and I'm sorry that I couldn't think of anything else. Not without the insurance companies refusing to pay out. I know my parents are going to be a pain and I don't want to risk you being left with nothing.

Still, I know you must hate me for what I did. How I did it. Even more now that you know I did it on purpose. But please, Shae, don't hate me. I thought it was for the best.

The thing I regret the most is us talking about having kids when I knew that wasn't ever going to happen. I wanted nothing more than to have a family with you, Shae. To grow old with you. Watch our children grow up. I know that will never happen, and it kills me to know it.

But you can have that future. Not with me, but you can still have it. Children. Grandchildren. Someone to spend your life with.

And here comes the next part where I think you're going to hate me.

Jasper.

Yes, he helped me fake my health records for the insurance company, but that's all he did. And he did it because he wants you to be taken care of. He loves you, Shae. He's loved you since we first met. He probably thinks I don't know, but I see it on his face every time he looks at you.

I know you've never thought of him as anything but a friend, but I think the two of you would be good together. He loves you, and I think you could love him too. Even if it's not as anything more than a friend, please take care of Jas. I know he's going to figure out what I did as soon as it happens, and he's going to blame himself. He won't ask for help, not from you. He'll feel like he needs to take care of you, both because he loves you, and because he'll feel guilty.

I love you, Shae. So much. I wish things could be different, but I have hope that you will have a long, happy life with someone who loves you as much as I do. I want that for you. I want you to be happy. To love again.

I can only hope that you can understand what I did and why. And that you can forgive me. That is the one thing that I'm scared of. That you'll hate me. Please don't. Remember the good, love. And I'll be watching out for you.

Love, Allen

I sniffled and wiped at my cheeks as I read the letter again.

And again.

Tears dripped off my chin as I took it all in. This was Allen. My Allen. He really had killed himself, but this letter didn't sound like the other one. I could hear his regret. And then what he'd said about Jasper, how he'd known how Jasper felt about me. And that he wanted me to take care of Jas. That he wanted us to be together.

I leaned forward and set the letter down. I couldn't read it anymore. I would want to read it again, I knew, but not now.

The box was still sitting there, a small, flat thing with my name on it. A part of me didn't want to open it, wanted to save it forever. Almost as if keeping it wrapped and unopened would keep a piece of Allen for me.

I reached for it, my fingers tracing my name as I imagined him writing it. Imagined him wrapping the gift. I carefully slid my finger under the flap and began to work the paper off. I was never this gentle when I opened my gifts normally, but I wanted to save it. My last keepsake from him.

I set the paper down next to the letter and took a deep breath. The box was plain and black, nothing written on it to tell me where it was from. I opened it and caught my breath.

Inside, nestled against black velvet, was a small silver spoon.

It wasn't something new. I knew that because I'd seen it before. Allen had shown it to me. It and a dozen other ones just like it.

They were Lockwood family silver spoons. Ones that the Lockwoods had engraved with every child and grandchild's name and birthdate.

There was a small piece of paper folded underneath it and I pulled it out.

It wasn't addressed to me.

Dear Baby Girl or Boy,

You don't know me, but I knew your mother. She is the most special person in the world, and I know she loves you more than anything else in the world. She's been thinking about having you for years, and I know now that you're here, she's going to be the best mom in the world. I don't know if I knew your dad, but I'm sure, no matter who he is, that your mother has picked someone amazing to share her life with. Be good to them because I know they love you more than anything.

I buried my face in my hands and cried.

Chapter 19

I was still crying when Jasper came home. These weren't gut-wrenching sobs or even the sort of hard, angry cry I'd experienced over the past six months. There was some sadness in the tears, but more a sense of relief and gratitude. Relief that I now knew for sure what had happened and how Allen had felt. Gratitude that I'd been allowed to have as much time with Allen as I'd had. Gratitude for everything I'd had with him.

“Shae.” Jasper was at my side immediately, not even bothering to take off his coat.

I put my face against his broad chest and breathed in the scent of cold that clung to the fabric. The feel of his arms calmed me, and after a few moments, I pulled back to wipe my face.

“What is it?” he asked. “Did something else happen with the police?”

I shook my head. “No.” I gestured towards the table.

“What's that?” He shifted so that one arm was around my shoulders and he could reach for the letter with the other.

“Read it,” I said quietly. It was strange that the thought of Jasper reading something so personal didn't bother me. In fact, I preferred him reading it to me having to explain it.

He pulled me tight against him as he settled back against the couch to read. I rested my head on his shoulder, not wanting to look at his face while he read. After a few minutes, I felt him sigh and he set the letter aside.

“Are you okay?” He smoothed down my hair.

I nodded. “Surprisingly, yes. I feel like this kind of weight was lifted off of me. Like I finally got answers.”

“This is Allen's handwriting,” he said quietly.

I straightened a bit, turning so I could look at him. I could hear what he wasn't saying. “I don't think the other letter was really from Allen.”

He opened his mouth, hesitated, and then spoke, “I didn't want to say it before, but I agree. It didn't really sound like Allen. That other letter. But this, it sounds like him.”

“It does,” I agreed. “And that was with the letter.” I pointed at the box.

Jasper reached out and opened the box. He stared at the spoon, the look on his face telling me that he knew exactly what it was. He read the note next and I watched him wipe his own eyes. He set the note down and gently touched the spoon.

“I can't believe he did that.” There was a soft smile on his face. “No, actually, I can. That's exactly the kind of man Allen was.”

“Do you think he knew?” I asked.

“Knew what?” He turned back to me.

“That this would happen.” I leaned back into him and pulled his arm around me. “You and me. Do you think Allen knew that the two of us would end up together?”

Jasper kissed the top of my head. “I don't know. But he hoped we would. That the two people who loved him more than anything else would fall in love with each other.”

“I want to decorate,” I said suddenly. “I want to decorate the house for Christmas. And I want the two of us to spend the holiday together. I'll invite Mitchell to come over on Christmas Day for a bit, but I want it to be about the two of us.”