Done to Death (21 page)

Ebert's voice was soft. ‘It wasn't you, Rachel. It's terrible and it's done. There's nothing that can bring your brother back.'

His words rolled in her head.
It's terrible and it's done. There's nothing that can bring your brother back.
She railed against the truth. ‘No,' she wanted to scream, to rip herself open and tear out this pain.
There's nothing that can bring your brother back.
But then something happened. Like a switch thrown in her head: …
nothing that can bring your brother back.
There was a bright light, and what was up was now down, black was white.
Bring your brother back.
She opened her eyes, which had been tightly clenched. She looked from the concerned face of the short detective to Dr Ebert's broad features and close-cropped black hair. She noted he was going gray around the temples, and wondered how old he was. Despite all their years together she knew so little about him. That would change, she told herself. She paused and listened to the silence.
Bring your brother back.
Yes
, she thought,
that's exactly what I'll do.

‘Dr Ebert,' she said, everything suddenly clear, as though she were a camera and the scene had just come into crystalline focus. ‘When we finish this interview, I'd like you to discharge me. I'm not a threat to myself or anyone else. It's time to go home.'

R
achel didn't want to question the white light that flooded her head as she gazed out of the Bentley at the rolling hills. Everything had changed. She'd never believed in God, or given much thought to an afterlife. She'd assumed you die and rot in the ground, the end. Yes, there'd been her flirtation with Satanism, but that had been to tick off Lenore, who promptly stole the idea and did an episode of
Lenore Says
on goth fashion for Halloween, deftly turning Rachel's rebellion into black lace place mats and candy satchels stitched with safety pins. This was real, and she knew better than to share what had happened − was happening − to her with Dr Ebert. The last two hours of her life, unlike anything she'd ever experienced. Of course, Dr Ebert didn't want her to leave Silver Glen.

Even the detective had expressed concerns. Although hers had less to do with Rachel's mental status and more to do with her physical safety. ‘Your mother and brother have just been murdered,' she'd said. ‘The motive is unclear; you'll be safer in a protected environment.'

‘I'll be fine,' Rachel had said, knowing that was true. ‘If whoever killed Richard and Mom wanted me dead, they could have taken me out last night. I wasn't the target.'

‘We don't know that,' the detective had replied, and Rachel had consented to officers patrolling the grounds of the Shiloh estate, the white light in her head telling her it would be better to negotiate than try to impose her will.

Ebert had been more forceful, but even he'd eventually backed down.

‘It's OK,' Rachel had said. ‘I swear I have no intention of hurting myself, or anyone else. I need to go home. I have a lot to take care of.' She didn't want to question this assurance, this sense of clarity. She sure as hell wasn't going to share what was really happening. Richard wasn't dead, not really; he was alive and well and growing in her belly. She would give birth to him. The thought made her giggle.

‘You OK back there?' Clarence Braithwaite asked from behind the wheel.

‘Better than OK,' she said, catching his eye in the rear-view mirror. There was another mystery, she thought.
Clarence has been around your entire life; he's covered for you on more than one occasion; he always kept Lenore's secrets.
Like Ebert, he knew to resist her adolescent attempts at seduction. Today she'd called him on his cell, asked if he could pick her up. There'd been no hesitation, no ‘I'm in the middle of something else'. He'd just wanted to know where and when. The white light made things so clear − Clarence could be trusted. ‘What are your plans?' she asked him.

‘What do you mean?'

‘I'd like you to stay; whatever Mom was paying, I'll make sure you get a raise.'

‘Thanks,' he said. ‘How you holding up?' he asked.

‘I'm going to get through this,' she said, wishing she had someone to confide in. Someone who wouldn't judge and think she was crazy. The person who popped to mind was that kind woman with the intense eyes she'd met in the cemetery. As Rachel pictured her, she seemed to be a piece of the white light, and if she really listened there was a voice, Richard's voice. ‘Do you think they're still filming that new show?'

Clarence cleared his throat. ‘Yeah. I got a couple calls from a field producer and then from his assistant, wanting to film at the mansion.'

‘Are they there?'

‘Rachel, it's a crime scene.'

She let the white light mull the information. ‘But that's perfect.'

He stared back at her and nodded. ‘Can I say something you might not like?'

‘Sure.'

‘That's something your mom would have said.'

In the past those would have been fighting words. Fragments of vicious fights with Lenore, Rachel screaming,
‘I'm nothing like you! You're the most hateful self-centered bitch. I hope you die!'
But the white light would have none of that. The past was the past. ‘You're right,' she said. ‘End of the day, I am my mother's daughter. Only I want to do this better.'

He didn't ask for clarification, his eyes fixed on the back roads to Shiloh.

‘So where are they filming?' she asked.

He pulled out his cell. ‘I've got their numbers in my history. You want me to find out?'

She had no hesitation; this was what the light wanted. ‘Yes. And wherever they are, that's where we should head.' And then she had another epiphany. ‘Clarence, did you know that Lenore was planning on having more kids?'

‘Yeah.'

‘So she told you?'

‘She did. I was supposed to set up the nursery. It's going to be twins.'

Rachel touched her belly − her brother inside, the due date six months away. ‘Who's carrying them and when are they due?'

‘I don't know … and in six months.'

‘Did my brother know?'

Clarence hesitated. ‘I'm not sure.'

‘I'm thinking yes. So there's some poor woman out there with two of Lenore's babies and no Lenore … Interesting.'

Ada breathed in the cool spring air, glad to be off her feet, her gaze focused on the crocuses that edged the gardens around the bluestone patio where she'd had lunch earlier with the crew. They were on a five minute break. They'd been filming hopeful antique dealers since seven a.m.; now it was nearly four. Her jaw ached from smiling and three hours back she'd abandoned her pumps for a pair of hotel slippers. From now on, she'd be sure to bring her own.

Barry Stromstein had popped in and out, told everyone they were doing a ‘fabulous job'. When Ada had asked about the status of the show in light of Richard Parks' murder, he'd been evasive. At one point he'd appeared with a stunning woman and little girl. From Melanie she'd learned that this was his family, and that he'd met his wife, Jeanine, when she'd been a contestant on one of his previous shows,
Model Behavior
.

Reflecting back through the day she smiled. Every dealer in the state, and quite a few from outside, wanted a spot on
Final Reckoning
. Their eagerness was palpable, but sadly their on-screen talent was negligible. She wished Lil were here. It was fun and exhausting, and being around Melanie and the crew was pure adrenaline. She watched a pair of robins land beneath a redbud and peck at the ground. Lost in thought, she didn't hear Rachel approach.

‘Ada?'

‘Rachel!' She looked up at the blonde girl, who seemed so young in jeans, T-shirt and a leather jacket, her face free of make-up and her hair in a messy ponytail. Her green eyes were bright and luminous. ‘How are you?'

‘Can I join you?' she asked.

‘Of course.' Ada looked over to where Rachel had come from and saw a tall dark-haired man hanging back about fifty feet. ‘Who's he?'

‘Clarence,' she said. ‘He works for us … kind of a friend, I guess.'

‘I'm so sorry about Richard,' Ada offered, Rachel's sudden appearance adding to the day's surreal quality.

Rachel took the chair next to hers and sat with her hands on her stomach. ‘I loved him so much,' she said, ‘more than anyone.'

Ada felt at a loss for words. ‘He loved you too. Anyone could see that.'

‘I know, and I realize how much I've taken for granted. Not just him.' She looked back at Clarence. ‘I think I've gone my entire life without really seeing. There's good people here,' her gaze turning back to Ada. ‘It's like this is the first day I'm seeing that. Like I've been blind, and suddenly things I couldn't see are clear.'

‘You've been through some shocks,' Ada said. ‘Sometimes that bring things into focus.'

Rachel snorted. ‘Shock therapy. You know Mom wanted me to have that. My psychiatrist said no. He said it wouldn't work for what I have. He's another one, Dr Ebert. I think you'd like him. Although he's pretty ticked at me right now for leaving the hospital AMA.'

Ada looked from Rachel to her own slipper-covered feet. She wondered if perhaps she should give this Dr Ebert a call. Something about Rachel felt wrong, the expression in her eyes a bit too intense. And where exactly had she been that she'd left against medical advice? ‘I don't mean to be rude, Rachel. But what are you doing here?'

‘You're not rude. You're looking at somebody who has everything … and absolutely nothing. I'm looking at someone who has absolutely everything. I'd like to know what that's like. And for the first time in my life, I think it might be possible for me too.'

‘I've had a good life,' Ada admitted. ‘I still do, but everyone has problems and hard times.'

‘Do you?' Rachel asked.

‘Of course. Just a couple days ago I was in a pretty big funk over my sixty-fifth birthday.'

‘Happy birthday.'

‘Thanks, and I feel like a moron for comparing my pity pot with the tragedies you're facing.'

‘No, there's nothing you could say that would make me think bad of you. I'm really glad you're doing this show.'

‘I'm not so certain it's going to happen,' Ada admitted.

Rachel's eyes widened. ‘Trust me, it will happen. It has to.'

Ada felt the hairs on the back of her neck. Something about Rachel's tone, the intensity in her eyes, like there was a fire inside of her. ‘Why is this show so important?' Ada asked.

‘That's a good question. Can you keep a secret?'

Ada was torn, but being at heart a curious person she couldn't resist. ‘Of course.'

‘My brother's not really dead.'

This is not good
, Ada thought, keeping the panic off her face. ‘What do you mean?'

‘He's inside of me.'

‘Of course he is,' Ada said, trying to put a normative spin on things. ‘He'll always be with you.'

‘No,' Rachel said, ‘I mean really inside of me. He's guiding me. And here's the funny thing.'

Ada braced, wondering on what planet this would be considered funny.

‘I think Lenore's in here too …'

Ada stared back. She shuddered, seeing a subtle shift in Rachel's expression, her eyes, the shape of her jaw; for a moment it was like seeing Lenore Parks. She struggled to find her voice, alarmed that, while seemingly calm, Rachel was barking mad.
Mad enough to kill her mother and her brother?
‘How does this show figure into that?'

‘I need to keep everyone happy. I understand that now. My whole life has been just one fight after another. But now we're all together. I'm going to have a baby. I'm sure it will be a boy and I'll name him Richard. It'll be like giving birth to my own brother. And the show will be for Lenore. She'll get to do her thing. I'll make us a home. I hope we're going to be really good friends, Ada. I really do. I'm so happy you're doing this show. It's going to be awesome, and even Richard would have to agree that if we do this in the mansion where he was killed, the ratings will be ridiculous.' She smiled, did Lenore's trademark head bob and winked.

Ada's breath caught. It was pure Lenore.

‘Ada!'

She turned at the sound of Melanie's voice. She'd lost track of time, the conversation with Rachel having made her forget the dozens of hopeful dealers still to get their shot at fame, or at least a spot on a reality show. She was trying to make sense of Rachel's ramblings − Richard and Lenore were inside of her? She wanted to make a home?
Is she talking in metaphors?

Melanie spoke into her Bluetooth. ‘Found her …' She looked from Ada to Rachel, not having recognized the celebrity at first with her toned down hair and outfit. ‘Tell everyone to take another fifteen, but not a second longer. Is Barry there? OK, no, that's fine.'

Rachel cleared her throat. ‘You're with the show.'

‘Hi.' Melanie shifted her clipboard and extended her hand. ‘Melanie Taft, I'm the assistant field producer.'

They shook.

‘I'm so sorry about your brother and, of course, Lenore,' Melanie said.

‘Thank you.' Rachel smiled. ‘So what are you shooting today?'

‘Auditions for the experts.'

‘Mom always said casting shows is where you make or break them. And Ada, forgive me for what I'm about to say.'

Ada, rarely at a loss for words, marveled at Rachel's sudden poise. Her posture erect, her approach to Melanie was clearly that of an employer to an employee.

‘They have to be exhibitionists, people who can ignore the camera and be completely relaxed and hopefully a little unstable. Then, you've got to have eye candy.'