The Devil You Know (Sarah Woods Mystery Book 15) (6 page)

Chapter 12

The cell phone alarm woke me up at seven the next morning. I spent a half an hour getting ready for my fake mother’s memorial service. In fact, I wore the same exact outfit that I’d worn to my real mother’s funeral; a simple black dress with low-heeled pumps. I didn’t bother with make-up. I figured it’d get smeared while I pretended to wipe away the imaginary tears.

There was a text from Carter, wishing me luck at the service.

By the time I got downstairs for a cup of coffee, it was almost eight o’clock. A continental breakfast had been spread out with muffins and croissants. Miles and Sue Ann were already eating at the island. They were both dressed in the requisite black attire one would expect for a memorial service. Sue-Ann’s blonde hair looked like it had been teased into submission. I could smell the hairspray from ten feet away. Her low cut dress showed ample cleavage, which I found to be in poor taste for a funeral setting. Miles, on the other hand, wore a sophisticated navy blue tie and gold cufflinks with an expensive looking suit. He could’ve passed for a lawyer. No one would ever suspect that he and his family were on the brink of bankruptcy.

“Good morning, Tina,” Miles said, making an effort to be friendly even though his drawn face wore the remnants of sleep deprivation.

“Good morning.” I helped myself to the coffee on the counter and remained standing. “Have you seen your father yet?”

“No, not yet,” Miles said. “I knocked on his bedroom door but he must've been in the shower. I’m worried about him. This has been a stressful time, and with his health issues …” He stared into his mug with a sigh of frustration.

“I am saddened by the news about your father,” I said. “But remember, there’s always hope. Medicine advances every day and your father strikes me as the kind of guy who doesn’t give up.”

He lifted his head slightly and our eyes met. “I suppose, but it sounds like there isn’t much time. I wish he’d told us sooner so I could help do research.”

Sue-Ann sipped her coffee and picked at a muffin as if she wasn’t all that interested in the conversation. Perhaps she wasn’t upset about her father-in-law’s declining health. I wondered if she was already counting their share of the inheritance.

Miles’ cell phone began to ring. He checked the caller ID and said, “Please excuse me ladies, I need to take this.” He disappeared into the hallway, muttering into the phone as he went.

With her husband gone, Sue-Ann downed the rest of her coffee and stood up. “I should go check on my daughter and make sure she’s getting ready. Do you have any kids, Tina?”

I was about to say that I had a son in college, but caught myself. “No, I don’t. Never been married either.”

“Well,” she said. “I suppose there must be a lot of positives to that lifestyle. You have the freedom to go wherever you want.”

“It’s true,” I said. “But sometimes I think I’d like to settle down and have a close family like yours.”

She made a vague gesture, as if ‘close’ wasn’t exactly the right word to describe the family she married into. “Well, like I said, I should go check on Sasha.”

After Sue-Ann left, I drank my coffee and scarfed down a muffin. I had assumed Lucita was around here somewhere, but I hadn’t seen her yet.  I glanced out the window toward the driveway and noticed the green Nissan that had to be hers.

Since the memorial didn’t start until ten o’clock, I had some time to kill. I left the kitchen and wandered into the library. The ashes from last night’s fire were still simmering in the fireplace and I wondered how long Brett had stayed up after I’d gone to bed.

“How did you sleep last night?” At the sound of George’s voice, I turned around to find him walking towards me, his dark suit neatly pressed and his hair combed back with gel. He looked quite dashing, but his sad eyes made me realize how much he must be hurting inside.

“I slept fine,” I said. “The bed was very comfortable. How are you… coping?”

“As well as can be expected. Although, Jeremy has just informed me that my sister is not feeling well this morning. I’m afraid she will not be joining us for the memorial.”

Yeah, right. I decided not to tell George the truth. It would only serve to hurt his feelings. “What’s wrong with her?”

“She has an upset stomach, apparently. Between you and me, I know better. She just doesn’t feel like going.”

“Are you upset?”

“Not really. I expected she might pull a stunt like this. If you haven’t already figured it out, Margaret can be quite selfish.”

“Hey, at least she flew here to spend time with you this weekend. She could’ve made an excuse not to come at all.”

“I suppose that’s true.” George came closer and put a hand on my shoulder. He lowered his voice and said, “Has there been any talk?”

“Not yet. Carter will let me know if he hears anything.”

He nodded and I could sense his impatience.

“I shared a bottle of wine with Brett last night.”

George tilted his head with interest. “Really?”

“Yeah. I could be wrong, but I got a funny feeling from him, like he might have been flirting with me. Not sure what to make of that but, anyway, I told him that I suspected someone of killing Josephine.”

“How did he react to that?”

“He seemed shocked. He's probably mentioned it to Olivia by now.”

“Once Olivia knows, then everyone will know. My daughter was never good at keeping things inside. As you witnessed last night, she can be a bit melodramatic.”

“By the way, I need to tell you something that happened yesterday. Lucita begged me not to tell you but I think you should know.”

“What is it?”

“I walked into the kitchen yesterday afternoon and she was on the floor. She told me she was feeling a little lightheaded. I wanted to call for help, but she assured me that everything was fine. She was afraid you’d find out and be upset with her.”

“Why would I be upset with her? I’m concerned, of course.”

“She said something about having low blood sugar. Do you know anything about that?”

George narrowed his eyes. “She’s never mentioned that to me. Maybe she needs to take a few days off. I’ll speak with her when we get back from the memorial this afternoon. Speaking of…” He checked his watch. “We need to leave in fifteen minutes. I hope everyone will be ready on time.”

Chapter 13

At 9:45, George’s family converged in the foyer just as the limo came to pick us up.

“Where are Aunt Margaret and Jeremy?” Olivia asked. “Has someone checked on them?”

“Margaret is not feeling well,” George said. “She’s decided not to go.”

Olivia blinked rapidly. “Are you serious? What’s her excuse?”

“Doesn’t matter,” George said. “She’s not going. And maybe it’s for the best.”

The seven of us piled into the limo and nothing more was said until we arrived at the country club five minutes later.

We were ushered into a small but luxurious room with flower bouquets lined up along the floor. I counted eight round tables with eight chairs each, which meant that approximately fifty to sixty people were expected to attend. How many of those people were close to Josephine? How many were attending just out of respect for George?

At the front of the room, a framed photo of Josephine sat atop a podium. Her smiling face a sad reminder of why we were here to begin with.

Two wait staff dressed in black flitted around the room, filling water glasses and making sure each place setting looked perfect.

George didn’t say much as his family seated themselves at the closest table. He turned to me and gave me a hug. “I hope you are satisfied with these arrangements.”

“It's beautiful. I couldn’t have done any better myself.”

A tear slid down his cheek but he paid it no mind. “I’m glad you can be here, Tina. I know you’ve traveled a long way.”

“My mother and I may not have been close, but I wouldn’t have missed this for anything.”

He slowly walked to the podium and stared at Josephine’s face. He kissed his finger, then touched the glass. “I’ll miss you, my love,” he whispered. “But I’ll be seeing you soon.”

For whatever reason, that single display of affection for his late fiancé made my heart swell with sadness. Next thing I knew, tears were running down my face. The tears were not so much for Josephine, but because I’d grown fond of George. I prayed that he’d beat the brain cancer, but it also occurred to me that maybe he didn’t want to beat it. Maybe he wanted to leave this world and be with Josephine again.

***

The service was short and sweet and only thirty-two people attended. George stood in front of the group and told a few amusing stories about Josephine. One of Josephine’s church friends also stood up and related a memorable experience from their past. None of George’s kids bothered to say anything, not that I expected them to. I figured at least one of them might say something nice, just to appease George.

I wondered if any of the guests expected me to stand up and say something. George had asked me not to which was just as well.

A wonderful brunch was served: mimosas, omelets, fresh fruit and sliced ham. I observed George’s family, hoping to pick up on some kind of sign of guilt or self-conscious behavior. There was nothing that stood out to me as being a red flag.

Several people, mostly friends of Josephine, approached me. Their condolences seemed heartfelt and, thankfully, none of them challenged me about my true identity. George was right. I didn’t have to worry about a thing.

The limo ride back to the mansion was a bit awkward. George stared out the window, apparently not in the mood to converse with his family. They must have realized that their father needed his space so not a word was spoken.

Back home, George excused himself. He said he was tired and wanted to take a nap. In fact, everyone retreated to their rooms without saying much to each other or to me. I was fine with that, because I felt emotionally drained.

I went upstairs to my bedroom and changed out of my dress and heels. It felt good to wear jeans, a comfy cotton sweater and a pair of slippers with wool socks. I called Carter to find out what Aunt Margaret and Jeremy had been up to while we were away.

“Margaret hasn’t left her bedroom,” Carter said. “But she’s been ordering Jeremy around like a servant. He’s been up and down the stairs all morning, getting her coffee, breakfast, the newspaper, and eventually helping her take a shower. She’s been quiet for the past thirty minutes or so. I have no idea where Jeremy is at the moment.”

“Probably taking a much needed break,” I said.

“So how did the service go?” he asked. “Must’ve been awkward.”

“Just sad, really. I can’t believe I actually cried at one point. There weren't any issues with Josephine's friends. I don't think anyone suspected I wasn't Tina.”

“So, how did George’s kids react?”

“They didn’t have much to say the entire time, but that’s not unusual. Most people are subdued during a funeral. If anyone is feeling particularly guilty, they’re doing a grand job of hiding it. I don’t think Brett told his wife or anyone about our conversation last night because Olivia isn’t acting any differently towards me.”

“You only have a day and a half left,” he reminded me. “You’re gonna have to turn up the heat.”

“I know. Look, I’d better let you go. I’m heading downstairs to look for Jeremy. He’s the only person I haven’t had a chance to speak with.”

“Okay. Just watch your back and, remember, I’m always listening.”

Chapter 14

When I got down to the library, Jeremy was sitting on one of the leather couches, seemingly absorbed in the leather bound book in his lap. His blonde hair looked almost white, and I wondered what nationality he was. Swedish, maybe?

At the sound of my footsteps, he looked up, startled. His gaze lingered on me for a few seconds, but he said nothing.

“Hey, Jeremy.” I walked closer and pointed to the book. “What’cha reading?”

He sat up, closed the book and placed it on the chair beside him. The cover was facing down so I couldn't read the title. “Oh, nothing,” he said. “George said I could borrow any book I wanted to.”

Whatever book it was, he seemed embarrassed to show me.

I went to sit next to him, despite the look of trepidation on his face. I picked up the book he’d just laid down. “Madame Bovary, by Gustave Flaubert. Hey, wasn’t this considered pornography back in the day?”

He blushed. “It’s a classic.”

“I know. I’ve heard it’s quite an interesting story. Maybe someday I’ll get around to reading it.”

Jeremy didn’t seem to be in the mood for discussing his taste in literature. Might as well get down to business. “So, where is Margaret? I hope she's feeling better.”

“She’s taking a nap. I was just waiting until she wakes up.”

“How will you know when she wakes up if you’re down here?”

He gestured to the device clipped to his jeans. “I have a pager.”

“She keeps you on a tight leash.”

“It's my job.”

For a young guy in his twenties, Jeremy seemed awfully serious. According to the background check Carter did on him, Jeremy was born and raised in Atlanta. His parents are both school teachers and still live in Atlanta. Jeremy had gone to nursing school  while working a full time job as a bartender. With his lack of sparkling personality, I had to believe he didn't make good tips.

“Well, I should go check on Margaret,” he said. “And make sure, she's okay.”

He was about to get to his feet when I gently grasped his arm to prevent him from getting up.

His look of surprise let me know that he had not expected physical contact.

“Sorry,” I said, letting go of him. “I didn’t mean to grab you like that. It’s just that, well, I really need someone to talk to. Someone who isn’t part of the family. Do you have a few minutes, I’d really appreciate it.”

He looked around nervously. “I can’t stay long. I really should get back to Margaret.”

I did my best to whip up some tears. Guys tend to let their guard down in the presence of a crying female. I dabbed at my eyes with a tissue and said, “I don’t think my mother’s death was an accident. I don’t have any proof yet, but I’m thinking about going to the police to have them open an investigation.”

When I lifted my head to look at him, his mouth hung open. “Have you said anything to George about this?” he asked.

“Not yet. Maybe tonight. I just wanted to get someone else’s opinion. You know the family better than I do, so what do you think?”

“I hardly know them,” he said. “I’d only met them last month and, besides, they don’t talk to me.”

He clearly didn’t want to get involved, but I wasn’t going to let him off that easily. “My mom was going to marry George, but I have a feeling someone didn’t want that to happen for obvious reasons. You were the one who found my mother. Is there anything you can tell me, like a clue as to how it could have happened …”

Jeremy shook his head. “Look, I’m sorry. She was gone when I found her that morning. There was nothing I could do for her. If there was something I could have done, I would have.”

“It just doesn’t make sense,” I persisted. “If my mom had tripped all on her own, somebody must have heard her. She would have woken someone up with her screams, right?”

“I don’t know,” he said. “I really don’t know what else to say about it.”

“Look, I probably sound paranoid, but do you have any idea how much money is involved? Millions of dollars and think about it; how easy would it be for someone to push my mother down the stairs? It’s perfect, really.”

“No, it’s not perfect,” he said. “There’d be no guarantee that she’d die from the fall.”

Of course, I knew that but the fact that he said it made me wonder. Jeremy must have given this some thought, to have come up with that conclusion, just as I had. “I have to assume it was one of George’s kids, but I also know that Margaret had issues with my mom. She suspected her of marrying George for his money, didn't she?”

“What are you saying?” Jeremy asked. “That Margaret pushed your mom down the stairs? Margaret can barely walk, let alone manhandle somebody.”

I wasn’t so sure about that. Margaret may be handicapped, but I wouldn’t necessarily say she was helpless or weak. In fact, I could imagine her doing some serious damage with that cane. “My point is,” I continued. “Anyone is capable of murder and I believe that my mom was murdered by one of George’s family members.”

“Then you should do what you have to do,” he said. “But I don’t know anything.”

I couldn’t be certain he was telling the truth but I understood his stance. I was basically asking him to betray his employer. “Please don’t mention this to anyone, okay?”

Before he had a chance to respond, his pager went off. He looked down and pressed a button. “Margaret needs me. I have to go.”

As Jeremy left the library, I noticed he’d forgotten about the Madame Bovary book. I decided to leave it right where he left it. Maybe he’d be back for it later.