Best Place to Die (31 page)

‘He never suspected why you'd returned?'

‘Honestly, and let me say that your grandma is a fine actress, he took one look at me, and I swear he thought I was the Christmas Bunny.'

‘Easter Bunny?'

‘No, keep with mine, like an unexpected sex toy, who just happens to be so demented that you can do whatever you want and she'll never remember. Christmas and Playboy Bunny all in one.'

Kelly scrunched her face. ‘Too much! How horrible for you.'

‘Not really.' Alice let the sun find her face. ‘To be fair, he was a self-centered bastard who deserved what he got . . . but not awful in the sack.'

‘Again, ich. Don't want these details. But he did know it was you?'

‘Oh yes, and that's what made it so easy. I think a lifetime of buying off people led him to the conclusion that he owned them. To him, there was something natural in my showing up. Like of course I'd be there, and we'd get together once or twice a week. The bit that was shocking . . . his apartment. It's one of the few times I felt I'd let something slip. The place was a death trap, and he'd go on for hours about those stupid clocks, and I'd smile, and listen and learn how important it was to dispose of the oily rags . . . wouldn't want them to start a fire.'

‘No,' Kelly said, as they approached the Whitestone Bridge. ‘You know they have cameras as we pass through.'

Alice said nothing, just tilted her head back and stared blankly at the sky, a dull open-mouthed grin on her face.

Kelly slowed so the scanner could catch the tag on her windshield, the gate clicked up and she accelerated down the Henry Hudson Parkway.

Like flipping a switch, Alice resumed. ‘Did you know that almost to the minute a turpentine-soaked rag will self-combust in four hours?'

‘I didn't,' Kelly admitted.

‘A bit quicker if you add denatured alcohol. He taught me so much, never once thinking I was soaking it all in. To be honest, when I came back to Grenville I knew that Norman, his son, and those other two animals needed to pay. I had some idea of what they were up to, but not the details. It's strange,' she said, a thoughtful look on her face, as she stared toward the right at the sweeping expanse of the Hudson River below. ‘I never doubted things would work out. They had to pay for what they did to Vicky, and that entire town colluded. If everyone in that building had died in the fire . . . I would have been OK with that. But even better, as the fraud investigation rolls out over the coming years, all those greedy families will have their actions held up to the light of day. There's going to be a lot of ugliness in that town for years to come. And all I can think – they had it coming.' Alice shuddered, not wanting to remember that horrible night thirty-four years ago. Everything she'd worked for, to give her beautiful daughter a better life, destroyed. Vicky brutally battered, barely able to speak. Alice getting the details as her daughter sobbed and begged to die. ‘They all knew,' Alice said softly. ‘Even the doctor I took her to – he didn't really want to help. He kept saying he had to report the assault.'

‘You didn't want that?'

‘Are you crazy? Do you know what happens to fifteen-year-old rape victims? And in a town like that? They'd all say she'd been willing. Those boys owned that town – big football heroes. I had no choice but to get her out of there.' Alice gave a mirthless laugh. ‘It's like God's playing a joke, but I wind up being taken in by the wife of the doctor who saw Vicky. And here's the kicker . . . she's a lesbian now. Go figure, and thanks to me, the whole town knows. Yup, something for everyone.'

Traffic slowed as the first lights of 12th Avenue came into sight. Waiting for the red to change Kelly pressed for details. ‘Back up. So you knew Norman Trask had moved to Nillewaug, and between the two of us we maneuvered Kyle into taking that position. And that's where they could nail me as an accomplice . . . they'll try to go after him too.'

‘Not at all, dear.' Alice patted Kelly's leg. ‘You knew I had fond memories of Grenville and when the opportunity presented itself, it just made sense . . . don't stray from that. The less detail you give, the better. You saw the ad in
The Times
, showed it to Kyle . . .'

‘You're a little scary,' Kelly said, as the car inched toward the next red light.

‘I wasn't always. It comes down to this. Leopards do not change their spots. If they were a pack of sadistic animals thirty years ago, and no one had stopped them, it would only be worse. That was my only assumption and I wasn't wrong. Eight years with Norman Trask I knew about his business practices. He liked cash transactions, and kept crazy amounts on hand. I'd often thought of reporting him to the IRS, but what would that have done? And more importantly, I needed his money when Vicky and I left Grenville. He assumed the pennies he gave were buying himself and Dennis out of trouble. There's over four hundred thousand in cash and another three hundred grand in bearer bonds in my bag in your trunk. All of it was just stuffed into boxes in his apartment. I'm sure there's a lot I missed.'

‘OK, then . . .' Kelly shook her head. ‘So you started the fire and then . . .'

‘Back up, if you want the details. It starts before then, and as you're the only person who'll ever hear this . . . I feel kind of proud of what I did. But if you don't want to hear it, just tell me.'

‘Hell no. How
did
it start?'

‘With a phone call,' Alice said, holding up her hand, examining the chipped pink polish that a hack beautician at Nillewaug had applied. ‘Once I saw those Medicaid treatment plans in Norman's apartment things began to click. I spent years working for doctors, so while at first I didn't know the specifics of what he was up to, it was clear that someone was running a Medicaid mill and paying Trask to sign off on the billing. So not only was Norman committing fraud, but in Jim Warren and Wally Doyle's facility – three birds with one stone. And if they were involved, I knew Dennis couldn't be far off. So I called the fraud-abuse hotline, and gave them enough specifics – patient names, ID numbers . . . that kind of stuff.' Alice chuckled. ‘I should have been in the movies, you never met the director of that place, but trust me, I do a damn good impersonation.' And modulating her voice, and sounding frightened, and a lot like Delia Preston: ‘Hi, I'm so sorry, but I think a crime has been committed at Nillewaug Village. They're billing nursing-home services for people who aren't in a nursing home and who shouldn't even be eligible for Medicaid. I'm so sorry . . .'

They'd hit another red light, and Kelly turned. ‘I love you, Grandma. But you are one scary chick.'

Alice gave a thoughtful smile. ‘If I'd been able to save your mother this would have gone differently. Maybe even found a way to forgive and move on. I think a lot about that saying, “that which doesn't kill us makes us stronger”. With Vicky, not only did they kill her, they crushed out every bit of light. Her life after that night was unbearable suffering, and nothing I did could change that. And I tried . . . the only piece of this I have any regret, and it's a small regret, is that Delia woman. Even though I knew she was in deep.' As if sensing Kelly's next question, she added, ‘She was signing all those treatment plans as the nurse. I'm sure she was raking it in. But I knew she had a kid; I hope he's OK.'

‘How did you know . . .?'

Alice stopped her. ‘A demented old lady can learn lots of useful things. Like Delia was having an affair with Jim Warren. Dotty Alice was forever getting lost and winding up in her office suite at all the oddest times. It appeared that Saturday night was their regular “get together”. So last Saturday I popped some Xanax into Norman's drink and left him passed out in bed, a big pile of rags all set to combust and waited outside Delia's office. Like I knew he would be, Jim Warren was there. And they were fighting, and screwing on her couch. It was clear something had spooked him, he was threatening Delia, I couldn't get all the details, but he knew the Feds were starting an investigation. I waited for him to leave and then Alice wandered in, and conked Delia on the head.' She glanced down at her ankle bracelet . . . ‘I'm going to need that taken off.'

‘You killed her?' Kelly's tone subdued.

‘I did,' Alice said with a stony expression. ‘This couldn't just be about fraud, with fines paid and slap-on-the-wrist jail sentences in some cushy white-collar country club. Your mother was gang raped and brutalized. What they did to her left her destroyed and in the end killed her. This was justice. Arson and homicide – when connected – can send a man to the chair, or at the very least, life in prison.'

‘You think Jim Warren will be charged with Delia's murder?'

‘I do.'

‘And Doyle shot himself, which leaves Dennis Trask, who from what I know is the worst of the bunch . . . and my biological father. You have no idea how much I want to meet him.'

Alice startled. ‘Seriously?'

‘Of course, he's my father. I at least want to see him once face to face.'

‘He has no redeeming qualities,' Alice stated. ‘He's as close to pure evil as a person can be.'

‘Said my saintly grandma who killed a woman and set fire to a nursing home.'

‘Assisted care, dear. And remember, I had a front row seat of the young Dennis Trask's life. He was a vicious boy who enjoyed inflicting pain, and knew his father would protect him from the consequences. He didn't just rape Vicky . . .' Her expression twisted. ‘He tortured her. He's a man who derives pleasure from making others suffer.'

‘But it seems like he's the only one who gets off,' Kelly said, ‘or am I missing something?'

‘You're not. I got two out of three Ravens, and Norman. I'm certain Dennis will be implicated in the fraud, and I'm banking on human nature . . . his nature, to follow my trail of bread crumbs. I could be mistaken, but I don't think I am. Once he believes Jim Warren was responsible for his father's death, he'll go after him. He'll either kill him, or get caught trying. Either way is fine by me.'

Kelly took a left on Houston, her expression thoughtful as she eased into the parking garage. ‘He'll think Warren killed Preston and his father to cover up the fraud?'

Aware they were now in a public space, Alice smiled, and looked at the attendant as he came for Kelly's key. ‘Are we going home? I want to go home.' There was so much more Alice wanted to say, but it would have to wait. For now, she slipped back into the role of demented Alice, smiling and rambling, and to all the world . . . invisible.

T
he following morning Alice let the strong hands of Henri, the Algerian shampoo specialist at Chez Philippe on Lexington just north of Grammercy Park, cradle her head and neck as he eased her back to the sink.

‘Not too hot, dear?' he asked, as his strong fingers made contact with her scalp.

She smiled and cooed in a little-girl voice, feeling every muscle in her neck and back dissolve with the shivering goodness of warm water, lilac shampoo and Henri's firm digits washing away the thick stripper, and with it that horrible trailer-trash red. It had been years since she'd felt anything so wonderful –
no,
she reminded herself,
decades.
Yes, the last five years the most difficult, playing a part, feeling as though her brain was divided in two. One half showing the world demented Alice, while the other clicking away at a million miles an hour.

‘What's it look like under there?' Kelly asked Henri.

‘Silver,' he said, as his fingers found a rhythm that sent shivers of pleasure from Alice's scalp to her toes. ‘Lovely silver. Almost a shame to color it.'

‘Agreed,' Kelly said.

Alice cracked open her eyes, saw Kelly standing in front of her in an exquisite black suit cinched at the waist that set off her pale complexion and fiery hair to perfection.

‘You sure you don't want some color?' Henri asked Alice.

‘Where's Johnny?'

He turned to Kelly. ‘No color?' he asked, a hint of disappointment in his voice.

‘No,' she said, knowing that Alice wanted to change her appearance as radically as possible before disappearing into a beautiful retirement community with ocean views in Boca Raton.

‘I could,' Henri offered, ‘use a creme developer. It brings out the shine. Yes?' He looked briefly at Alice and then back to Kelly.

‘Fine,' Kelly said, her eyes fixed on her grandmother's contended smile.

‘What about a mask while we leave it in? Excellent for the pores, like a mini face lift without the surgery, yes?'

‘Lovely,' Kelly said, ‘I'm certain she'd like that.'

Henri looked at Kelly. ‘And for you, as well?'

Kelly laughed, her tone throaty and rich. ‘Not today, Henri.' Her gaze never leaving Alice, whose face was now being covered in green mud.

When Henri completed the mask he gently took Alice by the hand and, with Kelly following, led her to a comfortable salon chair, turned on the warming lamp, and promised, ‘I will return in twenty minutes, and you will look ten years younger.'

Alice sighed and gazed at her beautiful granddaughter. ‘I feel light,' she whispered. ‘After so many years . . . everything is calm. All the anger . . . it's gone, Kelly. Such a strange feeling.'

‘Do you think she'd be happy?' Kelly whispered.

Alice's brow furrowed, making dark indents in the clay mask. Traces of the old fury returned, of what those sick bastards had done to Vicky . . . but no. One dead and the other two would rot in prison . . . or kill each other. And Norman dead in his bed. ‘Yes, I think she'd be happy. I think she can rest. There's no undoing the past, but they didn't get away with it, none of them. And you and Kyle turned out so well. And Kelly, he must never know about any of this . . . Correct?'