Done to Death (10 page)

‘I know.' She bit her bottom lip and her leg curled in, her thigh grazing his, her knee nudging his groin. ‘You just want to love me,' she said.

‘We shouldn't,' he answered, those words having long ago lost their meaning.

‘I need it.' Her lips parted and she pushed up and locked her mouth to his. Her left hand clutched the back of his head to pull him in. Her arm, still wet with blood, held him fast as her fingers twisted in his hair.

He groaned and opened to the kiss. Her tears wet against his cheek, her tongue lashing against his. Her hands pulled his shirt free from his pants, her fingers kneaded his bare flesh. His mind skittered over how wrong this was, and how good it felt. It always had, and he suspected it always would. Rachel was the spark to his fire. He scooped and lifted his little sister in his arms, his pregnant sister.

Carrying her out of the bathroom, he headed toward her four-poster bed. ‘No,' she said.

‘OK,' feeling a mix of relief and regret; if she didn't want this anymore he'd be fine with that.

‘No, silly.' She brushed a finger down the side of his face. Her tongue flicked between her lips. ‘Not here; let's do it in
her
bed.'

After, as his heart returned to its normal rhythm and the orgasmic glow dissipated, he tried to reorient himself.

‘Let's spend the day in bed,' Rachel said. ‘Keep the doors locked, tell the staff to take the day off. Pretend we're normal people. I'll make lunch.'

‘You can't cook.'

‘I can so.' She twirled a length of hair between her fingers and ran it through her lips. ‘You take the box of mac and cheese, a stick of butter and a little milk. It's not hard.'

‘Would you eat it?' he asked, knowing he was treading on shaky ground.

‘I might.' She arched her back and posed for him. She used his eyes as mirrors. She leaned toward him, her face close to his. Her hand snaked up his thigh. ‘What would be the harm of a day in bed? It's not the sex, Richard …' There was an openness and vulnerability in her eyes. ‘Although we do it really well. It's you. Can I please just spend some time with you?'

His chest tightened. What's the harm? he thought. Right, spend the day in bed … with your sister. He breathed out a sigh. ‘I have to take care of business, Rachel.'

He braced for her fury.

It didn't come. She pulled back, her hand grazed the crumpled sheets. ‘I suppose you do; after all our dear old mother was just shot dead.' She mimed a gun with her hand. ‘I'm dying to know who did it. At the very least I could send them a thank you card. Sorry,' catching something in Richard's expression. ‘You loved her. That was really insensitive. You'd think with all of this therapy, I'd be better at this. Are you really sad?'

‘Numb,' he said, trying to identify the emotions attached to yesterday's events. ‘Like it's not real yet.'

‘It's denial,' she said. ‘One of the five stages of grief. Let me see; there's denial, bargaining, depression, acceptance and … what's the fifth? Sneezy?'

Richard met his sister's smile. ‘Dopey.'

‘No,' she said with a lopsided leer. ‘Horny.'

It was after ten when the maid tried to get into Lenore's locked suite.

‘Jenelle, it's OK,' Richard shouted from the bed. ‘We're going through Mom's things. Why don't you do the other rooms? In fact, maybe leave this alone for a week till we know what we're doing.'

He crept naked out of bed and placed his ear to the double doors in the outer room. He looked back at Rachel.

She smiled. ‘Do you think Mom knew?'

His ears strained for the sound of the maid's cart going down the hall. Rachel's question was one he'd often asked. ‘I don't know.'

‘I bet she did.' Rachel got out of bed and wandered back toward Lenore's dressing room.

Richard grabbed his boxers from the floor and followed her, his eyes tracing the lines and shadows of his sister's body. ‘What makes you say that?'

‘She wasn't stupid, and we weren't always careful. I mean
I
wasn't always careful. You, brother, are the epitome of cover your ass.' She turned back and openly admired his mostly naked physique. ‘And such a fine ass at that.'

‘Thanks. Then don't you think she would have said something? Shipped one of us off?' He regretted the words as they left his mouth.

‘She did.' Rachel pushed open the door into one of Lenore's walk-ins. ‘More than once, unless you've forgotten. There was Trinity Hills, Silver Brook, Silver Glen.'

Back on dangerous ground, Richard knew to hold his tongue.

‘She knew. I think she was jealous. Wanted her precious son all to herself.' Rachel unzipped a garment bag and then another. ‘But I always knew how to get out of those places.' She selected a long black knit bandage dress, unzipped it and stepped in. Holding up her hair she turned her back to Richard. ‘Do me up.'

‘Did those places help?' he asked.

She turned in to him. ‘I'd like to say no. But I did learn some things. Like whenever I wanted to come home, I'd let Mommy know that I was going to blab all her secrets to the most indiscreet people I could find. It was the one thing about her I kind of liked − she was a dyke. Or the time I got knocked up by the groundskeeper at Silver Brook. That was fun. And Richard, to be clear, I am keeping our baby.' She smoothed her hand down her still concave belly.

His throat caught. ‘Rachel … it's such a bad idea.'

‘No it isn't. Egyptian royalty did it all the time.'

‘Yeah, check your history and look at some of the shapes of their heads. This is crazy.'

She pushed past him and into Lenore's shoe closet. She turned on the light and tapped the button for the black shoe display, all still in their boxes with a color photo of the contents on the outside. She pressed a second time and then a third, the boxes shifting from back to front. She picked a pair of low-heeled pumps. ‘This is not a discussion. I want this baby, and you should too. We're going to be awesome parents. All we have to do is ask, “What would Lenore do?” and then do the opposite.'

‘Rachel, you can't.'

And like a spark to gasoline, she turned on him. ‘Really? But I can, Richard, and I will. In case you try to stop me, let's discuss the new world order, shall we? You've been fucking me since I was twelve and you were fifteen. Yes, I know I started the whole thing, but you weren't exactly a lamb to slaughter. Now, I've checked some fun facts. You want to hear them?'

‘Rachel—'

‘Here they are: the age of consent in both Connecticut and New York is sixteen. At some point you crossed that line and for three years were having sex with a minor. While, yes, there is a one year statute of limitations in New York and two years in Connecticut. None of that matters, and aren't you thrilled that you let Mommy bully me into pre-law? So let's forget all that and move on to the federal Mann Act. Where basically transporting anyone across state lines for illegal sexual activity is criminal, and sex with a minor most certainly counts. There we've got a five year statute, which started to tick on my eighteenth birthday. Which leaves you with four years to wonder when, or if, I'll drop that dime. And once convicted, you'd be a registered sex offender − that is, after you got out of jail. Now let's think of what this exciting news − rape, incest and Lenore the lesbian – would have on your precious LPP. I'm thinking you would lose all sponsors, no network would run any of your programming, the magazine would tank … maybe get a last issue for the freak value. So, any ideas you have to lock me away, or get me to abort our child, you need to shut them down right fast. Do you understand?'

Stunned, he said nothing. He felt a rage and the strong urge to hit her. To wrap his hands around her throat.

‘Oh dear.' She stared back at him. ‘You know I can actually tell what you're thinking. You want to hit me? Do it.' Holding the shoes in one hand she stood still, barely a foot separating them.

He caught the trace of her smile.
And I can read your mind too
, he thought. And he did the one thing he knew would hurt her. He turned and, without saying anything, walked out.

‘Get dressed,' she shouted after him.

He stopped. ‘Why?'

‘I want to go into town. Wear something somber.'

I
t felt odd and, if Lil were honest, not great. She stood behind the stone wall of Grenville's picturesque cemetery and watched Ada, who looked like a chic fifties hostess who'd just left a cocktail party to hang out among the graves. All she needed was a Martini and a cigarette.

Earlier, they'd asked Lil if she'd wanted to join them in the RV. She'd declined. Ada had given her a look, as though she knew something was off. She'd asked, ‘Your column?'

Lil had nodded, as though it were true.
Face it
, she thought,
you're jealous. You're feeling like a third wheel. And you know what? Get over it.
Unobserved, she felt another emotion, pride at how lovely Ada looked and at how natural she seemed in front of the camera. Not just here, but since that first phone conversation with Barry. As though Ada could speak this other language and pitch TV shows, albeit gruesome ones, off the top off her head.
Why didn't I know this about her? Don't take her for granted.
As she watched Ada, she realized this would be her next column. She'd have to be careful not to have it come off as self-serving. But the Grenville antiques industry could get a needed shot in the arm from having a hit reality show filmed in its midst. While the dealers she interviewed on a weekly basis downplayed the soft economy, the fallout had been severe. Sales had tanked across the board, with the notable exception of the very high end. The Grenville Chamber of Commerce had rallied − to the extent possible − around the two hundred plus dealers. But up and down High Street, where most of the eighteenth- and nineteenth-century homes had long ago been turned into antique shops, stores had closed and the town's once bustling center was dotted with for-sale signs. Single dealer businesses, to survive the hard times, had merged into multi-dealer shops and co-ops in efforts to lessen the crushing weight of their overheads.

Aware of the effect her weekly syndicated column could have on her hometown, Lil did what she could. Like the stock market, it too wasn't all bad news, and that provided some of her more thought-provoking pieces on the up-and-down nature of antiques. What was hot ten years ago − like Victorian furniture − now gathered dust in the shops. And the Danish modern teak chairs and tables she and Bradley had purchased brand new in the seventies for his office were fetching exorbitant prices.

As she thought of how she'd work this show into a column, she pulled out her camera. Zooming in on Ada, her breath caught. After all those emotions, jealousy, guilt, came the biggest of all.
I love her.

Searching for an interesting shot, she framed the cameraman and Melanie calling out directions from behind him. Her attention was suddenly pulled by a woman's voice.

‘What the hell is going on? That's an LPP truck.'

Lil turned and faced a rail thin blonde girl in a clingy black dress, followed by a broad-shouldered young man in a charcoal gray suit. Her immediate thought was there must be a funeral. This was a cemetery after all.

‘What's a film crew doing in Grenville?' The woman grabbed the man's arm. ‘Did you know about this?'

Lil couldn't hear his response. She recognized the girl as Rachel Parks. The man she wasn't so sure of, either her boyfriend or her brother. Based on how she was hanging on his arm, she suspected the former. In general, spotting celebrities around Grenville was not a big deal. Quite a few movie stars, writers and Hollywood producers kept homes in this part of Connecticut. Often it was an attempt to give their children a normal childhood. The schools were top notch, and by and large people didn't bother them.

Rachel Parks looked at Lil. ‘Do you know what's going on here?'

‘Yes. I'm Lil Campbell,' she said. ‘I am so sorry to hear about your mother.'

To her surprise the man answered. ‘Thank you.'

‘So what's going on?' Rachel asked.

Despite the girl's black dress and severe ponytail, Lil got no sense of grief. Not from the girl. The man on the other hand looked green. ‘You're Richard Parks?' she asked.

‘Yes.' He turned to his sister, who seemed fused to his side. ‘I have no idea, it's something that must already have been in production. Maybe Mom wanted to do another piece about country living.'

Lil was pulled by the hollow sound of his voice. ‘I can tell you what I know,' she offered.

‘Please,' Rachel said, her green eyes wide.

Lil wondered what a more seasoned reporter would do, and was also struck by how much Rachel's eyes were like those of her famous mother.
A real reporter would start snapping pictures
, she thought.
I can't do that.
‘They're filming the pilot for a reality show.'

Richard Parks stared across the cemetery. His gaze fell on Ada and the crew members. He looked at Melanie and squinted. ‘Who's the producer?' he asked.

‘Barry Stromstein.'

‘Where is he? I don't see him.' Richard said. His jaw was tight.

He sounded pissed, and Lil wondered what kind of hornet's nest was being kicked. ‘I think he's meeting with the mayor to try and push through some permits for the filming.'

‘My goodness, Lil Campbell,' Rachel said, ‘you really do know a lot about this. And that would be because?'

‘You see the hostess?' Lil asked.

‘You mean the old lady in the black dress? She's sweet.'

‘I think so,' Lil said, and something about hearing Ada called old made her blurt, ‘She's my girlfriend.'