Mortal Friends (33 page)

“No. I’d resisted. That day you saw us in the house was the first time we consummated our relationship. I became a different person after…” His voice trailed off. “And to be perfectly honest, I resented Violet for putting me in this position.”

“You blame Violet for the fact that
you
killed someone?”

“None of this would have happened if Violet hadn’t lied.”

“So you left her.”

“Yes. I needed to think of myself for a change.”

I shook my head in disbelief. “So why on earth did you go back to her?”

Grant looked at me as though it were obvious. “How could I possi
bly stay with Cynthia when she might very well get indicted? Mother told me it would look much better for the family if I went back to my wife and child. I agreed with her.”

“So you went back to Violet because
Rainy
told you to?”

“Mother understands what’s best for this family. She always has. She took to Violet immediately. I can’t believe her judgment was so wrong. You know, Mother meets everyone we employ at the bank. Her instincts are always correct. I couldn’t bear for her to find out how wrong she was about my wife.”

I’d always known that Grant was a mama’s boy, but this took the cake.

“Why are you here this morning? Where’s Violet?”

“Last night Violet confessed everything to me. I acted like I didn’t know anything. She said that this woman you all had gone to school with found out about her past and had tried to blackmail her. She said this woman was the one who got murdered up in Montrose Park, and that that Detective Gunner suspected Violet had killed her to keep her quiet.”

“What did you do?”

“I told Violet I’d handle it. And I have handled it.”

When he said this, I got a queasy feeling.

“Oh, my God—where’s Gunner?” I looked around in a panic. “
Where is Gunner?
”

Grant’s right hand slid out from his pocket. He was holding a gun that he pointed directly at me. He cleared his throat and spoke in a low, even tone.

“I met Detective Gunner here earlier. He knew me, of course. I asked him to go for a little walk so I could explain things to him. I told him that Violet had confessed to me that she’d killed Nancy Sawtelle, and she was home preparing to give herself up.”

“Grant! You mean to say you were going to frame Violet for what
you
did?”

He cocked his head to one side and said earnestly, “No. I would never do that. But I had to put him off his guard, didn’t I? These fellows are very clever. Trained professionals and all that. I let him think we were going back to the house to get my wife, and that I just needed to talk it through with him before we all went to the station. He was very obliging, very calm. We were having a nice conversation
when I shot him.”

“You
shot
him?”

“I don’t know if he’s dead, though. He was sort of moving when I heard a voice. I came up here to investigate, and I saw you.”

I swallowed hard. “Are you going to shoot me too?” He didn’t respond. “Talk to me, Grant…. You know you can talk to me.”

He hesitated. “Yes, I really should have married you, Reven. Then none of this would ever have happened. We might have been happy. But now I think I have to kill you.”

“You don’t. Grant, you’re not in a movie. You can’t kill
everybody
.”

“I have no intention of doing that. I’m not stupid. You’re the last loose end.” He squinted as if he were in pain. “Frankly, I don’t see another way out.”

“I know you don’t. Because you’re not thinking clearly right now. You’re not well. But there
are
other ways, believe me. I’ll help you see them.”

“I told you…. I fucked up.”

Grant massaged his temple as if he were disoriented. I could see he was teetering on the edge of sanity. His forehead was wet with perspiration. I felt like every word I uttered from here on in could determine whether he let me live or die.

“Everyone fucks up, Grant. We’ll get you help. No one will blame you for what you’ve done.”

He looked at me skeptically. “They won’t?”

“No! You
had
to kill Nancy Sawtelle, because she was blackmailing you. People will understand that.”

“They will?”

“Killing a blackmailer? Of course they will! Anyone would do that. Especially with the bank at stake. You said so yourself. You had to protect all these people’s money and your family’s reputation. But killing a policeman’s another matter, and right now, we need to find Detective Gunner. What if he’s not dead, Grant? If he’s still alive, we need to find him and help him. And if he lives, you won’t be in nearly as much trouble. It’ll weigh very heavily in your favor.”

Grant blinked hard a couple of times, like he was trying to sort things out in his mind. All my thoughts were on the gun in my jacket pocket. Even if I was able to draw it, could I shoot him? I wasn’t sure. I took a risk and said to him, “Look, if we find him and he’s dead, you
can always…well…take care of me then.”

He ordered me to turn around. He shoved his gun in my back and said, “Move!”

I started walking ahead of him. “Put the gun down, Grant. It’s just me.”

“
Walk
,” he commanded.

We headed down the path deeper into the grounds. The gray morning light flattened the landscape ahead.

“Where are we going?”

“Just walk.”

His voice was cold and kind of crazy in a dull, determined way. I was terrified.

“Grant, please listen to me—”

“Shut up and keep walking,” he said without emotion.

I kept thinking that every step I took was going to be my last. For the first time in my life, I didn’t dare utter a single word. We were walking in silence when I heard what sounded like low moans nearby. I felt a little jolt of hope, praying it was Gunner and that he was still alive.

“Hurry up.” He sounded more nervous than numb.

We walked around a large stone monument. Gunner was propped up against a nearby tombstone. His shirt was soaked in blood. A cell phone lay on the ground beside him. I ran to his side and knelt down. As I took off my jacket to cover him, the gun dropped out of the pocket onto the mossy ground. I looked up at Grant, and we both glanced at the gun that was within my reach. I wanted to grab it, but I hesitated, fearing Grant would shoot me. Just then, a voice cried out of the mist, “Grant!”

Grant instinctively turned around. I looked past him and saw Violet running toward us down the hill. I screamed at her. Grant turned back to me. I shut my eyes in terror as he aimed the gun at me. A shot rang out. The noise was so loud I covered my ears. Grant dropped his gun, teetered slightly, and fell to the ground. Violet ran to Grant, screaming. I heard sirens in the distance.

I
t’s been over three months, and Violet and I still haven’t talked about that morning. We talk about other things: gardening, politics, gossip. Violet has had her hands full, coping with the media, Grant’s parents, and with Tee. I sometimes wonder how she manages to keep up her spirits after all that’s happened. Maybe it’s her remarkable talent for self-invention that allows her to go on. The other day, I asked her directly, and she replied, “The trick is never to look back.”

That’s a good trick—one I haven’t yet mastered. I look back all the time at that ghastly morning in the cemetery. Everything happened so fast that, typical me, I’d managed to miss the critical moment, even though I was right there. I do remember a few things quite clearly, however—like running over to Gunner and the gun falling out of my pocket. I’ll never forget the look on Grant’s face as he pointed his gun at me—that mindless, insane gaze that convinced me he was just about to shoot me. And then the shot—which practically burst my eardrums. Who could forget that?

At first I thought Violet had shot Grant. I saw her in the distance, and she’d screamed and run to him, cradling him in her arms. But when I turned to Gunner and saw he was holding my gun in both his hands, I knew that he’d shot Grant with the last of his strength before passing out. I learned later that he’d already called for help on his cell phone.

Grant died on the way to the hospital. Violet was with him in the ambulance. The one thing she did tell me were his last words. He said, “Tell Mother I’m sorry.”

I went to visit Gunner every day in the hospital. He’s out now, fully recovered. He wasn’t wearing all black the last time I saw him, which made for a nice change. He was in a white shirt and a colorful tie. I think that means he may finally be coming out of mourning for his lost family.

“You look almost cheerful,” I told him.

“Don’t go overboard,” he replied with a hint of a smile.

He’s back on the force and working hard. Maxwell finally confessed to the murder of Liza Cooley, and Gunner told me that some people think he’s responsible for other murders of women in other states, not just Arizona. I believe Gunner is finally satisfied that Bob Poll had nothing to do with the crimes. But he takes pride in the fact that he solved the murder of Miss Montrose all by himself. I don’t see him that much, but he’s promised to drop into the shop whenever he’s in the area. I know we’ll stay friends, not only because of what we went through together, but because I think we really, genuinely like each other and maybe even have changed each other’s lives. I know he saved mine.

The firestorm of publicity is just now beginning to abate. Let’s face it, it’s not every day the scion of such a great and powerful family turns out to be a stone cold killer. Reporters dredged up some dirt about Cynthia and her involvement with Grant and the bank. There are those who wonder if the venerable old Potomac Bank will last. Mr. Bolton Sr., has had to step in and take over operations again. So it wasn’t only Violet’s reputation Grant wanted to protect. The senior Boltons are blaming Cynthia for their crazy son’s behavior. I can’t say I’m surprised. They have to blame someone. I am surprised that they’ve forgiven Violet. But they have, probably because Rainy is now investing all her energy in Tee, her only grandson.

I know Violet’s a little nervous about her relationship with her son. But Tee and I had a talk when he was home from school, and he said, “I’m actually looking forward to getting to know my mother at last.” Isn’t that interesting? See, all that time, Violet was playing a part, and Tee sensed it, because children sense everything. Anyway, it’ll all work out. Or it won’t, as Violet says. I’ve given up making predictions. Almost getting murdered by someone I knew for twenty years has mellowed me quite a bit.

I haven’t seen Bob Poll around town. Ken Corwin, an editor at
Washington Life
, informed me he heard that Bob recently gave a birthday party at his house for one of the girls from King Arthur’s, and that a couple of married members of Congress were there—without their wives. Maybe Bob is finally following his real heart at last. I wish him well. I did read that he went to that event at the White House with Cynthia and that the evening was a success. The woman is nothing if not tenacious, I’ll say that for her—although there are rumors she may not be honoring her pledge to the Dance Troupe of Morocco and they might go out of business as a result.

A lot of people think Cynthia should move away from Washington. Violet keeps asking when she will get indicted. Senator Grider told me to tell her to hold her horses. “The law takes time,” he said.

And yes, Zack and I are having another look-see at each other. I’m learning to appreciate him more. He’s definitely growing on me. One night we were going to a party and I asked him if Violet could come with us. He didn’t hesitate to say yes. It was the first time she’d been out in public since the whole scandal broke. At first, she didn’t want to go because she was afraid of what people were saying about her. She didn’t want to be snubbed. But I convinced her she had to come with us and face the gossip squad.

“You can’t just crawl into a hole and hide for the rest of your life,” I told her. “Don’t worry. I’ll look after you.”

And I certainly will. I mean, this is Washington. People survive scandals here all the time.

Things are kind of back to the way they were in school—with me protecting Violet. Only a lot has come in between. So even though it’s the same, it’s different. But the main thing is, we’re still best friends.

“Throw me that roll of duct tape,” Violet says.

I pitch her the dull silver ring.

As she tears off a long strip, she says, “Remember that anthrax scare years ago? The government warned us about chemical attacks, and there was a run on duct tape to seal up windows. All the stores ran out. Remember that?”

“Vaguely.”

“They didn’t stop to think that serial killers are the only ones with a ready supply of duct tape, since it’s a tool of their trade. So they’d
survive while the rest of us died. I bet very few people thought of that.”

“I bet you’re right,” I tell her.

Violet has lost none of her sinister sense of humor, despite her own recent brush with the macabre. She seals the last carton of books, stands up, and claps the dust off her hands.

“There! That’s the library done!” She looks around the room. “I won’t be sad to leave this house. It was always more of a stage set than a home…. Just a sec. I want to show you something.”

She reaches inside her pocket and hands me a copy of a letter. It’s written on her personal stationery, addressed to “Ms. Jenny Tilbert, Class Correspondent,
Passages
Alumnae Magazine,” and it’s folded in half.

“Just read the top part for now,” she instructs me.

The letter reads simply:

I look up at her incredulously and say, “Are you really going to send this?”

“I already did,” she replies with a grin. “I’m sure a lot of them know it already—it’s been all over the Internet. But can’t you just see the look on poor old Jenny’s face when she reads that? Provided she doesn’t die of shock, she may finally give up bugging people to write in with news!…Now read the bottom part.”

I unfold the letter. The bottom half reads:

I gotta say, I feel the old tears coming on, but I decide not to ruin the moment.

“So now can we finally talk about everything? And I mean
everything
? Violet McCloud, the lost years?”

“Oh, God,” Violet sighs. “Where to start…”