Murder in the Mansion (6 page)

“You
left me behind,” it was almost a whisper.

“We
did,” Troy agreed. “But you stayed there willingly.”

“I
guess so,” Nadia said finally. “I'll see you for the funeral, then.”

“You
will,” Troy agreed. “Should I book a hotel?”

“I
wouldn't make you do that,” Nadia replied defensively.

“I
don't know anything about you,” Troy told her. “That's why we aren't a family.”

“You're
right, you know nothing about me,” Nadia answered. “And I have more calls to
make.”

Troy
stood in the middle of the room staring at his wife as the dial tone sounded in
his ear. He felt like an asshole. He wasn't the only one who had left home
after Dani's death and he certainly hadn't thought about Nadia when he did it.

She
feels you abandoned her.

It
was amazing how one situation could be perceived so differently by two people.
He had left to get away from his parents. To stop fighting and competing with
his brother and sisters. Nadia had never been a factor. Nadia had never really
been the problem.

The
bastard's dead and he never knew I made it.

That
was the bitch of it, Troy decided. All of this time he'd wanted to show his
father he didn't need him. More than anything he had wanted his Dad to know
that he didn't need his influence or money to help him along. And it was too
late now. Now he'd never know.

“They're
both gone?” Phoebe asked.

“Tonight,”
Troy told her. He went to the chair opposite her. “Now he'll never know I made
it without him.”

“Of
course he knew,” Phoebe's hazel eyes were bright and clear.

“Don't
lie to make me feel better,” Troy rubbed his face. He was tired but he knew he
couldn't sleep now.

“I'm
not,” Phoebe smoothed her hair back. It was short, a little brown cap of hair
that often made her look younger than she was. It was having that effect on
Troy as he studied her. “You never called him and asked him for help. You never
begged to be taken back. Just because he didn't know the details doesn't mean
he didn't know that you didn't need him.”

Troy
considered for a moment and then leaned down to kiss her forehead. “I'm going
to call and see about a flight.”

“I'll
let Daddy know what happened.”

“You
know, if your family hadn't taken me on board, I wouldn't be this successful,”
Troy told her. “I owe this to you.”

“You
wouldn't be this successful in
hotels
,” Phoebe replied. “But I'm
convinced you would have been in something else.”

“What
makes you so sure?” Troy asked her.

“I
just know these things,” Phoebe rose from her chair. “You chose me and the
opportunities I brought to the table. If you hadn't picked me you would have
picked someone else. Your life would be different.”

“Worse?”
Troy pressed her.

“Just
different,” Phoebe repeated. “Better or worse doesn't matter. You'll never
know. But give credit where credit is due. Daddy didn't promote you just
because of me. If you didn't have potential he wouldn't have bothered.”

“I
love you, Phoebe.”

She
shot him a look over her shoulder as she left the room. “I know,” she said.

****

There
was a headache throbbing at the base of her skull. More annoyed by it than in
pain, Rachael jabbed her thumb over the spot, pushed and rubbed to relieve some
of the pressure. It had been a long day, and, as she had predicted, she hadn't
been able to leave at the end of her shift.

She
rummaged in her purse for some aspirin. She would get these and some water into
her system first, use the bathroom, and then do another walk through before
seeing if she could go home. It was almost midnight and although she was tired,
hungry, and had had to pee for hours, Rachael didn't want to leave.

She
didn't want to go home.

First
things first, she decided downing the aspirin. She chugged a bottle of water as
she stood upright in the break room. It never ceased to amaze her how unhealthy
it was to be a doctor: there wasn't time to eat regular meals. Coffee filled
those voids instead. There wasn't enough time to take bathroom breaks, either.
Dehydrated, malnourished, hyped-up on caffeine and hospital food that couldn't
really be called nutritious, she made her way through each patient, each day,
overworked, pushing herself on too little sleep, and loving the adrenaline of
it. Living for the adrenaline of it. Her life outside of the hospital, the one
waiting at home for her, she didn't want to face.

That
realization bothered her. It bothered her so much that she went back into the
emergency room looking to see if they needed another pair of hands.

“No.
No way,” she was told firmly. “Go home. It's way past your shift. We appreciate
you for staying but you need to rest.”

“I'm
fine, really,” Rachael said but they didn't care.

“Enjoy
your day off tomorrow. Today. It's after midnight. It's six hours past your
shift.”

“I
know.”

“Go
home.”

Rachael
sighed. Was it time to start thinking about why she didn't want to?

She
never knew what she was going home to, Rachael thought as she walked through
the hospital parking lot toward her car. Grant wanted them to be a family. The
kind that spent time together, ate dinner together, and talked to one another.
That didn't fit with Rachael's career as an on-call doctor who worked long,
often unknown, hours. Grant had made it clear during multiple conversations
that he wanted that to change. Rachael didn't know if she wanted to spend less
time at the hospital and more time at home. She had worked so hard to achieve
her goals and she loved every minute of what she did.

The
sticking point, Rachael decided, was that she had no problem with him wanting
to be home to look after his daughters. But she felt he had no right expecting
her to give up time to be with them or have a child of her own. She pulled out
of the parking lot, annoyed by it all over again. Grant working from home had
only become an issue when they had begun living together and sharing the same
space. It was only a problem now that he expected it of her too.

She
had even gone so far, during a fight, she recalled, to suggest that if she did
consent to having a baby, that he should stay home with it. He had been furious
with her. He didn't understand how she could be so career-driven, so
self-centered. She, in turn, had called him an asshole for wanting her to
change her entire life for something only he wanted. The fight escalated
quickly then, she remembered, turning to money and power, because she was a doctor
and he was a journalist who worked primarily from home.

“Do
you think this is what I wanted?” he had shouted at her. “I was going to see
the world. I was going to go to war-zones and report on life and death
situations. I was going to do something important.”

But
because he was a single father, none of that would happen, Rachael thought. He
had chosen a wife and children over his career. Which was fine, in Rachael's
mind, as long as you prioritized and made the distinction. Her parents never
had. They had tried for appearance-sake to do both, to have both, and had only
fucked their children up in the process. Grant had chosen family. Rachael had
chosen career. She knew she could not have both. She knew she didn't want both.

So
what was she doing?

She
was no closer to an answer when she pulled quietly into the driveway and shut
off the engine. The house appeared dark and quiet. Rachael hoped they were all
asleep. She was too tired and confused to deal with them now. Her relationship
with Grant had held a certain appeal for her because he already had kids of his
own. It had been easy to fall in love with him knowing they both had what they
wanted and he wouldn't expect anything more from her. Now she felt as if she
was losing control of the entire situation.

Inside,
she shut the door quietly and slipped off her shoes. She tiptoed upstairs and
into their bedroom but Grant wasn't there. The bed was made. She glanced toward
the bathroom desperately wanting to shower, then eat a hot meal before bed, but
she knew she had to find him. There was a very large possibility that he was
pissed that she was home late again, and as usual, hadn't had time between
patients to call.

He
was sitting on the back deck, a beer in his hand, looking out over his garden.
He had bought the house when he had married his late wife, before their
daughters were born, and took great pride in what he had done with the space.
It was still weird for Rachael to look around the house and see traces of his
wife everywhere. Her face was in pictures, her porcelain figurines on tables,
and her choice of paint colors on the walls. Sometimes Rachael felt like she
had moved into someone else’s house and stepped into their ready-made family.

She
slid open the glass doors and stepped out on the deck. Grant didn't look up as
she made her way toward him.

“I'm
sorry I'm late,” she began.

“I
called the hospital,” he drank from his bottle. “They said you were busy.”

“You
know that Friday nights in the city are crazy,” Rachael explained. “There was a
bad accident and they needed the extra hands and I didn't want to leave.”

“I'm
not mad,” Grant looked over. “About that.”

Rachael
felt herself stiffen. She was too tired to have another fight about how she was
failing as a stepmother to his daughters.

“You
did miss an important phone call,” he continued. “Sit down.”

“I
think I want to stand,” pride kept her on her feet.

“Your
sister called,” Grant paused. “You never told me you had a sister.”

“We
don't speak often,” Rachael tried to brush him off. “Short emails, maybe two or
three times a year. I didn't want to talk about my family so I didn't mention
her.”

“But
she knows how to contact you,” Grant said frankly. “At my house. Yet I haven't
ever heard about her.”

“Your
house,” Rachael murmured. “It's still your house six months after I moved in.”

“You
know what I mean,” Grant scowled. “And you're changing the subject. You kept
this from me. I told you about my family.”

“I
didn't want to tell you about them,” Rachael tried to control her voice. The
last thing she needed was his daughters coming down and taking his side.

Grant
stood. “I've confided in you. I told you all about dealing with my wife's
death. Every grim detail.”

“She
was your wife! We live in her house with your children. I've distanced myself
from my family, it isn't the same thing,” Rachael said.

“Then
why do you email your sister?” Grant asked. “She told me you emailed her this
number.”

“I
don't often,” Rachael explained. “She's the only one I talk to. She was never a
problem for me. It was the rest of them who were and I don't want to talk about
them.”

Grant
stared at her as if she was a stranger. “Yet she said that she'd already spoken
to Dylan and Troy but that Troy only had your cell phone number. Who the fuck
are Dylan and Troy?” His face was grim, his mouth set in a straight line. “I
know we have our problems and your job dictates that you work long hours but I
won't tolerate infidelity.”

“Infidelity?”
Rachael was incredulous. She glanced toward the screen door where sure enough,
his daughters stood listening. “You think I've been unfaithful and my lover has
been in contact with my sister?”

“That's
what it looks like to me,” Grant crossed his arms. “If I'm wrong, explain it to
me.”

“I
shouldn't have to,” Rachael glared at him. “Is this really what you think?”

“You're
never here,” Grant told her. “You have no time for me. You have no interest in
being a mother to my children. And there is clearly a lot of information you're
keeping from me.”

“So
I'm a slut,” she stated it calmly. “I'm a slut because I'm a doctor who works
long hours. I'm a terrible person because your kids don't want me to be their
mother and because I never wanted kids of my own. Why don't I want kids of my
own? Because I had a terrible mother and I have no desire to do what was done
to me to anyone else. That's why I don't talk to my family.”

“Why
won't you talk to me? Why do I have to drag everything out of you?”

“This
is the way I am!” Rachael suddenly shouted. “And this works for me. How dare
you accuse me of cheating on you.”

“Calm
down,” Grant ordered.

“No,”
Rachael told him. “Dylan and Troy are my brothers. I saw Troy at a conference
last winter in LA. Do you remember when I went? I gave him my cell phone number
because I was going to be in the area for a few more days.”

“How
would I know that if you don't tell me?” Grant said finally.

“You
wouldn't. But that doesn't give you the right to accuse me of being unfaithful.
I've never told you about my family because I don't want to talk about them.
I'm done with it. I used my anger to get through university and med school.
I've used what happened to me as motivation to help others. And I do. It's hard
work and long hours but I help people. I'm sorry if that's not what you were
looking for. I never claimed to be mother material.”

She
was almost at the door when she remembered.

“Which
sister called?”

“There's
more than one?” Grant shook his head. “Doesn't matter. Your past is one dark
hole.”

“I
have two living sisters,” Rachael didn't even turn to look at him. “One died.”

“Nadia,”
Grant said finally. “She said it was urgent and for you to call her
immediately. The number is on the table.”

Nadia.
The only one who I email with. The only one who has this number. I shouldn't
have had to ask.

She
walked through the doors and walked directly toward the kitchen table. Without
looking at the time she dialed the long distance number and was surprised when
the desk at a Toronto hotel picked up. Nadia had given permission for all calls
to be put through and the hotel connected them right away.