Digging Up Death (A Mari Duggins Mystery) (27 page)

I marveled at my friend’s strength, her faith in God to make everything okay despite the lousy hand she’d been dealt. I wasn’t that strong. I didn’t have faith. I couldn’t see any good coming out of my troubles. “I’m glad you’re so sure about this, but my life hasn’t worked that way. I can’t see the good in Jack leaving. God’s never done anything for me, and I don’t think he ever will.” Even when I prayed for Matt in the abandoned building, his fate had already been determined. My prayer hadn’t changed anything.

I crossed my arms and pushed back against the plastic chair. A familiar pressure built behind my eyes. “He could’ve saved my mother, but he didn’t. He could’ve stopped Jack from leaving. Why doesn’t God care about me?”

“He cares about you more than you’ll ever know.” Elizabeth leaned in, compassion filling her eyes. “You just need to give God everything in your life, no matter how it turns out.”

My throat tightened. Burning, suffocating. “I can’t. I don’t know how.”

“I was like you once, but when I gave away my pain, God was able to work in my life and heal my hurts. He forgave me and gave me peace—”

“You make it sound so easy.”

“It is.”

“No, it’s not.” The tears I had dammed up broke free. “Forgiveness won’t bring back my mother. It can’t undo all the wrong I’ve done. I could’ve stopped my father, but I didn’t.
I
could have saved my mother. Don’t you see? Even if God forgave me, I’m not sure I can forgive myself. She died because of me. Her death was
my
fault!”

CHAPTER FORTY-ONE

12:27 p.m.

THE PANDEMONIUM OF LUNCHTIME at McDonald’s dissolved into the background as my inner turmoil increased. A gentle hand rested on my shoulder. I gazed up. Elizabeth stood by my side. Just like she always had. Through my celebrations and devastations. She hugged me long and steady, and I ached for my mother’s touch.

“Oh, Mari, when I meant you needed to ask God to forgive you, I didn’t mean you needed forgiveness for your mother’s death. It wasn’t your fault. You have to believe that. I meant we all need forgiveness.”

“Whether you meant it or not, it’s true.”

“No, it’s not, and you need to stop punishing yourself for what happened.”

I glanced around the crowded McDonald’s playroom and lowered my voice. “I can’t. It
was
my fault.”

“No, it wasn’t.”

“If I hadn’t gone home for Matt’s birthday. If I stood up to my father and refused to leave, if I insisted my mother leave him, she would still be alive. He wouldn’t have killed her.”

“You don’t know that.”

“Yes, I do. Don’t you see? All this stuff with Jack and Matt, it’s because of me. God’s punishing
me.”

She cradled my hands with hers and peered into my eyes, my soul. “God isn’t punishing you.”

“Then why is all this happening?” I slumped in my chair.

“I don’t know, but I do know sometimes when we think God doesn’t hear our prayers, he’s right in the midst of answering them.”

“Just not the way we might think. I get it. What good does that do me now?”

“None, I guess. But maybe you’re where God wants you. Everything that’s happening is for a purpose.”

“What?”

“If your life was perfect you wouldn’t need him.”

“But it’s not perfect. It’s never been. I’ve always needed him.” The ache in my chest expanded.

“And he’s always been there guiding you to this place, this moment.”

Could Elizabeth’s words be true? Could God have been there through it all? Was he here with me now? If he was, then he knew. He knew it all. All my lies and secrets. All the times I spouted Ma’at, only to hide the heaviness of my own heart. All the masks I wore to hide my hypocrisy. “I just don’t know. I just don’t know.”

“God knows, and he’ll forgive you.”

“But will Fletcher?” I sobbed into my hands unable to look Elizabeth in the face for fear my eyes would reveal the secret I’ve kept for seventeen years.

“I don’t understand.”

“The baby. He’ll never forgive me.”

“He never blamed you for the miscarriage. It wasn’t your fault.”

“Yes, it was my fault. It was
all
my fault, but I … I … don’t know how to tell him. To tell you.”

She reached for my hands, her touch soothing the tremors beginning to rack my body. “You don’t have to. Not here. Not now. We can talk later.”

But I couldn’t let this secret gestate for another second for fear I might burst. “How can God, how can Fletcher forgive me for lying about the miscarriage?”

“What?”

“You never saw me pregnant. Remember my dad wouldn’t let me leave the house for the summer, and I didn’t start school until the second semester? We didn’t tell anyone. You never knew. No one knew. Neither does Fletcher.”

Elizabeth’s eyes got big, and I knew she was thinking the worst. She stroked my hair. “God will forgive you for what you did. So will Fletcher, in time.”

“It’s not what you think. I didn’t have an abortion. Fletcher and I have a son.”

It seemed like an eternity before Elizabeth responded.

“God offers forgiveness to all. For
all
things. All you have to do is ask.” If Elizabeth was shocked about keeping this secret from her for so long, her voice didn’t betray her.

Something nudged from the inside out, and in the middle of the noisy McDonald’s playroom, I bowed my head and prayed. A prayer full of repentance and regret. Fear and hope. Life and new beginnings birthed from forgiveness and acceptance and love.

Unconditional love. Something I had never experienced.

The weight I carried for years melted away. I stood and hugged my best friend, fully aware several moms and one lone dad gawked at us. But for once, I didn’t care.

Swelling with God-given forgiveness, I no longer carried the paralyzing burden. But as I walked to my car a small ache in my gut remained.

I knew I was forgiven, but I wouldn’t be free until I confessed to Fletcher he had a son. And told Matt I was his mother.

CHAPTER FORTY-TWO

1:30 p.m.

ALL I WANTED TO do was lock myself in my office, erase the entire week’s events, and focus on my 3:00 interview at KTXL. Instead, I sat in the passenger seat of Natasha’s Porsche on the way to Susan’s house, the mixture of cigarette smoke and new leather threatening to excavate my lunch. I cracked the window as Natasha blabbed to someone on the other end of her cell phone.

My body tensed against the ergonomically designed seat. I needed to be alone. I needed to think. I needed Natasha to put out her cigarette, get off the phone, and stop spilling the news about Peter Kipling’s arrest.

Maybe I should’ve waited to tell Natasha about Susan’s visit to the mansion until after the memorial service. Natasha closed her cell phone, then puffed her Virginia Slims and took the Progress Park exit. I coughed, the smoke burning my lungs.

“I’m sorry.” She snuffed her cigarette in the ashtray. “I haven’t smoked in five years, but all this stress is killing me.” Um, like that cigarette is extending your life?

Natasha honked her horn at the car idling at the green light. The car in front lurched forward, Natasha close on her tail. “Susan makes me livid. To think after all this time she can waltz back into Daddy’s life and take what’s rightfully mine. I know she has Daddy’s missing artifacts. I just know it.”

“Why would she steal from him? Since they were still legally married, everything your father had would be hers as well.”

“How could she know she was still married to Daddy before he was murdered? I only learned about the divorce paper fiasco when I questioned his lawyer about Susan being Executor.”

“Maybe they were reconciling on their own, before your father’s death. What I saw on the tape proves they were heading in that direction.”

“The only
thing
it proves is the depths she would go to get Daddy’s fortune.” Natasha smashed the heel of her hand on the steering wheel. “Move it, Granny.”

Her theory seemed plausible, but still, a piece was missing. “Why do you think your father never made you Executor after he thought the divorce went through?”

“I have no idea. Daddy always named me his personal representative after every divorce. If it wasn’t for that lazy, incompetent lawyer, I wouldn’t be in this situation. I would be Daddy’s Executor and sole heir.” She punched in numbers on her phone. “I think I’ll give his lawyer what for.”

Leaning back, I tried not to eavesdrop, but the thrashing she gave Henderson’s lawyer couldn’t be tuned out. Why didn’t I say no to Natasha when I had the chance? What compelled me to come running every time she summoned me? Why was my family always last on my “priority” list?

No worry lines etched Natasha’s forehead, but I knew it wasn’t from a lack of anxiety. Her emotions were stewing up a pot of helplessness, and I knew exactly how it tasted.

Natasha ended the call, tears on the verge of erupting. “I can’t believe it.” Her voice strained for control.

“What’s happened now?”

“Daddy made Susan … the Executor.”

“But you knew that already. Your father never removed her from his will.”

“No.” Her chest heaved in sync with her rapid breaths. “He made her the Executor about seven months ago when he learned they were still married.”

That meant Henderson had taken Susan out of his will and then added her back months before his death.

“He told his lawyer to destroy the divorce papers and name Susan Executor.” How did Natasha manage to breech attorney-client privilege? Guess no one said no to Natasha. She stared straight ahead at the car in front, tears rolling down her cheeks. “Why would he do that?”

“Doesn’t this confirm they were reconciling? It all fits when you know the facts.” We turned into a middle-class suburban neighborhood with full trees and well-manicured lawns.

“Then why didn’t he tell me? Why didn’t Susan move in? Why the secrecy?

Lies, deception, and betrayal. I knew exactly how she felt.

“I don’t know why your father kept this from you, but it means Susan didn’t have motive to steal your father’s collection. It’s not too late to turn around and forget—”

“Forget? Forget what that witch has done to me?” She clenched the steering wheel. “I knew from the time Daddy brought her home she was only after his money. He gave her everything. Even
this.
” She drove up to a lovely two-story brick home. “Paid in full. She claimed she didn’t want anything from him after the divorce, but he insisted on giving her a roof over her head. Now I see her plan all along. To lay low, weasel back into his life, and suck him dry. I wouldn’t put it past her if she killed him.”

“Detective Lopez says he has a sure case against Peter Kipling.”

“I didn’t say she did it alone.”

CHAPTER FORTY-THREE

1:41 p.m.

NATASHA’S ACCUSATION OF PETER and Susan’s involvement in her father’s death started my mind churning. Could it have been Peter’s plan all along to take out Henderson with the help of his wife? The conversation with Susan outside the morgue nagged me. Something was off. What would make her trade her nurse’s cap for that clunky paramedic uniform?

While Natasha primped, my eyes roamed the red brick, two-story home with green shutters and perfectly manicured lawn. No, I couldn’t see Peter allowing his wife to bed his nemesis for revenge. Unless Peter conspired after Henderson and Susan divorced. That would explain why Peter thought Susan would return to him. But Susan’s refusal of Peter in the coffee shop made it clear she wanted nothing to do with her ex-husband. Still, if Peter and Susan did plan Henderson’s death, then that would make the case against Jack weak.

Natasha gathered her purse and grabbed the car door handle.

“Are you sure this is a good idea? Maybe you can talk to her tomorrow. After the service.”

Natasha opened the door, eyes narrowed like a woman on a mission. Which she was. I hurried after her as she shimmied up the walk as fast as a woman in a skin-tight skirt and stilettos could. Susan barreled out of her house in a designer sweat suit with phone in hand.

“I don’t want any trouble.” Susan shot me a what-are-you-doing-here look. “But I’ll call the police if I have to.”

“Go ahead.” Natasha hissed. “It’ll save me a call.”

“What are you talking about?” Susan’s glare shot to the house, then to Natasha.

“We have you all figured out.” Natasha stood inches from Susan. “It’s only a matter of time before you’re arrested like your ex-husband.”

“Peter’s been arrested? Why?”

“For Henderson’s murder.” I stood close to Natasha in case their not-so-friendly chat turned physical.

“Where are they?” Natasha tried to push past Susan, but the older woman stood firm, preventing her. “I know they’re in there. Getting Daddy’s money wasn’t enough for you; you had to take his priceless collection also.” Spittle flew from Natasha’s mouth, her lower lip quivering.

“You’re acting crazy. Did you mix anything with your anxiety medication?” Susan’s insincerity pounded in my ears.

“I’m not the one with access to drugs, Susan. You are.”

Something inside me gonged. Not only was Susan Executor and heir, but according to Lopez, she would receive Henderson’s life insurance. Paramedics had access to drugs. What about the pharmaceutical company? Could Susan be the mastermind behind Henderson’s murder? Did she want revenge for being thrown away like yesterday’s caviar? Maybe she talked Henderson into getting a DNR bracelet, then framed Peter for his murder. I knew it sounded crazy. Susan wasn’t that kind of person. I had known her for years. She wasn’t vengeful like Natasha. But the pieces fit, and I didn’t like the look of the puzzle.

“What’d you use?” Natasha’s voice rose as her clenched fists shook at her side. “Something that would stop my daddy’s heart? Interfere with his pacemaker?”

Pacemaker?

“Natasha, go home.” Susan turned toward the house. Natasha darted after her. The curtain stirred at the front window. I caught a glimpse of something. Did Susan have a cat? No, a hat. A fedora? So there was another man in Susan’s life. But who? Lots of men wore that hat. Jack and Fletcher included. But in Texas, most men wore Stetsons.