Murder in the Mansion

On
the day she was murdered Vivien awoke early, determined to prove to the world
that she led the perfect life. It was her husband's sixtieth birthday and she
had been planning an elaborate party for weeks. In the thirty-four years they'd
been married, William and Vivien Halingsford had hosted many parties, both for
business and pleasure. Since their daughter's murder five years earlier, Vivien
had attempted to withdraw from their social circles. They hadn't attended
functions or thrown parties of their own. Vivien felt it was time to come out
of hiding, and as a surprise to William, she was planning his birthday
celebration in secret.

Everything
was running on schedule, she reassured herself. Her sister was due to arrive
that afternoon from New York. William's brother had flown in with his family
from London the night before. The cleaning company that Vivien employed had
been in and out of the house, polishing the wood floors and sprucing up the
back patio. Vivien had planned a pool-side party for some two hundred and fifty
of their closest friends, family, and colleagues. The caterers would handle the
minute details, Vivien reminded herself. That was why they cost a fortune.

It
would be a lovely party, Vivien thought as she stepped under the hot spray of
the shower. The water soothed her and she turned her face into it, letting it
wash over her face and her hair. She knew William would be pleased by her
efforts like he always was. Since the beginning of their marriage, Vivien had
demonstrated her ability to be an asset to her husband – socially, as well as
professionally. William's law firm was successful. Vivien didn't doubt for an
instant that she had helped make it so.

She
stepped out of the shower more relaxed and reassured. Coolly, she studied
herself in the mirror. At fifty-two years old her body was still lean and
toned. Her hair, although colored, was the same deep brown as it had been in
her youth. Although she had more wrinkles than she'd had a few years before,
her face did not betray her. Her secrets and hardships had not aged her.

She
looked around the tidy bathroom, designed to her specifications, organized to
her liking, and found no pleasure in it. In her spacious bedroom she dressed
for the day. She had been born to a rich family and had married a man whose
wealth was newer than hers. Luxury was something she expected, not respected,
and even now, she could find no comfort in any of it. It was merely another
layer of her image. Of their image, Vivien corrected herself. They tried so
desperately hard to maintain the pretense of wealth, happiness, and perfection.

Her
guests would expect that same perfection when they arrived that night. They had
their own images to maintain and William's party was a social function in their
circles. Many would also come to satisfy their morbid curiosity. This was the
first party they had held since their daughter was murdered. Not only had
Dani's disappearance and death attracted media attention, but the fact that her
killer had never been found made it a scandal still talked about to this day.

Guests
would descend on her home, enjoy her hospitality, and wish William well but
they would also come to gossip. That couldn't be helped. She couldn't control
it. What she had the power to make perfect she would focus on: the food, the
drinks, and the music. She would play the part of the perfect hostess and hope
that it was for the last time.

After
thirty-four years of marriage to a man she deeply loved, the mistakes littering
her past seemed too great. Vivien was ready to step down, out of the spotlight,
before William learned the truth. As much as he loved her, Vivien had always
known that the secrets she possessed could destroy him. She knew that before he
allowed that to happen, he would ruin her and their life together.

On
the morning of her husband's sixtieth birthday, Vivien stepped out on the
terrace and lit a cigarette. In the beautiful June sunshine she began to
consider the events that would ultimately bring about her death.

****

William
stood at the window of his office staring out at the view of the lake. His law
firm was on the fortieth floor of a huge skyscraper in the heart of downtown
Toronto. From his expensive vantage point he could watch the boats coming and
going. He could also enjoy the women in short skirts and heels eating their
lunch on the terrace across the street.

Even
at sixty, William was still unsure of which he appreciated more: money and
success, or a beautiful woman. He had spent a great deal of his life
surrounding himself with both.

His
parents had provided him with a decent education and upbringing. They had put
him through university, even after he had bowed out of the family real estate
business. His brother had taken over that responsibility, leaving William without
obligation. After university he had used the inheritance left to him by his
grandparents to travel through Europe and had come home to go to law school.
That was where, in a sense, his life had really begun. William's twenties had
been an exciting time in his life. He had seen some of the world, dated a lot
of women, and met his best friends in law school.

And
then at almost thirty, he had met Vivien.

That,
William thought, had been the beginning of something else. He had stopped at
nothing to meet her, to have her, and to marry her.

His
thoughts halted abruptly at the knock on his door. It was polite, a quick
rapping of knuckles against the wood before the door was pushed open.

“Did
you eat?” Sam asked. He and William had been best friends since law school. It
had seemed natural for them to go into business together afterward and now
they, along with their friend Paul, owned a law firm together.

“No,
I didn't bother to head down yet.”

Sam
hesitated. William continued to watch the blonde in the blue sundress. He
guessed she was probably in her early twenties.

“Do
you want to go get something?”

“I
don't know. I don't want to ruin my appetite.”

“For
what?”

“Vivien's
party.”

Sam
hissed out a breath. “Dammit. How do you do that?”

“She's
been planning it for weeks,” William tore his eyes away from the blonde. “I
might be getting old but I'm not deaf and blind.”

“Nadia
told you.”

“Nadia
can't keep a secret!” William laughed. “She's her mother's daughter. It's
always written all over her face.”

Sam
leaned against the door frame. “Well, act surprised. I know it's been a bit
daunting for her.”

“Yeah,”
William began to sort through the pile of papers on his desk. “It's the first
party since, well, you know.”

“Yeah,”
Sam spoke quietly.

“Where's
Paul? Can he join us for lunch?”

“Not
today,” Sam replied. “He rushed out of here early. Said he probably wouldn't be
back.”

“He's
coming tonight though, right?”

“He
said he'd be there,” Sam reassured him. “He had an appointment.”

“Another
one?” William looked up from his desk.

“I
think they ran some tests,” Sam said. “I heard him on the phone.”

“Must
have gone for the results then.”

“Guess
so,” Sam shrugged it off. “You know Paul, if he wants us to know, he'll tell
us. If not, you'll never get it out of him.”

“Sounds
about right,” William agreed. “Well, I wouldn't mind a birthday drink.”

“Got
any place in mind?”

“There,”
William pointed to the terrace he had been staring at.

“Across
the street?” Sam was incredulous.

“Yeah,”
William told him. “We'll sit on the terrace and check out the blonde in the
blue dress.”

“I'll
bet she's young enough to be your daughter,” Sam said.

“Of
course,” William told him. “But that doesn't mean I'm going to do anything.”

“This
time,” Sam retorted.

“I
turned sixty today,” William's tone was serious. “I'm not as young as I used to
be and my heart isn't as strong as it once was. Those days are over.”

****

Rachael,
the eldest child of William and Vivien, began each day early before dawn. She
had awoken before anyone else in the house and started the coffee pot while she
showered and dressed. She'd enjoyed two cups of coffee and a muffin in the back
garden, watching the sun rise in the distance. It was Rachael's favorite time
of the day. She appreciated being alone and the quiet.

She
was due at the hospital early that morning for a day shift, but on a Friday
during a beautiful stretch of summer weather, she knew she would not be leaving
until long after dark. People seemed to take more risks during the warmer
months. They lived dangerously, drank excessive amounts of alcohol, and often
wound up in the emergency room on a Friday night instead of where they had
intended to be.

She'd
spend her time before lunch tending a boy with a broken arm, a man suffering
from chest pains, and a woman with a nasty bout of food poisoning. There had
been an old man, dehydrated and with heat stroke, after too many hours spent
gardening under the hot sun. A diabetic passed through, after neglecting her
insulin shots, and an elderly woman who'd suffered a fall in the middle of the
night and hit her head.

Throughout
the day the emergency room became busier, until it was a chaotic mess of
people, all in various states of personal disaster, waiting to be examined,
admitted, or released. Security guards milled about, keeping order and giving
directions. Triage nurses filled out the personal information of those who
waited and doctors moved efficiently in and out of examination rooms. They
asked questions, they ordered tests, they diagnosed, and treated.

She'd
had a busy afternoon but somehow had been able to take her break on schedule.
Sipping from her coffee cup, enjoying the warm breeze from a picnic table
outdoors, Rachael thought she'd call home. Grant, the man she was living with,
usually worked from home. A journalist, his hours were much more flexible than
hers, providing he met his deadlines.

They'd
been fighting more than usual lately. It was the worst part of their
relationship, but they always made up afterwards. They'd managed to make it
through two years of seeing each other but, since they'd moved in together six
months ago, the fighting had intensified and they'd been making up less.

He'd
been irritable the past couple of days whenever she came home late from the
hospital. He was a widower and his two daughters from his previous marriage
lived with them. They hadn't spoken about having their own baby before they'd
moved in together, and since they had, that was all he wanted to do. Rachael,
having no interest in any of this, had recoiled. She didn't need it. Her own
upbringing had been a lesson on what not to do: don't get married if you're
going to be unfaithful. Don't have children if you're only going to ignore
them.

No,
she didn't want children. She wasn't the nurturing, maternal type. Her own
mother wasn't either. She tolerated Grant's children, sometimes she even liked
them, but she didn't want to be their mother.

All
she had ever wanted to do with her life was be a doctor. And after working so
long and so hard for it, and still struggling to pay off the debt she had
incurred doing so, the thought of putting it all aside after only a few years
didn't seem an option.

Glancing
at her watch, she realized her break was nearly over. She wouldn't call Grant
after all, she decided. It would probably only upset her if he was still mad at
her over their fight the previous night. He'd barely spoken to her the day
before, busy with the article he was writing, and preoccupied with his
daughters.

She
had a few hours left before her shift was over. If the evening was quieter than
the afternoon had been, there was a chance she'd leave on time.

Then
again, it was a Friday night in June, Rachael reminded herself. On a night like
this, anything could happen.

****

Dylan,
the oldest son of William and Vivien, stood on his patio and flipped steaks on
the grill. Work at his garage was slow and he'd finished the brake repairs on
his customer's car ahead of schedule. Happily, he'd closed up early for the day
and planned to take full advantage of the weekend that lay ahead of him.

He
glanced around at their small yard, with its green garden, and blooming
flowers. The whole summer stretched out before him and he thought of everything
he wanted to accomplish. He and his wife, Meg, had bought their house the year
before and it still needed a lot of work. Those projects required money, he
reminded himself, and began going over his finances in his head. Work at the
garage was okay, but was it enough?

When
dinner was ready, they sat down to steaks and salad at the patio table.

“My
mother called this morning,” Meg replied conversationally. “She wants to visit
soon, maybe toward the end of the summer. It's been so long since I've seen
her.”

“That's
fine,” Dylan shrugged. Meg was very close with her mother and sister, who still
lived in her native Paris. “It will save us from racking up expensive phone
bills.”

Meg
rolled her eyes. “Like you really care.”

“Well,
I do care,” Dylan replied. “It's not like we're rolling in money over here, but
you know what I mean.”

She
nodded. It was something they spoke about often. “I wish my sister could come
too. I miss her.”

“You
should invite both of them.”

“I
used to be so close to her.”

Dylan
took a sip of beer. “Well, you're close with your family.”