Page 22 of One Last Lie

"No idea," Elijah said. "Part of me hopes nothing. I'd rather the people who wanted him dead just got lucky, and Dad kicked the bucket without them needing to do it for him. But I don't know."

“Have you told anyone else about this? Your mother?”

He chuckles. Then he says again. “Mom loves herself. I don’t think she misses Dad nearly as much as she likes to pretend she does.”

“But surely she—”

I cut myself off, but it’s too late. Elijah looks at me, his eyes filled with more weight than any child should have to carry.

“I don’t know.”

We stand in silence for a long moment. My thoughts spin.

Johnathan Ashford feared death on all sides. His business partner, his maidservant, and his drug dealer. My interaction with Doctor Harrow, brief though it was, makes me suspect that his intentions are far from pure, and his behavior on this tape only deepens my concerns.

And Elijah has confessed to suspecting his own mother.

Could Cecilia have been involved in her own husband’s death?

“We should probably head downstairs,” Elijah said. “I’ll go catch up with Isabella and Samuel. Paolo’s probably on his way into town to get supplies for dinner, so you’ll have to put something together for lunch. You can make whatever you want. Isabella will complain about anything short of chocolate cake, and Samuel will eat anything you put in front of him, so it doesn’t really matter.”

“What would you like?”

He gives me a tight smile. “What I would like is to find out what really happened to my father.”

I don’t know if it’s wise of me to respond the way I do. In fact, I’m pretty sure it’s unwise.

Even so, I feel firmly convinced that it's the right thing to do, even if it's not wise. I put a hand on his shoulder and say, "We will. I promise you."

His smile morphs into one of gratitude rather than anger. I feel a leap of joy, but with it comes a touch of misgiving. It’s one thing to agree to investigate Johnathan’s death. It’s quite another to involve a child in that investigation. What kind of danger am I exposing him to?

Then again, Elijah was already looking into his father’s death. It’s too late to shelter him.

Once more, I feel a sense of inevitability. It’s as though by its forbidding nature the house was trying to warn me to stay away, but now that I’m here, I have no choice but to become entangled with the mystery that consumes this family.

For better or worse, I am a part of this now.

CHAPTER EIGHT

As I make lunch, my thoughts keep straying to Elijah’s suspicion of his own mother. It almost defies sanity to think that she could do that to the father of her children, but then many other women have done far worse.

Still, I like Cecilia. She is aloof and cold at times, but her grief seems completely unfeigned to me, and she seems to care deeply for her children.

A searing pain shoots up my left arm. I jerk it back with a cry and turn my left hand to see a red welt quickly rising on my palm. I was so distracted by my thoughts that I leaned my hand onto the hot stove to rest rather than onto the counter.

Footsteps rush toward me, and a moment later Cecilia enters the kitchen, concern on her face. “Mary? Are you hurt?”

I feel heat climb my cheeks. Fitting that she should be the one to find me and show such concern moments after I suspect her of murder.

“It’s nothing. I just burned my hand a little.”

She steps forward and, with the authority of a mother, takes my hand and turns it upright. The welt is beginning to blister. She looks at me with pursed lips and says, "This is more than a little burn. You're going to the hospital."

“Please. Don’t put yourself out.”

“Don’t be stupid,” she says. “You need to see a doctor. That’s second-degree. If you don’t take care of it, you’ll have scarring and nerve damage. I’m home for the day anyway. I’ll take care of the kids.”

Speaking of the children, they pick that moment to show up. Samuel sees the concern on his mother’s face and immediately rushes to me. “Miss Mary? Are you okay? Mom, is Miss Mary okay?”

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