Page 41 of One Last Lie

The document is a copy of the official declaration of death of Johnathan Ashford. It lists the cause as a massive ischemic event but lists the reason for that event as severe poisoning from cyanide salts.

The note on top is written in Cecilia’s handwriting. It says only one word, but God, what a word.

Suppressed.

The page creases slightly, and I realize my hands are shaking. I quickly rearrange the documents and place them back in the box, then put the box back where it belongs.

I rush from the room and head outside. When I reach fresh air, I gasp for breath, and it takes an effort for me not to collapse to my knees.

Then a thought stiffens my spine. Johnathan said that he must protect Isabella. Why? Did he know what Cecilia planned for him? Did he fear she would do the same to his children?

Something cold and wet alights on the tip of my nose. I look up to see a cloud of white flakes drift gently down from the sky. The snowfall has finally come.

It brings none of the calm I hope for.

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

Isabella throws her head back and laughs. Her cheeks are pink, and she looks absolutely beautiful. It hits me how much like her mother she looks. She’ll be just as stunning as Cecilia when she reaches adulthood.

The adult in question spins around and hurls a snowball directly at Isabella. Isabella shrieks and ducks, and the snowball instead hits Samuel in the chest. He glares at his mother but grins underneath his eyes. “Hey!”

“Oh, now you’ve done it!” Isabella cries. “No one hurts my little brother!”

She and Samuel rush Cecilia, who squeals and covers her face to protect herself from the onslaught of snowballs the two younger children release her way. When they get close, she snarls playfully and tackles both of them to the ground. The children laugh and wrestle with her, and had I not discovered proof yesterday that Cecilia had murdered their father nine weeks ago, I would have thought this the best possible afternoon the children could have.

Elijah stands next to me. He’s smiling, but his eyes are hard as stone.

“You should go play with them,” I suggest.

“I don’t want to,” he says.

“I know. But you should.”

He looks at me, and I stare intently at him. Cecilia looks our way and calls, “Come on, Elijah! You’re not too grown up to play snowball fight with your mother!”

I keep my smile and my intense stare, and he nods. He grins, and thank God, this one is more convincing. “Okay. Just remember you asked for it!”

He picks up a snowball and fires it at his mother. I stiffen as the missile hits her on the shoulder, but it must not have been as hard a blow as I expected. She laughs and returns fire.

They continue to play, and I resist the urge to cross my arms as I look at Cecilia. How could it be true? How could she have done this? It’s one thing to be dissatisfied in her marriage, but to kill the father of her children?

Samuel leaps onto her, and Isabella wraps her arms around her and takes her down to the ground. She cries out in mock fear, and all three of them laugh, then squeal when Elijah takes advantage of their vulnerability to launch another assault.

Look how much she loves them. She can’t possibly have done this.

I feel a tapping on my shoulder and turn to see Theresa glaring at me. I flinch, not because of her anger but because of the terror behind it. Her voice is terse when she says, “Can I speak with you inside, please?” but her body language is almost as though she’s afraid I’ll strike her.

Well, to be fair, I have struck her. Instinctively, I flex my left hand, newly freed from its bandages. It’s still a little sensitive from the burn, but it’s healed nicely. There should be no scarring.

She notices the flex and steps back, paling. “I just want to talk,” she says plaintively.

“Yes,” I say, “That’s fine. I’m not…” I glance over at the family, who still play together. “All right.”

We head inside, and Theresa leads me up the stairs to the third floor of the north wing. I frown. Is she taking me to her room?

We reach the third-floor landing, and she spins around and regards me for a moment, arms crossed, lip trembling. We don’t say anything for a moment. I debate breaking the silence, but part of me hopes I’m about to hear something that can relieve my suspicion of Cecilia and convince me that someone else is responsible for Johnathan’s murder.

I don’t know what to do if she is. Should I go to the police? Would taking the children’s only surviving parent away help them? She loves them, I can see that. Would—

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