Page 43 of One Last Goodbye

“Doctor Strauss?” Olivia’s voice asks timidly. “Mary? Is everything okay?”

I turn to Olivia, who stands in the doorway and looks warily at us. I don’t know what to say.

“Everything’s fine,” Strauss replies, controlling her voice. “I was simply telling Mary about our conversation in the theater the other night. I hope you don’t mind. I thought she’d like to hear how much you and Ethan appreciated her, and I know it can be awkward to say that.”

Olivia reddens and shuffles her feet. “Oh. Um, yeah. We were going to tell you when you got back, but…”

“That’s all right,” I manage, my voice hollow.

Dr. Strauss's hand is still covering her face. I imagine if she moved it, the welt from my blow would be visible to Olivia, which is why she keeps it covered. She gives me a thin smile and says, "I'll see you later, Mary."

She leaves, and Olivia asks, “Are you sure you’re okay?”

I force a smile. “Fine. It’s been a really trying week for everyone. I should ask how you’re doing.”

She shrugs. “I mean. It is what it is, right?”

“And what it is is terrible. It’s all right to feel upset. It’s all right to feel sad and angry. Don’t stifle these emotions. Believe me, it’s better to grieve now than to hold onto that feeling for the rest of your life.”

Olivia nods. Then her lips start trembling. I open my arms, and she crosses the room to me.

I hold her while she weeps. Her shoulders shake with pain, and tears come to my own eyes. I feel guilty and embarrassed and angry with myself, but I put those feelings aside and simply comfort the young girl whose suffering is far worse than my own right now.

CHAPTER TWENTY

The memorial is a solemn affair. After the spectacle of his death, it’s almost unnerving to see how subdued his service is.

The crowd is small. Catherine, Hugo, the children, and I sit in the front row. Behind us sit Thomas Keller, Eleanor Strauss, and three other individuals who I gather are high-ranking executives in Frederick's company.

And that’s everyone. Veronica is not here. I commend Catherine for refusing to allow her husband’s mistress to attend, but I find it rather disrespectful to sit next to her own lover at Frederick’s funeral.

The memorial room is small, but it still feels vast and empty. I have had a poor representation of Frederick Jensen’s character so far, but I can’t help but feel sorry for him. The man ran an empire and now dies an afterthought to all but a few. Perhaps that is the way of it for everyone, but it just seems so bleak to memorialize a man in an empty room.

The children do not weep. Their father’s body is not here. Thankfully, his will asked that he be cremated, so his ashes sit in an urn next to a portrait of him. I believe it would be more difficult for them were their father’s body present in the room. I am not one of those who believe that one must see the corpse of their loved one in order to receive closure.

An image floats across my mind of Annie’s smiling face, followed immediately by one of the apparition with empty eyes that haunts my dreams. I push it away. Today is not about me.

Guilt creeps behind those thoughts despite my efforts to ignore it. I have been a poor help to this family. I suspected Olivia of killing him because of an angry outburst that is a perfectly natural reaction of any grieving teenager. I suspected Dr. Strauss for no other reason than that I don’t trust therapists.True, Sophie’s insinuations push me along that path, but I find it very easy to accept her evidence against Strauss, don’t I? I was even excited for her to be the killer.

In the past, I’ve been able to convince myself that I act in the interests of the victims, that I want them to find justice they would otherwise not be able to find. Now…

Well, now I wonder if Strauss was right. Not for her ridiculous claim that I did something to Annie, but for her deduction that my own personal guilt is what motivates me. I’ve wondered this before and always deflected it. After all, the victimsdodeserve justice, whatever the motivation for obtaining that justice.

That’s still true, but what help have I been? I’ve been here for the children to the best of my ability. I don’t act on my suspicions of Olivia, thankfully, so I can say that I’ve been a good comfort to them, at least as much as I can be after only working here for a week.

But that help is given in spite of my suspicions, not because of them. I am at my best when I’mnotactively looking into Frederick’s death.

Perhaps it’s time I heed the advice of so many who have known me over the past two years. The gardeners for the Carltons and the Greenwoods. Javier, the driver for the Ashfords. The police detective in Savannah who eventually arrests Lila Benson’s killer. And now Sean. All have told me that I have no business as a detective, that I am endangering myself.

I wonder if it’s not only me I’m endangering.

The memorial ends, and just as quietly as we enter, we leave. Dr. Strauss and Hugo don’t return home with us, so I suppose that’s a blessing. For her part, Catherine appears to feel grief for the first time. Whether it’s guilt or sadness that her children are still not speaking to her or a genuine ache at her husband’s loss,I’m not sure. Either way, tears track down her cheeks as Franz drives us home.

Thomas Keller remains. That is five passengers, so we are in an SUV today, a Bentley, rather than the Rolls Royce sedan. No one speaks. The children finally weep, crying softly in my arms in the back row. Catherine and Thomas ride in the second row.

We arrive home, and the children ask to be excused from dinner. I offer to read to them or put a movie on in the theater, but they want to be alone in their rooms. I grant that request, and they and Catherine leave to grieve in private. I want to exhort them to grieve together, to navigate this journey as a family, but then, I still suspect Catherine of being involved, and that suspicion I believe is still valid.

So, I find myself alone in the living room with Thomas Keller. Claude, the butler, brings us a bottle of champagne and pours our first glasses, then sets the bucket down on the table in between us.

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