Page 89 of Single Mom's Undoing
“Is it Damon’s?” Elizabeth croaks, torn between shock and rage. “Is it?”
“It doesn’t matter,” I insist.
“It is. No wonder he’s so motivated to keep Shiloh, to find you. He wants his happy little family,” Elizabeth mutters, briefly distracted by intrusive thoughts, but she quickly snaps back. “Well, he’s not getting any of it. I’ll get it all!”
“Please, Elizabeth?—”
“Leave now or I will kill you. It’s that simple. I’m tired of you, Damon, Carter, and Jace, I’m tired of all of you doing whatever the fuck you want like there aren’t any consequences.”
I scoff, then give her wry smirk. “That’s rich, coming from you.”
She lunges at me with the knife, but I’m quicker as I hurl the hot tea right at her head. The mug hits her in the forehead, and she screams as the scalding liquid splashes all over her face, neck, and chest.
She drops the knife and cries out. I wrap an arm around her neck and put her in a chokehold, remembering all the times my brother and I used to play fight; he taught me some basic self-defense moves early on. I just never imagined I’d ever have to employ them.
Yet here I am, listening to Elizabeth’s ragged breathing as she winds down and eventually passes out against me.
“For all your jabs at my weight, look at you now, you scrawny-ass bitch,” I mutter as I drop her to the floor and take a deep breath.
Panic is quick to set in.
Elizabeth is down, but she will come to eventually. It doesn’t change my predicament; it only adds a layer of danger to an already dangerous situation. My time here has come to an end.
27
CLARA
Slowly, I poke my head through the kitchen door and breathe a sigh of relief. None of the guards was anywhere near enough to hear Elizabeth’s scream before I caused her to pass out. I glance back at her, briefly feeling sorry for the bright red splotches on her face, neck, and chest.
Quietly, I sneak down the main hallway, hiding behind a grandfather clock when one of the guards passes by. The entire space is cluttered with antique furniture and decorations, statuettes, and Chinese vases overflowing with flowers, an overwhelming array of details that makes it easier for me to go unnoticed.
I wait for the guard to pass through and watch him head down the hallway, praying he doesn’t stop by the kitchen, then I cross the lounge area and slip into another corridor. It’s narrower, leading to the east side of the villa.
Bill’s voice reverberates from one of the doors to my right.
I stop just outside and listen, holding my breath.
“Sheriff, I don’t pay you to just warn me about these things, I pay you to keep them away from me,” he shouts into the phone. “I don’t fucking care if it’s the White Collar Division. I don’t care if it’s the Feds or anyone else. You don’t work for them; you work for me. And you need to get those fools at the DA’s office in line, too. Get Judge Kacy to cooperate.”
The noose must be tightening around his neck.
Glancing over my shoulder to make sure no one is coming, I stick around and try to listen some more.
“I know my son has already been poking around, looking for her,” he continues. “I hope you sent him off in a different direction. Good; throw him off my scent. Margot’s been loyal so far, and something tells me she’ll stay that way, now that she knows I’ve got Matthew lined up for the inheritance. Yes, I’m at the summer house.”
The summer house. I remember Carter mentioning it more than once. It’s where the entire Lockwood family would retreat for the months of July and August. There should be a huge peach orchard just half a mile down the road. Matty and I could go through there to reach the interstate, where I can flag down a car down and ask the driver to let me use their phone and call the state troopers.
“I don’t care what the Feds want!” Bill shouts. “They’ve got nothing on me. Just don’t let them get anywhere near the judge. I’ll handle the rest.”
I hear him slam the phone down. It’s my cue to leave.
Making my way to the end of the corridor, I come upon the service stairs. They lead up to the first floor, where my room is. But there’s also a glass door here, at the bottom, giving medirect access to the garden. I turn the knob and realize it’s unlocked—an oversight perhaps?
Or are they really that confident I’d be unable to escape their clutches that locking every door is simply unnecessary?
It doesn’t matter.
I step out and look around as the morning sun hits my face and warms my cheeks. For a moment, I’m tempted to smile. It would be nice to wake up to something like this every day—the honeysuckle bushes blooming, their scent filling the air with a familiar sweetness.
