Page 89 of The Reckoning
“You’re bluffing,” he says, but there’s less conviction in his voice now.
“Am I?” I raise an eyebrow. “Ask Arson. He was there. He saw what you did. To him and to others. I’m not saying you shouldn’t pay for that, but I’m starting to realize she might be worse than you.”
Richard’s gaze shifts to his son, and something passes between them—decades of hatred compressed into a single look.
“You always were too smart for your own good. A trait you and your mother share.” Richard says to Arson, almost conversationally. “The difference between the two of you is that at least she knew how to get out of her own way.”
There it is. The opening we’ve been waiting for.
“Funny you should mention her,” Arson says, leaning forward despite his bound hands. “I’ve been thinking a lot about that day at the boathouse. About how convenient her death was for you.”
Richard’s face pales slightly. “What are you talking about? Convenient?”
“Mother was a champion swimmer in high school,” Arson continues, his voice deceptively calm. “Did you know that, Lilian? State champion three years running. Yet somehow she drowned in a boathouse barely ten feet deep. No current. No reason she couldn’t have surfaced.”
I didn’t know this. He’d told me about his mother’s death but never any of the background details pertaining to the police records.
“It was an accident,” Richard says stiffly. “She hit her head when she dove in to save Sophia.”
“That’s what was assumed, but did she?” Arson tilts his head, studying his father like he’s a particularly interesting specimen under a microscope. “The autopsy report said otherwise. No head trauma. Just…drowning. Almost like she couldn’t swim. Almost like something was preventing her from saving herself. When I hunted for the doctor who had done the autopsy, I discovered he’d passed away not long after the incident. He either has really bad luck or…”
The room grows unbearably tense, the accusation hanging in the air, its soft smoke from the fireplace filtering it. I barely dare to breathe, watching Richard’s face carefully for any reaction that might confirm what Arson is suggesting. I’m surprised to see genuine pain wash over Richard’s features, his composure cracking for the first time.
“How dare you,” he whispers, voice raw with emotion. “How dare you suggest I had anything to do with your mother’s death? I loved my wife more than anything in this world.”
Before Arson or I can respond, my mother returns with my inhaler. She pauses on the threshold, clearly sensing the tension in the room.
“What’s going on?” she asks, eyes darting between us.
“Nothing,” Richard says shortly. “Just more wild accusations.”
Mother approaches cautiously, holding out the inhaler. I take it, wondering if I should continue the charade or drop it entirely. Arson makes the decision for me.
“We were just discussing my mother’s untimely death,” he says pleasantly, as if commenting on the weather. “Specifically, whether someone might have slipped her something that made it impossible for her to swim that day.”
Mother freezes, her hand still outstretched, and something flickers across her face—not surprise, not shock, but something more calculating. Knowledge. She knows something.
“That’s absurd,” she says finally, but her voice lacks conviction. “It was a tragic accident. Nothing more.”
Arson watches her closely, missing nothing. “You know, don’t you, Patricia? You know what happened to her.”
“I know you’re disturbed,” she replies coldly. “I know you’re trying to distract us from the real issue—the confidential medical files you and Lilian stole.”
It’s too late. I’ve seen it now too—that flicker of awareness, of complicity. Mother knows exactly what Arson is talking about, and she’s terrified.
Richard is staring at my mother, something shifting in his expression. “Patricia?” he says, and there’s a question in the single word that makes my skin crawl. “What is he talking about?”
“Nothing,” she insists, but her voice has lost its usual smooth control. “He’s manipulating you, Richard. Don’t let him deflect from the problem at hand.”
Aries appears in the doorway, slightly out of breath, eyes wild as they scan the room and land on me. “What did I miss?” he asks, trying for casualness but missing by a mile.
“Perfect timing,” Arson says, voice dripping with sarcasm. “Did you know Patrica had something to do with our mother’s drowning?”
Aries’s gaze sharpens and focuses on Mother with new intensity. “What?”
“Don’t listen to him,” Mother says quickly—too quickly. “He’s trying to manipulate you, Aries. To drive a wedge between us.”
Richard takes a step toward her, his expression hardening. “Patricia, what is going on? It’s clear you know something about my wife’s death?”
