Page 110 of The Lost Heiress
Later, Florence would drag Saoirse’s limp, soaked body back to her room. She would dry her hair and change her into fresh clothes and, many nights later, lay her to rest in the ground outside the east wing, where the holes had been dug for the new footings. And she would carry that secret for over four decades, all alone, never telling a soul. For it was some small, strange comfort to her, always knowing where Saoirse was, that she would never leave Cliffhaven and, above all else, that no one could ever hurt her again.
Chapter Forty-Five
Present
Detective Church reached forward and turned off the tape recorder.
“My God,” Ransom Towers muttered from his chair across the room. There were tears in his eyes. “Mrs. Talbot.”
Detective Church stood and unclipped the handcuffs from his belt. “Florence Talbot,” he said, “you are under arrest for the murder of Salvador Santos. You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say or do can and will be used against you in a court of law.”
“Surely that’s not necessary,” Ransom said, rising from his seat. “She was acting in defense of my sister. Saoirse was just a child. That man—he was a predator. That’s not murder, that’s ...” He trailed off, searching for the word.
“I’m sorry, Senator Towers,” Church said, and part of him really was. “But that’ll be for a judge to decide.”
“At least put away your handcuffs,” Ransom said. “Let us have some dignity. I can bring her down to the station in my car.”
“I’m afraid I have to follow protocol here,” Church said. He couldn’t be sure that Florence wasn’t a flight risk. With Ransom being sympathetic to her case, and the vast resources at his disposal, Churchcouldn’t be sure whether she would indeed make it down to the station or disappear into the ether. He couldn’t take that chance.
“You cannot be serious,” Ransom said. He had made his way across the room at this point and was hovering protectively over where Florence sat on the sofa. He looked pointedly over his shoulder at Elena. “Get Mr. Ferguson, our attorney, on the phone.”
Elena looked frozen and startled, like a deer caught in headlights.
“Senator Towers, please,” Church said, but Florence cut in, her voice soft and placating.
“My dear boy,” Florence said, standing, “it’s all right.” She put her hand on Ransom’s cheek, and he stilled. “I’ve carried this with me for a long time, and the weight of it was getting too heavy for me to bear,” she went on. “I’m grateful to finally put it down, to be able to tell you what really happened to Saoirse, to put an end to the not knowing. But that peace comes with a price, I fear, and I must pay it. I knew that from the moment they pulled her from the ground. I’ve spent the last several weeks coming to terms with it, and I finally have. And if I can, then you must too.”
Church saw Ransom Towers’s face soften and fall. In that moment, he didn’t look like a powerful politician or the stalwart patriarch of the great Towers dynasty, but like a child. Helpless. Small.
Elena made her way over to Ransom, slipped her hand into his. As she planted a kiss on his shoulder, Church noticed that she was crying.
“We can bring her home after you book her?” Ransom asked, looking at Detective Church again. “Whatever the bail amount, I’ll pay it. It doesn’t matter.”
Church cleared his throat. “That’ll be up to the judge too,” he said.
“Penny can fill my spot until you find a replacement,” Florence told Ransom. “She’s a smart girl, and she knows how I run things. And I already put the request in to the cook for dinner—pot roast, your favorite,” she said.
She gave Ransom one more comforting pat and then offered up her wrists to Church. He cuffed her, and she walked with him, stalwartly,toward his car, the staff gathering in the halls and on the stairwell, open mouthed, heads bent in whispers as they passed.
As they pulled out of the drive, Church glanced in the rearview mirror at Florence in the back seat.
“Are you comfortable?” he asked. “I can turn up the AC if you’re hot.”
Florence chuckled. “Detective Church,” she said, patting her arthritic knees. “I haven’t been comfortable since 1996.” She turned and looked thoughtfully out the window at the house as it slowly receded from view. “I always thought I’d die here,” she said.
Her words made Church’s heart pinch painfully in his chest.
“Can I ask you something, Florence?” Church said.
He saw her nod in the rearview mirror.
“You seem very composed,” he went on. “Very calm, despite everything. Why is that?”
Florence chuckled again and shook her head. “You young people are very preoccupied with the present, with what’s happening right this instant,” she said. “You think of everything as so final, so permanent. When you get to be my age, you start to realize that it’s never the end, not really. Things always go on, in some way. Things always change. If today, things look terrible, well, tomorrow, they might look differently. Even death,” Florence said after a moment, “is not final. I’ve carried Doris with me, Astrid, Saoirse, for over half a century now. I don’t think we really die until the people who knew us, who loved us, are gone too.”
Florence looked out the passenger-side window again. Now, all that was in her view was the ocean and, above it, a gray, bleak sky. But Church could still see Cliffhaven as he looked at her in the rearview mirror, framed in the car’s back window. It was much smaller now, the stone a pale yellow as it reflected back the overcast sky.
“I suppose, in a way, then, Iwilldie here,” Florence said, “one day.”
