'I know, dear,' answered Amber. 'I know. But I'm trying hard to be something else. What were you doing in my house that night, Grace? You may as well tell us, since we have proof that you were there. Let me guess-you came to apologize for not talking to me for six months, for acting like I was dead.'
'To beg your forgiveness and take your money, as suggested by those big oafs you sent. Here, Mother, do you like their handiwork?' Grace lifted a foot bottom toward her mother.
I heard the slight intake of breath as Amber understood what she was seeing.
'It worked,' said Grace. 'That is exactly what I was doing at your house on July the third. I was there to surrender to you.
I had had enough. I was scared enough of you by then to carry that gun in my purse. I admit that the idea of shooting you came to mind, and it wasn't a totally unpleasant thought. But what I wanted that night was to tell you I'd given up. I was done. You had won. I didn't want any more burned body parts. I didn't want your money, either. All I wanted was to be able to sleep at night without worrying who might be outside my door.'
Grace looked steadily at me, then at her mother. The fires of anger were gone. 'What I saw in your bedroom terrified me. I thought it was you. I called Martin, but he wasn't home, called Russell, but you weren't home. Then I went to Brent's and tried to sleep. I wasn't going to call the police and talk to some rookie patrolman about my own mother's murder. Why? Because when I looked down at you, Mother; the terror didn't come from what had happened to you; it came from how.. fitting it seemed to be. Looking at your dead body made me a little bit happy. And I knew by the time all the news of our bad blood got out-Grace Wilson would be the number-one suspect So I hid out, then came here to Russell.'
I listened to the motor of the ceiling fan, the gentle whoosh of the blades. 'The nail, Grace.'
Grace looked down now, at her knees still covered by the blanket. Her voice was suddenly weaker. 'And I'll tell you some thing I have never told another human being, Russell and Amber. It almost hurts me to say it, but I will because it explains why I was there, and why my nail stayed behind.'
She looked up at Amber now with an expression so different from before, I could hardly believe it belonged to the same person. Tears welled in her lovely dark eyes and her lips so capable of scorn and sarcasm, simply trembled.
'I… I have always… in a way… I have always loved You, Mother. And when I saw you lying there, after I felt the relief of knowing you were dead and I was safe, and after I felt that horrid… satisfaction at what had happened to you, I fell down to the floor on my knees and cried and prayed and cried and prayed and I dug my fingers so hard into your carpet, the nail broke off. I didn't notice it until I was leaving. I looked for it but couldn't find it. Back home, I took off the others and threw them away so that if the police came to me, they'd see I didn't wear nails. I was too upset and too afraid to realize they'd be as easy to find in the dumpster as they would have been on my fingers. I think I probably left a fresh pack around, anyway. I'd make a lousy criminal.'
Amber took a step toward Grace, then stopped. 'When Russell told you it was Alice, why didn't you call me, Grace? Why didn't you… weren't you at least relieved I was still alive?'
'Mother,' said Grace, 'I believed you would blame it on me, as you and Russell are trying to do right now. What I wanted, more than anything, was a few days' rest with Russell-or anywhere, really-then a long vacation somewhere alone. You can't believe how horrible it was… seeing what I saw and feeling what I felt. I love you. I hate you, too, but not enough to kill you like that. Believe what you want.'
Amber stared at Grace but said nothing. There was more damnation in her silence than in any words she might have said.
Grace looked back down at her knees, sighed deeply, and rested her head against them. 'And you, Russell?' she asked quietly.
'I've always believed you, girl. How much of this have you told Martin?'
'All,' she answered, still not looking up.
Of course, I thought, it explained Parish's initial fingering of Grace at the scene, and his final decision to frame me-not her.
'Did you know he's going to charge me with Alice's murder?'
She looked up then, with a look on her face as close hopelessness as I had ever seen from her. 'I had no idea that what he was doing. He told me very little. I thought Martin was a decent man. He always was-to me, anyway. But you should know, Russell, I'll do whatever I can to help you.'
'I'm going to need your help. Parish killed Alice. Do you understand that?'
She shook her head. 'Why?'
'Because he was in line for money if Amber died, because, quite frankly, Martin Parish hates your mother more than you ever did. He hates me, too. And he found a way to knock us all down with one shot. He thought he could pull off a perfect crime.'
'I'm so sick of everything,' Grace whispered. Tears ran down her cheeks. 'Amber, I love you, but I still hate you. Russell, I'll do whatever I can to help you with Martin. I'll testify. I'll to the police.'
'You already have.'
'Then what can I do?'
Audacity, I thought. Meet Martin on his own turf, not sure yet,' I said.
Amber had already left the room.
I walked past my father in the living room, fully unconscious on a couch. I caught up with her on the deck outside. She was lighting a cigarette and her hand was shaking. I lighted it for her.
'She needs you,' I said.
'It wasn't clear to me until now.'
'You can go to her.'
'You don't understand. She's in it with Martin. She's his partner. I'm positive. Nothing on earth interested her more as a child than my men. It's her and Martin, working together. With me out of the way, it would have been millions for them both. And all the jolly good fun they could have bashing my brains all over my bedroom. I think I'm going to puke, Russell.'
She ran up into the brush of the canyon and vomited.
A few minutes later, she came back down, her shape materializing from the darkness. 'I'm going home with Theodore,' she said. 'And in the morning, I'll see the State Attorney General again. Now that I understand Grace's role, it makes all the more sense. I will not allow Martin Parish and my loving daughter to get away with this. Not at your expense, and most certainly not at mine.'
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
I hardly slept that night-or rather, morning-but the dreamy wakefulness offered me the clarity of mind that one enjoys just before falling asleep and just before fully waking. I wondered about Izzy, then wondered some more. I called the IC Unit eve: hour for reports. When I could momentarily assuage my worries about Isabella, I did my best to consider other actualities, wondered whether Amber's tack to the Attorney General might be a sound one. But again, I had no desire to meet Martin Parish on the playing field of the law-his advantage was too great.
Instead, I dreamed-or imagined-meeting Parish in Amber's house. The scene played like this: He had come to finish what he'd started on July 3. He would have the club. I would be there, a witness to his second attempt. There, I could make a citizen's arrest for burglary, which would lead to questioning, investigation, and an eventual unmasking of Parish.
I liked the directness of this action, but, at the same time Grace and I clearly needed help. Would Amber participate, perhaps help us lure Martin back to her home? Maybe. But where could we find an ally with power outside of the system? Just as the first light brought forth the basic shapes in the room around me, I thought of Erik Wald. At first, the idea seemed ridiculous, Erik being so ensconced within the court of the department. But looked at another way, I could see that he might cooperate, because taking down Martin Parish would not only clear Wald's appointment to undersherifTbut would also be the glitziest coup he might pull. Imagine the headlines when the homicide captain lay exposed by the cleverness of Professor Erik Wald and journalist Russell Monroe! And I thought, too, that Erik's natural boldness might suit him perfectly. The question was, Would he believe us, and, if
