Total pages in book: 75
Estimated words: 71701 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 359(@200wpm)___ 287(@250wpm)___ 239(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 71701 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 359(@200wpm)___ 287(@250wpm)___ 239(@300wpm)
“I didn’t. You believed that all on your own.”
“You certainly didn’t correct me. And those texts. Any man would believe what I believed.”
“Haven’t you ever just had a really easy, fun friendship? Someone you don’t have to be all intense Judge-like with?” That last part she says with a mock-serious tone.
I don’t know why I’m taken aback by this. Almost confused. My friendships are serious. They always have been. I’ve never had a relationship with anyone like what I have seen between Mercedes and her friends.
“Oh, my God, you haven’t. That’s actually kind of sad, Judge,” she says without a note of mockery.
Before I can reply, my phone vibrates. “I need to take this.” I get up, grateful for the interruption.
I unlock the phone and read the text. One sister. Lana Douglas. Whereabouts unknown.
Fuck.
“What is it?”
“Nothing. Are you hungry?”
“You keep so many secrets.”
“Says the woman with a second life. Hungry?”
“You’re going to tell me what the hell is going on.”
“Nothing’s going on. Come on,” I draw the blanket away and hold out my hand. “Get dressed. We’ll have dinner downstairs.”
10
Judge
I pay my mother a visit early the following evening. She greets me in the kitchen, pouring herself a large glass of wine.
“Well, look who bothered to drop by,” she says, her back to me. “You going to call your dog off now?” She’s essentially been under house arrest since Miriam disappeared and before that, since the incident with Theron, I’d been having her followed.
“Evening, mother.” I sit down without waiting for an invitation because I’m not going to get one.
She turns to me, leans against the counter with her glass in her hands. “Are you here to tell me you’ve heard from my son?”
Her disdain of me, her very clear preference for Theron even after all he’s done shouldn’t bother me, but it still stings.
“Theron will be spending time in a rehab facility. Did you know about his addiction?”
“He’s not addicted. He just enjoys life.”
“Jesus. Are you so fucking blind?”
“He’s had a hard time of it, Judge. Not that you’d know about that.”
“I know plenty.”
“Which facility? I’ll go see him.”
“I don’t think so. Sit.”
She raises her eyebrows.
I push the chair out with my foot. “Sit. Now.”
She raises her chin. “You sound exactly like him, you know that?”
My grandfather. I don’t bother to comment. She’s goading me. Instead, I wait until she’s parked herself in the seat.
“You realize I can take everything away from you, don’t you?”
“Like you did your brother?”
“My brother hurt someone.”
“Not just anyone.” She smirks, sips her coffee. “I know you’re used to getting your way but you’re wrong on this one. That woman used him and got what she deserved.”
“He beat her.”
“A sex game that got out of hand.”
It takes all I have not to leap across the table and shake some sense into her. “I’m not here to discuss Theron. I’m here to talk about Miriam.”
“Miriam? Why would you need to talk about Miriam with me? She’s the help.” So cold. And said without the slightest change to either tone or expression. My mother is an accomplished liar. But she’s also dangerous because according to Miriam, she knows Mercedes’s secret.
“I know who she is,” I say.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Theron’s father’s sister. Which makes her his aunt. Family, really, to Theron at least. And I know what you and she planned, putting Mercedes in Theron’s path—”
“What’s this about, Judge? Are you going to haul your own mother into court for trying to play matchmaker?”
“I wasn't finished.”
“Well, heaven forbid anyone interrupt you, your honor.”
“I want to know if you had anything to do with the attack on Mercedes a few days ago.”
“What attack? What kind of person do you think I am exactly?”
“You know she has a peanut allergy. Miriam would have told you that. Her fingerprints were on the EpiPen that was tampered with.” Her face loses a little color. “The beignets that caused the allergic reaction—”
“Wait a minute.” She drinks a big swallow of wine and I wonder how many she’s had. The bottle is nearly empty. “So your girlfriend ate some beignets that made her sick and you’re trying to blame me for that?”
I ignore the girlfriend part and stand. “She could have died. Do you understand that?”
“Died? Judge… You’re exaggerating, I’m sure.”
“I can assure you I’m not.”
“I didn’t have anything to do with any tampering. If Miriam did something—”
“Vincent Douglas, mother. Vincent Douglas delivered the beignets to her.”
She looks at me blankly.
“Do you know where he is?”
“I don’t even know who he is much less where.”
“He will try to hurt her again.”
“This has nothing to do with me. I don’t know who that is. Why would I?”
I stop short of mentioning the courtesan because what if Miriam was lying about having told her? What if she doesn’t know? I can’t be the one to tell her. Give her more ammunition.