Colony 04 - Wicked Ways Read online

  Barbara’s gaze turned frosty. “This is something we need to do.”

  Elizabeth frowned. “I don’t know that—”

  “I’m not going with you,” Chloe interrupted.

  “Of course you are,” Barbara bulldozed over her, walking closer to the island where Chloe rolled her eyes upward to hold her stare. “We all need to say good-bye to your daddy, honey.”

  “I’m going to preschool to see my friends,” Chloe said, forking a big chunk of pancake into her mouth, though her gaze didn’t leave her aunt’s.

  “Not today, you’re not.” Barbara told her tautly.

  “Mmmmhmmm,” Chloe mumbled.

  Elizabeth could see the way her jaw was starting to jut out in the stubborn way that warned of a battle to come. An Ellis trait that Court and Barbara also possessed.

  “Today you’re going to the funeral,” Barbara told her flatly.

  “Nope.” Chloe was unmoved.

  Barbara, who had no children of her own, turned to Elizabeth and demanded, “You tell her that we’re going to the funeral.”

  Elizabeth bristled. She’d already had a run-in with her father, whom she rarely spoke with for too many reasons to count, one of them being that he hadn’t liked Court at all. Luckily, he hadn’t offered to come to the service when she’d called to give him the news, so the only person she had to deal with was Court’s sister who was determined to throw her weight around. “I’m going to let her go to preschool,” Elizabeth decided, taking a sip from her cup.

  Barbara’s gasp was loud enough to be heard through the whole house. “She needs to be at the service. Courtland was her father!”

  “It’s been a tough week for all of us. If Chloe feels more comfortable at her school, let her go.”

  “Yeah,” Chloe said, finishing her last bite and reaching for her cup of milk. She took several large gulps and climbed down from the bar stool.

  “Chloe, you need to change your attitude,” Barbara said.

  “You sound just like Daddy.” Chloe stalked off to her room and slammed the door.

  Barbara turned to Elizabeth in outrage. “What are you going to do about that?”

  “Give her a little room, Barbara. Please.”

  “You’re letting her walk all over you!”

  “I’m letting her deal. She just lost her father and it’s been tough on all of us, her included. I don’t really care whether she’s at the funeral or not.”

  “But—”

  “I’m not sure how much she’s grasped of Court’s death. And she’s been having these flulike bouts that the doctor can’t seem to diagnose.” Elizabeth admitted. “Feverish, loss of appetite . . . anyway, I’m just worried, and I don’t—”

  “I can’t believe you’re giving in to her again!” Barbara was aghast.

  “This is my call. I just want my daughter to be okay.” Elizabeth felt her anger rise and steadfastly tamped it down.

  “It’s a mistake, Elizabeth. That child runs this place. I’ve seen it since I’ve been here. You make her lunches and she gets to choose whatever she wants to eat. She stays up till eight o’clock every night, and she wears whatever she wants from her closet even though she looks like a ragamuffin.” As if she realized she’d crossed an invisible line, Barbara stiffened a bit. “I’m sorry, Elizabeth, I know things are . . . difficult right now, but someone needs to speak their mind around here.”

  “So I guess that would be you, right?” Elizabeth said, not hiding her sarcasm.

  Barbara barreled on. “You’re just letting her do whatever she wants and she’s rude! You’re not doing her any favors, you know.”

  “Her father died in an auto accident less than a week ago,” Elizabeth pointed out more calmly than she wanted. “I give her three choices for her lunch and she picks one. She’s always gone to bed at eight, and she likes to do it herself so I let her select her own clothes. I think it shows independence.”

  “Well, she needs to go to this funeral, and she needs to be dressed appropriately.” Barbara swept up her purse, headed toward the front door, stopping to examine her reflection in the hall mirror. “We should get there early, so chop-chop. Time to get Chloe dressed. And you, too,” she added, eyeing Elizabeth’s bathrobe.

  In a controlled voice, Elizabeth said, “You go on ahead. I’ll meet you there.”

  “What about Chloe?”

  “I told you. I’m not taking her.”

  “Oh, please, Elizabeth. Court would want her there.”

  Elizabeth’s jaw tightened and she almost blurted, “Court didn’t want her at all, if you want to know the truth,” but managed to stay her tongue.

  “Go get dressed, and I’ll get Chloe,” Barbara said, heading down the hall toward Chloe’s room.

  “No.”

  Barbara turned her neck to give Elizabeth a look, but kept moving forward.

  “I said no, Barbara. She’s my child and she’s going to preschool,” Elizabeth stated firmly as she tamped down her outrage at her sister-in-law’s high-handedness. “I’ll meet you at the funeral later.”

  Barbara stopped short and heaved a huge sigh. “Do we have to have this drama?”

  “Nope. That’s why you’re leaving.” Elizabeth walked to the front door and held it open.

  Barbara hesitated.

  Elizabeth waited.

  “Oh, for the love of God. I can’t believe you’re doing this. This is so childish.” Barbara reluctantly walked back toward Elizabeth.

  “I’d agree with you on that.” Elizabeth was firm and as soon as Barbara was across the threshold, she closed the door hard.

  Good riddance, she thought, closing her eyes slowly. She counted to ten, releasing her anger, reclaiming whatever bit of equanimity she could grasp. It wasn’t the time to let her emotions run wild.

  Finally calm again, she walked to her bedroom, rifled through her closet and found a dark gray dress with a matching bolero jacket edged in black piping, her most somber outfit. Once she was dressed, she helped Chloe pick out pants and a shirt for school, along with closed-toe shoes, a preschool requirement, then bundled her into the Escape.

  They drove to the school in silence for most of the trip. As they turned into the parking lot for the school, Chloe announced from the backseat, “I don’t like her.”

  “Who, honey?” Elizabeth asked, though she guessed.

  “Aunt Barbara. She’s mean.”

  A bully. “I don’t like her much, either,” Elizabeth said, and met Chloe’s eyes in the mirror. The tentative smile on her daughter’s lips was the first she’d seen in a long, long time, and Elizabeth grinned back.

  “I’ll go if you want me to,” Chloe said. “To Daddy’s funeral.”

  Elizabeth’s heart cracked. She had to blink back tears. “It’s up to you.”

  “I don’t want to.”

  “Then go to school,” Elizabeth urged and cut the engine. As she helped Chloe out of the car seat, she said, “I’ll tell you all about it later, if you want to know.”

  “I love you, Mommy,” Chloe said, taking Elizabeth’s hands as help for the first time in weeks. Glancing up and squinting, she wrinkled her nose, then swung her mother’s arm as they walked toward the front doors of the preschool.

  “Love you, too, pumpkin.” Elizabeth answered, trying to remember the last time her independent daughter had held her hand, let alone told her she loved her.

  Seated next to Barbara in the front row at the funeral home and throughout the director’s long and sonorous recounting of the life of Courtland Ellis, Elizabeth could feel waves of anger emanating from her husband’s sister. Court hadn’t been a man to forgive easily and apparently Barbara wasn’t a forgiving woman, either.

  Several rows behind her, one of the women who worked with Court sobbed as if her heart were broken. Hearing that, Elizabeth assessed her own feelings and knew she felt sadness, numbness, and a sense of total displacement. Still, she wouldn’t have been able to manufacture a tear if her own life depended on it, and sh
e wondered what that meant to Detective Thronson whom she’d seen in the back row when she’d entered after everyone else had been seated. Did the detective think she was disaffected? Did that make her seem guilty? The investigation into Court’s death was ongoing. Though no one was saying it was anything but an accident, Elizabeth sensed the police were leaning in that direction.

  You aren’t responsible. You didn’t kill him. You couldn’t have.

  She shivered. She couldn’t help it. Barbara looked over at her and scowled and for just a moment Elizabeth’s temper flared. She’d about had it with Court’s sister and could hardly wait for her to fly home. With a concentrated effort, she tamped her negative feelings back down.

  Barbara had insisted upon a graveside service as well, so an hour later, Elizabeth stood beneath a canopy next to the open grave and watched as the coffin was lowered into the ground. A ring of King palms fluttered in a brisk breeze and gooseflesh rose on Elizabeth’s skin.

  Barbara had made noise about having an open coffin and a viewing, but on that Elizabeth had put her foot down. She’d identified Court’s body and though his face hadn’t been damaged, she felt that was enough. At that point, she hadn’t known which way Chloe would fall on going to the service for her father and Elizabeth wasn’t going to have Court’s dead face be the last image in her daughter’s mind. Barbara had acquiesced with ill grace.

  Rain fell fitfully, making soft ponk-ponk sounds on the canvas canopy. The wind picked up, swaying the palms high overhead and a sudden thunk startled everyone when a huge frond dropped onto the pavilion just as a woman began to sing a hymn. Her voice warbled for a moment, but she pulled herself together and sang on with strength.

  And then it was over. Elizabeth greeted people who walked by and offered sympathy, watching as Barbara began hugging everyone as if they were best friends. As soon as she could, Elizabeth escaped the crowds and picked her way toward the parking lot over somewhat soggy grass from a surprisingly hard rain the night before. The wind was gusting and rain began to fall again.

  Her friend Tara met up with her. “I’d be happy to pick up Chloe today. She and Bibi can play together, and you can come get her whenever you’re ready. Will that work?”

  “That would be terrific. Thanks, Tara,” Elizabeth said, heartfelt. “I’ll call the preschool.” The children of a number of Elizabeth’s Moms Group friends attended Bright Day Preschool with Chloe. Tara’s name was on the list of people who were allowed to pick up her daughter.

  “Not a problem.”

  Several other of her Moms Group friends caught up to her as they all headed toward their vehicles. Honey-haired, green-eyed Deirdre Czursky gave her a fierce hug. Her son Chad was in Chloe’s home room and a good friend to her.

  “How’re you doing? The truth now,” Deirdre said, finding an umbrella and clicking it open.

  “So-so.”

  “Well, you look great, if that means anything to you. Hang in there,” she advised.

  Vivian Eachus, her blond-streaked, curly hair banded into its ubiquitous ponytail poof, looked alien in a dark skirt and sweater as Elizabeth almost always saw her in Lululemon workout gear. Vivian’s daughter Lissa was bolder and louder than Chloe, a little stockier and slightly taller. With her straight brown hair forever falling out of the glittery clips Vivian forced her to wear, Lissa was bossy and headstrong, even more so than Chloe, which made the two girls wary friends.

  “I’m so sorry about all this,” Vivian said, also giving Elizabeth a quick hug as the rain started in earnest.

  “Me, too. It’s just awful,” said Vivian’s friend Nadia. She sometimes joined their meetings even though she didn’t have a child. According to Vivian, Nadia had been trying to conceive like mad for years, but it just hadn’t happened. There had been talk of in vitro, apparently, but Nadia still was slim as a reed. Elizabeth couldn’t pull out her last name no matter how hard she tried, so she just gave up; it had been that kind of week.

  Nadia bit her lip, then gazed at Elizabeth through stricken blue eyes. “Look,” she said and squeezed Elizabeth’s hand hard. “If you need anything . . . ?” She left the question open.

  “Thank you.” Elizabeth gave her a crooked smile.

  It had to be difficult for Nadia to be part of their Moms Group, given her situation, but she had insisted she wanted to join and be with them all and had made it clear that she didn’t want them to hold back, or make concessions for her just because she was childless. She had assured them more than once that it was therapeutic for her to be around the kids, so they all tried not to tiptoe around Nadia’s feelings. The truth was, she didn’t always come to their gatherings. Then again, none of them could make all the events.

  The women who’d attended the funeral were only a faction of the larger group, but they were closest to Elizabeth, the ones she hung out with, the ones she considered her friends.

  Bending her head against a fresh gust of wind, she walked quickly through the rain, only to hear her name shouted above the wind. “Liz?”

  She turned to spy Jade Rivers, the final member of her closest friends, the only people who shortened Elizabeth’s name.

  “Hey, wait up.” Jade was flagging her down. A tall, statuesque African-American woman, Jade was six months pregnant with her second son, whom she planned to name Liam. Her firstborn, Little Nate, as everyone called him, was nearly a year younger than Chloe and therefore in the class behind her in school.

  Catching up to her, Jade hugged Elizabeth fiercely, her voice catching. “Oh . . . God, this is so awful. I mean I . . . I can’t believe it. I’m just . . . just so sorry, Liz. You know I’m there for you. Whatever I can do to help, you just call me, okay.” She blinked back tears and held her friend at arms’ length as the rain peppered the ground.

  “I will.”

  “Promise?” Jade demanded. “I mean it, Liz.”

  Elizabeth nodded. “Believe me, I’ll let you know.”

  “Good.” Jade ducked her head against the rain and dashed for her SUV, just as Elizabeth hit the remote to unlock her own.

  It was over. At last.

  As the wipers swiped at the rain, she drove home lost in random memories of her marriage to Court.

  It had been so hot on their wedding day, and he’d been in a bad mood. She recalled how he battled back and forth with the people they purchased their house from, insisting that she keep going back to the other agent with yet another demand. He’d been unhappy when he learned they were having a girl. He’d flirted outrageously with attractive, twentysomething women, then pretended that she was the one who had a jealousy problem.

  Yeah, their marriage had been dying for a long while she decided as she drove into the garage and walked into the house they’d shared. Funny, it didn’t seem any emptier than it had when Court was alive, but then he’d rarely been home.

  She understood why her vague suspicions, those worries she’d buried deep in denial, had finally been unearthed.

  Once in her bedroom, she glanced at the racks of his clothes neatly pressed and hung in the closet—jackets and slacks, suits and ties. Her throat clogged for a second, not so much for the death of the man or the marriage, but for the demise of the dreams. Her dreams.

  Before she could go any further down that dark emotional path, she changed into fashionable sweats of her own; Vivian wasn’t the only one who wore Lululemon and the like.

  Later in the afternoon, she found a bottle of chardonnay in the fridge. Opened a few days earlier, the bottle was less than a third full. She poured a glass and tasted the wine. Satisfied that it was still good, she carried her glass and the bottle to one of the sea grass chairs that faced a wide window to the backyard. The window was open a bit, a little breeze slipping into the room. Sipping the white wine she observed the rain spatter between the slats of the white wooden portico that shaded the corner of the slate patio.

  I’m going to have to sell, she thought. During the week, she’d taken a very brief look into their accounts and finances o
nly to learn that Court had been stealing from Peter to pay Paul and they were virtually broke.

  Well, except you have Mazie’s clients now, don’t you?

  Elizabeth swallowed hard. Mazie Ferguson, her boss, the hard-driving, bitch-on-wheels whom Elizabeth had also wished dead. Mazie, who’d also died in an auto accident. The difference was that Mazie had been way over the legal alcohol limit when her Lexus had sailed off the edge of the 55 freeway. Luckily, she hadn’t killed anyone on the street where her car had landed in a crumpled heap of twisted metal. Only Mazie had died. But then, she was the only person Elizabeth had silently wished dead.

  “I didn’t kill her,” she said aloud, smelling the eucalyptus, watching the shivering, fingerlike green leaves of the rafus plant dance in the breeze.

  Chapter 3

  The doorbell rang and Elizabeth thought, what now? She walked to the front door, recognizing the shape of Barbara’s hat through the translucent glass panels inset into the thick panels of her front door. Great.

  Reluctantly, she opened the door to her sister-in-law who bustled inside.

  Immediately and with disapproval, Barbara eyed Elizabeth’s half-drunk glass of chardonnay. “People are talking about you, you know,” she warned once in the foyer.

  It had begun to pour outside again and Elizabeth watched Barbara shrug out of her dripping coat, rain puddling onto the travertine of the entry floor. “The rain’s supposed to be gone by tomorrow,” she said distractedly.

  “Elizabeth,” Barbara snapped in annoyance and started in again. “Chloe should have been at her father’s funeral.”

  “I’ll hang your coat in the closet. It’ll drip on the floor, but it’s travertine, too, so it should be okay.”

  “For God’s sake, are you deaf?”

  “No, I was just tuning you out. Chloe didn’t go and I don’t want to talk about it anymore. It’s over.”

  “Give me the hanger. You’ve got a glass of wine in your hand and I don’t want you to spill it—”