“Well, if Tess wants to relinquish her share of the insurance money, I’ll have to look into the best way to do that,” Mr. Dare said.
“And the house?” I queried. “I don’t understand what that means, a ‘lifetime interest’ in the house.”
“A life interest simply means that you can live in the house until your death,” he said, “but you can’t sell it or pass it down to any children you might have. Upon your death, the house will revert to Ruth’s estate … or her next of kin if she predeceases you.”
Again I fell quiet. I had no need for the house. I hoped that Vincent and I would be leaving Hickory as soon as the hospital closed its doors.
“That lovely house.” Ruth shook her head sadly. “Hank was so looking forward to living there.”
Mr. Dare looked down at the paper again. “Now I believe there’s still about three hundred thousand dollars left in Henry’s trust,” he said, “so the two of you will each get half of that as well.”
Overwhelmed, I slumped a little on the sofa. So much money! I supposed a case could be made that Henry owed me something for his deception, yet … I did the math in my head … four hundred thousand dollars? I thought of Honor. Of Jilly. I would take the money. I would set up some sort of trust for Jilly once I received the funds. I certainly couldn’t make those arrangements through Byron Dare—the man who had prosecuted Henry’s friend Gaston and his colored wife. I’d have to find a lawyer outside of Hickory. One who wouldn’t have known Henry or the Kraft family. One who wouldn’t ask questions.
Mr. Dare got to his feet. “I’ll be on my way, ladies, and let you two absorb this news,” he said. “And again, to both of you, my condolences.”
Ruth and I remained quietly seated until we heard the front door open and close. Then she looked across the room at me.
“I suppose you’re happy now,” she said.
I was startled by the question. “Happy?” My skin prickled with sudden anxiety. Could she possibly know about Vincent and me? “That Henry is dead?” I asked. “How can you ask me that?”
“My son was so foolish,” she said. “Why couldn’t he have taken a couple of hours out of his busy day to write a will? This division of his money, his property—it’s not right. Surely you can see that.”
I let out my breath in relief. She knew nothing about Vincent. “I agree,” I said, attempting to be conciliatory. “I don’t need that much. Maybe Mr. Dare can help us figure out a way to—”
“You tricked my son into marrying you,” she said.
That was too much. “I did not trick him, Ruth. I—”
“Then you move into my home like you own it.” She gripped the arms of her chair, her fingers white, and I saw sudden fire in her eyes. “You, who come from some common … Italian neighborhood in Baltimore. You don’t belong here. You insinuated yourself into my life. Then you cost me my two children.”
I gasped. “Ruth, I never meant to—”
“What you meant or didn’t mean to do doesn’t matter.” Her voice held a deceptive calm in spite of my own rising anger, and I felt a shiver run up my back. “You cost me my daughter and son,” she said. “You might as well have shot Lucy through the heart. And Hank?” Her chin quivered and I tensed. I didn’t think I could bear it if she cried. “Well, all I can say is, he was alive before you came to Hickory and now he’s dead, just like my beautiful daughter. Our lives—mine, Lucy’s, and Hank’s—they were perfect before you came along. And now look at them. My children are gone and you’re still here. Is that fair?”
I was stunned. I opened my mouth to speak without knowing what I would say, but she plowed ahead before I could get a word out.
“Now you want to move into the beautiful house Hank designed and live a life of leisure with his money.” She raised one bony hand and pointed her finger at me. “I want you to leave,” she said. “I want you to get out of my house. Today. I don’t want to have to look at you another instant.”
“This is your grief talking, Ruth.” I tried to speak calmly. “Things have been so much better between you and me. Please don’t … I know you’re upset. I know you’re grieving and I am too. But it’s not fair for you to—”
“Hank was so foolish not to protect his assets from your greedy hands.”
My cheeks burned and I stood up. I’d had enough. “I never wanted to hurt Henry or you or Lucy and I certainly never asked him to leave me so much money,” I said. “But the truth is, Ruth”—I looked her directly in the eye—“I didn’t get myself pregnant.”
I turned on my heel and left her in the living room as I stormed up the stairs. She’s a sad, grieving old woman, I reminded myself once I reached the bedroom and shut the door behind me. I leaned against it. She was right: I needed to get out of this house as soon as possible. I didn’t think she and I could live under the same roof another day.
I sat on the edge of the bed thinking of all I needed to do before I could extricate myself from Ruth and her house. I had to speak to Byron Dare about how to get that “small sum” he said I could have to tide me over. Suddenly, I thought of the armoire. I had access to more than two thousand dollars in cash, right at my fingertips.
I stood up and crossed the room to the armoire, catching my reflection in the mirrored door as I turned the key in the lock. I was as pale as Ruth. It had been a hard few days. I pulled open the door and saw that the armoire’s false bottom was askew. The fabric-covered board sat at an angle, one side higher than the other. I gripped the leather strap. Lifting the board, I let out a gasp. The money was gone and in its place was a single manila envelope, this one quite bulky. Written on the white mailing label were three initials, and it took me a moment to realize they were mine. T.D.K.
I sat on the edge of the bed, the envelope in my lap as I undid the clasp. I spilled the contents onto the bed and nearly screamed. Ten fifty-dollar bills. A red C gasoline ration sticker. A booklet of C coupons.
And bones.
Three chalk-white skeletal fingers.
I stared at the contents of the envelope for a long time, and then I couldn’t help myself: I laughed.
Henry was alive.
81
I put the envelope and false bottom back in place in the armoire, grabbed my handbag, and went downstairs to call for a cab. I was relieved to discover that Ruth was in her room. I wouldn’t bother to tell her I was going out. Instead, I walked outside into the darkening night to wait for the cab, thinking about my discovery. Henry had planned this whole charade and he’d intended me to know. He’d left the bottom of the armoire askew in case I hadn’t already thought to look for the money. And he’d known exactly where he could find a skeleton to leave in the fire as his “charred bones.”
The taxi pulled up in front of me and I slipped into the backseat, breathless and excited, and gave the driver Reverend Sam’s address.
“What?” he exclaimed. “You want to go to Ridgeview now?”
“Yes,” I said. “I do. And I’d like you to wait for me. I may be as long as an hour. All right?”