“Like video-gamer kids who solve mysteries in Iceland.”
He nodded enthusiastically. “Those books weren’t art, but they moved people. And that’s what I’m looking for. An international bestselling phenomenon that everybody in the world is dying to read.”
My mouth went dry, but I tried to look blasé. “You really think people will want to read it?”
“Of course. It’s dirt. The dirtiest dirt there is. On one of the most treasured celebrities around.” He smiled. “People are shitty, Megan. They’re shitty, but they like to think they’re smart. They want to solve a mystery. They want things set right, for justice to prevail. For the evildoers to get what they deserve. Do you see what I’m saying here? Do you see what we’ve got? A beloved celebrity, a neglected—dare I say abused?—daughter. A crime perpetrated on an innocent kid, way down in Asscrack, Georgia, who’s now all grown up and ready to spill her guts. And to top it off . . .” He beamed. “To top that motherfucker off . . .” He spread his arms like a manic preacher behind the pulpit, his eyes aflame, his fluffy hair gone haywire. “A cover-up!”
A cover-up. My mother had participated in a cover-up.
I felt something else now—a frisson of fear shaking loose the tender vines of hope inside me. My mother was a powerful woman. I’d seen her shut people down. Put them in their place. Hurt them deeply. I didn’t know how she would do it, exactly, what means she would implement, but if she was backed into a corner, she would strike. She would hit hard and hurt me, without a second’s hesitation.
There were things Frances knew about me. People I had loved. Secrets I kept. If she wanted to, she could use them to hurt me . . . and others. To destroy lives.
“It’s a grand slam, Megan,” he said. “Yours for the taking.”
I scanned the shelves, the rows and rows of books that formed her fortress walls. Maybe Asa was right. Maybe victory was mine for the taking. Maybe freedom from my mother’s lies and the hold they had on me was within my reach. But that didn’t mean I had to take it. Or that this was the right time.
I stepped away from the door. “You should probably go.”
He stood. “It doesn’t have to be about the money or the revenge. Forget those things. Think about this: there are so many victims in the world. People starving, imprisoned, dying of disease, and there’s not a goddamn thing you or I can do about it. But Doro . . . Doro’s different. You can actually change this woman’s life, Megan. By telling the truth about your mother, you become her hero.”
“I just said I wanted you to go. Do you want me to call the police to prove it?”
He stood. “Will you think about it?”
I could feel his eyes on me. They’d lost their crazy fire and were now opaque again, that murky gray color, like the rest of him.
“Probably not,” I said.
He nodded once, but didn’t move. He was staring at me again, this time in the most disconcerting way.
“What?”
“I know about Graeme Barnish,” he said.
I felt myself redden. “What do you know?”
“That you were seen with him occasionally. Around town. Martha’s Vineyard.”
I swallowed. “You don’t have any right . . .”
“I know that your mother knew what was going on.”
I had the feeling of being slapped, and the breath whooshed out of my lungs. I cleared my throat. “Get out.”
“A mom who lets her sixteen-year-old daughter party with a thirty-year-old man? A married one, at that? What a cool mom.”
I held my breath. My whole body felt engulfed in flames.
“Or a neglectful one, depending on who you’re talking to.” He cocked his head sympathetically.
“Go.” I moved toward him, but before I could push him out the door, he raised both hands.
“All I’m saying is that a good mother, a loving mother, doesn’t allow that kind of thing.”
I turned my face away, so he couldn’t see the effect his words were having on me. The way my face was burning.
“She was trying to sabotage you, Meg. Trying to hurt you, don’t you see that? Because she was jealous or insecure or something.” His voice had softened.
“Get out.”
“Something’s wrong with her. On the inside. You know that, don’t you?”
Images of Graeme were flooding my head. The feel of his scrubby beard rough against my face. The spicy smell of him. My head hitting the wall. Blood in my mouth.
If Asa didn’t leave now, I was going to burst into tears. Or worse, physically assault him. I’d learned to scratch like a champion, even throw a solid punch, at a few of the boarding schools I’d attended. The offspring of the megawealthy can be an especially brutal crew. And now the guy was regarding me with something that looked a hell of a lot like pity. It was too much to bear.
“Okay, I’m leaving,” he said.
He strode down the hall, then crossed the living room. I trailed him into the foyer, where he turned to me.
“I . . . ah. I actually came here today . . .” His voice seemed to constrict and sink into his chest. “I came here to . . . ,” he tried again.
I wrapped my arms around my torso. “What?”
“I’m so sorry to tell you that Edgar passed earlier this morning.”
My breath hitched, and everything muffled around me. It seemed like I’d been dunked underwater, sounds and lights gone wavy and distorted. I blinked a few times. Tried to fill my lungs with air. I was only vaguely aware of the needling sensation in my hands and feet.
“Megan? Are you okay?”
“I’m—” I waved him off, even though he hadn’t offered his assistance.
“The hospital called me. I’m so sorry. I mean, you know. My condolences.” The word sounded false coming out of his mouth.
I couldn’t speak.
“I know you were really close to him.”
And then, suddenly, I could speak. “Fuck you,” I growled. “Fuck you for coming here and talking about some stupid book before you told me about Edgar!”
“Well, I . . .” He must’ve registered my murderous look, because he gulped down the argument. “No. You’re right. Absolutely right. I’m so sorry.”
I staggered back and sank down on a spindly-looking gold-leaf bamboo chair. He didn’t move toward me.
“I’ve contacted Frances,” he said. “In California. She’s arranging the memorial service, but she won’t be coming back for it. She said she doesn’t—”
“Do funerals. I know.” My voice sounded like an animal’s cry.
The realization washed over me. Edgar really was gone. And my mother wasn’t even coming home to say good-bye to him. The man who’d done everything for her. Who’d made her who she was.
I’d always thought she had loved him, but I’d been wrong. It was clear she’d never felt anything other than a business obligation to him. Maybe she really was an icy-hearted bitch—the Mommie Dearest Asa said she was. I would be Edgar’s only family at his funeral. His Pip. I bit my lip to keep from screaming. Balled my fists over my eyes.
“Megan?”