Chapter 5 - THE DEAD MICROPHONE
The silver bracelet felt as heavy as a lead weight in my palm.
To Thomas. Forever Yours, V.
Thomas. My late husband. The man I had been married to for forty years. The man who had supposedly died of a sudden, massive heart attack in his home office six months ago.
V. Vanessa.
I stared blindly at the designer clothes in the suitcase, the air suddenly too thin to breathe. Vanessa hadn't met Daniel at a charity gala three years ago by coincidence. She had targeted him.
Answer One, Open Two.
I knew now that Vanessa had a prior relationship with my husband. But what kind of relationship? Was she an estranged daughter from a secret affair? A former employee? Or something much darker?
I shoved the bracelet into my coat pocket, alongside the stolen pocket watch, the fake demolition receipt, and the empty pill bottle. I grabbed the manila envelope with the fake passports and the Swiss flight itinerary.
I walked back to Leo’s room. He was sitting on the edge of his bed, his small Batman backpack clutched tightly to his chest.
"Ready, brave boy?" I asked, forcing a calm smile I absolutely did not feel.
He nodded silently.
"I need you to be very brave for five more minutes," I told him, kneeling down to his eye level. "We are going to walk out to my car. You are going to lock the doors and play games on my iPad until I come back. I have to go talk to your dad."
"Don't let Mommy see you," he whispered.
"She’s going to see me," I replied, standing up. "Everyone is going to see me."
I escorted Leo out the back door, through the garden, and safely into my Volvo parked near the garage. I handed him the iPad, locked the doors with my fob, and turned toward the party.
The time for sneaking around was over.
I marched up the sloping lawn toward the cedar deck. The fairy lights twinkled innocently overhead. The guests were sipping champagne and eating the brisket I had spent three days smoking. They were laughing.
They didn't notice the widow in the navy coat walking with the furious, undeniable purpose of a woman with nothing left to lose.
I bypassed the crowded bar and walked straight to the DJ booth set up on the corner of the deck. A young man with headphones was adjusting a laptop.
"Excuse me," I said, my voice sharp and commanding.
He looked up, surprised. "Oh, hey Mrs. Vance. Great party."
"Give me the microphone," I demanded, holding out my hand.
He blinked, taken aback by my tone. "Uh, sure. Do you want me to cut the music for a toast?"
"Cut it entirely."
He slid the fader down. The sudden absence of upbeat pop music caused a ripple of confusion across the lawn. Twenty-six heads turned toward the deck. Conversations died.
I stepped up to the edge of the stairs, looking down at the sea of wealthy investors, fake friends, and the son who had sold his soul.
Vanessa was standing near the fire pit with Marcus, the lead investor. Her smile faltered, replaced instantly by a look of panicked fury. She started marching toward the stairs.
I raised the microphone to my mouth.
"Good evening, everyone," I said loudly. But my voice didn't echo across the lawn.
I tapped the microphone. Nothing. A dead, hollow thud.
A cruel, Reversal of a smile spread across Vanessa’s face. She stopped walking and crossed her arms.
I looked down at the DJ equipment. A thick black wire had been violently yanked from the back of the amplifier, the metal jack sheared clean off.
Vanessa had seen me coming.
"Are you lost, Ruth?" Vanessa called out loudly, her voice easily carrying over the quiet crowd. "We talked about this. You're supposed to be resting. The doctor said these manic episodes would get worse at night."
A murmur of sympathetic pity rippled through the guests. Marcus shook his head sadly.
I didn't panic. I didn't yell. I reached into my coat pocket.
"I don't need a microphone to show Marcus the forged environmental reports," I said, projecting my voice naturally. "Or to show him your flight itinerary to Zurich tomorrow with Julian Hayes."
Vanessa’s face went perfectly, horrifyingly pale.
But before I could pull the documents from my pocket, a heavy hand grabbed my shoulder from behind, spinning me around.
It was Daniel.
His eyes were bloodshot, his jaw clenched so tight a muscle ticked in his cheek. He didn't look like a son protecting his mother. He looked like a cornered animal.
"That's enough, Mom," Daniel growled, grabbing my wrist with shocking force. "You're trespassing. This isn't your property anymore."
"Let go of me, Daniel," I warned, staring into the eyes of the stranger I had raised.
May you like
"I called the police ten minutes ago," Daniel said, his voice loud enough for the crowd to hear. "They're on their way. You need a psychiatric hold, Mom. It's for your own good."
In the distance, the faint wail of police sirens began to echo across the lake.
