VH1.03-Confessions

“Forgive me father, for I have sinned.” I took a breath. “This is how I’m supposed to start this confession thing, right?”


         Confessionals. I never liked them very much. They’re all cramped and small and smell like wicker and old people. They say confession is good for the soul. I don’t know if I technically have a soul, but, it can’t hurt, right? Honestly, I think the only reason I showed up at church was to get to talk without worrying about who’s listening. Someone overheard me talking once. That didn’t end pretty.

         “What seems to be troubling you, miss?”

         “Nothing. I mean, I’m supposed to feel bad about the things I’ve done, I guess. I killed someone, but, just one person, so, that’s not like going to send me to hell, right?”


         "Um – kill? Well, it depends. Was this an act of self-defense?”

         “No.” I needed to get my nails done. This natural tones thing wasn’t working for me. I wanted red. Bright, candy apple red. “Not really. He wasn’t hurting me. Well, not when he died. It’s not like it was a horrible, prolonged death or anything. I just shoved him down a flight of stairs. Okay, so, when I saw he wasn’t dead and bashed his skull in with a golf club, that might have been taking it a little bit far, but, really, wasn’t it his fault for having his golf clubs there to begin with?”

         The priest was silent. Why did priests always go silent on me when I got to this part?

         “Alright. Fine. It was bad. Maybe I shouldn’t have bashed his skull in with the golf club. There was an axe downstairs, but, I was wearing a dress and that basement was gross and dusty. Besides, if I left him lying there, someone could have called for help. Then I would have had to have snuck in the hospital and figured out some way of killing him there – and, there are cameras in hospitals.” I tapped the wicker partition. “Hello? Are you still there?”

         “Yes. My child, I believe you are in need of serious spiritual guidance, guidance I’m not sure I’m the right person to offer you.”

         “Oh!” I laughed. “No, see, you’re not supposed to save my soul or anything. I just wanted to tell someone what I did and, well, you can’t tell anyone. But, if it makes you uncomfortable talking about what I did, then, want to talk about what I’m about to do?”

         The priest cleared his throat. I imagined he was in there playing with his rosary. Or, one of those nifty little hand-held Nintendo games. Through the partition, I could see that his hair was dark, kind of like Luke’s, although, there were a few premature speckles of gray throughout Luke’s. Also, he smelled like this odd mixture of sandalwood and cinnamon. I guess someone buys his cologne at the K-Mart. But, who can blame him? I hear priests don’t get paid all that much.

         “Go on.” He instructed me.

         “I’m going to kill someone else, but, before you get your boxers all in a twist, there will be no stairs or golf clubs or axes involved.” I crossed my legs. “Hey, wait a sec. Boxers. You priest people are allowed to wear boxers, right? Or, is there a commandment against wearing comfortable underwear? I’m not sure if you can tell, but, I kind of skipped most of the services when I was younger.”

         Again, he cleared his throat. That was getting kind of distracting. “Miss, is this a prank? My time is valuable.”

         “Oh, no. No prank. Cross my heart and hope to die. Speaking of dying…back to what I was saying.” I could hear him shift on the other side of the partition. “There’s this woman. A complete waste of space. Her name’s Violet. I’m going to kill her. Not in the literal sense, just, in the metaphorical sense.”

          “Why?” I could hear the frustration in his voice. Aren’t these people supposed to be considerate and empathetic? Guess they’re too busy molesting little choirboys to practice what they preach. “What could she have done that’s so bad you’d wish for her death, metaphorical or otherwise?”

         What hadn’t she done?

         “You don’t know her like I know her. I’ve known her for years and, really, she’s got this coming to her. She’s one of those people, no matter how much she screws up, she never pays for it. Then, there’s me, someone who’s really only screwed up once – okay, twice, if you count what I did to clean up that little murder thing – and, I’ve been paying for it for like fifteen years now.”

         “And, how do you plan on going about this?”

         I wasn’t sure if I should answer him. I’d seen enough of those movies to know that when the villain reveals himself to the hero in the final act, and then stands around wielding his weapon while delivering some long, drawn-out speech about what he’d done and his motives, it always gives the good guy a leg-up and time enough to get away. Sure, Vi was the villain and I was the hero of this movie, but, I was never one for laying all my cards down on the table before all the final bets were placed.

         Instead, I’d show him just a couple.

         “I’ve been sending her messages. In fact, when I leave, I’m going to send her another message. This one will have to be bigger than the others. I’m not sure she’s very intimidated by those.”

         “I see. What do these notes say?”

         “They’re your standard threats. ‘Hope you trip and fall into your toaster and burn your face off.’ ‘I wish you’d get Anthrax in the mail.’ Normal things, really. The point is, she just laughs them off. So, I’m going to have to bring out the big guns.”

         “Guns?”

         “Not literal guns.”

         “Thank goodness.”

         I looked at my watch. Time was flying. Time had a bad habit of doing that.

         “It’s like, take her fiancé for instance. He lies to her about not being able to meet for lunch because he’s working. Then, she catches him coming out of the Fowler Suites with this blonde woman with ginormous breasts who just happens to be both his ex-fiancée and his first true love. Then, he invites this other woman to an intimate family gathering and spends the entire night sitting near her and trying to make himself into someone she’d approve of by pretending he doesn’t like things he, under normal circumstances, loves. Does she dump him like a self-respecting woman? No! She decides she’s not only going to make sure their wedding takes place, but she’s going to hire this gross, wormy PI to dig up dirt on said ex-fiancée, trying to run her off, when the guy’s not worth it in the first place. He’s not even good in bed.”

         Shifting again. Some people just didn’t understand.

         “So, you’re punishing her for being in love?”

         “No!” Sure, I don’t believe in love, but, not even I am that anti-romance. “I’m not punishing her for being in love. I’m punishing her for wasting her time. She’s young. He’s an ass. He’s not even all that cute, unless you go for the Mark Paul Gosselaar look. Now, his brother, that is one fine man. He’s got these arms! I swear, if I didn’t suspect he has a little bit of a crush on her, I would have so already been all over him. But, he’s really a conversation for another time.”

         “Then, what exactly did she do that you think requires punishment? And, why do you feel you’re the person who should exact this punishment?”

         He wouldn’t get it. None of them ever did. “Have you ever done something for someone that was so profound, something so selfless that everyone should worship the ground you walk on? Yet, instead, when you save this other person’s life, everyone acts like it’s them who’s performed this miracle act and you, while you’ve literally sacrificed almost everything you are to keep them safe and healthy, they act like you’re a menace, like you don’t deserve to live, and they send you away and never seek you out again until they need something?”

         “No,” the priest said. “I have never been in that situation. This person you killed, you said it wasn’t self-defense. Was it in defense of Violet?”
         I laughed. “Kind of. But, what can I say? We all make dumb mistakes when we’re young. I should’ve left her with him. It would’ve served her right.”

         Outside, I could hear people coming into St. Bartholomew’s from the side entrance. They were carrying boxes full of canned goods, donations from nearby stores for the annual food drive. Every year the church would host a variety of fundraisers. When I came in, I saw a flyer for Casino Night on the bulletin board. Gambling is a sin and an abomination against God…unless you’re doing it in the name of raising enough money to build a center for the kiddies. You know, there are always exceptions to sins. Just ask those choirboys.

         “Excuse me. I’ll be just one second,” the priest said. I used his absence to slip away. No need to stick around and have him go all Kumbaya on me, trying to talk me out of doing what needed to be done to Violet. Some things are necessary. Some things cannot be stopped. I’ll admit, though, when I left, I did catch a glimpse of him, without the wicker partition. He was taller than I imagined he would be and I couldn’t help but wonder what he’d look like without that collar. Not that there was time to really dwell on that.

*******************************

         Old people are truly wild cards. We think that they can’t do much damage, because they’re sweet and wrinkly and can’t remember their own names, let alone damning information about you from fifteen, twenty years ago. Sometimes, though, we make impressions that are stronger than we want them to be.

         Case in point? Matilda Bevins. Her husband used to run a tackle shop a couple of blocks away from St. Bartholomew’s. If it was squiggly and could catch a bass, he had it. Long story short, Matilda walked in and caught him with a transvestite named Chocolata and, well, that tackle shop is now her flower shop, per the divorce agreement. Oh, and, her husband is dead. They say he died from a war injury that got aggravated, but, everyone knows it was a venereal disease. We just pretend. For Matilda’s sake.

         When Violet and I were little, we’d go there, just to look at her flowers. She’d always want to buy a bouquet of daisies for her mother, but, we’d end up blowing our money on candy. Not that she didn’t have plenty of it. Matilda would sell chocolates and she’d always go home with them smeared across her face. Daisy would have a fit. I think that almost made getting so sick we puked all over the sidewalks worth it.

         That morning, while Phillip was in the shower and Violet was sleeping, I slipped one of his credit cards out of his wallet. He had so many, he’d never notice one missing. Even if he did, he’d just assume Violet took it.

         Mrs. Bevins was behind the counter inside her store, smelling an arrangement of tulips. She had aged perfectly, like one of the sweet old women you see in cartoons, complete with a snow-colored bun pinned to the top of her head. Her face was round and full of color, and perched on the bridge of her nose was a pair of thin, wire-rimmed spectacles.

         “Oh, my!” She exclaimed when the jangling bell above the door alerted her to my presence. “Well, I never thought I’d see you again.”

         I wondered how she recognized me. The last time she saw me, I was a child.

         “Are you open?” I asked. I knew they were. The sign in the window said as much. I just didn’t know what else to say.

         “Mom?” Another woman asked, emerging from the back room. She was much younger than Mrs. Bevins, but, I recognized her. She was Polly Bevins, Matilda’s daughter. Never married. If you saw her thighs, you’d understand why. “Can I help you, miss?” Obviously, she didn’t remember me quite as well as her mother did.

         “Oh, Polly,” Matilda beamed. “This is the girl who used to come in to see the irises every morning. Remember her?”

         “Whatever you say, mother.” Polly’s tone was cold, condescending. She put her hand on the old woman’s back, raising her voice, as if she were hard of hearing. Or dumb. “Mom, why don’t you go back into the other room and work on Mrs. Smith’s funeral wreath and let me take care of the customer?”

         Matilda paid her no mind and turned back to me. “The irises are beautiful this year, aren’t they?”

         “Beautiful,” I whispered.

         She smiled once more, and then turned to her daughter. “What did you say your name was again, dear?”

         Polly sighed. “Polly. I’m your daughter.”

         Matilda shook her head, giggling as if someone had just told her a dirty joke as she waddled into the back room.

         Polly found an order slip and pressed a button on the computer screen. “I’m so sorry about her. She thinks every woman with red hair who comes in here is this little girl who used to play here when she was little. What can I get for you today?”

         So, I was a little shaken. The Matilda I remembered was vibrant. She’d chase us around the flower shop with the watering hose. She’d tell us stories from her youth that were so wild and fantastic we’d look forward to hearing them even though they weren’t true.

         “Roses.” I told her, remembering why I’d come there. “Red, long-stemmed. Make it a dozen.”

         When she went to put it in the computer, I jotted down the name and address on the order slip.

         “The Fowler Suites?” I saw a paleness wash over Polly. “Isn’t that the building that Thomas Donovan used to own?”

         “Before the fire.”

         Polly typed a few things into the computer. “Didn’t he die in that fire?”

         What was the right answer to this? The correct answer was that no, he didn’t. The answer according to public record was that yes, he did. I wasn’t one for giving explanations, so, I just went with that one.

         “Tragic.” She said.

         “Tragic.” I agreed.

         “So,” a piece of paper started inching out of the printer on the counter nearby, “how would you like to pay for these? And, would you like a card?”

         I slipped her the credit card. “Just put on the card, ‘To Alison, for finally coming home to me. Love, Phillip.’”

         She handed me the receipt. “Anything else I can do for you today?”

         My eye caught a copy of the book lying under her jacket. Just the edge was peeking out, but, I recognized it. “Actually, there is. I’m making this order for my boss. Do you think you could call and confirm the delivery when it’s made? He’s kind of anal about these things. He’s kind of anal in general.”

         “Sure. The number you wrote on the order form?”

         “Yeah. Ask for Phillip. If he’s not available, just have Violet handle it.”

         Then, I turned, and bolted for the door. As I was leaving, I heard her call after me, but, I didn’t stop to answer her. “Wait! Hey! Wait! I know who you are!”

         Some things are best left for other days.

*********************

         Violet was sleeping.

         I let myself into the penthouse she and Phillip shared, careful to lock the door behind me. I hung her coat back on the rack. Truthfully, I was thankful to get that hideous thing off. It, like everything else she owned, was some shade of pink. Or peach. Or beige. In other words, ugly. But, sometimes things get chilly in Vienna Heights and a girl needs a coat, even an ugly one.

         On the table in front of the couch sat an open laptop and a mug of stale coffee. She’d been writing again. God. This one was only a few pages long, it looked like, but already there were clichés like “quivering loins” and “trembling bodies” sprinkling the pages. I wondered where she got this stuff from. It’s not like she’d had a very active love life. There’d been a couple of guys, sure, but most of them were inexperienced dweebs. Then, there was their king, Phillip. I wasn’t sure I knew what a loin was, but, I think it’s safe to say Phillip couldn’t make one quiver if he shook it violently and threw it across a room.

         Making my way into the bedroom, I looked at the clock on the nightstand. It was nearly three in the afternoon. Violet had been sleeping for a long time today. Longer than usual. Not that I minded. The longer she slept, the less I had to deal with her and her boring world. There was a tube of lipstick – peach, naturally – on the dresser by the mirror, next to a photograph of Violet and Phillip. They were all happy and smiling, like one of those Christmas card families. Even in pictures, Phillip looked like he needed a good punch in the face. In the wastebasket by the bathroom entrance was a pregnancy test. She’d have to get rid of that before Phillip got home.



*******************************

         Violet jerked up off the bed, hand clamped over her mouth. Her stomach was swimming. The slightest motion, she thought, would make her puke all over the lovely, white carpet. Violet put her head between her knees, trying to calm the nausea creeping up her throat, but, it was no use. She took off running, hoping she could make it to the bathroom.

         Collapsing in front of the bowl, she emptied the few contents of her stomach into it, holding her hair back. She felt as if something was inside her, twisting her stomach like one would wring water out of a soaked washcloth. She heaved violently and dryly until there was nothing left, and she sank down with her back against the sink, exhausted.

         Someone knocked on the door, but, she was too sick to get up and answer it. Another knock later, and someone jangled keys, unlocked the door, and came on in. When she heard the keys and the door, she’d thought it was Phillip, and a smile crept across her face. He’d come home early from work, because he felt bad about things with Alison.

         When someone appeared in the doorway, though, it was not Phillip. In fact, it was worse, if you asked her. It was his brother, Luke, who was leaning on the door frame, munching on a muffin.

         “Since when do you have a key?” She asked.

         “Since I stole your spare and put it on my keychain.” Luke bit into the muffin. I worried he’d lose one of the teeth in that pretty, pretty mouth of his. Violet should never bake. “You look like hell.”

         “I’m sick. What’s your excuse?”

         Luke stretched out his hand. Violet looked at him funny, until he crooked his head and said, “come on, I’ll help you up.”

         Begrudgingly, she accepted. He pulled her to her feet. Her knees were wobbly and weak and, when she had trouble standing, he sighed and swept her up into his arms, carrying her the few feet to the bed. Of course, to keep her from interpreting it as him being sweet or kind, he made sure to bend his knees and grunt and act as if carrying a small house would be easier than carrying her. Noble, that Luke.

         When he laid her down, she stuffed a few pillows under her head. “You can leave now.”

         “You’re welcome.”

         Violet couldn’t rest. Lying down only made her want to throw up more. So, she sat up, instead, folding her arms when Luke still didn’t leave. “Seriously, you can leave now.”

         Luke sat down on the edge of the bed. “What’s wrong with you?”

         Yuck. Was that concern in his voice? I never liked him, anyway.

         “I don’t know. It started when I walked in on you screwing that hooker on your bar. I think seeing you naked may have traumatized me.”

         I didn’t mind.

         Luke chuckled. “Stay there. Don’t move. I’m going to go get you a warm towel or something.”

         Violet furrowed her brow. I was just as confused as she was. He couldn’t have needed money. She saw the check Phillip cut him for his New Vienna investment. Maybe he was in there lacing the towel with some secret poison that seeps into the bloodstream through the skin that can’t be detected upon autopsy. She watched CSI. She knew what people were capable of.

          As he was coming out of the bathroom, warm towel draped across his naked forearm, he glanced down, seeing the same spent pregnancy test I’d seen earlier. All the color drained from his face.

         “Oh my God. Are you--”

         Violet took the towel, holding it against her face. Even if it was laced with poison, it felt really good. When she didn’t answer, Luke walked back over, bent down, and fished the box out of the wastebasket.

         When Violet saw him taking the wand out, she shrieked, “put that down! I peed on that!”

         He held it up to the light, trying to make something out in the little window, but there was nothing. The result had faded. “What was it? Are you pregnant? Is that why you’re so sick?”

         “No!” She shouted. “It’s none of your business, but, I’m not. I thought maybe I was, but, I’m not. Now will you go away?”

         She may not have noticed it, but, I sure saw the relief on his face. Hmm.

         Luke sat back down next to her on the bed. “That’s good.”

         “Why?” She asked. “Why is it good that I’m not going to have Phillip’s child? Because you want him to be with Alison so bad? Because I’m not worthy of being a Mercer or some such garbage?” Violet was near tears, but, it wasn’t because she felt bad about Luke being there. She’d honestly wanted to be pregnant. I, honestly, wanted her to die. We don’t always get what we want.

         The evening before, when she bought the test, she’d gone into the bathroom and stood in front of the mirror, fantasizing about telling Phillip they were with child. In her mind, he’d swoop her up, kiss her, tell her they were going to make a beautiful family and Alison would be but a memory. When she saw the negative sign in the little window, though, that fantasy quickly faded.

         “It’s just, you’re young. You’re in your early twenties. You’ve got your whole life ahead of you to worry about children. Besides, I can’t believe you’d want a child with someone who’s breaking his neck to be with someone else.”

         A tear ran down Violet’s cheek. “I knew I wasn’t.” She said. “Deep down. Phillip hasn’t been all that interested in being with me lately, first because he was working so hard, then, because of Alison. I think I hoped that maybe, if I was, it might fix things.”

         She couldn’t look at Luke. She didn’t want him to see her cry. Showing weakness was one thing she didn’t mind. She was vulnerable, like everyone else. But, showing it to Luke was an entirely different thing. He’d use it against her. He’d find some way of exploiting this.

         Violet mistook him for me.

         Luke reached out and put his hand on her back. “Hey, it’ll be OK.”

         “No, it won’t!” She wept. “And, you! I know you and Alison have something going on. You probably brought her back here. I saw the way you were looking at her at your family’s house.”

         She sounded paranoid and insane. This was working better than I’d imagined. When the flower shop called, it’d probably send her careening over the edge.

         Meanwhile, he didn’t deny it. He was a part of why Alison came back. Maybe it made it a little easier on his conscience, knowing Violet knew. Then again, I suspected Luke and I probably bought our consciences from the same cheap knockoff dealer.

         “Did you know I hired a PI to get dirt on her? I was going to find some deep, dark secret from her past and use it to run her out of town. Yeah. That worked out so well. The biggest blunder she can claim is getting a B+ on an exam in AP French. She was president of her class in both high school and college, she was a cheerleader, voted most likely to succeed, prom queen, oh, and, for good measure, she’s spent alternating Saturdays for the past eleven years reading to the blind and serving soup to the homeless.”

         Bitch.

         “Bitch.”

         “Yeah, and that was nearly five thousand dollars wasted on Benny.”

         Luke tensed. “Benny? Benny the guy whose office used to be a heroin den that used to be an office supply warehouse?”

         Violet nodded.

         “You don’t need to be dealing with that guy.”

         “He’s harmless!” She said. “I think he did some work for my father. He used to have an apartment in the building, before the fire.”

         “No,” Luke’s tone suddenly firmed and he became louder. “You do not need to be connecting yourself to him. He’s connected to people that you don’t need to be connected with.”

         Now, this was interesting. Methinks Luke may have had his hand in more than one cookie jar.

         “Like who?” Violet asked. “And, how do you know?”

         “There are just people that he does work for and I’d hate it if you got yourself involved with them, however inadvertently it may be.”

         “Like who?”

         “Like, dangerous people.” He looked at his watch. “I have to go.”

         Luke started for the door and Violet called after him, “Wait! Why did you come here in the first place?” But, he didn’t answer. He didn’t say anything at all, only slammed the door behind him.

         Frustrated, Violet tried to stand, to walk into the kitchen and get a glass of water, but she was just too tired. So, she simply put the warm towel over her face and laid down, hoping maybe she could get just a little more sleep.

***********************

         The thing I love about Violet napping is that I don’t have to watch her pasty, sorry self all the time. I get to take a break. I get to go to my favorite little bar on the outside of Vienna Heights – Sam’s – and have a beer, some Cheese Puffs, and listen to bad karaoke. Violet would never show her face in a place like Sam’s. I think that’s why I liked it so much.

         I took out my phone when I sat down at the bar. Punching a few numbers, I put it to my ear. “It’s me. We need to talk. Sam’s.”

         Sam came over. He kept smiling at the blonde on the stage. Thankfully, other than me, the place was empty. She was squealing some song about standing by your man, even when he’s a cheating, lying jerk. Violet must’ve written that song, I thought. It’s nice and lame and lacking any self-respect, which was on par with something she’d write. Me, I didn’t really go for country-western music, but, if I did, I’d like that girl who sings about beating up her cheating boyfriend’s truck with a baseball bat.

         “You want your usual, Iris?” Sam asked.

         “Yeah.” I said. “I assume she’s really enthusiastic in the bedroom, right?”

         “How’d you know she’s my girl?” Sam asked.

         “I’ve seen that disgustingly lovesick look on a man’s face one time today already.” I drummed my fingers on the bar. “You need some help around here. Maybe if you had someone else working the bar, you could take her out some place and she’d stop scaring away your customers.”

         Sam agreed. He was a young guy, probably Luke’s age, skinny as a toothpick, with a little patch of acne on his cheek. In high school, I bet he wore a pocket protector.

         “I know,” he agreed. “I had one girl lined up to be a bartender for the weekends, but she got swept up by this guy running some place called New Vienna?”

         “I’m familiar.” I said. “Sorry it didn’t work out.”

         “Eh,” Sam handed me a bottle of beer and a basket of Cheese Puffs. “It’s OK. There was something about the chick that rubbed me the wrong way. She seemed a little off. She was so excited about this job, until she found out she could work with Luke Mercer.”

         Hmm.

         The bell over the door jangled as Daisy walked in. Her hair was mussed. She must’ve been in the midst of entertaining some immigrant boy she’d met working the towel rooms of the country club’s cabanas. Poor underpaid young men. Their mommies and daddies send them to America, land of freedom and opportunity, only to have them essentially be molested by ugly old women in order to stick around. What people will do for a green card nowadays.

         “Hi!” I smiled, patting the stool next to me. “Have a seat, Daisy. We have lots to talk about.”

         She wasn’t happy to see me. Not that I minded. I wasn’t happy to see her, either, even if I did call her.

         “What do you want?”

         “World peace, an end to hunger…”

         “…Iris…”

         “Fine.” I took a swig of the beer. “I won’t keep you. I know you have a Botox appointment or something more important than your daughter to deal with.”

         “How is Violet?” She asked. She couldn’t even look at me. I would be insulted, if I cared.

         “Pathetic. Nothing’s new. Oh, except, somebody thought it’d be cute to leave her old diary in a storage building, except, they ripped out all the pages, except one, from when she and I met. You wouldn’t know who did that, now, would you, Daisy?”

         “No.”

         I stuffed a bunch of Cheese Doodles in my mouth. “See, it’s a funny thing, because, it was in hub #826, which was the lock’s combo. Now, the only person who knew about that or about the existence of the diary was you. Well, except Violet and me, and, I know neither of us did it.”

         Daisy examined her long, red nails. I could just imagine those nasty things sinking into the back of little Sven or Serge or Jose or whichever one she’d conned into bedding her. There really should be a charity for those poor guys.

         “I don’t know anything about it. I threw that diary out after Thomas died. After you went away the first time. I didn’t want her to be reminded of what happened.”

         She didn’t want her to be reminded of me.

         “The hub was in Thomas’ name.”

         “Maybe he knew about it. Maybe he wanted her to know all about you. If I were a better mother, I would have told her. I should have told her.”

         Another pull off the beer bottle. “Except, you can’t do that, because, if you tell her about me, you’ll have to tell her what you did and, you’re not going to do that because it’d mess up your pristine image as the woman from the wrong side of the tracks who married into the Donovan family and emerged as a social butterfly.”

         Daisy was angry, but not angry enough to tell Violet. I knew her almost as well as I knew Violet. I knew that she loved herself more than her own kid.

         “You’re awfully comfortable,” I continued, “in that townhouse of yours, the one you bought with the money from Thomas’ life insurance policy. You never did say thank you to me, for taking care of him for you.”

         “You didn’t have to do what you did.”

         “He found out the truth, Daisy. He found out about Violet. What he did to her was one thing, but, we both remember what happened when he confronted you about her. You do remember that, don’t you?”

         Her eyes welled up. Sometimes, I thought she was just as weak as that sniveling brat of hers. “I remember that night.”

         “Yeah. He was going to leave. You didn’t leave him, not even when Violet came to you and told you what was going on in that apartment building of his. And, you didn’t leave when she made friends with Iris, the girl who protected her. Instead, you tried to make Iris go away, because you didn’t want anyone taking care of Violet.”

         “That’s not true!” She yelled. “I didn’t want her to get hurt. We would have lost everything if he left.”

         “And, he did leave. He gave you an hour to take your brat kid and get out and what did you do? You went upstairs to little Violet’s room. You woke her up. You said you needed her friend, her Iris, and she woke me up. And, then, you asked me to go to Thomas. You asked me to get rid of him, because, I was capable of handling those dirty jobs.”

         Daisy was pale. I guess she was realizing that the nasty trait of being pathetically obsessed with a man to the point you think you can’t live without him and are willing to subject poor children to life with him is hereditary.

         “I was upset. I wasn’t thinking clearly.”

         “Yes, you were. You knew that, to the social circuit, dumped hag looks a lot worse than grieving widow. So, you dropped me off at that building. You sent me inside. You waited until I’d killed him, until I’d struck a match, until I came back out and told you the job was done. You were in this just as much as I was. You did all of that so Violet wouldn’t find out the truth about herself, about you, about this sham of a life she’s living. I think there’s a ‘Mommy of the Year’ plaque somewhere with your name on it.”

         Daisy hauled off and slapped me. I didn’t blame her. I would have slapped me ten minutes ago. Smiling, I rubbed my cheek.

         “Now, how are you going to explain that to Violet when she wakes up with a big ole mark on her cheek tomorrow, Daisy? I’ve been so careful, too, when she’s sleeping and I have control of this body. I never leave anything out of place, always lock the doors, always put gas back in the tank of her car, and, now, she’s got this sore jaw that she didn’t have when she went to sleep. Tsk, tsk.”

         “What do you want from me?” She screamed, beating her hands down on the bar. Sam looked away. He was used to these little meetings by now. The blonde singing didn’t shut up. “What do you want, Iris?”

         “I want to know where those diary pages went.”

         “I don’t know,” she was breathless now.

         “Then, find out.” I took some money out of my pocket and threw it down on the bar. “I really would hate it if you went to jail, Daisy. Women like you, they’d get eaten alive. And, I hear what you did, even before the conspiracy to commit murder, carries a pretty hefty sentence.”

         Daisy nodded. “I’ll do what I can.”

         I stepped in behind her and wrapped my arms around her, giving her a big bear hug. “That’s the spirit, Mom. See ya later!”