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He’s such a mama’s boy.
Daisy stumbled into the kitchen, rested her head in my lap, and shoved two fingers into her mouth. The kids had a party last night, and from what I heard, it was a good time with matching pajamas, popcorn and candy, and movies until they were dumped in their beds. I was bummed that I had missed it.
Daisy raised her arms for me to pick her up, but I couldn’t.
“I’m sorry, but I can’t pick you up, Daisy. No heavy lifting.”
Her face reddened, and she was seconds away from throwing a tantrum when the doorbell rang.
“I swear. The doorbell has rung more at this house in the past two days than ever before,” Jonathan complained as he set a bowl of sliced banana on the floor in front of Daisy. She perked up and pinched at a slice before dropping it into her mouth.
“Is it good, Daisy?”
She nodded and continued to demolish her breakfast appetizer. Jonathan returned a few moments later, looking white as a ghost.
“What’s the matter, Jon?”
“I…um…Daisy.” She popped her head up, acknowledging her father. “Go in the living room with your siblings.” Jonathan didn’t speak again until she shuffled out of the kitchen. “Eliza’s dead.”
I gasped.
Did I want that woman out of my hair and for her to stop making Jonathan and the kids miserable? Abso-fucking-lutely. Did I want her to die and never have the chance to mend her relationship with her children? No.
“W-what do you mean she’s dead?” Felicity stammered.
“They believe she might’ve committed suicide. There is a detective here who wants to speak with me. I’ll be in my office. Kierra…do you mind joining me?”
“I will if you need me.”
“I need you,” he insisted.
“Then I’m there.”
* * *
I listened carefully to Jonathan’s recollection of his tumultuous relationship with Eliza from the time their marriage started to break down, her cheating, their divorce, and everything that followed.
“To your extensive and intimate knowledge of Mrs. Baker, did you suspect she suffered from mental health issues?”
Jonathan sighed and rubbed his forehead before answering. “I…it’s hard to say.”
“How so?” Detective Prescott queried.
“I don’t know how to say this delicately, and I don’t wish to speak ill of the dead, but Eliza was…spoiled. She had a way of getting what she wanted, and I’ll hold myself accountable and say that I enabled her 100%. I think she reacted poorly when she realized she couldn’t get what she wanted from me any longer. She became verbally and physically abusive—she busted the windows out of my truck and physically attacked me outside of my residence—there are corroborating police reports to prove that.”
“Yes, I’ve read them. Mrs. Baker was also placed on a 5150 a few weeks ago; is that correct?”
“Yes, sir. Eliza had been messaging me about intentions to hurt herself with a firearm that she had access to.”
“So, her suicide isn’t shocking to you?”
“No, it is,” Jonathan insisted. “Because she exhibited narcissistic characteristics, it felt like attention-seeking.”
“A narcissist, or someone living with a similar personality disorder, may kill themselves because they’ve determined that their circumstances have been permanently compromised. The things they’ve held near and dear to their heart have beenstripped from them. Since the divorce, I imagine she no longer felt admired or respected within your social circle.”
“It’s very possible,” Jonathan agreed.
“I see,” Detective Prescott muttered. Mrs. Houston, you called and reported Mrs. Baker’s erratic behavior. Why?”
