“You’re evil.” It’s not an insult. It’s simply true.
“You never knew yourplace, Dottie. That was your problem.” He says this patiently, like a teacher explaining a complicated problem to a particularly dim-witted student.
“I hope you live a long life. I hope you live long enough to see a different world.”
“I’m going to turn your car on now,” he says. “Clever girl, getting it to run again. It will be a peaceful death. Like falling asleep.”
“You don’t have to do this.” I know it’s useless, but I have to try, one more time, to talk him out of this.
“Yes, I do actually. You had all the things I needed. Money and car dealerships. A rich and politically connected father. But you were plain and insufficiently committed to making me happy. Peggy does as she’stold. She’s beautiful. A wonderful cook. She’s fertile. Peggy is the wife I need to get where I want to be.”
“You won’t get away with this.”
“I’m pretty sure I will. I did last time.”
That brings me up short. “Last time?”
“I was married before, you know. Only for six months, but I had to kill her in order to marry you. That’s when I learned about the efficacy of foxglove. My father was a florist. Poor man, lost everything in the Depression, but he managed to pass that one piece of useful information along in lieu of an inheritance.”
“Someone will figure out I didn’t die in childbirth.” It’s not a threat. It’s a vow I make to myself as I document his words, taking dictation one last time.
“Actually, I’m pretty sure they won’t. The baby will serve as proof. No one will bother to examine your body too closely. They won’t perform an autopsy. We’ll dress you in Peggy’s nightgown, put you in our bed, smear blood in strategic places and the doctor will declare you dead when he arrives.”
“And you’ll marry her.”
“Yes. But first I’ll weep at your funeral while holding my poor, motherless infant.”
Bile burns my throat, and I swallow it back. “A grieving widower with a new child to care for.”
“Exactly. I’ll remarry quickly, as any man would in those circumstances. Peggy will be an angel, loving your poor, motherless child as though it were her very own. Your father will be grief stricken but devoted to the grandson you left behind and he’ll leave everything to my son when he dies.”
My mouth twists in a bitter smile as I record these words.
He’d thought he was lying to me, back when I asked if Peggy was carrying his child. He’d thought he was feeding me a cover story, about the mechanic who’d gotten Peggy pregnant.
He doesn’t know it’s the truth. Daniel’s son will inherit the dealerships and Daddy’s money. The son of a mechanic killed in Viet Nam will inherit Daddy’s fortune. And Richard will have no idea he’s raising another man’s son.
“You’ll never get away with this, Dickie.”
“Thanks for the memories, my dear.”
And now ... the smell of exhaust and gasoline. Smells I once loved ... the odor of grease ... and the garage ... andfriendship.
My . . . . . . Chevy is Dickie’s murder weapon.
So strongs,mell
Alldone now and
hide th e words
I lost
my
chanc
Rollin.g
