Page 92 of The Dearly Departed

She smiled, and that sinister undertone she kept hidden beneath her amiable guise flickered with life within her wicked gaze.

"I have never cared much about the interests of others, and I have no intention of starting now."

I opened my mouth to reply when the sound of footsteps coming down the stairs pulled my attention away from Virginia's smirking lips. Dean appeared in the doorway of the sitting room, his vision going from me then to Virginia as he offered her a cordial smile.

"Ma'am," he said with a subtle bow of his head.

She lifted her chin and didn't bother glancing my way again as she walked out of the room coolly, her glass of water in her hand. Not a word was spoken to Dean as she left, her footsteps silent in the foyer.

Dean glanced over his shoulder in Virginia's direction for a moment, and when it seemed she was gone, he turned back toward me and cleared his throat.

"Sorry for the wait," he said.

With a deep breath, I brushed a gloved hand over my chest, as if Virginia's touch had left behind a wrinkle on something other than my psyche, and I replied, "It's all right."

"He's in the office, waiting for you."

"Thanks."

I lifted my gaze for a moment to glance at that painting, the one of the waterlines at sunset, and allowed myself another second to remember the peace I'd once felt, listening to the crashing waves and ebbing tides and Anna’s incessant chattering. I straightened my tie as I imagined that girl at my side, hoping she was in a much, much better place now than she once had been, better than where I was now.

Then I turned to take my leave from Dean's watchful presence, until he stopped me with a hand on my shoulder.

I looked down at that hand but said nothing as I eyed him expectantly, knowing he wouldn't make his boss wait for nothing.

"If you think he's bad," he muttered quietly, "she's so, so much worse."

"Nothing I can't handle," I replied, my tone barely above a whisper.

"You can think that," he said, lowering his hand, "but I'm telling you … he might be a weasel, but she's …" His voice trailed off.

When I took a glance at his face, I saw he was deep in thought, his mind working to find something to compare Virginia Crowley to. Something beautiful but inconspicuously sneaky and likely fatal.

"Belladonna," I offered in a hush, but before Dean could agree, I was already on my way out of the room.

I didn't need his confirmation to know it was true.

***

"You know, kiddo, I think you're starting to like me," Gerald said as I entered his office, opening the door without bothering to knock.

"Like might be an overstatement, but whatever you have to tell yourself," I grumbled, shutting the door behind me and twisting the lock.

He was at his desk, his eyes on the screen of his laptop as he said almost absent-mindedly, "So, there's something you wanna talk about?"

"Yeah," I replied, taking a seat and removing the mask. "Money."

He raised an eyebrow and glanced up at me from the laptop.

I had gotten his attention.

"Money?"

I sat back on the couch and crossed one ankle over my other thigh as I said, "Specifically, the two hundred grand that was deposited into Leonard's account every year like clockwork for the last … hmm … fourteen years or so."

A look of satisfied recollection crossed his face then as he slowly nodded and closed the lid on the laptop. He stood, revealing that he was wearing nothing but a pair of pajama pants, and rounded the large wooden desk to cross the room to wear I sat.

"So, who figured it out?"