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“Oh my God,” Heather whispers. Her blue eyes round in horror, and her hands shake as she presses them to her mouth. “Maggie, I’m so sorry.”
“I’m fine,” I say honestly. “I really am. Now, how have you been getting by if Joey never gave you child support?”
“I have a job,” she replies. “And I have family. My fiancé is amazing. Once we’re married, he’ll adopt Connie.”
“Good.” I nod slowly. “That’s good. I’m glad for you, I really am. Heather, Joey left you money.”
Her hands fall to her lap. “What?”
“He hid money. A lot of it. And on all of the accounts, he listed you and Constance as the beneficiaries.”
She frowns and shakes her head. “He never said anything about any money. Is it a small life insurance policy or something?”
“No. It’s several accounts of no less than two hundred thousand dollars each.”
I watch her face carefully. I want to see the reaction.
I want to see if she already knows.
Her mouth opens, and then she simply reduces to tears. She folds in on herself, sobbing, and before I realize what I’m doing, I hurry over to her and pat her back.
My eyes find Cam’s. He looks frustrated, like I shouldn’t have told her everything I know, but what do I have to lose?
“Why didn’t he tell me?” she sobs. “Why save that money for our baby and not tell me about it? There were months that I had to ask my parents for help because I just couldn’t make ends meet. And all this time…”
She breaks down again, and all I can do is rub her back. Cam passes us a box of tissues.
“Okay, I’m okay.” She wipes at her face and sits back, dabbing at her eyes some more. “I’m sorry, I wasn’t expecting that. I didn’t know he was rich.”
“He wasn’t,” I reply simply. “I don’t know how he got the money. But it’s yours. I’ll get you the information so you can claim it.”
She blows out a breath, and I return to my seat next to Cam.
“How are you so calm?” she asks me.
“I’ve had two years to get used to this,” I remind her. “Two years to heal. You only recently found out about it all.”
“Did he hit you, too?” she asks me and then looks at the floor.
“Did Joey Lemon hit you, Heather?”
She bites her lip and then nods, turning her blue gaze back to me. “Yeah. Yeah, he did. But when he did it in front of Constance, I stood up for myself and told him I wouldn’t put up with that from him.” She shrugs. “We never saw him again. My baby lost her father because of me.”
“Bullshit.” I say it hard and firm. “Her father was an abusive prick, and she’s better off without him, no matter if he was still alive or not. And I’m not sorry for saying that.”
“I know.” She sighs again. “I know it. But I still feel guilty. And I know that’s stupid, too. If my best friend told me any of this, I’d tell her the same thing. So, why does it feel different when it happens to you?”
“Because the abuser makes you feel like it’s your fault. Joey was a master manipulator. He could be a complete jerk and then turn around and charm you.”
“That’s true.” She checks her watch. “I took up longer than fifteen minutes.”
“It’s okay. Now that I’m calm, it’s okay. I’m just anxious not to have reminders of that man popping up every single day of my life.”
“I live with one,” she says kindly. “And while I wouldn’t trade her for anything in the world, she is a daily reminder. She looks just like him. And, speaking of, I have to get home to her. I’ve been here on the island for three days. I just mustered up the courage to come by this morning, and it’s a good thing I did because my flight to Dallas leaves later this afternoon.”
“If you leave me your email address, I’ll get all of the banking information to you.”
“Call her with it,” Cam suggests. “You shouldn’t send banking information through email. It’s not secure.”
“I’ll call you with it,” I amend. “Oh, and here.”
I hurry into my little office-slash-storage room, where I keep my files and grab a file folder.
“You’ll need an official death certificate, I think, to claim the accounts. I have about fifty of them. Here you go.”
I pass the certificate over to Heather, and she stares down at it.
“He’s dead,” she says simply.
“And buried.” I tilt my head as I watch her, an idea forming in my head. “Do you want to see where he’s buried?”
Her head comes up and she nods. “You know what? I do. Yes, I do.”
I turn to Cameron, who’s been quiet this whole time. I’ll ask him later what he’s been thinking, but for now, I’m going to finish this.
