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“I know what you mean. Uncle Red is more of a father to me than Jonah. Sarah will be fine as surely as Uncle Red will beat you again during Jeopardy.” She chuckles.
“Do not remind me.”
“Since we’re ripping off the band-aid this weekend, my uncle and I wanted to ask...” Luxury’s palm slides anxiously over her forearm as fresh tears dampen her eyes. “I could tell Uncle Red still had the same question, but I didn’t want to ruin you guy’s firstrealgathering with Momma’s murder.”
You didn’t, but he did.At least the bloke didn’t question me for proof of Eugene’s death until Luxury excused herself to the lavatory. I granted his request. He had the decency to smile once Luxury returned. My innocent Little One didn’t quite notice how said smile no longer reached his eyes, however.
Perceiving Luxury’s hesitation, I ask, “What is it, love?”
“Did you speak with Eugene Orson? Don’t . . . please don’t tell me you shot him through a sniper rifle.”
“Lux, you’ve my word that he’s dead.”
She offers a pathetic chuckle as the driver passes by the smaller security gates. “I trust you, yet I kinda need theentiretruth as encouragement for Madeline.”
I ponder the gruesome story and how, at Luxury’s request, she will have all the authority this evening during dinner. Eugene’s actions will fortify her craving, so I nod in agreement.
As the chauffeur pulls over behind a fleet of luxury vehicles, my mother stands at the bottom step, presenting as poise itself in a deep purple gown. She’s not privy toeveryoneinside the car—as I hadn’t indicated that I brought company—my bloody fiancé.
I press the button on the door and indicate for the driver to wait.
“Vic . . .” Luxury groans, teeming with nerves.
“Alright,” I sigh. “I spoke with the bloke.”
“And Momma, was she dead already?”
“Luxury, that’s of no importance.”
“Tell meeverything.”
I suffer a glance out the window, certain Princess Mary’s patience will dwindle. “Now, Little One?”
“Yes, please.”
On cue, Mother’s popping an open fist on the window as if she’s forgotten that we were estranged the nightsheproposedto Madeline onmy behalf.
“Victor, please.” Luxury clasps my cheeks in her hand. “I’m begging you.”
“Eugene was mentally unstable and very apologetic. He claimed to be smitten with your mum and admitted she was kind during their interactions at the soup kitchen.”
“She was too kind.” Luxury groans, wrenching the seatbelt loop around her hands.
I take her silky palms in mine. “Your mum hadn’t locked the door after Dr. Everhart left for lunch.”
“You know that I knowthat, Vic.Burt attempted to spare my feelings. You’re my fiancé. You trust that—”
I squeeze her hands firmly. “Eugene entered. He accused your mum of being unfaithful to her husband. All this time, the wanka placed her on a pedestal. He said she never missed a single Sunday at church. Not until recently.”
“Oh, no. She had just started seeing Uncle Red again.”
Luxury tries to pull her hands away, but I cling tighter to them. “Moreover, Gina was a part of the homeless outreach committee at the soup kitchen. Eugene frequented it often when he was down on his luck.”
“She was a good person.” Luxury trembles. “I keep wondering if I served him this past Thanksgiving. Or did I ask the bastard if he had enough friggen mashed potatoes during Christmas dinner? Vic, how couldhe? H-how could he if he thought so highly of her . . .”
I press Luxury’s hands together and kiss the pulse at the inside of her wrists. “Yes, love. Eugene thought the world of your mother. He wasn’t your typical stalker. He watched her a little, off and on over the years. He knew she seemed withdrawn for a time after, well, you know.”
“After Momma was raped.” Luxury stifles a sob. “Did he? Was he the—”
