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He snorts at that, though I’m not sure whether it’s at the idea that Maeve would make such a big deal out of cards... or the idea that she ever actually bought me any.
Before my grandmother died, she left Liam a clue: where to find Bill Turner’s supposed treasure.
To find your inheritance, remember how you liked to spend your time at my house.
A month later, Tom got a delivery. A safe-deposit-box key in an envelope marked “For CeCe.” By then, he’d known Celeste wasn’t me. By then, he’d started hunting for me. So he put the key away, and when I returned, he forgot all about it until I mentioned Liam’s “clue.”
Where did I like to spend my time when I visited Gran? With Tom. Who held the literal key.
I’ve gone through all the legal hoops to reclaim my identity and my inheritance. This is the final step. The bank, not surprisingly, dug in their heels the hardest, especially considering that Maeve had left specific instructions that, no matter who held the key, multiple pieces of government-issued ID were required for access.
I hold my breath as I turn the key in the lock. The box springs open. Inside is an envelope bearing Maeve’s handwriting.
For my CeCe, who always deserved the best. All my love, Gran.
I pause, eyes filling. Tom puts an arm around my shoulders. Then, hands trembling, I pick up the envelope, open it and pull out the contents. It’s money. Money and three smaller envelopes.
The first thing I check for is a note, but even as I do, I know I won’t find one. My note is written on the envelope, and even that would have felt uncomfortably sentimental for Maeve.
I hold the bundle of bills. Bundles of hundreds.
“Probably fifty grand there,” Tom says. “Maybe more.”
I nod, still numb from that note.
That’s what I wanted, Gran. Your message. I hope you know that. While I’ll put the money to good use, what I wanted was the note.
I fold the envelope carefully and put it into my purse. Then I pick up the other envelopes and turn them over. Three, each with a name on the front.
The first is for Tom. Like mine, it has a note, his even simpler, just “I’m sorry,” and that, we both know, might have been even harder for her to write than the sentiments on mine. Inside is a smaller stack of hundreds, probably about five thousand dollars.
The next one is marked “Liam” with the words “In appreciation of all you’ve done.” Inside, well, inside there’s nothing, and I do laugh at that. Not for long, though, because then I come to the last envelope. No name, just three question marks, but the rest makes it obvious who she meant. It says, “Get your ass out of there.” I smile, even as my eyes fill.
Get your ass out of there.
Out of my house... and out of Liam’s life. Get out. Get free. That’s what Maeve meant. Her last words for Elizabeth, along with a thousand dollars to help her on her way.
We pocket the money in silence. Then we leave.
It’s later that day.I’m working on the porch. All that remains of it is the foundation, the rotting wood relegated to a bonfire pile out back. Most of the house is salvageable, but some, like the front porch, needs a complete do-over.
There are times—more than I care to admit—when I’m ripping out a board on this old porch or nailing in a new one—and I think of Elizabeth. I wonder whether this is how she saw herself. Beyond repair. Unsalvageable.
“I knew she was a fake.”
I look up to see the mail carrier. I brush off my bare legs and rise to take my mail.
“I knew all along,” she says. “It was obvious to anyone with eyes. I’m glad she got what was coming to her.”
I try not to tense. Just nod. Make a noise she can interpret as agreement.
“We all get what’s coming to us,” she says, as if to herself, as she walks back down the driveway. “One way or another.”
I stand, watching her go and thinking that Elizabeth agreed, and what she thought she deserved was that bullet. I disagreed. I’d managed to grab her just as the gun fired. Knocked her out of its path and left her with a bloodied furrow.
It is remarkably easy to fake one’s death. Well, not officially, of course. Anyone who digs isn’t going to find a death certificate for Elizabeth Judd. They will, however, find a death notice in both the the local and Tampa papers and even a tiny plaque on a memorial wall in a cemetery that hadn’t demanded anything more than a pot of ashes and a check.
As for who killed Liam Garey, the police have a very good suspect, courtesy of Elizabeth. It seems there’s a certain client with an excellent motive to have murdered Mr. Garey, considering he paid Liam to find his former girlfriend... and Liam ended up taking her as his lover and forcing her into a fraud scheme. Liam had even taken hidden sex videos of them together.
