Page 76 of The Life She Had

He continued, “Your grandfather liked to work alone. One day, though, he agreed to join a job bigger than he could tackle on his own. Three men who needed your grandfather’s particular talent.”

Safecracking. I knew this, but I frowned as if I found it all terribly confusing. My grandfather? A thief? Liam must be mistaken.

“They brought your grandfather in and pulled the job. Theft from someone unlikely to report the loss. While they got the money, the waiting driver was spotted, which tipped off the homeowner, and they had to split up. One of the men took the money while the other two ran in different directions. They were supposed to reconvene and split the profits. Except the man with the money didn’t show up.”

“And that was my grandfather?”

“No, Daisy,” he said, as if speaking to a small child. “They would hardly have entrusted a newcomer with the money. The ringleader had it. When he disappeared, the others thought they’d been tricked, that he’d intentionally let them be spotted so he could take the money and run. But a month later, his body turned up in the swamp. The money was never found.”

“People think my grandfather murdered him and stole the money?” My voice rose in horror and outrage, and if it was a little thick, Liam didn’t notice. He was too caught up in his story.

He continued, “Two years ago, after my father died, I found notes in his file. Cryptic notes that took me some time to decipher.” He paused for me to appreciate his brilliance. “At the time of the robbery, my father suspected Bill Turner had done exactly what you just said—killed the ringleader and took the money. He tried to speak to your grandfather, as obliquely as possible, to ensure that if he’d killed the ringleader, he’d properly covered his tracks. Bill pretended to have no idea what my father was talking about, but the case went cold for lack of evidence, suggesting he took my father’s advice.”

Or, maybe, suggesting he hadn’t killed anyone or stolen any money.

“I figured this out last year. Your grandmother’s health was failing, and the Celeste-imposter had not yet appeared, so I broached the subject with Maeve. I told her what I’d found. I wasn’t asking whether she had the money or not, but I implored her, if she did, to use some for her own benefit. I strongly suggested a retirement home—there are excellent ones in town—or, at least, a health-care aide. I assured her that I could help with the disbursement of the funds to avoid suspicion.”

Yeah, I bet you could help with disbursement.

He continued, “Like your grandfather, Maeve was a cagey old fox. Acted as if she had no idea what I was talking about. Then the next time I visited, she was doing better. She suddenly had the money for the medications she required. Not that she always took them, mind you, but they were there. Which proved the money existed.”

Or that Gran had the extra money I’d been sending her, and Liam’s little chat convinced her to use some for her health.

“Then along came the imposter,” Liam said. “By the time I found out, she’d been here for weeks. I accepted that it was Celeste Turner. It wasn’t my place to ask for identification.”

Not until she inherited the damn property, with you as executor. You were the executor, right, Liam?

“I accepted that she was you, and to my relief, she seemed to help Maeve. While Maeve was buying medications, she wasn’t always taking them, or she was running out of them and not getting refills. There were also other medications the doctor suggested that Maeve believed she didn’t need.”

I mimicked Gran’s voice. “Damn doctors and drug companies, as bad as leeches, bleeding you dry.”

“Yes, we both heard that lecture. But the imposter was able to convince Maeve to take the medications, and they seemed to help.”

Here’s where I couldn’t sit back and listen in silence because this was the information I wanted.

Tell me how my grandmother was before her death. Tell me exactly how she died. Give me data to help me figure out what happened... and whether Celeste was involved.

“The medications seemed to help?” I said. “But they didn’t, obviously, because she died. Heart failure, right? That’s what I heard.”

“That’s only what they put on the death certificate when someone’s heart stops,” he said smugly. “It’s the actual cause of death for most people. Maeve’s heart stopped beating.”

“So the doctor didn’t know exactly how she died?”

“Everyone knows how she died. Old age. She rallied with the medications, but the damage was done. Diabetes, hypertension, heart disease—it’s a wonder she survived as long as she did. One cannot stay alive through sheer obstinacy, as hard as Maeve tried.”

“Did she suffer long?”

He turned a look on me, and that look was pitying, but it was a sneering pity for a young woman who wasn’t nearly as tough as her grandmother. I might be quick with a utility knife, but deep down, I was a child sniveling over her lost granny, completely ignoring the fact that he’d just told me there was more to my inheritance than a rundown house.

“No, she didn’t suffer long,” he said. “She started her decline on a Saturday morning. Celeste—the imposter—called me, and I came over as quickly as I could. Dr. Hoover checked in and thought Maeve would have a few more days, but she was gone before sunset.”

I remembered Doc Hoover from my childhood. A good small-town doctor. He topped my list of people I needed to speak to, but I had to figure out how to do that without giving myself away.

“I’m glad the end came quickly,” I said.

“It did. But before Maeve passed, she gave me something for you. Her granddaughter’s true inheritance.” He paused for effect. “Bill Turner’s money.”

I frowned. “Why give it to you? Wasn’t the imposter with Gran?”

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