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“You sure about that?” he asks. “We don’t have to talk, but you also don’t have to be alone.”
“I’m fine. Just go back to your room or something and just—” I shake my head, trembling as I open the door to the tower and step back inside. “I’m fine.”
I climb the stairs and he doesn’t follow. When I reach the top, I look out the window and spot him sitting at a nearby picnic table, watching the door like a dog guarding its master. I sink back into the shag carpet and finally let myself cry, tears streaming down my face, mingling with my bloody mouth.
Chapter15
War
Melody stays locked in the tower for the rest of the day and I can’t blame her for it, not after that ugly brawl. It only lasted seconds, and I couldn’t get to her fast enough to stop it, but I saw the pain in her eyes after it was done. Nothing hurts like family, and this family seems dead set on hurting each other as much as humanly possible.
I’m tempted to scale those stairs and push my way into the top room, but I decide she’s better off left alone.
Around dinnertime, a few cars leave the main house, and I go wandering back, looking around for those cowardly shithead uncles or any of her cousins, but the place is empty.
Which provides a man like me with an opportunity.
The thing about doing what I do is I developed some flexible morals over the years. I’ve seen the nasty side of people and got a glimpse at what families are capable of when they’re desperate and angry and willing to go as far as it takes to get what they want, and I’ve learned that there are no lines when it comes to winning. Everything for me is moral gray, there’s no black and white. Melody hasn’t figured that out yet, but fortunately, she’s got me.
Something about Daisy’s story didn’t ring true to me. I keep thinking about what she said about Colton Leader as I drift through the big house, looking like I’m just out for an evening stroll and taking a tour. I poke my head in room after room, moving from wing to wing. I come across some living spaces, some bedrooms, and I poke around where it seems interesting, but I keep it moving. I keep it casual. And I keep on thinking.
It was when she started talking about the years after Melody left, and how her father started going downhill mentally, and how she was the one that stepped up and saved this place—
I smile to myself as I turn a knob and peer into another bedroom on the far end of the eastern wing. This one feels right—its feminine but younger. It’s a big room, very pretty and well maintained, with small modern touches. Throw pillows, comfortable blankets, a couple candles left burning. Heels are lined up near the door. I step inside, peering around the corner, but the place is empty. A computer sits blank on a desk across from a massive four-poster bed. An iPad charges on the bedside table. Another door leads into a bathroom with a messy vanity, and beyond that is a massive walk-in closet with more women’s clothing.
I start with the closet. People are predictable. I learned that over the years too—even if I think a hiding spot is too obvious, half the time that’s exactly where I find whatever I’m searching for. I flip through sweaters, glance under dresses, poke around on shelves. I find old shoeboxes of photographs—young girls smiling, tanned and happy, and I recognize Daisy, and Melody, and some of the guy cousins, and another girl cousin that must be Rosie—but nothing useful. Old memories, dead and gone.
I drift back into the main room and start rifling through the desk.
Why wouldDaisysave this place? Of all the people in her family, why her? Why not those uncles, or an aunt, or anyone else? There have to be outside investors involved with a business like this, or at least people that know something about the day-to-day operations, somebody that could look at the books and ask the right questions. Why didn’t they step in if Colton was so bad? Daisy had to have been young back then, maybe twenty at most. Why would a kid that age be the one to start making huge financial decisions, and why would anyone go along with it?
Just doesn’t add up.
But that’s not the only thing bugging me. That’s bad enough, but what she said about Old Man Leader doesn’t sit right, either. I’ve spoken to him a few times and he always came across as totally lucid. Struggling with his health, often in pain and suffering, but mentally all there, totally aware of what’s going on with a solid grasp on fine details and long-term planning. I’ve met old folks suffering from memory problems, dementia, Alzheimer’s, all that stuff, and Melody’s father never struck me as impaired like that, not even a little bit.
Which shoots a pretty massive hole right in Daisy’s story.
I find nothing in the drawers. The computer is locked and I can’t guess the password. There are no files, no notebooks, no diaries. The place looks barren, almost like it was picked through and cleaned out recently. There’s nothing under the mattress, or behind the bed, no loose floorboards, no hiding spots behind paintings, nothing like that. My search turns up frustratingly little, which is something in itself since it only makes me think Daisy’s got something to hide even more than I already did, but my questions remain.
Why Daisy? And how much of that story was true?
There’s a noise in the hall. I freeze, listening close. I didn’t hear any cars return, but maybe I was wrong about everyone leaving for the night. I sneak to the door, trying to strain, but there’s nothing. No voices, no footsteps. Heart racing, I step back out into the hall and close the door behind me.
“You won’t find much in there.”
I flinch and look over. The nurse stands there, smiling at me like she caught me sneaking cookies from the kitchen. I straighten and face her, arms crossed over my chest. I consider lying, telling some story about looking for a lost phone or a missing wallet, but something in her tone makes me pause. “What do you think I was looking for?” I ask.
“Don’t know,” she admits and leans back against the wall. “But you wouldn’t be in Miss Daisy’s room unless you were trying to findsomething. Problem is Miss Daisy’s very careful, and I doubt she’d keep anything important in there.” Her eyebrows raise. “Unless you have a more intimate relationship with her than I thought?”
“Daisy’s a stranger to me. I’m here with Melody.”
“Figured.” She shrugs, still smiling, and I can’t get a read on what’s going on. She’s not angry, which is what I expected. She’s almost—relieved.
“Let me ask you something.” I move closer to her and smell mint and flowers. “You’ve been Colton Leader’s nurse for a year now, right?”
“Little bit longer, but yes, that’s right.”
“Has he been diagnosed with dementia? Or Alzheimer’s?”
