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TUESDAY
CHAPTER 53
The next day, I went up to the Pink House, ran my five miles, explained my “Never Forget: Pluto 1930 to 2006” tee to Peri because a girl needs STEM coaching and also Pluto was robbed, took her to swimming, and then joined Anemone for Phase Two of The Plan.
That would be bringing down O’Toole. I was so going to enjoy this part. For one thing, no guns.
“Okay,” I said when we pulled up in front of the O’Tooles’ river-front Victorian, one of several from the riverboat days. “Let me do the talking.”
“Of course,” Anemone said, smiling.
Yeah, I didn’t believe that for a nanosecond, but at least she’d let me go first.
We walked up the wide steps—there were several—and pulled the ring on the front door that set off a kind of clanking shriek. I know it was probably authentic to the house, but that thing would have been gone if I’d lived there.
Then Honey opened the door, looking annoyed, and I looked past her into an all-white expanse filled with minimalist furniture, all the historical detail painted out. So, Honey had kept the doorbell as, what, a reflection of her personality? and then whitewashed the rest of the place.
I don’t know why I was surprised; she’d also dumped George for Patrick O’Toole. Clearly, she had a major taste problem.
“What do you want?” she snarled at me, ignoring Anemone.
“It’s about your husband,” I said cheerfully. “We can discuss this loudly on your front porch so the general populace can hear, or you can invite us in and we’ll talk quietly. Your choice.”
Honey hesitated, and I could see her running down the options. She really wanted to kick us off the porch, but I was betting she knew Patrick had been sailing way too close to the wind.
She opened the door and we went in, following her across beautiful hardwood floors. She was wearing four-inch heels that clicked on the wood. I fall over in one-inch heels but she was wearing four-inches across slippery floors.
No wonder she was cranky all the time.
When we were all seated on black leather couches with no refreshments—Honey clearly did not think of us as guests—I started with, “So fifteen years ago, your husband bought the mayoral election. He’s about to go down for that.”
Honey rolled her eyes. “Don’t be ridiculous.”
“George has an affidavit from the head of the board of elections at the time that says he took money to throw the election to Patrick. It was a close election, so it didn’t take much. Patrick will be out of office in a week, Honey. And you’ll be out with him.”
She was very still now.
“Did you know?” I said.
She tossed her head, like an angry horse. “Of course, I didn’t know, I still don’t know. You’re making this up.”
“You know I’m not. There’d be no point.”
“What do you expect me to do? Leave him?” She smiled, mirthlessly. “On your say so? No.”
“We just wanted you to know,” I said, “so you could plan. We don’t need you to destroy your husband, we have all the ammunition we need to do that. But it seemed . . . antifeminist to do that without warning you.” I started to stand up, pretty sure she believed me, but Anemone put her hand on my knee, so I sank back into the black leather again.
“I’ve been married five times,” Anemone said gently. “And there’s always a point where you realize love isn’t enough. That if a man is determined to destroy himself through greed and lust and alcohol, it’s time to save yourself. You can go down with his ship, Honey, or you can save yourself. You have reason to leave him: He hits you and the police know it. If you file charges, Vince will make them stick. A good divorce lawyer—”
“I’m not leaving Patrick,” Honey said sharply, but the smugness was gone from her face, and now she was ignoring me and focusing on Anemone. “This is just George, using you to try to get me back.”
I’d thought Cash was the most clueless person in Burney, expecting things to be the way they were fifteen years ago, but here was Honey, ignoring the fact that George was so dazzled by Anemone, he hadn’t looked at Honey in weeks. I sort of envied that kind of confidence, even if it was delusional.
“George wants you safe,” Anemone said. “And if you stay with Patrick, you will not be safe. Abusive men become more abusive when they’re thwarted. And even if he doesn’t hit you again, he’ll drag you down with him, you’ll be as disgraced as he is, you won’t be the mayor’s wife anymore, you’ll be Patrick O’Toole’s pathetic abused wife.”
Her voice was gentle, but she hit a nerve because Honey jerked back.
“If you get out now,” Anemone said, still gentle, “you’ll be the woman who saved herself, who tried to save an irretrievably broken marriage for years before she escaped to a better life. Stay with him and people will blame you, you know how people are about women. Leave him, and people will think you’re a heroine. I have no idea how you feel about Patrick O’Toole, but he’s about to drag you down to hell.” She stood up, still smiling and gentle. “We just came to warn you, Honey. The rest is up to you. We’ll go now.”
