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“And we’ll need access to Ned Bennett’s things. The accident scene and the room he was staying in will be off-limits until our investigation is complete. Do you have somewhere you can stay for a few days?”
Fern nodded numbly. “Yes, I have an apartment not far from here.”
“Okay, then. Is there anyone in Ms. James’s family who needs to be notified? Any next of kin?”
Fern shook her head. “There’s no one.” The detective lifted his eyebrows in surprise. “But I can take care of funeral arrangements and let her friends know.”
“Alright, then,” the detective said, getting to his feet. “We’ll also need you to come down to the station for follow-up questions, but I anticipate we’ll be able to wrap things up in the next few days.”
“Tonight?” Fern asked. She was so tired she couldn’t think straight.
“I’m afraid so,” the detective said, and Fern rose from her chair reluctantly.
Together they moved through the villa and Fern’s mind churned with what the formal interview at the police department might bring. What if they found out about how Fern locked Cat in the cellar? What if she was held liable for the accidental shooting during the competition or the dozens of other things that had gone wrong?
Fern joined Camille, Maire, and Samuel at the top of the stone steps. Together they watched as the coroner vehicles carrying Cat and Ned drove away. No emergency lights or sirens were needed. An officer led each of them to a different car that would take them to the police station for further questioning. No one said goodbye to Fern. She understood.
In the car on the way, Fern thought of all the things she needed to do if she managed to walk out of the police station a free woman. She needed to call the funeral home and Cat’s attorney. And then there was the show. Fern knew she needed to make a statement of some sort. By now, the entire world knew that Cat James had died, that she died in a fall at the estate and that she was the mastermind behind One Lucky Winner. Fern didn’t want to find out what people were saying about her but imagined it wouldn’t be too kind. They never finished the game. There was no winner.
Three days later, Fern was back in the villa. It seemed so much larger now without Cat here. So empty. Despite the millions of times Fern fantasized that her boss would go down in a plane crash or choke on a chicken bone, she never actually wished her dead. Not really. But now Cat was gone, and Fern didn’t know what to do.
She decided to start by purging the villa of any trace of the remaining contestants’ wrongdoings. Fern knew that Cat didn’t keep her most sensitive files in her office. Instead, she kept them squirreled away in the most secure spot in the estate. The wine cellar. She made her way down the stone steps, dreading having to spend time in the place where she’d kept Cat prisoner. Fern was so ashamed. Using her key card, she opened the door and propped it open using the wooden box that Cat had sat upon during her confinement. The files were hidden away in a secret storage space camouflaged to blend into the stone walls.
Destroying evidence wasn’t as difficult as she thought it would be. Fern gathered all of the hard-copy files on Camille, Maire, and Samuel. She had also retrieved Cat’s phone and deleted any email drafts pertaining to the remaining contestants. And there was damning evidence against them. Maire and Samuel had caused a man to die while playing a stupid, childish game and Camille had bilked the IRS out of hundreds of thousands of dollars.
It wasn’t that Fern didn’t think they should pay for their crimes and transgressions; she did, but hadn’t they paid enough already? Maybe they deserved a second chance. Didn’t everyone?
If the police came back and decided to comb through the rest of the house, they would find more evidence on Ned, as well as an interesting file on Crowley. Fern felt a little bit bad about that, but the cat was already out of the bag regarding the senator’s extracurricular activities—his affair, his secret son, the illegal use of campaign funds. If the authorities chose to do a forensic search on Cat’s phone, they might find more, but Fern didn’t think they would. The fall had been ruled an accident caused by a damaged railing. Perhaps if Ned had survived, he would have been charged with assault or manslaughter, but he hadn’t, so the case was closed.
Exhausted, Fern looked through the remaining files. Per usual, Cat was organized. Each file was clearly labeled and in alphabetical order. Automobiles, Bella Luce, Credit Cards, Insurance, Medical.
Fern paused at the file labeled Medical. It was unusually thick. She had always thought Cat was exceptionally healthy—she exercised and ate well. Fern had never heard her mention needing to go to the doctor, but from what she saw here, Cat was being seen often by a doctor at a clinic in San Francisco. Fern flipped through the pages. There were lots of tests—MRIs, CTs, PET scans, and others.
Fern’s fingers stopped at another sheet of paper. This one was a printout from Mayoclinic.org with the heading Huntington’s Disease. She scanned the paper. Inherited, mental decline, loss of speech, loss of motor capabilities. And there was so much more, ultimately ending in death.
Did Cat have Huntington’s? “Why didn’t you tell me?” Fern whispered, and a new wave of sympathy for Cat washed over her. No one deserved that kind of pain and anguish, nor should have had to carry it all alone.
“No,” Fern said firmly to the empty room. She brushed away her tears. She would not feel sorry for Cat. The more Fern thought about it, the more it was clear that Cat had used her as just another pawn in her game of revenge and retribution. Now, that would have been a great name for the show—Revenge & Retribution.
When she thought of the last ten years, all Fern could summon were the brutal hours, the constant berating, the awful pay. Her family barely spoke to her, and she had no friends, no social life, no hobbies. Her one and only purpose in life had been pleasing Cat James. And she had failed. Miserably. And what was she left with?
There were no winners here, certainly no one lucky winner. Ned and Cat were dead. Camille, Maire, and Samuel had to go back to their own lives with the knowledge that someone knew their deepest secrets. And to make it worse, there was no money. No big windfall. The one she felt the worst for was Maire. Obviously, Maire was no innocent—none of them were—but her daughter was still very sick, and Maire had to return to Calico with empty pockets.
Maybe that was Maire’s cosmic punishment. She took a life and now she ultimately had to watch her own daughter suffer. Fern shook the thought away. That wasn’t how it worked. But still, she hoped that Maire and her daughters would be okay. She wished the same for Camille and Samuel too.
Fern returned the medical file to its proper spot in the cabinet and continued looking. There was nothing until Fern’s fingers landed on the final file tucked into the very back of the crowded cabinet. It was out of order. It should have been filed with the Fs. With difficulty, she pulled out the slim folder with her name on the tab.
She opened the file, and began to read. Inside were a just a few sheets of paper. The first was a handwritten letter addressed to her and dated just a few days ago, right before One Lucky Winner began.
Oct. 13
Dear Fern,
If you are reading this letter, I’m sure you have many questions about the events of the last several days and more than likely, I am dead. I hope my exit was spectacular! You know how I like to leave an impression.
My plan was to walk into the lake ala Virginia Woolf—except for stones in my pockets, I would be carrying my laptop and a stomach full of Ambien. But as long as the cameras were rolling, I don’t really care how it all unfolded. Did we get a bazillion views?
By now, you have probably figured out that I am sick. Huntington’s Disease. Not pretty. And you know how much I like things to be pretty. Anyway, I have it, and no matter how much money I have, or how big of a following I’ve amassed, there is no cure. If things progress as expected, one day I will die an awful death, all alone.
