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And I get an insane idea.
“I want you to kick Martin to the curb and actually be a loving, supportive father and grandfather to your own fucking family.” I sniffle and pretend to struggle with the cap of my lipstick. In reality, I’m swiping the phone screen so it starts recording.
With any luck, it will save whatever happens in here to Bambi’s cloud storage.
“Watch your tone with me, young lady.”
“Or you’ll what? Hit me? Kick me around like you used to? Good times, right?”
Dad stills. For an unexpected second, he actually looks regretful. “Clar-bear…”
I snap the top latch of the purse shut but leave the zipper open. “I don’t understand why it’s so hard to leave Martin. You turned your back on Uncle Mike like it was nothing. What’s so different now?”
He freezes. Then he laughs, but it’s uncomfortable to say the least. “What are you talking about?”
“I think you know.” I’m gripping the edges of the small bag so hard, I’m pretty sure my knuckles are turning white. Whatever I need to do to hide the fact that my fingers are trembling and my nerves are beyond shot. I know what this man, my own father, is capable of.
Dad fakes a chuckle and shakes his head. “Enjoying the free champagne a little too much, huh?”
“Michael Little was poisoned.”
His face falls. Those cold eyes focus on me, and I’m suddenly glad I decided to remain standing near the door. “Michael Little was shot.”
“He sure was. But that’s not what killed him.”
“And you know this how?”
“I don’t.” I slowly tilt my head to one side and return his stare. “You just told me.”
It’s a long shot that my bluff will pull through. Dad didn’t actually say anything, but he doesn’t need to know that. All he needs is a strong dose of confusion with a side of self-consciousness.
“I didn’t…” Dad starts to protest, then stops. His glare softens and then, finally, he relaxes back in his seat with a heavy sigh. “Shit. I didn’t think it would ever get out.”
Oh. My. God.
This is it.
This is the confession we need.
I don’t breathe a word. I don’t want to risk breaking the spell that’s clearly settled over him, compelling him to talk. Maybe he’s the one who drank too much free champagne. Or maybe he’s been carrying this for so long that he just can’t do it anymore.
“I didn’t poison him.” Dad levels his gaze at me again, but there’s none of the deathly chill like before. “I swear it, Clar-bear. I want—no, Ineedyou to know that. I know how much he meant to you.”
I try not to frown. I can’t tell if he’s lying. “But you came home early that day. And then he came over for coffee…”
“Yeah. To offme.”
I suck in a breath.
… What?
Dad must see that I’m thrown, because he musters a tiny, wry smile and nods again. “Yup. You heard me. Mikey figured out I was on the take, which he was going to report me for anyway…But then he found out about your mother and me having some marital problems and I guess he decided killing me was better.”
“‘Marital problems.’” My snorted laugh comes out completely unbidden. “You mean he found out you were beating the shit out of her.”
“Clara—”
“Call it what it was, Dad. At least give her the dignity of the truth.”
