Done to Death Page 8

  ‘Yeah, check your history and look at some of the shapes of their heads. This is crazy.’

  She pushed past him and into Lenore’s shoe closet. She turned on the light and tapped the button for the black shoe display, all still in their boxes with a color photo of the contents on the outside. She pressed a second time and then a third, the boxes shifting from back to front. She picked a pair of low-heeled pumps. ‘This is not a discussion. I want this baby, and you should too. We’re going to be awesome parents. All we have to do is ask, “What would Lenore do?” and then do the opposite.’

  ‘Rachel, you can’t.’

  And like a spark to gasoline, she turned on him. ‘Really? But I can, Richard, and I will. In case you try to stop me, let’s discuss the new world order, shall we? You’ve been fucking me since I was twelve and you were fifteen. Yes, I know I started the whole thing, but you weren’t exactly a lamb to slaughter. Now, I’ve checked some fun facts. You want to hear them?’

  ‘Rachel—’

  ‘Here they are: the age of consent in both Connecticut and New York is sixteen. At some point you crossed that line and for three years were having sex with a minor. While, yes, there is a one year statute of limitations in New York and two years in Connecticut. None of that matters, and aren’t you thrilled that you let Mommy bully me into pre-law? So let’s forget all that and move on to the federal Mann Act. Where basically transporting anyone across state lines for illegal sexual activity is criminal, and sex with a minor most certainly counts. There we’ve got a five year statute, which started to tick on my eighteenth birthday. Which leaves you with four years to wonder when, or if, I’ll drop that dime. And once convicted, you’d be a registered sex offender − that is, after you got out of jail. Now let’s think of what this exciting news − rape, incest and Lenore the lesbian – would have on your precious LPP. I’m thinking you would lose all sponsors, no network would run any of your programming, the magazine would tank … maybe get a last issue for the freak value. So, any ideas you have to lock me away, or get me to abort our child, you need to shut them down right fast. Do you understand?’

  Stunned, he said nothing. He felt a rage and the strong urge to hit her. To wrap his hands around her throat.

  ‘Oh dear.’ She stared back at him. ‘You know I can actually tell what you’re thinking. You want to hit me? Do it.’ Holding the shoes in one hand she stood still, barely a foot separating them.

  He caught the trace of her smile. And I can read your mind too, he thought. And he did the one thing he knew would hurt her. He turned and, without saying anything, walked out.

  ‘Get dressed,’ she shouted after him.

  He stopped. ‘Why?’

  ‘I want to go into town. Wear something somber.’

  ELEVEN

  It felt odd and, if Lil were honest, not great. She stood behind the stone wall of Grenville’s picturesque cemetery and watched Ada, who looked like a chic fifties hostess who’d just left a cocktail party to hang out among the graves. All she needed was a Martini and a cigarette.

  Earlier, they’d asked Lil if she’d wanted to join them in the RV. She’d declined. Ada had given her a look, as though she knew something was off. She’d asked, ‘Your column?’

  Lil had nodded, as though it were true. Face it, she thought, you’re jealous. You’re feeling like a third wheel. And you know what? Get over it. Unobserved, she felt another emotion, pride at how lovely Ada looked and at how natural she seemed in front of the camera. Not just here, but since that first phone conversation with Barry. As though Ada could speak this other language and pitch TV shows, albeit gruesome ones, off the top off her head. Why didn’t I know this about her? Don’t take her for granted. As she watched Ada, she realized this would be her next column. She’d have to be careful not to have it come off as self-serving. But the Grenville antiques industry could get a needed shot in the arm from having a hit reality show filmed in its midst. While the dealers she interviewed on a weekly basis downplayed the soft economy, the fallout had been severe. Sales had tanked across the board, with the notable exception of the very high end. The Grenville Chamber of Commerce had rallied − to the extent possible − around the two hundred plus dealers. But up and down High Street, where most of the eighteenth- and nineteenth-century homes had long ago been turned into antique shops, stores had closed and the town’s once bustling center was dotted with for-sale signs. Single dealer businesses, to survive the hard times, had merged into multi-dealer shops and co-ops in efforts to lessen the crushing weight of their overheads.

  Aware of the effect her weekly syndicated column could have on her hometown, Lil did what she could. Like the stock market, it too wasn’t all bad news, and that provided some of her more thought-provoking pieces on the up-and-down nature of antiques. What was hot ten years ago − like Victorian furniture − now gathered dust in the shops. And the Danish modern teak chairs and tables she and Bradley had purchased brand new in the seventies for his office were fetching exorbitant prices.

  As she thought of how she’d work this show into a column, she pulled out her camera. Zooming in on Ada, her breath caught. After all those emotions, jealousy, guilt, came the biggest of all. I love her.

  Searching for an interesting shot, she framed the cameraman and Melanie calling out directions from behind him. Her attention was suddenly pulled by a woman’s voice.

  ‘What the hell is going on? That’s an LPP truck.’

  Lil turned and faced a rail thin blonde girl in a clingy black dress, followed by a broad-shouldered young man in a charcoal gray suit. Her immediate thought was there must be a funeral. This was a cemetery after all.

  ‘What’s a film crew doing in Grenville?’ The woman grabbed the man’s arm. ‘Did you know about this?’

  Lil couldn’t hear his response. She recognized the girl as Rachel Parks. The man she wasn’t so sure of, either her boyfriend or her brother. Based on how she was hanging on his arm, she suspected the former. In general, spotting celebrities around Grenville was not a big deal. Quite a few movie stars, writers and Hollywood producers kept homes in this part of Connecticut. Often it was an attempt to give their children a normal childhood. The schools were top notch, and by and large people didn’t bother them.

  Rachel Parks looked at Lil. ‘Do you know what’s going on here?’

  ‘Yes. I’m Lil Campbell,’ she said. ‘I am so sorry to hear about your mother.’

  To her surprise the man answered. ‘Thank you.’

  ‘So what’s going on?’ Rachel asked.

  Despite the girl’s black dress and severe ponytail, Lil got no sense of grief. Not from the girl. The man on the other hand looked green. ‘You’re Richard Parks?’ she asked.

  ‘Yes.’ He turned to his sister, who seemed fused to his side. ‘I have no idea, it’s something that must already have been in production. Maybe Mom wanted to do another piece about country living.’

  Lil was pulled by the hollow sound of his voice. ‘I can tell you what I know,’ she offered.

  ‘Please,’ Rachel said, her green eyes wide.

  Lil wondered what a more seasoned reporter would do, and was also struck by how much Rachel’s eyes were like those of her famous mother. A real reporter would start snapping pictures, she thought. I can’t do that. ‘They’re filming the pilot for a reality show.’

  Richard Parks stared across the cemetery. His gaze fell on Ada and the crew members. He looked at Melanie and squinted. ‘Who’s the producer?’ he asked.

  ‘Barry Stromstein.’

  ‘Where is he? I don’t see him.’ Richard said. His jaw was tight.

  He sounded pissed, and Lil wondered what kind of hornet’s nest was being kicked. ‘I think he’s meeting with the mayor to try and push through some permits for the filming.’

  ‘My goodness, Lil Campbell,’ Rachel said, ‘you really do know a lot about this. And that would be because?’

  ‘You see the hostess?’ Lil asked.

  ‘You mean the old lady
in the black dress? She’s sweet.’

  ‘I think so,’ Lil said, and something about hearing Ada called old made her blurt, ‘She’s my girlfriend.’

  ‘Really?’ Rachel’s eyes widened. She looked at her brother, who clearly wanted to get out of there. ‘Girlfriend as in … I love you, you love me?’

  Lil found herself fascinated by this thin − almost to the point of cadaverous − young woman. Something about her was simultaneously engaging and off-putting. Then again, she was the one who had offered the information. And, as her curmudgeon of an editor had correctly stated, you have to give to get. ‘We’ve been together for three years, but friends for a lot longer than that.’

  ‘Fascinating … and right here in butt fuck Connecticut. I wonder if Mother knew.’

  Lil recoiled at the vulgarity. Rachel was beautiful, but the angles of her face were a bit too sharp and her smile seemed brittle, as though applied like a layer of make-up.

  Richard stared straight ahead. ‘Don’t.’

  ‘Things have a way of coming out.’ Rachel pressed in against her brother.

  Richard looked at Lil, as though just seeing her. ‘What’s the show about?’

  ‘It’s a twist on the antique appraiser shows.’ She sensed he wasn’t really listening but wanted her to talk as a way of keeping his sister quiet. ‘It’s a little morbid.’

  ‘I love morbid,’ Rachel said. ‘That’s why they’re filming in the cemetery?’

  ‘I think so, trying to set the tone. Each week the focus will be on the estate of someone who’s just died. A group of appraisers will come in and compete to settle the estate. At the end they tally it all up − that’s the name of the show.’

  ‘Tally it all up?’ Richard asked, as though he’d tasted something sour.

  ‘No, it’s called Final Reckoning,’ Lil said.

  ‘Huh. It’s not bad,’ he admitted. ‘Certainly better than a lot of the other crap out there.’

  ‘Oh my!’ Rachel gushed. She gently kicked Richard. ‘This is the pilot. Oh my God, oh my God!’

  Richard stared at his sister, who was pulling at his arm like a child demanding cotton candy at the fair.

  ‘Richard.’ She was staring up at him, her eyes wide, her smile luminous.

  ‘No,’ he said without hesitation.

  ‘It’s perfect. Oh my God! This is fate. I mean what are the chances?’

  ‘Absolutely not.’

  Rachel turned to Lil. ‘So if this is the pilot, whose estate are they using?’

  Lil felt their focus. Blue eyes and green eyes. She tried to recall from those long ago tabloids whether Lenore had used the same father for her two children. She couldn’t remember. ‘To be honest, I don’t think they’ve gotten that far.’

  ‘So they need the estate of someone who just died.’ Rachel’s hands flew to her lips. ‘Richard, think about it.’

  ‘Rachel, please. Don’t. No, absolutely not!’

  ‘No.’ Her teasing and flirtation were replaced by something hard. ‘Listen to me. And if you can’t listen to me, think about our beloved mother. Everything she did was for the camera. Everything. She filmed our inseminations, brother.’

  Lil shuddered at the memory. It had been groundbreaking and the kind of thing discussed in Bradley’s waiting room. Lenore Parks, the modern woman, taking things into her own hands. And here, some twenty years later, were the products. She looked at them, realizing she’d not a clue as to what kinds of lives these two must have lived, like another species. She couldn’t help but stare, and wonder what was passing between them.

  Rachel was determined. ‘You think she would object to a few of her prized possessions being hauled out for the viewing public? Really? If she were here right now, you know she’d tell you to go ahead and do it.’

  ‘It’s a bad idea.’ His tone was less certain.

  ‘The hell it is. Hear me out,’ Rachel said and then, to Lil, ‘I’m not supposed to know about these things, but it doesn’t take a brain surgeon to realize that having our murdered mother’s items come up for sale on a show like this could be a huge ratings grab.’

  Richard stared at her. ‘You’re serious.’ His gaze narrowed. ‘Why?’

  ‘Call it a whim …’ Her voice trailed, and the corner of her lip turned up. ‘Or maybe a craving. But no, the more I think about it … This isn’t a coincidence, this is happening for a reason. And I’ll tell you something else.’

  Lil felt like an interloper. Yes, any reporter would give their eye teeth for this opportunity. She couldn’t do that, and felt the decent thing would be to leave these two to hash out their differences. But neither had given any sense that her presence was unwanted, as though having strangers view their personal conflicts was to be expected. So she stood there, trying to piece it together.

  ‘It’s our house now, Richard.’ Rachel turned to her brother. Their gazes locked.

  Lil stood frozen as Rachel rested her head against Richard’s chest. This isn’t how brothers and sisters normally act. Is this grief? Or …

  ‘It’s our house,’ she repeated. ‘I want all her things gone. All those old dead people’s things.’ She looked up, her voice little more than a whisper. ‘I want everything to be new. Everything. Please, do this for me.’

  And the part said for his ears only, that Lil clearly caught.

  ‘… do this for the baby.’

  The part Lil agonized over and knew she must have misheard was … did she say ‘the baby’ … or ‘our baby’? Rachel’s whispered words played in her head and her gut churned − yes, these two were mourning the loss of their mother, but she’d never seen a grown brother and sister so physically close. She couldn’t have meant … Her confused reverie was interrupted by Barry Stromstein’s voice calling from the curb. ‘Richard?’

  TWELVE

  Barry, no stranger to big-stakes risks in his career, could not have predicted the shit-storm waiting for him at the cemetery. What the hell were Richard and Rachel Parks doing at his location shoot? There’d been no warning. Everything he was doing was on his own say so. If pressed, he’d say that it was agreed to in his last meeting with Lenore which, while a lie, was at least plausible. He braced for the worst: getting the plug pulled and having to tell his staff that they − and he himself − were unemployed. And what would he tell Jeanine? How could he break it to her?

  But this? He stood dumbfounded outside the black RV and listened to the outrageous crap spewing from Rachel Parks’ mouth. Ever fast on his feet, he knew two things − if he wanted to keep his job and have Final Reckoning make it off the blocks he’d need not only to accept this insanity, but to make it work. The second realization, as he looked from the manically excited blonde to her stoic brother, was she’s the one with the power. How the hell did that happen?

  ‘Don’t you think it’s an amazing idea?’ Rachel asked.

  Barry, whose career was based on a series of fortuitous events combined with an ability to read people, was faced with a choice. Attempt to talk sense into this deranged − possibly grieving, but it sure didn’t look, smell or feel like that − young woman, or nod his head and agree. ‘Amazing,’ he said, pumping as much enthusiasm into that single word as possible.

  Rachel grabbed her brother’s hand. ‘We can film at the house … and have a tag sale. Can’t you see it? All of Mom’s stuff on the lawn, people pawing through her clothes, haggling over the price.’ She giggled. ‘Welcome to Lenore’s final reckoning. She won’t just roll in her grave …’ – she nearly choked on her laughter – ‘… she’ll be spinning.’

  ‘I should get a producing credit,’ she said to Barry. ‘And that old woman you had in the cemetery. You sure she’s right for this? I think she’s too old.’

  Barry winced as his fun and quirky show got shredded by this out-of-control brat. ‘I don’t know,’ he said. ‘You might want to meet her − she’s different.’ And was Rachel serious? Using Lenore’s estate? Yes, there was supposed to be a bit of creep factor, but …

>   ‘We met her girlfriend,’ she said. ‘She explained the concept. It’s brilliant. I can’t believe it’s not been done before.’

  ‘Lil Campbell, I saw you talking to her. She writes a syndicated column on antiques.’

  ‘So you knew?’ Rachel asked.

  ‘Knew what?’

  ‘You know.’ She shrugged her shoulders and spread her thumb and forefinger into an L and mouthed ‘lesbians’.

  Barry didn’t know, having spent the morning away from his team in a series of rapidly arranged handshake-and-promise meetings with Grenville’s mayor, police chief and head of the Chamber of Commerce. In light of the insanity Rachel had just proposed, having a gay hostess barely registered.

  Rachel turned to her brother. ‘That’s kind of cute, older lesbians.’

  Barry watched as she stared at Richard, who seemed unnaturally quiet. His jaw was tight, his gaze fixed on his sister. Something was going on. On Rachel’s part he saw a playful edge, but the way a cat toys with a mouse, where someone’s having fun and someone else is about to get their belly ripped open. He stared across at the film crew, surrounded by a circle of curious townspeople. They’d wrapped the shoot. Melanie was looking in his direction; it was easy to put words to the questions on her face.

  ‘Rachel … Richard, I don’t mean to interrupt,’ Barry said. ‘But we’ve got a tight schedule and we need to get to our next location.’

  ‘Where were you going next?’ Rachel asked.

  ‘I want to film the town center and get footage of the antique shops. I’ve got a bunch of potential locations lined up. If we can get through two or three that would be great.’

  ‘And the castings?’ Richard asked, his first words to Barry.

  ‘We have ads in today’s paper and the mayor and Chamber of Commerce people felt they could spread the word. I’m not too worried about that; it’s more a question of sorting through and finding the three or four dealers that will work on camera.’

  Richard glared at Barry. He ran his hands through his hair. ‘Rachel, think about this. Strangers in the house going through Mom’s things. Selling them on TV.’