Don't Believe a Word Read online

  ‘Where are you going to move?’ asked Eden, taking the seat on the sofa that he had indicated.

  Flynn rubbed his unshaven face. ‘Back to New York, I guess. My grandparents want me to move back in with them, but that’s not going to happen. I’d have to be a full-time caretaker. I’ve had enough of that to suit me. I need a little more life around me.’

  Having met Flynn’s grandparents, Eden doubted that they would want him to live with them for any reason. But obviously, he needed to believe that they would. ‘My mother said that they raised you,’ she said. She was thinking of that terrible story of Flynn, a helpless toddler alone in an apartment eating out of a cat food bowl.

  Flynn shrugged. ‘You probably think I ought to be paying them back by being a nursemaid for them.’

  ‘I don’t think that,’ said Eden truthfully. ‘In fact, I was just thinking that you’ve had a lot of loss in your life.’

  ‘Happens to everybody,’ he said dismissively, and sat down on the sofa beside her. From down the hall, they could hear the sound of furniture being pushed across the floor, and jostled objects thudding against one another. Flynn had spread out his manuscript and Eden’s suggested changes on the coffee table in front of them. Then he reached into the pocket of his T-shirt and pulled out a crumpled packet of cigarettes. He lit one up and tossed the empty packet on the table. He reached down for an ashtray which was on the floor beside him.

  ‘You smoke in here?’ she asked.

  Flynn glared at her. ‘Not when they were here,’ he said. ‘But they’re not here anymore.’

  Despite the obvious truth of his words, something about the way he said it offended her. ‘I wish you wouldn’t,’ she said. ‘It’s suffocating.’

  ‘This is my last one anyway. I have to go out and get more,’ he said. But he continued to smoke. ‘Now about these changes.’

  ‘Yes,’ said Eden evenly.

  ‘Most of them don’t appeal to me. But I agree with you that we have to acknowledge what happened. I was thinking of this.’ He pulled out a clipping from the local paper and showed it to her. The headline read ‘Murder/Suicide of a Mother and Her Disabled Son’. The article detailed the deaths of Tara and Jeremy.

  Eden blanched at the sight of it.

  ‘I thought we could just run this,’ he said. ‘You know, in the front. As it is. Without any commentary. Just let them know, going in, what they are really reading about. That this is how the story ended. I mean, why not just put it out there?’

  Eden tried to collect her thoughts. ‘It seems a little … sensational, for such a serious book.’

  ‘Sensational,’ he said scornfully. ‘Please. You represent a publisher. Sensational is what sells books. It’s what’s going to sell this book. No one but a few literature students would be interested in my pitiful life story if this,’ he said, shaking the clipping, ‘hadn’t happened. At least be honest and admit that.’

  Eden forced herself to remain calm. ‘Yes, I think you’re right. This … incident—’

  ‘Crime,’ he interjected angrily.

  ‘This will certainly be a part of the promotion for the book. I’m not denying that. We both know it.’ Eden hesitated, choosing her words. ‘But don’t you want to write about this? Don’t you think the reader deserves, either as introduction or epilogue, to hear from you about this tragic event? Your thoughts, your feelings?’

  ‘Are you kidding?’ he cried. ‘It’s only been what … six weeks since I lost my wife and my son? It will take me years before I’m ready to write about this. Don’t you know anything about this process?’

  ‘I believe I do,’ said Eden evenly.

  ‘Well, you couldn’t if you think that I could write about this so soon after.’

  ‘No one forced you to send in the manuscript before they were even cold,’ she said.

  Flynn looked at her with narrowed eyes. He took a last drag on his cigarette and smashed the butt into the ashtray. Then he took a deep breath. ‘That’s fairly hostile,’ he said.

  ‘Sorry,’ she said, though what she was thinking was quite different. How could you have married this guy? she asked her mother in her mind. She needed to calm down. Writers are like children, she reminded herself. Wayward and difficult. Everyone in the business knows that. She forced herself to be conciliatory. ‘Look, let’s just take it easy. I can run your idea about the clipping before the editorial director and get his reaction. Then get back to you.’

  ‘This is not negotiable. I can’t write on command,’ he said gruffly.

  ‘Understood. As for the rest of these changes—’

  ‘Any that are grammatical are okay,’ he said, trying belatedly to show how cooperative he could be. ‘I can even shift a few of these paragraphs that you mention.’

  There was the sound of footsteps outside in the hallway and then Aaliya appeared at the door. ‘Excuse me,’ she said. ‘But do you have any more cartons? I have already filled the ones you gave me.’

  ‘Down the basement,’ he said.

  Aaliya nodded and withdrew from the room. Eden watched her go, frowning.

  ‘What?’ he demanded.

  ‘Well, she’s a student intern. Not a servant,’ she said.

  ‘She wants to help,’ he said defensively. ‘She offered.’

  Eden drew in her breath, unconvinced. ‘We can come back to this idea about the article after I talk to Rob.’

  Flynn stood up. ‘Okay. Let’s leave it for now.’

  Obviously, the meeting was at an end. Eden stood up.

  Flynn turned around and rummaged through some boxes that were piled on a chair. ‘By the way, the stuff in this one’s for you. Some of Tara’s stuff. I thought you might want it.’

  Reluctantly, she took the box. ‘I hate to ask this,’ she said, ‘but would you mind if I went through some of her belongings? There may be some things of sentimental value to me.’

  Flynn grimaced and scratched his head. ‘I want to get out of here. I don’t really have time for everyone to go rummaging through her stuff …’

  I’m not everyone, Eden thought, but she didn’t say it. ‘I was particularly wondering if maybe she kept any diaries. She used to when I was a girl. I’m just looking for some reason, I guess. I’d like to know what she was thinking that led to this … tragedy.’

  ‘She didn’t have time for diaries,’ he said. ‘She had her hands full with Jeremy.’

  For a moment, Eden saw his eyes well up with tears, and she was reminded of his loss.

  ‘There’s nothing,’ he said dismissively.

  ‘Well, that’s your call,’ said Eden. Cradling the box to her chest, she picked her way through the living room and toward the hallway. As she reached the door, she turned to him again. ‘One more thing,’ she said. ‘I wanted to speak to Lizzy. Who worked with Jeremy? I met her at the funeral but I didn’t have a chance to talk to her. Could you give me her number?’

  ‘Lizzy’s got nothing to say to you,’ he said shortly.

  Eden stared at him. ‘Are you refusing to give me her number?’ she asked.

  Flynn shook his head impatiently. ‘Don’t be paranoid.’ He picked up a pen and pad from a pile on the hall table. He hesitated over it a second. ‘I think it’s …’

  He wrote down a number.

  ‘You think? You’re not sure?’

  ‘That’s their number,’ he said.

  Eden took the paper, looked at it, and folded it into a compartment in her purse. ‘I’ll call you when I find out what Rob thinks about using the newspaper article.’

  ‘You do that,’ he said.

  TEN

  Eden drove back to the motel, so distracted by her encounter with Flynn that she nearly ran a stop sign. She pulled into the parking lot beside a late-model sedan. There were two men dressed in parkas sitting in the front seat. As she got out of her car, juggling the box of her mother’s belongings that Flynn had foisted on her, the man on the passenger side got out of his car and hailed her.

  ‘Excuse m
e,’ he said. ‘Are you Eden Radley?’

  Eden turned, frowning, the key to her suite in her hand. ‘Yes. Why?’

  The driver got out of the car as well. He was the taller of the two, trim and sleek, and wearing a Rolex watch beneath his winter gear. He reached out and handed Eden a card. ‘My name is Barry Preston. I’m an investigator for the Harriman Insurance company.’ He gestured to the other, stockier man. ‘This is my associate, Tim McNee. We had an appointment.’

  ‘Oh yes, of course,’ said Eden. ‘My father said he spoke to you.’

  Andy Chisholm, the portly, gray-haired salesman in the suite next to Eden’s, emerged from his room and, after he had locked his door and jiggled the doorknob, looked suspiciously at the insurance agents and Eden. ‘Everything all right, Eden?’ he said pointedly.

  ‘Just fine,’ she said, feeling absurdly grateful today for his concern. ‘How about you?’

  ‘Oh, fine. Calls to make,’ said the salesman cheerfully. ‘Making friends, I see. Sure you’re okay?’

  Eden smiled wanly. ‘Positive.’ She unlocked the door to her room and turned to the two insurance agents. ‘Please come in.’

  The men followed her in and looked around. Eden offered them a seat in the living room. ‘Can I get you something to drink?’ she asked.

  Preston shook his head. ‘No, I’m fine.’

  ‘No, thanks,’ said McNee. He was a well-groomed, thick-bodied guy of around forty. He flashed her an encouraging smile.

  Eden sat down opposite them.

  ‘Well, first of all, let me say that I’m sorry for your loss,’ said Preston.

  ‘Thanks,’ said Eden.

  ‘Now, Ms Radley, I’m not sure how much you know. Are you aware that your mother had an extremely large term life insurance policy?’

  ‘Uh. No,’ said Eden. ‘I was not.’

  ‘She did,’ said Preston. ‘Your stepfather, Mr Darby, is named as the beneficiary. Mr Darby had a matching policy, with your mother as the named beneficiary. There is also a policy, in a much smaller amount, that they had taken out on the life of their son, Jeremy. You are named as a contingent beneficiary on your mother’s policy.’

  ‘What does that mean?’ Eden asked.

  ‘Simply put, if your mother had died after your stepfather, you would have been the beneficiary of her policy.’

  ‘I don’t know anything about … any of it,’ said Eden.

  ‘All three policies were purchased when your brother, Jeremy, was only eighteen months old. I’m told, by their agent, that the child had been definitely diagnosed with Katz-Ellison syndrome at that time. Mr and Mrs Darby specifically stated, in their paperwork, that they wanted to be sure, in the event of their deaths, that there would be adequate funds for Jeremy’s care. For the long term.’

  ‘Well, that makes sense, I suppose,’ said Eden. She looked narrowly at the attorney. ‘Wait a minute,’ she said. ‘I’m a little confused. My mother committed suicide. Doesn’t that cancel the payout on a life insurance policy?’

  Mr McNee explained. ‘Only if the insured commits suicide within a year of buying the coverage. After a year has passed, it is assumed that the suicidal intentions were not formed until after the policy was purchased.’

  ‘And that was the case with my mother,’ said Eden.

  The two men exchanged a glance.

  ‘Well, okay. Then I’m not really sure why you are here,’ she said.

  ‘The total amount for the two policies on mother and son is five million dollars,’ Preston said.

  Eden gaped at him.

  ‘You heard me right,’ Preston said. ‘Five million dollars.’

  Five million dollars. ‘That’s a lot of money,’ said Eden. She couldn’t help remembering what Flynn’s grandfather had said. Something to the effect that her mother had done Flynn a favor. That he would take the insurance money and be off on a world cruise.

  ‘As you can imagine,’ Preston said, ‘with that amount of money involved, the company takes a very intense interest in the circumstances of your mother’s death.’

  Still stunned, Eden nodded. ‘Well, yeah. Sure.’

  ‘Were you aware that your mother intended to kill herself?’ Preston asked.

  ‘No,’ said Eden, shaking her head at the baldness of the phrase. ‘No.’

  ‘She never said anything to you that would indicate that she planned to take her own life?’

  ‘No,’ said Eden. ‘But she and I were not … close in recent years.’

  ‘There is no record of her being treated by a psychologist or psychiatrist. Are you aware of any such treatment?’

  Eden peered at him. ‘No, she never mentioned that to me.’

  ‘Does that strike you as strange? If she was suicidally depressed, it would stand to reason that someone would have urged her to seek help.’

  ‘I thought the same thing,’ Eden admitted, ‘so I asked about that.’ She recalled her conversation with Dr Tanaka just this morning. ‘Apparently she was urged to seek help. But she didn’t do it.’

  The two men nodded, and avoided her gaze.

  ‘I still don’t understand,’ said Eden. ‘Didn’t you say that as long as a year had elapsed between the time they bought the insurance and the time of her death, Harriman insurance has to pay?’

  McNee, the smaller, stouter of the two men, frowned. ‘Ms Radley, we’ve received an anonymous tip,’ he said.

  ‘A tip about what?’ she asked.

  ‘That your mother’s death might not have been suicide.’

  Eden stifled the urge to cry out. ‘Not suicide?’ she asked calmly. ‘What else could it have been?’

  McNee grimaced. ‘We’ve considered the possibility of an accident.’

  ‘I did think most carbon monoxide deaths were accidental,’ said Eden. ‘I did hear on the news, just after it happened, that the CO2 detector had been deactivated by a neighbor at my mother’s request. Is that what you think? That it was an accident?’

  Barry Preston shook his head. ‘No. There was a note,’ he said. ‘And they both had barbiturates in their systems.’

  Eden shook her head. ‘Then I don’t understand what you’re saying.’

  ‘The tip which we received suggested that someone may have murdered your mother and half-brother, and tried it to make it look like a murder/suicide.’

  Eden began to shake, in spite of herself. She stared at them. ‘Are you kidding me? No …’

  ‘As I said,’ McNee reiterated, ‘this was an anonymous tip. We have no other verification of it at this point.’

  ‘Did you tell the police?’ Eden asked.

  ‘Yes, I spoke to a Lieutenant Burt who is in charge of the case. They received the same tip. He said they would look into it, but he hasn’t returned our calls.’

  Eden thought back to what they had told her. ‘You said they had barbiturates in their systems? Both of them?’

  ‘Yes, according to the police,’ said Preston. ‘But the coroner’s report has not been forthcoming. Nor have we been able to see the suicide note.’

  ‘Why not? Do you ordinarily have access to the police reports?’

  McNee nodded. ‘Under normal circumstances.’

  ‘Did you ask the police for the reports?’ she asked.

  ‘I asked for them, of course. But, so far, the paperwork we have received is incomplete,’ said McNee.

  ‘Why? Why would they withhold it?’

  ‘I don’t know. I’m just saying that there are questions. The question of who profits from these deaths is always paramount,’ said McNee.

  Suddenly, Eden understood. She felt as if a cold fingertip had just been drawn down her spine. ‘Flynn?’ she said.

  Preston interjected, answering her question with a question. ‘How would you characterize the marriage between Mr Darby and his wife?’

  She wanted to say that she knew very little about their relationship, but now that she had read Flynn’s book, she felt as if she understood it pretty well. It’s fiction, she reminded
herself. They could have been fighting like cats and dogs.

  ‘Miss Radley?’

  ‘I knew nothing about their relationship. They … kept to themselves. I never met Flynn Darby before my mother’s funeral.’

  ‘Your mother must have talked about him.’

  ‘Not really. To say the least, he was a sore subject in our family. Look, why won’t the police help you with this? They’re the ones who investigated it.’

  ‘They concluded that it was a murder/suicide and that is the official version of events.’

  ‘I guess the police have no reason to lie about it,’ Eden said.

  ‘Do you know Mr Darby’s grandfather? Michael Darby?’ McNee asked.

  ‘No,’ said Eden. ‘I’ve met him once. He lives in my home town.’

  ‘He was a police officer in Robbin’s Ferry until his retirement.’

  ‘Really?’ Eden asked. She thought about the scrawny, angry man she had met. A police officer? It had to be a long time ago. ‘How does this concern him?’

  ‘It’s a brotherhood, Miss Radley,’ said Barry Preston. ‘They protect their own.’

  ‘Michael Darby? I don’t understand. Protect him from what? What are you saying?’

  ‘Flynn Darby, Michael Darby’s grandson, is threatening a lawsuit against Harriman Insurance if we do not release the payout immediately on his policy. Harriman is considering a countersuit in federal court against Mr Darby.’

  ‘A countersuit? On what grounds?’ Eden asked.

  ‘Well, under federal law, there is something called the slayer statute, which says that a person cannot profit from the death of someone if they were instrumental in causing that death.’

  ‘The slayer statute?’ Eden cried. She clenched her hands, which were shaking. ‘Now, wait a minute. Believe me, I would rather not contemplate the fact that my mother was capable of this … horrible act, but Flynn Darby, no matter what I might think of him, was nowhere near that house when my mother died. Besides, the house where they lived was sealed up from the inside by my mother.’

  ‘When you first heard about it, did it seem unlikely to you?’ McNee asked. ‘Uncharacteristic of your mother to do such a thing?’

  ‘Well yes, of course. But whoever expects a loved one to do something so … terrible?’