The gate on the road below Belle Manor was closed when Addison approached it. She flicked her finger in the air, and it came unhinged, blowing open. She grinned and drove on. She was met at the front door by the same man she’d met before. It was time for his identity reveal party.
He crossed the threshold to the outside, his arms stiff at his sides. “Oh no you don’t. You’re not coming in here. I’m calling the police.”
He jammed a hand into his pocket, pulled out his cell phone, and shoved it in front of her face.
“Go ahead,” Addison said. “Why don’t we get Detective Harry Briggs? If you don’t have his number, I’d be happy to give it to you.”
“Who’s Harry Briggs?”
“I get it,” Addison said. “It’s been a long time since you’ve seen him. Allow me to refresh your memory. Briggs is the guy who was investigating the disappearance, or should I say murder, of Libby Carrington. We’ve been chatting, working on reopening the case.”
He swished a hand through the air. “Bull crap. I don’t believe it. Why would he care after all this time? They didn’t find her before, and they won’t find her now. She took off, ran away. No one knows where she is.”
“Someone knows.”
They locked eyes, and Addison saw him for who he really was—a weak, old man.
She swept past him and entered the manor, surprised to find an older woman in the sitting room. The woman leaned back in an armchair, drinking a cup of tea. She appeared to be the same age as the man, and she was dressed in a pair of colorful, striped rayon slacks and a black blazer. Her short, gray hair was permed and somewhat covered by a scarf.
“You’re not Cecilia,” Addison said. “Who are you, and why are you in her house?”
The woman set the cup on the table next to her, crossed one leg over the other, and glanced at Addison. “Well now, maybe you ought to tell me who you are before you start ordering me around, eh?”
“All right, I’m Addison. And you are?”
The man stormed through the front door and slammed it behind him. He glared at the woman and said, “Don’t you say a word. Not one word.”
“You’re not in charge of what I say or don’t say,” the woman said. “I’ll do what I like.”
The woman gestured at a chair to her right. “Sit down, Addison, and tell me what this is all about.”
Addison faced the man. “You’re not Lawrence Belle. Who are you? And why does Cecilia think you’re her husband?”
“CeeCee isn’t in her right mind, dear,” the woman said. “Not anymore. She doesn’t even remember who she is most days.”
“Is it because of all the drugs she’s taking?”
“The medications, you mean?” the woman said. “She needs them.”
“All of them?”
“She’s not well, and to be honest, they make it so she doesn’t remember.”
“What kind of a life is that?” Addison asked. “She deserves better.”
“Does she deserve to be in a psychiatric hospital?” the woman asked. “Because she’ll end up in one if she goes off her meds.”
Addison shifted her attention to the man. “Why did Lawrence plow into a car his own daughter was in? What kind of person murders his own child?”
The woman crossed her arms in front of her, her face ripe with emotion. “She was such a sweet girl, our Sara. The day she died was the worst day of our lives, one none of us will ever forget. You must understand, Lawrence wasn’t innocent by any means, but when it comes to Sara, her death was an accident.”
“Shut up, Flora!” the man said.
“I will not, Harold,” she replied. “You shut up.”
He shook his head. “Good hell, woman. How many weed gummies have you had today?”
“Two,” Flora said, “and they seem to be kicking in. Hallelujah!”
Flora flashed a devilish grin at the man. It was clear she relished infuriating him. She seemed relieved, happy to share the family’s secrets.
“Lawrence didn’t know Sara was in the car the day of the accident,” Addison said. “That much I know.”
“He thought Sara was with her grandmother,” Flora said. “He didn’t know at the last minute Josephine had said she couldn’t take Sara for ice cream, and Scarlett offered instead.”
“I assume he asked Scarlett to run errands on purpose,” Addison said. “But why did he want her dead? What did she find?”
“I don’t know,” Flora said. “If she found something, he didn’t tell me.”
Addison pulled the locket out of her pocket, dangling it between her fingers. “Was it over this?”
“I’ve never seen it before,” Flora said. “Whose is it?”
The man swiped at the necklace. His fingers brushed across it, and he jerked them back, wincing in pain. “What the hell? Why is it so damned hot?”
Flora pressed a hand to her chest and roared with laughter.
“Who knew today would turn out to be such a fun,” Flora said. “I must thank you, Addison. I haven’t felt this good in ages.”
Gripping his charred fingertips like he thought they would fall off, he scurried out of the room.
“What’s with the necklace?” Flora asked.
“Let’s just say it’s temperamental. Who is Harold to you? And, are you related to Cecilia?”
“Harold is Cecilia’s brother, and I’m his unfortunate wife.”
“Where is Lawrence Belle?”
“He’s ... ahh ... he hasn’t been seen for a long time, not in the flesh.”
“Has Harold been taking care of Cecilia all these years?”
“I suppose he helps out here and there. I’m her main caregiver. We’ve been close friends ever since we were kids, long before I dated her idiot brother. Worst mistake of my life, by the way.”
“Dating him?”
“Marrying him. He thinks I use edibles because my back’s in pain. I don’t. My back’s fine. I use it to get through the day with him. You know, his mother tried to tell me he was a bad apple, and I didn’t listen.”
“Josephine?”
“Yes, they weren’t close.”
“Why?”
“He never was the hard-working type. Hated work, in fact. Struggled to hold down a job, any job. It’s why we never had kids. Couldn’t afford them. He used to steal from Josephine all the time to pay for the lifestyle he wanted to have. Stole money, hawked her jewelry. If it was worth anything, he took it, until she cut him off and removed him from her life.”
Josephine had never spoken of him.
Now Addison understood why.
“Lawrence killed Scarlett and Sara, but not Libby. Who did?”
Flora’s gaze shifted from Addison to the hallway, and her eyes widened. Addison turned, finding herself staring down the barrel of a gun.
Hands shaking, Harold said, “Get out of this house. Go on. Git.”
“Oh, Harold,” Flora said. “Hells bells. Put the gun down, and stop being so dramatic. I won’t cover for you again. Not this time.”
“Get out!” Harold said. “I will put a bullet in ya.”
Addison raised her hand in front of her. The gun flew out of Harold’s hand, clanking on the ground behind him.
He stared at the gun, and then at Addison, backing himself against the wall. “How did you ... how could you do what you just did without touching it? There’s something wrong with you.”
Addison walked toward him. “You’re right, Harold. Something is wrong with me, and if you don’t tell me what I need to know, I’ll show you.”
“No offense,” Flora said, “but I think you already have. I’m either having an extra great trip today, or you have a magical hand, which doesn’t seem logical, so I blame the weed. Trying a new strain this week.”
Addison pointed at Harold. “You killed Libby Carrington. You chased her through the forest and forced her onto her knees. She thought you were going to rape her. You said you’d never forced anyone to have sex. You pulled out a flashlight, and right before you cracked it over her head, you told her she could scream all she wanted. It no longer mattered.”
Harold slid down the wall until his body reached the ground. He wiped the sweat from his brow and said, “You couldn’t know about our conversation. No one does, not all of it.”
“Not even me,” Flora said. “Not all those details, anyway. Is it true?”
“It is,” Addison said.
Addison bent over Harold. “Why did you kill her? And where is her body?”
“It wasn’t supposed to happen,” he said. “Lawrence made me do it. He was always so private. He’d worked hard to keep parts of his life secret. I’d drunk too much that night. I didn’t know we had an audience. We got caught. Lawrence was furious. And he ordered me to clean up the mess I made.”
Flora clapped her hands. “Bravo, Harold. How does it feel to tell the truth for once in your life?”
“Lawrence didn’t make you do anything,” Addison said. “You had a choice. You always have a choice.”
“I ... she shouldn’t have been snooping around.”
“What did she see, the two of you with other women? Was he afraid she’d tell your wife?”
“Afraid of little ole’ me?” Flora said. “Oh, no, honey. You got it all wrong. I knew about the, uhh ... eye that wandered, let’s say. Cecilia was the one who didn’t have a clue, and I never had the heart to tell her. She can’t handle things like I can.”
“You knew your husband stepped out with other women sometimes?” Addison asked.
Harold glared at Flora. “Don’t.”
“Don’t, what? Talk about your flirtations with other men?”
“What? Wait. Are you saying Lawrence and Harold were—”
“They weren’t having sex when Libby wandered by and caught them. They were kissing, which was bad enough. You have to understand, it was a different time back then. It wasn’t accepted. Lawrence was part of high society. If it got out, if Cecilia found out ... well, it would have changed everything.”
A sound echoed from behind. Addison turned. Cecilia picked the gun off the floor and aimed it at Harold.
“You ... you ... bastard!” she screamed. “How could you, Lawrence?”
“I’m not Lawrence, CeeCee. I’m Harold, your brother.”
Hands trembling, she tipped her head to the side. “No. You’re lying. You’re not Harold. You’re Lawrence. You’re my husband. My husband who betrayed me with my own brother!”
Addison considered removing the gun from Cecilia’s hand, but didn’t.
Why offer Harold mercy when he had offered none to Libby?
Flora stood, moving in Cecilia’s direction in a slow, somewhat apathetic way. “Now listen, CeeCee. You’re holding a gun on your brother, Harold. Put it down now, okay? Actually, on second thought, don’t. He’s a murderer. He deserves what he gets. He deserves the life he’s taken from us, the one we could have had until he ruined it all.”
“You’re right,” Cecilia said. “He ruined our lives. They both did. I ... I remember now.”
Cecilia squeezed the trigger.
The bullet exploded out of the gun, piercing Harold’s chest.
“Flora!” Harold shouted. “Look what you’ve done!”
Flora shuffled toward him and leaned over him, resting her hands on her hips. “What I’ve done? You deserve this, husband. A life for a life. We’re all in this. Every single one of us aided and abetted in some way. We’re all at fault here. Well, everyone except you, Addison. I’d like to point out, you still haven’t told us who you are.”
“I’m a necromancer.”
Addison had uttered the words without thinking.
She waited for fear and regret to kick in, but it didn’t.
Fear and regret was the old Addison.
The new Addison felt relief.
Relief that came from living her truth.
“A necro...what?” Flora asked.
“It doesn’t matter. What does is my reason for being here—to see Sara, Scarlett, Libby, and Josephine get the justice they deserve.”
Cecilia stared at Harold, the weight of what she’d done setting in, and she collapsed to the ground. The gun fell from her hand, clanking on the floor below. With what little strength Harold had left, he inched his body toward it.
Addison raised a hand, and the gun flew through the air, landing in her palm like a magnet. She released the remaining bullets from the chamber, tossed the gun to the side, and joined Flora, who was attempting to move Cecilia to the couch.
Addison hovered over Cecilia. She was still breathing. “She’ll be all right. She needs a few minutes. I think she just passed out.”
Flora stared down at her friend, her face filled with worry. “I feel awful. I shouldn’t have pushed her just now. And I should have told her the truth long ago. Instead, we lived in the fantasy with her, going along with what she believed because it seemed easier. It may have been, but it wasn’t right.”
Addison and Flora moved Cecilia to the couch and sat down.
“Where is Lawrence, Flora?” Addison asked.
“I suppose if I’m coming clean about everyone else, I may as well come clean about my own actions. Several years after the car crash, CeeCee picked up the phone to make a call, and Lawrence was talking on a different phone in the other room. She overheard him tell Harold about the grief he still felt over what he’d done to his daughter. All those years, CeeCee and I were so stupid. We believed it was a random, hit-and-run driver who was too afraid to confess. What happened next ... well, it was awful, but truth be told, I’ve never felt sorry about it.”
Harold moaned a weak, “Please, one of you call for an ambulance.”
Addison and Flora glanced at him, and then Flora continued her story.
“CeeCee lost her mind when she found out what Lawrence had done. She stabbed him in the back one night while he slept. She thought she’d killed him, but she hadn’t. She called me, and she was a frenzied mess. She said he was moaning and thrashing around. He kept trying to get up, but he couldn’t. I went straight over.”
“What did you do?”
Flora looked Addison in the eye. “I finished the job she started. Hard to say which one of us put the final nail in his coffin. Suppose we both did. I thought of Sara, of how much I missed her sweet face, how much I missed the CeeCee I knew when Sara was alive, and it was an easy decision. I was filled with rage, and ... well, rage changes a person.”
“Where is his body?”
Flora tipped her head toward a jar sitting on the mantel over the fire. “He’s in there.”
“And where’s Libby?”
“Beneath the addition that was built on the back of the manor.”
It was why Addison had seen Libby in the window, and why Lawrence lingered around, roaming the halls at night, torturing a woman he once professed to love.
“After Lawrence was dead, CeeCee’s mental state continued to decline,” Flora said. “She started seeing things, believing Lawrence was still here in the house, believing Harold was Lawrence. She seemed to have forgotten all about what she’d done.”
“I see now why you indulged her fantasy.”
“Now you know my truth. Do what you want with it. I’m done lying.”
Harold moaned a desperate, “Call 9-1-1. Please. The blood. I can’t stop it. I need help.”
Addison walked toward Harold, knowing what had to be done.
“We won’t be calling for help,” she said. “It’s time for you to be shown where you’re meant to go.”
“Where? What do you mean?”
“One question, first. Why did you keep the necklace?”
“Why does it matter?”
“Tell me.”
“I didn’t keep it. I hid it inside a vent in the room I used to stay in upstairs. It seemed safe there, so I left it.”
“Thank you.”
Addison raised her hands in front of her. The wall burst into flames, opening a portal to a world Addison had never seen.
A terrified, flabbergasted Harold grabbed Addison by her pant leg, begging. “Please! What are you doing? Don’t do this!”
The decision had been made.
“Harold DuPont, as judge and jury, I am the final decision of your fate,” Addison said. “You robbed a young woman of an innocent life, and now you must atone. Go, and inhabit this world no more.”
Hands engulfed in fire within the portal wrapped around Harold’s neck, pulling him down as he writhed and wailed until there was nothing left of him. Then the portal closed, and the room returned to normal again.
Flora looked like she wanted to run, but she froze in place instead.
“You have nothing to fear from me,” Addison said. “I know your secret, and now you know mine. I expect you to keep what you’ve seen here today to yourself.”
“Umm, yeah ... sure. Whatever you need.”
“Good. Someone will be coming to exhume Libby’s body. No one will ever know you or Cecilia had any knowledge of it being there.”
“I’m not a good person,” Flora said. “I don’t deserve saving.”
“What matters most is what’s in your heart, and you have a good one. I can feel it.”
Addison leaned over, whispering into Cecilia’s ear. “Your mother loves you. Never forget.”
She waved a hand over Cecilia’s eyes, and they opened. Cecilia looked up at Flora and said, “What happened? Am I okay?”
A tearful Flora smiled and nodded. “Yes, you’re okay, CeeCee. We both are.”