Patricia
So, there I was with a gun under the apron, in the expensively decorated bedroom of that woman who’d not only helped kill my daughter but who had just crushed her own daughter’s spirit. Every bit of my being wanted to take out the gun and shoot until I ran out of ammunition. I could feel my hands trembling with the temptation. Just do it. Resisting that impulse was hard.
I wanted to kill her. I really did. I could feel my hand on the gun. I could picture her face when I pulled it out and then when I pulled the trigger.
It would be faster than she deserved, considering what Ashley had suffered—and the pain she was inflicting on her own children. But that one moment—when she’d see the gun and know that she was about to die—that would be lovely.
Not as lovely as it should be. I wouldn’t have time to tell her why I was killing her—because unlike poor old Tom Martin, who I felt a little bad about, she had more than my daughter’s death atone for.
Tom had been a coward who put his own well-being above my daughter’s life, knowing that she could die as a result. But he hadn’t been an overall terrible person. He hadn’t mistreated his own child. And he’d been pushed into denying Ashley the abortion that would have saved her life by laws passed by fanatics and by this woman who wanted to use the issue to propel herself into a higher office.
Brenda deserved to die even more than Tom had.
I wanted to do it.
But I didn’t.
I could hear Christina sobbing in her room down the hall. She’d hear if I shot. So would Kevin, who was in the room next to Christina’s doing his homework. Brenda might deserve to die, but her children didn’t deserve to be witnesses to her murder.
Still thanks to Brenda’s cruelty towards her own child, I was no longer wavering. I’d avenge Ashley and relieve Christina and Kevin of a terrible mother.
I just needed to wait for the right opportunity. It was no longer a question of whether to kill her. Just how. And when. To minimize the trauma to the children as well as to minimize the chances of my getting caught, it had to be planned. It had to be later.
When the kids were out of the house. Or asleep.
“Is that all?” I was back to playing the obedient servant.
She was brushing her hair as if nothing had happened. “For now. Maybe you could check that the children are doing their homework before you start lunch.”
I all but curtseyed. Then I headed for Christina’s room.
She was in her bed, under the covers, still sobbing.
I sat on the side of the bed and patted the shape that I assumed was her head. “It’s okay, honey.”
“No, it’s not.” Her voice was muffled by the sheets and blankets. “It’s not. It’s never okay.” Then she emerged. “I hate it here. I hate her. Can I come live with you?”
“I live here right now.” I was touched by the question. “You are living with me.”
“You won’t be for long. No one can stand her. I had such a great time yesterday and last night. All night I dreamed of horses. And she had to ruin it.”
“You can keep dreaming. Maybe she’ll change her mind.”
“She won’t. She doesn’t care about me. And she’s taking me shopping, not you. She’ll buy me more of what I already have. The same stupid dresses and the same stupid skirts that make me look fat. She won’t let me switch schools. I’m the fat weirdo and that’s all I am. Last night I thought…” Her voice became almost unintelligible. I had to strain to hear her. “Last night, I thought that even if kids made fun of me, I’d have something that made me happy. Being around horses. And now that’s gone too.”
“Maybe your Dad—”
“He won’t. He lets her do whatever she wants.”
“Grandparents? Aunts? Uncles? Someone who could talk to your Mom?”
“No. No one. The only family besides my parents is my uncle. But he lives in Paris, and he doesn’t talk to my mother anymore.”
I had a wild thought. Maybe not so wild. Kill both of them, Papa and Mama Phillips. On their best days, they were neglectful parents, and when they weren’t being neglectful, they were downright cruel. Get rid of both of them and take Christina and Kevin with me to Vermont. I had a sudden vision of driving north with the two of them, out of Texas, out of the South, into the cold and muddy Vermont spring where they could meet my horse, my cows, and my chickens. I could even get another horse or two. I had enough acres. And a big barn.
It was a nice thought. For a moment.
I wasn’t just mourning the loss of Ashley as a person whom I’d loved. I was mourning that I was no longer a mother, that special relationship that you have with your child, even after she grows up. That relationship was gone forever. And I was mourning that I would never be a grandmother. But here was my chance. I could be a mother again. I had grown very fond of both kids in just the few days that I’d been playing downstairs maid here at Downton Abbey.
The police wouldn’t look for the killer or the kids in Vermont, because Mindy Black had never been in Vermont. Mindy Black lived in Minnesota. The dark web where I’d bought her identity had no links to my real name.
The police would have the name of Mindy Black and her address. I didn’t know the real Mindy Black, and I didn’t wish her any harm. But when they found her in Minnesota, they’d realize that her identity had been stolen. She’d be cleared—because her fingerprints and her DNA wouldn’t be in the Phillips’ house.
Mine would.
I’m not in any national database, as far as I know. But once the police had my DNA, I could be tracked down if Ashley had ever used any of those DNA services. If any relative anywhere had, the police could trace that DNA back to me. Back to me on the farm.
Maybe the authorities wouldn’t track me down, but more likely they would. It might take time, but they’d find me eventually. I’d known that before I embarked on my mission, before I sent the concert tickets to Tom Martin’s wife and son. I knew there would be a price, and I was willing to pay it. Ashley was worth it. Whatever happened to me didn’t matter compared to what had happened to her.
But while I had already planned to hide the rest of my life—unless I just gave myself up when I finished killing everyone who needed to be killed—if I took Christina and Kevin with me, that would mean that they would have to be in hiding too.
We’d have to stay on the farm. I’d have to home school them so that they didn’t inadvertently reveal who they really were to kids at school. Horses and cows and chickens might sustain the interest of younger kids, but when they reached their teen years, they would want more. Like Ashley had. But Christina and Kevin could never have it.
No schools and no friends.
No college.
No trips to New York City. To Boston. To anywhere in fact.
How was that in any way less selfish and neglectful than what the Phillipses were doing?
And the kids were smart. They’d figure out what I’d done, sooner or later. What would they think if they knew I’d killed their parents? Even if Christina was angry at her mother now—how would she feel in a year, five years, knowing that I’d not only deprived her of her mother, but forced her into a life where she had no friends, went nowhere, and had no future?
Maybe Roland was a lousy Dad, but that wasn’t a death penalty offense.
I’d leave the kids for their Dad to bring up after I killed Brenda. Like Tom Martin, Brenda would appear to commit suicide. I’d stay on for a few weeks after, and then Mindy Black would quietly disappear.
Leaving the kids would hurt, but it was the right thing to do for their sakes.
I took a deep breath. “Now out of the bed. Let’s conjugate some verbs. Bien? On y va.”