Two hours later, I sat in the lobby of my hotel across from two disgruntled women.
“Thank you both for meeting me tonight,” I said.
Paula looked at Sandra then at me. “You never said she’d be here. I shouldn’t have agreed to this.”
“You agreed because I told you I knew about the letters Elias wrote you,” I said. “I wasn’t aware you two had a problem with each other.”
Dressed in a loose-fitting tank top in the middle of winter, jeans, and a cheap pair of flip-flops, Sandra looked like she could be bought for a dollar and change if the right guy was interested. She slouched in her seat, kicked her feet over the top of the table, and said, “We don’t have a problem with each other. Why would we?”
Paula rolled her eyes. Clearly one of them didn’t agree. “Why are we here? What do you want?”
“I’ll get straight to it. Which one of you killed Alexandra Weston and Barbara Berry?”
Paula shot out of her chair, stuck a flattened hand in my direction. “Whoa, wait a minute. I didn’t come here to be accused of anything, especially something I didn’t do.”
Finch, who was sitting two tables away, leaned around the book he was pretending to read and said, “Sit down, Paula.”
She crossed her arms in front of her. “Who the hell are you?”
“Do what he says,” I said.
She remained standing, defiant, glancing around, assessing all possible exits.
“Now,” I said.
Sandra laughed in amusement, remained seated.
Paula lowered herself back into her seat. “I didn’t kill anyone.”
“I know what was in your letter,” I said.
“You’re full of it. You couldn’t possibly know. Elias is dead, and the letter was sealed when it was given to me.”
“What if I told you the letter was read and put into a different envelope before it was delivered to you, so it appeared like it hadn’t been opened?”
“I still say you’re bluffing. If you knew what it said, you wouldn’t play games. You’d just tell me.”
Sandra perked up, curious to hear my answer.
“For starters, Elias’s mother was supposed to give you the letter right after Elias died, and she didn’t,” I said.
“She said she only recently went through the box,” Paula said.
“Don’t you find it a little too convenient that right after Alexandra Weston told Loretta she was writing a memoir that included a chapter on her son that Loretta finally decided to deliver the letters?”
“What are you saying—the three of us conspired to kill Alexandra to keep her from releasing the book?”
“It’s possible,” I said.
“I don’t know Loretta, and I don’t know Sandra either. We didn’t meet up together, and we didn’t make any plans. There’s nothing going on here. Nothing, mmm ... kay?”
“On the other hand, Alexandra was poisoned,” I said, “which could have easily been a one-person job.”
“Well, I didn’t do it,” Paula said.
“I didn’t do it either,” Sandra said. “Can’t say I’m sorry she’s dead though.”
“Why?” I asked.
“She tried to scare me, told me she was writing about my family in her memoir.”
“And it didn’t upset you?”
Sandra brushed a hand through the air. “I mean, yeah, I guess. It doesn’t affect me though. I don’t care what other people think. I am who I am. Period.”
I shifted the focus back to Paula. “Elias asked you to kill Alexandra in his letter. He wanted you to kidnap the baby, his baby, and raise her yourself.”
Sandra sat straight up in her chair, grinning like she was witnessing a riveting scene in a movie. “He wanted you to kill Alexandra Weston and take her baby? Wow. That’s messed up.”
“Not now,” Paula said. “Twenty-five years ago.”
“Were you surprised when you read what he wanted you to do?” I asked.
“He was crazy to think I’d do it,” Paula said. “But then, this is Elias we’re talking about. He was crazy. And I was too stupid to notice. I thought I knew him. I worshipped him. The guy I fell in love with wasn’t real, just a man I created in my mind.”
“He created what he wanted you to see. He did the same thing to Alexandra, and as smart as she was, she fell for it too.”
“Why take her baby though?” Paula asked. “And why ask me to keep it? I don’t get it.”
“He must have asked you because he thought you would do it. What I don’t understand is ... why?”
“Because I—” Paula stopped and her eyes flitted around the room.
“Because you what?” Sandra asked. “What’s your deal? Just say what you need to say.”
Tiny sweat beads gathered in the creases on Paula’s forehead. She wiped her brow with her hand, tried to act normal. I looked at Finch. He saw it too. We all did.
With all of us focusing on Paula, I asked the question that had been on my mind since I learned about her letter. “Why would he ask you to kill for him?”
Instead of looking at me, she looked at Sandra. “I don’t know.”
“He must have thought you were capable of it. What would make him think that?”
She glanced at Sandra again.
I was missing something. Something big.
“Sandra,” I said. “What was in your letter?”
“A bunch of bullshit.”
“Meaning?”
“He didn’t shoot me,” Sandra said.
“What?”
“He said the night my parents were killed, he didn’t shoot me.”
“How’s that possible? If he didn’t shoot you, who did? And if someone else shot you, was he trying to say he had an accomplice?”
“Who knows?”
I turned again to Paula. “What do you know that you’re not saying?”
“Nothing.”
“You were his girlfriend, Paula. You know something. I can tell. We all can.”
Paula gripped the corner of the side table next to her, like if she didn’t grab hold of something she’d slide off her chair. In a hushed voice, she said, “I’m sorry. It was a long time ago.”
“Sorry for what?” I asked.
She faced Sandra. “Sorry for shooting you, Sandra.”