Page 19 of Two Kinds of Stranger

‘I tried, Amy. But I couldn’t give her what she wanted, what she deserved. What you both deserved. . .’

‘I wanted you to be my dad. That’s all I ever wanted from you,’ she said, and my chest tightened to absorb the impact from that one. ‘I need you to make her feel better. You can dothatfor me.’

Nobody can hurt you like the people you love.

I didn’t argue. She was right. I was wrong.

We drove on in silence, regret filling the space between us like a bad smell.

I pulled into the pea-gravel driveway of Amy’s home. A white house sitting on a wide green lawn in a quiet suburban area where most American families can only dream of living. A big house, with large windows and a porch. Two-car garage.

As I stopped the car and got out, I heard footsteps approaching, with purpose, on the gravel. The footsteps belonged to a pair of black leather boots, with light blue jeans pulled over them, a white knitted sweater and dark hair tied back.

‘What’s going on?’ asked Christine, her arms folded. Then she saw Amy and her expression changed–like her question had already been answered. ‘Oh, I see. Anything you want to tell me, Amy?’

‘I called Dad. He can help. . .’

Throwing up her arms in frustration, Christine did a one-eighty on the gravel and marched right back to the house, shaking her head the whole way.

Amy ran after her, shouldering her bag. I followed, around the corner of the house to the front porch. I saw Amy follow her mother inside, and there, standing on the porch, was Kevin. Hewore tan chinos and a blue button-down Oxford shirt. His hands were by his sides. His right hand held a silver revolver.

Kevin forced a smile as he saw me approach.

‘Eddie,’ he said, nodding in greeting.

‘Hi, Kevin, maybe we should talk.’

He gestured for us to go inside. As I stepped over the threshold, I glanced over my shoulder, saw Kevin scanning the neighborhood, the gun tight in his fist. As he turned his attention to the house, he saw that I’d noticed him checking the street. He tried to force another smile, but gave up halfway.

The hallway had black and white tile and a grand staircase, with an alcove underneath it. In it was a coat rack and a bench with shoes stored underneath. Kevin was in his thick woolen slippers. I heard Amy’s voice in the kitchen and followed the sound of her protests and her mother’s bootheels on the tile. Then Christine’s voice. She was speaking through clenched teeth–always a bad sign. On the Christine scale of pissed-off,clenched teeth ranked way above shouting. I had a lot of practice in gauging my ex-wife’s levels of rage.

Both Amy and Christine bit their tongues when I entered the kitchen.

‘Somebody want to tell me what’s going on? Amy called me and said you were in trouble. Something to do with a guy stalking you because of an inheritance case.’

‘Amy, you should’ve told us you were going to call your father,’ said Kevin, but in a placatory tone. He was making a point, in an attempt to close the matter and move on.

‘I need permission to call my dad, now?’ said Amy.

Christine gave her a look, side-eye. A warning–don’t you dare.That shut up Amy. She was just as smart as her mother.

‘There’s nothing you can do, Eddie,’ said Kevin. ‘I’ve already obtained a restraining order.’

I’d had no idea this thing, whatever it was, had gotten that far.

‘Who is this guy? Who exactly is threatening you?’ I asked.

Kevin approached the kitchen counter and upon it, lying open, was a lockbox, with a digital number keypad, for the gun in his hand. He put the piece inside.

‘His name is Arthur Cross. About two years ago, he began a relationship with one of my clients, Betty Le Saux. She was in her seventies, widowed, had a lot of cash and stocks and a big property portfolio. Cross is in his mid-thirties, ran pyramid schemes and sold shady bitcoin to the elderly, who all lost money–if it stank, he was into it. Did some time too.’

‘You know a lot about this guy,’ I said.

‘When Betty’s nieces and nephews met Arthur, they were suspicious, and rightly so. I handled Betty’s will and estate planning. They came to me to make sure she hadn’t changed her will, but when I told them a marriage can invalidate previous wills they told me about Cross. I was concerned for Betty, so I got a PI to look into this guy. That’s how I know so much. Three months ago, Betty died. Fell over the rail on the second floor of her mansion and broke her neck. Police carried out an investigation–accidental death. Betty’s family were convinced Cross had arranged the accident. She was no spring chicken, but Betty was solid on her feet.’

‘Don’t tell me a new will appeared. . .’ I said.

Kevin smiled, said, ‘Exactly. It was handed to me by Arthur the same day the police ruled Betty’s death as accidental. The will he gave me left everything to him. It was signed and witnessed by two people the family had never heard of. One of them was called Bruno Mont – he did time with Cross. Also, the private investigator couldn’t confirm it, but he was convinced Bruno Mont killed people for money. And that Cross, who had a perfect alibi for the night of Betty’s accident, had paid Bruno Mont to kill Betty. The family instructed me to contest the willand we got it thrown out in court, and her prior will upheld, which left Cross with nothing.’