A Justified Murder (Medlar Mystery #2)(90)

Nineteen


WHEN LISA ARRIVED at her mother’s house, she was wallowing in self-pity. It was like she was in a vat of black oil that she couldn’t swim out of. It was all she could do to keep her face lifted enough to breathe. But she wasn’t sure she wanted to do that.

Divorce. That’s what her husband wanted. He and her uncle had been together when they told her. With exaggerated patience, they’d explained that she wasn’t pulling her weight with the family business—and therefore she had to go. Out of the business, out of the marriage.

She was thirty-two years old and a failure at everything she’d tried. She’d been a teenage rebel, always angry about... She wasn’t sure what made her angry. She just was.

In college she’d sunk very low, like barely-escaping-going-to-jail low. After she’d cleaned up her act, her uncle had introduced her to a young man who swept her off her feet. Oh! But it felt good to be wanted.

They were married in a beautiful—but economical—ceremony and had a lovely four-day honeymoon. When they got back, her husband and uncle had turned over what seemed to be the entire management of their businesses to her. She found out that at the wedding her uncle had signed her husband on as a junior partner. To Lisa, it felt like a bride price had been paid. Or in this case, it was that a husband had been purchased for her.

They were angry when she failed at everything they gave her to do.

“I’m like my father,” she told them. “My mother is the controller.”

At least that’s how she thought of her mother. The woman who’d abandoned her to a husband and uncle who expected her to be what she could never be.

But when she was very coolly told that there was to be a divorce—her uncle said she would be given “severance pay”—all Lisa wanted was to be with her mother.

She flew to Lachlan, Florida, and fell onto her mother. As Lisa knew she would, Sylvia took over. She coddled and cosseted and listened to her daughter. Agreed with her, sympathized, and often brought her food so Lisa didn’t have to face the world—meaning outside the one room.

Lisa was there for three days before her tears began drying up. The anger that was so natural to her began to spark a bit.

She got up early and walked around her mother’s new house. It was quite nice, with big windows that framed a beautiful garden. The furnishings were subdued, quiet, tasteful. They showed her mother’s conservative New England background.

The kitchen was new and in it was the dumpy little woman Lisa assumed was the housekeeper. She’d seen the woman often, but had paid no attention to her.

Lisa began opening cabinet doors as she searched for the cereal her mother had bought for her.

“I threw it out.”

Lisa looked at the woman. “Threw what out?”

“That cereal. It has too much sugar.”

Lisa was too shocked to speak. Her family’s home—where she’d lived since she graduated—had several staff members. They did what she told them to. “Where is my cereal?”

“I told you. I threw it out.”

That little fire inside her sent forth a flame. “Who gave you the right to—?”

“Good morning!” Sylvia said loudly. She kissed her daughter’s cheek. “I see you and Janet have met.”

Lisa’s eyes were hard. “She threw out my cereal.”

“Did she?” Sylvia sounded vague. “I’m sure it was for a good reason.”

The woman gave Lisa such a look of triumph that she wanted to smack her.

“This morning,” the woman said to Sylvia, “you are to have whole wheat pancakes, but just two of them. You know how you have to watch your weight. And one third of a cup of sliced strawberries. I measured out your coffee. Only half a cup today. Mustn’t get too wound up, what with all the turmoil of the last few days.”

“What the hell?” Lisa muttered. “Mother! What is going on?”

“Thank you, Janet,” Sylvia said. “That sounds lovely. Perhaps after breakfast I may work in my garden.”

“May” as in asking permission.

“That will be all right.” Janet handed Sylvia a stack of papers.

At the grimace her mother made, Lisa took the papers and read them. They were printouts of the most recent reviews of her books from over the Internet.

“Should give up writing.”

“Worst book I’ve ever read.”

“I want my money back.”

Lisa dropped the papers into the trash bin.

“I’m sorry, Janet,” Sylvia said and retrieved the papers. “Of course I’ll read them. I know they are constructive criticism and I can learn from them.”

With her back to Janet, Sylvia mouthed Shut up to her daughter.

After the meager breakfast, Janet told Sylvia how long she could work in the garden, and how much time she could spend writing.

It wasn’t easy, but Lisa managed to stay quiet.

At 4:00 p.m., the odious little woman left the house.

“Come on,” Sylvia said. “We have about an hour.”

They went to Sylvia’s bedroom. She stretched out on the bed, her daughter beside her, as they did when Lisa was a child. “Now tell me your latest thoughts about your divorce.”

“Screw that.” Yes, indeed, fire was coming back into Lisa. “Who the hell is that horrible woman?”