Last Breath (The Good Daughter 0.5)(20)

“Anything,” Charlie repeated, because there was something strange, almost practiced, about her tone. “What about Oliver, your son? Is he still living here?”

“Of course. He’s still my baby.”

“Are you hoping they’ll get married?”

“Oh, who knows with these kids?” She laughed. “Oliver is so silly around Flora. He used to keep his hair long down to here—” she put her hand to her shoulder. “And he always had zits from the oil in his hair touching his face, and I’d say, ‘Ollie, wash that hair and you won’t get zits’ and he’d slam the door to his room and say, ‘Mom!’ But then Flora came along and he gets it cut the same way as Mark’s, but don’t tell Ollie it’s the same as his father’s because he’ll—” She rolled out her lip in a pout, then gave a laugh deep from her belly. Then she kept laughing. And laughing. And eventually, she was laughing so much that Charlie wondered if there was something really funny about this situation that she was missing.

For instance, why was the house falling apart?

Why was the only room that was decorated the only room you’d have visitors in?

Why couldn’t they hire a landscaper to do the yard?

Why couldn’t they hire a handyman to take care of the house?

And, most importantly, why was Oliver driving a Porsche that, according to Belinda, Maude Faulkner had been driving the month before?

Charlie leaned back in her chair. There was an open door leading off the kitchen, presumably to the basement, which was fine, but the drywall had not been painted, which meant that the basement was unfinished.

“Oh, my.” Jo wiped pretend tears from her eyes. “I hope they get married. We all just love that little Flora to bits.”

Charlie crossed her arms. “Tell me more about Oliver.”

“He’s such a gentle, sensitive old soul.” She put her hand to her chest, seemingly unaware that she was contradicting herself. “Even when he was a little boy, he was always looking for ways to help people. That’s what he wants to do. All of us, really. We want to help Flora, but Oliver feels it more keenly.” She leaned against the counter, hand still to her heart. “One time, when Ollie was a little boy, I remember him asking me, ‘Mama, why do homeless people smell so bad?’ and I was, like, ‘Honey, it’s because they don’t have a home with a shower and a place to wash their clothes,’ and the next thing I know, he’s talking to this homeless man on the street—in downtown Atlanta—and offering to bring him to our house so he can have a shower and wash his clothes. Of course I couldn’t let that happen, but still, it tells you what a sweet heart he has.”



Charlie wondered at the woman’s practiced tone of voice. She was getting the distinct feeling that she had a front-row seat to the best show in town.

The woman said, “And Nancy is our pride and joy. Sharp as a tack. Not really book smart, but she can figure things out so fast. We’re so proud of our little angels. There’s my big boy!”

Charlie turned around, expecting to see the family dog, but she found instead an older man with salt-and-pepper hair, a chin cleft that could slice open a bagel, and bronzed skin that had likely been cured under a tanning bed lamp.

“Mark Patterson.” He held out his hand, flashing a too-white set of teeth, a heavy gold Rolex and a pelt of hair on the back of his arm that fell in line with having a capuchin monkey for a son. He said, “You must be the lawyer. Flora told us to look for you. What can we do to help?”

Charlie shook his hand, which was damp with sweat. “Tell me what Flora’s living situation would be like if she moved in.”

His eyes cut to his wife. “Well, she’d be like one of our own children. We’d do everything we can for her. I realize that the emancipation means that she’ll legally be an adult, but she’s still a sixteen—”

“Fifteen,” Jo mumbled.



“Sure, fifteen now, but she’ll be sixteen when she moves in. Still a girl, is what I mean. A teenager.” He added, “A good teenager. I mean, Flora’s stellar, but still a teenager.”

Charlie took out her notepad. “Would she have her own room?”

“Of course. We’ve got plenty of space here.”

Jo added, “She might want to be with Nancy, though. Two peas in a pod.”

Charlie wished she’d thought to turn the “two peas in a pod” thing into a drinking game, because she’d be drunk by now. She asked, “Could I see where Flora would be living?”

Mark and Jo exchanged another look.

Jo said, “It’s a mess upstairs, but I’d be glad to show you another day. Or take some pictures and send them to you. Would pictures work?”

Charlie wondered how many empty rooms she’d find upstairs. And then she wondered how she was going to get the truth out of this couple. “How about a car?”

“A car?” Jo echoed.

“Like you said, Flora will be sixteen soon. She’ll need a car to drive.”

Again, Jo’s eyes shifted her husband’s way. The obvious answer would be to say that the trust would pay for Flora’s transportation needs, but Mark jumped in with another option.

He said, “Nancy will have a car as soon as she turns sixteen next month. Beat-up Honda I plan to buy off an old client. I imagine they’ll share. They always go everywhere together anyway. They’re two peas in a pod.”