Wishing Well(63)

Meadow refused to respond, she was too locked in frustration that Vincent had managed to pull the rug out from beneath her on this one subject - this one secret. It wasn’t the best card she’d intended to play, the biggest card, but it was one she’d hoped to slash across his twisted heart to cut deep. Wanting to slap the amusement from his face, Meadow clenched her hands in her lap.

Vincent stared at her for several seconds before laughter burst from his lips. “Oh, come now, Meadow, you couldn’t possibly have believed I didn’t know what was going on in my own hotel, with my own brother.” His shoulders shook as the laughter faded, his eyes flicking to hers before he canted his head. “Did you think you were going to surprise me with the fact that Penny loved Maurice more than she loved me?”

Sighing, Vincent shook his head. “I’d say I’m sorry for having stolen that moment from you - that revelation - but I’m not. If anything, it’s rather funny to see the anger on your face. You can’t hurt a man who made puppets dance by pulling their strings. Of course, Penny cared for Maurice more, I’d made sure of that.”

Meadow ground her teeth, hating the satisfaction behind his glimmering, green eyes.

When she remained silent, Vincent resettled in his seat, his shackles rattling. “It’s your turn to tell me Penelope’s perspective.”

Finally, Meadow snapped, “Why do you care or want to know? It’s not like the information will be new for you.”

He grinned. “That’s not entirely true. Whereas I knew Penny continued in her relationship with Maurice, I never knew how either of them felt for each other. In a small way, you’ve already answered that question with the anger you’re showing me now, the fact you’d hoped to surprise or hurt me with the depth of feelings between the two. But, I’d like to know.”

“Why?” Meadow asked again.

Resignation smoothed the laugh lines of his face, a soft breath whispering out from between parted lips. “Because Maurice was my brother, the only person I cared about in this world-“

“He’s dead because of you,” she spat, interrupting him, doing her best to drive a knife into his rotten heart.

Holding up a finger, he said, “We’ll get to that. But first, you owe me a story, and I would like to hear that, in Maurice’s life, he found some light within the darkness, some small bit of hope that he could be a normal man for once. It would make his death less tragic to know that he’d experienced actual joy just once. He had such a difficult life, was so walled off and out of control. It would be a shame if he’d never had one day, one hour, of peace and contentment.”

“I still don’t understand why you care.”

Vincent sighed loudly, his voice soft as he confessed, “Because if you haven’t realized it by now, Meadow, then you must be blind. If ever I had a weakness, a soft spot that could have been used to strike me down, it was Maurice. I may have resented my brother for the problem he’d been in my life, but that doesn’t mean I didn’t love him.”

“And yet you treated him like garbage,” she posited.

Nodding his head, his smile turned into a frown. “I thought what I did to keep him out of trouble was best for him. Looking back, I regret those decisions. I regret the cage I’d built for him, and for having kept him alone and apart from society.”

The honesty of that statement - the admission - stunned Meadow. “Are you telling me you know that you helped create the problems Maurice had?”

Vincent swallowed down whatever guilt he was feeling. “I wouldn’t say I created the problems, that was a matter of nature and brain chemistry. But I didn’t help make the situation any better, and for that, I blame myself. In my haste to protect him, I never gave him the chance to grow.”

Meadow considered how to approach a topic she wasn’t sure Vincent would answer honestly, but she had a day and a half left to ask it, to confirm what she’d known all along. Knowing she’d made the demand that the prison not record the interview, telling them they could watch the security cameras, but not listen, she leaned forward with little worry that if Vincent admitted the truth, it would save his life.

“I want you to be honest with me for once. This information won’t be written into my article about you, Vincent. It’s only for me to know.”

He stared at her, curious.

“You didn’t kill Penny, did you? It was Maurice.”

Shifting, he leaned forward so that their faces were close together, his voice lowering to a whisper as he spoke. “Why would I give up my life for a murder I didn’t commit?”

Meadow’s brows pulled together. “That doesn’t answer my question, Vincent.”

“It’s not my turn to answer questions,” he responded calmly. “Tell me what I want to know, and perhaps we can revisit your question when you’re finished.”

Knowing she’d hit a wall, Meadow leaned back in her seat, happy for the distance it put between them. This part of the story had become more depressing for her to tell now that she knew it wouldn’t have the effect she’d hoped for.

Once Vincent, too, had sat back in his chair, Meadow breathed deeply before admitting what she knew of the love Penny and Maurice shared.





CHAPTER THIRTY


Penny