All That Lies Broken (Ashmore's Folly Book 2) (9 page)

Peggy had always glossed over her losses, choosing to be grateful for Richard’s birth after thirteen years of marriage. “But she did manage one, and look at him! Please have faith, Lucy.”

Lucy sat up and pushed her hair away from her tear-stained face. “I have to go on bed rest from August on. My doctor thinks that’s my best chance.”

“Then it’ll be our turn to take care of you so you can take care of your baby. Let the rest of us deal with Di.” Laura brushed away a stray strand of hair that Lucy had missed. “You don’t have to do everything.”

Lucy said nothing. Laura suspected that, deep inside, her sister was rejecting her words. She’d become too used to being the core of the family, running around to prop everyone else up. And what had she herself done? Run to dump her trifling problems with Emma in Lucy’s lap. Fallen in love with the wrong man. Set up a certain explosion somewhere down the road.

It was time to stop being the little sister, take her place as an adult in the family.

But I can’t give him up. Please, anything but that.

She started to gather together the papers she had brought with her into her bag, and Lucy roused herself long enough to demand, “What are you doing?”

“I’m taking these back. You’re not getting dragged into this.”

“Give me those!” Lucy snatched the papers right out of her hands. “I told you, I’m not an invalid. It won’t hurt me or the baby to write your trustee a nasty letter.” She paused. “Besides, I can’t wait to tangle with this Emma person.”

“You may live to regret those words,” Laura warned her, glad to see a militant spark in her sister’s eyes again. “Emma is really mean.”

“So am I.”

“Are you sure? I don’t want you getting upset.”

“I don’t like her bullying you.” Lucy’s look told her to stop arguing. “That’s
my
job.”

~•~

By mid-afternoon, Laura finally started working on the song she had abandoned days before. She managed to get an hour of work done before the airline delivered her package from Terry.

She worked only thirty minutes past dinner when the doorbell rang again, and the process server handed her a subpoena to testify against Richard in
Ashmore v. Ashmore
.

Chapter 3: Diana, Served

SO, MONDAY NIGHT. AND HERE I sit in my office with my trusty little recorder and one hell of a case of cramps coming on, and PMS doesn’t begin to describe how I feel right now. Woe be unto the first idiot who wanders through that door and looks at me cross-eyed.

Unfortunately, I know from bitter experience that Midol and Scotch are not a good mix. So I want one but I’ll have to settle for the other, at least for a few hours. At least until Lucy turns in and can’t call to check on me.

So what do I want to talk about tonight, baring my soul and all that? Where did I leave off?

Except I can’t work on my memoirs, not tonight. I have Lucy’s assignment: tell me everything that happened, and don’t leave anything out,
blah, blah, blah, nag, nag, nag
.

So I have to think back to what happened out there on Ash Marine all those years ago. Laura said it was eleven years ago. I guess I’ll take her word for it. (Note to self: Discuss with Laura the importance of minding HER OWN BUSINESS.)

(Hmmm, has Miss Laura gotten her subpoena yet? Need to call Kevin in the morning and check. I haven’t heard any screaming yet, so guess not.)

Okay, back to the matter at hand.

(Other note to self: What exactly is Lucy planning to do with this Ash Marine info once she gets it? It’s not like she can play detective and trap the murderer in one of those
a-ha!
moments, not at this late date. Francie is dead and gone. So are Daddy and Philip, and they are the only ones who could have given her the keys to the bridge. So what good does any of this do?)

But Lucy has her reasons. I’ll trust her on that. And I do owe her. I owe her a lot. For staying my sister through thick and thin. For not hating me. For not washing her hands of me. Most people would have.

Most people did.

So here goes. The true story of what happened the day Francie up and called me, out of the blue, claiming she wanted to kiss and make up.

The day I went out there to neutralize her, once and for all.

Ten years, eleven years, I don’t know. Laura’s probably right. All I remember is it happened at the tail end of that summer after Richard threw me out of my own house, and suddenly I was living on the not-so-largess of Daddy Dearest and facing life as a single woman.

Something I had never had to be before.

Diana, standing alone.

~•~

The first thing I learned: when you’re getting sued for custody, you need a lawyer.

And lawyers want to be paid.

With real money.

Which I didn’t have.

Lucy helped me find a lawyer. Oh, she was mad at me, all right; she’d been out to Ashmore Minor to see my “renovations” to Richard’s face and briefcase and workroom, so, before she helped me, I had to sit there and lump it while she let me have it in no uncertain terms.

“He had that model since he was six years old! We built it together! That was half mine, and you – you
hammered
it to death! You—” she had to stop for breath — “you
murdered
it! What the hell were you thinking!”

“Uh, nothing,” I tried to get a word in edgewise. “I didn’t know it was half yours. I wasn’t thinking—”

“I know you weren’t thinking! You never think! God, Di, I swear, you have to be the stupidest woman alive!” And on, and on, until finally Daddy got tired of the shouting and came upstairs to intervene.

Dominic Abbott, peacemaker. That was a new one.

“Lucia,” he started to remonstrate, and that was as far as he got, because then Lucy turned on him and let
him
have it.

“Don’t you encourage her! And don’t you dare stick up for her! She committed a felony, Dominic! A felony! She’s fucking lucky Richard isn’t pressing charges —”

“Your language, Lucia—”

“— because he can! She assaulted him! She broke his glasses! She cut his face open! He had to get
stitches!
Domestic violence is a crime, even when a woman does it to a man.” She got right in his face, jabbing her finger into his chest. “Maybe
you
think that’s an acceptable way to deal with your significant other, but I assure you the courts here in Virginia are not quite so lenient as the courts in Ireland.”

Oh, low blow, Lucy, remind him of that trial, bring up the sins of the father. And quite unjust, of course, but neither of us could tell her the truth.

(And that makes me think – why not let the truth come out? What the hell difference does it make now? Sure,
someone’s
nose might get a little out of joint, once she realizes who caused the whole thing, but who the hell cares? I sure don’t.)

Of course, Daddy said nothing. He merely stiffened his jaw and glared at her.

She glared back.

“Go back to your piano and leave us the fuck alone, while I try to dig her out of the hole she’s buried herself in.”

“Lucia—”

“Shut up!” she yelled. Then she shoved him out of the room and slammed the door in his face. I swear, Lucy is the only person I know, other than Richard, who ever got in Daddy’s face and lived to tell the tale.

After a few seconds, he beat a hasty retreat downstairs.

Then it was my turn again, to feel The Wrath of Lucy Abbott. “Get up,” she barked at me. “Get dressed. Be ready to go in ten minutes.”

“Go where?” But I did just as she said and got out of bed. Which I hadn’t done in days, ever since I got served with the custody papers.

“You need a lawyer. No, not me, he’ll probably call me as a witness.” She looked at me critically. “Twenty minutes. Honestly, Di, you need a shower. And wash your hair. You smell like a brewery.”

And off she went, probably to scream at Daddy some more. I did what she said. Truth be told, I was a little afraid not to.

~•~

So in nothing flat, I had a lawyer. A decent lawyer, at that. And Lucy called Richard and made him give me half of the money in our joint checking account. “Actually,” Lucy said as she was driving me back to Daddy’s, “he wants you to have it. He doesn’t want you to starve, Di.”

No, he just wanted me to disappear off the face of the earth. At least, disappear out of his life. But, it turned out, he did think I should go get a job.

(Right, because when I’d wanted to get one after we moved back to Williamsburg, I was a terrible mother. Now that he’d officially accused me of
being
a terrible mother, he wanted me to get off my lazy butt and get to work. Gotcha, Mr. Perfect. Consistent as always.)

But I could at least put gas in my car. And pay a lawyer. And—

What now? It’s Monday night, for God’s sake. The place is dead. Why in the hell is someone pounding on the door?

~•~

Picked up by the recorder:

“I’m on the phone.”

[Knocking.]

“Go away, damn it.”

[Knocking.]

“I said, go
away!
I’m busy!”

[Knocking.]

“All right, all right already. Just a second.”

[Sound of drawer closing.]

[Sound of footsteps disappearing into en suite bathroom.]

[Sound of water running.]

[Sound of pills rattling in a bottle.]

[Sound of liquid being gulped down.]

[Sound of footsteps approaching door.]

[Sound of door opening.]

“Diana Ashmore?”

“Yes.”

[Sound of papers rustling.]

“What do you want? I’m busy.”

“Sign here, please.”

“Really, you couldn’t get the bartender to sign – what is this?”

“You’re being served.”

[Sound of pen dropping.]

[Sound of papers dropping.]

“What?”

“If you have any questions, please contact your attorney.”

“What?”

[Sound of footsteps receding into distance.]

[Sound of papers being picked up off the floor.]

“What the –?”

[Silence.]

[Gasp.]

[Sound of door slamming.]

[Scream.]

“WHAT THE FUCK, RICHARD?”

Chapter 4: What He Doesn’t Know

To: Laura St. Bride

From: Mark St. Bride

Subject: What is going on?

Dear Laura:

You’re not answering your cell phone. I hope you aren’t deleting emails as well. I am disturbed by our earlier IMs, the hysterical email I received from Emma, and the letter that your sister sent me earlier.

As I piece this together, you are upset because Emma wants to give away the grand piano. I didn’t realize that the piano meant so much to you, and of course, you have every right to keep it. As executor of the estate, I am well aware that you are entitled to anything you want in the house. If you want to take every stick of furniture, that’s fine; I only ask that you leave the desk in my study, since it was my father’s at the bank before it was Cam’s. It was NOT NECESSARY to involve lawyers in this. While your sister naturally desires to protect your rights, I don’t require the threat of a restraining order to do the right thing.

To put your mind at rest, I have sent Emma an email instructing her to comply with your wishes. I understand from your sister’s follow-up email that a moving company will arrive Wednesday to remove the piano to Virginia. I am concerned that you are transporting the piano to another state when you will be returning to Texas in January to live. However, after reading Emma’s email, I can sympathize with your desire to get the piano as far away from her as possible before she chops it up for kindling (joking).

I am VERY CONCERNED about the email you sent to SBFA. I see no good reason for you to disconnect your accounts from the company. As you know, Cam set up the group to consolidate the family accounts and make it easier to track essential documents and prepare the tax returns every year. The side benefits of bill-paying and appointment reminders, I believe, obscure the necessary work that the group does for us. With the traveling that you do, I believe that SBFA is invaluable, and I hope that you will reconsider your decision. If you are worried about privacy – don’t be. Everyone in the group signs confidentiality agreements, and in the years since Cam set the group up, we haven’t had any security breaches. The only one outside the group who ever sees the accounts is me.