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“Then you can put that rumor to rest. I’ve had…
E. coli
. I got hold of some tainted meat a couple of months back. It’s taken its toll on me.”

“I’ll say. You sure that’s all?” Albert questioned. “Where on earth did you come across tainted meat? I’ll make sure to avoid it.” He saw right through Nick’s lie.

“Actually, Nora prepared it at home. Nasty stuff.”

“It’s good to see you’re out and about. Give me a call. I know a fellow who could use your services.” Albert extended his hand once again.

“I’ll do that. Good to see you.”

Nick hoped seeing Albert would quash the rumors that he was dying. Dying simply was not good for business.

He returned to the table, where Chelsea was continuing to eat as though she were starving.

Fork and knife in each hand, she stopped in midair. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

He sighed. “Let’s go home. I’ve had enough.”

“I haven’t finished eating, and I was looking forward to the strawberry pie! This was your idea, remember?”

“Yes, I do remember. I’m leaving now, so either you come with me, or you’ll be calling a taxi.” Nick called Herbert on his cell phone, telling him they’d be waiting outside in five minutes.

Not wanting to lower herself and ride in a New York taxi, Chelsea took one last bite before racing to the elevator. The doors were closing when she stuck her foot between them. “Wait!” she shrieked.

Nick was grateful no one else was in the elevator with them. When they were alone, Chelsea had the class of a backstreet hooker.

They took the elevator down to the private foyer without speaking. Nick hadn’t seen any of the crew that usually frequented the Supper Club. It’d been a pointless evening, except for running into Albert, and Nick had a feeling the banker would delight in spreading even more rumors about him. His earlier optimism felt forced.

Hell, what did he know? The goddamned doctor could’ve lied to him. He might not live to see another day. Fear crawled up his spine like a serpent. Nick did not want to die. He had too much to live for.

Herbert was waiting at the curb when they stepped outside. The October air was sharp, cutting through his thin jacket like a switch blade. He shivered. “I’m sorry, Chelsea. This evening was a mistake.

I don’t feel…never mind.” He’d almost shown her his weakness, his fear of dying. Clearing his mind of negative thoughts, he smiled at his wife. “I appreciate the effort you made this evening. I know I haven’t been the easiest person to live with since I was diagnosed with this damned disease. I just want you to know that I…” He choked up. “I appreciate your sticking around.” God, he
was
sick.

Herbert opened the door, and Chelsea climbed inside. She watched Nick as he made his way around the car. She was shocked at his display of emotion. Maybe there was more to the disease than she’d been told. Though she’d never heard of cancer causing a major personality change, at least in a positive way, maybe there was something Nick wasn’t telling her. God, she could only hope he was even sicker than he thought. She wanted him to die. Soon.

She had plans. Big plans. But she could and would play the nice wife as long as it suited her to do so and not one minute longer.

“Of course I’ll stick around,” Chelsea lied with a straight face. “I know we’re not the most compatible couple, but, Nick, I would never turn my back on you.” She almost believed her own words.

She was such an expert at playing games. And to think she’d learned it all at Nick’s knee.

“Thanks. I think.”

He smiled at her as though she were a favorite pet. Chelsea waited for him to fluff her between the ears.
It
didn’t happen.

The short drive home was silent. It was easier to think about killing Nick when he was an ass. His kindness, however, had melted a bit of the ice around her hard heart.

No, Chelsea decided, she much preferred his arrogance.

On Thursday morning Lin crossed her fingers and placed them behind her back, the way she had as a child when she was afraid of getting caught doing something she had no business doing, which wasn’t often—given her father’s severe disciplinary methods.

Her heart ached with what she had to do, but it had to be done. When it was over, she’d tell Sally the truth. Until then, she’d live with her guilt.

She dialed her best friend’s number.

“I’ve had only one cup of coffee, so this better be good,” Sally said when she picked up the phone. Never a hello.

“Caller ID again?” Lin teased.

“You found me out. So what’s up?”

Here goes. The mother of all lies. “I…The doctors from the nursing home just called.” Sweat dotted her upper lip. If Sally saw her, she’d know she was lying. “Apparently, my father has suffered a major heart attack. I need to go to Atlanta.” Lin paused, waiting for Sally to call her a liar. When she didn’t, Lin breathed a sigh of relief. So far, so good.

“Okay. So when do we leave?” Sally asked.

Dear Sally. Lin hoped her actions didn’t completely damage her friendship. She would never intentionally hurt Sally’s feelings. “I need to go by myself. This…I need to reconcile with him before he dies. It’s…just something I feel I need to do.”

“If you’re sure, then go. I’ll take care of the diner.”

Lin closed her eyes. “Thank you. I knew I could count on you. I don’t know how long I’ll be. Maybe a few days. I’m not sure yet. I’ll call you when I can. I remember the last time I visited. Something about cell phones being a no-no.” Add that to her ever-lengthening list of lies.

“Just do what you need to do. What about Will?”

“I’m going to call him as soon as I hang up. It’s not like he ever knew my father. I probably shouldn’t even trouble him with this. So let’s not tell him anything yet. I’ll just tell him I’m making the trip to visit.” More lies.

“You know best. So when do you leave?” Sally asked.

“Soon. Today.”

“Call me when you get there so I’ll know you made it safely, okay?”

“Thanks, Sally. I will.”

Lin hung up the phone. She’d risen before dawn to prepare for her trip. She’d packed, put a hold on her mail via e-mail.

With nothing left to do, she walked through the house one last time, made sure the windows and doors were locked. She didn’t activate the alarm, knowing Sally would be in and out. There wasn’t a lot of crime in Dalton, anyway.

With her bags already in the car, Lin grabbed the morning paper from the front lawn, sticking it inside her messenger bag. She never traveled without her letters to Nick; it was sort of sick, but it was something she had to do. With nothing left to keep her, she pulled her bright red Porsche out of the drive to head south on I-75.

God willing, her plan would be a success, and she could return to Dalton to resume her life as though nothing had happened. To ease her guilt somewhat, Lin decided that a quick stop at the nursing home was in order. She hadn’t seen her father in a very long time. Maybe a visit would reinforce what she was about to do to Nick. If not for her father’s mean and evil ways, her life might have turned out differently. Her mother might still be alive, too. She couldn’t forget that.

Taking the I-285 exit to Northland Drive, she steered the Porsche into the right lane and made a sharp left turn to the private road leading to the Main House, the upscale facility where her father resided. Lin dreaded going in. Because her visits were so infrequent, the staff always made her feel like a lowlife, an uncaring daughter. If they only knew. At times Lin wondered if her father truly had Alzheimer’s. His ability to recall certain events seemed very selective to her.

As a child, she used to pray for his death while kneeling on those cold, hard floors. However, she’d come to think of death as the easy way out for him. She wanted him to suffer on earth as she had. As her mother had. After her mother’s death, Lin had heard talk that her father had collected a large sum of money from an insurance policy, though she’d never seen any evidence of it. Of course, she wasn’t living at home by then, either. If he had received a large amount of money, he must have hidden it well. Each year she paid an enormous fee for his care. Sometimes Lin wanted to take Sally’s advice and let him live his remaining years in squalor, but her conscience didn’t allow it. A conscience could be a terrible thing. She just might toss hers into the wind. Soon.

Lin found a parking spot close to the entrance. She wanted to get in and out as quickly and painlessly as possible, though she had her doubts that the latter would be possible.

Upon entering the reception area, one would think she had entered a grand hotel. Original artwork from Monet to Georgia O’Keeffe adorned the walls. Comfortable chairs and sofas were placed in a semicircle, facing a large window overlooking a perfectly manicured lawn and gardens.

At the reception desk, Lin pushed the
CALL
button as instructed. Before she could blink an eye, a woman dressed in a dove gray sweater and matching skirt appeared. Lin didn’t recognize her. Bony to the point of emaciation, thin brown hair coiled on top of her head, she couldn’t disguise her signs of hair loss.

“Yes?” the woman asked in a pleasant voice.

“I’m here to see Clarence Townsend.”

The woman nodded. “Of course. I’ll need to see your identification. I just started last week, though I’m sure I’ll remember your next visit.” She smiled.

Probably won’t be one,
Lin thought. It was her hope this would be her last. She removed her driver’s license from her wallet and handed it to the woman.

“Lin Townsend. You must be Mr. Townsend’s daughter. I’ll walk you to his room.”

“Thanks.” She walked behind the woman to her father’s room, noting that it was a different one from the last time she had been there. Lin followed her down a long hallway, where the resident rooms were located.

“Here we are, room five-eighty-four,” the woman said cheerfully.

“Your father had his breakfast a while ago. I’m sure he’s ready for company. I’ll leave you to your visit.” She quietly left Lin standing at the door.

Did she knock or just walk in? Confronted with the same dilemma on each of her infrequent visits, Lin always tapped on the door before entering. Not today. She twisted the knob and shoved the door inward with such force, it slammed against the wall.

“What do you want?” her father shouted at her from his La-Z Boy. “I didn’t invite you here. Go away.”

Remaining in the doorway, Lin stared at her father. Today must be one of his good days, since he appeared to recognize her. At seventy, her father remained as heavily muscled as he was in his younger days. He wore his thick white hair slicked back from his forehead.

His ice blue eyes glared at her. He got out of his chair and came to ward her. Lin remained in the doorway.

“I asked you what you want. You deaf, girly?”

Lin wanted to slap him the way he’d slapped her so many times.

Instead, she smiled, because she knew it incensed him more than her anger ever could. He might think he could still intimidate her, but Lin knew those days were long gone. She took a step forward, coming as close to him as she could without touching him.

“My hearing is quite good, thanks. Though it’s a miracle I never had any permanent damage since you felt it your God-given duty to slap me whenever it suited you.” Lin’s pulse quickened. She’d wanted to say that to the old bastard for years. It felt really good saying it.

Her father took a wobbly step toward her, his meaty hands doubled into fists. He waved them around. “And I’ll do it again! You…you slut! Get out of here before the Lord turns you into a pillar of salt! Go now!”

Lin stood her ground. Her father was certainly his old self. For once she didn’t care who heard her, didn’t care how disrespectful she was. He didn’t deserve her respect.

Instead of turning around and leaving as she’d normally do—anything to avoid a confrontation—Lin stared at her father. Defiantly, chin up, daring him to hit her. “That’s what real men do, isn’t it? They beat their daughters because that’s what makes them strong and powerful. Oh, and godlike. How could I forget that? You know what,
Dad?
You make me sick!”

He stumbled, then grabbed the La-Z-Boy for support. “May you rot in hell! You are not the flesh of my flesh, girly! You come in here all high and mighty. Who do you think you are? Does ‘honor thy father’ mean anything to you?” he bellowed, sending spittle flying from his dark red lips. “Go now! Get thee behind me!” He gestured wildly, his hands flying around, as though battling a swarm of killer bees.

Remaining stock-still, Lin stared at him. “You’re really warped, you know that? I pray that you rot in hell. As a matter of fact, I know you’re going to hell.” She cast a wicked smile at him. “I’m finished with you.” Lin recalled all the beatings, the days and nights of forced prayer, the insults. Yes, she was finished. “Before I leave, I’m going to make a detour to the administration office. I’m going to do something I should have done a long, long time ago.” Lin eyed her father, searching for some small sign that he regretted what he’d done to her. She saw nothing. “You have about a year left here. If I were you, I’d start praying to that cruel God of yours, because you’re going to need someone other than me to foot the bill for this”—Lin glanced around at her father’s luxurious quarters—“swanky establishment. On that note, let me say good-bye. I wish I could say it’s been nice, but you know as well as I do that it hasn’t.”

He lurched toward her, hands tightly fisted. She stepped out of the room, refusing to acknowledge his anger. She was finished. Enough was enough. As she hurried toward the administration office, Lin smiled, thinking Sally would be very proud of her at that moment.

Three and a half hours later Lin was at a small private airport just south of Atlanta, where she boarded a private jet bound for New York. Jason had suggested traveling this way in case someone tried to track down her movements. It cost a small fortune. Lin grinned, thinking her dear friend would definitely approve of her lavish spending.

When the Gulfstream landed, Lin peered out the window and spied Jason waiting on the tarmac of the private airstrip. She grabbed her luggage from the overhead bin. When the plane came to a complete stop and the door opened, Lin practically ran down the short flight of steps.