Page 24 of One Last Breath

And Annabelle hated her enough to threaten to kill her. Did she hate her enough to follow through?

"Anyway, it all worked out in the end," Sylvia continued. "Lila moved away the winter before she finished high school. She attended private lessons at the school after that, then went away to Georgia State and got her bachelor's degree. Now, she's fighting with her parents over whether or not it makes any sense for her to get an MFA or if she can just start publishing her own works. Between you and me, I think she just needs to move away and turn her phone off for a while. She's too concerned with what everyone thinks. I think she needs some time to figure herself out, you know?"

I nod in agreement, but the truth is I’m no longer really present. The mystery I’m solving is finally clear: the disappearance of Lila Benson.

And the prime suspect is no longer Elizabeth but her daughter Annabelle.

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

When we return to the estate, the family is waiting for us. Well, not exactly waiting for us, of course, but they are all sitting on the front porch when we return. The children all quiet immediately, no doubt instructed by their parents to never bother the masters of the home. Wharton is perfectly professional as always, but for the first time, I detect a not of tension in his greeting.

“Afternoon, sir, ma’am,” he says, directing his salutation to the elder Greenwoods.

James inclines his head in response, but Elizabeth isn't content with that. "Come from Mass?" Her tone of voice indicates that it is not an innocent question.

Wharton tenses a little but replies without hesitation, “Yes, ma’am.”

“Ah. And Mary, you went as well?”

“Yes, ma’am.” I reply. “It’s been some years since I attended Mass, and I wanted to do something different with the children.”

“And? Was it everything you hoped it would be?”

“It was rather predictable,” I reply. That is an honest, if an incomplete answer. “But it was nice to take the children out. We had ice cream in the park, and I met a friend of Annabelle’s. Sylvia Harper.”

“Oh, you met Sylvia?” Annabelle says, brightening. “That’s wonderful! She’s basically my sister.”

Violet sniffs. “If God really wants to talk to me, He can come down here and do it Himself instead of making me sit and listen to Jacob Doyle rant all morning.”

Christopher tries and fails to hide laughter at that. James notices Wharton’s discomfort and suggests, “Perhaps you should take the children inside.”

“Yes,” I agree. “Enjoy your afternoon.”

We walk inside, and Wharton smiles wanly. “How rarely the rich enter the Kingdom of Heaven,” he remarks to me.

I smile encouragingly at him. “Thank you for escorting me this morning, Wharton. And for helping with the children.”

The children pipe up with their own thank yous, and the smallest even give him hugs. He brightens considerably at their affection and leaves us with a more genuine smile on his face.

I spend the afternoon letting the children run themselves to exhaustion in the fields next to the gardens. I return them to their parents washed for dinner, and they all thank me very sweetly for the ice cream while their parents thank me for taking them to Mass.

I endure all of this with good grace, but after talking to Sylvia, I am burning to talk to Annabelle. I am convinced more than ever now that Lila's disappearance was no accident, and I'm beginning to grow convinced that Lila never actually left the estate.

I get my chance after dinner when Annabelle eagerly pulls me aside and asks, “So what did you think of Sylvia?”

“She’s a charming young woman,” I reply, which is true. “I can see why the two of you are fast friends.”

Annabelle blushes. “She is charming. I don’t know what she sees in me at all.”

I wonder if perhaps there is another reason why she thinks so highly of Sylvia. Not only is that none of my business, but it’s not relevant to my investigation, at least not at the moment. Still, it sheds more light into Annabelle’s character. She chafes under her parents’ expectations, and if she feels compelled to hide even more of her true self than I thought at first, then it could explain why she’s so angry behind her forced smile.

“Well, we had a lovely conversation about you,” I say.

She blushes further. “About me?”

“Yes. She was telling me all about you in high school.”

The color drains from Annabelle’s face. “Me in high school?”

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