Page 43 of One Last Breath

“I certainly hope you’re right about that,” I say.

CHAPTER TWENTY FOUR

It is time for me to take a stand. I have spent too much time waffling between my commitment to stay out of the family’s affairs and my desire to seek justice for Lila. I’ve been thoroughly unsuccessful in staying out of the family’s affairs, so I decide to throw myself wholly into solving this case.

I am convinced that this case hinges on George and Violet. Violet is a known murderer, and George has a clear violent streak and an even clearer motive.

The connection between Violet and Lila is thin, but the connection between George and Lila is far more tangible. Perhaps Lila knew where the surrender document is. Perhaps she had it on her when she was killed, then George should have seen it, but it’s possible that he had to move too quickly to think to look. Perhaps she lied to him and said that she burned it. Perhaps she did burn it.

Either way, he is my primary suspect, so I decide I have to learn more about him. With that in mind, I decide to take a trip to his antique store the next day to see what I can deduce about the man.

When I head downstairs, however, I see Violet dressed in shoes and a shawl with a cane in her hand. She’s dressed to go out.

I still want to visit George, but this is an opportunity I can’t pass up. Violet may be senile, but she’s murdered and disposed of a body before. Even if she didn’t commit this murder, the odds are better than even that she knows where Lila is buried.

I wait for her to leave the house before descending the stairs. Then I watch through the window and remain in the house until I see her reach the gate. I follow quickly but take care not to make too much noise. The old woman’s nose is sharp, and I don’t want to risk her learning that she’s being followed.

I reach the gate and see her proceeding not down the road but into the forested area beyond the estate. There are a few acres not claimed by any of the residents in the neighborhood, and it’s into this plot she walks.

I follow, keeping a distance and obscuring myself behind trees as much as possible. My heart pounds with excitement, but as she continues to walk and mutter to herself, my excitement wanes. Perhaps she really is just a senile old woman who has wandered off.

But perhaps this is where Lila is truly buried, and perhaps I’m about to discover the answers I’ve been searching for all this time.

I follow her for another hundred yards or so but stop when I see another figure walk from behind a tree and stride toward her. My eyes widen when I recognize the figure of George Baumann!

A lot of pieces fall into place in my mind, but a lot of questions reveal themselves as well. How are the two of them connected? Have they been working together? Does Violet know that George murdered Lila and is blackmailing him? Perhaps Violet murdered Lila and George is blackmailing her?

I creep closer, keeping behind trees. When I’m within twenty yards or so, I can hear

George Baumann’s voice. “Cut the crap, Violet. We both know you’re only faking it.”

Violet scoffs. “Quit acting tough, George. You might be Irish, but that doesn’t make you a fighter.”

“Wrong race, Violet. And again, cut the fucking crap. We’re going to have a conversation right now. A real one. Because I’m pretty sure you’re the only person in this family smart enough to realize that pissing me off is a really bad idea.”

Violet takes a step back, and when she says, “I’ll call the police!” I catch a trace of real fear in her voice.

There’s an awareness behind that fear as well. It’s not just fear for her safety. It’s fear of exposure. Guilt.

“Sure thing,” George says breezily. “Here. Use my cell phone. Get them out here to question me so I can tell them all about what happened to Deirdre McCoy.”

Silence. Then, “That was fifty years ago.”

“And you’ll still hang for it. Or fry. Or… Do they use lethal injection now? Anyway, you get my point.”

“I don’t give a shit what happens to me,” Violet says. “But you stay the fuck away from my daughter.”

The confusion in Violet’s voice is gone. So she’s faked her dementia after all.

George lifts his chin and takes a step closer to her. “Or what? You’re a little old to be killing people.”

“I didn’t murder her. You know that.”

“I know you did.”

“It was an accident,” she protests.

“Yes, you accidentally pushed her down a well.”

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