Page 33 of The Next Mrs. Parrish

“Okay. What about the Lockwoods?”

“That address I know by heart. Used to cut their grass.” He wrote it down on the pad, then picked up the beer, and drained the bottle.

“Thank you. If I have any other questions, do you mind if I call you?”

He shook his head. “No problem. I’m real sorry about your dad,” he said, rising.

—

Daisy Ann arrived in Blue Springs, Missouri, a day later. Her first stop was the Lockwood residence. She had decided it would be best to show up unannounced and take her chances. Besides which, they had an unlisted number. She pulled up the long driveway to the top of the hill where a white colonial with tall pillars and a generous front porch stood. Daisy Ann guessed it must have four or five bedrooms and be close to four thousand square feet. After driving bythe house Amber (aka Lana) had grown up in—a small rancher in a modest neighborhood—she could understand why Amber would have been envious at the time. But it was rather average compared to the wealth Amber now enjoyed being married to Jackson Parrish.

She parked her rental car, walked up the steps to the front porch, and rang the bell. The door was opened by a uniformed woman.

“May I help you?”

Daisy Ann smiled at her. “I’m here to see Mrs. Lockwood.”

The woman frowned. “Are you expected?”

Daisy Ann shook her head. “No. But please let her know we have a common enemy. Lana Crump.”

“Wait here, please.” She shut the door and Daisy Ann waited. Seconds later she was welcomed inside.

“Please come this way; Mrs. Lockwood is on the sunporch.”

Daisy Ann followed behind the woman, through the marble-floored entryway, taking in the curved staircase lined with what looked like oil paintings of family members, past the kitchen, one rather in need of updates from its nineties look of white appliances and oak cabinets. They reached the sunporch, which ran the length of the house and faced a nicely landscaped yard that backed up to woods. Mrs. Lockwood sat at a round table in front of a large jigsaw puzzle, one piece in hand as she peered at the puzzle and then fit the part in. She was dressed in a blue knit pantsuit, her short gray hair done in that “once a week at the hairdresser” way, and was painfully thin, frail even. She looked up as Daisy Ann entered.

“Who are you and how do you know Lana?”

So much for social niceties,Daisy Ann thought, an exhortation of her mother-in-law’s coming to mind,Good manners are not to be taken on and off like pearls.She extended a hand.

“Hello, ma’am. My name is Daisy Ann Briscoe, and Lana killed my father.”

Mrs. Lockwood blanched, then pointed to a chair. “Please have a seat.” She looked up. “Frannie, please bring some refreshments.”

Daisy Ann took the chair across from the older woman. “I’m sorry if I shocked you, but I don’t believe in beating around the bush.”

“Neither do I, Ms. Briscoe, so what exactly does this have to do with me?”

“The murder of my father, nothing. But I know about Lana and your son and all that he’s suffered because of her. She got away with it. And she got away with killing my father. That is what we have in common, Mrs. Lockwood.” Daisy Ann locked eyes with the woman and saw only indifference there.

“What is it that you want from me?” Mrs. Lockwood asked.

“I suppose I’m looking for any information on Lana Crump that will help me prove my father’s death was not an accident.”

“I don’t see how I can help you with that.”

“Can you tell me anything about your interactions with the girl?”

“I can tell you that she’s a grasping little guttersnipe who lured my son into a sexual relationship. She deliberately got pregnant so that he would marry her. Fortunately, he was too smart to tie himself to such a nasty piece of work, but he paid dearly for it. He is in a wheelchair for life because of her.”

“If I can get enough evidence to have her charged, would you be willing to testify at a trial?”

“I’m sorry, but I can’t help you. My son is married to a wonderful young woman. He has custody of the child Lana bore, a precious boy whom I dearly love. As much as I want her to pay for what she did to Matthew, I can’t risk her coming back into our lives. I wouldn’t put it past her to try and get custody of little Matty just for spite, and the crazy courts just might give it to her. They are too often overly sympathetic to the mother. In this case the mother is a monster. No. I won’t let that happen. That girl is poison. I won’t have her near my family.” She rose from her chair. “I think you should leave now.”

“But—”

“I have nothing more to say to you. Frannie will see you out.” And with that she left the room.

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