Page 86 of The Dysfunctional Family's Guide to Murder
Sasha’s smile is friendly enough. For now.
“Hi, Ruth.”
“Hi, Sasha.”
“Sorry to drop by. I was hoping to see your parents, but David tells me they’re out.”
“Dylan,” Dylan and I say at the same time.
“Right. Like I was saying to…Dylan, I think my credit card might have fallen out of my pocket last time I was here. Okay with you two if I have a quick look about?” His smile isimpossible to disbelieve, unless you’ve recently seen that video on GG’s phone.
“Actually,” I say, before Dylan can change his mind and get rid of this guy, whose muscles are taking up too much room in his shirt, “we have something to show you first.” I try hard not to make my voice go up on the last word and turn it into a question. I smile, all too aware that Dylan and I are exuding the vibe of a nervous young couple inviting the boss over for a dinner party. Except Sasha should be the nervous one; he just doesn’t realize it yet. (Have you figured out what he did? Better yet, have you figured outwhyhe did it?)
“What is it?”
“A video.” Is that a flicker in one eye?
“Of who?” He’s given himself away, whether he realizes it or not. The obvious question to ask here would be ofwhat?
“Why don’t we just play it?”
“What’s this about?” he asks, and there’s something in his voice that wasn’t there before. He knows, or at least he suspects. I want to risk a glance toward the backsplash, but that would defeat the whole purpose of this (awful) plan. How much of a comfort will it be, exactly, if I get murdered but it’s all captured on video?
“This is about Gertie’s death. Dylan and I know what happened.”
Two pink splotches grow on Sasha’s cheeks. He doesn’t have to ask the question—he knows the answer, just as we do—but he’s still trying to work out how much we know, and so he asks it anyway. “Who killed her?”
“To answer that question, we really have to go back to when GG found out she was dying,” I say.
Dylan’s face asks if we’rereallydoing this, and, okay, maybe my delivery was a little Daniel Craig at the end ofGlass Onion(minus the accent), but I’m trying my best.
“Right,” Sasha says, smiling like he’s not panicking.
“When GG got her diagnosis, she started to reevaluate her life choices. In particular, I think she regretted her estrangement from her son—his name’s Martin. She’d always told everyone he was dead, but the truth is that Martin’s been in prison for years.”
“Itoldyouthat,” Sasha points out.
“You did. You were the one who told us that GG’s son was still alive and that she knew about it. I assume you did that because you wanted to throw him out there as a possible suspect, just in case?” No response. “Or maybe you just wanted an excuse to come over that night, so you could find out if we knew anything and go hunting for, what was it, a missing credit card?” Again: nothing. “But it’s not so easy to go hunting under the floorboards with a house full of people, is it? Iheardyou bump into Shippy outside the kitchen, butShippywas on his way to use the upstairs bathroom, so how would he run into you if you were coming back from the downstairs bathroom, which is in the opposite direction? I didn’t pay attention to it and Shippy didn’t ask the question. Well, he’s not that bright.”
“Ruth,” Dylan says, trying to bring me back.
“Anyway, the point is that GG was feeling pretty bad about her son, but what she didn’t know was that Martin had recently been released.”
“I told your parents all this already: She knew he was getting out.”
“I know that’s what yousaid,” I say, enjoying this a bit too much (another check in the psychopath box?), “but I don’t think that’s what really happened, because it doesn’t make sense.” I pull GG’s phone out of my pocket and turn it around to face Sasha. His hand twitches like he wants to reach for it, but he doesn’t move. “I think GG wanted to make amends with her son, and I think she wrote to him in prison, probably begging his forgiveness, at the very least saying she was sorry.”
“So?”
“I think that letter was seen by someone who should never have seen it: Martin’s friend, or maybe his cellmate—are cellmates a thing in Australian prisons or is that just an American TV thing?—and that guy got the idea into his head that there was a rich old lady out there who was desperate to be forgiven and might make a good target.”
Sasha’s mask of polite interest barely shows a ripple. But barely isn’t nothing.
“I think Martin’s cellmate—or maybe they were just acquaintances in the exercise yard or something; most of my knowledge of prison comes fromOrange Is the New Black,so—”
“Ruth.”Dylan is barely audible.
“Right, right. So, Martin’s…whatever gets out of prison first. He comes to find Gertie, representing himself as a friend and a confidant of Martin’s. This bit is mostly guesswork, but I, we”—I gesture to Dylan to make it clear in what direction thatweextends—“think he convinced Gertie that he had Martin’s ear and that Martin was still angry at Gertie, but that perhapshe, as an intermediary, might be persuaded to smooth over any unpleasantness.”
