She Knows Too Much, page 13
part #2 of If Only She Knew Mystery Series Series
“My brother, actually,” Tara answered for her.
“Jonah?” His foreign name still felt awkward in my mouth, since his birth name, Cole, was how I knew him. I was still getting used to it, but the name was slowly growing on me. I was not, however, used to the idea of sharing him with another mom when I should have been the only one.
Resentment still lingered after finding out Cole—Jonah—had been picked up wandering on the beach during a storm almost thirty years ago, and instead of contacting the police, Tara’s mother kept him and named him after the Biblical figure who had been saved from the sea. As far as I saw it, he didn’t need to be saved from me. But for Jonah’s sake—and Tara’s—I never turned Eloise in for child abduction. It was the one thing I could do for him after missing out on so much of his life.
“I know, it’s crazy to hear that my brother is a hero,” Tara said proudly.
Peace grabbed Tara’s and my wrists at once, yanking a little too hard. “Promise me you won’t say anything to him. You know we have history together, and there has always been this stupid childish competition between him and the Valance brothers. It’ll make things…weird between us if he finds out I’m telling people.”
“Of course,” I agreed, simulating zipping my lip.
I had to admit, though, I was proud of Jonah. After spending almost ten years in jail for attempted murder, it was good to hear that he had turned his life around. It was fitting that his first chivalric deed post-stir was coming to the rescue of the only the woman he had loved his entire life—Peace.
“Does anyone other than Jonah know what Victor did to you?” I asked.
“No, and I want to keep it that way. Ever since that night, I can’t shake the feeling that Victor is still out there watching me. I know it’s crazy, because he’s turning into worm food as we speak, but still…”
I felt it too. That unsettling sensation, like a hand reaching out from a grave.
My phone beeped, but I didn’t want to rummage through my mountain of crap again to find it in my pocketbook. “I gotta get home. I promised Rick a candlelit dinner tonight and I don’t want to stand him up. We’ve got a very full night of activity, if you know what I mean.”
“Ew, please don’t make me imagine you and Rick getting it on.” Tara pretended to gag.
“What, you don’t want to picture us doin’ the no pants dance?”
“Ugh!”
“Takin’ a trip to pound town?”
“Gross!”
“Playin’ hide the cannoli?”
“Stop, stop, I’m begging you!” Tara yelled, eyes clamped shut, hands over her ears. Peace and I were enjoying seeing her squirm—maybe a little too much. Translation: we were laughing our butts off.
“Tara, you always were a goody two-shoes,” Peace said, when the hilarity had subsided. “I’ve got to get home too. Horses need to be fed or else they’ll tear the barn down.”
As we headed to the car, I couldn’t help but consider that all of us wanted Victor dead. Tara hated him for destroying her horse rescue. Peace had been assaulted by him. And Jonah had never fallen out of love with Peace since they were teens. We all knew what Jonah had been capable of in the past, nearly killing a Valance brother over a girl and going to jail for it.
Was this his way of finishing the job?
Tape 4
Creep
1995
[Tape clicks on]
[Young male] I’ve been stuck here four days and there’s no end in sight. I called Dad from a pay phone in town, and he screamed at me to never call him again, that he’d come when we’re done here. What does that even mean? Done how? This lady is broken, if breaking her was the goal. What else could he plan to do with her? I’m afraid to find out.
[Chains rattle faintly. Woman moans in background]
[Young male] She’s not looking too good. I don’t know what to do. All I know is I’m tired of doing my dad’s dirty work. He’s allowed to bang whoever he wants behind my mom’s back, while I have to babysit his mistress and watch her die when he's done with her.
[Woman, weakly] I hear what you are recording, and it was not like that, you know. I was not some broad he banged. I was in mourning, and your father found me and helped me feel something other than grief. I liked him…until I met the real him.
[Young male, hysterically] Breaking news! My dad—the judge, jury, and executioner of Bloodson Bay—is actually capable of genuine human emotion!
[Woman] And you do not have to babysit me. You can be your own man and let me go. Stop being your father’s doormat and stand up for yourself…and for your mother.
[Young male] You realize that if I do that, you’re dead, right?
[Woman] I am willing to take that risk. I would rather be free and take a chance at life than rot in this bunker where certain death awaits me. Because there is no way your father will let me live. Not after locking me up for this long.
[Young male] Look, you can’t totally blame him for your situation. You got pregnant by a married man. What did you expect to happen?
[Woman] How dare you! What a stupid male chauvinist attitude. First of all, I had no idea he was married. And while the night we met was a bit hazy and I made my fair share of mistakes, he certainly did not wear a wedding band. I was grieving a loss, and your father used that to manipulate me. I never asked for anything of him for years…not until recently when I made one simple, tiny request. And in reply he throws me in a bunker? What kind of psychopath does that?
[Young male] You haven’t met my family if you have to ask that question. We’re a family of psychos! It’s why my dad controls that stupid town, because all of Bloodson Bay fears him because you never know what he’ll do.
[Woman] So you want to be like him? Because you are dangerously close to walking the same path, young man.
[Young male] I don’t know if there’s any hope for me not to walk the same path. It’s my fate, Miss Alika, if you believe in that kind of thing.
[Woman] I realized you know my name but I do not know yours. I believe I have earned that, yes?
[Young male] Yeah, I guess there’s no harm in you knowing. It’s…Victor.
[Woman] Victor…as in conqueror. I suppose it suits you well.
[Tape clicks off]
Part 3
Sloane Apara
Chapter 25
A glorious dawn broke upon the periwinkle blue sky dolloped with peach-cheeked clouds. A blue heron waded in the surf on its stilt legs; another high-stepped over the ruins of a child’s sandcastle, startling a ghost crab back into its burrow. Tiny sanderlings scampered along the beach, foraging for sand fleas. A black skimmer, dapper in its tuxedo-like coloration, glided majestically over the waves before snagging a fish.
My morning walks along the beach, where my yard dropped off into the bay, were the best part of my day. It was peaceful here along the shore, before the beach filled with people, as the sea foam tickled my toes and the breeze tossed my hair.
The saltwater was frigid this time of year, before the fullness of spring had a chance to draw the ocean to its warm bosom. I climbed the steps that led to my beachfront home tucked into a rare wooded lot. It had been quite the expensive coup finding this isolated lot along the bay, on a small lone hill surrounded by flat land. But the breathtaking view from my treehouse-like home was absolutely worth it.
At the top of the wooden steps a pink mist gathered around the banana trees and canna lilies and elephant ears sprouting from the sandy soil. Hidden by the haze were nature’s most precious secrets. I reached the top tier of the deck that protruded from the open-floor home I had designed with the help of an incredible Deaf architect who understood my needs. While my now-dead husband never held back a complaint of how sterile or cold the home appeared, he had no idea how hard it was to be a Deaf woman in a house full of solid walls.
My vision was my awareness, my survival, my communication. If I could see him across the room, I could communicate. Walls isolated a person like me, unable to hear a phone ring or kettle whistle or a call for dinner. With open floors and glass walls, I always knew what was going on around me. Even up until we split up, Benson refused to understand. It was one of many reasons we didn’t last…and then he died.
I was outside on the patio when the doorbell flashed throughout the house, a flickering special-order red bulb that I couldn’t miss even if I wanted to. And right now I really wanted to.
I didn’t need to answer the door to know who it was. The telltale flash-flash-flash, pause, flash-flash-flash, pause, told me exactly who it was. It was Mummy’s signature “ring,” if you wanted to call it that, ever since I was a kid. Although spinal meningitis left me Deaf as an infant, Mummy couldn’t afford the latest Deaf technology until I hit double digits. When I turned ten Mummy finally forked out the money for a flashing doorbell. When I turned thirteen she splurged on a Text Telephone, or TTY, which allowed me to type conversations, relayed through an operator, to my friends.
These newfound freedoms didn’t come without a price. All friends had to be “Mummy approved,” and the flashing code was enforced to protect me from greeting strangers at the door.
Over the years I learned that “protective” in describing my mother was an understatement. Maybe it was because I was Deaf, or maybe because I was her only child, but Mummy would do anything—and I mean anything—to shield me from the big, bad, evil world.
“You’re here early, Mummy.”
In Mummy’s punctual world there was no such thing as too early, only too late. Golden morning poured in through the door, creating a halo around my mother’s black silhouette. She swept past me into the house in a rushed blur of motion.
“Good morning, omoge,” Mummy signed, using the Nigerian word for “young lady.”
She stepped out of her flats and deposited them near the entry, then padded her way barefoot into the living room. After setting her purse on a table, she pulled me into a hug that felt longer, tighter than usual.
“You did not go out into public wearing that, did you?” Mummy asked as she eyed me up and down.
I glanced down at my cropped cashmere sweater and jeans with holes in the knees. Instinctively wrapping my arms around my bare waist, I covered up the sliver of belly showing. Mummy hadn’t always been this conservative, or so she tells me, but I had known her to be nothing else my entire life. Our job as women, according to her, was to protect ourselves from the lecherous gazes of men. As much as I tried to explain to her that modern men were responsible for their own wickedness, not us women, she took the firm stance that if you don’t give them something to look at, they’ll look somewhere else.
“No, Mummy, I didn’t go out in this.”
“Have you eaten? I can make a bread sandwich and tea for you.”
A Nigerian favorite, bread sandwich to her usually consisted of mackerel in a tomato sauce, which had always startled overnight guests when I had sleepovers growing up. And by tea she usually meant whatever hot beverage I had on tap, though I had tried to explain the different between coffee and tea countless times.
“No, thank you. I’ve eaten. Sit. Relax,” I urged. Even as an adult, I would always be seen and tended to as her little omoge.
Mummy sat on the sofa, her vibrant clothes a stark contrast against the dominant creams of my décor. Lush plants added a splash of color here and there. Behind her hung a large framed photo of Yankari Game Reserve that I had taken as a teenager during a safari with my extended family during a visit to my mother’s homeland. In true Nigerian fashion, my iya-nla—or grandmother—had stuffed me full of jollof rice and pounded yams, and showed me the beauty of my motherland. They had even learned some ASL in order to speak with me. Part of my heart would always remain there, but my home was in Bloodson Bay.
Shifting awkwardly, Mummy glanced about the room, then grabbed a magazine from the coffee table, silently flipping through it. Mummy was only this quiet if something was wrong.
“You seem anxious, Mummy. What’s going on?”
She dropped the magazine and rose to her feet. “I might as well spit it out. Something has happened and we must leave. Perhaps return to Nigeria before it is too late.”
I couldn’t imagine what my uber-religious mother had gotten into that would drive us out of the country.
“I don’t understand. Too late for what?”
“Someone…died, Sloane, and they may think I am responsible for it.”
“Wait—what? Who died?”
“I wish I could say more, but I cannot tell you, omoge. It would put you at risk.”
There was only one person whose death seemed connected to everyone I knew…but how was he connected to my mother? “Does this have something to do with Victor Valance?”
Her wide eyes convinced me I had guessed correctly.
“Who thinks you killed him? The cops?”
Mummy shook her head. “No, his father, Ewan Valance.”
“The town judge? Screw him, Mummy! He has no reason to think that! Victor’s death has nothing to do with our family.”
Mummy stood awfully silent for far too long.
“Right?” I pressed.
The doorbell flashed frantically, rooting me to the spot. Were the police here to arrest my mother? I crept slowly to the edge of the living room wall that led to the entry, trying to see without being seen. Damn this house of glass!
I figured they’d be barging through the door by now if it was the police, so I continued my stealthy approach toward the front door. A flash of red hair brought instant relief. It was Ginger and Tara.
No sooner had I ushered them inside than Ginger frantically signed a mess of misspelled words and random strings of thoughts I couldn’t follow.
“Slow down!” I yelled, using my voice. “I can’t understand you,” I followed up with sign.
“We were at the bunker yesterday—you know, the one from the tapes. We found another tape hidden there in which we heard Victor say the name of the woman he had been holding captive!” Ginger finally explained in comprehendible sign.
I could feel a presence behind me and turned to see Mummy standing there, shamefaced. I returned my gaze to Ginger, who acknowledged her with a stiff wave.
“So you already know?” Ginger asked me.
“Know what?” I was so confused, I didn’t know what was going on.
Mummy stepped to my side, tears streaming down as she tried to screen her face from me. When she found the courage to finally face me, the pieces fell into place.
“It was me who was in the bunker in the fall of 1995, Sloane.”
Tape 5
One Sweet Day
1995
[Tape clicks on]
[Young male] Yesterday I found out I have a half-sister. I don’t even know how to feel about it. A sibling running around out there that I didn’t know about makes me wonder what else I don’t know. Are my parents my real parents? Is my brother my actual brother? I feel like I can’t trust anyone anymore.
[Woman] That is exactly my point, Victor. You cannot trust your father. Which is why you must let me go free. Once he disposes of me, he will go after my daughter, and I cannot let that happen. Please.
[Young male] Why should I trust you? I have a feeling you haven’t been honest with me either. You won’t even tell me my sister’s name. I want to meet her. Once I meet her and talk to her, I’ll let you free. Deal?
[Woman hesitates] Uh, I cannot do that.
[Young male] Why not? It’s a simple request. Should be easy. Give me her name, I’ll verify all this with her, and I’ll let you go.
[Woman] She does not know about Ewan.
[Young male] Don’t you think she should? I do. I’d want to know if I had a whole other family out there. Because no one likes being lied to their entire life!
[Woman sighs] I cannot. I am sorry.
[Young male] Then I guess I’ll let my father deal with you. I’m tired of everyone lying to me. You all deserve what you get.
[Woman] Wait! If I tell you the truth—the whole truth—will you let me go?
[Young male] No lies, nothing left out?
[Woman] Yes. Every last horrid detail.
[Young male] Fine. It’s a deal. Tell me everything and I’ll figure out a way to get us both out of here.
[Woman inhales shaky breath] It all started the day my husband died…
[Tape clicks off]
Chapter 26
“It all started the day my husband died…” Mummy began, her impassive gaze skipping around the living room from Ginger to Tara and lastly settling on me.
We had boiled water for tea, but as I sipped, it did little to calm my raw nerves. I listened with rapt attention as Mummy continued, and I felt my anxiety ramp up with each sign.
“The man I told you was your father,” Mummy clarified.
I didn’t like how this was already beginning. “Please tell me Ewan Valance isn’t my biological father,” I signed, mouthing the words angrily.
“Please just listen without judgement, Sloane. It is a complex story, full of complex emotions. But it is what it is, and I cannot change the past.”
“No one here will judge you, Alika,” Ginger encouraged. “We’ve all made our fair share of bad decisions. Me especially. Go ahead.”
