The Guest List Read online

  “Sounds nice.”

  “I hope the kids will adapt to all the changes. They’re so young that it shouldn’t be too hard on them. I’m not so worried about Abby, but Mallory …”

  “You’re going to have to work on hiding your feelings from her, Donovan. It’s obvious you don’t like her and that you adore Abby.”

  “It’s just that Mallory is so much like Harriet, it’s goddamn spooky. She makes my skin crawl, and I hate being around her. How do I overcome that?”

  “By working at it. She might need some therapy. I’ll look into it once we get settled.” She took his hand and squeezed it. “So when do you want to tie the knot?”

  “The sooner the better. How do you want to do it?” Donovan asked, his voice filling with panic.

  “A justice of the peace would be the simplest. We could do it here or on the way to South Carolina.”

  “I’m no good at that stuff, Carol. You … you take care of it. You’re good with details … and stuff. You know?”

  Carol smiled. “In other words, tell you when it’s all set up.”

  “Yeah. Yeah, that’s good. Let’s just get through this next ordeal, then we can do some serious planning. I asked my lawyer to stop by tomorrow. He’s coming around three and bringing a social worker to see the girls. If we’re lucky, we might be able to wind things up here in a few days and be on our way.” He turned the corner to his street. There were cars everywhere, but his driveway was clear.

  “I know I asked you this before, but won’t there be any kind of an investigation into Harriet’s and John’s deaths?”

  Donovan cleared his throat. “I thought I told you already …” He pulled into the driveway and turned the key.

  “No. No you didn’t.”

  “Jesus, Carol, I’m sorry. I don’t know where my mind is these days.” He shook his head and gave her an apologetic look. “The police finished their investigation yesterday afternoon.”

  “And what did they conclude?”

  “The coroner determined that Harriet died of a heart attack and—”

  “Did he do an autopsy?”

  “No. He didn’t feel a need. There was no evidence of foul play.”

  “But people her age don’t just up and die of heart attacks!” Carol argued.

  “Generally speaking, that’s true, but Emma died on the delivery table. Only after I demanded an autopsy did they know she had a rare heart condition. They thought it was probably hereditary. And since Emma and Harriet were sisters …”

  Carol gasped. “God, I forgot about that. What did they say about John? Did he really shoot himself?”

  “Evidently,” Donovan said. “John wasn’t what you’d call a religious man, but he believed that suicide was a sin—a one-way ticket to hell. I don’t see why he would go against what he believed in, but he left a typewritten suicide note explaining everything. He said he told Harriet he was divorcing her and taking Abby. When she couldn’t reason with him, she tried to seduce him. He pushed her away and all of a sudden she started gasping for air and holding her chest. By the time he thought to call for help, it was too late. She was dead. He made it clear that he blamed himself for her death and he couldn’t live with knowing what he’d done.

  “If I hadn’t pushed John to leave Harriet and go to South Carolina with me, none of this would have happened. If I hadn’t interfered …”

  “Don’t go blaming yourself. You offered him a chance at happiness, that’s all. John was weak. You know that. He must not have been thinking straight; otherwise, he would know that he wasn’t to blame for what happened. He knew about Emma’s heart condition, didn’t he?”

  “Yeah. I told him a long time ago. Like you, he must have forgotten.” Donovan turned in his seat. “You know, I keep thinking something isn’t quite right. I figured after our little heart-to-heart last Friday night, John would go home, wait for Harriet to come home from the play with Mallory, and tell her then and there, while he was still fired up. But the coroner says they both died sometime between ten o’clock and noon on Saturday.” He thought a moment. “What time was it that I called you?”

  Carol’s left eyebrow rose a fraction. “Ah, let’s see. You called me Friday night after John left and told me everything you and he talked about. And then you called again Saturday morning to remind me to pick you up and take you to the airport.”

  “That’s right. My flight was at noon, so I must have called you about ten-thirty or so.”

  “No. You called at nine-thirty to remind me to pick you up at ten-thirty. So what’s the problem?” Carol asked, her face a mask of curiosity.

  “I remember looking out the window while I was having my coffee and remembering seeing John and Abby leaving for swimming lessons about eight that morning, and then Harriet right behind him, taking Mallory to her gym class. Everything was as it always was. It just seems odd to me that John would wait all that time to tell her … and that Harriet would try to seduce him later that morning.”

  “She must have been desperate,” Carol said, sighing. “He probably didn’t want the children in the house. If you think about it, it makes sense.”

  “Yeah. She must have been.”

  “I’m a little surprised nobody heard the gunshot,” Carol said, changing the subject.

  Donovan shook his head. “It wouldn’t have sounded much different from a car’s backfire. The kid down the street has been working on his hot rod every weekend for a couple of months. Every time he starts it up it backfires. What does surprise me is that John never told me he had a gun. I didn’t even know he knew how to use one.”

  “There’s nothing to using a gun,” Carol said, shrugging.

  “I guess not, but I just never figured him for owning one. The police said it wasn’t registered, so he must have had it a long time.”

  Carol consulted her watch. “Speaking of time, we’d better get in there before our guests arrive.”

  Donovan looked at his new wife and then at the list in her hand. It was only eight A.M., and she was already organized and ready to go.

  “Let’s go over this one more time,” Carol said. “I don’t want to get to South Carolina and find out I screwed up somewhere along the way and one of us has to come back here.” She glanced down at her list. “Let’s see now. You’re meeting with the real-estate agent in an hour from now to sign the listing agreements on both houses. The Goodwill is going to pick up all of John’s and Harriet’s stuff and that big pile of your stuff at three this afternoon. All the bills are paid. All the utilities, except for the water, have been turned off. The Barkers will see to it that the lawns are mowed and watered until the houses are sold. The last of the trash was picked up this morning. Copies of John’s and Harriet’s death certificates have gone out to everyone requiring one. Their bank accounts have been closed. A trust fund has been set up for the girls. Harriet’s aunt waived any rights she might have to the girls. The paperwork making us their legal guardians is in my briefcase, along with their medical, dental, and school records. I called and got us set up with a post office box until we have a permanent address. Now, did I forget anything? Jeez, yes, I did forget. I wanted to tell you that I packed up two boxes of John’s and Harriet’s personal stuff for the girls. We’ll take it in the car with us, and when they’re older or the time is right, we’ll give it to them. There isn’t much.”

  “I think that’s just about everything,” Donovan said, exhausted just listening to her. He’d known she was organized, but my God! The woman didn’t miss a thing. She reminded him of a general, plotting strategies, barking orders, and following up. And she did it all without a single complaint. “Wait a minute,” he said suddenly. “There’s something I forgot.” He pulled a letter out of his pocket. “It seems Harriet had an insurance policy just like the one Emma had.” He handed Carol the piece of paper. “Mallory is the sole beneficiary.” Carol looked at it, then at him. “It’s for a hundred thousand dollars. I just assumed John was the beneficiary, since he was always
complaining about the premiums. I think it was shitty of Harriet not to put Abby’s name on the policy, too.”

  “Think of it like this: We won’t have to worry about Mallory’s financial future.”

  “Speaking of Mallory, where is the little … darling?”

  “Sulking in her room. Probably trying to think up new ways to torment Abby. I’m sorry, Donovan, but 1 don’t like her. Not even a little bit. There’s something not quite right about her, and I don’t mean her nastiness. Maybe she’s one of those bad seeds they always make movies about.”

  “She’s a little girl, Carol. She needs her bottom paddled a time or two, and she needs to know that you and I are united in our efforts. I know in my gut that Abby doesn’t tell us half of what Mallory does by way of tormenting her. As soon as we get settled, I think you should carry through with your idea of getting her into therapy. If that doesn’t work, we’ll pack her off to boarding school. I won’t let her ruin our lives.”

  “Donovan, are we taking on more than we can handle?”

  “I wish to God I knew. Only time will give us the answer to that question.”

  A horn sounded in the driveway. “The movers are here,” Carol said as she hurried off to greet them.

  Donovan ran upstairs to check on the girls. He blinked at the sight that greeted his eyes. Mallory was rocking sedately in a chintz-covered rocking chair, spewing words of hatred at her sister, who was trying to gather up some marbles that were rolling every which way. In the blink of an eye, Donovan lifted Mallory out of the chair and put her over his knee. He whacked her bottom until his hand hurt. Then he stood her up in front of him. “I’m only going to say this once, Mallory. If I ever hear you talking like that to your sister again, I’ll confine you to your room for a month with no television. If you sass me, it’ll be two months with no television and no toys. You will apologize to your sister, now.”

  “I hate you. I hate her, too. I want my mother. I want to go home,” Mallory cried.

  Donovan raked his hair with his fingers. He had to remember that she was only a child. How could a child become so mean and hateful by the age of six? His gaze went to Abby, who was pulling the drawstring on the bag of marbles. She wiped at her tears with the back of her hand.

  “What happened to the marbles, Abby?” Donovan asked.

  “They … they spilled,” she choked out.

  “Is that the truth or is it a lie?”

  Abby’s eyes filled again. “It’s a lie,” she whispered miserably. “I’m sorry.”

  Donovan reached for the bag, undid the drawstring, and dumped the marbles on the floor. “Pick them up, Mallory. And don’t you miss a single one. I’ll wait right here till you’re through. Get Bailey, Abby, and go outside and find Carol.”

  Donovan sat down on the edge of the bed, his eyes on the little girl in the starched white pinafore. He’d never seen her in anything but dresses that were starched and ruffled. Abby, on the other hand, wore ragged shorts and coveralls. When she did wear a dress it was one of Mallory’s castoffs that wasn’t starched and didn’t fit properly.

  One by one Mallory picked up the marbles. She was about to hand the bag over when she stubbed her toe and fell forward. The marble bag shot out of her hands, the marbles scattering everywhere. Donovan watched in horror as she shoved the chair against the wall, the spindles on the back jutting half-in and half-out. “See what you did,” she screamed. “You made me drop them. I’m not picking them up again!”

  Donovan sucked in his breath. In a voice he barely recognized as his own, he said, “Oh, yes you are, and you’d better make it quick before the moving men work their way in here. And because you broke that chair and sassed me, you’re going to spend the next few hours sitting on the steps until we’re ready to leave. If you even dare to get up, or if I hear one word out of you, I’ll spank you again.” He leaned toward her. “Let’s understand each other right now. I will not tolerate your temper tantrums, and if you ever talk to your sister like that again, I’ll—”

  “I don’t care what you do. I hate you, and I hate Carol, too. And if you spank me again, I’ll tell.”

  Donovan’s blood ran cold. He tried for a light tone. “Who are you going to tell?”

  “Those people who said I have to live with you.”

  Donovan raised a hand into the air. “Okay, fine, but first you have to pick up the marbles.”

  Mallory stood firm and stared at Donovan with bone-chilling intensity. “I’ll tell that you do bad things to me—that you …”

  “Carol!” Donovan roared. The sweat of fear dripped down his face as he stomped from the room. Carol came on the run. “You are not going to believe this! Do you know what that kid said to me? What in hell did Harriet do to her?”

  CHAPTER THREE

  Carol Mitchell sniffed the air as she made her way through the house, her arms piled high with folded linens. Christmas was a wonderful time of year, but not this Christmas, she thought, her shoulders slumping. This Christmas was already a nightmare, and the holiday was still a week away. Donovan had been working sixteen hours a day and was ready to drop when he walked in the door. In the six months they had been married, they had hardly had a moment alone together.

  She hadn’t thought it would be like this. She’d figured on Donovan needing her to help with the girls, but she hadn’t counted on assuming the whole responsibility.

  This wasn’t what she’d planned, wasn’t what she’d wanted. It was all becoming too much for her. Once the New Year arrived, she would make some hard decisions. What to do about Mallory would be first.

  She cringed when she heard Mallory’s strident tones coming from the bedroom. Should she check it out or let the girls solve it on their own? Donovan said she should step in only if things got out of hand, but things always got out of hand. Why couldn’t she have just one day of peace and harmony? The psychiatrist said Mallory suffered from separation anxiety because of the loss of her parents and that she was reacting normally. What a crock! Carol didn’t buy it for a minute. Mallory was a miniature Jekyll and Hyde. She knew how to play the game, when to turn on the tears, when to make nice, when to be polite and sincere. Donovan seemed to think things were getting better, but then Donovan arrived home when the girls were asleep and left in the morning before they got up. He had no idea what was really going on.

  All he seemed to care about was that people got into their new houses for the holidays. Carol was beginning to wonder if he’d make it home to share the holidays with his own family.

  There was always someone or something coming between them, and she was sick of it.

  She’d put the tree up on her own, decorated the house, baked cookies, bought the girls’ Christmas outfits, and cleaned the house from top to bottom. “Looks good,” was all Donovan had been able to say.

  Some life.

  Certainly not the kind of married life she’d envisioned.

  This time it was Abby’s voice she heard. “I’m gonna tell Aunt Carol. You stop that, Mallory!”

  Carol opened the bedroom door. “Okay, what is it this time?”

  “You’re supposed to knock before you come in,” Mallory charged.

  “In my house I don’t have to knock. Now, I’ll ask again. What’s going on in here? I heard you two all the way down the hall. What’s going on?”

  “You can’t hear in the hall. You were sneaking around listening at the door,” Mallory shouted. “You’re always sneaking. I watch you. Mama used to watch you, too. She called you a slut.”

  Carol flinched. It was hard to ignore Mallory’s tirade, but because she’d heard it all before, she let it go. She could see she was going nowhere with Mallory, so she focused on Abby. “Will you please tell me what’s been going on in here, Abby?”

  A tear slid down Abby’s cheek. “Mallory said that Santa Claus isn’t real. She lied, huh, Aunt Carol?”

  Here it was, one of the most important questions in a child’s life. You’re supposed to be here, Donovan. I can’t do t
his all myself. “I think Mallory just said that because you two were arguing.” Then to Mallory, she said, “Now, explain what you really meant to your sister.”

  Mallory whirled around, her eyes full of hate. “You’re such a crybaby, Abby. I meant the Santa at the store. Everyone knows he’s not real because you can pull off his beard.”

  Carol crossed her arms and breathed a sigh of relief. “That’s a good girl, Mallory. Thank you for clearing that up.”

  Abby’s tears dried, and she was all smiles again. “When is Uncle Donovan coming home, Aunt Carol? I want to tell him what we did in school.”

  “Long after your bedtime, honey. Why don’t you write him a note and put it on his pillow? I’ll make sure he gets it.”

  “Okay.” Eagerly, she reached for her crayons.

  Mallory glared up at Carol. “Abby can’t write. She doesn’t know her letters yet.”

  “I do so know my letters,” Abby argued. “My teacher said that I print my letters neater than anyone else in her class. I bet your teacher never told you that, Mallory.”

  “She did, too,” Mallory snarled. She leaned over and pulled her sister’s hair.

  “Ow!”

  Carol grabbed Mallory’s arm and yanked her to her feet. “Ten minutes in the corner facing the wall.” She walked Mallory to the back of the room. “I’ll stay right here and play checkers with Abby until your time is up.”

  “I hate you!” Mallory squawked.

  “Right now, I’m not very fond of you either.”

  Carol rubbed the back of her neck, then sat down on the child-size chair across from Abby. “I get the red ones, Aunt Carol,” Abby said as she set her checkers down on their squares.

  They played quietly, concentrating on each move. In the end Abby won fair and square, then hooted and laughed. “You just need to practice more, Aunt Carol.”

  “I can see that.” Carol checked her watch and saw that Mallory still had two minutes to go. “Did you have a nice Christmas last year?” she asked Abby. “What kind of tree did you have?”