Prologue
I feel nothing as I watch them lower her into the ground.
Actually, that’s not entirely true. While most of those in attendance are grieving—or at least putting on award-winning performances, considering many have made their living on the big screen—I can only think of one thing.
Ding dong the witch is dead.
My best friend squeezes my hand in support. She’s the only reason I’m here. Piper Mitchell is the one person in this world I would do anything for. So when she called, begging me to fly home for the funeral, I could hardly refuse.
‘Closure,’ she called it. ‘Maybe now you can start to heal,’ she said.
I know she means well. After all, she got her happily-ever-after with Mason. I sneak a glance at the two of them. Even here, surrounded by corpses in a graveyard, they look hopelessly in love. He caresses her shoulder with his thumb, holding her tightly against him as she stands between us.
Piper thinks my story can end like hers. But even though we have similar pasts, we are so very different. She grew up knowing love. The love of parents who would do anything to protect her. The love of sisters who would give their very lives for each other.
Hers is the only love I’ve ever known. The love of a soulmate sister, bound by horrific events no child should have to endure.
Piper’s mother, Jan Mitchell, tried to take me under her wing. She tried to show me what the love of a real mother felt like. And she did a fabulous job. But it’s not the same. It’s not the same as having the love of the woman who birthed you, raised you, cuddled you when you were hurt—then ripped your heart out.
As people take their turns throwing dirt onto the casket, I think back on the service. How could such a terrible person draw that kind of crowd? How could people speak about her as if she were a wonderful, caring, giving individual? My skin crawled as a few of the mourners told tales of her philanthropy. Jan and Piper flanked my sides, each holding one of my hands. Not because I was grieving, but to keep me from jumping out of my seat and telling everyone the truth. The truth about the monster who was my mother.
But I didn’t stand up. I didn’t say a word. I couldn’t draw more attention to myself. Especially since I knew he was probably there.
I haven’t seen my father since I was twelve. That was ten years ago. I know he’s alive. Piper ran into him last year. She said he looked old. Haggard. Broken. Serves the bastard right for leaving his daughter the way he left me.
I don’t know if he’s here. I haven’t bothered to look around. The reality of what else, or more specifically, who else, I might see here sickens me. So I’ve gone through the motions hoping to remain invisible. I’m here for one reason and one reason only. To see for myself that the bitch is gone.
“Charlie?” I look up to see that people have disbanded and are walking back to their cars. “You coming?” Piper asks.
“Give me a minute please.”
She nods before Mason escorts her through the maze of headstones. I watch them walk over to where the rest of the Mitchell clan is standing. None of them knew my mother. They all came for me. Piper’s older sisters, Baylor and Skylar, accepted me as part of their family long ago when I started escaping to their house in Maple Creek, Connecticut, where we grew up.
I look back over at the hole in the ground. I shake my head as I lower my eyes to the frozen February grass in front of me. What kind of twisted person feels happy when a parent dies?
The kind of twisted person my mother raised me to be, I guess.
“That could be you,” a man says behind me, making me jump out of my skin.
“Excuse me?” I ask in disgust.
“Sorry.” He laughs. “I meant you are the spitting image of your mother.”
He steps closer to me. Too close. He reaches a hand up under my hair, placing it suggestively on my neck. His dark eyes rake over my body as a sick familiarity washes over me. Bile rises in my throat as I try not to become the helpless girl I once was.
His hand tightens on me. “You’ve grown,” he says.
I maneuver myself out of his grip like I was taught in self-defense class. I hold his surprised eyes with mine. “Don’t you ever fucking touch me again or I’ll kill you.”
He laughs again. It’s a cold, devious chuckle. “You’re a little firecracker, aren’t you?” He reaches into his pocket and pulls out a small baggie of white powder. “I’ll make it worth your while. Just like I did for Mommy Dearest.” He nods to the grave.
Flashbacks of the scumbag in front of me bombard my thoughts. All of a sudden I’m a scared and naked fourteen-year-old focusing on the mural painted on my bedroom wall as this man pleasures himself while staring at me.
Was I really naïve enough to think none of those perverts would have the balls to show up here?
Dewey, I think was the name Mom called him. He used to hang around the house a lot. He’s older now, skinnier and obviously strung out. At least he wasn’t one of the ones who touched me. He only liked to look. But that was bad enough.
“What do you say, honey? Now that you’re old enough, we can both have some fun.”
“Fun? You call what you did to me fun, you sick bastard?”
“What’s the big deal, doll? I never touched you.”
He puts a cigarette between his lips. Then he searches his pocket for a lighter. He doesn’t even see my knee coming. And because I have those extra few seconds, I’m able to lunge forward and grab his shoulders for more leverage.
When he doubles over, grabbing his junk that I’m certain won’t work for a good while, I ball up my fist and deliver a blow right in the nose, where I know it will hurt the most. I hear a crack when I connect. I’m just not sure the sound came from his nose breaking, or my hand.
I get my answer when I watch blood gush from his nostrils as his hands can’t figure out whether to cradle his face or his groin.
I turn and walk away, watching my friends race towards me. And all I can think is how great that felt. It was exhilarating. Cathartic.
It was closure.
What do you know. Piper was right.
Chapter One
I stare at the piece of paper in front of me, sure there has been some massive mistake. I look at the salt-and-pepper-haired attorney sitting across the large cherrywood desk. “Mr. Slater, I don’t understand.”
“This is just an estimate, Ms. Tate,” he says, his voice laced with a hint of apology. “This is only what we have discovered so far. It’s possible your mother had some other holdings we don’t know about yet. I’m sorry it’s not more.”
“More?” I look up at him in confusion. Then I blink twice, trying to clear my eyes before I look down and focus on the seven figure number. “I didn’t know there was any.”
“Um . . .” Mr. Slater looks around as if there were other people in the room who would understand what I said. “It’s my understanding you’ve been out of the country for some time now, Ms. Tate. But your mother was Caroline Anthony. You must know what that means, right?”
I give him my best I’m not stupid look. “Of course I know she was famous, but that was a long time ago. As far as I know, she hasn’t done anything for years. And please, call me Charlie.”
“Well, Charlie, residuals can produce a lot of income. Especially considering the quantity of films she starred in before you were born. Then there was the life insurance.”
“Insurance?” I give him another crazy look. My mother didn’t seem the type to plan for the future.
“Yes. She had a few paid-up whole life insurance policies that were purchased around the time you were born. Funny thing though, she never changed the address on them. They all still bear the Maple Creek address. It’s almost as if she forgot they were even there. They hadn’t been updated in over seventeen years.”
“You are aware of how my mother died?” I ask.
He shuffles around some papers, reading one of them. Then he nods in understanding. “Drug overdose. I’m very sorry.”
“No need to be sorry. She was an addict. A drunk. A shit mother. She deserved every bad thing that happened to her.” I think of what Piper told me about how my mother was found. Alone and decomposing as her body went undiscovered for a week until the neighbors in her building complained of the smell. Nobody she knew cared enough to check on her. Nobody missed her. She dug her grave. Now she gets to rot in it.
Mr. Slater’s eyes go wide in surprise. I imagine as a probate attorney, he’s used to family that is actually upset over their loss.
I shrug a casual shoulder. Then I roll up one of my sleeves and lay my arm on his desk. “My mom didn’t win any Mother of the Year awards.”
His face contorts with disgust as he takes in the small circular burn scars on the inside of my forearm. He shakes his head and gives me a look of pity. “I’m s—”
“You’re sorry. Yeah, I got that. So, what now?”
“Well, you are Ms. Anthony’s sole heir, so you get everything. The will she made when you were born was never updated. The portions of the will that gave property to your father are revoked because of the divorce. And since the apartment she lived in upon her death was in her name only, that will pass on to you as well. You may live there if you wish.”
“Live there?”
“Yes. It’s very common. It will take months, probably eight or nine, for everything to get through probate. And we all know insurance companies tend to drag their feet as long as possible. However, we can have you appointed executor within a few weeks. That will give you control of her assets until we can get them properly transferred to you. You will be able to pay any of her outstanding debts and use estate funds for the upkeep of the apartment until you decide what to do with it.” He pushes some papers my way. “You just need to sign these and I’ll get the ball rolling.”
I sign what seems like a hundred documents and then get up to leave. Before I reach the door, I turn around and ask a question. “Mr. Slater, if she forgot about the policies for all those years, how did you find out about them?”
His head bobs up and down and his lips form a thin line. Then he sighs like he’s about to tell me something I don’t want to hear. “It was your father. He contacted the lawyer who drew up their wills all those years ago. And that lawyer found out that I was assigned to handle her estate.”
“Of course he did.” Anger seethes in my bones, crawling up my spine like rungs of a ladder. “He wouldn’t want to miss his chance to get whatever money she didn’t snort up her nose. Guess he shouldn’t have divorced her if he wanted to be a gold digger.”
“You misunderstand, Ms. Tate . . . er, Charlie.” He rises out of his chair and comes around his desk, perching himself against the front side of it, his eyes softening so that he looks less lawyerly and more fatherly. “He wanted to make sure you were taken care of. He didn’t want you to know and I wouldn’t have said anything if you hadn’t asked. But I’m all about transparency.”
When I don’t respond, he continues. “He was at the funeral, you know. He kept his distance so he wouldn’t cause a scene. He understands you’re upset with him. For what it’s worth, he seemed genuinely sorry for whatever happened between you.”
“Sorry?” There’s that worthless word again. “Well, Mr. Slater, my father can take his apologies and shove them up his ass—the same place his balls lived during my childhood.”
His mouth turns upward into something that resembles a grin and I realize what I hadn’t before. His greying hair and lined forehead speak to his age, but now that I see him standing, out from behind his desk, I can see he’s kept himself up nicely. He’s quite handsome. Distinguished-looking. And from the looks of his office—very well off.
You don’t need to be taken care of, Charlie. Not anymore.
I continue my perusal of his tall body, my eyes halting when they fall just below the waist of his tailor-made Armani suit. He shifts uncomfortably and my eyes snap up to his to see that he didn’t fail to notice the fact that I was mentally undressing him.
He looks at me as if he’s scolding a child. “I’m twice your age.”
“That never bothered any of the others.”
He sighs and shakes his head. “I’m married, Ms. Tate.”
“Charlie,” I remind him, giving him my best fuck-me eyes. “And that never bothered any of the others either.”
He forcefully pushes off his desk and strides over to me. He grabs my shoulders and I’m certain he’s going in for a kiss when instead, he turns me around, directing me towards the door. “I’ll call you when the order comes through. Until then, this is New York City so you might want to be a little more careful whom you proposition.”
Although my ego has taken a bruising, I laugh off his rejection. “Old habits die hard I guess.”
“Maybe it’s time to find new habits, Charlie. You know, start fresh?”
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