still don’t know the connection between Heidi and Charles, but I’m guessing she was blackmailing him too,” Lucien said.
Josh leaned forward. “So Heidi was blackmailing one or more of the Carmichaels and possibly Charles. That’s an awful lot of people who wanted her dead and there were probably more that we don’t know about.”
“Undoubtedly,” Lucien replied. “Trace is already looking into the connection between Heidi and Charles.”
“I’ll keep digging into the Carmichaels,” Josh offered. “How are things with Darcy?”
“I was an ass and she called me on it. We’re working it out.”
“I’m glad to hear that.”
“I should have listened to you,” Lucien admitted with a self-deprecating smile.
“I’m not one for I told you so . . .” Lucien joined in as Josh laughed.
Darcy was a bit early for her monthly visit to her mom, but she couldn’t stop thinking about Lucien’s comment. What had been in it for her mom? She stepped off the subway in Queens and walked to her mom’s apartment.
When she arrived there was a man just leaving, and his uniform from a popular parcel place made Darcy stop him.
“Can I help you?” she asked.
“I was just dropping off, but it’s all signed for.”
“Dropping off what?”
“A case of vodka.” And then clearly nervous that maybe he had gotten something wrong, he looked at the work order. “Yeah, every two weeks a case of Absolut.”
“Can I see that?”
“Sure, but I left a copy on the kitchen counter.”
“Thanks, I’ll just look at that one.”
Darcy entered her mom’s apartment and, as always, the place smelled like death. She walked into the kitchen to see a box on the counter filled with bottles of vodka. She saw the receipt and pocketed it before she grabbed a bottle and marched into her mom’s room. The woman was sprawled out on the bed, one eye closed as she attempted to watch something on television.
“Where the hell did this come from?” Darcy asked. Her mom ignored her, so she stepped in front of the television, which immediately made her mom bellow, “Move the fuck out of the way.”
“Where did this come from?” Darcy demanded as she shook the bottle of vodka.
“Give me that, that’s mine,” her mom said and tried to grab at it, but her balance was way off and she missed by a mile.
“Tell me where it came from first.”
“It’s delivery day.”
“Is this how you are spending the money I send you?”
Her mom laughed. “Right. What you send me would barely keep me happy for two days. No, I’ve got me a little arrangement.”
“With whom?”
“Don’t know.”
“And what do they get out of this arrangement?”
“Nothing.”
“So some stranger is sending you a case of vodka every two weeks and they want nothing in return?”
“Nope. They already got what they wanted.”
“Which was?”
Her mom seemed to have a moment of lucidity and she immediately turned her eyes away and started fiddling with her sheets. “I don’t remember.”
“What the fuck did you do?”
Hatred stared back at her when her mom turned her focus on Darcy. She could see that her mom was just dying to tell her and even as a numbness filled her, Darcy somehow managed to get the words out again. “What did you do?”
“Nothing, really, just had to lie. You were too young anyway. I did you a favor.”
Darcy threw the bottle against the wall and lunged at her mom, her face right up into hers.
“What the fuck did you do? I swear to God if you don’t tell me, I will pour out every fucking bottle of vodka in this house.”
Panic replaced hatred before the words just tumbled out of her mom’s mouth. “Your baby didn’t die, you were just supposed to think that it had.”
“What? Who would do such a thing?”
“I don’t know and I don’t care.”
Darcy took a few steps back, but her legs gave out and she fell to her knees. Her baby was alive. Tears burned her eyes and rolled down her cheeks.
“My baby’s alive?”
“Not that you’ll ever find it.”
Her joy was tampered by the rising hatred she felt for the woman who called herself her mom.
“Is that why you came for me at St. Agnes?” Darcy’s voice was barely audible.
“Yes.”
“How could you?”
“Because you are my greatest regret.”
Darcy hardly recognized her own voice when she said, “And you are the lowest form of life. Why did someone as beautiful as Sister Anne have to die when a complete waste of matter like you gets to live? You can go to hell, Mother. I hope you burn for what you