American Witch - Thea Harrison Page 0,34

least then I know it will go to someone who is grateful to get it.”

Ah, the ungrateful daughter card.

“Go right ahead. Give it all to charity.” She sighed. “I don’t know why you are the way you are. I know your mother wasn’t very nice to you, so maybe you’re just passing down the way you were treated. But I’ve finally had enough. The only regret I have is that I didn’t get to this point sooner.”

“The way you’re acting would break your father’s heart.”

She nodded to herself. Breaking her father’s heart was another one of her mother’s favorite admonishments. “If you ever want to talk to me in a way that is loving and supportive, please give me a call. I would love to hear that from you. Until then, I don’t want to talk to you.”

“I mean it, Molly Ann. I’ll cut you off without a cent.”

Feeling twenty pounds lighter, she said softly, “Bye, Mom.”

So, Austin got the friends and the mother. Molly got the house and all their money.

She smiled. That was okay with her.

Chapter Seven

The rest of the week passed peacefully. According to the agreement, Austin was supposed to be out of the house before Saturday. Once Molly received the go-ahead from Nina, she confirmed the meeting with the real estate agent for six o’clock Saturday evening.

The timing was somewhat unusual, but Tanya was amenable, and going back to the house at suppertime gave them the best chance of avoiding curious, nosy neighbors dropping by.

When midafternoon on Saturday came, she reluctantly decided she should go over an hour early. Tanya knew a company that would sell the contents of the house at a flea market for a commission, but Molly wanted to collect photographs of her father and make sure there wasn’t anything else she wanted to keep.

When she pulled into the long, familiar driveway, a sour feeling like heartburn settled at the back of her throat. She parked and studied the scene.

It really was a beautiful house, spacious and well-positioned on a large corner lot. The backyard faced a large park with lots of trees that offered a nice sense of privacy. She hated the sight of it.

When she let herself in the front door, a rotting smell assaulted her.

What the hell? Quickly, she walked through the silent downstairs.

The kitchen was exactly as it had been when she had left the house a few weeks ago. Everything single thing.

The un-iced cake still lay on its plate. Browned wedges of lemons and limes filled serving bowls and dirty drink glasses. Uneaten hors d’oeuvres lay scattered on serving trays. Curling veggies and congealed dip sat on a party tray, and in one side of the sink, a large ceramic pot was filled with the rotting, marinated chicken that had never been cooked.

He hadn’t touched any of it. If anything, he had added to the mess by throwing dirty, food-crusted plates into the other side of the sink.

He could have done nothing, and the cleaning service would have come on Wednesday and taken care of everything. Instead, he must have canceled the service and left the mess for her to face.

“You petty son of a bitch,” she muttered.

Anger clenched her muscles. Moving quickly, she walked through the rest of the house. His office was bare, all the furniture gone.

There were other spots of nastiness. The master suite was a mess. He had left drawers pulled out and hangers strewn on the floor. A sour smell rose from the dirty, unmade bed. In the bathroom, bottles of her shampoo and conditioner were opened and dumped upside down in the sink where the liquids had hardened and congealed.

She jogged downstairs again to check the area where they had hung a collage of family photos.

The wall was empty. Every good photo she’d had of her father. They were all gone.

Furious and hurting, she rushed outside. The garbage was picked up on Thursdays. He might have just thrown the photos away. They might still be in the trash bins in the nook by the side of the garage.

When she reached the big, black bins, she threw back the hinged lids on both the recycling and the garbage bins. They were empty.

A sob tried to bubble up. Wiping at her face with the back of one hand, she bit it back.

She had hung the best photos, but there was still one last chance to find something from her father. Otherwise, she would have to go back to her mother and endure more recriminations

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