Done to Death (11 page)

‘Really?' Rachel's eyes widened. She looked at her brother, who clearly wanted to get out of there. ‘Girlfriend as in … I love you, you love me?'

Lil found herself fascinated by this thin − almost to the point of cadaverous − young woman. Something about her was simultaneously engaging and off-putting. Then again, she was the one who had offered the information. And, as her curmudgeon of an editor had correctly stated,
you have to give to get
. ‘We've been together for three years, but friends for a lot longer than that.'

‘Fascinating … and right here in butt fuck Connecticut. I wonder if Mother knew.'

Lil recoiled at the vulgarity. Rachel was beautiful, but the angles of her face were a bit too sharp and her smile seemed brittle, as though applied like a layer of make-up.

Richard stared straight ahead. ‘Don't.'

‘Things have a way of coming out.' Rachel pressed in against her brother.

Richard looked at Lil, as though just seeing her. ‘What's the show about?'

‘It's a twist on the antique appraiser shows.' She sensed he wasn't really listening but wanted her to talk as a way of keeping his sister quiet. ‘It's a little morbid.'

‘I love morbid,' Rachel said. ‘That's why they're filming in the cemetery?'

‘I think so, trying to set the tone. Each week the focus will be on the estate of someone who's just died. A group of appraisers will come in and compete to settle the estate. At the end they tally it all up − that's the name of the show.'

‘
Tally it all up
?' Richard asked, as though he'd tasted something sour.

‘No, it's called
Final Reckoning
,' Lil said.

‘Huh. It's not bad,' he admitted. ‘Certainly better than a lot of the other crap out there.'

‘Oh my!' Rachel gushed. She gently kicked Richard. ‘This is the pilot. Oh my God, oh my God!'

Richard stared at his sister, who was pulling at his arm like a child demanding cotton candy at the fair.

‘Richard.' She was staring up at him, her eyes wide, her smile luminous.

‘No,' he said without hesitation.

‘It's perfect. Oh my God! This is fate. I mean what are the chances?'

‘Absolutely not.'

Rachel turned to Lil. ‘So if this is the pilot, whose estate are they using?'

Lil felt their focus. Blue eyes and green eyes. She tried to recall from those long ago tabloids whether Lenore had used the same father for her two children. She couldn't remember. ‘To be honest, I don't think they've gotten that far.'

‘So they need the estate of someone who just died.' Rachel's hands flew to her lips. ‘Richard, think about it.'

‘Rachel, please. Don't. No, absolutely not!'

‘No.' Her teasing and flirtation were replaced by something hard. ‘Listen to me. And if you can't listen to me, think about our beloved mother. Everything she did was for the camera. Everything. She filmed our inseminations, brother.'

Lil shuddered at the memory. It had been groundbreaking and the kind of thing discussed in Bradley's waiting room. Lenore Parks, the modern woman, taking things into her own hands. And here, some twenty years later, were the products. She looked at them, realizing she'd not a clue as to what kinds of lives these two must have lived, like another species. She couldn't help but stare, and wonder what was passing between them.

Rachel was determined. ‘You think she would object to a few of her prized possessions being hauled out for the viewing public? Really? If she were here right now, you know she'd tell you to go ahead and do it.'

‘It's a bad idea.' His tone was less certain.

‘The hell it is. Hear me out,' Rachel said and then, to Lil, ‘I'm not supposed to know about these things, but it doesn't take a brain surgeon to realize that having our murdered mother's items come up for sale on a show like this could be a huge ratings grab.'

Richard stared at her. ‘You're serious.' His gaze narrowed. ‘Why?'

‘Call it a whim …' Her voice trailed, and the corner of her lip turned up. ‘Or maybe a craving. But no, the more I think about it … This isn't a coincidence, this is happening for a reason. And I'll tell you something else.'

Lil felt like an interloper. Yes, any reporter would give their eye teeth for this opportunity. She couldn't do that, and felt the decent thing would be to leave these two to hash out their differences. But neither had given any sense that her presence was unwanted, as though having strangers view their personal conflicts was to be expected. So she stood there, trying to piece it together.

‘It's our house now, Richard.' Rachel turned to her brother. Their gazes locked.

Lil stood frozen as Rachel rested her head against Richard's chest.
This isn't how brothers and sisters normally act. Is this grief? Or
…

‘It's our house,' she repeated. ‘I want all her things gone. All those old dead people's things.' She looked up, her voice little more than a whisper. ‘I want everything to be new. Everything. Please, do this for me.'

And the part said for his ears only, that Lil clearly caught.

‘… do this for the baby.'

The part Lil agonized over and knew she must have misheard was … did she say ‘the baby' … or ‘our baby'? Rachel's whispered words played in her head and her gut churned − yes, these two were mourning the loss of their mother, but she'd never seen a grown brother and sister so physically close.
She couldn't have meant
… Her confused reverie was interrupted by Barry Stromstein's voice calling from the curb. ‘Richard?'

B
arry, no stranger to big-stakes risks in his career, could not have predicted the shit-storm waiting for him at the cemetery. What the hell were Richard and Rachel Parks doing at his location shoot? There'd been no warning. Everything he was doing was on his own say so. If pressed, he'd say that it was agreed to in his last meeting with Lenore which, while a lie, was at least plausible. He braced for the worst: getting the plug pulled and having to tell his staff that they − and he himself − were unemployed. And what would he tell Jeanine? How could he break it to her?

But this?
He stood dumbfounded outside the black RV and listened to the outrageous crap spewing from Rachel Parks' mouth. Ever fast on his feet, he knew two things − if he wanted to keep his job and have
Final Reckoning
make it off the blocks he'd need not only to accept this insanity, but to make it work. The second realization, as he looked from the manically excited blonde to her stoic brother, was
she's the one with the power
.
How the hell did that happen?

‘Don't you think it's an amazing idea?' Rachel asked.

Barry, whose career was based on a series of fortuitous events combined with an ability to read people, was faced with a choice. Attempt to talk sense into this deranged − possibly grieving, but it sure didn't look, smell or feel like that − young woman, or nod his head and agree. ‘Amazing,' he said, pumping as much enthusiasm into that single word as possible.

Rachel grabbed her brother's hand. ‘We can film at the house … and have a tag sale. Can't you see it? All of Mom's stuff on the lawn, people pawing through her clothes, haggling over the price.' She giggled. ‘Welcome to Lenore's final reckoning. She won't just roll in her grave …' – she nearly choked on her laughter – ‘… she'll be spinning.'

‘I should get a producing credit,' she said to Barry. ‘And that old woman you had in the cemetery. You sure she's right for this? I think she's too old.'

Barry winced as his fun and quirky show got shredded by this out-of-control brat. ‘I don't know,' he said. ‘You might want to meet her − she's different.' And was Rachel serious? Using Lenore's estate? Yes, there was supposed to be a bit of creep factor, but …

‘We met her girlfriend,' she said. ‘She explained the concept. It's brilliant. I can't believe it's not been done before.'

‘Lil Campbell, I saw you talking to her. She writes a syndicated column on antiques.'

‘So you knew?' Rachel asked.

‘Knew what?'

‘You know.' She shrugged her shoulders and spread her thumb and forefinger into an L and mouthed ‘lesbians'.

Barry didn't know, having spent the morning away from his team in a series of rapidly arranged handshake-and-promise meetings with Grenville's mayor, police chief and head of the Chamber of Commerce. In light of the insanity Rachel had just proposed, having a gay hostess barely registered.

Rachel turned to her brother. ‘That's kind of cute, older lesbians.'

Barry watched as she stared at Richard, who seemed unnaturally quiet. His jaw was tight, his gaze fixed on his sister. Something was going on. On Rachel's part he saw a playful edge, but the way a cat toys with a mouse, where someone's having fun and someone else is about to get their belly ripped open. He stared across at the film crew, surrounded by a circle of curious townspeople. They'd wrapped the shoot. Melanie was looking in his direction; it was easy to put words to the questions on her face.

‘Rachel … Richard, I don't mean to interrupt,' Barry said. ‘But we've got a tight schedule and we need to get to our next location.'

‘Where were you going next?' Rachel asked.

‘I want to film the town center and get footage of the antique shops. I've got a bunch of potential locations lined up. If we can get through two or three that would be great.'

‘And the castings?' Richard asked, his first words to Barry.

‘We have ads in today's paper and the mayor and Chamber of Commerce people felt they could spread the word. I'm not too worried about that; it's more a question of sorting through and finding the three or four dealers that will work on camera.'

Richard glared at Barry. He ran his hands through his hair. ‘Rachel, think about this. Strangers in the house going through Mom's things. Selling them on TV.'

‘It's fucking brilliant! And don't try to talk me out of this … and we're both going on camera.'

‘Not a good idea,' he said.

‘But that's the show. You heard … and because it's going to be Mom's stuff. I cannot believe how fucking brilliant this is!
Final Reckoning
. We'll keep it classy. This is so what Mom would want. Considering how she filmed everything else, we might want to see about taping the funeral. It could be like a Kardashian wedding.' Not waiting for her brother's response, she turned to Barry. ‘I'm still not sure about that old lady. Why don't you introduce me? I mean, if this is going to be my first producing credit, I want to make sure I feel good about it. You know what I mean?'

‘I do,' Barry said, wondering if it would be possible to bash Rachel's head on to a tombstone and have it look like an accident. ‘I'll introduce you.' And, leaving Richard by the RV, he trailed after Rachel.

Ada sat on a weathered stone bench as the crew packed up their cables and equipment. The sun had pushed away the early morning chill and warmed her skin through the fabric of her dress. She'd spotted Lil off talking to a young couple she didn't recognize, and then lost track of her.

From the few times Ada had been involved in filming ads for Strauss's she was used to this waiting around. It gave her time to think about the past couple days, from dealing with her sixty-fifth birthday and the Medicare application to seeing Lenore's body rolled out of the building. Then there had been that manic pitch meeting and now here she was, not twenty-four hours later, dressed for a cemetery cocktail party.

Near the sleek RV she spotted Barry with the same couple who'd been talking with Lil. The young woman in her form-hugging black dress was pointing in her direction. Something about her seemed familiar as she made eye contact with Ada and headed toward her. She watched the blonde, her head high, as she passed with a smile through the hundred or so curiosity seekers. She stopped and signed a piece of paper a woman pulled from her pocketbook, which triggered a flurry of other articles for her to sign, including a girl's arm.

As one thing flowed to the next in this crazy day, Ada realized that this was Lenore's daughter, Rachel. Who, after she'd finished her impromptu signing, headed straight for her.

‘You're Ada,' she said.

‘I am,' Ada replied, taking in the girl who for some reason struck her as younger than nineteen. Almost like a little girl playing dress up in her mother's clothes. ‘I am so sorry about your mother.'

‘No need,' Rachel said. ‘Unless
you
shot Lenore.'

Her joking tone threw Ada. ‘Didn't know her that well.'

‘I did,' Rachel said. ‘Can I sit with you?'

‘Of course,' and she slid to one end of the small bench. ‘Are you feeling OK?' she asked.

Rachel stared back at the RV and at Barry, who'd been following her and now stood about fifteen feet away. ‘I've got this,' Rachel shouted back to him. ‘Go talk to my brother. Try to calm him down.'

Barry looked at Ada. His face was flushed.

There was something he was trying to communicate. As prescient as Ada was, she'd no clue what he wanted to say, though it was clear that Rachel had upset him. ‘What exactly have you got?' Ada asked.

‘You're direct.' Rachel said.

‘It cuts down on wasted time.'

‘That's true. The shortest distance between two points.'

‘And you'll be coming to yours …' Ada's words trailed.

‘Oh my God.' And Rachel shifted to face Ada. ‘I thought you were just some old lady. Are those colored contacts?'

‘No. They're real, how about your breasts?' Ada shot back.

‘I paid real money for them, or my mother did.'