Fool Me Once

Maya dialed the number as she headed back to her car. Judith answered on the second ring.

“I hear it didn’t go so well with my colleague.”

“Where are you, Judith?”

“Farnwood.”

“Don’t go anywhere,” Maya said.

“I’ll be waiting.”

She drove in through the service entrance again, hoping maybe to catch Isabella wandering outside or something, but the entire compound appeared empty. Maybe she should break in and poke around, see if she could find a clue as to where Isabella might be hiding, but that was risky and she didn’t have the time. Judith would know how long a ride from New York City to Farnwood would be.

The butler answered the door. Maya could never remember his name. It wasn’t something like Jeeves or Carson. It was something ordinary like Bobby or Tim. Still, as befitted his servant station, Bobby/Tim looked down his nose at her.

Without preamble, Maya said, “I’m here to see Judith.”

“Madam is expecting you,” he said in some faux British prep school accent, “in the parlor.”

“The parlor” was what rich people called a living room. Judith wore a black pantsuit and a strand of pearls that came down almost to her waist. Her earrings were silver hoops, her hair stylishly slicked back. She held a crystal glass in her hand, posed as though she were shooting a magazine cover.

“Hello, Maya.”

No need for pleasantries. “Tell me about Tom Douglass.”

Her eyes narrowed. “Who?”

“Tom Douglass.”

“I don’t know that name.”

“Think hard.”

She did. Or pretended to. After a few seconds passed, Judith shrugged theatrically.

“He worked in the Coast Guard. He investigated your son’s drowning.”

The glass dropped from Judith’s hand, shattering on the floor. Maya did not jump back. Neither did Judith. They just stood there a moment, the glass shards rolling to a stop.

There was a hiss in Judith’s voice when she asked, “What the hell are you talking about?”

If this was an act…

“Tom Douglass is a private investigator now,” Maya said. “Your family has been paying him almost ten thousand dollars a month for years. I would like to know why.”

Judith wobbled a bit, like a fighter who was trying to take advantage of the eight count. The question had staggered her, no question about it. If the stagger came from the fact that she hadn’t known about the payoff or hadn’t expected Maya to find out about it was still anyone’s guess.

“Why would I pay off this Tom… What did you say his last name was?”

“Douglass. Two s’s. And you tell me.”

“I have no idea. Andrew died in a tragic accident.”

“No,” Maya said. “That’s not how he died. But you know that already, don’t you?”

Judith’s face lost all color. The pain was so clear now, so obvious, that Maya almost looked away. Attack mode was all well and good, but whatever the final truth was, they were talking about the death of this woman’s child. Her pain was real and whole and consuming.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Judith said.

“How did it happen then?”

“What?”

“How exactly did Andrew fall off the boat?”

“Are you serious? Why would you be bringing that up now, all these years later? You never even knew him.”

“It’s important.” Maya took a step toward her former mother-in-law. “How did he die, Judith?”

She tried to hold her head up, but the fault lines wouldn’t let her. “Andrew was so young,” she said, trying her best to hold on. “There was a party on the yacht. He had too much to drink. The sea was rough. He was up on deck alone and fell off.”

“No.”

Judith’s voice was a snap. “What?”

For a split second, Maya thought that Judith was going to leap across the room and attack her. But the moment passed. Judith looked down, and when she spoke again her voice was soft, almost pleading.

“Maya?”

“Yes.”

“Tell me what you know about Andrew’s death.”

Was Maya being played here? It was hard to tell. Judith looked completely worn out, devastated. Did she really not know about any of this?

“Andrew committed suicide,” Maya said.

Judith tried very hard not to wince. She shook her head stiffly, just once. “That’s not true.”

Maya just gave it time, let her move past the rote denial.

When Judith did, she asked, “Who told you that?”

“Joe.”

Judith shook her head again.

“Why are you paying off Tom Douglass?” Maya asked again.

In war, they call it the thousand-yard stare, that blank, empty, unfocused gaze when a soldier has simply seen too much. Judith had something like that going on now.

“He was only a boy,” Judith muttered, and while Maya was the only one in the room, Judith wasn’t speaking to her. “He wasn’t even eighteen yet…”

Maya took a step toward her. “You really didn’t know?”

Judith looked up, startled. “I don’t understand what you’re after here.”

“The truth.”

“What truth? What does this have to do with you anyway? I don’t understand why you’d start digging this all up.”

“I didn’t dig it up. Joe told me.”

“Joe told you that Andrew committed suicide?”

“Yes.”

“He confided that to you?”

“Yes.”

“Yet all these years later, you felt compelled to defy his wishes and tell me.” Judith closed her eyes.

“I don’t mean to be bringing you pain.”