Blood Always Tells Hilary Davidson (e reader comics .txt) 📖

That stopped her short. “I don’t know.”

“Maybe you should think on that a bit.” He looked thoughtful. “I don’t want to get preachy, Polly, but you know I’m an older brother, so it comes naturally to me. Here’s the thing. Most people go through life without making decisions. They wonder why things happen to them, why they’ve got no power to change. The thing is, they do have the power, they just don’t choose to use it.”

“You’re telling me to stand up to Val?”

“Not exactly. This might not be the best day for that change to happen. But you need to root yourself somehow. You can’t let yourself go through life letting people hit you. Do you know who Marcus Aurelius was? He had this saying—okay, he had a lot of aphorisms, but this one’s the best. ‘Do every act of your life as if it were your last.’”

“Were you bossy like this with your sister?”

That made him smile, and he actually looked happy for a moment. “I tried. Dominique didn’t put up with much, though.” He touched her arm. “Be careful, Polly.”

She watched him cross to the west side of Park Avenue and enter a building, head up and shoulders squared. Silly as it seemed, he reminded her, just a little, of Max. Almost as an afterthought, she realized she knew the building. She didn’t remember what it was called, but she’d been there before. She stood on the block, staring at it, trying to remember why it was familiar. On the next green light, she crossed the street, hoping to see a name that would jog her memory.

Instead, she saw a woman with dyed red hair, dressed all in black, hurrying out of the building. It hit her suddenly, like an avalanche, what Desmond had just walked into.

Chapter 55

Aunt Marina!” Polly called.

The woman stopped and squinted. Her coat was plain black wool, her stockings were opaque black rayon, and her shoes were black leather with just the tiniest lift of a heel. Underneath was undoubtedly a black dress or suit. Marina always thought dressing in black made her a stylish New Yorker. “Polina? What are you doing here? Does your mother know?”

“Val sent for me.”

“He did?” Marina’s face scrunched in confusion. “Mr. Amberson made me clear out the office, but he wanted me to stay. Then Valery insisted I go. I don’t think Valery wants anyone else there.”

“Knowing Val, he doesn’t want an audience. All I know is, he wants me there, and I don’t want to make him angry,” Polly said.

“No, of course not.” Just like everyone in the family, Marina was afraid of antagonizing Val. “Come with me.”

Marina took Polly’s arm and returned to the building. “This is my niece,” she told the security guard, sweeping Polly past the desk, and firmly ignoring the guard when he tried to say they should still sign in. “As if I need a security photo of my own niece.” Marina’s voice was laced with contempt.

“I haven’t been here in years,” Polly said. “It still looks like a movie set to me.”

“It’s only impressive when you don’t know what goes on behind the scenes.” Marina thrust an electronic key card at her. “This will get you in upstairs. Everything is locked down, so you’ll have to use this card to open every door.”

“Thank you.” They kissed and Marina went out again. Polly got into the elevator.

As usual, Val was one step ahead of everyone else. How clever of him to call her and tell her to bring Desmond Edgars to Long Island, when in reality, Val had laid a trap in Manhattan.

She unlocked the outer door and found herself in an antechamber. Through another door, the lobby expanded into something grand, with a waterfall trickling down the wall. Over its peaceful gurgle, she heard voices, and she followed them down the hall. She used the key card to get into the suite where her aunt worked. The next door lay open. The first sound she heard was Desmond’s voice.

“You’ve gone a few steps past plausible deniability. Even if I hadn’t called the police just before I came over here, it would be all over for you,” he said.

“Really, Mr. Edgars?” That voice wasn’t entirely unfamiliar to Polly, but she couldn’t quite place it. She’d heard that cool tone and icy diction before. “I fear you’ve put too much faith in the police. No one will search further than your body, you see. You tie together all the threads quite well, even for a conspiracy theorist.”

“Really? How’s that work, exactly?”

Polly moved closer. She could see an older man speaking. He was slender, with a high forehead and gray hair. His black suit was perfectly tailored. Amberson, that was his name. He’d been Aunt Marina’s employer for close to thirty years. He had been very good to her aunt, Polly knew. Marina was always bragging about how he’d done something or other that was extraordinary for her. Because of Marina, Max had been allowed to work for a couple of summers in Amberson’s office, and the great man himself had written a recommendation for Max to get into Harvard. Max owes Mr. Amberson so much, her aunt would say. We all do.

“Let me lay it all out for you. I’ve put a fair amount of work into this narrative, so I may as well lay it out for you. You’ll point out the flaws,” Amberson said. “Here goes: you came to New York, distraught over the untimely yet entirely accidental death of your sister. Anyone could understand that sentiment, and your subsequent madness.”

“My madness?”

“Oh, yes, Mr. Edgars. You see, you blamed Tom Klepper for your sister’s death, and so you killed him.”

“There’s a few witnesses who saw me visit him at his office in the Empire State Building,” Desmond said. “They saw us leaving together, and then part ways. There’s a witness who saw me on Roosevelt Island.”

“Excellent points, Mr. Edgars, but easily answered.