I Love You More: A Novel (17 page)

“Oliver?” Jewels said. “No way. He’s too self-centered to get suspicious.”

“Hopefully it won’t be too crowded,” Mama said.

“It’s 20 Beach Drive, right?” Jewels asked.

“Yes,” Mama said. “I specifically asked for it by address.”

“No worries,” Jewels said. “Place was desolate when I went there with Jonathan a few years ago. From the pictures, it doesn’t look like it’s changed much. Believe me, it’s perfect for our plan.”

Plan?

“What about Oliver’s gun?” Mama asked. “What if he doesn’t bring it?”

Gun?

“He’ll bring it,” Jewels said. “He brings that damn thing everywhere. He’s paranoid as shit. Geez, I haven’t shot a gun in years. Maybe I should go to the shooting range.”

“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” Mama said. “Someone might remember you.”

“Good point,” Jewels said. “It’s probably like riding a bike anyway. My dad used to take me shooting all the time.”

“Do you ever wonder whether we’re doing the right thing?” Mama asked. “I mean obviously it’s not the
right
thing. Murder isn’t right. I mean do you wonder whether we should go through with it?”

Murder?

“No,” Jewels said. “I don’t. And you shouldn’t either. We’ve decided to kill Oliver, and that’s what we’re going to do.”

Kill Daddy?

I must have been in shock because I couldn’t think right away, at least about anything that made any sense at all, but then I got scared and a bunch of thoughts ran through my mind.
Why
, for instance. Not only why would they want to kill Daddy but also why would they think they’d get away with it? They were obviously obtuse. I mean, Mama didn’t tell me about Daddy having other wives and I figured it out. Any police officer with half a brain would too, and once they did, it wouldn’t be long before they figured out who killed him. The police weren’t dimwits, and Mama, Jewels, and Bert weren’t career criminals. Not to mention that the three of them had kids, and with Daddy dead, what would happen to us if they got caught? I remember hoping that Mama and Jewels were just joking or bored. Maybe the whole conversation was a new type of woe-are-we story they were telling themselves or acting out, like how the All That Girls were always spinning these elaborate dramas where they liked some people some days and other people other days, and the days they didn’t like certain people (like me), they made up a bunch of stuff about those people that wasn’t true just to make the stories they created more dramatic. In other words, obviously they were bored.

I must’ve missed part of the conversation while I was thinking all these things, because I heard Mama asking Jewels something about a phone number.

“So it read out?” Jewels asked. “Damn. The package said it was untraceable.”

“That doesn’t mean the number won’t pop up,” Mama said. “And besides, if it gets to that point, the police checking the numbers on our phone bills I mean, we can just say Oliver must have made those calls.”

“You’re right,” Jewels said. “There’s no need to worry, but I suggest we stick to meeting in person as much as possible over the next few months. And I think we should get together more often.
There are a lot of details to iron out; we can figure all that out when we get together on April sixteenth.”

“The
Farmer’s Almanac
says it’s going to be a beautiful day,” Mama said.

“Thank God,” Jewels said. “Those mudslides were crazy. Let’s plan on meeting at Rainy Cove Park an hour early.”

Rainy Cove Park?

“Sounds good,” Mama said. “Do you want me to call Bert?”

“No, that’s okay,” Jewels said. “I will. See you at eleven.”

Before they even hung up the phone, I was back in my room nursing a panic attack and frantically looking up vigesimation again. I was right; it had been a sign. There it was in plain print: “the act of putting to death,” that part made sense, “every twentieth man,” which was confusing, unless maybe men got killed in some universal pattern of twenty. But then I remembered that the address of the house Mama was renting was 20 Beach Drive.

Now a good sleuth only has to hear the time and location of one designated meeting to follow the bread crumbs to each of the others. For the next two months, my spying took me to Rainy Cove Park (code: RCP). During that time, I learned a lot, and not just about murder. I learned to forge Mama’s signature, and smile sweetly when I gave
Mama’s
notes to the school secretary. “I’m so sorry about your toothache (or your stomachache, or your dog, or your mother’s car), Picasso,” Mrs. Dumpling (her real name was Rumpling) would say. Or, “Remember I won’t be over this Wednesday, Mrs. Jesswein (she was Mama’s backup babysitter) because I have that spelling practice (or birthday party, or cheerleading try-out, or fort-building engagement, or rocket trip to Mars).” It really didn’t matter what I said since Mrs. Jesswein didn’t hear too well, and I swear she was forever just north of tipsy from all that port-wine sipping she did, which, by the way, she often shared with me since port was so good for my heart, or my circulation, or my hair and nails. With no other way to get to RCP, I had to take the
bus. I was a little nervous since I’d never been on a city bus, but I learned that the drivers were nice to kids as long as the kids were nice back. Most of them let me sit on the seats designated for old or handicapped people right in the front of the bus, so I had a really good view out the window. Over time, I learned several routes. The only problem was that it cost money to ride the bus, so I also learned how to steal. I knew stealing was bad, but it was just a few dollars here and there from Daddy’s wallet or Mama’s stash drawer, and it was for a good cause: the Stop Mama from Killing Daddy cause.

I also learned a lot about lying. I was surprised how many different ways there were to lie, such as words, actions, non-actions, body language, and pretending you didn’t hear or see something when you did. I learned that people lie for many different reasons, like they don’t want to get in trouble, they don’t want to get in an argument, and they can’t admit they’re weak or wrong or even right. Most of all, I learned that lies can be as sticky as spiderwebs, and once you got tangled in one, there was pretty much no way out. That was reason enough not to tell any, but what choice did I have?

When Daddy wasn’t home, I started dropping Mama hints that I hoped would upset her. I checked out mystery and detective novels from the library and passed them off to her. I told her how I’d been watching
CSI
and other crime shows and how the murderers always got caught, no matter what they did to cover their tracks. I told her I learned in school that DNA, ballistics, fingerprinting, and phone-tracing technologies were advancing every second. I threw out specifics, like the number of crimes solved per year, the number of convicted murderers that were given the death penalty in North Carolina (forty since 1976), the unhealthy food they served in jail, and the number of manicures, pedicures, and massages prisoners had gotten since the beginning of time (zero). I told her that when a man was murdered, his wife was
almost always the prime suspect. I did everything but come right out and tell her I knew what the three of them were planning. But as usual, Mama wasn’t interested in what I had to say. Sometimes she’d nod or say “That’s nice, Picasso,” but mostly she’d just stare off into space.

The last time the three of them met at RCP, I got there real early because I didn’t want to miss even one thing they said. At that time, I was still certain I could figure out a way to stop them. I wore a T-shirt, shorts, and sneakers, and stuffed my hoodie and an umbrella into my backpack just in case. I crouched out of sight in the same place I always did, behind a fallen tree with a trunk so big I easily could’ve crawled inside it. I mean there was even a hole where a knot must’ve broken off that I could’ve watched from, but like Daddy I’ve never been big on confined spaces.

Mama showed up first with her picnic basket and blanket. Jewels came next. On top of her regular brown paper bag with wine in it, she carried what looked like a folded-up cardboard house with a black handle. When she turned just right, I saw that it was a Barbie Dream House. I remember wondering what a grown woman was doing with a Barbie Dream House. Not that I’ve ever been much of a Barbie person, or dolls in general for that matter, but the three that Mama did get me—Barbie, Ken, and Skipper (she said she got them because they were “just like our family”)—I’d packed up and donated to Goodwill, along with their clothes, shoes, cases, car, and house, when I was, like, eight. Or maybe nine. The point is, Jewels was old, way too old to be schlepping a Barbie Dream House. Bert was last. She was carrying the same tote bag she always did; it looked like it was made out of a rug. It was strange the way they did everything—came, went, talked—in the same exact order. First Mama, then Jewels, then Bert, the order Daddy had married them in, the order of their looks and ages and heights, Mama prettiest and oldest and tallest on down, the order of their importance in Daddy’s internal pecking
system, like he was one of those Mormon husbands or the huffing and puffing big bad wolf. I’d heard Jewels call it the Order of the Wives, which I thought was some sort of club at first, but later I figured out it had a double meaning.

It was a real nice day. Birds were singing. The sun made the lake look like a mirror. I thought I smelled barbecue in the distance, but then I thought it might just be my imagination. Since I’d left so early, I didn’t have time for breakfast. I repositioned myself without thinking; a twig cracked. I immediately crouched, as if that would do any good, but when I finally peeked over my shoulder, I saw that they hadn’t heard me. They started taking off their clothes. I closed my eyes like I always did. I mean, Mama was one thing, and Jewels was thin so probably looked fine without clothes, but the last thing I wanted to see was a naked Bert. By the time I opened my eyes again, the three of them were swimming. As usual, they stayed in the water a really long time. When they started walking back, I looked away until I was sure they’d wrapped themselves in the pink towels. They always took a nap after they swam, which I thought was stupid for two reasons: one, because it just was; and two, because there wasn’t much for me to do while they were sleeping. Sometimes I worked on my word journal, but that day I’d left so fast I’d forgotten it, so I decided to take a nap too. When I woke, they were dressed. Mama was popping open little potato chip bags, Jewels was setting up the Barbie Dream House, and Bert was uncorking the wine.

“To us,” they said in unison, as they clinked their wineglasses together.

They sipped.

“Okay,” Jewels said. “Let’s get started.”

Mama and Bert reached into their handbags and pulled out little notebooks.

“No notes,” Jewels said. “It’s too dangerous. Today we practice remembering.”

“I was just going to jot down a few key words to help me remember,” Bert said. “I promise I’ll burn it before—well, you know.”

“No,” Jewels said, firmly. “No notes.”

Bert stuck the notebook back in her tote bag. Mama set hers on the blanket.

“Pretend this is the beach house,” Jewels said, while pointing inside the Barbie Dream House. I saw that the inside didn’t look like a Barbie Dream House at all. Jewels had covered the walls with drawings of a different house. “Oliver will be standing here. Near the fireplace.”

“How do you know that?” Bert asked.

“Because he’ll be watching Diana swim from the sliding glass doors, right Diana?”

“But how do you
know
he’ll be watching Diana swim?” Bert asked.

“Diana?”

“He always watches me swim when we’re at the beach,” Mama said.

“But you need to make sure, just in case,” Jewels said. “You need to seduce him, okay?”

Mama blushed. “Okay.”

“Let’s go over the timeline,” Jewels said. “Diana, what time do you go for your morning swim?”

“Six,” Mama said.

“And you don’t return to the beach house until when?”

“Seven thirty.”

“Are you sure you’ll know what time it is?”

“Yes,” Mama said. “I’ve been doing the same routine for years.”

“Good,” Jewels said. She looked at Bert. “Now this is where you come in. Tell me what happens next, Bert.”

“I jog to the beach house, retrieve the gun, and shoot Oliver,” Bert said. She looked proud of herself.

“Before then,” Jewels said.

“Before then?” Bert asked. “You said to tell you what happens next.”

Jewels rolled her eyes. “Okay, not what happens next. Tell me everything you are going to do that morning.”

Bert gulped down the rest of her wine, refilled her glass, and held the bottle toward Mama and Jewels. Both shook their heads.

“I’m supposed to rent a car the night before—”

“No,” Jewels interrupted. “You’re not supposed to rent a car, remember? We decided they could track that. It’s the Fourth of July. Cars will be coming and going; no one will pay that much attention. As long as you park far enough away, you should be fine. Oh, and remember you need to go to that restaurant in Blowing Rock the day before, and try to be memorable. It’s doubtful that anyone will remember the exact day they saw you there. Just make sure you pay in cash. Got it?”

“I know that, Jewels,” Bert said. “I’m not stupid. Why do you always do that?”

“Do what?” Jewels asked.

“Act like you’re better than me,” Bert said.

“I’m just trying to make sure we all remember what we are supposed to do,” Jewels said. “That’s all. It’s not always about you, Bert. Don’t take everything so personally.”

“How can I not take it personally?”

“Fine,” Jewels said. “I’m sorry if I hurt your feelings. Now, go on.”

“I drive to Cooper’s Island, park
my car
, and jog to the beach house.”

“Did you do a trial run?” Jewels asked.

“Yes,” Bert said. “Last week.”

“So you know how long it will take? I imagine you’re not a very fast runner.”

“Dammit, Jewels,” Bert said. “Of course I know.”

“Okay then,” Jewels said. “Good. And what about the gun?”