Chapter 4 - The Broken Mirror
At 7:00 AM, my cell phone woke me with the force of an air horn. Marissa didn't bother greeting me.
"Where is Evan?" she demanded, her voice shrill with hysteria.
I sat up in bed, rubbing the sleep from my eyes. "How would I know where your fiancé is, Marissa?"
"His car wasn't in the driveway when I woke up! His phone went straight to voicemail!" Her voice cracked into an ugly, breathless sob. "And my ring is missing, Claire! It was on my vanity last night when I went to sleep, and now the box is empty!"
A chill rushed down my spine. Evan had taken the ring.
"Did you call him?" I asked, keeping my voice entirely flat.
"I just told you, his phone is off!" Marissa screamed. "If you or that crazy old woman touched my ring, I will call the police! I will have Grandma put in a home and I will have you arrested for grand larceny!"
"Listen to yourself," I said, cold fury replacing my shock. "Grandma hasn't left her house since last night. If Evan took the ring, maybe you should ask yourself what you've been lying to him about."
"I haven't lied about anything!" Marissa wailed. "Mom gave me that ring! It belongs to me! It is my birthright!"
"Your birthright?" I stood up, pacing the small hardwood floor of my apartment. "That ring was bought with Grandpa's blood and sweat while you weren't even a thought. Mom took it under false pretenses in 1997. She stole it from Grandma, Marissa. And you've been parading it around like a crown jewel while calling the woman who paid for your childhood cheap."
"Shut up! Shut up!" Marissa shrieked. "Mom worked three jobs to raise me!"
"Mom didn't work three jobs," I countered ruthlessly. "Grandma sent her checks every month out of her school district pension. Checks that were supposed to be for me, while I was living with Grandma sleeping on a pull-out couch!"
The line went dead. She had slammed the phone down.
Ten minutes later, Aunt Beth pulled up in front of my building in her battered Subaru. She didn't bother coming up; she leaned on the horn until I came down in my coat and boots.
When I climbed into the passenger seat, Beth looked like she hadn't slept in forty-eight hours. Her eyes were red-rimmed, her silver hair pulled back in a messy clip. On the seat between us lay a thick, faded manila accordion folder.
"We're going to Linda's," Beth said, slamming the car into drive.
"What is that?" I pointed at the folder.
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"That," Beth said, her knuckles whitening on the steering wheel, "is twenty-five years of carbon-copy bank statements and certified mail receipts. Helen wouldn't let me show anyone while Harold's memory was still fresh. She wanted to protect Linda. She thought Linda would eventually grow up, feel guilty, and bring you home."
Beth turned to me, her jaw set like granite. "Linda never grew up. She just learned how to steal with a smile. And today, the whole Vance family is having brunch at Linda’s house to finalize the wedding guest list. We're going to make sure they know exactly who they're buying into."
