“Easier?” Grace’s head was spinning. It was all too much to take in.
Davey said, “I wanted to tell you first. I know it’s a hell of a shock, but this is actually good news. I think we have enough here to ask to have the inquest reopened, Grace. It would be the first step toward launching a murder investigation.”
Grace was silent for a long time. At last she said, “No. I don’t want the police involved.”
“But, Grace…”
“No.”
Someone had killed Lenny. Butchered him like an animal and tossed him into the waves. What use were the police, or the courts, or the whole corrupt, disgusting so-called justice system? What justice was there for Lenny, or for me? America damned us both, for no better reason than that it was “easier.” They let Lenny’s killer walk away and left me here to rot. Well, damn America. The time for justice is past.
Davey was confused. “What do you want me to do?”
“I want you to find out who did it. If it was John Merrivale or someone else. I want to know who killed my husband. I want to know how he did it, and why. I want to know everything and I want to be sure. I’m not interested in reasonable doubt.”
Davey said, “Okay. And then?”
“And then we’ll think about next steps.”
And then I’m going to kill him.
AFTER LIGHTS-OUT, GRACE LAY AWAKE, HER mind racing.
Whoever murdered Lenny had to have been on Nantucket the day of the storm. It could have been a stranger. But she knew that was unlikely. It was someone close to us. It had to be. Someone close to Quorum. To the missing money.
She thought back to the vacation, to their houseguests.
Connie and Michael.
Honor and Jack.
Maria and Andrew.
Caroline and John.
The Quorum family. Except they weren’t family. They weren’t friends. All of them had abandoned Grace in her hour of need.
One of them had killed Lenny.
Grace no longer wanted justice. She wanted vengeance. She would have vengeance.
That night, Grace Brookstein began planning her escape.
THIRTEEN
KAREN WILLIS RUBBED HER EYES. IT was two in the morning and Grace Brookstein was climbing into her bed.
“Grace? What is it? Are you sick?”
Grace shook her head. Beneath the blanket, the two of them huddled together for warmth. Karen felt the softness of Grace’s breasts against her back. The smell of her skin, the soft caress of her breath. Instinctively, she slid a hand under Grace’s nightdress, reaching for the silky wetness between her thighs.
“I love you.” Karen turned to press her lips to Grace’s. For a few glorious seconds, Grace responded, kissing her back. Then she pulled away.
“I’m sorry. I…I can’t.”
Grace felt torn. Part of her was tempted to accept the comfort Karen was offering. After all, Lenny was gone. And Grace loved Karen, too, in a way. But she knew it wasn’t right. She didn’t love Karen in that way. Not really. Even if she had, it would have been wrong to raise her hopes. Especially considering what she was about to tell her.
Karen looked anguished. How could she have been so stupid? She’d misread the signals. “Oh God. Are you angry with me?”
“No. Not at all. Why would I be?”
“I would never have made a move if I hadn’t thought…I mean, you came into my bed.”
“I know. I’m sorry. Look, it was my fault,” said Grace. “I needed to talk to you. I need your advice.”
“My advice?”
“Uh-huh. I’m going to escape.”
It was the break in the tension Karen needed. She laughed so hard she almost woke Cora.
Grace didn’t get it. “What’s so funny?”
“Oh, Grace! You can’t be serious!”
“I’m deadly serious.”
“Honey, it’s impossible. No one’s ever escaped from Bedford Hills.”
Grace shrugged. “There’s a first time for everything, right?”
“Not for this.” Karen wasn’t laughing anymore. “You actually mean it, don’t you? You’re out of your mind, Grace. Have you looked outside lately? There are nine barbed-wire fences between us and freedom, all of them electrified. There are guards and dogs and cameras and guns.”
“I know all that.”
“Then you’re not thinking clearly. Look, even if you found some way to escape—which you won’t, because it’s impossible—you have one of the most recognizable faces in America. How far do you think you’ll get?”
Grace ran a hand over her broken nose. “I’m not so recognizable anymore. I don’t look the way I used to. Anyway, I can disguise myself.”
“When they catch you, they’ll shoot you. No questions asked.”
“I know that, too. It’s a risk I’m prepared to take.”
Karen stroked Grace’s cheek in the darkness. This was madness. No one escaped from Bedford Hills. If Grace tried it, she’d be killed for sure. Even if, by some miracle, she were captured alive, it still meant Karen would never see her again. Grace would be transferred to solitary. Sent out of state. Locked up in some secret CIA holding pen never to be heard of again.
“Don’t do this, Grace. Please. I don’t want to lose you.”
Grace saw Karen’s eyes well up. Leaning forward, she kissed her full on the mouth. It was a passionate, lingering kiss. A kiss to be remembered by. A kiss good-bye.
“I have to do it, Karen.”
“No you don’t. Why?”
“Because Lenny was murdered, okay?”
Karen sat up. “Whaaat? Says who?”
“Davey Buccola. He found evidence, stuff that was suppressed at the inquest.”
So Buccola put her up to this. I’ll kill him.
“I have to find out who killed my husband.”
“But, Grace—”
“I’m going to find him. And then I’m going to kill him.”
Grace waited for the outrage, the shock, but it never came. Instead Karen put her arms around her and hugged her tightly. Karen remembered Billy, her sister’s boyfriend. How right it had felt when that bullet hit him between the eyes. Despite everything that had happened since, she had never regretted what she’d done. She did not want to lose Grace. But she understood.
“I assume you have a plan?”
“Actually, that’s what I wanted to talk to you about…”
SISTER AGNES WATCHED GRACE BROOKSTEIN CLEARING away a jigsaw puzzle and offered up a silent prayer to the Lord:
Thank You for bringing me this lost soul, Jesus. Thank You for allowing me to be the vessel of Your redeeming grace.
Sister Agnes had only been Sister Agnes for five years. Before that, she was Tracey Grainger, a lonely, unpopular teenage girl from Frenchtown, New Jersey. Tracey Grainger had fallen in love with a local boy named Gordon Hicks. Gordon had told her he loved her and Tracey had believed him. When Gordon got her pregnant, then promptly abandoned her, Tracey went home and swallowed as many pills as she could find. The baby did not survive.
Neither did Tracey Grainger.
The girl who woke up from that overdose in a grimly sterile hospital bed, clutching her stomach and weeping with guilt, was not the same girl whom Gordon Hicks had so peremptorily dumped. She was not the same straight-C student who had disappointed her parents since the day she was born. She was not the same socially awkward, unlovable tenth grader whom no one invited to prom. This girl was an entirely new person. A person loved by God. A person of value. A person whose sins had been forgiven, who would one day become one with Jesus at the right hand of the Father. If anyone believed in the power of redemption, it was Sister Agnes. God had redeemed her. He had saved her life. Now, in His infinite love and mercy, He had redeemed Grace Brookstein, too. And He had allowed her, Sister Agnes, to play a small part in the miracle.
Only this morning, Grace told her, “I feel so fulfilled here, Sister. Working with these children. With you. It’s like I’ve been given a second chance at life.”
What a warm glow of satisfaction those words had given her! Sister Agnes hoped she was not guilty of the mortal sin of pride. She must remember that it was God who had transformed Grace, not her. And yet Sister Agnes couldn’t help but feel that her friendship had contributed to some of the changes in Grace.
Grace had changed Sister Agnes, too. A nun’s life could be lonely. Most of the other Sisters of Mercy were old enough to be Sister Agnes’s mother, if not her grandmother. Over the last few months she had come to cherish the easy friendship she seemed to have developed with Grace Brookstein. The shared glances. The smiles. The trust.
Grace put the puzzle pieces back into their box then stacked it neatly on the shelf. Sister Agnes smiled warmly.
“Thank you, Grace. I can finish up here. I know you want to get to the library.”
“That’s all right,” said Grace cheerfully. “I’m happy to help. Oh, by the way, that modeling clay that we ordered last week? We need to return it.”