Why does she think she has the right to keep secrets that might affect my son’s inheritance? It’s not even about the trust money. I’ll have more than enough to pay for Heathcliff’s education. It’s about the lies and secrets surrounding the whole affair. It’s also incredibly strange that she’s being aggressive and threatening when we’re both in mourning.
I won’t drop this.
When I lost Philip, I worried I might also lose myself.
Theoretically, I shouldn’t lose myselfeven when I lose my soulmate. I should be more independent than that. But when you live with a partner for so many years with our kind of intimacy, it’s just fucking impossible not to feel unanchored. We were such a team, and I’m struggling to know how to play alone. I’m chasing Philip in my dreams for connection, but also for help and affirmation. Still, little by little, I’m finding I have an untapped reservoir of strengths. I’m pretty good with hunches. When I’ve ignored my gut, as I did in grad school by keeping serial-cheater Wes as a boyfriend, it’s never turned out well. When I listen to my gut, as I did by marrying Philip, things turn out wonderfully. Ever since Philip’s death, I’ve had a hunch there’s something Mirabel never wanted him to know. It’s all connected to that awful evening. Now I’ve seen the mug shot, and she just tried to intimidate me with the story about murdering her garden family of groundhogs.
What could she have done that was so bad Philip left that urgent voicemail wanting to talk?
Why now, amid her grief, does she still feel the need to protect it?
You’ve just set apretty littlefire in your garden.
She’s trying hard.
And yet I remember the hollow look in her eyes since we lost Philip. I’m angry, but I also feel sorry for her. Since losing Mom and Philip, I’ve learned grief does strange things to everyone involved. Mirabel’s guarding her secret more fiercely than ever.
I’m worried if she keeps this up, she’ll devastate herself in the end.
“Hey there!” Henry says as we FaceTime.
He’s sitting in his backyard just in front of his garden boxes, sipping a bourbon on the rocks. Bonnie rolls happily in the grass at his feet, collar and tags jingling.
“Happy hour?”
He smiles. “You bet. Court was a downright boxing match today. Four contested wills between folks with too much money. Your case is much more interesting. I’m just scratching the surface, but Mirabel’s 1982 arrest was something else. Seems she got into a fistfight with the mayor’s wife at a Piggly Wiggly.”
“What?”
“Yep. Mirabel Wells started taking swings at Lila Mae Dubose one fine Tuesday afternoon smack-dab in the middle of the produce section. According to the police report, they sent apples and avocados flying everywhere. Lila Mae’s high heel smashed through a ripe tomato. And here... look at this.”
My phone dings with the image of Lila Mae’s mug shot. She’s got a bloody nose, and her permed ponytail tumbles out of the banana clip.
“Whoa,” I mutter. “Gives new meaning to the saying ‘You should have seen the other guy.’”
“It sure as hell does. Your mother-in-law can pack a punch.”
“Why does she look familiar?” I say, making the photo larger.
“Because she’s the woman in Philip’s photo.”
“My god, she is!”
“Listen, I’m still piecing things together, but Lila Mae’s husband, Frank Dubose, the other man in the photo, was the town’s mayor for a good while. Lila Mae and Mirabel started a gardening business in 1980. All seemed to be going well, but the downtown shop closed abruptly just before the fight. They were arrested but only booked for a couple hours. Frank, being the mayor, and Ted, being... well, old money, bailed them out and got the charges dropped. I’d like to know what happened. I’ve got a gut feeling that Miss Lila Mae and Miss Mirabel, both being strong-willed women, couldn’t run the shop together. But I’m having a dickens of a time getting information.”
“What do you think this has to do with Heathcliff’s trust fund?”
He takes a sip of bourbon and rubs his beard. The quirk is cute.
“Curiously, the trust was set up shortly after the arrest. I’m thinking an arrangement was made between the couples. It was perhaps some kind of settlement money from the Duboses to the Wells over the business.”
“But why would they pay Mirabel?”
He shrugs. “That’s the million-dollar question.”
“Where are the Duboses now?”
“Frank and Lila Mae retired and are living out on Edisto Island. He started a lucrative real estate business after his tenure as mayor. They never had children, and she continues to garden. Her roses won first place at the state fair three years in a row. I’ve tried to contact them, but they hung up on me. Their lawyer sent me a cease and desist letter. No one wants to talk about this. And Miss Mirabel’s lawyer isn’t being any more cooperative. She sent the scantiest legal document, nothing more than anotarized note with the date the trust was set up. I’m going to have to keep subpoenaing.”
