Found Money - James Grippando [144]
“That would be logical.”
“Except that I lied to you last night. I did see numbers when I went back to the house. But this time it wasn’t M 57. It wasn’t an astronomical designation at all.”
“What was it?”
She stared at Gram, almost looking through her. “I saw numbers and letters. I’m not really sure which ones. The important thing I remember is that they were from a license tag.”
Gram folded her hands nervously. “I don’t understand.”
“I didn’t, either, until tonight, when it came back to me. When I looked through my telescope as a little girl, I didn’t always look up into the sky. Sometimes I’d watch people in their yards. Sometimes I’d watch cars on the road. That night, I remember watching a car come toward the house before I went to bed. I remember it was a Ford Galaxie, black vinyl roof. I remember focusing on it, because it was your car.”
Gram was ashen, more frail than Amy had ever seen her. “You must be confused.”
“No. I had just blocked it out, suppressed it all these years. But since I went back to the house, the memory has become more clear. The funny thing is, I still don’t remember you coming by the house that night. You were right in the neighborhood, but you didn’t stop by the house.”
“I stopped by after you went to bed.”
Amy’s glare tightened. “Yes. That’s what I thought. I saw your car almost an hour before I went to bed. But you came by after I went to sleep.”
“Well, I—I don’t know about the timing.”
“I remember now,” said Amy. “I remember thinking, Where’s Gram? Where did she go? I was expecting you to come by any minute, but you never came.”
“I don’t really remember.”
“I think you do. You were outside waiting for me to go to sleep.”
“That’s silly. Why would I do that?”
“Because you came by the house to see Mom. And you didn’t want me or anyone else to know you had been there that night.”
Gram looked away, flustered. “I don’t know what you’re driving at,” she said harshly. “But I don’t deserve this.”
“You killed her, didn’t you?”
“No!” she said, indignant. “She killed herself, like the police said. That’s why she tied the rope around your bedroom door, so you wouldn’t find the body.”
“You tied the rope, Gram. The police were right in one respect. The person who took Mom’s life loved me so much she didn’t want me to find the body. The cops thought it was Mom. Problem is, Mom knew I could climb out of my room through the attic. But you didn’t.”
“Amy, I didn’t kill your mother.”
She stepped closer, eyes narrowing. “It’s like you said. When Dad was killed in Vietnam—your only child—I was the replacement.”
“I was practically raising you anyway, even before your mother got sick. She was always so busy with one thing or another. I always loved you as my own.”
“But that’s not the guardianship Mom envisioned. Marilyn told me. It must have shocked you when she asked Marilyn to look after me, instead of you.”
Gram shook with anger. “Marilyn Gaslow had no right to you.”
“It was what Mom wanted.”
“It was the wrong choice. I knew it. Your mother knew it. Even she was having reservations. She told me how Marilyn was afraid to take you because of the skeleton in her closet—the rape that didn’t happen.”
“You knew Frank Duffy was innocent?”
“Your mother told me exactly what Marilyn had told her. She was brutally honest,” she said with a false chuckle. “I guess she wanted me to understand the risk she was taking by giving you to Marilyn. Maybe she even wanted my blessing. She wanted me to be ready to step in if the Frank Duffy thing ever exploded and the court found Marilyn unfit to be your guardian. Like I was second string or something.”
Amy came to the table, glaring at Gram. “You sent the letter to Frank Duffy. That’s why the penmanship was shaky in places.”
“All I wanted was to expose Marilyn for what she was. An