Found Money - James Grippando [145]
“You more than expected it. I think the two of you planned it. That’s why he sent me two hundred thousand dollars when he died. Was that your cut, Gram? Is that why you wouldn’t let me call the police when the money arrived?”
Her mouth quivered. “This wasn’t about money. I never asked for a cent.”
“But he gave it to you anyway. Or maybe you wouldn’t take it, so he made an anonymous gift to your granddaughter.”
“I don’t know what he was thinking. I don’t care what he was thinking.”
“So long as the letter kept Marilyn from becoming my guardian.”
“Not the letter,” said Gram. “The truth. I told the truth. It was better that way.”
“Better for you.”
“And for you.”
Amy shook with disbelief. “Is that how your mind works? Just rationalize everything?”
“I’m not rationalizing anything.”
“Then how do you live with yourself?”
Her eyes filled with tears. “I raised you the best I could. That’s how.”
“After you killed my mother.”
“I didn’t kill her.”
“You killed her before she could meet with her lawyer and change her will to name Marilyn guardian.”
“No.”
“You came by the house and shot her with her own gun.”
“That’s not true.”
“Admit it. You killed her!”
“For God’s sake, she was already dying!”
They looked at each other, stunned, as if neither could fathom the words she’d just uttered. Gram broke down, sobbing. “I’d already lost one child, Amy. I couldn’t lose you, too. When your mother said she was giving you to Marilyn, something snapped inside me. It was like losing your father all over again. Only this time, I could stop it from happening. This was the only way to stop it.”
Amy stared, incredulous. The rationale of a murderer. It was as good as a confession, but she felt no fulfillment. Only sadness—then anger.
“She deserved it, didn’t she, Gram?”
“What?”
“In your eyes. Mom deserved to die a death as violent as Dad’s.”
“That’s a terrible thing to say.”
“Mom never grieved enough for your son, did she? I saw it in your eyes whenever she went on a date, the nights you babysat me. I saw it every time she brought another man through our front door. Your looks of contempt. You could have pulled the trigger right then and there.”
“Amy, I did this for you.”
Amy hurried from the kitchen and walked briskly down the hall. Gram followed.
“Amy, wait!”
She ignored the call and entered Taylor’s room. Her daughter was still sound asleep. Amy snatched the tote bag from the closet and packed some clothes for Taylor.
“What are you doing?” She was shaking, desperate.
Amy strung the bag over her shoulder and lifted Taylor from the bed. Taylor’s arms wrapped around her neck, but she kept right on sleeping. Amy held her tight as she blew right past Gram, crossed the living room, and threw open the front door.
“Please,” said Gram, her voice cracking. “I swear, I did it for you.”
Amy stopped in the doorway, looked Gram in the eye. “You did it for yourself. Everything you do, you do for yourself.”
Amy slammed the door behind her. With Taylor in her arms, she headed for her truck—her mother’s old truck.
Epilogue: May 2000
“Robert Oppenheimer,” the voice boomed over the loudspeaker. A beaming young man wearing a flowing black gown hurried toward the dais. It wasn’t the usual rowdy crowd that filled Folsom Stadium on fall football Saturdays, but even in the silence of a sunny spring morning the excitement was palpable as each member of the class of 2000 had a personal moment of glory. For the big May class, no place but the stadium could accommodate the University of Colorado’s combined ceremonies for all degrees, bachelors through doctorate. The doctoral candidates went first. Amy would be the fifth person across the stage. Right after Oppenheimer.
She felt goose bumps. Her friend and faculty advisor, Maria Perez, squeezed her hand as they climbed the steps to the left of the stage. The dean of the department of astrophysical and planetary sciences stood center stage, waiting. The field level was packed with students in full graduation regalia.
“Amy Parkens.