Chapter 8 - The Dead Man at the Dinner Table
Samuel Mercer tried to recover immediately.
“I meant we heard you were dead.”
Aaron pulled out an empty chair.
“Interesting.”
He sat.
“Who told you?”
Samuel glanced toward Giselle.
She stared at the broken glass.
“I don’t remember.”
Aaron smiled.
“You remembered me well enough to recognize me.”
“I knew you when you were younger.”
“Five years younger.”
Olivia looked between them.
“Dad, what is happening?”
“Nothing.”
“Stop saying that.”
She pushed her chair back.
“Everyone keeps saying nothing while acting terrified.”
Justin touched her hand.
She pulled away.
Gerald remained standing at the end of the table.
“This dinner is over.”
Giselle looked up.
“Dad—”
“No.”
His voice was calm.
“This is my home. Samuel, you will leave.”
Samuel gathered his documents.
“I suggest everyone take some time before making accusations that could become legally expensive.”
Aaron laughed.
“Threats already?”
“Advice.”
“You gave Dad plenty of advice five years ago.”
Samuel stopped.
Gerald’s eyes narrowed.
“What does he mean?”
Aaron took out his phone.
“Samuel visited you three times before your plea hearing.”
Gerald stared.
“How do you know?”
“Prison visitor records? No. County jail records.”
Samuel’s face tightened.
“You had no right—”
“They’re public.”
Kenneth turned toward Samuel.
“Why did you visit my father?”
Samuel buttoned his jacket.
“Business.”
“What business?”
“Crawford Grain owed my bank significant money.”
Aaron shook his head.
“The bank was fully collateralized.”
Samuel looked at him sharply.
Aaron continued.
“If Dad’s company failed, Mercer Agricultural Bank actually stood to acquire more property than it would have received from repayment.”
My stomach tightened.
“Meaning?”
“Meaning the bank may have benefited from the collapse.”
Samuel walked toward the door.
“You should be very careful.”
Gerald moved in front of him.
“No.”
Samuel stopped.
Gerald’s voice lowered.
“You should.”
The two older men stared at each other.
Then Samuel left.
His wife followed.
Olivia stayed.
“Dad!”
He didn’t turn.
She looked devastated.
Justin moved toward her.
Giselle snapped, “Let him cool down.”
Olivia stared at her.
“You knew my father had business with your family.”
“Everyone in town knew.”
“You never told me your grandfather owned land my father was buying.”
Giselle’s voice hardened.
“It wasn’t relevant.”
“To our marriage?”
“No.”
Olivia laughed once in disbelief.
“It feels relevant now.”
She grabbed her purse.
Justin caught her hand.
“Olivia, please.”
She looked at him.
“Did you know?”
“No.”
“Are you sure?”
The question crushed him.
“Yes.”
She searched his face.
Then she nodded.
“I believe you.”
Giselle exhaled.
“But I don’t believe your mother.”
She left.
Justin turned toward Giselle.
“What did you do?”
“Nothing.”
“Stop saying that!”
His voice echoed through the dining room.
It was the first time I had ever heard Justin shout at his mother.
“You planned everything about this wedding. You introduced us. You pushed me to propose. You picked the venue before I even bought the ring.”
“Because I love you.”
“Did you know about the land deal?”
Silence.
“Mom.”
“I knew there were discussions.”
Gerald stared at her.
“You forged my signature.”
“I did not.”
“Then who did?”
“I don’t know.”
Aaron stood.
“Where’s Mom’s blue recipe box?”
Giselle’s expression changed.
“What?”
“You took it after she died.”
“It was hers.”
“What’s inside?”
“Recipes.”
“No.”
Aaron stepped closer.
“What’s inside?”
Her hand moved toward her purse.
I noticed.
So did Aaron.
“Don’t,” he said.
Giselle froze.
Justin stared at her.
“Mom?”
Aaron pointed toward the purse.
“Put it on the table.”
“You don’t have authority over me.”
“No.”
Gerald spoke.
“But I do in my house.”
Giselle looked at Kenneth.
He did not help her.
Slowly, she placed the purse on the table.
Aaron opened it.
Wallet.
Makeup.
Phone.
Keys.
Then he found a brass key.
Gerald recognized it.
“That’s Margaret’s safe-deposit key.”
Giselle lunged forward.
Aaron pulled it away.
“You said the box was empty.”
“I never said that.”
“Where is the safe-deposit box?”
She shook her head.
“None of your business.”
Gerald’s eyes filled with disbelief.
“Your mother left that key for me.”
“She left it in her dresser.”
“For me.”
“You were in prison.”
“And you decided that meant I was dead?”
Giselle’s face crumpled for the first time.
“You don’t understand what it was like!”
“There it is again,” I murmured.
She pointed at Gerald.
“People spit at me in the grocery store! Justin got bullied! My husband left because he said the Crawford name was poison!”
Her voice cracked.
“Mom stopped eating. She stopped going to church. She died ashamed!”
Gerald whispered, “I was ashamed too.”
“But you weren’t here!”
“I was in prison for protecting your brother!”
Giselle’s expression changed.
“What?”
Kenneth closed his eyes.
Gerald looked at her.
“You didn’t know.”
She turned toward Kenneth.
“What does he mean?”
Kenneth whispered, “Dad took the plea because Raymond threatened me.”
Giselle stared.
“No.”
“It’s true.”
“No.”
Aaron slid the binder toward her.
“Read.”
She flipped through several pages.
Her face went white.
Then she looked toward Gerald.
“Why didn’t you tell us?”
Gerald laughed sadly.
“Would you have believed me?”
She could not answer.
Justin sat down.
“This family is insane.”
I almost smiled.
It was the most accurate sentence spoken all evening.
Aaron lifted the brass key.
“Tomorrow morning, we go to the bank.”
Giselle immediately shook her head.
“No.”
Everyone looked at her.
Aaron’s eyes narrowed.
“Why?”
She looked frightened now.
Not angry.
Frightened.
“Because the box isn’t at the bank anymore.”
Gerald stared.
“What did you do?”
“I moved it.”
“Where?”
She swallowed.
“Mom told me not to open it unless Aaron came home.”
Aaron went completely still.
“When?”
“Two days before she died.”
The room fell silent.
Giselle’s voice shook.
“She knew you were alive.”
Aaron stared at her.
“What else did she know?”
Tears filled Giselle’s eyes.
“She said Raymond would eventually come looking for something inside.”
“What?”
“I don’t know.”
“Where is the box?”
She lowered her voice.
“In the old church cemetery.”
Kenneth frowned.
“You buried it?”
“Mom did.”
Gerald gripped the back of a chair.
“Where?”
Giselle looked at him.
“Under her headstone.”
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At 2:13 the next morning, someone broke into the cemetery.
And by sunrise, Margaret Crawford’s grave had been dug open.
