She did this.
She hates me. Just like everyone else. Only her hate has been lingering. Festering. Building to a crescendo until she finally found herself in the right place at the right time to get her revenge.
Professor Lucille Lancaster, the mayor’s wife, is an imposter. She is not some high-cultured rich lady with polite manners and a huge mansion. She’s just. Like. Me.
I have no idea what Jeeves was talking about with that whole Moran phone call, or why the fuck he was tracking me with a drone that day, but it probably doesn’t matter. Because it’s been four days and I haven’t even heard from my lawyer.
Maybe I don’t even have a lawyer?
I got one phone call that first night. I called home. But Gramps answered and my five minutes were up before I could even convince him to go wake up Pops.
Family isn’t coming to rescue me. Not that they could. No bail. Jeeves was right. And no visitation, either.
So. Yeah. That’s where I’m at.
I am so going to prison for this.
Not the terrorist thing. I’m not a fucking terrorist.
It’s gonna be way worse than that if this makes it all the way to a jury. Because Bobby and I were up to some pretty secret shit up in those mountains. But it’s not me these people need to be afraid of.
It’s the man running the operation who will unleash a shitstorm if this ever goes to trial.
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT - DAISY
I call in sick on Tuesday for work and do not add any extra shifts to my schedule. Not because I don’t need them, but because I can barely think straight. I can’t work. I can’t eat. I can’t sleep. I can barely manage to bathe myself, that’s how messed up I am over what’s happening.
And I have to hide it. All of it.
I can’t let Vivi see me falling apart.
So when she’s here, I have to pretend like Lucille Lancaster isn’t threatening to steal my child. But when she’s not—when she’s outside or asleep—all I want to do is cry.
But now it’s Thursday and I’m afraid to call in sick again.
So I go in. And it’s like everyone knows what’s happening to me. They are all sympathetic and sweet. And two of them take my and Carla’s tables so we can sit in the back and have a chat, so that’s nice.
But nothing can make me feel better. I can’t even look Carla in the eyes.
“Sweetie?” she says.
I take a deep breath and let it out. “I’m OK.”
“No. You’re not. You should go home. Go pick up Vivian and go home.”
“I can’t afford to lose another day of tips. I need the money. Vivi needs school clothes and the babysitter…” And then this terrible, awful, hideous thought pops into my mind. “Well. Maybe that’s not even true. Because if Vivian gets taken from me, I won’t have to pay for school clothes or school supplies. Lucille Lancaster will undoubtedly get some kind of state check for her trouble and probably use it to turn her against me.”
Carla reaches across the table and slaps my hand. “Stop it. No one is stealing Vivian. You’re a great mother—”
“Except for that one time when I didn’t notice she was missing for five hours!”
“Every parent makes mistakes, Daisy. My oldest, Jasper? He rolled off the bed when he was a newborn. I was convinced I gave him brain damage. He graduated from MIT twenty-seven years ago. And Ellen? My middle girl? I once forgot her at the grocery store. She was on one of those pony rides outside the supermarket. I was trying to wrangle the other four kids into my piece-of-shit car and Ellen was crying about… whatever. So I dropped a bunch of dimes in her dress pocket and told her to have at it.” She shrugs. “Yeah. I forgot her there. I drove all the way home and unloaded the car before I realized. When I got back to the grocery store, she was still riding that freaking pony. Didn’t even know.”
I can’t help it. I smile. “That never happened.”
“Honey, this was the 70’s. We kicked our kids out of the house at eight AM and didn’t even bother to wonder where they were until it got dark. They all survived. Vivian had a great time with her father that day. She’s fine. The court is gonna see that.”
“No. You don’t understand. The court is against me. And Vic! They think he’s a terrorist.”
“Oh, pooh,” Carla says, waving her hand. “Do you have any idea how many times Gramps has been arrested for terrorism?”
“Um… none?”
“Probably none,” she admits. “But he was shooting BBs at the police two weeks ago. He’s not in prison.”
I sigh. “I think Vic is up to something though. He had a lot of cash, Carla. He bought two hundred acres.”