Surviving Valencia

“We didn’t do anything to Jeb.”

“He’s dead because I got him involved.”

“Jeb is not our fault. You need to let that go,” he said, heading into the kitchen.

“Are you worried about where he is? There’s a body out there. Where are you going?”

“I’m sure John Spade took care of it. I’m going to make us some tea.”

“Are you serious?” I asked, following behind him.

“But as for John Spade, I did the world a favor. And you know what? If they do start looking for who did it, they have about four or five women’s families filled with possible suspects. Think about that! They’re going to look at those cases and say, ‘Who here wanted to kill John Spade?’ They don’t even know you and your family are connected!”

“What’s with this You and your family? Don’t you mean Us? ”

“Fine. You knew what I meant. But I’m saying that We aren’t going to be the first place they look. They don’t even know about us.”

“In Minneapolis they don’t, but here in Savannah they do! And what do you mean by if they think someone killed him? Isn’t it obvious he was killed?”

“Oh man, I forgot one,” he said, closing the kitchen window.

“Adrian, what happened?” I had been assuming all along that John Spade had been shot.

“Do you really want to know what happened?” Adrian asked, as he arranged two mugs with bags of chamomile tea on a tray. The tea kettle’s clunking turned to a whistle. He set it on the back burner where it immediately quieted itself. We stood there in a ridiculous silence, mine tense and his determinedly ordinary. Cheerful, almost. He tidied up the countertop, sliding things into place, disposing of a bit of cellophane, sweeping crumbs into the sink with his hand. I half-expected him to begin humming or singing.

“Yes. I need to know,” I said.

“It wasn’t actually that bad,” he said, pouring the tea. “Do you want honey in yours?”

“No. How can you say that it wasn’t that bad?” I rubbed my stomach, shielding the baby from whatever Adrian was about to tell me.

“I knew where he lived. Same old house he lived in with his mother, back in the day. Once he got out of prison, he moved back in. She died six months ago. I found her obituary online so I knew he would be there alone.” He passed me my cup of tea but I shook my head so he set it back on the tray.

“That seems like a careless move, looking her up, I mean,” I said.

“I wasn’t here when I did it,” he said, shrugging.

“You’d be mad if I did it.”

“You wouldn’t know how to cover your tracks. Anyway, I got there and the door was unlocked. I just walked right in. I saw a car in the driveway so I knew he was home. It was a different vehicle than he had back then, but I knew it was his car by the bumper stickers. A bunch of loony conspiracy theory shit. I thought ‘this guy hasn’t changed one bit.’ I walked in and it was dark in there. I didn’t know what I was going to do. I had a gun, a knife… I was afraid I was not going to be able to do it. Then I heard water running in the bathroom. He was in there, taking a bath. The bathroom door was open and it was bright in there, but the rest of the house was dark, and I saw him before he noticed me. I just went for it. He was starting to stand up and reach for his towel and I gave him a shove. He split his head right open on the faucet. Then he drowned. I walked in, did it, and was back on the road ten minutes later. I really don’t think we have a thing to worry about.”

“Wow.” To my surprise, a huge wave of relief washed over me. Our odds of getting caught seemed to have diminished considerably. And just as compelling was the discovery that Adrian kind of wasn’t a murderer. It was more like John Spade slipped and fell.

“Did you leave footprints? Did anyone see you? Did you get blood on you?”

“No.”

“There’s no evidence?”

“None. And we have a great alibi. The little vacation? Everything is fine. It’s better than fine because he got what he deserved for what he did to your brother and sister. And to that private investigator, and all those women. And for what he was going to do to us when he got tired of playing games. Think about it.”

“Why do you think he got interested in you again after so many years?” I asked.

“I have no idea.”

“Do you think he knew that I’m the twins’ sister?”

“I don’t know.”