“This schmuck’s name is Roger too.”
I poured myself a cup a tea, annoyed with Jeb’s amusement over my dysfunctional family.
“It says Loden on their gravestones,” I said.
Jeb showed me the copies of Van and Valencia’s birth certificates and I saw that their last names were originally Nelson. I slid the copies back to him.
“This is a lot to take in,” I said.
“I think she married your dad because he was a little bit older, and was settled, and could provide for her. I’m no psychiatrist, but you learn things when you do this long enough.”
“Are you saying you think my mom or dad had something to do with this?”
“With what?”
“With their deaths!”
Jeb looked exasperated. “No. I’m just trying to show you I do my homework.”
My egg roll arrived and I pushed it away, so Jeb ate it. Repressed memories of overheard conversations between aunts and uncles came back to me. Maybe I had always known Valencia and Van weren’t my real sister and brother. It certainly explained a lot.
“You can take these back,” said Jeb, returning the original photos and clippings I gave him. “I got what I need from these.”
“Oh, thanks.” I wasn’t thrilled to have the pictures back, as I had looked at them a little too much when they were around, but it was better than not knowing where they were. I tucked them in my purse.
“Where did you find those pictures?” I asked, nodding at the photos of my mother and the twins’ real father. “And how were you able to get copies of their birth certificates?”
“You don’t need to know how I do my job,” said Jeb.
I opened my mouth to respond and closed it again, no words coming to me.
“That might sound harsh but it’s the way it works,” said Jeb.
I shrugged, trying to behave as if I knew what I was doing. “So is my dad really my dad?” I asked, dipping my finger in the unused dish of plum sauce and sucking it off my fingertip.
“I can find out, but it will cost you,” said Jeb.
“Never mind.” I signaled for the check.
Chapter 37
I was starting to not care who killed Valencia. Van and Valencia. Whatever. Because it was wrecking my life and costing a lot of money. Consuming all my energy and destroying my happy marriage. And they, apparently, were only my half siblings anyway. What I wanted was to find the psycho sending us hate mail and make him just fuck off. Make him leave us alone. What happened to my happy life with spontaneous for-no-particular-reason diamond necklaces and Lancôme samples arriving weekly? Free samples, reserved for only the best customers! Now I threw them aside, distracted by whatever else I might find hiding in our mailbox. I couldn’t take living like this. Fuck you, Van and Valencia. Especially you, Valencia. With your shiny hair and your long skinny legs. Haunting me my whole life long
. Making me feel invisible and worthless.
“…Baby?”
“What Adrian?”
“Are you drinking?”
“Well, yes. So?”
“It’s eight o’clock in the morning.”
“Well I’ve been up since six. So it’s not early to me anymore.”
“Okay?”