Corella shook her head, a little flinch of outrage. “It goes to the nurse.”
Raymont put down his drink. “The bouncer?”
“‘For services rendered charitably, patiently, and generously.’” Corella seemed about to cry, but there was ice in her voice, too. “I get nothing.”
“You got a half-sister floating around somewhere, too, am I right?”
He might as well have slapped her. “She doesn’t deserve anything! Where has she been? What has she done?”
“Easy. Easy. I just-”
“The nurse is bad enough. I’m the one in the family who’s been there. Every day.”
“Fine. Agreed.” Raymont juiced up his drink with a little more Hennessy. The girl was getting on his nerves and he needed to think. His mind boiled. “I’m gonna hire me a lawyer,” he said. “A real junkyard dog. You best find yourself one, too, girl, before this all gets finalized.”
Corella stood up from the table. “You’re missing the point.”
Lorene left the hotel where she was hiding and arrived in Hunter’s Point shortly after dinner to visit with Pilgrim. Robert let her in and said, “Mr. Baxter told me you and him would be wanting some private time.” She opened her purse, figuring they were back on the old payment schedule, but Robert said, “No need for that, ma’am.” He grabbed his hat, glanced at his watch, and added, “I’ll come back in an hour.”
She inferred from his cheerfulness that Pilgrim had informed him of his good fortune. Once Pilgrim executed his documents, the former wrestler and part-time bouncer would stand to inherit a princely sum. Pausing at the window, she watched him flounce out to his beat-up car. He’ll buy himself a new one first thing, she thought, something everyone will stare at. New car, new clothes, flash and trash, waste it all. But who’s the bigger fool for that-him or Pilgrim?
She went into the bedroom and stood beside the bed. Pilgrim gazed up at her. “You look tired,” he said.
She smiled grimly, thinking: You have no idea. Tired of pretending I feel for you. Tired of keeping up that charade just so I can have the one thing I want, my home and the things in it, a safe place as I grow old. Tired of watching you hang on to your miserable life with all its petty jealousy and resentment and hate. Tired of trying to convince myself I can do what you want. You think you can control my life and who I love, now and forever, even from beyond the grave. So yes. I’m tired.
It’s always the devil, she thought, who shows us who we really are. She knew Raymont was evil, but so? Love is not a choice and who would want it if it was? He’d taught her things. Fortune favors the bold. No risk, no reward. She did not intend to waste that lesson. And there were hatreds and resentments of her own to abide.
“Come here,” Pilgrim whispered. “Visit with me.”
She stepped out of her shoes, lowered the bed, climbed on, and straddled him, edging forward on her knees. Maybe you’ll forgive me, she thought. Maybe not.
“Let me move this,” she said, wrestling the pillow from beneath his head.
“Lorene, damn, careful-”
She clamped the pillow across his face and pressed down hard. The plump soft weight muffled his cries. Two minutes, she thought. That’s how long they say it takes for old folks in nursing homes and Pilgrim lacked even that much strength. The killing would leave tiny red dots in his eyes but she would call her own doctor, not his, say he’d just stopped breathing. Her doctor would take her word, sign the death certificate before anyone was the wiser. And though Robert would be suspicious when he got back-he’d be out a quarter of a million dollars-he’d be in no position to make trouble. The police would see right through him. Besides, she made out no better than he did with Pilgrim dead and no documents signed-why would she kill him?
Her heart pounded and she was drenched with sweat by the time it was over. She couldn’t bear to lift the pillow, see his face. She just leaned down, listened for sounds of breathing. Nothing.
From behind: “You just do what I think?”
Lorene spun around on the bed. Raymont stood in the doorway. Stranger still, Corella peeked out from behind him.
“We knew you’d be here,” Raymont said. “We saw the nurse leave. Corella has a key.”
Lorene held out her hand. “Help me down.”
Raymont approached her like he thought she might turn into a bat but helped her as she climbed off Pilgrim’s body. He caught her when she nearly fell. Her knees felt rubbery. She almost fainted.
“I couldn’t go through with it,” she said.
Puzzled, Raymont lifted the pillow. “You already did.”
“No, I mean go through with what he wanted me to do. Turn against you.” A shudder went through her and she began to weep softly. “I’m so sorry.”
“It’s all right, baby, stop.” He stroked her face. “Don’t fret. We got it all figured out.”
“We?” She wiped her face.
“Corella and me. She’s the one stands to inherit, she’s the next of kin.”
“But Cynthia-”
“To hell with Cynthia.” It was Corella, holding herself so tight it looked like she might explode if she let go.
Raymont, more gently, said, “Anybody heard from this Cynthia? Anybody even know where she is?”
“St. Louis. Somewhere near-”
“No, Lorene.” He grabbed her by the shoulders, shook her. “No. Listen to me. Corella and me, we’ve come to an understanding.” He looked at Pilgrim’s body, the face exposed now. Vacant. Still. “Corella’s gonna file the probate. She’ll say she heard some talk about another daughter, tried hard to find her, couldn’t. We ransack this place, destroy any letters or anything else that might give us away, lead somebody to where she is. Hell, why can’t we pretend she doesn’t even exist?”
“What about the lawyer? The one he’s been talking to. What if he’s told her-”
“Why should she care? You pay her whatever she’s owed, she’ll go away, trust me. One thing I know, it’s lawyers.”
The next impulse took Lorene by surprise. She reached for Raymont’s face, clamped her eyes shut, and pressed her mouth so hungrily against his she thought, again, she might faint. A cold pulse ran through her, it felt like laughter. He’s dead, she thought. He’s dead and I’m free and God help me but I have lived for this moment.
Watching her mother grab the bogus preacher within inches of her father’s corpse, Corella suffered a moment of clarity so searing she nearly got sick. Nothing would change, she realized. She’d be used. These two revolting people would get what they wanted then toss her aside. She was a tool. She was, again, baggage.
Raymont had brought a gun in case Robert had to be dealt with. Corella crept up behind him, reached inside his coat pocket.
Raymont tried to catch her by the arm, missed. “What you playin’ at?”
Corella gripped the weapon with both hands, waving it back and forth, at Raymont, at Lorene, at Raymont. She was crying.
Raymont held out his hand. “Put that down.” Then: “This was your idea, girl.”
Corella fired. Lorene screamed as the bullet hit Raymont in the shoulder. He howled in pain, cursed, reached for the wound, said, “I’ll kill you,” through clenched teeth, but then she fired again, this time aiming for his face. The round went through his eye. Lorene’s screams grew piercing. Raymont tottered, reached for something that wasn’t there, and slowly collapsed to the floor.
“My God, Corella, why, Lord, what-”
Corella raised the barrel till it pointed at her mother. “Quiet,” she said, barely above a whisper, then fired. The bullet ripped through Lorene’s throat. The second went straight through her heart.
Robert came back from the Philly cheese steak shop on Oakdale he liked, chewing gum to counter the smell of the greasy cheese and grilled onions on his breath. He found the door unlocked. Odd, he thought. Careless of me. Smokehounds could just waltz in.