Free THE DEEP END by Julie Mulhern Page B

clogged with tears.
    I struggled to sit, winced as a screwdriver lanced my brain, then decided that lying back on three or four pillows—even flat hospital pillows—was just fine. “What happened?”
    “Someone broke into your house.”
    I knew that. I raised my hand to my head and felt a lump the size of a sugar melon. My skull knew that.
    “How did I get here?”
    “Harriet found you and called an ambulance. Then Grace came home, saw you being loaded in and called me.” Mother’s voice barely masked her outrage. Obviously, she thought Harriet’s first call should have been to her.
    “What did they take?”
    “They tore up Dad’s office. Detective Jones says they were looking for something.”
    My aching brain supplied me with a vision of Henry’s perfectly ordered study in shambles. Books ripped from the shelves, desk drawers emptied onto the carpet, his collection of Toby jugs shattered. That I wouldn’t mind. The faces leer, they’re creepy, and I’ve never understood why he’s so enamored with them. In my imagination, the hinged painting that hid the safe hung open as did the safe itself. “Did they find it?”
    “We don’t know.” Grace shook her head. “When you’re better, Detective Jones wants you to look.”
    “Gracie, be an angel and run down to the café and get me a coffee with extra cream.” Mother opened her purse and produced a bill. “Do you want anything, Ellison?”
    “Water.”
    “No need to buy that.” She handed me a plastic cup with a bendy straw and I took a grateful sip.
    When the door closed behind Grace, Mother took her chair, settling in next to me.
    I gave the cup back to her and closed my eyes. A clear indication I was ready for a nap or painkillers or both. There ought to be some fabulous painkillers in a hospital. Why hadn’t they given me any?
    “What’s going on?” Mother asked.
    All the sarcastic things I could say limped through my brain but I didn’t feel up to starting an argument. I shrugged. Even that hurt my head.
    “I mean it, Ellison, what’s going on?”
    “Someone murdered Madeline.”
    “Yes, but why are they breaking into your house?”
    “I don’t know.” I didn’t.
    “This is all so upsetting.”
    She didn’t know the half of it...or what was it called when there were three people? She didn’t know the ménage of it. Henry made four. She didn’t know the orgy of it. I giggled. A hysterical, deranged giggle. I swallowed it before she had me moved to the psych ward.
    “This isn’t remotely amusing.” A barber could shave ten clients whistle clean with just the tone of her voice.
    “Mother, I’m tired and I’m in pain. Do we have to discuss this now?”
    “You wouldn’t believe the things people are saying.”
    I didn’t want to know.
    She told me anyway. “They’re saying you and Roger Harper killed Madeline and Henry. They’re saying you swapped partners. They’re saying he spent the night at your house last night.”
    He did. Passed out on the front stoop. I moaned. Not from pain, but from the sick-making thought of me and Roger together. What a nightmare.
    “I insist you tell me what is going on.” Again with the razor blade voice.
    “There’s nothing between Roger Harper and me.”
    “Then why is his car parked in front of your house?”
    “It’s a long story.”
    “I have time.”
    For a half-second, I was tempted to tell her everything. About Henry and Madeline and Prudence and Kitty. About Roger. About Club K. She’d believe me. Then she’d tell everyone she knew. She’d tell them to protect my reputation—and hers. Ultimately everyone —including Grace—would know what a twisted, depraved man Henry Russell really was.
    “Roger got drunk and passed out on my front steps last night. I found him this morning.”
    “Why did he come to your house?”
    “I don’t know. Because I found Madeline? Because Madeline and Henry were having an affair?” I shrugged again. Regretted it again. Winced.
    “That