Chapter 3 - THE LIONESS AND THE CUB
“What are those?” Delilah whispered, staring down at the keys as if they were venomous spiders.
“Insurance,” I said, my voice as cold and hard as a slab of granite. “And a reminder of something your husband and his mother are entirely too stupid to remember.”
She looked up at me, confusion flickering behind her red-rimmed eyes. “Mom... what are you talking about? Eugene changed the locks on the back door last month, and he threatened to call the police if I ever set foot on the property again. We can’t just go back there.”
“Who said anything about going back right now?” I leaned forward, resting my forearms on the table. “Let them sit in that house. Let them enjoy their little kingdom for another twenty-four hours. Let them think they’ve won a total, uncontested victory. People who think they’ve won are always careless, Delilah. That’s when they make their biggest mistakes.”
I reached out and tapped the shiny brass teeth of the key with my fingernail.
“Do you know what today is, sweetheart?”
She blinked, wiping her nose with a tissue. “Tuesday?”
“Today is Tuesday,” I agreed. “And do you know what Eugene does every single Tuesday at two o’clock in the afternoon?”
She paused, her brow furrowing as she searched her memory. “He... he has his regional sales meeting at the corporate office downtown. It always runs until at least four-thirty because of the quarterly reviews.”
“And Helena?” I asked, a thin, humorless smile touching the corners of my mouth. “Where does Helena go on Tuesday afternoons?”
Delilah’s eyes suddenly widened. “Bridge club. At the country club across town. She never misses it. She’s usually gone from one until six.”
I leaned back in my chair, folding my hands over my lap.
“Which means,” I said smoothly, “that between two-fifteen and four o’clock this afternoon, the house on Oak Ridge Drive is going to be completely, utterly empty.”
Delilah’s breath caught in her throat. “Mom... no. You’re not thinking of—we can’t break in! That’s illegal! If Eugene finds out, he’ll use it against us in court, he’ll claim we vandalized—owner or not, it’s a legal mess—”
“Break in?” I interrupted, letting out a short, sharp laugh. “Honey, how can a person break into a house that legally belongs to the person holding the master key? The deed, as your dear husband conveniently forgets when he’s feeling particularly powerful, is registered exclusively in my name at the county courthouse. Every square inch of wood, glass, brick, and pipe sitting on that parcel of land belongs to me, registered, notarized, and paid for with the sale of my own inheritance.”
I picked up the keys from the table and dropped them into the palm of my hand, where they jingled with a bright, metallic chime.
“I am not breaking in, Delilah,” I said quietly. “I am simply visiting my own property. And since you are my daughter, and my dependent guest while you get back on your feet, you are coming with me to collect your personal belongings. Every last dress, every photograph, every baby book, every heirloom your grandmother left you before she passed away. And while we’re at it... we’re going to collect a few other things as well.”
“What kind of things?” she asked, her voice trembling with a mixture of terror and dawning hope.
“We’re going to collect the evidence,” I said, standing up from the table. “The bank statements he hid in his desk drawer. The tax files. The records of the secret savings account he’s been siphoned money into for the last two years while telling you you couldn’t afford new shoes for Santiago. Do you think I don't know how men like Eugene operate? They’re arrogant, Delilah. They think women don’t look behind closed doors. They think old mothers are just good for baking cookies and babysitting grandchildren.”
I walked over to the hallway closet, pulled out a stack of large plastic storage bins and heavy-duty contractor trash bags, and dropped them right by the front door.
“Go wake Santiago up,” I told my daughter, my voice carrying the absolute authority of a general preparing for a decisive campaign. “Feed him some breakfast, change his clothes, and get him ready. We leave for Oak Ridge Drive at exactly two o’clock.”
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She stood up slowly, her legs shaking slightly, but for the first time since I had found her huddled in that grocery store parking lot, the haunted, defeated look in her eyes had been replaced by something fierce. Something dangerous.
The spirit of the girl who used to look at impossible problems and say, “We’ll figure it out,” was finally waking up.
