Remember Me (55 page)

                                                     
After Dinner
Parking her silver, vintage 1958 Jaguar XK150 'S' Roadster behind a black Hummer, Satin killed the engine and glanced at the numerous vehicles parked in the driveway of the Mortensen Estate. Letting out a long breath, she wondered if her unannounced visit should be delayed one more day, as it was obvious they had company.
Racked with uncertainty and indecision, which was very uncharacteristic of her, she tapped her long, manicured fingernails on the steering wheel and muttered, “Damn, the poor guy has been through enough hell already. But…he IS my client, and he deserves to know this right now.”
With another heavy sigh, and dreading the shit-storm that she knew would be coming, she stepped out of the car, shut the door, then made her way to the front door of the mansion with a purpose in her stride.
                           
***********************************
Sipping Crown Royale from a crystal tumbler, Granger was content as he watched guests and family members alike all making small talk in the large, but cozy library. Raidon was standing in one corner amusing Malcolm, Jocelyn, and Tate Redford with hilarious anecdotes about some of his sleazier adventures (no names mentioned) as a private investigator. In another corner stood Cassandra, Cynne', Edoardo and Gianne, who were laughing about some of their favorite episodes of Seinfeld, and seated in the center of the room, Grace was whispering something to Regan that had the boy giggling uncontrollably.
This is what I've been dreaming of for the past three years, a normal life!
He
thought. The dinner had
gone
well, and he even had to give his mother credit, as she had been much more pleasant than usual.
“Mr. Mortensen?” a soft voice interrupted his thoughts. Turning, he saw a small, mousy African American girl standing there timidly, seemingly too shy to make eye contact. The girl's name escaped him at the moment, but he knew she had only recently been hired by his
mother. “Yes, what is it, dear?” he smiled warmly, hoping to put her at ease.
“There's a Ms. Satin Johnson here to see you, sir. She said it was important.”
“Very well. Could you show her in, please?”
Nodding meekly, the little maid scurried away, as if relieved to be out of eyesight.
Knowing the moment of the truth was on him, Granger cleared his throat and announced, “Everyone, I have some news. I was going to share it with my wife first, but seeing as how you're all friends and family...” he trailed off as he motioned for Cassandra to come stand beside him.
An uneasy feeling suddenly washed over Cassandra as she placed her drink down on the bar and made her way to his side. Taking his good hand in both of hers, she looked up at him and thought,
God, please, no more problems! We have been through enough.
Rising to her feet, Grace's intuition told her something was wrong as well, and her fight-or-flight instincts were kicking in. Making her way to her son, she stopped, looked up at him, and muttered, “Granger, I don't think this is the time or place to discuss family business. I....” her voice trailed off in horror as she saw Satin Johnson walking through the open doorway, then making her way to where they stood.
With just a hint of a smile, Satin stopped, looked at the cast on Granger's arm, then said, “Always an adventure with you Mr. Mortensen. Glad you and your wife made it out that madness alive.”
“Granger, who is this?” Cassandra asked as she looked at the short, tiny woman uneasily.
“This Satin Johnson, she's an attorney I hired, and one of the best, I might add. Satin, this is my lovely wife, Cassandra.”
Sticking out her hand, Satin decided to put some of her court-ordered sensitivity training to work. (Court ordered sensitivity training she had been forced to go to for 6 weeks, all because she had made the mistake of calling one of the local judges who had ruled against her a dumbass, and wondered aloud if there had been incest in his family line. She had then called him a backwoods buffoon that had to be the product of brother-sister relations) “Mrs. Mortensen, pleasure to meet you. I hope you have recovered sufficiently from that unfortunate incident.”
Shaking the woman's hand, Cassandra merely nodded, more curious than ever, but not wanting to be rude.
Ok, enough with the small talk!
Satin thought, unable to comprehend people's ability and desire to make mindless chit-chat. All her life, the concept had been a foreign one to her. Glancing around at all the different people in the room, who were all staring at her in
silence, she turned her attention back to Granger. “Sorry to crash this little shindig, but I concluded my investigation, and as promised, I wanted to advise you how to proceed.”
Looking at her diamond encrusted Rolex, she let out a sigh.
“I have court in the morning, and since you're paying double, I think we should do this.”
Licking her lips nervously, Grace said, “Granger, surely your lawyer can discuss this later, can't she? We have guests, and this is not only rude, but inappropriate.” Turning her gaze on the smaller woman, she demanded, “Ms. Johnson, this is very unprofessional and highly unorthodox, talking about such sensitive matters in front of a crowd of people.”
Letting out an unladylike snort, Satin rolled her eyes and dismissed her. “Shall we find somewhere to talk, Mr. Mortensen? My time is
your
money.”
“No, that's fine, we can talk amongst friends and family.” he said, pulling his wife as close as possible, fearing that he would probably never be able to touch her again after this night.
Satin wasn't crazy about talking in front everyone about such an emotional subject, but if he wanted the people there for support, who was she to object? “Very well. But before I say what I have to say....Edoardo and Gianne.....I believe, are they here? If so, would you ask them to join us, please?”
As the older couple made their way to the center of the room, Satin addressed Malcolm. “Get me a drink, would you? Anything eighty proof and on the rocks will do. I think I'm going to need it to get through this.”
Unaccustomed to be addressed in such a brusque manner, Malcolm frowned, but for the sake of harmony, went to do as she asked. “Little goose-stepping Nazi.” he mumbled.
Walking up to Raidon, Cynne' whispered, “We should have a seat, I've got a feeling we're going to need to be sitting.” Grabbing his hand, she guided him to one of the large sofas.
“Well, I will not be a part of this, thank you very much.” Grace said angrily.
“Time to stop bullshitting around. I suggest you find a seat, and for once in your life, own up to your dirty deeds.” Satin replied coldly as she stepped in front of the older woman, blocking her way to the exit.
“No one talks to me like that!” Grace sputtered as all the color drained from her face. “Turning to face her grandson, she said, “Regan, will you do something for grandma? Run along and play.”
“Awwww, grandma.” he whined.
“Run along, Regan, and close the door behind you.” Granger said in a soft but stern voice.
“I think you should all sit.” Satin announced after the child was gone. Nodding a curt thank you as Malcolm handed her her drink, she waited impatiently as everyone did as she asked.
Once they we all seated, more or less facing her as she stood in front of the huge, roaring fireplace, she opened her briefcase and withdrew a thick file. “Mr. Mortensen contacted me concerning the manner in which his father died. The circumstances surrounding his death.” she said, looking at Grace with an unreadable expression on her face.
Oh God, what am I gonna' do? This must be what a prisoner on death row's final moments must feel like.....
Grace's mind raced as she felt the walls slowly start to close in on her.
“Mr. Mortensen, Granger, first of all, you are not the one responsible for you father's death.” Satin said in a voice that had softened somewhat.
“Oh, thank God.” he breathed as Cassandra gasped and looked at him in confusion.
“I talked to a woman, a Ms. Marsha Crane. She was...uhhh, how do I put this? She was once a long-time friend of your father's. She told me that that Christmas he showed up at her home drunk, mean, and as she put it, looking as if someone had given him a good old-fashioned ass whoopin'.” Pulling a photo from the thick file, she handed it to Granger. “That's her.”
Studying the photo carefully, he shook his head in confusion. “I don't understand, he was dead! After I knocked him to the floor he banged his head and he wasn't moving, he wasn't breathing.” he said, looking into his wife’s soulful eyes.
My God, the burden he has carried all these years…
Cassandra thought, wanting to pull him to her breast and weep for him. Wanting to be strong for him though, she gave his hand a gentle squeeze instead, then smiled. Glancing at Grace, her eyes narrowed.
What role did she play in this?
She
wondered. Glancing at Satin, she said, “So, I'm, assuming my husband's fight with his father didn't contribute to his death at all?”
“Honey, I killed him.” Granger croaked. “I found him beating my mother. It wasn't the first time he ever beat her, but that night I was really scared he would kill her. Part of me wanted to block both of them out and just go to my room, but I just couldn't that night. When I heard my mother let out a wounded cry, there was no way I could leave her at his mercy.” Shifting uncomfortably, he felt every eye in the room on him and wanted nothing more than to run away, but continued anyway. “That night really was different. I was older, harder, and stronger than I had been on those previous occasions, I was not a defenseless little boy anymore. He couldn't beat me like he did before, every time I tried to help her. But it wasn't just the beating that night, the things he said...he told me that night I wasn't his, I was a bastard instead. He implied that I was the only choice he had to run the family business once he was gone. He....” his voice trailed off as heartbreaking sobs racked his body. “I remember getting so mad I got dizzy, and then, the next thing I remember was standing over his body, with blood on my hands. And I remember thinking how good it felt to hurt him for a change, instead of the other way around. I was happy I made him suffer,
and I was happy that I was the one who had taken his life.”
Pulling his head to her bosom, Cassandra stroked his hair lovingly and whispered, “Shhhh, you just wanted to protect your mother. You didn't kill him.”
Looking on in silence, Raidon's heart went out to the man because he knew from personal experience what he was feeling. Suddenly his own misery wrapped around him like a steel cable, dragging him down into his own private pit of despair as painful childhood memories resurfaced. Suddenly short of breath, he bolted from his seat and quietly left the room as a puzzled Cynne' followed him with a worried expression on her face.
Edoardo looked at his wife, Gianne, who was weeping as well, and spoke in their native tongue, “Perche' dice questo?(why does he say this?)” Glancing at Satin angrily, he demanded in English, “Why does he think he killed that man?” Rushing to Granger, his grandson, he gripped his shoulders firmly with both hands and spoke in a quiet voice, “No, you didn't kill that bastardo. Me and Gianne cleaned him up when he regained consciousness.” Looking into his grandson's blue eyes, so much like Domenico's, who was his true father, he continued. “He was very angry,
angrier
than we've ever seen him. He was saying he would kill you for daring to touch him. That night I did what I should have done when you were small boy, and stood up for my own flesh and blood, you, my grandson. That night I went and grabbed the gun we keep here in the house, and told him if he touched you, I would kill him. The drunken monster left in a rage, promising to make us all pay.” Looking at Satin again, he addressed her in a grave voice. “My grandson, he kill no one. He was a good boy, and is a good man!”
With a heavy sigh, Satin nodded in respectful silence. Most people thought she didn't care about anything except winning and making money, but seeing Granger Mortensen nearly destroyed by the lie his mother had allowed him to live with for years shook her up. “Looking at him, she spoke in a soft voice. “Granger, that's the truth, you didn't kill your father.” Opening the file she still held in her hands, she pulled out the four-page report from the medical examiner's office. “Granger, your father died from drowning. His car went off the road and flipped, landing in the stream not far from Ms. Crane's home. He was trapped inside, and he drowned. The medical examiner estimated by the levity of the body that he had been dead for about four hours. There was water in his lungs, and he thinks he was unconscious when he died. That means he was ALIVE when you last saw him at midnight. I spoke to the medical examiner myself, he's retired now, but he remembered the case because of your father's notoriety. I asked him if the blows from the fight contributed to his death, and he assured me that was not the case. Another thing you need to know, is the fact your mother paid
Ms. Crane
to not tell me this information.”
The words slowly sinking in through the grief that engulfed him, Granger struggled to compose himself as he reached out for the report, took it from her hands, and studied it in silence for a moment. Cause of Death: Accidental Drowning, Contributing factor: Acute alcohol poisoning he read, then turned to Edoardo and addressed the older man in confusion. “A minute ago you said you I'm your blood. You're my grandfather? You never said, not ONCE, that his death was not my fault. I trusted you, why would you let me
believe, for all those years, that I killed him? Why?”