Secrets & Lies by Raymond Benson Read Free Book Online Page B

him for answers before, so I decided it was time for him to come clean. Foremost on my mind was what arrangements, if any, my mother had made regarding her funeral. That was a morbid subject and no one really liked to talk about it, especially when the person was still alive, but it’s something we all needed to address, right? People who had the means and wherewithal to do so usually take care of their own arrangements before death so their children won’t be burdened with the unpleasant task. Uncle Thomas had told me sometime after Mom had gone into Woodlands that I wasn’t to worry about her financially. We basically had to get rid of all her assets so that Medicaid would pay for the nursing home stay. At thetime she was basically broke anyway, living off the fumes of an empty gas tank, and I didn’t realize it. I was too caught up in my own world to notice.
    Thomas Avery’s office was in Arlington Heights, not far from our old house. A new real estate firm was handling the sale of the house, and I recently decided to put a little of my newfound salary into sprucing it up so we could sell it. It’s been on the market for a couple of years, but we never had any luck getting rid of the place because it was in such disrepair. I suppose it was a good thing it didn’t sell right off the bat, otherwise Mom’s Black Stiletto stuff would still be hidden in that secret room in the basement. I would never have retrieved it, and the new owners would be living with one of the world’s most valuable treasures right under their noses.
    I grew up in that house, went to high school in Arlington Heights, and then left for college. It was weird—I’d taken it for granted that Mom had money, because she always did. At least she got by, she was able to feed us, put clothes on our backs, and pay for my college tuition. She never worked. When I once asked her about it, she said we lived off a big inheritance that my father left. I never questioned it. I was a dummy, probably too absorbed in my precious existence that I was oblivious that anything could be, well, not
normal
about our family.
    We moved into the house in 1970, when I was seven. I remember being relatively new to the neighborhood when I started first grade. Prior to that, we lived in an apartment in Arlington Heights for a year or two—going backward from there was where it started to get hazy for me. I had vague memories of being in the car a lot, staying in hotel rooms, living in a couple of different apartments for short durations, but I couldn’t say where we were.
    Uncle Thomas’s secretary, Janie, greeted me warmly when I entered the office. She was nearly as old as her boss, so I’ve known her a long time, too. Janie really was on top of things at his office; it was like
she
ran
his
life. Thomas and my mom were pretty close, and I’ve always suspected they dated at one time. But since then, did Thomasand Janie ever have a thing? Uncle Thomas was once married to a woman named Martha, but she died a few years ago.
    â€œHow’s that lovely daughter of yours doing?” Janie asked.
    â€œWhen I
hear
from her, it sounds like she’s doing great.”
    Janie laughed. “Don’t take it personally, Martin. When kids go away to college, they want to spread their wings and fly. Some cling to their parents and are afraid to let go, but others become
very
independent.”
    â€œOh, I know. She’s definitely changing, she’s—”
    â€œGrowing up?”
    â€œI guess that’s what you call it.”
    Uncle Thomas opened his private office door. “I thought I heard your voice, Martin. Come on in. How are you?”
    He was dressed in his usual garb—white shirt and loosened tie, trousers with suspenders, and tennis shoes. Still had a head of wavy white hair, a bushy white mustache, and glasses. My mom’s attorney and friend.
    â€œI’m fine, Uncle Thomas,” I said