The Final Victim by Wendy Corsi Staub Read Free Book Online

staircase and crosses the wide balcony toward the second-floor guest bedroom wing, Charlotte considers what will become of Oakgate - and Great-Aunt Jeanne-now that her grandfather is gone. Obviously, the place will have to be sold. She certainly has no desire to go on living here, and she doubts her cousins would want to-or that Aunt Jeanne would expect to.
        The plantation and the paper mill were strictly Gran-daddy's, inherited from her great-grandfather, the first Gilbert Xavier Remington. Aunt Jeanne, the product of Great-Great-Grandmother Marie's shameful liaison with another man, received nothing.
        Jeanne never married, and barely made a living as a bookkeeper in Savannah. She used to live in an apartment located, ironically, in one of the grand historic district mansions the Remingtons used to frequent. It, like Jeanne Remington herself, had discreetly fallen from grace over the years.
         Grandaddy took her in years ago when her mental health began to fail just as their mother's had. He personally hired the finest visiting nurses available to care for her and made sure that her substantial medical and financial needs were met.
        Charlotte assumes he would have expected his grandchildren to do the same after his death. She has' no problem with that, though as the lone heir still living in Georgia, she can't possibly have Aunt Jeanne living under her own roof once Oakgate is sold. It's really time for her to have full-time care, and be surrounded by people her own age.
        There are plenty of nice nursing homes in Savannah. Charlotte and her cousins will just set up her aunt in one of them, and she'll be sure to visit her often.
         She's family. I have to keep her in my life, no matter what , she tells herself. No matter how challenging it is, or how   much time she has left.
        It's impossible to tell how long poor Aunt Jeanne will outlive her half brother. She's suffered from dementia for years, though she still has startlingly lucid moments!
        Charlotte uneasily recalls the most recent of them.
        This morning, Aunt Jeanne was transported by the creaky old elevator to the first floor where the rest of the family was assembled for the memorial service. It was an unusual occurrence, as the elderly woman rarely leaves her third-floor quarters.
        But today, she seemed to know precisely where she was and who was around her. She even called several of the visiting Remingtons by name. The wrong names, in some cases, but at least she wasn't staring vacantly into space or hurtling angry accusations.
        When Reverend Snowdon arrived he bent over Jeanne's wheelchair, clasped her gnarled hand, and said, "I'm so sorry, Miss Remington, about your brother's death. I know how difficult this loss is for y'all."
       "Not all of us," Aunt Jeanne said darkly.
         Taken aback, Charlotte laid a hand on her aunt's black crepe-covered shoulder and said gently, "We're all upset over Grandaddy's death, Aunt Jeanne. What are you talking about?"
        The old woman seemed as though she was about to elaborate. Then, glancing around the room at those nearest, albeit not necessarily dearest, to her late brother, she shrugged. "Never mind."
        Now, Charlotte hesitates slightly at the base of the stairway that leads to the third floor.
        Maybe she should go on up for a few minutes, just to see how Aunt Jeanne is. And perhaps, to have her decipher that cryptic remark.
        But Royce is waiting downstairs. And she might be a bit hungry after all. She hasn't eaten since she picked at her dinner last night Charlotte continues along the hallway with its painted white wainscot, toward the remodeled master suite Grandaddy insisted she and Royce occupy during their stay. He said he preferred the smaller guest suite down the hall, anyway. That bathroom, he pointed out, had a bigger, deeper tub.
         Grandaddy always did enjoy his nightly baths. He said