Today's Reading
Unlike the jaunty nine-by-nine invitation, the other documents were "we mean business" letter size. She unfolded the first one, which had also been typed on a typewriter:
Dear Rosemary,
I know your secret. Perhaps you're thinking of declining this invitation.
Unfortunately, that's not an option. Purchase Kimiko Mitsurugi's manga, Memento Mochi, at the auction and pay the required amount in full. Further details, including wire transfer instructions, are in the second document.
Jane
Mimi's necklace felt heavy and tight around her throat. She clutched its small emerald pendant between her thumb and forefinger as the refrigerator's low hum buzzed in her ears. Holding her breath, she unfolded the second page. Everything was there. Names. Dates. Astonishingly precise details. She let the papers fall to the floor.
How could Jane possibly know what she had done?
Her mind wandered to the spreadsheet of various investment accounts and passwords that Peter had meticulously kept. She'd been living comfortably off their savings for over twenty years, but this could change everything.
Mimi went to the cupboard where she kept a pack of Pall Malls, a cut-glass ashtray, and her Dunhill lighter, a gift from Peter after he'd returned from a business trip to London. The engraved letter R was almost rubbed away now. She'd given up smoking in her thirties, but she always allowed herself one cigarette per year on her birthday. Today was not her birthday, but this development demanded it. She sat down at the kitchen table and lit up, savoring the first puff as it seared her nostrils. The soothing rush of nicotine flooded her brain.
Like everyone else on the island, she knew Jane's late husband had been obscenely wealthy. So why would she need blackmail money? Perhaps he hadn't left her enough to subsidize her decadent son-in-law-shagging lifestyle. Mimi exhaled and a cloud of smoke curled around her.
Unless this wasn't about money at all. Perhaps she had hurt Jane's feelings by consistently rejecting her social advances over the years? There had been suggestions of coffee or a cooking class, and she could faintly remember Jane once inviting her over for a luncheon. But the woman was a frivolous ding-a-ling whose cord didn't reach the outlet, so she always declined. They lived in different worlds. Had her curt "no, thank yous" driven Jane to exact revenge? No, that made no sense. What social capital could Jane Ireland possibly acquire from her? She was just an ordinary seventy-seven-year-old woman.
The grandfather clock chimed, startling her from her thoughts. It was ten p.m. After going about her bedtime routine in a daze, she slipped between the cool bedsheets and stared at the ceiling. Soft rain pattered on the leaves outside as a deep ache settled in her chest. Over the last twenty-three years, she had built a life for herself on Mackinac and settled into the comfort of her daily routines. Now those foundations could crumble. She was living minutes away from a blackmailer. Perhaps she would have to sell her beloved home.
She lay awake for hours unspooling her thoughts. Finally, anger steamrolled over her fears, and a decision clicked into place. She would go to Jane's wretched little party and bid at the auction. And then she would take the same approach she'd taken her whole life whenever she encountered a bully: clear-eyed confrontation. Listen to me, you succubus cow. Who the hell do you think you are? Yes, that sounded good. Did Amazon sell bulletproof vests?
Mimi rolled over on her side. She relaxed and closed her eyes. But could she handle this all by herself? Attending this swindler's shindig alone was a paralyzing thought. Her eyes fluttered open.
Should she bring Addie? Her granddaughter loved the intricate work of solving a problem. Addie's brilliant mind thrived on this kind of stuff. If only they hadn't had that terrible fight last Thanksgiving. Despite feeling guilty about it, Mimi hadn't made an effort to clear the air, and they had only exchanged a few perfunctory emails since.
Who was she kidding, anyway? She'd have to tell Addie about all this at some point. She was her only living descendant and the beneficiary of her will. What would happen if she died suddenly? Or if Jane contacted her again? Would Addie just show up one day to clear out her house and discover a stack of unopened blackmail correspondence? No dusty old box of wartime love letters in the attic for her to find, just the remnants of an extortion plot against Grandma. Knowing Addie, she'd use it as material to spice up the eulogy.
She would call her in the morning. No, a call was too easy to ignore. What if it went to voicemail? She couldn't leave a message. She didn't trust her voice to sound okay. An email would be better.
She could not do this alone.
...
