Chain of Vengeance: Chapter Four - Part Ten

SAN FRANCISCO

 

 

“If we want the money,” says Ruben, her brother, “we have to go and see him.”

Night in Molly’s memory.

“Come on,” he says. “He’s a thousand times richer than we are. You read the article. His will has it going to our uncle’s family in England.”

She stares out the window, through her own silhouette reflection in the glass. Across the slope of the garden the drive cuts back and forth before it reaches the gates. Ruben’s voice from behind her says, “If we don’t act soon then it will be too late. We have to go and see him; get in his good books; or we won’t get a cent.” Ruben puts his hand on her shoulder.

Without turning she says, “I’ll come.”

Molly looked up, startled. The six month old memories incinerated.

Gaston was right next to her on the wide rim of the fountain, smiling in the sunshine. His smile was huge, lips closed, but creases at the sides of his mouth reaching up to his eyes. His wheat-coloured hair was thin and ruffled, his eyes grey and full of warmth. The lilies on the surface of the fountain drifted only as far as their stems would let them. Birds laughed and sang in the trees that circled the fountain. The sun was shining.

“God, Gaston; you scared the crap out of me!”

“You look so good when you’re frightened I couldn’t resist,” he said, French accent clear and undisguised. He leaned in to kiss one cheek then the other. Molly blushed as always when Gaston said stupid things he didn’t mean.

“How are you doing anyway?”

“Fine thank you Molly, though sad that we won’t be seeing each other again for a long time.”

“Yeah.” She nodded, feeling sadder suddenly herself than she’d expected to.

“You can come and visit little Celine and me in France though, if you’d like,” he said. “We’d be glad to have you. And I’ll be back to check if you’re translating my book correctly in a few months.”

“I’m hoping the threat of that will motivate me.”

Molly stared into the fountain water, through the surface reflection and down into the bottom. The cracked tiles were sprayed with wishes: tiny coins black against the pale green surface. “Money’s a crazy thing isn’t it?” she said.

“Hmmm?” Gaston was looking up at the sky.  

“It has a morality all its own... infecting people who come too close.”

“Depends,” replied Gaston. “Money never did much for me.”

“Isn’t that why you’re writing your book?”

“Not at all. It’s an intellectual exercise.”

“But such an offbeat subject.”

“What is offbeat about a travelling serial killer?”

Molly giggled. “Why nothing at all.”

“Why are you concerned about money now?”

She frowned. “I’ve been thinking about my father’s estate.”

“Angry that you aren’t getting any?”

Her frown deepened its crease. “Yes. Especially after...”

“What?”

She looked at him. “My brother Ruben tried to convince me to go and make peace with my father so that we could get his money when he died.”

Gaston listened to her attentively. When she stopped he paused, waiting for her to continue. When she didn’t he inhaled deeply. “This reminds me of something from my research,” he said,

“Oh?”

“It’s not in my book… Of the incidents I’ve attributed to my fictional killer, it really wasn’t one that could be shown to be a definite. A woman hated her father, just as you hated yours and when he died suddenly she began to suspect that a friend of hers (my killer) had taken pity on her sorrow and eliminated the cause. Just like that.” He clicked his fingers and laughed. “Easy. Never got caught. Never proved anything.”

It was remarkable how deeply into her stride Molly was taking all this talk. In the months since he had approached her to translate his semi-fictional book into English for the American market, the revulsion she had once had at mention of those things barely registered anymore. It was slightly worrying.

“How could anyone do it all those years Gaston?” asked Molly. “How could someone kill all those people and it not eat away at them?”

Gaston glanced at his watch. “I’m going to have to tell you another time mon cher. When I arranged to meet you I didn’t take into account the time it would take to check in at the airport. I have to go.” He reached forward and kissed her cheek once more. She liked the stubble against her skin. The sun was in her eyes as she looked up at him when he stood. “Goodbye Molly,” he said, “And do me a favour.”

“What?”

He turned to go. “Forget your father. He’s dead. And there’s nothing you can do now to get that money. It’s gone.”