Page 75 of Behind These Four Walls
Isla slipped the recorder back in the bag that had held it for the past ten years.
Rey said, “Take it to the cops, of course! Shit. This is murder. Cold-blooded killers. The recording proves Jackson is the last person to have seen Eden before she disappeared.”
Nat said, “The recording proves he found the recorder, not that he did anything to her.”
“You need to get him before he gets you when he realizes the recorder is missing and comes after you.”
All these years of guilt. All the not knowing. Victor’s hope that Eden was still out there living her best life, rebelling against him, punishing him.
One day, Isla, I’m going to bring my girl home.
“I can’t take it to the cops yet,” Isla said. If she handed it over now, they might never find Eden’s body.
“But there is no telling if you can get Jackson or whoever to say where she is,” Rey rationalized. “This is beyond you now. It’s cold-blooded murder. Call the detective.”
Nat agreed. “Right, all Jackson has to say is that he found the recorder, and he’ll admit to taking the car to protect Bennett and his friends.”
Isla said, “That’s why I have to wait until the reception, when their guard is down. It’s the right setting where they can’t take cover or escape. I think whoever knows where she is will make a move to tie up loose ends once I play the recording, and it could mean making sure the truth about her disappearance never comes out. I just need to make sure I’m there to see it.”
Isla ended the call and stayed in her room, thinking of all her options. She looked at the notes she’d taken during the interviews she’d conducted. She could write the article, not that anyone was pressuring her after the incidents that had happened to her these few weeks. She couldn’t concentrate on a fake article. She couldn’t do much else either. She was on edge, feeling more anxious as the clock ticked. She could just go to Detective Bowen and be done with it. But she couldn’t bear to put Eden’s recording in anyone else’s hands before she had a chance to face the Corrigans and see which among them was the one. With the reception only two days away, Isla was on borrowed time.
Eventually, Jackson would realize the recording was gone and would assume that the person who had taken it had seen the revised will. Jackson’s patience, his having waited thirty years to steal Victor’s company, was remarkable. Isla was so consumed by preparing for the perfect moment to expose the three of them, Jackson, Brooke, and Bennett, that she didn’t notice much else until there was a knock at her room back at the estate.
“Brooke’s asked you to join them at the house. They’re having drinks in the sitting room,” Mae announced when Isla opened her room door. Mae did a double take. “You look horrible. Is it because of the accident? A relapse?”
“Did she say why?” Isla asked, touching her tousled hair, ashamed to be seen this way. “I’d rather pass. I don’t feel well.”
“She insists,” Mae said firmly, like she didn’t want to be the enforcer. “There’s a guest she wants you to meet who she feels will be a great addition to the article you’re writing on Mr. Corrigan.”
“Guest?” Isla repeated. “Who?”
Mae shrugged. “I just relay the messages. Come at five.”
Chapter Fifty-Eight
When Isla arrived at the main house, she was led to one of the sitting rooms beneath a glittering crystal chandelier. She acknowledged everyone as they filtered in. Myles sent her a questioning look to ask if she knew what was going on. She shook her head that she didn’t.
Victor was in an uncharacteristically good mood, even looking forward to the upcoming reception. Isla tried shaking off her growing unease at the unknown and her irritation at being summoned. Bennett acted as if she didn’t exist but looked lackluster. Jackson was already there, forgoing his stick of gum for the scotch Dixon offered him. He and Isla made eye contact, and Isla thought she saw something in his gaze. Anticipation.
Brooke entered, unusually cheerful and more done up than usual. Her smile stretched widely, her laugh boisterous and loud over nothing funny. Jackson checked his watch.
“What’s this all about?” Victor asked, accepting his drink and choosing one of the armchairs. He crossed one leg over the other. “You’ve gathered us together like in a whodunit.”
Brooke’s laughter carried throughout the room. To Isla, it sounded threatening. Inside her pocket, Isla’s phone buzzed. She ignored it, making casual conversation with the others and observing the wayJackson kept checking his watch as he sipped his scotch while Brooke glanced expectantly at the door as if waiting for someone.
Mae stepped into the room a few minutes later, her expression unreadable.
“Mrs. Corrigan, the guest you were expecting has arrived,” she said stiffly. “Should I show her in?”
Brooke nodded. Her eyes sparkled as she headed toward Mae, eager to receive whoever was there. Isla’s heart leaped when she heardshe, and for a brief moment she had a glimmer of hope. Eden.
Except it wasn’t Eden, Isla realized when Charli Galveston sidestepped Mae, not waiting to be announced. She went straight for Brooke, and the two women hugged like they were long-lost friends. Isla was too busy contending with her surge of confusion and disappointment that the person wasn’t Eden returned that she couldn’t feel what she should have, dread and fear. Dressed in a body-hugging dress that accentuated all her curves, Charli looked every bit the wild showgirl she had been when Isla had first met her in Atlanta. Her shrewd eyes bounced from person to person. She took a deep inhale of the room, the people, and the wealth surrounding her. Her smile grew. She had hit pay dirt.
“My God! That thing in the floor in your foyer,” Charli gushed, referring to the same mosaic that Isla had been in awe of. “I’ve never seen something like that before. How much did it cost? Wait, is that rude of me to ask?” Her smile grew and her body language said more as she took in every man in the room. Even bland-looking Dixon wasn’t spared a hungry look. All Charli saw was dollar signs.
All Isla saw was the axe swinging at her neck.
It was all over for her.