Page 175 of The Housekeeper

Chapter Sixty-eight

“Wow,” I said,looking around the crowded bookstore. “Standing room only. Impressive.”

“Pretty amazing,” Tracy agreed.

“There must be over a hundred people here.”

“It’s a good book.”

“It is,” I agreed.

“Are you okay?” she asked. “You look a little nervous.”

“Just excited,” I told her. “I’m fine.”

And I was.

Almost two years have passed since the events of that July night. Two years of confusion and tears and change, some major, some momentous.

My father is dead, having succumbed to the ravages of pancreatic cancer five months ago. Even though some might say that he got what he deserved, I’m not sure I would wish that particular fate on anyone. He might have preferred a helpful push down a flight of stairs to the slow, painful exit he endured.

Before he went into hospice care at Princess Margaret Cancer Centre, he’d been living in a nursing home, the powers that be having declined to lay charges in the death of my mother, referencing his obviously confused mental state and a lack of any realevidence. As for Elyse, my father claimed to have acted in self-defense—insisting thatshewas the one who’d attackedhim—and indeed, all the “evidence” I’d been collecting over the past months seemed to support that claim, as did my earlier visit to police headquarters. Combined with my father’s age and suspect competence, it was decided that there would be little point in trying to prosecute him.

I’m not so sure I agree with that decision.

Old, yes. Confused, maybe. Incompetent, never.

They called me from the hospital the day he died to inform me that he likely wouldn’t last the night, and I went down and sat beside his bed. Tracy declined to accompany me, citing her well-known aversion to hospitals. I was neither surprised nor disappointed. I’m still not entirely sure whyIbothered going.

Except, of course, despite everything, the man was still my father.

So, maybe it was to give him one last chance to be one, to see him acknowledge my presence with a smile, to hear him say my name.

Jodi.

Of course he didn’t.

And again, I was neither disappointed nor surprised.

I still feel the occasional stab of guilt. I’m the one who brought Elyse into our lives, after all. Maybe if I hadn’t, things would have turned out very differently. My mother and Elyse might still be alive. My father wouldn’t be a murderer.

The day after he died, I quit my job at Dundas Real Estate. Our father’s will left Tracy and me financially independent, allowing me to take some much-needed time for myself, to decide what I really wanted to do. Which, it didn’t take me long to discover, involved going back to school to become an interior designer. Classes start in the fall. In the meantime, I’ve happily accepted my sister’s invitation to accompany her on a monthlong tour of Europe.

The kids will be spending the summer with their father inPrince Edward County. Yes, we’re divorced. The final nail in the coffin that contained our marriage was his reluctance to abandon his plans regarding Prince Edward County that summer. One moment of hesitation was all it took to convince me that our marriage was over and done.Maroon Skywas released last spring and was a modest critical and commercial success. Hopefully, it won’t be another decade before his next novel. But hey, it’s no longer my concern. He’s living with Wren now, and she’s welcome to him.

I know. It took me long enough.

As for Roger McAdams, aka Andrew Woodley, we tried contacting him after Elyse’s death, but he was nowhere to be found under either name. He simply vanished, along with his profile on Facebook, and nobody has heard from him since. Was he really Elyse’s son? Her accomplice? Maybe even her lover?

Who knows?

Who cares?

He’s gone.

“See anyone you know?” Tracy asked, surveying the ever-increasing crowd.

My eyes scanned the room. “Not a soul,” I said gratefully, checking my watch. “Almost seven o’clock.”