“I met Merodie at Robert’s funeral,” Cilia continued. “I admit I disliked her immediately, and not just because she was so preternaturally beautiful. I detest weakness, and Merodie was weak—physically, mentally, emotionally. Like my brother, she was a drunk, although I don’t believe alcohol gripped her quite as tightly then as it would in later years. She told me about the pregnancy, told me that her parents had disowned her and barred her from her home. She begged for help. I gave it to her. Not because I felt sympathy for her, which I suppose is a failing on my part. I did it for the baby who probably would be the last of the St. Ana line—Lord knows I have no intention of ever marrying and having children.
“I gave Merodie money. I helped her hire an attorney so she could file suit against the bar where Robert became drunk the night he died. I arranged to pay for her hospital care when the child was delivered. A few months later, not long after Merodie herself had turned a mere sixteen, the child was born. Merodie’s labor was surprisingly quick and painless. Fifty-seven minutes. Exactly. She had barely made it to the hospital in time. The doctor said it was the smoothest delivery in which he had ever been involved. He said it was ‘smooth as silk,’ and thus Silk was christened.
“Afterward, I helped Merodie buy a house in Anoka,” Cilia went on. “I would check in on the two of them from time to time. Merodie soon spent all the money she earned in the lawsuit. She had become a fullblown alcoholic. Several times over the years I forced Merodie into treatment. Unfortunately, it never took. She’d go to two, perhaps three meetings and quit. I tried to intervene several times to protect Silk. Unfortunately, there was only so much I could do legally. Eventually, Merodie became involved with a man who abused her. I believe Eli Jefferson abused her as well. She seemed to attract that kind of man.
“One night that man passed out behind the wheel of Merodie’s car while it was parked inside her garage and died of carbon monoxide poisoning. The next day I took Silk home with me. She was four years old. Merodie, to her everlasting credit, never challenged this. Not once in twelve years. I believe she understood that Silk was better off with me. That’s my only explanation for her actions, or rather, I should say, her lack of action. In any case, I’ve been raising Silk ever since.”
“You’ve been paying Merodie fifty thousand dollars a year for the privilege of raising her daughter,” I said.
Cilia managed a smile. “It is a privilege,” she said. “I’d pay a great deal more, believe me. Would you care for more iced tea?”
“I’m not sure how it works,” I said, “but when your brother died, wouldn’t his daughter inherit his share of the St. Ana fortune?”
“My goodness, McKenzie, but you’re cynical.”
“Just asking.”
“My brother didn’t share in the estate. My father disinherited him shortly before he died. It wasn’t punishment. Father was merely afraid that Robert would ruin the company once he was gone. It was a fear I shared. In any case, it’s a moot question.”
“How so?”
“Because Silk will get everything. She became my heir the moment I first set eyes on her.”
“And Merodie?”
“I’ll always take care of Merodie.”
“Is that a privilege as well?”
“It is a small price to pay. Besides, over the years I have become rather fond of Merodie. Despite her many faults, she has a truly generous and caring soul.”
I pulled a notebook from my pocket. “The man who died in Merodie’s garage, what was his name?” I said.
Cilia closed her eyes, scrunched her face and said, “Becker? Yes, Becker. Something Becker. I can’t remember his first name. Sorry.”
I wrote “Becker” in my notebook.
“When did you last see Merodie?”
“A month ago.”
“You didn’t see her on August first?”
“When I delivered the check? No. I knocked on the front door, but no one answered. I went inside, called her name. No one answered. I left the check and departed. I was there for less than two minutes.”
“When did you arrive at Merodie’s house?”
“Early afternoon.”
“How early?”
“One thirty, two.”
“Huh.”
“What does ‘huh’ mean?” Cilia asked.
“A few minutes ago you didn’t remember when you delivered the check.”
“Times change.”
“What kind of car do you drive?” I asked.
“A Saab—an Aero sedan.”
“Not very sporty.”
“I like it.”
“What color?”
“Black.”
I studied Cilia for a moment. The time doesn’t match what Mollie Pratt told you, my inner voice reminded me. The vehicle—that’s a stretch, too. On the other hand, Cilia is probably lying.
“Did you see anything unusual?”
“Such as?”
“Such as a body lying on the living room floor.”
“I saw nothing amiss.”
I liked that word—amiss.
“Where did you leave the check?” I asked.
“On the table.”
I closed my notebook and thanked her for her time and the tea. Cilia seemed relieved that I had stopped asking questions. She escorted me back through her sumptuous home.
“Do you believe that anything I’ve told you might help Merodie?” she asked when we reached the front door.
“It’s hard to say.”
Cilia rested her hand on my wrist and stepped close enough to kiss me. It was not an intimate moment, yet I felt a thrill just the same.
She said, “I do not believe it would be to Silk’s advantage, especially at this point in her diving career, for her relationship with her mother to become common knowledge. However, having said that, I would very much like to help Merodie.”