The Key

Chapter Six

Hillary Lockard, kicking off her Chanel black patten leather shoes and laid on her oversized bed, in her oversized bedroom, in her oversized house....alone. She was hated by thousands loved by......one......herself. She in her black Chanel funeral suit.

Her favorite conversation was with herself.

"To think that little gold-digger wanted my Walt. My little boy. For shame she survived that car accident."

Then she smiled wickedly. "Everything comes to those who wait, patiently. The end-result is what I wanted anyway. No matter how it happened."

Playing with the long string of Tahitian pearls around her neck staring up at her oversized custom made Lalique crystal chandelier hanging high above her bed, made by Lalique himself. She laughed, nothing was beyond her reach, not even a designer chandelier by the designer himself.

"She thought that she could fool me! Ha! Walt will marry who I want, when I want. He can either do so willingly or I will make him think that it is his choice. I had to get rid of those girls in South Carolina. What if one of them got pregnant. That would have exacerbated the entire problem. Necessity called. The newspaper man was easy to get rid of. Money greedy people are so easy. I'm so happy that I am not like that."

She started laughing like a mad woman, like the mad woman that she was.

"Chloé Lester," she spat, "Lester what kind of a name is that? English? Working class? How disgusting."

Laughing again.

A knock at the door disturbed her one-person-party.

"Yes!" She shouted annoyed.

"Excuse! Señora ......your tea." Said the nervous Mexican maid.

"Yes, come in Maria." Responding annoyed. She couldn't stand them. 'Can't even speak English properly.' She thought while she waved the maid to the table to set down the tray.

"My a name is a Rosa.....Señora." The maid reminded her for the one-hundredth time of her name.

"Yes, yes, whatever." Hillary brush her away like an annoying fly.

The maid put the tray down and backed out of the room nervously half bowing as she went and clicked the door closed behind her, breathing easy in the dark cool hallway.

She hated Señora Hillary but she needed the job.

"The nerve of that blue-collar-worker going to South Carolina to investigate my Walt. The nerve. I had no choice. I did what I had to do. No, I did what I wanted to do. Shame the accident didn't kill her."

•••••

Walt moved around in a fog. Hating his mother's meddling and following him. Wait a minute! He was no different, the thought just occurred to him. He followed Chloé.....everywhere.....to Panama....to South Carolina.....even at her house. First speeding away like a schoolboy after kissing Cassandra, then decided to go back and fight for her.

Watching her and Richard holding hands and kissing in the garden was too much for him to bear. When she fainted and her wrap fell to the ground he found himself obsessively going to grab it and pressed his entire face against it taking in the aroma and aura of Chloé. Then he placed it back on the ground where it had fallen. His thoughts made his facial expression look sickening. Almost murderous. 'I loved her. But I wanted her dead too.' He thought. There's a fine line between love and hate and Walt's was faded to nothing. Both emotions, love and hate, come from the same place - the heart. Then out loud to no one between clenched teeth, "No one, and I mean, absolutely no one, leaves me without permission." Then his thoughts went to Cassandra. 'My she looked beautiful and vulnerable at the funeral.' He loved women that needed something. He convinced himself that they needed him. "I didn't want them to hit Richard. I just wanted them to bring him to me to scare him. I just wanted him to stay away from Chloé. Idiots. That threatening letter sent to the gallery didn't do the trick." Walt thought and thought, 'Who killed Chloé? Someone killed her. Who could it be?'