“You’re not Cordelia’s cousin, are you?” I said aloud.
She looked up and frowned slightly. Dr. Ffollett made a little squeaking noise, but we both ignored him.
“You’re Cordelia, aren’t you?” I said. “You’re my grandmother.”
“Took you long enough,” Annabel—or, rather, Cordelia—said, with a slight chuckle.
Chapter 27
I just stared, and she sat there, smiling slightly, her head cocked to one side expectantly. But what was she expecting? A hug from her long-lost granddaughter? A rebuke for having kept me in the dark so long? A volley of recriminations? I wasn’t sure myself which was most appropriate. All the anger, sadness, and sheer bafflement I’d been dealing with since Stanley had told us his news boiled up and again it was a while before I trusted myself to speak.
I tried to keep my face from showing how I felt, but I suspected Cordelia could tell. Just as I could tell that she was faking her calm, smiling expression.
“Why?” I asked when I finally thought I could manage a calm voice.
“So many possible whys,” she said. “Which one do you want me to start with?”
I wanted to start with “Why the hell didn’t you ever try to get in touch with us?” but I didn’t think it would make for a very good start to our suddenly redefined relationship. “And how could you do this to your own son?” was even worse. I’d decided now how I felt toward Cordelia. Mad as hell. Probably a feeling I should grapple with in silence, rather than lashing out and spoiling things forever.
“Let’s start with why you were pretending to be dead.” That seemed safe.
I could tell from Cordelia’s expression that she was relieved to start with such a relatively neutral question.
“Weaver didn’t hate poor Annabel,” she said. “He hated me. I didn’t realize he hated me enough to kill me, or I’d have taken precautions. But standing over her body, I knew I was in danger. At least I thought I was. And I also thought if he figured out I was still alive, he’d try again, and I wouldn’t even have Annabel as a witness.”
“I assume you got Dr. Ffollett to switch your dental records,” I said. “So they’d think she was you.”
“I did nothing of the kind!” Dr. Ffollett snapped. “They didn’t identify her body from her dental records. They identified her—misidentified her—from her partial plate.”
“I’m sorry, but isn’t that more or less the same thing?” I asked.
“No! It is very definitely not the same thing!” he exclaimed. And then seeing my puzzlement, he elaborated. “In some states dentists are legally required to mark any removable prosthetic or orthodontic device with the name or social security number of the patient to whom it belongs. And even in states where it isn’t required, it’s a responsible thing for a dentist to do. I’ve always done it.”
“And Dr. Ffollett has been the family dentist for years,” Cordelia added. “He’d made partial plates for both of us.”
“With their proper names on them,” Dr. Ffollett muttered.
His indignation amused me, and I had to work to keep from smiling or even giggling. I glanced toward Cordelia and realized she was doing the same thing. A little of the anger I’d been feeling toward her fell away.
“So the police found Cordelia’s partial plate with Annabel’s body and assumed they’d found Cordelia.” I turned to Cordelia. “I don’t suppose Annabel really went out to the shed wearing your partial plate by mistake, now did she?”
“She didn’t,” Cordelia said. “I put it there.” And then, seeing from my face that I wasn’t satisfied with the answer, she went on. “Here’s what happened. Just the way I told you before, except it wasn’t me who went out to turn off the generator. I was feeling poorly. Bad head cold. I suggested we just leave it on for the night, but Annabel said don’t be silly, she could do it. She knew how—she just didn’t like doing it much, and most nights I didn’t mind. She was already ready for bed—had her plate soaking in the bathroom—so she just put on her bathrobe and ran out to the shed. I wasn’t lying about keeping an eye on her. She wasn’t as sturdy as me. She went behind the shed, the generator stopped—and then less than a minute later the flames shot up. I knew right away the fire wasn’t an accident. I went out there and saw … saw…”
She closed her eyes and swallowed. Then she set her jaw and opened them again, with a fierce expression. A little more of my anger faded.