Page 55 of Willowbrooke
“None of it’s true—that’s the first thing you need to know,” William stated. “You can choose to believe me or not, but I love my wife and have never stepped out on her. I haven’t seen Julie Sullivan since your father’s funeral, and Icertainly have never physically harmed a single person in my entire life.” He was resolute, but sounded exasperated.
“How do you think the evidence was found at her home?” Leo asked.
William shrugged. “I can only assume I’m being set up.”
“Why would someone want to do this to you—who would do this to you?”
William closed his eyes and took a deep breath. “I don’t know—I’m sure I’ve crossed people over business, but none that I would suspect would try to so thoroughly ruin my life like this.” He began to pick apart his croissant, leaving flakes scattered across the plate as he went.
“How can I help you? How can I make this right?” Leo clearly felt responsible for what was happening to William. But it wasn’t his fault, it was the person or persons behind everything—they had made the decision to hurt people, not Leo.
“You’ve done what you can, son.” William clapped a palm over Leo’s shoulder. “You didn’t have to come the other night, but you did. I won’t soon forget your loyalty.”
“I’m afraid I have more questions, but they’re not exactly about what happened to Julie,” Leo said slowly. I knew Leo was wary about bringing up what he and I had been investigating, but if he didn’t ask now, we might not get another chance.
“You want to know about Christine…” William sighed, knowing it was bound to come up sooner than later.
“We’ve been poking around after learning some things…” Leo was cryptic.
“What things exactly?”
Leo glanced at me, silently asking permission to mention the diary. I nodded subtly.
“Penny found my mom’s journal, and it had entries from the months before her death,” Leo revealed.
William raised a brow, genuinely surprised. “What did it say?”
“She wasn’t suicidal,” I replied.
William turned his attention to me.
“No, I don’t suppose she was,” William agreed.
“Why did you and Dad let me believe that my whole life, then?” Leo’s tone betrayed his anger.
“Because the alternative would have been worse—to tell you that George suspected she had been murdered and that the police had done nothing. How would that have made anything better?”
“At least it would have been the truth,” Leo growled scornfully.
William took another sip of his coffee. “Neither of us wanted to lie to you—in truth, I think George hoped he’d solve it on his own and then be able to tell you everything, but the longer it took—the colder the case grew…he just decided it would be better to let you believe the official story.”
“Do you recognize this symbol?” Leo grabbed a memo pad and pen from the entryway table and drew the overlappingW and M.
“No.” William shook his head. “Should I?”
Leo looked at me, brow furrowed. “Aunt Margot said you used to draw it, that it was your initials.”
William looked at it again. “Maybe when I was a child—I grew up with George and Margot—honestly, I don’t remember it.” He seemed bewildered by the monogram, but he hadn’t adamantly denied it was his.
“Tell me more about Dad’s investigation,” Leo demanded, though I didn’t think he’d meant to.
“I’ll do you one better, I’ll show you.” William rose from the barstool. “Follow me.” He motioned, when Leo and I merely stared at him without moving.
Leo grabbed my hand as he passed me, squeezing it gently to reassure me as we trailed behind William.
When I hesitated as William opened the door to the basement, Leo turned back. “You don’t have to.” He knew I hated it down there.
“No, I’ll go.” I swallowed hard.
