“No. But that's different.”
“What's the difference?”
“Those are pictures, this is a car.”
“Only difference is dollar value, Carmen. They both belonged to your sister. If there's something you want, you should take it.”
“I would feel too weird wearing her clothes.”
“I agree,” Dominique said. “We should donate all of it to the church charity. But I don't think we need to donate all of Desireé's jewelry to Reverend Fredrickson's wife. “
“Or his girlfriend,” Carmen threw in. “Okay, I'll keep the car. Because to be honest with you, this bad boy does drive really smooth.”
“See, I did teach you common sense,” Dominique smiled at Carmen.
“Anyway. Thank you for coming with me, Dominique. I don't think I could have done it by myself.”
“Thank you for asking me. I asked Roland if he wanted me to do it after the funeral, but he refused. He got a little hostile about it.”
“I guess he wasn't ready to let go.”
“At the time, I thought that he was trying to hide something,” Dominique said and Carmen thought about the deleted word in the letter Desireé was writing her.
On her way back to her apartment, Carmen left another message for India, the woman that Desireé had gone out with the night before her murder, and left her cell phone number. It was getting late in the afternoon and it was looking like rain. Carmen still needed to shop if she planned to cook dinner for Marcus.
As she wandered around the grocery store picking up things she needed for the apartment, Carmen gave some thought to what she was going to cook. Something French so he'll know that I have mad cooking skills. Carmen had the butcher pick out a good size boneless pot roast, and asked him to slice four thin pieces of salt pork. Then she went down the produce aisle to pick up onions, carrots, bay leaf, thyme, and two potatoes. All she needed now was a can of tomato paste, and on to the checkout line. Then she went by the liquor store to get a bottle of red wine to serve with dinner, Côtes du Rhône, and a domestic Cabernet to cook with. Carmen also picked a bottle of Bacardi for the house and a bottle of Hennessy for Marcus.
When she got back to the house it was almost four o'clock. If she wanted the roast to be done by seven, she would have to get started. She changed into a pair of shorts and a big tee shirt and got busy in the kitchen. Carmen found the sharpest knife she could find and cut the potatoes into slices. Then she cut two carrots into one-inch pieces, and sliced two onions. With that done, Carmen looked for a big heavy pot and lined the bottom of the pot with the salt pork. She arranged the carrots, onions, threw in a pinch of thyme and one bay leaf over the salt pork, and placed the pot roast in the bed of vegetables. Carmen poured in two cups of the Cabernet, added a little salt and pepper, and covered the pot. Once it came to a slow broil, Carmen turned down the gas and left it to simmer for the next three hours.
With time on her hands before Marcus arrived, Carmen decided to set up her laptop in the den and read some more of the documents she'd downloaded from Desireé's computer. The first document she read was another letter that Desireé had written to her. Only this one was dated two years before she died.
FROM INSIDE THE SOUL OF DESIREÉ TAYLOR FERGUSON
Dear big Sis,
I don't know why I keep writing you these letters, seeing that I never mail any of them. That may have something to do with the fact that I never finish any of them. I may actually finish one, one day. But I wonder sometimes why you continue to write me, knowing that I never write you. But I'm glad you do write me. Getting letters and post cards from you from all over the world makes me feel like I'm right there with you. Now I know you're thinking, there goes Desireé, biting on my life again. Didn't she grow out of that years ago? Well, believe me I have, but the fact of the matter is, I would gladly trade my life for yours. But that would mean that you would have to have this life, and I wouldn't wish this life of lies I lead on anyone.
Today I contemplated suicide. DON'T CALL THE AIRLINE; I would never actually do it. I'm too much of a coward to take my own life. But now I think I understand why so many people consider it, and why some do it. I know you'll say, Dez, think about all the things you have to live for. Your friends and your family. You have everything you ever dreamed of, why do you want to die? Because I am not happy with my life. It is filled with disappointment and pain, because I don't have any control of it. So today I asked myself what was the point of life, if you can't live it the way you want to. And if I'm not living my life the way I want to, is that really living? I'm not really living; I'm just existing from day to day, waiting to die. So if that existence will only be filled with more disappointment and pain, then why wait to die. Bearing that pain, day after endless day, waiting to die. Why not die now, saving myself years of pain.
I thought that marrying rich was the answer to all my prayers, but it’s not. Maybe what I really wanted, all I ever dreamed of, was to be loved. I know Roland loves me, but I don't love him. I want to be loved by the person that I love. So I seek love in the arms of others like Robert, who only wants to use me, and never find the love I seek.
With her eyes welling up with tears, Carmen fanatically opened another document, looking for more letters to her. She opened document after document, looking for the words Hi big Sis, until the phone rang. Carmen composed herself enough to answer.
“Hello,” she said, still wiping the tears from her eyes.
“Carmen?”
“Yes.”
“This is India Carter; I'm returning your call.”
“Yes, India, thank you for calling me back. I'm Desireé Ferguson's sister.”
“I know who you are. Dez talked about you all the time. I've always wanted to meet you. But Dez could never get us together when you were in town. And now here you are calling me.”
“I was calling to see if you would talk to me about my sister.”
“I'd be glad to. When can we get together?”