Chapter 4 - The Alibi Shatters
By eleven that morning, the rumble of Luke’s Ford F-150 shook the front windowpanes. He didn't even turn off the ignition before leaping out of the cab, his desert-camo uniform wrinkled from the frantic four-hour drive from Wisconsin. When he walked through the front door, he didn't say a word. He just pulled me and Arlo into his massive chest, his arms trembling as he buried his face in my hair.
""I’m sorry,"" he whispered against my neck. ""I should have never left you here. I thought your own mother would protect you.""
""She protected her favorite,"" I said, leaning my weight against his solid frame. ""That’s all she’s ever done.""
Within forty-five minutes, Luke had cleared every single item belonging to me and Arlo out of the guest room. Clothes, diapers, the bassinet, the stroller—all packed securely under the weatherproof tarp in the truck bed. We were moving into our own small bungalow on the north side of town, a home we had closed on just before Arlo was born but hadn't fully furnished yet. It didn't matter if we slept on an air mattress on the floor; I would never spend another second under Beverly Dunleavy's roof.
As Luke was loading the final diaper tote, a silver Lexus SUV screeched into the driveway, blocking his truck.
Beverly stepped out, looking exhausted, disheveled, and completely unhinged. Her designer blouse was wrinkled, and her hair was pulled back into a messy, frantic bun. Following behind her was Arthur Ross, the sleazy family estate attorney who had handled my father's meager affairs.
""Where do you think you’re going?"" Beverly shrieked, marching toward the front steps. ""Luke, put those bags down! Marisa is in no mental condition to travel with that child!""
Luke stepped between my mother and the porch stairs, his broad shoulders blocking the doorway entirely. He stood at six-foot-two, his military bearing making Beverly look like an annoying insect.
""Mrs. Dunleavy,"" Luke said, his voice terrifyingly calm. ""If you take one more step toward my wife, I will consider it domestic harassment and physically remove you from this walkway. Move your vehicle.""
""This is my house!"" Beverly screamed. ""And that girl inside has ruined this family! Arthur, tell them! Tell them what the prosecutor said!""
Arthur Ross adjusted his gold-rimmed glasses, clearly uncomfortable being dragged into the front yard brawl. ""Marisa... look, things are very complicated down at the county jail. Kenzie was given a blood-alcohol test. She blew a 0.14 four hours after the collision. The state's attorney is filing aggravated DUI resulting in great bodily harm. Bail has been set at two hundred and fifty thousand dollars.""
""Good,"" I called out from behind Luke. ""She almost killed a child.""
""She didn't know!"" Beverly wailed, tears finally streaming down her face—real tears this time, born of pure panic. ""She was frightened! She panicked! If she is convicted of a felony, her nursing career is dead! She'll spend ten years in Logan Correctional Center! Marisa, you have to tell them you made a mistake! You have to tell them you lent her the car and you told her she was fine to drive!""
""She wants me to commit perjury,"" I said to Ross. ""Is that what you’re advising your client to ask of me, Mr. Ross? While you're at it, why don't you explain why my father's Adams Street commercial property was listed under Kenzie's single-member LLC three weeks ago without my signature?""
Ross’s face instantly drained of color. He looked from me to Beverly, his mouth opening and closing like a landed trout. ""I... that was an administrative filing pending probate distribution—""
""I found the handwritten notes on the kitchen island, Arthur,"" I said, holding up my phone where the photograph of Beverly's yellow legal pad was crystal clear. ""I’ve already forwarded this to Detective Miller. And I’ve hired a probate litigator from Chicago. If you don't step aside and let my husband move our truck, you will be named as a co-conspirator in an elder financial fraud and identity theft complaint before three o'clock today.""
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Ross took half a step backward, raising his hands in surrender. ""Beverly... I cannot represent you in this matter. We have a clear conflict of interest. Move your car.""
""Arthur! You coward!"" Beverly screamed. But Ross was already walking back to his sedan, ignoring her completely.
