They needed an alibi.
A perfect alibi.
Grant’s devoted mother, who loved his wife’s family enough to sacrifice her own comfort to help care for an unconscious woman.
Who better to vouch for their dedication and grief when I finally succumbed to my injuries?
I felt nauseous.
All those times Grant called me over the past few months, asking how I was doing, if I needed anything.
I thought he was finally growing closer to me.
“He was keeping tabs on you, making sure you were stable, reliable, and completely unsuspecting.”
Maryanne’s voice was gentle, but unflinching.
“I’m sorry, Lorine, but your son has been manipulating you just as much as he’s been manipulating everyone else.”
The last piece of hope I’d been clinging to shattered.
Grant didn’t need me.
He didn’t love me.
He was using me as an unwitting accomplice in murder.
“What are we going to do?” I whispered.
Maryanne gripped my hand again, her eyes blazing with a fierce determination I hadn’t expected.
“We’re going to beat them at their own game.”
Over the next several hours, Maryanne told me things that made my blood run cold.
We spoke in whispers, even though we were alone, as if the walls themselves might betray our conversation to Grant and Amily.
“The first time I realized something was wrong was about 4 months ago,” Maryanne began, her voice growing stronger as she shared her story. “I was starting to feel more like myself after the accident. The physical therapy was helping and I was beginning to remember things more clearly. That’s when Emily started suggesting to the doctors that I was having episodes.”
“What kind of episodes?”
“According to her, I would become violent when she tried to help me with basic tasks. She said I didn’t recognize her, that I would scream and try to hit her. She even showed up to one doctor’s appointment with scratches on her arms.”
Maryanne’s voice was filled with disgust.
“Scratches she gave herself.”
I felt sick imagining the performance Ameli must have put on.
“And the doctors believed her?”
“Why wouldn’t they? She was the devoted daughter, exhausted from caring for a traumatized mother. She would cry during the appointments, talking about how heartbreaking it was to see me so confused and angry. She even brought Grant to one visit to confirm her stories.”
“What did Grant say?”
Maryanne’s expression hardened.
“He played his part perfectly. Talked about how difficult it was for Amily, how worried he was about her mental health from the stress of caring for me. He suggested that perhaps medication could help calm my aggression so that Amaly could provide better care.”
The calculated nature of their deception was stunning.
“So, the doctors prescribed sedatives at first?”
“Yes, mild ones. But Amaly kept reporting that they weren’t working. She said I was getting worse, more violent, more confused. Each visit, she painted a picture of a woman descending further into madness.”
Maryanne paused, closing her eyes as if the memory was painful.
“The doctors started prescribing stronger medications, and that’s when Amily began preparing her own injections.”
“What do you mean?”
“She would show the doctors the prescription bottles, let them see that she was following their instructions, but she was also adding her own concoctions, drugs she was somehow getting elsewhere.”
Maryanne’s voice dropped.
“I think she has connections from her previous job.”
“Previous job?”
“She used to work at a rehabilitation facility for elderly patients. She was fired about 5 years ago, though Grant never told me why. I found out later from a mutual friend that there had been some kind of investigation involving patient medications, but nothing was ever proven.”
The pieces were falling into place, creating a picture so dark I could barely comprehend it.
“She’s done this before.”
“I think so. And I think that’s how she and Grant met. Not at the coffee shop like they told everyone, but through some connection related to her work with vulnerable elderly patients.”
Maryanne shifted uncomfortably in the bed.
“Grant has always been drawn to easy money, even as a teenager. Remember when he got in trouble for selling fake IDs in high school?”
I did remember, though I’d tried to forget.
Grant had been suspended for 2 weeks, and I’d spent hours at the school principal’s office making excuses for his behavior.
“I thought he’d outgrown that phase.”
“He didn’t outgrow anything. He just got better at hiding it.”
Maryanne’s voice was filled with a sadness that went beyond her own situation.
“Lorine, I need you to understand something. This isn’t just about money for them. They enjoy it. The control, the deception, the power they have over someone helpless.”
“What do you mean?”
“Sometimes when they think I’m completely unconscious, they talk to me anyway. Amaly will lean over my bed and whisper things about how pathetic I am, how no one will miss me when I’m gone. Grant talks about all the things they’ll buy with my money, the trips they’ll take.”
Maryanne’s voice trembled slightly.
“They’ve turned my suffering into entertainment.”
I felt rage building in my chest, hot and fierce.
“Those monsters.”
“Last week when they thought I was deeply sedated, I heard them discussing timeline. They want to wrap this up before the holidays because they’ve already booked a cruise to the Mediterranean. They’re using my money to pay for it and they want me dead so they can enjoy it without worry.”
A cruise.
The casual nature of it, the way they were planning to celebrate her murder made me feel physically ill.
“$15,000 for a month-long luxury cruise. They’ve already put down a deposit.”
Maryanne looked directly at me.
“They’re planning to be grieving family members who need time to heal from their tragic loss.”
The audacity was breathtaking.
“How do you know all these details?”
“Because they’re not as careful as they think they are. When you believe someone is unconscious, you stop monitoring how loudly you speak. And when you’re excited about your schemes, you tend to share details.”