Carys Jones - Third To Die

Opening a drawer in his desk, Clyde pulled out some fashionable reading glasses. Aiden didn’t remember him needing them before. He watched the older man as he scrutinized the paperwork.

“You just need to highlight what needs amending,” Aiden prompted him. “Or I can help you with it, if you like?”

Clyde sighed and placed the paper he was holding flat on his desk and looked squarely at Aiden.

“Says here I’m leaving everything to Brandon. Guess that needs to change.”

Aiden coughed awkwardly.

“I’ve been meaning to update this for ages,” Clyde continued. “Kept putting it off. Felt too painful, too final.”

The pain Aiden had originally seen in Clyde White over his son’s death still existed behind his eyes, infecting his whole demeanour so that he physically wilted when he spoke about his son.

“I’m sorry this is difficult for you,” Aiden offered kindly.

“No, you’re not,” Clyde replied bluntly. “You thought my son was a monster. You did everything you could to destroy the legacy he had here in this town.”

“That wasn’t my intention,” Aiden quickly corrected him. “I was just searching for the truth.”

“And now a man of God sits rotting in prison,” Clyde sighed, referring to the real killer of his son, Father West, the man who had almost let Brandy take the fall for a crime she didn’t commit, had Aiden not intervened.

“No jury in the land is ever going to convict him.”

Aiden was silent. He knew better than to overly engage with Clyde regarding what happened with Brandy’s murder trial.

“I suppose you think I should leave everything to her,” Clyde asked heatedly. “She is, after all, my son’s widow.”

“Whoever you state as your benefactor is completely up to you.”

“She doesn’t deserve a dime,” Clyde seethed as his eyes misted behind the lenses of his glasses.

“Perhaps you want some time to think it over,” Aiden suggested helpfully. “I could leave these here and collect them at a later date.”

“No need,” Clyde raised his palm to Aiden and with his other hand picked up a pen and swiftly began amending the document before him.

“I know who I need to make my will out to,” he explained.

“Oh,” Aiden tried to not sound surprised. “Good.”

Once Clyde was done writing, he slid the piece of paper back to Aiden.

“Everything in order?” Clyde asked.

Aiden glanced over the paperwork and felt his body stiffen in shock when he saw that Clyde was now leaving his entire estate to Edmond Copes’ next of kin.

“You look surprised,” Clyde smirked slightly as he spoke.

“I didn’t realize you and Edmond were so close,” Aiden admitted.

“Edmond Copes is a good man,” Clyde declared sincerely. “Terrible thing what’s happening to him. I’ve no family left of my own to have to support so the least I can do for him is to help his loved ones after we’re both gone.”

“What terrible thing?” Aiden asked, leaning forward.

“Don’t tell me you don’t know?” Clyde looked delighted by Aiden’s obliviousness.

“Know what?”

“Edmond hasn’t been in work for several weeks now, correct?”

“That’s right, he’s off sick.”

Clyde shook his head slowly, a forlorn expression casting a shadow across his chiselled features. The line around his eyes seem to deepen as he looked across at Aiden.

“He’s not sick, Mr. Connelly. He’s dying.”

“What?” Aiden gripped the arms of the leather chair for support.

“Cancer. He was diagnosed at the start of the month but they caught it too late,” Clyde explained, his voice becoming brittle.

“Not many people know. He started chemotherapy last week and, well, it’s taken it out of him. The doctors aren’t hopeful for his prognosis.”

Aiden was speechless. Clyde White had to be wrong. There was no way that Edmond Copes was dying. When Aiden had last seen the old man a few weeks ago, he’d been his usual, jovial self, there was no indication at all that anything was wrong.

“You’re messing with me,” Aiden said tersely as he felt his hands start to shake. “Edmond is just sick, he’ll be fine. You’re just trying to get to me as you’re still bitter about everything that went down with Brandy.”

“Oh, I’m bitter,” Clyde confirmed. “I’ll never forgive you for trying to tarnish Brandon’s good name. But I can assure you that I’m not lying about Edmond and I’m affronted that you’d think I’d stoop so low as to make something like this up.”

Aiden used his shaking hand to wipe at his eyes.

“If Edmond was gravely ill he’d have told me,” he said with certainty.

“Would he?” Clyde countered, removing his glasses. “You’re Edmond’s beloved prodigy. I imagine he wanted to protect you from the ugliness of it all.”

Aiden stood up and put a hand to his temple. His head suddenly felt immensely heavy from all the questions it now contained.

“You’re wrong.” Aiden tried to remain composed as he picked up his briefcase and prepared to leave.

“I wish I was,” Clyde moved around from his desk to get the door. “Edmond is a good man, one of the best.”

“He’s not dying,” Aiden insisted.

“Make sure you get that processed,” Clyde said, referring to his amended will. “I told Edmond I’d get it done as soon as I could.”

“So you knew you’d be seeing me today?”

“Of course.”

Aiden sighed in frustration.

“If you’re lying about Edmond—”

“I’m not. I wouldn’t.”

“Do you think telling me this makes us even?”

Clyde chuckled slightly to himself.

“Of course not,” he clapped Aiden on the back as he pulled open the office door. “We’ll never be even.”

*

Aiden sat in his car holding Clyde’s amended will. He kept re-reading the new benefactor. Clyde was leaving everything to Edmond’s family. Surely that meant it was true, that Edmond was actually dying?

Punching the steering wheel Aiden tried to release his anguish. He wanted to scream, to cry, to run until his legs gave way beneath him, but instead he turned on the key in the ignition and pulled out of the parking lot. He knew he was due back at the office but that wasn’t where he was headed. He was going to see Edmond.

*

“Has anyone called for me?” Brandy enquired hopefully as she came down the central staircase of Chez Vous.

“No, honey,” her Aunt Carol shook her head and raised a perfectly styled eyebrow at her niece.

“You need to stop waiting on his call.”

“I’m not waiting on anyone’s call!” Brandy insisted, forcing herself to smile brightly and sound flippant.

“Uh-huh,” Carol rolled her eyes and pursed her lips knowingly.

“We’ve all been there,” Rhonda, a senior stylist, retorted from where she was standing nearby, styling a middle-aged woman’s hair.

“You need to stop waiting on him and move on!” As Rhonda spoke, she pointed her scissors at Brandy.

Brandy liked Rhonda. Like all the other women who worked at Chez Vous, she was stylish and oozed confidence. Brandy had never known women like them before. They were assertive and knew their own minds and didn’t let the men in their life own them. It was a far cry from the life she’d known growing up, where Brandy’s own mother favoured her current man over her own daughter.

“Chin up,” Carol placed her hand beneath Brandy’s dainty chin and physically pushed it upwards.

Brandy tucked a loose strand of long blonde hair behind her ear and turned to head back up to her next client. She paused briefly, a hand on the rail and looked back at her aunt, her deep-brown eyes wide with irrepressible hope.