Chapter 2 - The Feast of Judas
The following evening at 6:00 PM, I pulled my SUV up the long, tree-lined driveway of Vivian’s Lake Forest estate.
The house was illuminated with warm holiday lights. Snow fell gently onto the manicured lawn. To any outsider, this was the picture-perfect home of a grieving, dignified widow living out her quiet twilight years.
I adjusted my black wool coat, checked the hidden recording device concealed inside my diamond brooch, and stepped up to the front door.
I knocked.
Within seconds, the door swung open. Vivian stood there wearing an ivory cashmere sweater, a pearl necklace I had bought her for Mother’s Day, and a warm, maternal smile that made my stomach turn.
"Claire, my sweet girl!" Vivian gasped, opening her arms wide and pulling me into a tight embrace. She smelled of expensive lavender perfume and roasted herbs. "Look at you! You look so tired. Come in, come in out of the cold."
"Hi, Mom," I said smoothly, stepping into the heated foyer.
I looked around. The house was spotless. On the fireplace mantel hung three large framed photographs: one of Ethan as a boy, one of Ethan and me on our wedding day, and a large black-and-white portrait of Ethan with a black ribbon draped over the corner.
The arrogance was stunning. She kept a mourning photo of her living son on the mantel while he was staying at a resort forty miles away with his secret family.
"Dinner is almost ready," Vivian said, taking my coat and hanging it in the closet. "I made the pot roast just the way Ethan used to love it. I was thinking about him all afternoon, Claire. Five years... it feels like yesterday, doesn't it?"
She brought a hand to her eyes, dabbing at a non-existent tear.
I watched her performance with terrifying detachment.
"Yes, Mom," I said, walking toward the dining room table, which was meticulously set for two. "Five years is a long time for a ghost to stay buried."
Vivian paused, her hand hovering over a silver serving dish. She turned around, looking at me with a mild, questioning smile. "What did you say, dear?"
"I said the weather is freezing," I corrected seamlessly, sitting down at the head of the table. "How was your week, Mom? Did you do anything interesting?"
"Oh, you know me," Vivian sighed, pouring red wine into my crystal glass. "Just the usual. Bridge club with the ladies on Tuesday, and then I spent all day yesterday at home resting my bad knee. I barely left the living room."
Liar.
Yesterday at 3:00 PM, she was at O'Hare Airport kissing Ethan’s cheek. At 5:00 PM, she was at the Gurnee resort zipping up her grandson's jacket.
"Your knee must be feeling much better," I remarked, taking a small sip of wine. "Because I could have sworn I saw someone who looked just like you in Gurnee yesterday."
Vivian’s hand jerked slightly. A single drop of dark red wine spilled onto the pristine white tablecloth.
The silence in the dining room became heavy, suffocating.
May you like
Slowly, Vivian set the wine bottle down. Her eyes narrowed by a fraction of a millimeter. "Gurnee? Why would I be in Gurnee, Claire? You know I dislike driving on the highway."
"Of course," I smiled warmly, reaching into my handbag and pulling out a glossy 8x10 photograph. I slid it across the table, face down. "It's just that I saw a woman who looked so much like you... standing right next to a man who looked exactly like Ethan."
