“Diane,” Mary said, her voice hoarse and painful. “You need… rest?—”
“I needed to see you,” Diane interrupted, rolling her wheelchair close to Mary’s bedside with purposeful movements. “Both of you. I needed to thank you for saving my life.”
Mary felt tears prick her eyes. Seeing Diane here, safe and free from Frank’s manipulation, made everything they’d gone through worth it. “No… thanks needed,” she said softly.
“No.” Diane’s voice was firm, brooking no argument. “You trusted your instincts. You investigated. You risked your life to stop him.” Tears spilled down her cheeks, and she made no move to wipe them away. “Frank—God, I still can’t believe it was Frank all along. He told you about Colin? About what really happened in Switzerland?”
Mary nodded carefully, mindful of her bruised neck. “He confessed… he was envious… of Colin’s life. He’d planned… the murder to look like an accident… switched IDs… then became Colin.”
The words hurt to say, each syllable scraping against her damaged throat, but Diane deserved to know. Deserved to understand what had been done to her, to Colin, to all of them.
“I feel like such a fool,” Diane said, her voice breaking in a way Mary had never heard before. “Colin was my nephew. I thought I was reconnecting with someone I loved, but all along I was living with the man who’d murdered him.”
“You’re not a fool,” Bert said firmly from his position beside Mary’s bed. “Frank was a practiced liar who’d spent years perfecting his role. He knew everything about Colin because they’d been best friends. He looked similar enough to pass. And he showed up at your door during a time of grief and emotional vulnerability. You had no reason to doubt him.”
Mary squeezed Diane’s hand, wanting to convey what her damaged voice couldn’t fully express. The older woman wasn’t to blame for any of this. Frank had been a predator, and Diane had been his victim. There was no shame in that.
“George suspected something,” Diane said, glancing at the investigator who stood quietly near the door. “My attorney sent him because the financial changes Colin… I mean Frank… was making decisions that didn’t make sense. But even George didn’t suspect Frank wasn’t actually Colin. He thought it was Colin taking advantage of his elderly aunt, not someone who’d committed murder to steal an identity.”
“The drugging made it harder,” George added, his voice gruff but kind. “You were confused, forgetful, not quite yourself. Classic signs of cognitive decline, or so Frank wanted everyone to believe. But really it was benzodiazepines keeping you compliant enough to sign documents but not alert enough to question what you were signing.”
Diane’s hands twisted in her lap. “I knew something was wrong. Deep down, I knew. But I kept telling myself I was getting old, that my memory wasn’t what it used to be, that Colin was just being helpful.” She looked at Mary with eyes that held both grief and gratitude. “You saved me from spending the rest of my life with a man who would have eventually killed me once he’d drained my accounts. You gave me back my life, Mary.” She looked at Bert. “Both of you.”
“They looked so much alike… I wondered if they… were half brothers,” Mary confessed.
Diane’s eyes widened as she nodded. “I can see why you might have thought that. But Catherine’s husband was devoted to her. He would never have strayed. And would have never turned his back on family.” She sighed heavily. “But you’re right about Frank being so much like Colin. He must have gleaned every ounce of Colin’s history to remember when he made the switch.”
George placed his hand on Diane’s shoulder, giving a little squeeze.
Mary’s hand found Bert’s automatically. She could still remember the relief that had flooded through her when Bert had thrown open that closet door. The certainty that she was safe, that Frank wouldn’t win, that Bert had come for her just like she’d known he would.
Diane reached out and took Mary’s free hand, her grip surprisingly strong. “Thank you. Both of you. I don’t have enough words to express what you’ve done for me. You’ve given me justice for Colin, safety from Frank, and the chance to live the rest of my life without fear.”
Mary felt tears slip down her cheeks, the emotional release of finally seeing Diane safe and aware and in control of her own life again.
“I’m taking Diane home,” George confirmed from his position by the door. “Back to Halifax, back to her own house with proper security in place. Her attorney is already working to reverse the financial transfers Frank made and recover as much of her money as possible. And the RCMP is working on their list of charges to file against Frank. I have no doubt it will include first-degree murder, identity theft, fraud, elder abuse, and attempted murder. He’s not getting out of prison for the rest of his life.”
“Good,” Mary said with fierce satisfaction, despite how much it hurt to speak.
Diane was quiet for a moment, her eyes distant with grief and memory. Mary could see the older woman processing the loss of the nephew she’d thought she’d reconnected with, the horror of learning he’d been murdered years ago, the violation of having his killer living in her home and controlling her life.
Diane squeezed Mary’s hand once more, then released it slowly, as if reluctant to break the connection. “I want you to come visit me. Both of you. When this is all over, when the legal proceedings are finished and you’ve had time to heal. Come to Halifax. Let me show you my home, introduce you to my friends, and thank you properly for everything you’ve done.”
Mary felt warmth bloom in her chest despite the pain. “We’d like that.”
“We would,” Bert agreed from beside her.
Diane leaned forward and held Mary’s eyes. “Thank you,” Diane whispered. “For seeing me. For believing me when I didn’t even believe myself. For being brave enough to fight for someone you barely knew.”
They pulled apart slowly, both women wiping tears. George approached and shook Bert’s hand firmly, then turned to Mary with an expression of deep respect.
“You did good work,” he said. “Both of you. I’ve been a PI for thirty years, and I’ve never seen anyone spot a pattern as subtle as Mary did with that photograph. She has good instincts.”
Mary grinned, feeling pride wash through her at the professional recognition.
George moved to Diane’s wheelchair, his hands settling on the handles with practiced ease. “Ready to go home?”
“Yes,” Diane said, her voice steady despite the tears still glistening on her cheeks. “I’m ready.” She looked over at Mary just as she rolled to the door. “Stay in touch. Please. I know we met under terrible circumstances, but I consider you a friend. Both of you.”