Part 9: Scattering the Guests
The illusion of the grand Thanksgiving feast shattered completely. Panicked whispering erupted among the thirty guests who had gathered to celebrate a holiday built on deceit.
People began grabbing their coats from the hall closet in a chaotic rush. Nobody wanted to be associated with federal forgery charges. Marlene stood frozen near the fireplace, her face bright red with humiliation, her wine-stained floor looking like a crime scene she couldn't escape.
“Marlene,” I said quietly, turning to my sister. “You might want to rethink who you call dramatic.”
Marlene couldn’t even meet my eyes. She grabbed her purse, shoved past the deputy without a word, and hurried out the front door into the cold morning air, her heels clicking rapidly down the driveway.
Within ten minutes, the thirty guests had dwindled down to a handful. The magnificent dining room, which Brooke had labored to decorate with such arrogant perfection, now looked like an abandoned stage play after the actors had fled.
Daniel was seated limply at the edge of the dining table, staring blankly at the carved turkey that sat half-sliced and untouched. Brooke was sitting across from him, sobbing dry, angry tears into her hands as the deputy stood watch near the doorway, waiting for local backup to arrive for transport.
Silence settled over the house once more—not the peaceful quiet of the Blue Heron Lake cabin, but a heavy, cleansing silence of a storm that had finally swept away the debris.
