I know it's been a while, but it couldn't be helped. So here's a small account of what happened in the last few chapters:

1. Paul's killer is still on the loose, but was it Laura or someone entirely else...?

2. Perry and Della are back together - sort of... but things are complicated and Laura has no intention to die.

Chapter 16 - The Truth is another Country

Sacramento, 11th September 1977

Armed with a cup of fresh coffee and her cigarette case Della went outside. It was a clear, unusual crisp morning and she utterly enjoyed the peace it brought with it. Her late aunt used to say that the world was a better place in the early morning hours and the older she got, the more Della understood Mae. She remembered the wonderful mornings on the porch she had spent in Mae's company, chatting and laughing. It had been a carefree and easy time in a - so it seemed - carefree and easier world.

As the nicotine filled her lungs her thoughts drifted away from Mae and her youth in the Smoky Mountains. She thought of Martha and Laura and their impact on her life.

Her mother-in-law was still living in her house and she didn't intend to leave any time soon. Della had tried to raise the subject more than once, but Martha was like an eel. She always changed the subject and - unlike the Martha she used to know - always avoided a straight answer. She was gruff as always, but Della sensed it was not just the grieve about her dead son fueling the darkness that surrounded Martha like a cloud. There was something underneath all the grave sadness and it worried Della.

And then there was Laura. Beautiful and cunning Laura who had just woken up like Sleeping Beauty. Perry was paying her a visit this morning and Della wondered what would happen next. Would Laura confess to any of her sins? Would he forgive her?

There was still so much doubt in her that he had finally cut himself loose from her. Laura had this strange hold over him and deep down inside Della feared she always would have. It was one thing not to doubt his love for her, but what about the love for his wife?

Della heard steps behind her and rolled her eyes. She expected Martha to disturb her morning peace, but it was Ruben who showed up next to her. Still in his pyjamas and his hair astray he looked at her. Della noticed wistfully that her son was almost as tall as she was. He had been growing up too fast and his father's recent, violent death didn't help to slow down the process.

"Morning Mom."

Della looked guilt stricken at her cigarette. She had always tried to hide her vice from her son, but now it was too late. Caught red-handed she stubbed out her cigarette and felt how the blood rushed into her cheeks.

"Well, good morning, Honey."

"Relax. I know you've been smoking for some time."

"How?" she asked, truly wondering.

"My wrist's broken, not my nose," the teenage boy answered a bit gruffly.

"You're in a good mood," she stated a bit taken aback. "Didn't you sleep well?"

Ruben cracked a smile and ran his healthy hand through his messy hair. The effort was useless, which made her smile. "Not really… Mom?"

"Hm?"

Ruben hesitated as if he was unsure how to phrase his words. "It's about Grandma."

"Yes? Shoot..."

"Will she ever leave again?"

She wanted to laugh out loud, but Ruben looked dead serious about the issue and so she sobered up quickly. His dark eyes rested on her almost pleadingly and so she wrapped her arm around his shoulder.

"I'm trying, but she's not someone who will leave just like that. She's grieving your Dad, you know. And grieving people do strange things."

"So am I," he said and bowed his head. "I'm grieving too. But she doesn't belong here. I'm sure she doesn't even like being here."

Silently Della agreed with Ruben. "I think we have to bear up a few days more with her," she told her son and kissed his hair. He was almost her height now and she realized with a heavy heart that he was really growing up too fast and also talking a lot of sense.

"I'll talk to her," she promised.

"And there's one more thing," Ruben said with hesitation. "Is it true that your former boss is moving in with us?"

Stunned by the question Della turned her son towards her. "Why would you think that?" she asked sharply.

"Grandma said so last night…." Ruben shrugged. "She said something about him lurking in the darkness to make his move. It sounded quite strange the way she said it."

"Well, it's not strange. It's nonsense!" Della clarified. "Mister Mason is my friend and he has been a big help for me, but believe me, he's not moving in with us!"

Anger rose within her. How dare Martha to feed her son such lies? How dare she turn her own son against her?

"Did she tell you anything else?" Della asked, wondering if Martha had speculated about her relationship to Perry any further.

"Not really… but she was quite pissed."

Della raised her eyebrow. "Language."

"She was angry," Ruben corrected himself. "She thinks Dad's dead because of Mister Mason."

"Do you believe her?"

Ruben shook his head. "No."

"Good, because it's not true. If anything Mister Mason tried to save your father."

"And the next thing you will say is that it's all very complicated, right?"

Della smirked. "Actually I wasn't... But it is complicated, yes."

"Thought so."

"Do you want some breakfast now?" Della asked, trying not to laugh.

"Yeah, but could we go out for once?"

"Too much burned toast lately?"

"Way too much of it," Ruben answered truthfully.

She resisted the wish to run her hands through his hair and nodded. "All right, let's go out then. I guess we deserve a morning with good food!"

######

Perry sat next to Laura's hospital bed and watched her in her sleep. The chair was uncomfortable and the sight of Laura with her heavily bandaged head, wired and attached to all kinds of beeping machines didn't help to improve the grave atmosphere. Laura was awake, but she was weak. The trooper within her was dormant, but Mason had no doubt that deep down inside Laura was just regaining her strength. Like some animal she had fallen into some kind of winter sleep and once when it was safe, when the world around became a place she could control, she would return to fight. Once more Della had been right in her assessment of Laura. Heaven, when wasn't she?

"Why are you here?"

Mason startled. Lauras' eyes were still closed, but her lips had formed the words and her voice was uncharacteristically thin and raw. He leaned forward.

"The doctors called me last night," he answered. "They told me you woke up."

"Did I?" She coughed and swallowed. "I'm not so sure about it."

"Do you know what happened to you?" he asked.

"Not really… I was at Norton's house, but it's all a blur."

"You have a broken skull. You were lucky." Like a cat with nine lives, he added.

She coughed once more, but he was sure she wanted to laugh.

"Is he dead?"

"Yes."

"Good."

Silence fell and he wasn't sure how to fill it. There were questions he had to ask, but he doubted she was fit enough to answer them. Her injuries were heavy and he had no doubt that the doctors and nurses would throw him out rather sooner than later.

"I need to know what happened," he repeated. "I need to know the truth."

"The truth is another country," Laura said calmly, her eyes fixed at the ceiling. "And I have no wish to go there."

##########

Martha heard the front door falling shut. Della and Ruben were gone. She was alone now. She drew a deep breath and opened the drawer of her bedside table. There were only three items in it. Richard's old bible, a framed picture of a man, in a uniform, and an old Smith & Wesson army revolver. She took the picture and closed the drawer again. Her thumb ran tenderly along the frame and she whispered, "It's time, isn't it?"

#########

"Let's start at the end," Mason said and straightened his back. He needed to get through this. He needed the truth and he needed it now. "Tell me about Paul. Did you kill him?"

"No," she answered.

"But I know you were at his office the night he was killed."

"How?"

"Your diary. I found it in our house."

"You're quite a detective." She coughed once more. "I went there to talk to him. Norton sent me, because he knew Drake was after him for the murder of your pretty, little secretary. I tried to find out how much he really knew."

"And?"

"He refused to talk to me, but I could tell, he knew enough."

"Go on." He looked down to his hands. "I left the office and told Hardcastle to search the office after Paul had left. That's it. One day later I heard about his death."

"So it was Hardcastle after all?" Perry barked. "You left, he went in, and pulled the trigger?"

Impalpable Laura shook her head. "No."

"For heaven's sake, Laura, tell me the truth!" Unable to stay in his chair he jumped up. With his hands crossed behind his broad back, he started pacing the room, accompanied by the beeping sound of the machines.

"The truth is there was someone in the office when I left. Paul had another visitor and Hardcastle went inside after she was gone. Hardcastle told me Paul was dead when he searched the place. He never found anything useful about the Powell case."

"What?" Mason narrowed his eyes. "Who was that woman? Did you know her? What did she look like?"

"It was an old bat. Dressed in black and she wore a big hat that covered most of her face. When Paul greeted her he called her Mrs Smith."

"Did Hardcastle see her?"

"I think so. He said she had left again after a few minutes and she was in a hurry. She must have killed him."

"Why didn't he tell any of this to the police?" Perry wondered angrily.

Laura laughed and for the first time since she had opened her eyes, she sounded like her old self. "He never talked to the police and he certainly didn't want anyone to know he had been there that night. He would have never compromised Norton."

Masons fell silent. Everything Laura just had told him could have been a lie.

"Why should I believe you?" he asked. "All these years it was one lie after the other."

Laura shrugged. "Don't pretend you never lied to me," she returned. "Remember our first night when you told me your relationship with Della was a dead end."

"I was drunk and angry," he stated. "And I was wrong."

"And ready to cry on my shoulder," Laura reminded him. "Let's face it, we both longed for someone that night."

"But for very different reasons. You just needed someone to protect you from Norton after you realized you were pregnant by him. I was a fill-in."

"I knew you would marry me as long as you believed it was your child. But for what it's worth, I did love you."

"And the rest is history." He exhaled and shook his head. Laura's confession didn't fill him with satisfaction. It didn't touch him the way it should and that was the real tragedy of it all.

"I have to go," he said. "I'll tell Andy about the mysterious visitor and you will give him an accurate description of the woman."

Laura didn't answer. She had turned her face away and stared at the empty wall.

######

After her breakfast with Ruben, Della returned home alone. She had dropped Ruben at a friend's house and decided to use her free afternoon to do some tidying and cleaning. To her surprise, Martha wasn't home either and so she had the house all for herself. She turned on the radio and decided to start with the laundry.

With a fresh pile of towels she entered Martha's bedroom. To her astonishment she found the room in a state she hadn't seen before. Martha was the tidiest person she knew and she had handed down that trait to Richard who had hated any kind of untidiness and disorganisation.

Martha's bed was unmade and her wardrobe and most drawers were open. Della placed the towels on the bed and looked around. Martha's clothes were still in the wardrobe. Della closed the slide door and drawers. Worried that her mother-in-law started to lose her mind she picked up the towels and took them into the ensuite bathroom. When she picked up the pillow a framed photograph fell onto the mattress. Sure to find a picture of Richard she looked at it and froze. The man in the photo was neither Richard nor his father. It showed a strange man in a uniform and suddenly she remembered the night Martha had told her about a man she had met after her husband had died - someone she had loved, but hadn't married because she didn't want to hurt her young son's feelings.

"Oh dear," Della mumbled and placed the photo on the bedside table. Should she try to locate Martha? Or should she give her some space to deal with whatever she was going through?

In the background the radio moderator finished the weather forecast and announced the next song. Seconds later the sound of "Hotel California" filled the air. Della knew she should simply leave the room alone, but her eyes were fixed on the photo. Martha was an endless mystery to her. Every time she thought she had unriddled Richard's mother, she discovered a new layer, something she hadn't expected.

'We are all just prisoners here of our own device'. The lyrics reached her ear and she startled. Suddenly the music seemed much louder than before. She looked up, turned around, but noticed nothing strange. Sure, her nerves were playing tricks on her, she quickly grabbed the sheets and folded them.

The music stopped. Out of nowhere the house was now completely silent. Goosebumps formed on her skin and she swallowed. She wasn't alone anymore. Her first instinct was to hide in the closet or the bathroom, but it seemed so undignified to hide in her own house. She straightened her shoulders and left Martha's bedroom. The hallway was empty, but she heard muffled steps from the living room. Perhaps it was Ruben who had come back early, she told herself.

As she reached the living room, she found Martha sitting in an armchair. The old woman's face was pale and made of stone. She sat upright and in front of her on the coffee table lay a revolver. Della spotted it at once and she frowned.

"Hello Martha."

"Della. Where is Ruben?"

"He's seeing a friend."

"And your friend Mister Mason?"

"He's not here," she answered, wishing he were. Whatever was about to happen wouldn't be easy and Martha's sudden appearance with a gun scared her.

Martha nodded. "That's the thing about men, isn't it? They're never there when you need them."

"I saw you brought a present." Della pointed at the gun on the table. "A wild guess… it's a Smith & Wesson. It's the same that killed Paul Drake."

"It was about time you figured that out," Martha cleared her throat and took the revolver. "And now sit down. We have to talk!"

######tbc#######