Killer Words

by V. M. Burns

  I guzzled down the mimosa I’d ordered. “Nope. Actually, I think I should have started sooner.”

  Nana Jo squinted at Harold. “Let me get this straight. You and Grace are planning to chuck everything and move to Australia to save the . . .”

  “Koala bears,” I said.

  Harold held up a hand to ward off Nana Jo’s questions. “Now, Josephine, I’m sure you’re concerned about your baby, but I can assure you—”

  “Baby?” Jenna whispered. “Mom is in her sixties.”

  Harold continued. “We aren’t really chucking everything. We’re going to keep Grace’s villa, for now. We’ll need a place to crash when we come back for a visit, and don’t you worry, there will be plenty of those.”

  “Oh, goody,” Jenna mumbled.

  “We’re thinking about buying a little place on the ocean.”

  “Ocean?” I said. “What ocean? We live on Lake Michigan.”

  Jenna nudged me. “He’s talking about Australia.”

  “Well, it started as a little bungalow,” Harold said, “but then Grace wanted to make sure we had plenty of room for all of you to visit, so by the time we finished . . .” He smiled at Mom “We ended up with a pretty big place.”

  “It’s got eight bedrooms,” Mom said, “and it’s right on the beach, so there will be plenty of things to do when you all come over to visit.” She turned to Harold. “Show them the pictures.”

  Harold pulled out his cell phone, made a few swipes, and then slid it across the table.

  Since I was between the two biggest stakeholders, I picked it up while Nana Jo and Jenna leaned close. Tony and the twins stood behind us, and we all crowded together to look at the pictures together.

  “You’ve already bought a house?” Jenna asked.

  Harold nodded. “Wired the money to Sydney on Friday.”

  I swiped the pictures of a massive beach estate that included a wine cellar, a boat dock, and the most amazing views ever. When we’d gone through the pictures several times, I slid the phone back to Harold.

  He reached in his pocket and pulled out a paper. “Before we leave, I wanted to get one of these attorneys to help with a few legal things.”

  Both Jenna and her husband were attorneys. Jenna was a criminal defense attorney, while Tony practiced corporate law in the nearby town of River Bend, Indiana.

  “Oh, God,” Jenna said, and she reached over and gulped down the mimosa Opie had just placed on the table to replace the one I’d finished.

  “We want to get our wills drawn up properly,” Harold said. He held up a hand. “Not that either one of us intends that anything will happen, mind you, but we want to make sure all the t’s are crossed and the i’s are dotted anyway.”

  Nana Jo turned to Opie. “Better keep them coming.”

  “First, we want to set up a trust for the boys.” He gazed lovingly at my mother. “I’d like to call it the Grace Robertson Family Trust.”

  “Oh, Harold,” Mom gushed.

  He smiled. “I put a million dollars for each of the twins to cover graduate school, if they decide they want to attend, and to help them get started in life.”

  Christopher’s eyes were as big as half-dollars. “A million . . . dollars?”

  “Each?” Zaq squeaked.

  Harold smiled and nodded.

  Both of the twins nearly leaped out of their seats. Christopher got up so quickly he knocked over his chair. They both ran over and hugged Harold and Mom.

  Christopher and Zaq were twenty-one. Tall and thin, like their dad, they were identical twins, but each had their own unique personality, which made them easy to tell apart. Christopher was into business and marketing and tended toward an ultraconservative look. Zaq was a technology geek with an eclectic style who embraced his inner nerd. So, while Christopher looked immaculate in khakis, a button-down shirt, and a tie, Zaq wore jeans with red Converse All-Stars and a T-shirt that read:

  01000111

  01100101

  01100101

  01101011

  If you can read that, you are too

  “What’s Zaq’s shirt say?” I asked.

  “It’s binary code for ‘geek,’ ” Nana Jo said.

  I gazed at my grandmother with admiration, but she shook her head. “Don’t be too impressed. I asked him.”

  Both Christopher and Zaq towered over Mom and Harold, but my nephews embraced their grandparents with tenderness and affection. It brought a tear to my eye.

  When the boys sat down, Jenna and Tony thanked both Grace and Harold.

  Harold cleared his throat and gazed at me. “I know Dawson couldn’t make it today, but I haven’t forgotten him. I have a million dollars for him too. Although we all know he’s going to be a hugely successful professional football player, maybe one day when he is ready to start that bakery he’ll have a nest egg.”

  Now it was my turn to get choked up. Leon and I never had children of our own, but Dawson Alexander was probably the closest thing I had. I hugged Harold and my mom. I knew it was all Harold’s money, but it was his love for my mom that made this happen.

  Nana Jo wiped away a tear. “That boy has had a rough life. I’m glad he’s getting a break.”

  I thought Harold was done, but he had more. “Lastly, I have to say that I will never forget what you all did to help me in my time of need.” He had to swallow and take several deep breaths before he was composed enough to continue. “When the police believed I’d killed that woman . . . you all came to my aid, and I want to pay it forward. So, I’d like to set up a sleuthing fund to be run by the Sleuthing Seniors.”

  The Sleuthing Seniors was the book club that Nana Jo and the girls established when I opened my bookshop. “What’s a sleuthing fund?” I asked.

  “I’m going to set aside five million dollars that can be used to help support the Sleuthing Seniors in the pursuit of justice. I certainly don’t want to dictate how you spend the money, but I’m sure you may need to hire additional staff to help out at the bookshop once the twins leave for graduate school and Dawson leaves for the NFL. Or if you have to pay for a private investigator or, well, any expenses.” He glanced at Jenna. “Plus, Grace tells me that Jenna has wanted to set up her own practice. Good lawyers don’t come cheap, and Jenna wouldn’t accept payment from me even though she worked so hard on my case, but I hope this fund could be used to help pay for the best legal defense in Southwestern Michigan.”

  For the first time in my life, my sister was stunned silent. Eventually, she stood, walked around the table, and hugged Harold and Mom. “I’d be honored.”

  The rest of the meal consisted of eating, celebrating, and planning for the future. Between the Bloody Marys, mimosas, and excitement, we were all pretty giddy. When we noticed the line for tables expand, we hurried to finish up.

  Harold refused to allow us to pay. He didn’t even look at the tab before giving his credit card to Opie. After he signed, he pulled a few bills out of his wallet and stuck them in the leather pouch for our waiters. After a few moments, a wide-eyed Opie returned, trailed by the Eddie Haskell look-alike.

  “Sir, did you intend to leave this?” Opie held up two crisp one-hundred-dollar bills.

  Harold nodded.

  Opie grinned and pumped Harold’s hand. “Thank you. Thank you so much.”

  Eddie was so overcome with emotion, he actually hugged Harold, but then he immediately pulled away. “I’m sorry.”

  Harold laughed. “No problem. You two were excellent waiters, and we appreciate all that you did to make our meal so enjoyable.”

  I stood up. “I’d better go get the car.”

  Everyone started to make their way toward the stairs.

  Nana Jo was walking slightly ahead of me. She stopped abruptly, and I bumped into her. “Sam, isn’t that Mayor Carpenter?”

  I followed her gaze over to a table in a corner near the back of the dining area. Mayor Carpenter was a short, fat bald man with a large mole on the side of his head. He was leaning across t
he table whispering with a man I recognized as the chief of police.

  “That sure looks like the mayor in deep conversation with the chief of police.”

  Jenna walked up and whispered, “Is that Stinky Pitt standing over by the kitchen door?”

  I glanced over in the direction she indicated and sure enough, there stood Detective Bradley Pitt of the North Harbor Police Department. Detective Pitt, short, fat, and balding with a bad comb-over, stood near the door with his hands folded in front of him. He wore mirrored glasses, and an earbud for a cell phone hung from his ear.

  “What’s he supposed to be?” Jenna asked.

  “I think he’s security. You know, like when the Secret Service is protecting the president.”

  Nana Jo frowned. “The Secret Service try to blend into the environment. Stinky Pitt stands out like a prostitute at a Baptist camp meeting. And with all of that polyester, I would think it would be a fire hazard to have him standing so close to the kitchen.”

  Detective Pitt’s wardrobe did tend to draw attention to himself. He was fond of polyester, and today he had on white polyester pants that were too tight and too short, exposing bright orange socks. He wore a polyester shirt with huge tropical flowers that stretched across his chest, straining the buttons that looked ready to pop.

  Chief Zachary Davis was medium height with a medium build. The most distinct thing about Chief Davis was his large head of thick dark hair, which looked like a mop, and a thick dark mustache that sat like a spider under his nose and covered his mouth.

  “Five dollars says they’re plotting how to deal with the negative media attention. I’ll bet—”

  I never got to find out what Nana Jo was betting because John Cloverton, followed by a reporter I recognized from the local news and a man with a video camera, burst through the door. The news crew followed Cloverton downstairs and filmed him as he pushed his way to the back of the restaurant.

  Mayor Carpenter held up a menu to block his face, while Chief Davis stood and used his body to shield the mayor from the camera and the reporter.

  Cloverton faced the camera and hurled accusations at the mayor faster than a major-league pitcher firing a fastball. “Why are you hiding in a corner of the restaurant? Why won’t you talk to your constituents? The people want to know how their tax dollars are being spent.”

  Detective Pitt rushed from his post near the kitchen and shoved Cloverton backward.

  Cloverton stumbled before tripping and falling to the floor.

  Stinky Pitt fumed. “You get out of here or so help me God I’ll—”

  “Or you’ll what?” Cloverton shouted. “The people have a right to know. Are you threatening me?”

  I didn’t think Detective Pitt’s face could have gotten redder, but it did. It turned from red to purple, and the vein on the side of his head pulsed. He looked ready to explode. He took one step forward and looked as though he intended to pummel Cloverton, but Chief Davis grabbed his arm and pulled him back.

  From the floor, Cloverton continued his verbal barrage. He taunted and baited the detective, although his taunts changed and became less political and more personal. Stinky Pitt fell hook, line, and sinker.

  “Want to pretend you’re a big man, hiding behind your boss,” Cloverton said. “But we both know the truth, don’t we?” He smirked and then whispered something that was intended for Detective Pitt only.

  Like a bull preparing to charge, Stinky Pitt shoved the chief of police aside, leaned forward, grabbed Cloverton by his lapels, and pulled him to his feet. Then he hauled back and landed a quick punch to the gut and followed it with a left cross that dropped the would-be politician like a sack of potatoes.

  Chief Davis grabbed Detective Pitt and pushed him back against the wall.

  The commotion generated a crowd, and the hotel management and security forced their way toward the front. The manager spent a minute checking on Cloverton, who now had a bloody lip and a bruise that indicated a black eye within twenty-four hours.

  Cloverton waved away the manager’s assistance and got to his feet. He turned to the cameraman. “Did you get that? I hope so because I intend to sue.” He turned to face the diners who stood in shocked amazement. “You’re all witnesses to the police brutality that I just endured.”

  The manager and the hotel security escorted Cloverton and the reporters out. Once the reporters were gone, one of the managers led the mayor through a back passage. Chief Davis gave Stinky Pitt a look that would have wilted lettuce before following the mayor’s path.

  Stinky Pitt stood against the wall a moment before tucking his head and walking out.

  “I wouldn’t have thought Stinky Pitt had it in him,” Nana Jo said. “That was a pretty darned good left hook.”

  I wouldn’t have thought Detective Pitt had it in him either. I wondered what Cloverton could have said that sent him into such a rage.

  Nana Jo interrupted my wonderings. “Hey, you gonna get the car?”

  “Sure.” I headed outside.

  At the side of the building, Cloverton had just finished an interview, and based on his smile, he was extremely pleased with himself. As the reporters packed up their gear and loaded their van, I saw Cloverton giving a high five to the woman who I believed was his wife. She was definitely not the woman I saw him fondling at the casino just a few hours ago.

  Chapter 5

  I was excited to see that Dawson was back from football practice when Nana Jo and I got home. As soon as I opened the door, I was greeted by the smell of cinnamon, apples, and spices. The delicious aroma drew us upstairs like a dog on a leash.

  We found Dawson in the kitchen baking, while Snickers and Oreo scoured the floor for crumbs.

  Dawson Alexander was tall and skinny, although he had been instructed to “bulk up” by his coach, so he’d put on some weight since he’d started playing football for the MISU Tigers at Michigan Southwest University. He was an excellent quarterback and had a promising career ahead.

  Nana Jo took a big whiff. “Hmmm, that smells wonderful.”

  Dawson frowned. “I’ve been trying my hand at these apple pie tartlets I found in a recipe book, but my crust isn’t flaky enough.”

  “Why don’t you let me be the judge of that.” Nana Jo popped one of the tartlets in her mouth and moaned.

  “Sounds like Nana Jo approves,” I joked.

  “Delicious.” She covered her mouth and chewed. “The only thing missing is a cup of coffee to wash it down. Why don’t I make that while you have a seat? Sam has something to tell you.”

  “Okay.” He gave me a sideways glance but put a plate of tartlets on the dining room table and took a seat.

  Shocked doesn’t even begin to scratch the surface of the look Dawson gave me when I told him about the trust. He stared at me with his mouth open for nearly a minute. Eventually, a tear ran down his face, and he placed his head on my shoulder and cried. I held him for several moments while we both sat and cried. He didn’t have to speak for me to understand the emotions. Dawson’s mother had died when he was a kid, leaving him to be raised by a father who abused not only alcohol but also his son. Football provided Dawson with an opportunity to break away. He was getting not only a great education but also a future. When the tears slowed, he sat up.

  Nana Jo handed us paper towels, and all three of us wiped our faces.

  “I can’t believe it. I mean . . . I can understand the trust for Christopher and Zaq. They’re family, but I’m just—”

  “You’re as much a part of our family as Christopher and Zaq, and don’t you forget it.” I blew my nose.

  “That’s right,” Nana Jo said. “Now, what are you going to do with all of that money?”

  Dawson shook his head, but there was something in his eyes that looked like fear.

  “You do want the money . . . don’t you?” I asked.

  “Are you joking? Who wouldn’t want a million dollars? It’s just . . . I wouldn’t have to tell anyone about the trust, would I?”

/>   “You’ll probably have to tell the university, but I’ll be happy to go with you. Or we can have Jenna go as your attorney. Since your scholarship is for football, I don’t think it will impact that. You’ll still get to play if that’s what you’re worried about.” I stared hard to understand where his hesitancy was coming from.

  “I’m not worried about football or the university.” He lowered his eyes. “I was thinking about my dad. He won’t have to find out, will he?”

  “I don’t know. You’re still a minor, so I’m not sure how that will work. We can ask Jenna tomorrow.”

  “It’s not that I wouldn’t want to help my dad, but . . . if he found out I had that kind of money, he’d just figure out a way to get his hands on it, and then . . . he’d just get in more trouble.” He hung his head.

  I glanced at Nana Jo, who patted him on the back. “I’m sure Jenna can make sure that the money is tied up so your dad can’t possibly get his hands on it. You just leave it to us.”

  Dawson took a deep breath. “Wow. I can’t believe it.”

  I could see the wheels turning inside his head. “You have an idea. I can see it on your face. Spill it. You planning to buy a fancy sports car or a big house on Lake Michigan?”

  “Actually, I was thinking it would be nice if I could create some type of scholarship for other kids . . . you know, like me. Kids who want to do something with their lives, but maybe they aren’t too smart.”

  “What do you mean, kids like you?” Nana Jo gave him a swipe. “You’re very smart. Last time I looked you had a B average.”

  “Sure, I have a B average now, thanks to you and Mrs. W. tutoring me. If it hadn’t been for the two of you, I would have flunked out of school after my freshman year and ended up losing my scholarship.”

  “Sam and I simply helped explain things. You did the hard work yourself. You took the tests. You wrote the papers, and you brought your GPA up to where it is.”

  “You should be proud of yourself,” I said, patting his hand. “I know we are.”

  “I am proud, but every kid isn’t going to break into your building and hide out in your bathroom. Man, I can’t imagine what would have happened if you had called the police.” He glanced down at Snickers, who had wormed her way into his lap and was lying on her back while he scratched her belly. “Or let this little beast rip me to shreds like she wanted to when you found me.”