Lucky and the Electrocuted Ex

by Emmy Grace

  Liam kisses the tip of my nose, smiles a smile that doesn’t reach his eyes, then takes my hand and leads me on.

  My feet have never felt heavier.

  16

  I lay in bed, staring at the ceiling, pondering the reasons a man might kill his own son. I can’t think of one. It’s like trying to imagine Liam’s dad killing him. They might not have the best relationship or be too terribly fond of one another, but there’s still a bond, an affection there that is forged between blood relatives. Besides that, I can’t imagine what father wouldn’t be proud to have Liam Dunning as a son.

  However, Gavin was no Liam. But then again, Mr. Rossdale is no Mayor Dunning either. Liam’s father is a driven, unscrupulous man, I think, but Mr. Rossdale is a drunk. And a mean one, too, I’d bet. He and Gavin never got along very well. But despite that, Gavin seemed more than happy to walk in his father’s footsteps. According to Beebee, he was even getting the drunkard part down pat.

  Which brings me back to my original conundrum. What would cause a man to want to hurt his own child? What would have to be wrong with the man to do that?

  Then it dawns on me.

  Or what would have to be wrong with the child?

  I bolt upright so fast, Gumbo snorts in startled surprise, which causes Mr. Jingles to bark once, which scares the living daylights out of Lucy, who leaps off the bed with a growl and lands on Gator’s cage with a shaky rattle.

  And so, my animal chorus begins. Round and round like a merry-go-round. At three o’clock in the morning no less.

  I snatch up Lucy and head for the front door. When I set her down on the porch, she turns around to give me the stink eye.

  “Don’t look at me like that. You know what happens when you get the tribe stirred up. You’ll have to stay out until breakfast. I want you to use this time to think about what you’ve done, young lady.”

  Her only response is to give me a low growl and then sit down and start washing her paw like she has not a care in the world.

  Maybe she really is a devil cat.

  I know before I even lie back down that sleep will be futile now. I’m far too awake. Lucky for me, my brain is the only tool I need to be productive at the moment, and I can use it in the comfort of my bed, snuggled up beneath the covers.

  I twist the people and the possible motives of those in Gavin’s life this way and that until one of them takes the shape of a real, plausible crime. The problem, I quickly discover, is that I don’t have enough information.

  The more I think about it, the more I believe that Gavin’s father, Victor, could very well be the type of man who would murder his own child. I still think he’d have to have a really good excuse, though. But without Gavin here to tell me what happened, I’m left with just my very fertile imagination to fill in the details to all sorts of weird and gruesome and inappropriate scenarios.

  By the time the sun is coming up, I’ve come to one solid conclusion. I have to speak to the fiancée. Find out if something happened between Gavin and his father before he left to come here. If she doesn’t know, I don’t know who else would. Well, except his mother and we all know she’s not talking to me.

  Just before seven, I hear a strange sound coming through the living room and filtering into the quiet of my bedroom. It sounds like a noisy kindergarten classroom that I’m hearing from half a mile away. That or a gaggle of geese chattering amongst themselves on the shores of a lake somewhere.

  I get up to go see what’s making the racket, and as I step into the kitchen, an awful scream causes me to lose at least two years of my life. I don’t have to look at the dog door to know what’s making that sound. I know it’s Fred. The problem is getting used to it. He does it at the most unexpected times. I mean, it’s seven AM. The sun is just barely lighting the night sky as it prepares for sunrise. Who in the world would expect to walk into their kitchen and be greeted with a blood-curdling man-scream?

  Nobody.

  Ever.

  That’s who.

  “Fred! For the love of all that’s holy, you have to stop doing that to me.”

  Part of me wants to push his head back through and close the dog door forever, but when I see those sweet eyes with their evil slatted pupils staring up at me, I know I couldn’t. This is his version of good morning. Far be it for me to punish him for his nature.

  That’s why, instead of locking him out, I take his face where it’s poking under the flap and scrub my fingers over the top of his head, ruffling his fur. He and Ethel really like to have their heads scratched. In fact, I think pretty much all of my animals do. Even Squishy the rescue parrot likes to have the feathers on his head lightly stroked.

  Maybe I should try it with Liam. See if it calms him.

  Or maybe I should have him try it with me.

  Orrrrr, maybe I should experiment on Regina first. She might be the most uptight of us all.

  Intruding upon my random thoughts is the sound that drew me out here in the first place. It’s louder now. And more easily discernible.

  I walk to the door and fling it open. There on my porch stands Beebee, Momma Leona, and Regina.

  “What are you doing here so early?” I ask.

  Beebee hands me a rectangular dish. “We were arguing over who gets to give you the breakfast we came to help you eat.”

  I take the covered pan, the scent of cinnamon and sweetness wafting up to my nose. “Is this what I think it is?”

  Beebee grins. “Homemade French toast breakfast casserole.”

  “You didn’t.”

  “Course I did. I haven’t missed a Christmas since you were nine years old.”

  “But Beebee, I never expected you to do that here. You don’t even have a kitchen. How’d you manage to make this?”

  I step back so the trio can come inside. Suddenly my morning is looking way up.

  “That sweet Miss Haddy offered to let me use her kitchen. I saw her at the store yesterday evening and she asked what I was making. I was gonna come over here early and bully my way into your kitchen, but it turns out I didn’t even have to wake you.”

  “I was awake anyway. Besides, you’re always welcome to my kitchen or anything else of mine, Beebee. You know that.”

  “I know, chère. But I did sort of want it to be a surprise.”

  She cups my cheek and gives it a pat, and I beam down into her face. She looks much the same as she did when I met her. Dark skin, twinkling brown eyes, warm smile. The only thing that’s really changed is the wrinkles that splay out from the corners of her eyes and mouth when she grins, and the increasing ratio of white to black in her hair. These days, she looks like she’s wearing a fuzzy white hat her hair is so gray. “You’re the best Beebee.”

  “And you’ll share with your family like a good Christian girl,” she adds as she slips off her scarf and drapes it over the back of the couch. Her coat follows a few seconds later.

  “Of course. Besides, this stuff is much better shared than eaten alone.”

  As I set about plating the decadent casserole and making coffee, Beebee, Momma Leona, and Regina hover around the entrance to the kitchen.

  “So, where are we at with the case?”

  It’s Momma Leona who asks. Her eyes are bright and interested, and so much like her mother’s.

  “I don’t think it was Sassy that did it,” I announce as I lick icing from my finger.

  “What?” Regina asks. “After all we went through to get you into her room?”

  “Yeah. Sorry about that. It was the only lead I really had.”

  “What gives?”

  I explain what led me to this conclusion. Regina sums it up in a way that makes me want to pinch her head off.

  With love, of course.

  “In other words, Liam saved the day.”

  “No, he just pointed out a different perspective that I hadn’t yet considered because I’m so emotionally close to the case.”

  “Right. Which saved the day.”

  “We don’t know t
hat it saved the day yet. I have to talk to Sassy, then I’ll know more.”

  “Can’t you just admit that you two make the greatest team in the whole wide world?” Regina asks with exasperation.

  “I thought you and Steven made the greatest team in the whole wide world. Did something happen?”

  “No, things are coming along just fine. But you and Liam… I don’t know. You just make each other better. In every way.”

  That makes my heart squishy and warm. “Really?”

  “Yes, really. I don’t think you’re going to lose your luck. I just think it’s taking a new shape.”

  “Is that what this is about? You think I’m losing my luck and that’s why this is happening, and I keep running into trouble?”

  “I didn’t say that.”

  “But it’s what you think, right?”

  “I didn’t… I don’t…”

  “You’re a worse liar than I am.”

  “I’m not lying. I just…” She gives up and sighs heavily. “I just don’t want you to lose hope if you aren’t as lucky as you once were. You’re still very lucky. That luck just has a different name now.”

  “A person can’t be a lucky charm. Liam can’t be mine.”

  “Why not? He’s saved your life more than once, bails you out of trouble almost every day. He’s—”

  “He has not. You’re just being ridiculous.”

  “Several times a week then. And he helps you brainstorm and work out your cases. He gives you ideas and thinks like you think. I think you needed your own lucky charm before you met him, but now that you’re together, you don’t. You have his.”

  Regina paints a picture that makes it seem like almost a good thing that I might be losing my lucky. If I really thought about it, I’d probably have willingly traded my luck for him anyway. Maybe it’s working out where I can kind of have both.

  As I ponder her words, Beebee reaches across the table and takes my hand in hers. Her palm is soft and silky. I know that’s the result of years and years of rubbing lotion into her skin. I watched her do it every morning and every night for half my life.

  “Do you love him, chère?”

  I frown. “I don’t know. I haven’t… I don’t… We haven’t gotten that far yet.”

  “Don’t give me that. You know when you know. There’s no special time. It either happens or it doesn’t.”

  She stares long and hard into my eyes, and I’m reminded that if there’s one safe place for me to admit my feelings and be my most vulnerable self, it’s here. With these three women. The most important in my life.

  “I think I do,” I confess on an exhale, shoulders slumping with the relief of just admitting it. Out loud. To someone else.

  To myself.

  “That’s what I wanted most for you when I blessed you, Annabelle Boucher. Love. True, deep, abiding love. If you have love, you have everything. You can do anything. You can survive anything. If that’s what you’ve found, then you’ve just now grown into your name. Not the other way around.”

  Her eyes mist and I feel my throat constrict in response. “How do you always know, Beebee?”

  “Know what?”

  “What I need. What to say. What to do.”

  Her lips curve into a gentle smile. “Love, Lucky. Love. It speaks to the heart. And from the heart. It’s the greatest treasure and the grandest weapon we have, child. You know that.”

  I nod. “I know. I mean, I do know that. I guess I just never really thought of it this way.”

  “It’s okay. You’ll understand it better now that you have someone to love. And when you start having children… Well, you’ll know a whole different kind of love.”

  “Children?” I repeat in horror. “I think you need to slow waaaay down, Beebee.”

  “I didn’t say today, but someday soon. Before I die, I hope.”

  I seesaw my head. “Deal. Since you’re going to live to be older than Miss Haddy, I can agree to that.”

  “How many years young is that ol’ gal?”

  “One hundred and four. Or maybe five. I don’t know exactly. But she’s old. Like really old.”

  “She sure does seem to keep herself busy,” Momma Leona notes, raising her coffee mug to her lips to blow the steam away.

  “Oh, that’s an understatement.”

  “You love it here, don’t you, Lucky?” Momma asks softly.

  I don’t even have to take a moment to think about it. “Yeah. I really do.”

  She and Beebee glance at each other. One nods, then the other. Then they both look back to me.

  “It could be that you’ll have some more family around here before too long.”

  It takes a few seconds for her meaning to penetrate my still-sleepy brain. “Does that mean what I think it means?”

  “If you think it means that we might be moving up this way, then yes.”

  I squeal. Regina squeals.

  Momma and Beebee laugh as I leap up from my chair and wind my arms around their necks for a big hug.

  Beebee taps my arm. “I’d like to still be breathing for the trip, if you don’t mind.”

  My grin is sheepish as I relax my overzealous grip. “Oh. Sorry.”

  “Never apologize for a hug,” Beebee says with a wink. “Just be sure not to kill us older ones with all that love. Gives a new meaning to ‘love you to death’.”

  We all get a good laugh out of that.

  We eat some more sweet, drink some more drink, and I savor each moment like fine wine.

  Despite my current predicament, I’m not sure life has ever been so good. At least not for me.

  My heart is full.

  17

  The food and company must’ve stimulated my brain, because before Beebe, Momma Leona, and Regina can even get out the door, I have a great idea on how to “run into” Sassy and try to chat her up about Gavin and his father.

  “What is it?” Regina asks as she pushes her arms into the sleeves of her coat. She’s eyeballing me with suspicion.

  “What do you mean?”

  “You’re either getting an idea or you’re pondering how to use the bathroom without actually using that new toilet.”

  I laugh even as I frown. “Am I really that weird?”

  “Oh, absolutely.”

  “Well, you’re right. I think I had a great idea. I’m just working out the details before I say anything.”

  “Since when do you exercise any kind of restraint? Being impulsive is sorta your thing.”

  “Stick with what you’re good at, right?”

  “Unless it’s running headlong into danger and trouble, then yes.”

  “There’s a good chance this might qualify for both of those.”

  “You mean it is dangerous trouble, or it’s not?”

  “I meant that it might be.”

  She shakes her head. “I should’ve known.”

  “I mean, it might not be.”

  “Make up your mind, woman.”

  At this point, Beebee interjects. “Listening to you two is like listening to Laurel and Hardy. Only they sounded like they had some sense.”

  “Thanks for the vote of confidence, Beebee.”

  She pats my arm. “Oh, you know I’m just teasin’. It’s just hard for an old lady to keep up with a mind as sharp as yours.”

  “You’re sharp as a tack, Beebee,” I tell her. “I hope I’m even half as smart as you are when I get to be your age.”

  “Tell us about your plan. How can we help?”

  “Actually, how would you feel about whipping up another couple of batches of your French toast casserole? I’ll buy the ingredients.”

  She narrows her eyes on me. “You know I’d do anything for you, but what’s this about?”

  “I’m going to hand out samples at the Christmas Craft Festival today.”

  “Why?” It’s Regina who asks.

  “Because I took one over to Christmas breakfast at Gavin’s once and his dad loved it. I figure if I can print up a fe
w little flyers advertising the festival and just mention that samples of Beebee’s Famous French Toast Casserole will be sampled and slip them under the doors at the Inn, there’s a good chance he’ll wanna come. I mean, what else have they got to do?”

  “Ummmm, investigate the murder of their son? Dig a hole to bury you in? Take your pick,” Regina says snidely.

  I give her a droll look. “You couldn’t just say you don’t think it’ll work.”

  “And what would you have said if I did?”

  “I’d have ignored you and done it anyway.”

  “Which is why I didn’t do exactly that.”

  “Let’s just go with ‘duly noted’ and move on, shall we?” I ask with a sweet smile.

  Regina shakes her head in exasperation. “Everything’s a big ordeal with you.”

  “You can’t catch criminals by just asking nicely, Regina.”

  “How do you know? Have you ever tried?”

  “Of course not. That’s just crazy talk.”

  “Why are my ideas always crazy talk and your insane suggestions are sound and plausible?”

  I shrug. “Just the way the good Lord made it. Sorry, babe.”

  “You’re full of crap. You know that, right?”

  I smile broadly. “Of course, I know that. Now are you in or not?”

  “What makes you think they’d even come? Their son is dead. Or at least they think he is. What kind of parent would want to go in search of something sweet when their kid is dead?”

  “A guilty one, I’m thinking.”

  That’s my hope anyway.

  She sighs heavily. “What do you want me to do?”

  “Deliver the flyers. If I’m spotted, it’ll look much more suspicious.”

  “Like this isn’t gonna look bad anyway.”

  “Remember who you’re dealing with. These people aren’t exactly sly criminal masterminds. He’s a drunk, she’s a grieving mother, and Sassy’s… Well, I’m not sure what she is, but I don’t think she’s Danny Ocean or anything.”

  At this point, Momma Leona finally speaks up. “I should never have let you watch so much television.”