by Amy Vansant
She knocked on the door and Tracy Griffin answered wearing a thin floral bathrobe. A cigarette hung from her lips, her mouth drawn in a deep frown. She seemed every bit as delightful as Charlotte remembered from their earlier engagement. If it was possible, she seemed even more sour without Lyndsey there to scold her for being rude.
“You’re not allowed to sell around here,” she said without removing the cigarette. It bounced in her lips so violently Charlotte took a step back, readying herself for it to launch at her from Tracy’s lips.
“I’m not selling anything. We met yesterday with the sheriff. I’m—” She was about to say I’m a friend of Lyndsey’s to ingratiate herself to the woman, but that was really a lie. She barely knew Lyndsey. “I’m working with Mr. Kimber Miller’s family, trying to tie up some loose ends.”
“What kind of loose ends?”
“Oh we’re getting the will finalized and whatnot.” Charlotte didn’t want Tracy to know about Lyndsey’s inheritance yet. “Do you mind if I come in for a moment?”
The woman shook one shoulder in a jerky attempt to shrug and took a step back to let Charlotte in. A reality television program blared from a television six inches too wide on either side for the table it had been perched upon. It looked new.
“Nice television,” yelled Charlotte, hoping to both break the ice and make it clear it was much too loud for them to talk.
Lyndsey’s mother picked up a remote and paused the show.
“Thanks.”
“Well, I won’t keep you. I just had a couple of questions for you.”
Tracy pulled the cigarette from her mouth and crushed it in an overfilled ashtray made out of an inverted sea shell. “Did I get something in the will?”
“You?” Charlotte blinked at the woman. “Why would you get something?”
Tracy smiled, flashing the yellowed teeth she had remaining. She was missing one upper canine. “There’s a reason.”
“Is it because Kimber Miller is Lyndsey’s real father?”
Tracy’s eyes widened. “How’d you hear that?”
“They just read the will.”
“They did?” Tracy gasped and glanced at her phone, lying silent on the table between her comfy chair and the television.
“Did you know Kimber was Lyndsey’s real father?”
Tracy snorted. “Of course I did. You think I’m some kind of whore who doesn’t even know who’s putting babies up in her?”
Charlotte winced. Yikes.
“No, I didn’t mean to imply that at all.”
“Well you kind of did.”
“Sorry. I guess what I meant to ask was, did Lyndsey know?”
Tracy shook her head. “No.”
“She had no idea?”
“No.”
“Did Mr. Miller?”
“Yeah. He knew.”
“That’s why he took her in?”
“Sure. Why else?” She grabbed the crushed pack of cigarettes from the table and shook it. Finding nothing inside, she glared at Charlotte as if she’d stolen the last one.
“Did Mina know?”
“Who’s Mina?”
“The sister.”
“Oh right. No.” Tracy coughed. “Of course, he never treated her like a proper daughter. He preferred those fancy twins…”
“What makes you say that?”
“Lyndsey told me.” She shrugged. “She’s my daughter, too. After what I did, I was afraid he’d treat her mean.”
“After what you did?”
“You don’t know?” She laughed and cleared her rattily throat. “I’m the one who killed his brother and his wife. That’s why I was in the slammer.”
Charlotte’s jaw fell. “They were killed by a drunk driver.”
“That’s me.”
Charlotte covered her gaping mouth with her hand.
Why didn’t Mina tell me?
“It all happened at once?” she asked.
“What’s that?”
“He took in the twins and Lyndsey all at once, all of them orphaned by the same accident?”
Tracy scowled at her. “Not orphaned. I was in jail, not dead.”
“Right. Sorry.”
“Why didn’t you tell Lyndsey that Miller was her father?”
“Didn’t know how she’d take it. Figured he’d tell her if he wanted, and he didn’t.”
A phone sitting on the table buzzed to life and Tracy held up a finger to request a pause in the conversation.
“That’s her now, I bet.”
Charlotte nodded. She’d been hoping Lyndsey would call. She wanted to watch Tracy’s reaction to the news of her daughter’s windfall.
“Hey baby,” said Tracy. Charlotte heard a loud voice on the other end of the line, but Tracy cradled the phone to her cheek, obscuring the sound enough she couldn’t make out the words.
“You got what? Really?”
Tracy looked up at Charlotte, her eyes bulging. “Did you know about this?”
“About what?” asked Charlotte, trying to appear as if she didn’t know about Lyndsey’s millions.
“The detective lady is here. Uh huh. I know. Well, come on over when you get a chance.”
Tracy hung up, grinning. “Ain’t that somethin’. That old bastard left her millions of dollars.” She squinted. “But you knew that.”
Charlotte stood. “That was all I wanted to ask you.”
Tracy stood with her to poke a boney finger in her chest. “This is Mina, isn’t it? She sent you here to get the money for herself.”
“I don’t know anything about that,” said Charlotte heading for the door. Tracy shadowed her.
At the threshold, Charlotte paused and turned. “Where were you the night Miller was killed?”
Tracy flashed her horrible smile again, appearing impressed Charlotte had come out and asked the question directly.
“I was here gettin’ a puppy, remember?”
Charlotte nodded. “Right.”
She was barely off the landing before the door slammed shut behind her.
Chapter Twenty-Four
Charlotte pulled into her driveway deep in thought. Tracy’s up to no good. She could chalk it up to the rough edges years in prison had given the woman, but it was more than that. For one, she couldn’t shake the feeling Tracy had known the will would include her daughter. Had she found a way to strongarm Miller into making Lyndsey his heir? And if so, had the next logical step been to hasten his demise?
What if Tracy had been the one to sneak into the house and clunk him with the rabbit? The rickety woman barely seemed strong enough to hold her cigarette to her lips. It was hard to imagine her swinging a heavy iron rabbit. But on the other hand, Kimber was apparently helpless at the time.
Maybe Lyndsey had called her mother after finding Miller on the ground. How much time had really gone by between Miller supposedly falling and Mina finding Lyndsey in the whelping room? She could have been hiding, waiting for her mother. By the time Mina found her, maybe Tracy was already skulking around the back of the house, waiting for her chance. Lyndsey knew about the servant stairs. Maybe she’d told her mother.
Charlotte sighed. She couldn’t picture Tracy parking her car out on the road and jogging to the back of the house unnoticed with that smoker’s cough.
Charlotte let herself into her house and suffered Abby’s ritual hello tackle.
“Do you think seeing me will make her confess?” said a voice.
Charlotte yelped and slapped her chest.
Peering around the corner she spotted Mariska sitting at her kitchen island drinking coffee.
“You just about gave me a heart attack. What are you doing in here?”
Mariska took a deep breath and then released it. “It’s starting to get around the neighborhood that I killed Alice.”
Charlotte rolled her eyes and emptied her phone from her pocket. “You didn’t.”
“But everyone thinks I did. And they’re never going to change their mind until we prove
Crystal did it.”
Charlotte moved to the sink to wash her hands. There had been a lot of handshaking at the funeral and the last thing she needed was a cold.
“So what are you asking me?”
“Do you think if I went to see Crystal she’d confess?”
“Are you going to beat her with a bag of oranges?”
Mariska scowled. “Why would I beat her with oranges?”
Charlotte chuckled. “It’s an old rumor about how Bing Crosby supposedly beat his children to avoid leaving bruises.”
“What?”
“Never mind. The point was, how are you going to make Crystal confess?”
“Not by beating her with oranges. I’ll tell you that!”
“Forget the oranges. I’m sorry I mentioned them.”
“Bing Crosby had a beautiful voice.”
Charlotte rubbed her forehead with her hand. “Mariska, I’m super tired. Can we get to the point please and forget about Bing?”
Mariska nodded. “I think if I talk to her, she’ll feel bad about what she did and confess to me. I’d be like a mother figure for her.”
“She killed the last mother figure she had. Sure you want to do that?”
“But she’s a motherless girl, don’t you see? I can do it. I can make her confess.”
Charlotte leaned her butt against the kitchen counter and crossed her arms against her chest to think. The sound of Crystal sobbing, begging for forgiveness from Alice had been playing in her head since her time hiding beneath Crystal’s bed. She believed now, more than ever, Crystal had killed her grandmother, and the guilt weighed heavily on the girl’s mind.
Maybe Mariska’s onto something.
There was almost no way—short of a confession—anyone could prove Crystal doctored the stollen. Even with proof the loaves contained almonds, their presence could be easily disregarded as an accident. Based on the evidence alone, Mariska was as likely a suspect as Crystal, but for one thing—Crystal had motive. She wanted her grandmother’s house to herself, her grandmother’s money, and from all accounts, she’d harbored a deep resentment against the woman who raised her.
Maybe Mariska’s plan to strike at Crystal’s raw nerve while exposed could work. Something, probably guilt, had driven the girl to tears. Now was the time to push her to confess her sins. If they waited, time might ease Crystal’s regret and she’d never confess.
“So you’re going to show up on her doorstep like all three of Scrooge’s ghosts rolled into one and make her change her ways?”
“I thought I’d pretend I’m returning her sugar sifter.”
“You have her sugar sifter?”
“No, but I thought I’d lost mine and bought another and then I found the first one, so I have a spare I don’t mind giving her.”
“But even if she confesses, you need to record it or have a witness.”
“You can come with me.”
“Me?”
“You can be there as a good role model of a young lady.”
Charlotte snorted a laugh. “Oh I’m sure she’ll love that. Don’t say that out loud.”
“Will you do it? I need you there with me.”
Charlotte sighed. Even if Crystal didn’t drop to her knees begging for forgiveness, she wanted to hear everything the girl would say or imply. Maybe she’d let slip a detail that would help them prove what happened.
She glanced at her watch. “You want to do this now?”
Mariska took a final sip of her coffee and nodded. “I do. She’s usually home this time of day. and usually alone.”
“How do you know that?”
“Because I’ve been planning this for days.”
“Fine. Let’s do this before I get comfy because I won’t want to do it later. I need to walk Abby first.”
“I already did.”
Charlotte cocked an eyebrow at Mariska. “You’re really not going to give me a chance to think about this a little, are you?”
Mariska shook her head. “No.”
Resigned to her fate, Charlotte filled Abby’s dinner bowl and accompanied Mariska outside so they could begin the short trek to Alice’s house.
“Be gentle with her,” suggested Charlotte. “Try to fit in everything her grandmother did for her over the years without making her sound like a saint—”
“Why can’t I make Alice sound like a saint? That woman was a saint.”
“It could make her angry. Just because she might regret killing her grandmother, doesn’t mean she’s forgiven her for years of fights and resentment. You don’t want to make her sound too perfect.”
Mariska nodded. “Okay. What else?”
“Ask her if she ever made stollen. Ask her if she knew about the allergy—”
“We’re here.” Mariska paused and Charlotte watched her throat bob as she swallowed hard.
“Are you sure you want to do this?”
Mariska nodded. “I’m sure. Let’s go.”
They walked the path that led to Crystal’s door and knocked.
Crystal opened the door. A television on volume one million played in the background. Crystal had removed her waitress uniform in favor of what looked like pajama shorts and an oversized V-neck tee. Her hair was wet and scraggy, as if she’d recently showered. Her mouth set in a grim line at the sight of them.
Charlotte’s immediate impression of Crystal’s mood was that she seemed sad.
Maybe Mariska is right about this.
The girl’s gaze settled on Mariska as a flash of recognition rippled across her expression.
“You,” she said.
Mariska held out the sifter. “Hello, Crystal. I borrowed this from your grandmother the night I was bread elf and I’m bringing it back. Have you ever made stollen with her? She had allergies to nuts, didn’t she?”
Charlotte silently groaned.
Smooth, Mariska. Smooth.
Crystal seemed to grow paler by the second.
“Yeah and, I, no…she’d wouldn’t let me,” she said.
Crystal took the sifter, her stare still laser-locked on Mariska.
“She wouldn’t let you?” echoed Charlotte before she could stop herself. Her plan had been to stay quiet and pretend she wasn’t there at all. It shouldn’t have been difficult, considering Crystal appeared mesmerized by Mariska and hadn’t appeared to even notice her. She needed to let Mariska work her grandmotherly magic, instead, here she was opening her big mouth.
Crystal’s gaze shifted to Charlotte, her head retracting on her neck a notch, as if she was surprised to find her there. Her expression clouded, and Charlotte knew she’d made a mistake. The girl sniffed, and her look of sadness dissipated, replaced by defensive posturing.
“Thanks for…” Crystal looked at the sifter and, seemingly unsure what to call it, shook it. “Thanks for the thing.”
She took a step back and began to close the door.
“Wait,” rushed Mariska, holding out a hand to stop the door’s progress.
Crystal paused. Again, Charlotte felt Mariska held some special fascination for the girl, and Crystal was powerless to deny her.
She regretted even more deeply not keeping her mouth shut and pressed her lips together as a reminder not to speak up again.
“I wanted you to know how sorry I am about Alice,” said Mariska. It wasn’t a line they’d practiced. These were Mariska’s true feelings.
Crystal’s expression softened and she nodded. “Thank you. That’s...you’re nice.”
“I didn’t know about her nut allergy, but I promise you I didn’t add nuts to the recipe.”
Crystal’s lip began to quiver. “I know. I have to go.”
She closed the door and Charlotte heard it lock.
Mariska looked at her, clearly upset. “She didn’t confess.”
“Let’s go.” Charlotte headed back down the path to draw the conversation away from Crystal’s doorstep. Mariska followed.
When they reached the curb, Charlotte continued. “She didn�
��t confess, but that isn’t your fault. That’s my fault. She seemed ready to listen to you and I broke the spell.”
“No, I don’t think it was your fault—”
“Thank you, but it was. You did great.”
Mariska sighed. “We did our best.”
They walked in silence, both locked in their own thoughts. Mariska wondered aloud if jail togs were one hundred percent cotton. Charlotte replayed in her head their short conversation with Crystal.
What did she mean about Alice forbidding her to make stollen? There was no logical reason to stop the girl from helping. Maybe she was sloppy? Tended to leave things unfinished after starting them? Maybe Alice knew anything they did together would end in an argument and she couldn’t bear the thought of asking for help.
Then there was the part that really caught Charlotte’s attention. When Mariska said she didn’t add the nuts to the stollen, Crystal said ‘I know.’
How could she know unless she knew who did put the nuts in the stollen?
And how could she know, unless it was her or she was covering for that terrible boyfriend?
Maybe that had been her confession.
Still, it wasn’t enough. They couldn’t take an off-handed comment as proof of Crystal’s guilt. The girl could have been dismissing them—using I know as a variant form of whatever.
As they approached Mariska’s house, Charlotte spotted Darla approaching them.
“How’d it go?” she asked.
Charlotte raised her hands and let them flop to her sides. “Mariska had her on the ropes and I ruined it.”
Mariska shook her head. “That’s not true. She was never going to confess. Why would she? It was a silly idea to get my hopes up.”
Darla opened her arms and gave them both a hug. “You tried. Let’s go have a glass of wine at my house.”
“Sounds like a plan,” said Charlotte.
Mariska sighed. “I might as well. They probably won’t let me have wine in prison.”
Charlotte laughed. “You’re not going to prison.”
