Emily snickered. “Apparently when I was born. Just took me a while to figure it out.”
Mom moved to the couch next to Emily, taking her hands. “Honey, is this because of what Chad did to you?”
Emily jerked her hands out of Mom’s grasp and the sister I knew and could barely tolerate reared her snarky head. “God, I knew you wouldn’t understand. This is why I never told you.” And then, just as quickly, “I’m sorry.” She took Mom’s hand. “I realize that getting told your daughter is a lesbian isn’t what you want to hear.”
“Oh, my baby. All I want is your happiness.”
“Amen to that,” said Ruby.
Chapter Twenty-Five
BETTER DEAD THAN WED
MONDAY • JULY 22
Posted by Katy McKenna
Private
Sunday, July 21
“Breakfast will be ready in a few minutes, girls.” Mom ladled batter into the waffle iron. “Your dad’s outside. Why don’t you grab a cup of coffee and go talk to him.”
We found Pop sitting out on the patio, tossing peanuts to a blue jay.
“Hey, girls. Meet my little buddy.” Pop’s friend hopped close to snatch a nut and then flew off to hide it in the yard.
We sat flanking him, and Emily didn’t waste time getting to the point of the visit. “Pop? I have something important to tell you and here goes. I’m gay.” Bammo. No preamble. No lead-in. Not even a toast. Just bammo.
The poor guy looked like he’d been sucker-punched. “Whoa. Did not see that coming.” He set down his coffee cup and scratched his gray stubble. “You sure about this?” Then shook his head. “I’m sorry. Of course you’re sure, or you wouldn’t have told me.” He stood and drew her into his arms. “You are who you are, honey. And who you are is who I love.” He pulled back. “Have you told Mom?”
“Last night, but she said I should be the one to tell you.”
Pop embraced her again, glancing at me over his shoulder. “How long have you known?”
“I just found out too.” We group-hugged while Mr. Blue Jay screeched for more peanuts.
That’s not to say it wasn’t a little awkward at the breakfast table. We all worked on getting our waffles perfectly buttered and syruped, coffees refilled, sugared, creamed, stirred. Who would be the first to talk?
Mom. “Katy, I think I hear your phone vibrating in your purse.”
I got up to check, and it was Chad. Again. There were seven messages on the screen, begging me to talk to him, text him. The phone vibrated in my hand and another text popped up. You are my soulmate. So I texted “SCREW YOU,” turned off the phone, tossed it back into my purse, and returned to the table. “I have something to tell you too, Pop.”
He looked a little panicky. “Are you gay, too?”
“Nope. Just permanently celibate. Might even join a convent.” That got a little chuckle and then I told him about Stalker-Chad.
“That little shit!” Pop stood, knocking back his chair. “I’m going to have a chat with that son of a bitch and when I’m done with him, I promise you, Katy, he will not ever bother you again. You have my word on that.”
“Sit down, Pop,” said Emily. “Please. There’s more.”
Now it was her turn to finish him off with her Chad-the-Molester story. All eyes were on him, trying to gauge his feelings. When she concluded, he sat stone-faced for several moments, then asked Mom, “Did you know about this, Marybeth?”
She looked grieved to admit it. “They told me last night, and I wanted—”
“God, Marybeth! How could you keep this from me? Is that why you and Ruby drank so much that you needed a ride home?”
“Don’t be mad at Mom,” I said. “We begged her to let us tell you. Believe me, she was not happy about that.”
“Well, I sure wish I’d been told all this a long time ago, so maybe I could have done something. But no. Instead my youngest daughter thinks she has to move away because of this bastard, and my oldest daughter, who should know better, didn’t bother to tell me that he’s stalking her. I always thought he was a slimy weasel, and this just proves it.”
“And to think you nursed him through cancer, Katy,” said Mom.
Pop stood again and kissed each of us on the head. “I love you all, but I need to walk this off.”
Mom looked up at him. “With your bum knee?”
“Okay, drive it off,” he snapped, then caught her worried expression and softened. “I’ll be all right, Marybeth. Maybe I’ll go to the beach.”
“Better take a jacket. It might be chilly.”
He rummaged in the hall closet, then slammed out of the house without another word.
“We need to get a dog.” Mom pushed her plate away. “Max used to go everywhere with him, and right now he could use a quiet friend.”
“Is he going to be okay?” asked Emily.
Mom patted her hand. “Kurt and I each have our own way of processing things. I’m a pretty typical female and will talk it to death. He’s a typical male and will brood it out.” She reached out and squeezed our hands. “You are his little girls and his job is to protect you, and hearing all this has completely emasculated him.”
I cleared the table, and as I refilled our coffee cups, Mom blurted, “Oh no!” and jumped out of her chair, hurrying to the hall closet with us on her heels. On her knees, she placed her fingers on the fingerprint gun safe that is bolted to the floor and opened it. The safe was empty.
“Oh, Mom!” cried Emily, breaking down. “I never should have told him. This is all my fault.”
“Stop it,” said Mom, clamping her hands on Emily’s shoulders. “Chad brought this on himself.” She pulled my sister close and reached for my hand. “Katy, you better warn Chad.”
I returned to the kitchen and ripped my cell out of my purse and turned it on, and there was Chad’s answer to my “SCREW YOU” text: YES-YES-YES!
My call to him went straight to voice mail. I didn’t think it was a good idea to leave a recorded message saying my dad might be gunning for him, so I said, “Chad, there are lots of people very ummm—upset with you right now, so watch your back.”
I clicked off and tapped the phone against my chin. What to do? Call Heather and warn her? No, can’t call Heather. Don’t have her cell number. Call the Bookstore Bistro. I did and Chad answered.
“Hey, Katy. I saw your text message, and I liked it.”
“Listen to your voice mail.” I hung up.
Mom came into the kitchen with Emily sniveling behind her. “Did you get ahold of Chad?”
“Yes, he’s at the bookstore. I couldn’t tell him Pop may be gunning for him.”
“You’re right. Try calling your dad.”
I did and heard his phone ringing out on the patio table.
“He’s probably walking on the pier at Pajaro Beach right now, watching the seals.” Mom gazed out the window, thinking aloud. “Then he’ll get a coffee at that cafe on the pier, and by the time he comes home, he’ll have cooled down.” She turned to me. “We all need to calm down. In twenty-nine years of marriage, he’s never done anything violent.”
“So what should we do?” asked Emily, still weeping.
Mom handed Emily a paper napkin. “Blow your nose and go home. No point in hanging around here. He could be gone for hours. I’m going to work this off in the yard.”
Gardening is Mom’s therapy. A much healthier therapy than mine: chocolate.
Emily and I climbed into Veronica and as we belted in, my sister said, “Maybe we should go to the bookstore. You know, just in case.”
“Hey, Katy!” Heather waddled around the counter, wanting a hug. “Wow! It’s super good to see you.”
I caught the astonished expression on Emily’s face. Heather’s so big she should be in the Guinness Book of World Records.
“Heather, this is my sister, Emily. Emily, this is Heather.”
“It’s so nice to meet you. Chad has said such super things about you.”
I poked Emi
ly in the back, warning her to be polite. “Oh, that’s sooo…super of him.” She forced a super phony smile that blew right over Heather’s head.
“Hey! How about I treat you to lunch in the bistro. We still have your favorite sandwich. The Katydid.”
That actually sounded good since I hadn’t eaten my breakfast, and it was pushing noon. But no. We were there on business. “Maybe another time. Is Chad around? I need to ask him something.”
“No,” she said with a boohoo face. “He left a little while ago.”
Emily hung back while I did all the talking. “Will he be back soon?”
“I sure hope so. He’s on the schedule and I can only be on my feet for short stretches of time now. But I really don’t know. A man came in a little while ago, and they left together.”
“A man with a buzz cut?”
“Yeah. How’d you know? Is there something wrong?”
Yes. “No. Why would there be?”
“Because you seem to know who that old man was.”
First off, Pop isn’t old. He’s fifty-six and in great shape. Ruggedly handsome and aging well. But Heather is the same age as Emily, so I let it pass. “Just a guess.” I pointed at the counter. “Looks like you’ve got a customer waiting, so I guess we’ll get going.”
“Should I tell Chad to call you?”
“Sure. Thanks.” We hugged again and she trundled off to the register.
Emily appeared to be mesmerized by what had just transpired, so I took her arm and guided her out the door.
“Wow. That was surreal,” she said out on the sidewalk.
“Every meeting with Heather is surreal. But forget about that. I think Pop is out to avenge his daughters. He’s always said if anyone ever hurt us it would be the last thing they do.”
I called Mom on speakerphone as we walked back to the car. “Mom, we went to the bookstore just in case Pop showed up.”
“And did he?”
“He’d already been there and left. With Chad.”
Silence on her end.
“Mom?” said Emily. “You still there?”
“I’m here. Just thinking. He probably just wants to warn Chad. Give him a good talking to.”
“What about the gun?” I asked.
“Let’s not get ahead of ourselves. Your father’s mad, but he’s not going to shoot Chad in cold blood. In fact, the more I think about it, having a face-to-face with Chad is a good thing for Kurt. Scare the heck out of Chad, and he’ll feel like he’s protecting his babies.”
A couple hours later, Mom called me at home. “Your father’s sitting in the hot tub having a beer.”
A warm rush of relief unknotted my gut. “How is he?”
“Quiet.”
“What about the gun?”
“I haven’t asked yet.”
“Mom!”
“How’s it going to sound to him? ‘Hey, Kurt, I just happened to check the gun safe right after you left and your handgun was gone.’ Katy, there is probably a very good explanation for it and… Oh, crud. I have to ask.”
A few minutes passed and she called back. Emily was next to me, so I put the call on speaker. “I’m outside with your father, and I’m handing the phone to him.”
“Hey, Katydid. You can stop worrying. Your old man’s not a murderer. My gun’s at the shop getting repaired. I still plan to teach you how to shoot, you know.”
“Did you talk to Chad?”
“Nope. I got a coffee and sat in my car at the beach.”
“Okay, Pop. Try to relax. I know we unloaded a lot on you this morning. Can I talk to Mom again?”
“Bye, honey.”
Mom came on the phone. “Katy?”
“Go back in the house, Mom, before we talk.” A few moments passed, then the screen door slammed. “All right. I’m in the house.”
“Pop just lied to me. He said he didn’t go to the bookstore, but we know for a fact that he did.”
“Your father has never lied to me, and if he says he didn’t go, then he didn’t go,” she said. “Enough, Katy. This is your father we’re talking about. I have to go now.” She hung up without saying goodbye, which I guess means she hung up on me.
“Pop’s lying,” said Emily. “What should we do?”
“I’m calling the bookstore.”
I prayed Chad would answer. Then I would have hung up, knowing he wasn’t dead. But instead, Heather answered. “Hi, Katy. Chad’s still not back.” She moaned a low, grinding groan.
“What’s wrong? Did you have a labor pain?”
“No, heartburn. Not fun. I would really like to get out of here and put my swollen feet up. This is really so thoughtless of Chaddie.”
Oh, Pop. What have you done?
Chapter Twenty-Six
BETTER DEAD THAN WED
MONDAY • JULY 22
Posted by Katy McKenna
Private
This morning, my sister and I huddled under a blanket on the sofa, watching the local morning news, terrified we’d see Chad’s face fill the screen as the newscaster announced:
“Local man missing. If you have any information, please contact the police.”
Or worse: A video of a bagged body being loaded into an ambulance: “A body was discovered under the pier at Pajaro Beach last night by a passing jogger. The deceased was male and had no identification. He is described as Caucasian, late thirties to midforties, paunchy, thinning hair, crooked nose, zits…”
Or even worse: A video of Pop being hauled away in handcuffs: “Kurt Melby, retired police officer and owner of Pop’s Fix-it Shop, was arrested this morning for the brutal murder of Chad Bridges, owner of The Bookcase Bistro. The victim leaves behind a wife, pregnant with triplets…”
Then a clip of Heather sobbing: “He was such a good man,” before doubling over in labor pains, screaming, “Oh gosh! I think my water broke!”
The landline rang, announcing, “Call from Ruby Armstrong.” Emily reached for the phone on the coffee table.
“Don’t answer it,” I said, thinking, What if she’s calling to tell us Pop has been arrested?
“It’s Grandma. I have to answer it.” She hit the speakerphone button. “Hi, Ruby.”
“Hi, sweetie. I’m calling to tell you something about your father. Now please, I want you to stay calm.”
“Oh God.” I shoved my face into a throw pillow to muffle my voice. “I knew it. I knew it. He killed Chad.”
“Your mother asked me to tell you that she had to take Kurt to the ER late last night.”
“What? What?” I screamed, tossing the pillow across the room.
“Now don’t get upset, but he had some chest pains.”
“Oh my God! He had a heart attack?” Suddenly woozy, I stuck my head between my knees. “Is he dead?”
Emily rolled into a ball on the couch, whimpering, “Daddy, Daddy,” while Daisy tried her best to mother us both.
“Jeez, Louise! You two are really something. He’s alive and it wasn’t a heart attack, so both of you just simmer down. He’s going to be fine. It turned out to be angina.”
“What’s that?” I straightened, inhaling deep and slow to oxygenate my spinning head.
“I looked it up on WebMD and, well, hold on a sec and I’ll read it to you. Now where did I put my glasses?”
“Check the top of your head,” I said.
“Bingo. Okay, let me get back to the site.” Her acrylics tapped the keys. “Okay. Here it is. Ready?”
“Yes.” I found a nail that needed trimming and furiously gnawed on it.
“Angina is a blockage—”
“Hold on, Grandma,” I said.
My sister was borderline hysterical and hadn’t heard anything past the words “heart attack.”
“Emily. He didn’t have a heart attack, so shut it. I can’t hear Grandma.”
She hiccupped and clapped a hand over her mouth as Grandma continued. “A blockage in the heart blood vessels that reduces blood flow and oxygen to the heart muscle
itself, causing pain but not permanent damage to the heart. Chest pain from angina can be triggered by exercise, excitement, or emotional distress and is relieved by rest.”
Emily wiped her runny nose on her pajama sleeve and whimpered in a tiny voice, “But he’s not dying?”
“No, kiddo. He’s not dying. He’s going to get a full workup at the cardiologist’s, and oh, there was something else.”
“What?”
“He also had a couple of little bones fractured in his right hand. Marybeth said it was swollen so he’d been icing it last night. He slammed the car door on it yesterday at the beach. The poor guy. Talk about having a bad day.”
You don’t know the half of it. “That had to hurt,” I said, wondering, Did he break those bones beating up Chad before he killed him? “Is he home now or should we go to the hospital?”
“He’ll go home this afternoon, and when he gets there he’ll need to sleep. Maybe you kids could take some dinner over later.”
“I could go to Suzy Q’s and get him something really healthy. No fat, no carbs, no gluten, no sugar, no meat.”
“No flavor. Gee, that sure sounds good,” she snorted. “Take him a pizza. I imagine the doctor will put him on a strict diet, so give the guy one last treat.”
“I can get him a healthy pizza, like the one I always order at Klondike Pizza. A vegetarian with light cheese.”
“Honey, save that for later and get him that roadkill pizza he loves with extra cheese, the way he likes it. Right now, your father probably feels like roadkill, poor thing.”
After we had hung up, I went online and read the angina description, stopping at the words: chest pain from angina can be triggered by emotional distress.
It would be very emotionally distressing to beat up and kill your daughter’s ex-husband.
And then it dawned on me. Chad hadn’t texted or called since yesterday morning.
Murder Blog Mysteries Boxed Collection Page 37
