But Justice’s diary belonged to them all. The wisdom on each page was meant for her entire family, black and white. She opened the book and let her vision blur above the pretty handwriting.
Until now, she’d thought of Birdie Kaminsky as both an irritation and a pleasure. A cocksure child who liked to hear stories about the past when she wasn’t hurling zingers like firebombs at anyone who stepped on her toes. And she knew with a deep, unshakeable certainty that there was more to Birdie than she’d imagined.
Chapter 17
Hugh closed the file on the Kaminsky family that Fatman had given him at the hunting lodge. He was still shaken after his run-in with Birdie yesterday at the parade and didn’t relish another upset, this one with Anthony. To top it all off, the librarian was glaring at him as if she knew he was stalling. The library was about to close. He was already late for the interview.
Steering his car through the Square, he tensed beneath the guilt gnawing at his guts—guilt put there by the questions Birdie had thrown at him at the Festival of Lights. What she’d said was true. The article he’d written fourteen years ago about Landon Williams had led to Cat Seaver’s death. Now Hugh was again writing an article sure to destroy another family.
And what of Theodora’s comments? She’d tossed out a real stunner when she’d mentioned Landon still lived in the area. Given the publicity he’d endured, he should’ve moved away. Negative media exposure uprooted people, sent them scuttling from the limelight. Yet Landon was still in town.
Night shadows pooled on North Street. Slowing his car, Hugh tried to pull himself together. Lights from the row of houses flung a diamond-sharp brilliance across the hard-crusted snow. Birdie had been right to get in his face—he was the last person capable of rehabilitating her. Hell, he couldn’t even keep his own life together. He kept repeating the same mistakes.
For a long moment, he wrestled with his reservations about investigating one of Liberty’s most cherished citizens.
Problem was, he liked Anthony. It was a stretch to say they were friends but he admired the type, a man who was steadfast and decent. What if Birdie was correct? Anthony’s reasons for taking the cash might be understandable, if not quite legal. During the interviews Hugh conducted last summer, he recalled the entire Perini clan going into hock to save Blossom during her long battle with leukemia. The donations flowing into the websites from people across the States… would anyone care if some of the cash repaid the mountain of debt Anthony carried?
In the strictest sense, there’s no crime here. He pulled into the Perini’s driveway and cut the engine. I won’t be writing an exposé. It’ll be a public lynching of a good man. Wearily, he climbed the porch steps and rang the doorbell.
Blossom threw open the door as if she’d been waiting for him. “Mr. Shaeffer, come in!” She pulled him inside. “Dad says we can’t vote until you hear the choices. Democracy in action. Don’t worry—you get to vote, too.”
What was the kid talking about? Handing over his coat, Hugh looked around. “Where’s your dad?”
“In the living room with Mary. C’mon. They’ll give you the lowdown while I go back upstairs. I have a gazillion emails to return.”
“Then you’d better get to it.” Following the girl to the living room, his guilt morphed into a soul-killing agony.
Leave now. He spotted Anthony and Mary together on the couch. Anthony was hunched over a sheaf of papers on the coffee table. Call Bud at the Register. Quit.
Mary looked up at Hugh and smiled. “Aren’t journalists supposed to be punctual?” Rising, she gave him a quick hug. “I have calls from patients to return. If you’d been much later, I would have missed this.”
“Sorry for the delay.” Uneasy, he chose a chair across from them. “How’s your medical practice?”
Mary returned to the couch. “Growing by leaps and bounds. People were going out of town for basic medical care. The drive was especially hard on my older patients.”
“I’m glad it’s working out.”
Oblivious to their conversation, Anthony pulled a document from the pile. “Found it.” He handed it to Hugh. “Mary created a spreadsheet before we left on our honeymoon. We should’ve organized the deposits earlier. At least we finally got to it.”
Curious, Hugh glanced at the neat columns of numbers cramming the page.
“Blossom helped Mary put it together. Most of the cash went into short-term CDs.”
Mary added, “With three banks involved, there’s been a lot to track.”
Floundering, Hugh looked from one to the other. Banks? CDs? “You’ve lost me,” he admitted.
Anthony took back the document. “Remember the websites we put up to help my daughter?”
Hugh kept his face blank even as his heart raced. “Of course.”
“Well, we didn’t,” Mary interjected, laughing.
Anthony slung an arm across her shoulders. “Between Blossom’s bone marrow transplant and our decision to elope… heck, we completely forgot about the websites. You find out your kid is going to live and the woman you love has agreed to marry you—”
“And you lose track of everything else?”
“Yeah, and I mean everything. Once Mary started talking about a trip to the Bahamas, you know where my head was at.”
A miserable sort of longing seized Hugh. “I’ve got an idea.”
An alluring image of Birdie accosted him, Birdie leaning close when he’d nearly kissed her before the parade. They’d been fighting, but they always fought. It certainly never dampened his desire for her, and the hungry expression on her face had stoked his need. He’d already spent too many years ravaged by disappointment and self-recrimination. Somehow, she could find a way past his defenses.
He tamped down her image, but not before it spilled pain into his chest.
“What happened when you remembered the websites were still live?” he finally asked.
“At first, we were shocked. Man, you wouldn’t believe how much money was still coming in.” Anthony shook his head with bemusement. “You don’t expect people you’ve never met to be so generous.”
“They thought Blossom was still fighting for her life,” Mary said. “We had to do something, and fast. But we’d already eloped and booked the flight for our honeymoon. The tickets were nonrefundable.”
“We figured, ‘no harm, no foul’ if we waited until we returned to rectify the situation.” Anthony nodded toward the ceiling. Several voices were audible. “Blossom is posting on all the sites, explaining she’s doing fine. The news will put a stopper in the cash flow.”
Hugh recalled meeting one of Blossom’s girlfriends last summer. Snoops was a geek with purple-framed glasses and a penchant for computers. “Is Snoops helping her with the posts?”
“Yeah, and they’re rebuilding some of the web pages, dropping in new pictures of Blossom, how she looks now. The guest book on each site is filled with notes from well-wishers. Everyone is glad she’s doing so well.”
“I am, too.” Hugh’s throat tightened with unexpected emotion.
“We’ve also had a family discussion to decide how to put the money to good use.”
“What did you come up with?” For once, he bypassed his natural cynicism and said a silent prayer of gratitude. Anthony hadn’t misappropriated the money.
Why do I always expect the worst from people? He suffered a jab of remorse. Because I’m a distrusting bastard.
But the Perinis were decent. They’d come up with something worthy, something that didn’t involve buying vacation property in the Florida Keys with the retirement checks sent in by old ladies from Topeka, Kansas. Anthony hadn’t lined his bank account with cash garnered from good-hearted souls in Seattle or Houston.
He was startled from his thoughts when Mary said, “Anthony, spell it out for Hugh. I’d like to hear what he thinks.”
Anthony lowered his elbows to his knees. “Here’s the deal. We’ve collected more than half a million dollars through the websites. We’
ve banked every penny.”
Half a million dollars? Stunned, Hugh leaned forward in his chair. “It’s all in the bank? All of it?”
“You bet.” There was no missing the pride in Anthony’s voice. “We’re shutting down the websites, but now we have to figure out what to do with the money we’ve already collected.”
“What if the people who donated want a refund?”
“We’re way ahead of you, pal. Snoops has it covered.”
When it came to computers, Snoops was Steve Jobs and Bill Gates combined. “I’m guessing she compiled a mass emailing to everyone who made a donation,” Hugh said, putting the rest together. It was impressive work for a kid in junior high. “Is she asking if the money can be used for another worthy cause?”
“It’s amazing how many people have already given the go-ahead.” Anthony angled his neck toward the ceiling. “Blossom! What’s the count?”
Blossom thundered down the stairwell and hung over the banister. “Closing in on two thousand responses, Dad. We’re still at eighty percent.”
“Which means what, exactly?” Hugh asked, caught between amusement and self-pity.
From the looks of it he’d need to stop in at the Register, but not to give notice. Bud would fire him because he hadn’t delivered a scathing article destroying the myth of goodness in small-town America. Something was happening in Liberty—it was taking place right here, in front of him—but it wasn’t ugly or shocking or bloody. For once it was something good. Something marvelous.
For the sliver of a moment, he reveled in the pleasure of the Perinis’ generosity of spirit. “Anthony, what do you have eighty percent of?”
“That’s how many people have agreed to let us use the money to help other sick kids.” Anthony grew serious. “So we have to choose. Start a foundation for kids with leukemia and help families pay for uninsured services? Or do something more inclusive by aiding kids with any type of cancer? There’s a lot to think about.”
Hugh swallowed down the emotion welling in his chest. Anthony pressed the spreadsheet back on him, adding, “We’re hoping you’ll help us decide what to do.”
Chapter 18
“Stop talking so much,” Delia said with thick sarcasm.
Brushing past her, Birdie entered the kitchen and deposited the tray of dirty dishes in the sink. At the massive stove, Finney attacked a steak with her spatula. Grease sizzled and snapped.
Birdie glared at Delia, who was stuck to her heels like a hound dog. “Don’t badger me. How many times do I have to ask you to drop it?”
“Drop what?” Finney asked, flipping the steak.
Delia pouted. “Something’s had her blue for days.”
Birdie yanked open the dishwasher. Every time the baker, Natasha Jones, came into The Second Chance for a meal, she suffered through the woman’s friendly conversation—something she didn’t deserve, not after what she’d done at the parade. She’d lifted forty bucks from the woman’s purse. For the first time ever, she was seized by the urge to return something she’d stolen. Her newfound conscience was like a bratty kid throwing tantrums whenever Natasha crept into her thoughts.
Tough break, and the baker wasn’t the only issue waging war on her peace of mind. Not by a long shot.
Delia noisily chewed her gum. “Enough already. What’s going on?”
“I haven’t seen Hugh for days, all right?” His gear was still lying around the apartment but some of his clothing and most of his toiletries were missing. If he’d gone back to Akron, he should’ve left a note explaining when he’d return. “He took off without telling me where he’s going.”
“Today is Monday,” Delia said, as if they were all too dumb to know the day of the week. “So you’re saying he’s been gone for a whole week? You don’t think something happened to him, do you?”
“If I had to guess I’d say he’s off… sulking. He’s a brooder.”
Finney pounded the steak into submission. “Have you two been fighting?”
“A lover’s quarrel?” Delia added, clearly delighted with the prospect.
“No.” Birdie stacked the dishwasher with jerky movements. It was a good use of her nervous energy because she was concerned about him. Not that it gave Delia the right to imply she was, hell, lovesick. “He could’ve at least left a message on my cell. It’s not a big deal.”
Finney snorted. “Hogwash. The man leaves without giving you a way to track him? You’re angry.”
“Not me. I never let a man throw me off my game.”
“C’mon, now. You like him. And he likes you. I’m betting you can’t keep your hands off of each other.” The cook reconsidered. “Not that I condone shenanigans between an unmarried couple, mind you.”
“Do tell,” Delia said, ignoring Finney’s trek to the moral high ground. “It’s been a month since I’ve hooked up with a guy. I can live through you until the dry spell’s over.”
“My dry spell’s gone on a tad longer.” Finney slid the steak onto a plate. “Five years. Heaven help me.”
Delia twirled her lime-tinted hair. “C’mon, Birdie. Share the juicy details. Or share Hugh. I go into meltdown just looking at him.”
“There aren’t any juicy details. We aren’t lovers!”
Not yet, anyway. Chances were, they would’ve consummated their relationship on Thanksgiving if not for the argument. No opportunity since then. He was practically living at the library.
Now he’d disappeared altogether. Not that she cared.
“Finney, you ought to check out one of those online dating services if you want to find a man,” she said. “And Delia—stop bugging me!”
The young waitress’s face fell. “I’m only trying to help. It’s what friends do.”
Birdie closed the dishwasher, touched by the comment. They were becoming friends. True, she couldn’t remain in Liberty, not after she found the rubies. Even so, was there any harm in enjoying Delia’s company for now?
Pulling out of her funk, she ran a hank of the girl’s lime-and-blonde hair through her fingertips. “You’re the one who needs help. Remind me to pick up some hair coloring at the drugstore. I can fix this mess.”
“You can?”
“As long as you remember to mind your own business.”
Delia flounced toward the counter and snatched up a serving tray. “Whatever.” She slid the steak on top and headed for the dining room. The door had barely swung shut when it swung back open and she reappeared. “Uh, Birdie… your one o’clock is here.”
“Theodora?” The news lifted her spirits for the first time in days.
Since the Festival of Lights, Theodora was increasingly forthcoming with her stories about Justice. Now that Birdie had found the ruby-studded key in the storeroom—a key without a clue attached—she hoped one of those stories would lead to the rubies. She tried not to think about what the gems had meant to Justice. And she certainly didn’t like considering how finding them would bring her stay in Liberty to a close. She’d have to leave the friends she’d made… and Hugh.
She’d already spent too much time pacing the apartment and worrying about him.
I’m starting to act like a wife. The thought gave her the shivers. She didn’t love him. Some days, she didn’t even like him. She’d never consider marrying him or any man. Her parents’ idea of marriage was shouting insults across a seedy hotel room, and she’d seen what her mother did whenever her father was in the lockup. Thanks, but no thanks. She was concerned for Hugh’s welfare, but she certainly didn’t care about him. Not much, anyway.
In the dining room, Theodora sat at the counter in a holiday dress of red and green stripes. She was casting her beady stare on a nervous Ethel Lynn, taking a dessert order in the center of the dining room. When Ethel Lynn became rattled and dropped the ordering pad, Theodora bared her fake incisors. A low growl rumbled from her throat, and Ethel Lynn shrieked.
“Why do you like scaring her half to death?” Birdie filled a cup with coffee and placed it before Theodo
ra. “Are you two sworn enemies, or what?”
“It’s my duty to keep her in line.”
“What the hell did she ever do to you?”
Theodora grunted. “Our families have bad blood—bad blood going back more than a century. There’s no trusting the Percibles, not one of them.” She peered across the dining room like a fox with a hen in its sights. “Ethel Lynn comes from a witless and cruel tribe.”
“You don’t say.” The witless part did make sense. Ethel Lynn bent to retrieve the order pad she’d dropped, knocking a little girl’s milk to the floor. But cruel? “She doesn’t have a cruel bone in her body.”
Theodora pounded her gnat-sized fist on the counter. “It doesn’t make an ounce of difference! Some insults are never forgotten. She deserves to suffer for all the wrongs of her ancestors. Vermin, all of them!”
“Talk about holding a grudge.” Birdie patted the old woman’s forearm in the hopes of calming her down. Theodora’s laser vision shot to her, and she snatched her hand away. “Hey, don’t take it out on me. I’m already having a bad day.”
“Hugh still isn’t back, is he?”
“How did you know he was gone?”
“Do I look like an idiot?” The old woman leaned close, her face collapsing into an expression of concern. “Stop worrying yourself into a tizzy. He’s a man. All men are fools, but the stupidest among them can find his way home. You waste too much time fretting about the darnedest things.”
“How did you know I was…” Birdie pressed her lips together. Theodora’s a goddamn psychic. How she even knew he’d taken off was anyone’s guess.
“Has the rotten man called?”
“No. Why do you care?” Why do I care?
“I don’t. Love’s a foolish business.”
Birdie yanked down the micro skirt of her uniform. “I’m not in love with him. Do I look like an idiot?”
Theodora gave an appraising look. “Sometimes.”
“Thanks a lot.” She gave up on straightening her skirt and let loose a curse. “Why are you asking about Hugh anyway?”
Treasure Me Page 18
