by Amy Vansant
Seamus shrugged. “For one, we can start eating out more often. Do you have your wallet?”
“Yes, but—”
“Great. I’ll drive.”
Seamus headed for his car.
“I’ll drive,” Declan called after him.
“Nope. My treat.”
Declan sighed and Charlotte lead the way toward Seamus’ clunker. She waved Declan to the passenger side and slid into the back seat. The leather had been rubbed paper thin by the passengers of countless previous owners. As she sat, stuffing poofed from the cracks like little geysers.
Seamus told them about seeing his nemesis, Edmundo, with Tabby.
Charlotte’s phone rang its assigned jingle for an unidentified number. Shifting to reach for her phone pushed her tender flesh into a sharp spring hidden in Seamus’ back seat. Her greeting sounded half hello and half yelp.
“You lost,” said a familiar female voice.
“Stephanie?”
“Speak of the devil,” yelled Seamus.
Charlotte motioned to him to be quiet.
“Darling Seamus. Did he like his present?” asked Stephanie.
Charlotte pulled the phone from her ear. “She wants to know if you liked your present.”
Seamus looked in his rearview to meet eyes with Charlotte. “My present?” He made a noise as if he’d been lightly punched in the stomach. “She means Edmundo. It was her.”
Charlotte raised her phone again. “Do you mean Edmundo?”
“Of course.”
“Yep,” said Charlotte, relaying the message to Seamus. Even seeing only a portion of his face, she could tell he was livid. She could feel her own ire growing to dangerous levels, and tilted the phone closer to her mouth to be sure Stephanie could hear her.
“Did you ever consider getting a hobby, or, you know, a life, and maybe stop worrying about ours?”
Stephanie chuckled. “Playing with your lives is my hobby.”
“You are a sad little person.”
“Mm-hm. You’re the one who should be sad. You lost because your client doesn’t trust you. Seems your career is off to a roaring start.”
“What are you talking about? Are you saying Penny lost?”
“Not the whole competition, but the first test.”
“What first test?”
“See? Your client didn’t tell you. I suspected as much. She didn’t think she needed your help, apparently. That’s got to hurt.”
“You’re such a—”
Stephanie had hung up and Charlotte roared with frustration.
“What is it?” asked Declan.
“She called to tell me Penny already lost the first test. I have to call Penny and find out what happened.”
Jaw clenched, Charlotte dialed.
“Hello?”
“Penny, it’s Charlotte. Do you know anything about a test from Cora?”
“It’s taken care of,” said Penny, her voice wrapped in a warm cloak of smug.
“What’s taken care of?”
“Cora sent word that she’d had to let go of her gardener and needed a replacement. I sent the best landscaper in Florida, The Art of Palm.”
“The Art of Palm? That doesn’t even make any sense.”
“Well they cost a fortune. She’s going to love them.”
Charlotte chewed on her lip, running through all the reasons, besides the stupid name, that hiring Art of Palm had been a bad idea. It didn’t take long.
“Oh no.” Charlotte hung her head.
“What do you mean, oh no,” asked Penny.
“I’ll call you back.”
“Do a U-turn,” she demanded.
“What? But I’m starving—”
“Just do it. Please? We’re not far. Run by Cora Bloom’s house. I have to check on something for our case.”
“Fine. You’re buying appetizers now, though.”
Seamus did a U-turn and headed for Cora’s house. When they arrived, Charlotte saw what she feared she would—Tabby on her hands and knees pulling weeds.
“Penny threw money at the problem instead of humility.”
“What are you talking about?” asked Declan.
“Cora sent word that she needed landscaping and Penny sent a company to do it. Tabby showed up in gloves, ready to get to work. That showed true penance. We lost the first test.”
Edmundo came around the corner of the house pushing a wheelbarrow. He spotted Seamus’ car and waved, flashing his million-watt smile.
Seamus smacked his steering wheel. “Shite.”
Tabby saw Edmundo waving and followed his gaze.
“Cora sent the landscapers away,” she shouted in a sunny voice, her face covered in sweat and dirt. “I win!”
Seamus slammed the car into drive and headed back towards the restaurant, stewing in silence.
Charlotte redialed Penny.
“It’s official. You lost that one.”
“What one?”
“The gardening test.”
“I sent her the absolute best. How is that possible?”
“Cora doesn’t want you to send someone, she wants you to be sorry, remember?”
“I am sorry. I told you—they’re incredibly expensive.”
“You’re not getting it. Sorry would be doing it yourself. Showing humility.”
“Doing it—” Charlotte could hear Penny on the other end of the line sputtering with incredulity. “She wanted me to pick weeds?”
“Your sister is over there right now pulling weeds.”
“Tabby? You’ve got to be kidding. I’d pay money to see that.”
“You don’t need to. Just drive to Cora’s right now.”
“She’s a black hole of self-absorption. How did she figure it out?”
“Maybe she consulted with her investigator.”
“You’re saying you would have seen the trick?”
“It isn’t so much a trick, as a hope you’d make the more heartfelt choice, but yes, I would have been looking for the trick. We have to assume anything Stephanie asks us to do has a twist to it. You lost what will probably be the easiest test, and we don’t even know how many tests there will be.”
“You think I lost the whole thing already?”
“I hope not. But from now on we have to be careful and you have to tell me everything.”
Penny sighed. “Fine. Sorry.”
Charlotte was about to hang up when she heard Penny gasp.
“Are you okay?”
“I don’t know. Do you think the landscapers will charge me, even if they weren’t allowed to work?”
Charlotte sighed. “Good-bye, Penny.”
Chapter Eleven
Three Months Previous
Stephanie glanced from the contract she was reviewing and rubbed her eyes.
Why did I become a lawyer again?
She was trying very hard to settle down and act like a normal person, but it wasn’t easy. It turned out that ordinary people spent an inordinate amount of time doing ordinary things.
Who knew?
The phone rang and Stephanie answered, affecting a British accent.
“Stephanie Moriarty Law, how can I help you?”
There was a pause.
“Hello?”
“Does anyone fall for that?”
Stephanie closed her eyes.
“Hello, Mother.”
“Hello, darling. How’s my little chip off the old block?”
Normally, a mother calling a daughter was a heartwarming proposition. Less so, when the mother was one of the most prolific serial killers alive. Stephanie had only been reunited with her mother, Jamie, recently. To say things weren’t going smoothly would be an understatement, but the connection between them was undeniable, as much as Stephanie hated to admit it.
“Mother, why would you call me on the phone?”
“Because there was a line at the telegram office?”
“I mean, you’re a wanted woman. For all you know my phone is tapped.”
As she said it, Stephanie grabbed a pen and jotted check tap on the corner of a sheet of legal paper. If nothing else, her mother’s call served as a nice reminder to cover the basics and give her office a good sweep.
“I just wanted to hear your voice.”
“Right. For the second time in twenty-six years, you wanted to hear my voice. Really? Stop. I’m tearing up here.”
“That’s not fair.”
“You gave me to a stranger at birth, Mom. How did you know she wouldn’t turn around and sell me on the black market for fifty dollars and bag of crack?”
“Do people sell bags of crack? Wouldn’t it be a rock of crack?”
“I’m sure they put several rocks in a bag...”
“Hm. Would a baby cost a whole bag? Or—”
“Why are we talking about crack?” asked Stephanie.
“Sorry. Look, sweetheart, people didn’t do things like sell babies for bags of crack rocks back then. It was a lot harder to sell a baby before Craigslist. I’m not even sure crack was a thing then—”
“That’s really not the point. And don’t call me sweetheart.”
Jamie sighed. “I told you. I kept tabs on you. I was always watching. Do we have to do this every time I talk to you?”
“Maybe a few more times. I want to make sure I don’t forget.”
“Fine. Are we done now, for today at least?”
Stephanie sighed. “Yes. Fine. So tell me the real reason for your call if it isn’t illegal.”
“It’s not. I need you to buy some land for me. A big empty field, to be precise.”
Stephanie scowled. “Please tell me you’re not moving back to town.”
“No. I want you to buy a specific lot, that I understand might be for sale now.”
“Why?”
“Let’s say I may have left some loose ends there from earlier in my career.”
Stephanie lowered her head to her desk with a thud. “You’re kidding me. Please tell me you’re not saying what I think you’re saying.”
“I figure it would be better to buy the land and, uh, redecorate at my leisure, before someone tries to dig a basement and finds uh—”
“Don’t say it.”
“You get it then.”
“Yes, I’m not an idiot. Anyone listening to this call could figure it out.”
“Oh, well then, bodies. There are bodies—”
“LA LA LA,” Stephanie sang over her mother’s voice. “I didn’t hear what you said. Nor do I want to.”
“Fine. But I need you to buy the lot.”
“Of course. Should I just put it on my credit card? Unfortunately, I don’t have any babies to trade for it.”
“Negotiate the price and I’ll send you the money.”
Stephanie rapped her knuckles against her head, her lips pressed together like a vice. She could feel a tension headache crawling up the back of her neck like a hundred pound spider. Her own misdeeds rarely caused her a moment’s regret, but every word from her mother’s mouth sent her into panic attack. “Give me one good reason I should do this for you.”
“I’m your mother?”
“You’ll have to do a lot better than that.”
“Let’s just say it would behoove you to do as your mother asks. On a multitude of levels.”
“Is that a threat?”
Jamie laughed. “It would be a last resort. I have plenty of options. For instance, after you revealed yourself to me I did a little digging. I know a love story about a patch of swamp land in Argentina and a young man named Emile. Didn’t you introduce those two? Has anyone seen Emile lately? I mean since—”
“Enough,” said Stephanie. The last thing she needed was her mother babbling about her own indiscretions on the phone.
If the Cheshire cat smiling had a sound, Stephanie was listening to it on the other end of the line.
“Write this down,” said Jamie.
Stephanie grabbed a pen and transcribed her mother’s instructions and a name. Bucky Bloom.
Jamie wanted to buy the enormous lot behind Pineapple Port—the one people called Cow Town—the most desirable piece of land in the whole miserable city.
She recognized the owner’s name, too. Bucky Bloom had once owned all the land on which Charity now sat. He wasn’t a man who needed money. He’d been sitting on Cow Town for decades.
“What if he doesn’t want to sell?” she asked.
“He won’t. But you’ll find a way to make it happen. I have faith in you.”
Stephanie flopped back in her chair. “Well, it’s been a pleasure, Mom. By all means, please keep in touch.”
“Oh, I will.”
Stephanie disconnected.
What a nightmare.
In a fit of pique she stabbed her pen into her leather desk blotter several times and then flopped forward on her desk.
Calm down. Think.
Stick to the basics and you’ll be fine—blackmail, sex and threats.
Stephanie retrieved her phone and dialed the one person she knew who could help.
Her hair dresser, Raelyn.
Raelyn had attended high school with Stephanie and had always been a one-stop shop for gossip. Becoming a hairdresser had been less of a vocation and more of a calling for her.
The salon’s receptionist answered and, upon request, Stephanie heard her holler for Raelyn. She sounded as she’d won a hog calling competition at some point in her life.
“Hello?”
“Hey Raelyn. It’s Stephanie.”
“Well, heeeeeey. How you doin’ Stephie?”
Raelyn’s voice shifted into a happy, sing-songy gear. Upon reconnecting, Raelyn had been visibly impressed by Stephanie’s expensive clothes and sophisticated manner. Stephanie suspected Raelyn thought that, with enough time, she’d find a way to con her old-new fancy friend out of money or favors.
It was adorable.
Stephanie had chosen Raelyn to do her hair intentionally, and it had nothing to do with her prowess with a pair of shears. She only ever had the dead ends snipped off; a Labradoodle could be trained to trim her hair.
But a high-priced mutt could never be the treasure trove of information that was Raelyn.
“I’m just fine, Raelyn. Thank you for asking.”
“You need a trim? Going to take me up on that little poof of perm?”
“Uh, no. You know, I’d love to come in, but right now I just have a silly question for you. Someone was in my office here a moment ago and they mentioned Bucky Bloom. That name sounded so familiar, but I couldn’t place it. I thought to myself, you know who would know? Raelyn. Was he on the football team or something?”
Raelyn laughed a low, harsh laugh that morphed into a coughing fit.
“You silly, Bucky Bloom’s the rich guy. The dude who used to own all the land around here.”
“Oh yeah? That sounds familiar—”
“Of course it does. He lives in that giant house out there by Cow Town—oh, and Stephanie, you would not believe—”
Here it comes. The meaty stuff.
“—that man is such a dog. He thinks if he throws money at a girl she’ll crawl right into bed with him.”
“You don’t say? Where did you hear this?”
She laughed again. “Didn’t you ever wonder where I got the money for that sweet Camaro the year we graduated?”
Sure. Keeps me up at nights.
“You didn’t.”
“I did. The price was right for a little attention.” Her voice dropped to a raspy whisper. “But don’t you tell Paul I said that.”
Paul was her husband. They’d known each other since middle school.
“No, of course not, Raelyn. It’s all coming back now. Wasn’t Bucky into some other dirty things?”
There was silence but for a faint jingly noise. Stephanie guessed Raelyn was shaking her head and her trademark over-sized earrings were chiming.
“No, no. Not that I can think of. He’s just a dog. Lays low other than that. Never see him unl
ess he’s out sniffin’ for women less than half his age.”
“Hm. How about that. Thank you Raelyn, that was driving me crazy.”
“Sweetie, I totally understand. The other day I got to trying to remember the name of the band that sang that song that goes pum pum, pum pumpity—”
“Oh. Sorry Raelyn, that’s my other line. I gotta go, but I’ll see you soon.”
Raelyn was still speaking as she disconnected.
So Bucky has a thing for the ladies.
Stephanie nodded.
That was a foible with which she could work.
Chapter Twelve
The next morning, Charlotte heard a knock on her door as she was piecing together the video doorbell Declan had given her. Her gaze swept to her blinds as Abby-dog bounded to the door barking her deep-chested woof.
The blinds were open. She’d feared she’d forgotten to open them, and accidentally alerted the Death Squad—a group of morning walkers who liked to confirm all the Pineapple Port residents had survived the evening. Early morning knocks were usually that morbid pack, checking to see if she’d had a stroke overnight. She’d tried to convince them that, as she was the youngest community resident by almost thirty years, maybe it wasn’t necessary to check on her, but to no avail. In the end, she decided to sit back and accept their attentions as a compliment. They didn’t check if everyone was alive.
She peered out the window and found Sheriff Frank on her doorstep.
“You’re out early,” she said, opening the door. Abby piled out and slammed into Frank’s knees before commencing her I-know-you happy dance.
Frank scowled. “What time do you think I go to work in the morning? I can’t sleep all day like some of the lay-abouts in this place.”
“Sorry. I guess I meant you’re usually at work, so I don’t see you until later in the day. As a rule.”
“That’s more like it. Anyway, I thought maybe we could have a cup of coffee and look at a dead body if that works for you?”
“Sounds delightful. Anyone I know?” She stepped back to allow Frank through the door and Abby followed behind like a cream-colored shadow.
He held up a manila envelope. “Got the report back on Bucky.”
“Ah, great.” She poured a cup of coffee and handed it to him as he sat at the table. Luckily, she hadn’t had her own cup yet, because after years of practice, she’d finally learned how to make about a mug and a half of coffee using just the right amount of beans. Mariska, the neighborhood’s biggest coffee snob, had ruined her for using pre-ground coffee.
