2 On the Nickel

by Maggie Toussaint

  The vet nodded. “The important thing is to stay calm. Madonna has enough anxiety. She doesn’t need to mirror your stress.”

  Stress? At my house? “Sure. Calm. Piece of cake.”

  Jonette hit me with her elbow again. “Don’t kid about this. We don’t want to mess this up.” She turned her reverent gaze on the vet again. “How will we know when the big moment arrives?”

  “Based on the timeline we’ve established, I believe you have another two weeks to go, and then you’ll have your puppies.”

  Two weeks?

  Yikes.

  That was soon.

  Would Mama be home to witness the birthing? Or would she be locked in jail for making a speed bump out of Erica Hodges?

  Birth and death. Opposite ends of the spectrum, forever linked through the process of living. You couldn’t have birth without death following. Or office visits without bills.

  After paying Madonna’s vet bill, I waited in the parking lot while Jonette used the restroom. Madonna peed on every bush we passed. If she started peeing more than this, she wouldn’t be able to walk without hosing down the sidewalk. Sympathy welled within me. I’d been this huge with Charla, waddling around, peeing every chance I could. It wasn’t much fun. “You’re almost to the finish line, Madonna.” She licked my hand.

  Poor baby. I squatted down and hugged her neck.

  Orphaned. Pregnant as a whale. Living with four females. We weren’t complete strangers, but we weren’t what she was used to, either.

  “You didn’t do anything wrong, sweetie. It’s going to be all right.”

  Madonna leaned into my embrace, soaking up that physical contact and assurance. It floored me that I’d been so oblivious to her distress. It hurt more to think I’d added to her anxiety. This gentle giant deserved better. I rubbed behind her ears, and she made a happy dog sound.

  “We’ll get through this, I promise. Those puppies will be here, and you’ll be dreaming of peace and quiet and doggie naps.”

  Jonette joined us with a laugh. “You were paying attention. Atta girl.”

  Her words were for me, but she’d cooed them in the special voice she used for the dog. Madonna thumped her tail.

  I scrambled to my feet and allowed Jonette to take the leash. We strolled through the park, heading home. “Sorry, I’ve been a bit out of it today.”

  “I noticed. The vet noticed. Even the dog noticed. How do you do that? No one notices when I’m upset.”

  I glanced her way, studying her profile. Had I missed something with Jonette, too? “Don’t sell yourself short. I’d know. Mama and the girls would know. Dean would know.”

  “But it isn’t the same. My life has always been chaos. You are the stable one. Or you were. Charlie’s betrayal changed more than your marital status. You’re different now.”

  Leaves crunched underfoot on the sidewalk. School buses passed on the road bounding the park. “Not so different, really. Just a bit more likely to view the world without rose-colored glasses. Believing the best of everyone led to heartache and desolation. I won’t be that stupid again.”

  “You weren’t stupid. Charlie was. He knows it now. But that’s not what I’m talking about.” Jonette watched the darting flight of a yellow butterfly. “You used to be happy.”

  I grinned. “I’m getting happy again. Sometimes twice a week.”

  Jonette let out more leash. “I’m not talking about sex. I’m talking about you. I was so worried about you, then you pulled yourself together and I thought you would be okay. But now I’m not so sure.”

  My heart raced. I didn’t know where she was going with this, but it couldn’t be good. Did she share my suspicions about Mama? I inhaled a shaky breath. “What are you getting at?”

  “You’re keeping secrets from me.”

  I blinked a few times. Denial formed in my mouth. But this was my best friend. My lifelong confidante. “I am.”

  Jonette flashed me a look of triumph. Then her expression sobered. “I saw the car.”

  My step faltered. I nodded toward the wooden park bench. “Want to sit?”

  “Sure.”

  We sat. Madonna circled and sat a couple of times before she got it right. I remembered that part about pregnancy, too. “I heard you talking about her car as I came in,” Jonette said. “When Madonna and I went outside, I saw the broken headlight and bent bumper.”

  From her factual tone, Jonette didn’t appear to be judging Mama by the evidence, or me for withholding said evidence from a police investigation. “You’ve got to promise not to tell a soul,” I said. “This is the biggest mess ever.”

  Jonette nodded, her chin-length hair cupping her intent pixie face. “Promise.”

  After glancing around to make sure no one could overhear us, I leaned in close to Jonette. “Mama is thrilled Erica is dead. Put that with the person-sized dent in Mama’s car, and it doesn’t look good. Add in that Mama won’t account for her whereabouts the night of Erica’s death, and the final picture is absolutely grim. I’m no police detective, but Mama’s in big trouble here.”

  Jonette didn’t hesitate. “Then we have to find out who killed Erica. Plain and simple.”

  My gaze swept the park again, sure that the entire Frederick County police force would jump out from behind the slides, swing sets, and seesaws, and arrest us both for withholding information. “But what if Mama was involved with Erica’s death? I don’t want to be the one who seals her fate. I want to protect her.”

  “By letting her go to jail?”

  The air swooshed out of me like a spiked tire. “That’s the flaw in my plan. How do I help her without hurting her? It can’t be done.”

  “If you do nothing, she’ll go to jail anyway. Once Britt focuses on a suspect, he gets tunnel vision. That’s what he did with me, anyway. You don’t have a choice. You have to look into Erica’s murder.”

  If only life were so black and white. “I have nothing to go on. It’s a miracle Britt hasn’t already questioned Mama on the basis of Mama and Erica’s past antagonism.”

  “You figured out who killed Dudley,” Jonette reminded me. “Finding Erica’s killer can’t be any harder than that.”

  “Rafe read me the riot act on self-endangerment.”

  “You letting all that butter-soft leather in his expensive car go to your head? The new Cleo doesn’t take orders from any man, remember?”

  I snorted. “The new Cleo is making up the rules as she goes along.”

  Jonette blinked slyly. “Doesn’t everyone?”

  We shared a laugh. My feeling of gloom and doom lifted, and I felt pounds lighter. It was unrealistic for me to believe I could control everything. But that didn’t mean I would sit back and leave things to chance.

  Jonette rubbed my tense shoulder. “That’s the spirit. Laughter is the glue gun of life. You laugh enough and the important stuff falls into place.”

  My expression froze as the true weight of my problem settled on my shoulders again. “Joking aside, there are serious consequences here. If you help me, you may become an accessory to Mama’s crime.”

  “Do you believe your mother did it?”

  I flinched. Madonna whimpered. It was one thing to think it, quite another to voice my fears. Good thing I didn’t shy away from difficult tasks. “I don’t think it was premeditated murder, but, yes, given her recent mental state, she could’ve killed Erica. Car accidents happen all the time. What if Mama didn’t mean to kill her, and Erica inadvertently got between Mama’s car and the pavement?”

  “Then it was an accident. We’ll prove it wasn’t Delilah’s fault, and everything will go back to normal. Piece of cake.”

  “Not hardly. Mama’s not talking. She doesn’t want my help.”

  Jonette shrugged. “So, we help her anyway. What’s the big deal?”

  The big deal was that Mama was hiding something. Whatever it was, it was tearing her apart. If I looked into Erica’s death, chances were I would find what was turning Mama into a cranky old w
oman.

  Secrets were kept for a reason. Odds were this was no featherweight problem. This was surely the heavyweight champion secret of the world. No stress there. None at all.

  “This is Mama we’re talking about.” I looked around furtively to see if anyone noticed my voice had gone shrill again. Madonna whimpered and placed her head in Jonette’s lap. I took a deep breath. My anxiety upset the dog, just as the vet said it would.

  Dang.

  If the people police didn’t get me, the dog police surely would.

  A few deep breaths, and I felt calmer. “She won’t tell me what happened. When I brought the subject up today, she stonewalled me. Then her face went pale and she clutched her heart. Face it, I’m putty in her hands.”

  “We don’t need her cooperation. We’ll grill her friends, and they’ll give us the scoop.”

  I wasn’t buying that logic. “I’m not convinced they’ll tell us anything. Their loyalty is to Mama.”

  “They’ll cave if it keeps Delilah out of jail. You work on Muriel and Francine. I’ll grill Margie and Edna.”

  “Why do you get the fun ones?” I asked sourly.

  Jonette stood and stretched. So did Madonna. “I get first choice because I’m older than you,” Jonette said smugly. “Besides, I should spearhead this investigation. Your detective skills aren’t worth a damn.”

  I hurried after Jonette and Madonna. “What are you talking about now?”

  Jonette shot me a thick look. “Gee, Jonette, why did you run out of my house yesterday as if your pants were on fire? Is there something going on in your life?” She looked both ways before we crossed the street. “My best friend in the whole wide world would ask what was happening in my life. My best friend would want to know about the earth-shaking events occurring in my life.”

  She was right. I owed her a couple of questions. I’d been so concerned about Mama being a killer that I hadn’t focused on Jonette’s bizarre behavior. “You’re right. Inquiring minds want to know. Why did you run out of my house yesterday?”

  Jonette shivered with energy. “I’ve been about to burst with the news. I wanted to tell Dean, but I knew I had to tell you first or you’d kill me. You’ll never guess what I decided to do.”

  With Jonette it could be anything. She’d had more men and more careers than most. A glance at her animated face showed that whatever it was, she was pumped. “What?”

  “This is so awesome. I went down to city hall and found out the requirements for running for public office. And guess what? I meet all the requirements. Aren’t you proud of me?”

  Public office.

  I winced inwardly, though I was careful not to let my personal misgivings show. Doubts and fears congested my thoughts. Public office meant your life was examined under a magnifying glass.

  My heart sank.

  Jonette was true blue, the best friend anyone could ask for, but there were chapters of her checkered past that might not bear intense scrutiny. Or even casual scrutiny.

  On the other hand, she positively bristled with enthusiasm. I couldn’t let her down by pointing out the negatives to her idea. I’d manage them behind the scene so that she got what she wanted. Loyal and trustworthy and hardworking, that was me.

  The good news was that I was fairly certain it was already too late in the year to file for president of the United States. Perhaps there wouldn’t be as much mud-slinging for a lesser election. Whatever it was, Jonette had my unconditional support.

  My smile was genuine. “Sure. What are we running for?”

  “Mayor.” Jonette grinned. “I’m gonna hit that lard-ass Darnell Reynolds right where it hurts.”

  Chapter 6

  After folding church bulletins in the cave-like Trinity Episcopal workroom for an hour on Friday morning, my brain was fried. My arms ached from fatigue, and I desperately needed a nap. How did Mama do this mindless physical labor week after week?

  I picked up another lightly creased cream-colored bulletin. Inserted it into the antique homemade press. Pulled the lever arm down. Removed the creased bulletin. Rotated it. Inserted the other side. Pulled the lever arm down again. Removed the finished product.

  “How many bulletins are there?” I asked, flexing my aching hands. No matter how fast I went, my to-do pile never got smaller. I was definitely the weakest link in this production process.

  “Doesn’t matter how many they are,” Francine said, hand-creasing the left seam on yet another legal-sized piece of paper. She passed the half-folded bulletin to her sister Muriel and started creasing the next one. “They all have to be folded.”

  I gestured toward the steel monstrosity I’d been operating. “Why doesn’t the church invest in a more modern piece of equipment? This thing looks older than I am.”

  “You young people have a lot to learn.” Muriel folded the second crease in the trifold bulletin before she slid it down to me. Light glinted on her large glasses. “Newer isn’t always better. Our generation does things the right way.”

  I selected another loosely folded bulletin from the pile and put it through the mashing process. “I’m not following you.”

  “The church tried a new machine about ten years ago,” Francine said. “It jammed and hissed and broke and wasted our time. We were lucky to get our money back for that piece of junk.”

  We worked in silence for a few minutes. I had the routine down cold. Insert. Pull. Remove. Rotate. Insert. Pull. Remove.

  If the excess bulletins were made of chocolate, I would’ve eaten the extras when I fell behind, but my paper-eating days were far behind me. Besides, with such close scrutiny, I couldn’t get away with making a single mistake.

  Francine and Muriel worked like twin automatons, all the while keeping their hawk-like gazes on my dubious progress. Who knew that their sixty-something gnarled and bent fingers could move with such surprising speed and economy of motion?

  “How long have y’all been doing this?” I fed another bulletin into the machine and flattened it.

  “As long as the church needed it done, dearie.”

  Muriel’s comment irritated me. There had to be a better way. This medieval process was like trying to fill a hole with steam. “Why don’t they hire someone to do this?”

  “Money.” Francine’s lips pressed into thin, disapproving slashes of apricot lipstick. “Hiring people costs money, and then the church would need to take in more money. It’s better all the way around if this activity is staffed through volunteers.”

  “How about recycling? Why don’t we reuse the same bulletins each week?”

  Francine shot me a caustic look. “The liturgy changes by season and occasion. The readings and the hymns change each week.”

  Duh. I knew that. I’d been raised Episcopalian. Still. It galled me that so much effort went for a single-use disposable product. “Does anyone ever notice how flat the bulletins are? Why do they have to be pressed anyway?”

  Muriel sighed and tossed another bulletin on my to-do pile. “If you don’t want to fill in for your mother, leave. Francine and I can manage.”

  I couldn’t imagine how long it would take the two women to perfectly crease all these bulletins. No way could I just walk out of here. Especially when I hadn’t gotten any of the answers I needed.

  Silly me.

  I had assumed I would breeze in here, dazzle the seniors with my dexterity and youthful energy, and worm their secrets out of them before they knew what hit them. Instead, I felt like I’d been hooked up to an embalming pump and my internal fluids had been replaced with a numbing preservative.

  “You say that Dee isn’t feeling well.” Francine’s beady brown eyes surveyed me through the top of her bifocals. “What’s wrong with her?”

  The pale green walls of the tiny workroom seemed to close in on me. I had planned to say Mama was under the weather and we were worried about the flu. The possibility of contagion would surely cause her friends to shun her for weeks, which would help me to keep Mama safely at home.


  Notice I wasn’t saying she had the flu, only that we were worried about the flu. Truthfully, who wasn’t worried about the flu?

  Before I could utter a word, my conscience got the better of me. I was on church property, and I was planning to deceive the faithful? Not a very Christian attitude. I grabbed a bulletin and smashed it into the folding machine. Only I hadn’t just grabbed one. Two bulletins went in, two came out folded flat.

  Hmm.

  Francine and Muriel hadn’t mentioned pressing multiple bulletins during their brief recitation of the machine’s operating instructions. I blinked at the implication of what that meant.

  They wanted me to fail.

  Or at the very least to leave them alone.

  My gaze narrowed and my resolve strengthened. Francine and Muriel couldn’t run me off that easily. Mama’s freedom hung in the balance. I could take whatever heat they dished out. Especially since I’d discovered the secret of the mashing machine.

  I cleared my throat. “Mama isn’t herself.” I flipped the two bulletins over and flattened the remaining fold. “She’s moping around and spending a lot of time staring into space.”

  Muriel’s gnarled fingers spasmed and crushed the sheet of paper she was folding. She pushed the crumpled bulletin to the reject side of the table. “Has Delilah seen her heart doctor?”

  I nonchalantly stacked both perfectly folded bulletins in the completed box. It took everything I had not to smile in triumph. These wily ladies wouldn’t beat me today. “She won’t see anyone. But I wouldn’t let her stay home if it was her heart. I’d see that she got immediate medical attention.”

  “Then it must be that young man you’re seeing.” Francine pushed another bulletin toward my end of the table. “Dee worries you’ll put her out in the street.”

  Outrage boiled out of me before I could close my mouth. “I would never put Mama out in the street, and she knows that. I can’t believe you would even suggest such a thing.”

  Muriel shrugged her hunched shoulders. Her thin neck momentarily disappeared. “It hurt her deeply that you went behind her back to get the deed to her house.”