by CeeCee James
“Okay, wait a minute. They’re my family too,” Ruby interjected, her arms crossed in front of her. “I'm not saying she's right, but she's not exactly stable right now.”
“I believe that. They’re kind of …” He twirled his finger at his temple.
Ruby bit her lip. “Look, I'm going to go help her calm down.” Turning to me, she said, “I’ll talk to you later.”
Scott watched her leave with a look of despair. “I can’t believe they’re not going to let me see Natalie.”
“I know.” I patted his arm. “I’m sorry. Just let it be. A few days can really change things.”
He grimaced, his eyes angry and hurt as they caught mine. “What’s a few days going to change that a century hasn’t?”
I bit my lip, trying to think of something I could say to give him hope. We both slowly walked down the hallway. “Ruby's sister is a detective. I’ll tell her what you said about William being in trouble. She might be able to help.”
“No. I'm pretty sure telling anyone in that family, especially a cop, that my brother is a criminal won’t be much help at all. Thanks, anyway.”
I didn’t know how to answer that. The whole thing was a mess and had more holes than Bingo’s ratty chew toy, but there had to be something I could figure out. If I only could learn more about the guy that William was with at the restaurant.
At William’s door, Scott told me he’d go ahead and take an Uber back to the hotel. We exchanged numbers and Scott walked into his brother's room. I stood out in the hall not sure of where to go or what to do.
Chapter 14
It was after nine o’clock that night by the time I finally dragged myself into the hotel suite. Momma was already in bed. “I need my beauty sleep,” she always proclaimed at exactly 8:29.
I locked the door behind me and leaned against it. My eyes closed and gravity pulled me slowly down until I was sitting on the floor. Bingo wasn’t even around to greet me. He slept in Momma’s room, purportedly in his dog bed, but I’d caught him snoring more than once in Momma’s bed with his enormous head propped up on a pillow.
It was so quiet in here. The quiet actually fed me, revived whatever that introverted person was inside me that wanted to hide in the corner when too many loud people were around. Usually, I just needed a little alone time to feel better, but there hadn’t been too much of that lately.
My eyes closed. I mentally ticked off my list of things to do tomorrow. I wanted to connect with Kristi about those cigarette butts and make sure she got the evidence. I was a little surprised she hadn’t gotten back to me yet, but maybe she was on duty.
I also wanted to learn more about the necklace. Maybe it would help track down where William got it. I couldn’t forget the white anger on Aunt Marcie’s face when she’d snatched it from Scott. It seemed like she was more angry about that than her own daughter.
When I’d seen the chain entwined in William’s fingers, I never would have guessed it could have been stolen. And, seeing how now it was a strong possibility, I couldn’t see how to accommodate Scott's objection about telling Kristi.
I’ll worry about that tomorrow.
Heaving a sigh that said, “can’t wait for my bed and Egyptian sheets,” I pushed myself back up into a standing position. And then, in an accidental rendition of a mummy walk, I meandered toward my room.
On the way down the hall, I quietly cracked Momma’s door open and peeked into her room. Sure enough, Momma’s pink-sponge-curler head was sharing a pillow with the dog, her flannel- covered arm flung around the snoring animal.
Early the next morning found me with a mug of fragrant coffee, typing away in front of my computer. Usually, Momma beat me awake but the night had kept me tossing and turning until I finally gave up when the light shone gray from my window. My mystery story was slowly coming along, except for the part where the protagonist needed to get across the country without using her ID. If I could just figure out a way for her to do it—
“Maisie!” Momma’s voice interrupted my thoughts like a handful of silverware being dropped to the floor. My fingers jangled over the keys.
“What, Momma?”
“I thought I heard you in here.” She shuffled to my doorway in her fluffy slippers and blue-flowered mu-mu. The curlers were gone, making her colored red hair puff in all directions like a deranged Raggedy Ann doll.
“I didn’t hear you come home last night.” Her tone was accusatory as if I was a teenager who had tiptoed in late after a curfew.
“You were sleeping. Bingo was up on your bed.” I raised an eyebrow.
“Hmph,” she said. “Don’t you be giving me that sassy look.” She shuffled in farther and peered over my shoulder. I knew she couldn’t read it without her glasses. “Confound it, where are my readers?” She asked, after searching for where they usually hung from a chain around her neck.
“Probably on the table next to your crossword book.”
She leaned closer, and I smelled the soft powdery lilac scent that she wore. Ahh, I get what she’s doing—it’s a ruse for a hug. I reached up and around her for a hug, and she squeezed me back.
“All right, enough of the mushy stuff. You have breakfast yet?” She kissed the top of my head and pulled away.
“I had beans for breakfast.”
“Beans?”
I nodded to the coffee cup, and she rolled her eyes.
“You come out. I have eggs frying.” When she saw me shake my head, she offered, “Waffles?”
“No, thanks, Momma. I’ll grab a bagel and maybe a yogurt. I need to get a little more writing done.”
“You should watch some of my stories. You scoff all high and mighty, but I'm telling you, they have some fun little twists!”
“I'm not writing about secret affairs and people faking pregnancies,” I retorted.
“There's more to it than that!” Momma shook her head, her frown forced as she tried not to smile. “And it might help you figure out clues!”
The way I was going, she probably was right. I wasn't sure I felt like admitting that, though.
My cell phone vibrated on the desk. I picked up the demanding device.
The number was the front desk and I didn’t have a good feeling about it.
“Hello?” I said.
“Ms. Swenson? There’s someone here to see you.” It was Sierra, and she sounded nervous.
“Who?”
“I don’t know who, but he’s in a suit, and he’s angry.”
That didn’t sound good. “Okay. I’ll be right down.”
Momma looked at me expectantly as I hung up the phone.
“Where’s my skirt?” I muttered, running to the closet. I sent the hangers swinging along the pole with a loud chang trying to find a clean outfit.
“Where are you going?” Momma asked like she didn’t know.
“I guess I’m getting an early start today.” I picked out a blouse and held it next to a skirt. It’s good enough. Quickly, I dressed.
Shoes, shoes, shoes. I found my heels and then grabbed a brush and smoothed my hair back. After twisting it, I reached for my pin to fasten the bun. Leaning close to my makeup mirror, I inspected myself. Mascara under the eyes, ugh. I cleaned up as best as I could with a cotton ball and lotion, and then reapplied my mascara. I hated having to go to work without a shower, but there was no help for it.
That took me less than ten minutes, but I received another text message saying the male visitor was becoming agitated. It was then that I really started to worry.
“See you, Momma!” I yelled, running out of the suite. I hurried to the front desk, trying to mentally prepare. This was probably over something ridiculous. A disgruntled guest upset that the local bakery refused to deliver a pastry or something like that.
Sierra was at the front desk, her hair piled high on her head. She looked over at me and pointed. “He’s over there.”
I turned toward the doors where we had a few sofas and armchairs arranged.
The gentleman had his back t
o me. I walked over with my most capable expression plastered to my face.
“Hi, there. I’m Ms. Swenson, the manager of the Oceanside Hotel. I heard you were looking for me. How can I help you?”
The man looked up, and I nearly recoiled from the anger I saw there. I straightened my spine.
“Ms. Swenson. Can we speak privately?” His low voice seethed.
Seeing the deep scowl lines on his face, I wasn’t too sure I wanted to be alone with him. Still, if he were going to yell, I’d rather it be in private where the other guests wouldn’t see.
“Yes. Of course. Right, this way.” I gestured to my office. He stood and followed me around the front desk.
Sierra glanced at him, her heavily made-up eyes slightly alarmed.
Dear heavens, if he scares her, then I’m in big trouble. I decided to keep my office door ajar just in case.
“Please. Have a seat.” I indicated a chair.
“Daren Fairchild, Marcie’s older brother.” He held out a hand which I gladly accepted. Maybe this was a sign he wasn’t as unhinged as he appeared.
After the brief handshake, we both sat. I already had a pretty good idea where this was going to go.
“How can I help you, Mr. Fairchild?”
“You need to stop running around with that Clarke boy.”
All I could do was blink hard, and try to spin my wheels for a more mature response than 'you aren't my father.’ Just like that, a centuries-old ridiculous family feud ushered itself into my office and now sat across from me. Maybe I can reason with him. Be tactful…
“Well, no offense, but it’s not your place to say who I can or can’t associate with. I don’t think Scott means any harm. He’s worried about Natalie and his brother and is trying to figure out what happened.”
“He's what happened. Him and his brother and that whole family. If Natalie would have listened and stayed away from them, then she wouldn't be in that hospital bed. She’d be all bright-eyed and smiles like she used to be before she met up with that mess.”
I was stunned. “I don’t understand. Don’t you want all the help you can get to find out what happened to her?”
“I don't care if he can resurrect the dead. Listen, you’re friends with my two cousins, and Ruby speaks highly of you. But that boy is not allowed anywhere near her or us. And if you’re working with him, then neither are you.”
I could feel the nervous tick building up. After a quick search, I picked up a rubber band and began to stretch it in my hands. My face felt like it was almost twitching with anger. How could people become so narrow-minded that they would refuse the chance to save someone they loved just to make themselves feel more in control of the people around them?
“Mr. Fairchild, I’m the one who found Natalie. I want to do everything in my power to help figure out what happened to them.”
“What happened to them? It’s obvious what happened to them.” His face took on the shade of cooked lobster.
I sat back and waited. This should be good.
“They obviously were out partying and got into some bad dope. He left her to die while he scurried away.”
My head was shaking in the negative before he even finished. “That doesn’t even make sense. How did he end up in this hotel?”
“He didn’t want to get caught!” His fist slammed onto my desk and my pen jar jumped from the vibration.
“Mr. Fairchild,” I held my hand up warningly. “You need to calm down.”
“I won’t calm down. And as far as a suicide note goes, anyone with eyes could see it wasn’t her handwriting!”
I blinked again. Suicide note? “I didn’t hear about that. And yes, you would definitely recognize her handwriting. Who has the note now?”
That seemed to slightly mollify him, and he sagged back into the chair. “Police,” he mumbled. “Marcie received it in the mail yesterday morning.”
I felt my eyebrows rise. In the mail? Who sends a suicide note in the mail? I need to talk with Kristi. Or, better yet, her sister, Ruby, who could always get the info where Kristi would be tightlipped with me.
Mr. Fairchild eyed me, waiting for my response.
I started carefully. “I completely understand why this is a sensitive subject. But honestly, the way I see it, Scott Clarke is the closest thing we may have to answers. Without him, there may never be a resolution to this.”
“Answers?” He sneered. “I’ll give you answers, and they’re going to come in a form you don’t like.” He leaned threateningly.
“Just what do you think you’re doing?” Momma’s tart tone came from the doorway. In her hands was a tray.
Mr. Fairchild turned to look at her. “You know her?” He jabbed a thumb in my direction.
“You get your thumb down right now, young man,” Momma snapped. “I don’t tolerate disrespect, especially to my girl. And I’ll have no problem teaching you a lesson or two.”
Momma stood to her full five feet in height, quivering in indignation.
He looked at her like a bulldog at a kitten. “Foolish people around these parts, I guess. Like mother, like daughter.” Standing so fast he knocked the chair back, he addressed me one more time. “You tell that scumbag that I saw him that night. I have video footage! And if I see him around Natalie again, it’ll be the last thing he does. As for you, you think my niece has it bad? Keep fooling around with the Clarkes and see where that gets you.”
He whirled around and left, pushing past Momma. I sat frozen in shock and disbelief. What was going on between these people?
Chapter 15
After Mr. Fairchild had rushed past her, Momma came through the door, looking like a slice of heaven with her sweet smile. In her hands was something as equally delightful; a tray with orange juice and a plate covered with a clean dish towel.
I recognized the towel, a linen one of Momma’s with embroidered flowers along one edge. One she only brought out on special occasions.
“Sorry about that, Momma.”
“Pish. I listened to him for a bit and decided his cornbread ain’t quite done in the middle,” Momma said.
I laughed. What a difference a mom can make.
“You’re the best, seriously.” I’d thought the conflict with Mr. Fairchild had made me lose my appetite but the scent lifting off the covered plate proved me wrong.
She set the tray on my desk and whisked off the towel. Underneath was three slices of bacon and a scrambled cheesy-egg melt on toast.
To the side of the plate was a bagel and yogurt, which made me smile. Momma had remembered what I’d said earlier.
“Thank you so much!” Grabbing the fork, I slid the tray over and dug in heartily. But, Momma was not fooled. As usual.
She watched me with narrowed eyes. “What’d he say that’s got you all wound up?”
I forked another delicious bite into my mouth and chewed slowly as I thought about how to answer.
Momma was all about manners, but she frowned, knowing I was using a delay tactic. I really didn’t want to worry her.
“Louisa May Marigold Swenson! What is going on? You can't fool me, girl.”
I sipped my orange juice, washing down the rest of the bite despite the deep sigh emitting from Momma like a teakettle set to whistle.
Finally, I decided on the truth. She’d snoop it out, anyway. “That was the uncle of Natalie, the girl in the coma. He came all this way to meet with me.”
“Threaten, you mean.” Momma’s eyes narrowed, and she pulled out the chair across from me. Before I could say another word, she had herself situated in it like a crab in its shell, just as cozy as could be, waiting for what I had to say next.
“Well, as you heard,” I continued, “he isn't too keen on me helping Scott, the brother of the boy in the coma. There’s some dark, awful history there between those two families. It’s sick, really. But, even taking that into account, that man was infuriating.”
“He’s about the rudest thing I’d ever seen. Calling him a man is stretchin
g the term, in my opinion.”
“Right? Who does that? Who comes to a person’s place of employment and tells them they can’t see another person. Who does he think he is, my mother?” The more I thought about it, the angrier it was making me. I cut a corner of the egg toast with my fork and stabbed it with a little more force than was needed. Immediately, I felt a little better.
“You already have more than enough mother for one person, if I do say so myself,” Momma smiled. “He was awfully defensive. If you ask me, there’s plenty of skeletons in that family closet to start up its own cemetery. Be careful there.”
“I don’t even get it. If I saw a complete stranger hurting, I’d do what I could to help, let alone my own niece. Scott might be the key to figuring out what the heck is going on. Why let hate and old grudges stop that?”
Momma had an odd smile on her face.
“What?” I asked, taking another bite. Despite myself, I sighed with satisfaction. This food was so good.
“The passion that you have, dear. You make me so proud sometimes; a lot of times, actually.” She reached over and patted my hand. “That's what makes you such a beautiful soul, and not just because you’re my daughter. You care. Sometimes you care more than you should and that passion and determination can lead you into trouble.” A wrinkle formed between her eyebrows. “That’s what I worry about.”
“I’m a petal off the ol’ flower, Momma.” At her pshaw I continued, “And you don’t need to worry. I steer clear of trouble.”
“You need a man.” Her lips pressed primly together.
I struggled not to roll my eyes. Oh, no. Here it comes.
She nodded. “You get yourself a family, and you’ll have a safe place to use all that passion. You ever meet with that attractive brother of your boss? He seems like such a nice young man.”
“Momma! No, that's not—” My cell phone buzzed. Another incoming text, but not from either of the Bentley sisters. This time it was from Scott.
—Can we talk? There something I need to tell you.
I frowned. Well, shoot. No rest for the wicked, I guess.
