by Amy Vansant
I’ll come back for you.
No one ever used the help stairs. It would be safe there.
She ran down the steps as fast as she could navigate them and slipped out the door. She had just closed it when Gemma came around the corner.
Gemma stopped.
“Hey,” said Lyndsey, trying to look as casual as possible.
Can she see my heart beating through my shirt?
“Hey. Did you hear about Uncle Kimber?”
“Hm? Sorry, I’m in a hurry.”
Lyndsey walked as fast as she could without running through the back door and then bolted to the Jeep. She drove away as quietly as she could down the long drive, opening her speed the moment she hit the road.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Mariska was watching a Hallmark movie when she heard a knock on her door. She glanced across the room at her stove clock.
Nine twenty-two.
It was late for someone to knock on her door.
Worried someone was in trouble, she rocked herself out of her husband’s deep La-Z-Boy and made her way to the door. Flicking on the outside light, she peered through the window to find a young woman standing on her doorstep.
“Crystal,” she said aloud, recognizing the girl. A thread of fear stitched through her.
The girl who’d killed her own grandmother.
Did she enjoy murder so much now she wanted to kill all the old ladies in the neighborhood?
Crystal spotted her in the window and waved.
Dang it. Too late to hide.
“Hi, Mariska. Can I talk to you for a second?”
Mariska pursed her lips.
That’s just the sort of thing a serial killer would say if she knocked on your door in the middle of the night.
Against her better judgement, Mariska moved to the door and opened it. She left the storm door closed and tried to casually lock it as she spoke.
“Crystal, it’s late. What are you doing here?”
“Um...”
She raised her hand and Mariska jumped back before realizing all she held was a crumpled piece of paper. The girl’s hands were shaking. She didn’t seem like a monster. Though physically she was a big girl, she seemed small and vulnerable.
“I have to show you this,” said Crystal.
Mariska considered asking her to press it to the glass, but felt silly being so afraid of a young woman who, without her scary eyeliner, looked like an orphaned rabbit. Mariska glanced behind her, hoping to find her dog ready to attack should anything odd happen, but the chubby mutt was nowhere to be seen. She realized she could hear Izzy in the bedroom with her daddy, snoring.
Useless spud.
Bracing herself, she opened the storm door and stepped onto the small stoop. The neighbors were more likely to hear her scream than her husband was. Bob slept like the dead.
Crystal presented the paper for her to take.
“What is it?” asked Mariska.
“You’ll see. You can keep it for a bit.” Crystal retreated down the two stairs leading to the driveway and pointed at a plastic shopping bag left sitting on the stoop at Mariska’s feet. She’d been blocking Mariska’s view of it. “I thought you should have those, too.”
Mariska stared at the bag. Is it a bomb?
Crystal walked down the driveway to the street.
“Wait, do you want any of this back?” called Mariska.
Crystal nodded without turning around. “I’ll come get the paper tomorrow. You can keep the yeast.”
The yeast?
Mariska watched the girl continue down the street toward her house until she disappeared from view. Leaning down and wincing with trepidation, Mariska flicked open the top of the plastic bag. Inside, were the three jars of yeast starter Alice had asked her to choose from before making the stollen. She recognized the yellow glass lids.
Why would she give these to me?
Mariska collected the bag, went inside and locked the door.
That girl is strange. She’s probably hopped-up on the goofballs.
Clucking her tongue, she sat down at her kitchen table and pulled her reading glasses down from her head. She opened the paper and flattened it on the table before beginning to read.
By the fourth line, she felt her eyes begin to tear. Her hand raised to her mouth.
She finished and scanned back to the top to read twice more before staring at the wall, allowing the message to absorb. Her phone chimed a text alert.
Fumbling in the pocket of her house dress, she located her ancient flip phone.
The message was from Charlotte: U up?
Mariska called her.
Charlotte skipped ‘hello.’ “I know it’s late but I think I have some idea what happed to Alice.”
Mariska took a deep breath. “I’m glad you texted.”
“Why? Are you okay? You sound funny.”
“I’m fine, but I have something here you need to see.”
“Now? You’re scaring me.”
“It’s nothing bad. It’s about Alice. Crystal just stopped by.”
“She did? What did she say?”
“Just come over.”
Charlotte knocked on the door a moment later.
Chapter Thirty
“I was halfway across the street by the time you hung up,” said Charlotte, entering. “You scared me.”
Mariska led her to her kitchen table and pointed at a pink piece of paper lying there. Covered with creases, it appeared to have been crumpled into a ball and then flattened.
“Crystal left that with me,” said Mariska.
Charlotte realized the color of the paper looked familiar. “That’s the paper I saw in Crystal’s hand the night we were in her house. I think that’s what she was reading when she cried herself to sleep.”
Mariska nodded. “I’m sure it is. Read it.”
Charlotte sat down and read the letter. Written in a tight, wobbly cursive, the message covered both sides of the paper.
Dear Crystal,
My beautiful girl. I know we haven’t always gotten along. I want you to know I don’t hold that against you. What happened to you and your family wasn’t your fault. I want you to know all I ever wanted to do is take care of you. I love you more than anything in the world.
I left this letter where only you would find it. I thought the box you thought I didn’t know about would be the perfect place.
Now that I’m gone, there are things you need to know.
First, don’t show this letter to anyone except one person—my bread elf. I don’t know who it was, because I put this note in your box every year. I take it back the next morning after I eat a piece of stollen. You will know who the elf was. I always make sure to tell you even though I know you don’t care. It’s important though, because I only ever pick people I know will protect you.
Each year I let the bread elf pick from three starter yeasts. One of them is full of almond flour. I don’t watch which they pick. If I eat their stollen the next morning and my nut allergy doesn’t kill me, I know they didn’t pick that one.
I can’t take the pain of my illness anymore, so I give myself this one chance each year. This is why I never let you help me with the stollen. It has to look like an accident. My insurance won’t pay if they think it was suicide and I want you to have that money.
Tell the bread elf it isn’t her fault. You have to make them understand that this was my choice. They’ve done me a favor.
Please take care of yourself. You’re my precious little girl and you always will be. You have your whole life ahead of you. I hope my insurance payout will help you start your new life. Don’t throw this chance away.
All my love forever,
Grandma
PS: Dump Mark. He’s a terrible person.
Charlotte set down the letter. “Alice killed herself by random draw.”
“I picked the wrong one,” said Mariska, her eyes welling with tears.
Charlotte wrapped her arms around her. “
No—you picked the right one. This is what she wanted.”
“Why didn’t she just ask me?”
“Would you have fed her nuts if she asked you to?”
Mariska sniffed. “No.”
“See?”
Mariska pulled a chair out from the dining room table and sat.
“On the phone you said you figured something out. Was this it?”
Charlotte nodded. “Once I thought the letter was left by Alice, it hit me who leaves notes.”
“Suicides.”
“Exactly. Then I started thinking about how her grandmother forbade her to help with the stollen. It occurred to me maybe she didn’t want the girl involved because she knew what could happen. She didn’t want her to feel responsible.”
Mariska scowled. “But it was okay for me to feel responsible?”
“You’re an adult. You’re a friend and not a granddaughter. You can logically understand what happened without everything clouded by youth or guilt over how you may have treated her.”
“I suppose. I don’t feel very logical right now.” Mariska wiped her eyes. “Should we tell Frank?”
Charlotte put her hand on Mariska’s. “Only if we have to. We don’t want to mess up her insurance. If it looks like they’re going to go after Crystal or you, we will. I think they’ve already chalked it up as an accident.”
“But it wasn’t an accident.”
“No. It was a Christmas wish you made come true for Alice. She’d done all she could for Crystal. A little money and the chance to start afresh was the best gift she could give her granddaughter, and you helped her do it.”
“I hope Crystal appreciates it.” Mariska pulled a tissue from her housedress pocket and blew her nose.
Charlotte nodded. “And I hope she breaks up with Mark.”
Chapter Thirty-One
Declan scratched at the tape Charlotte had stuck to his chest to hold the tiny recorder hidden beneath his shirt. It was already pulling at his skin.
“You know this is going to rip all the hair off my chest when we’re done.”
“You’re a swimmer. Aren’t you supposed to shave down?”
He sighed. “Always looking on the positive side. I can’t believe they still tape mics to people like in old FBI movies.”
Charlotte chuckled. “I’m sure they don’t, but this was the best technology I could afford. I bought it from a friend of Tilly’s and he isn’t cheap.”
He looked past her at the Alleycats dance club, where people had lined up to get inside. He hadn’t been to a club in what felt like a million years, and he didn’t like them then. He swallowed.
“I can’t go to a club alone. I’m a guy.”
“Why not? You want to meet girls, right? Isn’t that the point?”
“First of all, girls is sort of the operative word. Most of the people I’m seeing go in there look like they’re twenty.”
“You’re still in your twenties.”
“Barely. And they don’t like to let men in. They want the girls. Not some guy with no friends. I’ll look like some old creeper.”
Charlotte laughed and pulled her polo over her head to reveal a sparkling tank top beneath. “That’s why I’m going in with you.”
Declan felt a wave of relief crash over him. “Whew. Why didn’t you say so?”
“I like watching you sweat. You have no problem marching into the jungle with an AK-47 under your arm but the idea of going into a club alone terrifies you.”
“First off, it was an M16, not an AK.”
“Sorry. That was totally the point. You got me.”
“So why do you need me at all?”
“Because Lyndsey isn’t going to talk to me. She knows I’m a detective working for Mina and even if she didn’t, I’m still some chick. I’m not who she came to meet tonight.”
Declan rolled his eyes. “I don’t think she came to meet me either.”
“She should be so lucky.” She tapped him on the shoulder. “And she’s about to be.”
Declan and Charlotte left the car and headed for the bouncer manning the door. Luckily, what had looked like a line had only been a temporary backup while the burly man checked people’s licenses. Declan had thought it a little odd that any place close to Charity could have a New York-like lineup. Almost as odd as hearing there was a club within a fifty-mile radius at all.
They stepped inside as the throbbing music bounced through their bodies.
“A heebee bajar!” screamed Charlotte.
He leaned close to her. “What?”
“I see her at the bar,” she repeated directly in his ear.
Ah. That makes more sense.
Rimmed with young men and women, the bar glowed with blue under-edge lighting. Declan spotted a woman who looked the most like the girl Charlotte had described to him.
“In the red top?” he screamed back at her.
Charlotte nodded. “I’m going to hide over here,” she said, pointing to the corner. “Go do your magic.”
He grimaced. “I feel like you’re my pimp.”
“You see a gimp?”
“No, I said—nevermind. I’m going.”
Declan made his way through the crowd and squeezed between Lyndsey and another woman who was busy talking to a man on the opposite side of her. Lyndsey seemed alone, using the bar to keep herself propped up more than anything else. He motioned to the bartender.
“Bourbon, neat.”
The bartender poured the caramel-colored liquor into a glass without looking at it and pushed it towards him.
“That’ll be fifteen dollars.”
Yikes. For rail bourbon?
Declan slid a twenty-dollar bill across the bar. “Keep it.”
The bartender nodded once and kept moving.
Declan took a sip, pondering the best way to make Lyndsey notice his presence when, unprompted, she turned to flash him a lopsided smile. Her eyelids didn’t open all the way.
“Your girlfriend drinks bourbon?” she asked.
Subtle.
“It isn’t for my girlfriend. It’s for me.” Declan tried to smile as broadly as possible and then worried his joker’s grin might make him look like a crazy person. He cleared his throat and toned it down a notch.
Lyndsey turned on her barstool to better face him. “What does she drink?”
“Who?”
“Your girlfriend?”
“I don’t know. I don’t have one. I’m Declan.” He held out his hand to shake and she accepted it.
“Lyndsey. You’re here by yourself?”
Think. Why is she alone? Her friends might have left. Try and commiserate.
“I came with buddies but I think they abandoned me.”
Lyndsey grinned, seeming genuinely pleased. “Same thing happened to me. My friend left with a guy who looked like some kind of eighties throwback.”
He chuckled and glanced toward the corner of the room. Charlotte had started dancing with a group of strangers, but her eyes were locked on him. She gave him a thumbs up as if it were part of her dance routine and he laughed.
“What’s so funny?” asked Lyndsey.
Whoops.
“Nothing. I mean, I was picturing the eighties guy you mentioned. You’re funny.”
The compliment sounded forced to him, but she didn’t seem to mind. She batted her droopy eyelids at him. It was a look he hadn’t seen in a long time, but he knew what it meant.
“You want to hang out?” he asked. “Maybe get some food? Are you hungry?”
She rolled her eyes. “I’m starving. And it’s too loud in here. You want to go?”
He nodded and held out a hand to steady her as she slid off her barstool and landed unsteadily on her heels.
Declan set his half-finished drink on the bar and led Lyndsey through the crowd outside. His ears rang in the relative silence.
“Wow, it was loud in there.” His phone dinged and he pulled it from his pocket. It was a text from Charlotte.
It said
, That took all of 2 minutes followed by a smiley face blowing heart kisses. He smiled.
“Who’s that?” asked Lyndsey.
Declan shrugged. “My buddy letting me know he won’t be coming back for me.”
“He scored, huh?” said Lyndsey, fishing in her clutch. She pulled out a lipstick, reapplied, and then pulled out her keys. “I have a car.”
Oh hell no. Getting into a car with Lyndsey would be the most dangerous thing he’d ever done and he’d been in wars.
She wandered towards the parking lot and he followed to the back of a small teal Miata. Declan gaped at it, wondering if he could even fit inside.
She was going to drive that deathtrap home?
“That is a tiny car.”
“Yep. It was my mother’s.”
“Maybe I should drive?” he suggested. “I mean if you don’t mind. I didn’t really have much to drink.”
Lyndsey flashed him an open-mouth smile. “I had a lot to drink.”
No. Really?
“You don’t want to wrap this thing around a tree.”
She held out the keys and he took them.
That was easy.
“Where do you want to go? What’s open?”
She giggled. “My other option was the barn truck and that’s just not sexy,” she said, ignoring his questions, her mind still stuck on her car.
“Barn?”
“That’s where I live. Above a barn. I work with horses.”
“That sounds cool.”
She nodded. “But I won’t be living there much longer.”
“No? Why not?” He helped her into the passenger side and then folded himself into the driver seat, pushing it as far back as it would go, which wasn’t far.
Lyndsey’s head lolled towards him and she grinned dopily.
“Did you ask me something?”
“Why won’t you be living over the barn anymore?”
“Oh. Because I’m rich now.”
“You don’t say. Did you win the lottery?”
“In a way. Come on, let’s go!”
He wanted to encourage her to talk about her inheritance, but she seemed insistent they leave. Hopefully, the breeze created by the convertible would wake her up long enough for him to get more information out of her.
