The Birthday List

by Devney Perry

  When she looked up, some of the light had dimmed in her eyes. For the first time in two weeks, she looked more like the woman I’d seen five years ago than the one who’d come to my dojo.

  “I’ll be honest,” I said gently. “It’s been a long time. Five years with no new evidence isn’t a good thing. I haven’t seen the case file, but my guess is that all of the leads are dead ends.”

  Her shoulders fell and she tucked her hands in her lap. She was shrinking right in front of me—curling in on herself. Is this what happened to her after every one of her visits with Simmons? Because I’d do just about anything to make it stop.

  “I’ll tell you what, when we get back to the station, I’ll take a look at the file. I don’t know what I’ll find, but I’ll check into the case. Okay?”

  “You’d really do that?”

  “In a heartbeat.”

  “Thank you,” she sighed. “Don’t get me wrong, Detective Simmons has been great. He meets with me every month and is always nice. But, I don’t know. I guess I don’t feel like this case is his priority.”

  She’d read that right. His priority these days seemed to be doing as little as possible. “Let me see what I can do,” I promised just as our food was delivered.

  “Thank you,” she told me as I said the same to the waitress.

  With my calzone and her pizza, we dug in and ate lunch mostly in silence—just like dinner in her kitchen.

  Poppy didn’t have to fill every moment with conversation. Aly had been a constant talker, always wanting to visit while we ate. It drove me nuts when I’d take a bite and she’d immediately ask a question. Sometimes, I just wanted to eat. Like my parents did for their meals. They talked, they knew about each other’s days, but they were also content to just be with one another.

  The quiet gave me time to enjoy my food and also a chance to think.

  The first thing I was doing when I got back to the station was commandeering Jamie Maysen’s case file from Simmons.

  If all of the leads were dead, I’d do what needed to be done. I’d sit Poppy down and tell her the truth. That her husband’s killer was free and would remain so unless new evidence came to light.

  But if the file had more, if Simmons hadn’t dug into every lead and turned over every rock to find the murderer, I’d be pulling a favor from Dad. I’d do something I’d never, ever done: I’d use my position as the chief of police’s son to handpick a case. I’d take the case away from Simmons and do my best to bring Jamie’s killer to justice.

  No matter how much stress it would add to my life, I’d do it because it was the right thing to do.

  I’d do it for Poppy.

  “Jimmy? I’m here!”

  A week after my lunch with Cole at Colombo’s, I was taking the afternoon off from the restaurant to visit Jamie’s grandfather, Jimmy, at his retirement home, The Rainbow.

  “Out in a sec.” Jimmy’s shout was muffled by the closed bedroom door.

  I smiled and took a seat on the couch in the living room as I waited. The housekeepers must have swept through this morning because the normal stack of Mountain Dew cans and old newspapers on the end table was gone and the kitchenette was free of its usual Ritz cracker crumbs. They’d even hung up Jimmy’s coats—the ones he normally just tossed on the couch.

  “Gladys, you have got to see him,” a woman whispered from the hallway.

  “I heard all about it at breakfast,” Gladys replied with a muffled giggle.

  Were they talking about Jimmy? Because it sounded like Gladys and her gossiping friend were hovering right outside his open door. I hadn’t bothered closing it when I’d come over. The door here was never closed. Why Jimmy liked his door open all the time I hadn’t a clue. He treated this assisted living facility more like a college dorm than a place to settle down.

  But at least the always-open door gave me a chance to see the women as they shuffled past.

  “Hello!” I waved and smiled as two elderly women ignored me completely and craned their necks inside, searching the small living room for Jimmy. When they saw he wasn’t in his recliner, they frowned and kept on walking.

  I laughed when they were out of earshot. Every time I came here it seemed like a different resident was crushing on my grandfather-in-law.

  “There’s my Poppy.” Jimmy’s bedroom door opened and he emerged into the living room. “How are you today?”

  “I’m goo—oh my god. What did you do?” I shot off the couch. My eyes were locked on his hair—hair that was normally snow-white, not hot pink.

  Jimmy didn’t answer. He just crossed the small distance from his bedroom and pulled me into his arms. When he let me go, his eyes gave me a thorough inspection from tip to toe before he sat in his navy plush recliner.

  “Are you going to answer me?” I asked, still standing.

  He frowned and motioned to his hair. “I lost a bet.”

  “A bet. You made a bet where the loser had to dye his hair pink?”

  “Yeah,” he grumbled. “I’ll tell you, Poppy. You just can’t trust some people. You know that new guy who moved in next door?”

  I nodded even though I hadn’t met Jimmy’s new neighbor.

  “He’s a cheat. A lying cheat. I invited him to play in our Tuesday afternoon poker club. Thought I’d be neighborly. He told me he didn’t know how to play poker, but he’d like to learn.” Jimmy’s hands fisted on the chair’s arms. “Didn’t know how my ass. He’s a damn card shark! Got us all laughing and joking around. Convinced us to make a bet. First one out of chips dyes his hair pink. That son of a bitch. Took me all in on the second pot and cleaned me out.”

  “So you got pink hair and lost a bunch of money. How much did you lose?”

  He shrugged. “Eh, not much. We only play pennies. Maybe five bucks. But those ladies in the salon sure gouged me. Thirty bucks for pink hair. Can you believe it?”

  “That’s unbelievable.” I pursed my lips to hide my smile as I sat back down. “I brought you your favorite peach cobbler if that will make you feel any better.”

  The scowl on Jimmy’s face disappeared. “Just visiting with you will make me feel better, but I’ll take that cobbler as a bonus. How are things going at the restaurant?”

  I smiled. “Beyond my wildest expectations.”

  The Maysen Jar had been open for three weeks, and in that time, we’d sold twice as much as Molly and I had projected for its entire first quarter. I’d seen more repeat customers bring back jars for refills than I’d ever anticipated, and I’d closed down each night this week with a nearly full tip jar.

  “I’m excited to come see it next week. Did Debbie and Kyle pick a night yet?”

  “No,” I sighed. “I texted Debbie but she hasn’t gotten back to me yet. She doesn’t text much these days.”

  Debbie, Jamie’s mom, used to text me multiple times a day. Now I’d go weeks without hearing from her, and then it was only because I had reached out first. Kyle, Jamie’s dad, I hadn’t heard from in ages. Jamie’s parents lived on their ranch about an hour outside of Bozeman, and when Jamie had been alive, they’d come to see us every couple of weeks. But since he’d been killed, their trips had all but stopped. Now, they rarely came to visit Jimmy—Kyle’s dad and Jamie’s namesake—and I only saw them for special occasions.

  “They love you, Poppy. It’s just hard for them.”

  “I know. I just miss them.” I forced a smile as I looked at Jimmy—that pink hair making it wider.

  I hadn’t just lost Jamie when he’d died. I’d lost Kyle and Debbie too. They’d become surrogate parents for me in college. They’d had me to their house for holidays when I hadn’t gone home to Alaska. They’d sat by my hospital bed during my junior year when I’d needed to have an emergency appendectomy, holding my hand until my own parents had arrived. They’d even co-signed on a car loan for me when mine had died one winter and I’d needed a replacement fast. After Jamie and I’d gotten married, our bond had grown even tighter.

  Now it wa
s nearly broken.

  But at least I still had Jimmy. He was part of my family here in Montana, along with Finn, Molly and the kids, and I loved our weekly visits.

  “It will be good for them to see your restaurant next week.” Jimmy sat forward in his chair and patted my knee. “If they see that you’re trying to move on, maybe they will too.”

  “Or else they’ll get angry again.”

  “I’m sorry to say that’s a real possibility too.”

  The last time Kyle and Debbie had come to see me, they’d arranged for dinner with me and Jimmy. I’d casually mentioned going through some of Jamie’s things, asking if they wanted any of his old clothes or books I’d been keeping in the attic, and dinner had taken a nosedive. Debbie had burst into tears and Kyle had refused to look at me for the rest of the meal.

  “Do you think they’ll ever stop blaming me for Jamie’s death?” I whispered.

  After all, it had been my fault he’d even been at that liquor store.

  Jamie had been standing at the register when a hooded man had come barreling into the store. The man had shot Jamie, then the cashier with no hesitation. Boom. Boom. Two shots, and my husband and a single mother to an eleven-year-old daughter had been murdered. The killer had loaded up cash from the register, then made his escape, disappearing without a trace.

  No witnesses. No trail to follow.

  No justice.

  Jamie had been in the wrong place at the wrong time, all because I’d wanted to throw a party with something to drink other than tequila shots.

  “They don’t blame you,” Jimmy said.

  I gave him a sad smile. We both knew he was lying.

  Kyle and Debbie had lost their oldest son. Since they couldn’t blame the actual murderer, they blamed me instead. Kyle couldn’t look me in the eye anymore, and whenever I tried to hug Debbie, she flinched.

  But I understood. I blamed me too.

  The guilt was part of the reason I’d been so diligent about visiting Detective Simmons. If I could actually find out who had killed Jamie, I might win his parents back. They could stop blaming me for his death.

  Maybe I could stop blaming myself.

  And now that Cole was looking into the case, I had a feeling we might actually make some progress. It was foolish to get my hopes up, but nevertheless, they were.

  My faith in Cole’s abilities unnerved me. It was the kind of faith I’d always reserved for friends and family, and at best, Cole was just a casual acquaintance. Yet somehow, after one karate class, one dinner and one lunch, he’d earned my complete trust and confidence. When he’d told me that he would look into Jamie’s case, the deep-seated anxiety I’d felt for five years had eased—just a little.

  Because if anyone could solve Jamie’s case, it would be Cole.

  Jimmy sat back in his chair. “What else is new?”

  “Nothing much. I’m pretty much confined to the restaurant right now, though I am taking a ukulele lesson tonight.” After leaving Jimmy’s, I’d go to my lesson.

  “Ukulele?” He got a faraway look in his eyes. “Jamie always wanted to learn the ukulele.”

  “Yeah, I know. I thought I’d give it a try for him.”

  All of Jamie’s family knew about his birthday list—Jamie had practically shouted it from the rooftops when he’d came up with the idea. But while his family knew about the list, none of them knew I was working to finish it in Jamie’s place.

  I hadn’t mentioned it to Kyle and Debbie because I knew they wouldn’t react well. And I hadn’t mentioned it to Jimmy because I didn’t want to make him sad. In the last seven years, he’d lost his wife to cancer, then his grandson, and then both his sisters. He’d had enough sadness, so for now, the birthday list—and my real motivations for taking ukulele lessons—was something I was keeping to myself.

  “Did Jamie ever tell you why he wanted to learn?”

  I shook my head. “No. Do you know why?”

  “It was for Debbie.” Jimmy smiled. “She knew how to play and had always wanted to teach Jamie. Except in sixth grade, he decided on the drums instead so he could be in that awful garage band. Did he ever tell you his band’s name?”

  I laughed. “The Roach Eaters.”

  “Idiots,” Jimmy mumbled with a grin. “I’m glad that was just a phase. Anyway, he played the drums but promised Debbie he’d learn the ukulele someday, and you know how he was about his mama.”

  “She hung the moon,” we said in unison.

  Jamie had doted on Debbie, and except for me, his mother had been his favorite person in the world. A promise made to her was one only his death could break.

  “Maybe next week you can bring your ukulele along and show me what you’ve learned.”

  “You bet.” I nodded. “Now, before I have to head out, let’s discuss this hair situation. How long, exactly, will you be pink?”

  Jimmy grinned and stood, walking over to a grocery bag by the television. The plastic crinkled as he fished out a can of shaving cream and pack of disposable Bic razors. “However long it takes for you to shave my head.”

  “What?” My eyes got wide. “That’s crazy! I’m not shaving your head. Just have it bleached back to white.”

  “And spend another thirty bucks? No way. This only cost me six.” The gleam in his eye turned diabolical. “That cheating bastard thinks he’s beaten me. Just wait until I show up in the dining hall tonight looking like Mr. Clean. That will show him. He’s got a crush on Millie Turner, but I have it on good authority she’s got a thing for bald guys. Let’s see his face when I swoop in and take his girl.”

  “Jimmy, please don’t get into a fight with this guy and get kicked out of The Rainbow. I’m begging you.”

  He grinned. “For Millie Turner, it might be worth it.”

  That grin was so familiar, I had to smile back. Jamie had inherited a lot from his grandfather. His grin. His romantic side. His wild and free spirit.

  And a grin that was impossible for me to deny.

  “Fine. Let’s do this.” I stood from the couch and followed Jimmy into the kitchenette. Then I spent the next twenty minutes helping a seventy-two-year-old shave his head and thinking the entire time that Jamie would have loved this.

  And he would have loved learning the ukulele from his mom.

  “It’s official. I have no musical talent.”

  Two hours after I’d left Jimmy’s apartment, any hope of becoming a ukulele virtuoso was lost.

  “Oh, I disagree.” Mia smiled. “You just need some practice. Let’s give that last chord one more try.”

  “Okay.” I picked up the ukulele off my lap and carefully placed my fingers.

  She adjusted my index finger. “Move this one here.”

  I strummed the strings, and for the first time, the sound that came from my instrument was actually melodic. My eyes shot up to Mia’s as a huge smile spread on my face. “I did it!”

  “See? No musical talent,” she scoffed. “Practice makes progress.”

  I liked that. Progress. Not perfect.

  I strummed the strings again, then set down the instrument, wanting to end my lesson on a good note. “Thank you so much, Mia.”

  “You’re welcome. Let me get you a few things. Sit tight.” She set down her own ukulele and stood, disappearing into the back room.

  My eyes wandered over the small, square space. Three guitars hung on the far wall, and the two perched in the corner were covered in bright patterned scarves. At my side was a black upright piano—the top covered with colorful frames and pictures of happy students. The floral couch I was sitting on took up the other free wall, leaving just enough space for the wooden chair Mia had positioned in the middle of the room so she could sit across from me during our lesson.

  Mia’s music studio was as eclectic as its owner.

  I’d found Mia Crane through Google. She’d had so many five-star reviews for her guitar lessons I hadn’t hesitated to ask if she’d be my ukulele instructor, and when I’d pulled up to her hou
se an hour ago, I’d known I’d made the right choice.

  Mia had been waiting for me to arrive, standing barefoot on her front porch. One look at her carefree smile and the nerves I’d had about these lessons had vanished. She’d wrapped me in a hug instead of a handshake, then led me to her music studio—this small, cute building she’d built next to her home.

  “Okay, pretty Poppy.” Her singsong voice preceded her as she came out from the back.

  Pretty Poppy. My family had called me that as a child too.

  The light scent of eucalyptus and cucumber lotion returned with Mia. Her long brown hair was braided loosely over one shoulder, and the number of bangles strung up one arm was nearly as impressive as her enormous hoop earrings.

  “You can take that ukulele home.” She set down a black case on the couch. “Here is a case and I included some notes on what to practice this week.”

  “Thank you.” I stood and smoothed down my black shift dress. “I really appreciate you taking me as a student.” She’d told me when I’d called that she was full but she’d find a way to squeeze me in.

  “My pleasure. I love all my kids, but having adult students can be so much fun. Once we get you through the basics, we can jam.”

  I laughed. I’d never heard a ukulele “jam” before, but if anyone could make it cool, it was Mia Crane.

  “Have you been teaching for long?” I asked as I packed up the instrument.

  “For years. Ever since my kids started kindergarten. I was so bored and lonely while they were at school I decided to start teaching guitar during the day.”

  “Do your kids play?”

  “My daughter.” Her eyes softened. “Evie’s a music teacher at the high school now. But I never have been able to convince my son. He was always too active in sports and wasn’t really interested.”

  A car door slammed outside and Mia’s smile got so big I couldn’t help but smile back. “Speak of the devil. I guilted him into coming over for dinner tonight.”

  “Then I’ll get out of your hair.” I snapped the case closed and looped my purse over my forearm. “See you next week?”