I headed that way—thank goodness I didn’t have to walk past the day room—and found the office. A nameplate was positioned next to the open door that read: JOSEPHINE RAMSEY, DIRECTOR.
Inside was a small seating area and a desk occupied by a receptionist, a middle-aged woman with red hair who gave off a weary don’t-bother-because-I’ve-already-seen-it-all vibe.
“Go on in,” she said, and nodded toward the connecting office.
Josephine Ramsey rose from behind her desk when I walked in. Yikes! She was tall—taller than me, easily over six feet with heels. To be generous, I’ll say she looked sturdy in a Michael Kors business suit, with a helmet of jet-black hair, full-on makeup, and her nails done.
She introduced herself and pointed to the chair in front of her desk. “Tell me what’s wrong, Ms. Randolph.”
As soon as we sat down, I blasted her with the scandalous online story that had been posted by Crown Girl, which, really, was not the best way to handle the situation. But, come on, I was still completely rattled and she was the director—who else could I take it out on?
“This incident was meant to embarrass, humiliate, and ruin Mr. Tremaine’s sterling reputation in the community,” I said. “Crown Girl took advantage of his diminished mental capacity and exploited it for her own gain. She used inside knowledge that should be confidential, and abused her position of trust in this care facility.”
“So this woman who calls herself Crown Girl, how do you know she works here?” Josephine asked.
Crown Girl had to be an employee. I was sure of it.
Ted Tremaine’s wife was dead, his kids lived out of state, and likely all his friends were as old as he was and not in any better health, so no way would they visit him here—and even if they had and he’d blabbed about what happened at the pageant, no way would they have posted it online.
Plus, I’d seen the sign-in log at the receptionist’s desk.
“He hasn’t had a visitor in three months. The story was posted online a week ago. Who else could have done it?” I said.
She didn’t say anything, so I went on.
“This situation is inexcusable. It’s elder abuse.”
She knew without me saying it that elder abuse was code for lawsuit.
And once word got out that Golden Years Care Center was embroiled in legal trouble stemming from an employee and claims of elder abuse, the place would be out of business in no time; Pasadena wasn’t exactly short on nursing homes.
Josephine drew herself up and a look of determination came over her face that was—yikes!—kind of scary.
“I will not have this facility’s reputation ruined under any circumstances. I, and everyone else on staff, have worked long and hard to ensure high standards and a quality environment, and to provide the best possible care of our residents,” Josephine said. “This situation will not be tolerated. I simply won’t allow it. Not after all the hard work that’s gone into it.”
She sounded like a woman on a mission.
“Rest assured, this Crown Girl’s identity will be discovered and that post will be taken down immediately.” Josephine stood up and leaned toward the receptionist in the adjoining office. “Helen! Get legal on the phone. I want HR in my office immediately. And call a staff meeting.”
I figured my work there was done. I rose from my chair.
“My door is always open,” Josephine said. “If there are other problems, please come to me.”
It was nice of her to say that, but, really, no way was I ever coming back here again.
“Thank you,” I said.
I left the care facility totally exhausted and still partially grossed out. There was nothing to do, of course, but head to Starbucks.
I drove to the closest one, which, luckily, was only a few blocks away. Instead of going through the drive-through, I went inside, got my Frappie, and found a table in the back corner. Only two other people were there, one of them on a laptop and the other reading a newspaper. I was glad for the quiet.
Honestly, I’d been impressed with Josephine Ramsey. She’d knocked it out of the park, as far as I was concerned, in her efforts to squelch Crown Girl’s post and put an end to this sort of thing ever happening again. Obviously, she knew the importance of her facility’s reputation. Once it was tarnished, once the public got the idea in their collective heads that there were problems at Golden Years Care Center, turning that around could be almost impossible.
Josephine wasn’t playing around. She meant business. She wasn’t going down without a fight. I liked that.
Thinking about Josephine zapped my brain, sending my thoughts in a different direction, kind of.
Had Carrie felt that strongly about her bakery? Had she been so mad, so upset, so outraged by the review on the Exposer site that had crippled her business that she’d killed Asha?
Of course, several months had passed between the time of the review and the murder. If Carrie was protective enough of her bakery to kill Asha, wouldn’t she have done it sooner?
Then it hit me—maybe not.
What if Asha had come to Carrie demanding she take out an advertisement on her Exposer website? What if she’d threatened to write another scathing review if she didn’t?
I sat straight up in my chair. Oh my God, that was what had happened. It had to be.
Images and possibilities filled my head, spinning out the whole story.
Carrie was friendly with the craft store owner, Dena, who owned a gun. What if Carrie had somehow gotten it from her? What if she’d arranged a meeting with Asha under the guise of taking out an ad on her site?
Oh my God, Carrie had lured Asha to the rear of the store and shot her. It made perfect sense.
Fishing my cell phone out of my handbag, I grabbed my Frappie and hurried out of Starbucks as I punched in Shuman’s number.
“I know who killed Asha,” I announced when he picked up.
“Is that so?”
He didn’t sound nearly as amped up as I felt. Why wasn’t he shouting, cheering, maybe laying the phone aside to turn a cartwheel?
“Yes,” I said, pacing back and forth on the sidewalk. “It was Carrie. The owner of the bakery.”
Shuman didn’t say anything.
“Asha nearly ruined her business—the thing that meant the most to her in the world,” I said. “There’s nothing people care more about than the reputation of their shop or store—you know that’s true.”
Shuman was quiet for a few seconds, then asked, “Did you come up with some evidence?”
Okay, now he was getting kind of picky, but I rolled with it.
“No—but you did,” I insisted.
He didn’t ask what it was.
Jeez, what was the matter with Shuman? I’d made a major breakthrough here. I’d solved the case. Why wasn’t he all over this?
I slurped the last of my Frappie and said, “You talked to George, the guy who owned Wright’s Auto Works, remember? Asha forced him to take out an advertisement to prevent her from ruining his business with a stinky review. That’s extortion. Plain and simple.”
Shuman didn’t comment.
“I’ll bet Asha tried to do the same thing with Carrie and her bakery,” I told him. “She pressured her to take out an ad. Carrie already knew how detrimental a bad review could be, so no way could she not go along with it. She had to agree to buy the ad.”
“We looked,” Shuman said. “There was no ad on the Exposer site from Cakes By Carrie.”
“Yes, but I’ll bet Asha had a list of potential advertising customers somewhere in her files,” I told him. “You have her laptop. Check it out. I know you’ll find something. It’s the connection we’ve been missing. I’m sure of it.”
“What about a murder weapon?” he asked.
Now he was being really picky, but I was ready.
“Carrie is friends with Dena. Dena’s shop is next door to the bakery. Maybe Dena keeps the gun at her craft store? She has a license to carry concealed, remember? Maybe Carr
ie knew about it? Maybe she sneaked in there and got it, and killed Asha?”
“I’m hearing a lot of maybes.”
Oh my God, Shuman was totally not on board with my stunning solution to Asha’s murder. What was the matter with him?
I walked to the trash can and dropped my cup in.
“Look,” I said, “just think about it. It makes perfect sense. Get your computer guys to check out Asha’s laptop. There’s a list of advertisers there and Carrie is one of them, I just know it.”
Shuman was quiet for a few seconds, then said, “Okay. I’ll interview Carrie again.”
Visions of SWAT rolling up to the bakery, hot guys loaded down with weapons rappelling from hovering helicopters blooming in my head.
No way did I want to miss that.
“Great,” I said. “I’ll meet you there in less than an hour.”
“Tomorrow,” Shuman said. “It will have to be tomorrow.”
Crap.
“Okay, but let me know when you get there,” I said.
“I will,” Shuman said, and ended the call.
Huh. Not exactly the stunning “Yeah, you did it!” I’d expected—or thought I deserved—but still, I was happy.
Just to keep the good thoughts rolling, I was considering treating myself to yet another Frappuccino when my brain was slammed with the image of Mom and Ted doing the humpty-bump back in the day.
Gross.
I walked to one of the umbrella tables and dropped into a chair.
No way was I ever—ever—going to get over this.
Then something else hit me.
Mom had sex with the pageant judge—and she’d placed second. Second. How humiliating was that?
Then, suddenly, a bright spot flashed in this darkest moment in my life and I perked up.
Second, huh?
Did that mean I was finally better at something than my mom?
Oh, yeah.
CHAPTER 25
I had a lot of things to do this morning. I’d scheduled workers to arrive at Holt’s super early to block off the parking lot and begin setting up for tomorrow’s festival. Throughout the day, I would oversee different phases of preparation. All normal stuff.
I’d dressed in black pants and sweater, and put my hair in an I’m-in-charge-but-I’m-still-fun low ponytail, my usual event planner’s uniform for prep day.
But I didn’t head for Holt’s when I left my apartment. The festival staging would have to proceed without me for a while. I wasn’t worried. The companies I’d hired to do the work were top-notch. I’d dealt with them before. And if a problem arose, they would give me a call.
First thing this morning when I rolled out of bed, I’d checked the Internet. I was anxious to see if Josephine Ramsey had come through with her pledge of getting Crown Girl’s post taken down. She had. The story was nowhere to be found.
Now I was headed to Mom’s house to give her the news. I could have called her, but I felt this was something I had to do in person—and I had to be a mature adult about it, somehow.
When I exited the 210 and wound through the streets toward my parents’ house, the other major situation in my life flew into my head.
All night, I’d thought about my startling revelation yesterday that Carrie had murdered Asha, and I was still convinced I was right—even though Shuman hadn’t seemed excited about my solving the case for him. He’d promised to interview Carrie again today and, hopefully, he’d uncover some crucial info that would put an end to the investigation today—or she would confess. It sure would make things easier on everybody when those investigative journalists showed up at the festival tomorrow.
When I pulled into my parents’ driveway, I parked and jumped out of my Honda. Juanita opened the front door before I got there. She looked tense.
Not a good sign.
“She’s in that same room,” she said, wringing her hands.
“Relax,” I said. “Everything’s fine. The problem disappeared.”
“Are you sure?” Juanita still looked troubled.
“Don’t worry. Nobody’s moving to Sri Lanka, or anywhere else.”
I headed through the house to the media room. The lights were low; the television was off. Mom sat on the sofa. She had on jeans and a sweatshirt—which I hadn’t even known she owned. Her hair was still wet from the shower, she had on no makeup, and she was staring off at nothing.
“Good news, Mom,” I announced, as I walked over.
A few seconds passed before she looked up at me.
“Oh, Haley. Hi, sweetie.” She looked lost for a moment. “I wasn’t expecting you this morning. Or was I?”
“I came by to tell you something,” I said, and dropped onto the sofa next to her. “That story about the Miss California Cupid pageant has been taken down. It’s not on the Internet. It’s gone for good.”
Mom looked stunned, as if she didn’t really comprehend what I was saying.
“You don’t have to worry about anybody gossiping about the pageant or anything,” I said.
“How . . . how do you know?”
She’d made me promise not to get involved so I didn’t want to tell her I’d gone against her wishes. I was afraid divulging the truth about my visit to the Golden Years Care Center would upset her further.
“I read it on the Internet,” I said.
It was a lie, of course, but it could have happened.
“The whole story was a complete fabrication, apparently, written by someone who just wanted to stir up trouble. You know how those Internet things are,” I said.
Mom didn’t look convinced so I went on.
“And I heard there was a threat of a lawsuit,” I said. “That’s why the story was taken down, and why it will never be mentioned again.”
She chewed her bottom lip and glanced away for a few seconds, then looked at me again.
“You’re certain?”
“Absolutely.”
Mom drew a breath and let it out slowly, then said, “That is good news. Thank you, sweetie, for coming over and letting me know.”
I’d expected her to be happier, more relieved that the situation was over and done with, never to return. Instead, she still looked . . . sad.
“Aren’t you happy, Mom?” I asked.
She gazed across the room again and said, “This incident has given me a lot of time to think and . . . remember.”
I glanced back over my shoulder and saw that she was staring at the Back to the Future movie poster again.
Was she looking at it, wishing she could go back in time before Crown Girl posted that story and started this whole upsetting situation?
I figured that must be it. I mean, what else—
Then it hit me.
There was another reason Mom wanted to go back, maybe all the way back to the Miss California Cupid contest.
She had been nineteen at the time. Ted had been a handsome, wealthy, sophisticated older man. Her tryst with him had been something more than a fling.
She’d actually been in love with him.
Looking at her now, seeing that haunted expression on her face, I knew I was right.
Had Ted felt the same about her?
I didn’t know, but I hoped he did.
Obviously, they’d ended it.
Their age difference—some twenty years—was significant. He’d been married and probably had children by then. These were major hurdles, not easily overcome.
I wondered which one of them had made the decision.
I wondered, too, if I’d been wrong about Mom’s concern over Crown Girl’s tell-all. This whole thing wasn’t about Mom’s reputation, if it came to light that she was the contestant who’d slept with a judge. Maybe she wasn’t even worried so much about the public’s perception of beauty pageants.
It was Ted’s reputation she wanted to keep intact.
My thoughts jumped to my dad. Where did he fit into this? Had Mom settled for him?
Mom and Dad were an odd pair. They were total o
pposites, so I’d often wondered why they’d married. I’d always figured it had been true love.
Now I wasn’t so sure.
“Thank you, Haley,” Mom said. “Thank you for coming over here to give me the news.”
“You know, Mom, if you ever want to talk about anything, I’m here for you.”
She smiled the genuine mom-smile I’d seen all my life.
“And I’m here for you.” She paused for a moment. “I know things are often strained between us. We’re so different. But there’s nothing I wouldn’t do for you.”
“I know, Mom,” I said.
“No, you don’t.” She shook her head. “You’ll know one day, if you have a child of your own. If that happens, you’ll understand that there is nothing a mother won’t do for her child. Absolutely nothing.”
It hit me that perhaps one of the things she’d done was to end her affair with Ted back in the day. If she’d kept up her involvement with him, the stigma of how she’d broken up his marriage would have followed her for years, and would have affected their children, too.
Mom had never said anything like that to me before. I’d never known her to be so passionate—especially about anything to do with me. It was really nice.
“Anything, Haley. I’d do anything.” Mom grinned. “Even if it caused me to break a nail.”
She giggled and I giggled. Then we hugged.
“I have so many urgent matters to attend to today,” Mom said, springing off of the sofa. “I have to get my hair done, of course, and I could use a fresh pedi. My goodness, my day is suddenly packed.”
Mom was back to being Mom again, which I was totally cool with.
“Later,” I called and left the house.
As I climbed into my Honda, I considered going back inside and telling Mom where she could find Ted. But then I thought better of it. Maybe she’d rather remember him as he was, back in the day when he was young, healthy, and vital.
I decided, too, that whatever had gone on in the past between my parents was their business, not mine. I was staying out of it.
But my heart ached a little for Mom. I wondered what other burdens she might have carried all these years.
With that ache came thoughts of Ty.
Pocketbooks and Pistols Page 19
