Annie on the Lam: A Christmas Caper

by Jennifer Archer

  “The love of his life?” Tess made a hissing sound. “Lydia spent more time in New York City partying with her seedy friends that last year than she did with her own husband and child.”

  Annie jolted. She had to physically stop herself from stepping into the room and coming to her mother’s defense. Her mom had been chairman of the Savannah chapter of Women For Women, a national charitable organization helping homeless women find shelter and work. The chapter was new and struggling to find its feet when her mother took office. Lydia had traveled to New York periodically that year to learn strategies from that city’s more established chapter, not to party.

  “And that lie about her charity work,” Tess said with disgust. “Did she think he wouldn’t find out she resigned her position almost before she began? From the start, I think her intention for taking it was to have a cover for those trips.”

  Unable to believe what she was hearing, Annie closed her eyes. A sick feeling settled in the pit of her stomach.

  “Please, sister,” Tawney said in a low tone. “This isn’t the time to dig up family scandals. Thank God Milford was able to bury that particular one in the first place.” Whispering now, she added, “No one knows that she wasn’t alone in that car. Let’s keep it that way.”

  Tess sighed again. “Milford’s afraid Annie’s like her, isn’t he?”

  “She is like her mother. So much so it’s scary sometimes. She inherited Lydia’s restless spirit, her inability to ever be satisfied and follow through with anything she starts. Milford’s not about to let Annie spiral down and self-destruct like Lydia did.”

  Annie pressed a hand across her mouth and let their words sink in. Obviously there was more to her mom’s death than she’d been told. More than a woman making too sharp a turn and going off a bridge on a rainy night while away in New York on volunteer business.

  And if her aunts’ implications were true, there was more to her mother than she had ever known, too.

  “Annie’s always had her head screwed on straight,” Tess admonished. “She’s not selfish. That’s more than anyone can say about Lydia.”

  “Don’t tell me you don’t see her mother in her.”

  “In some ways, yes. She can be impulsive at times, and restless like you said, but—” Tess jerked her head toward the door, as if she heard something that alerted her of a presence on the other side.

  Annie counted to five, then stepped in, noting their startled expressions.

  “Well!” Tawney said and clapped her hands. “There’s our girl. We were getting worried about you.”

  Beyond the door, the music changed to Pachelbel’s “Canon in D,” Annie’s cue to leave for the sanctuary. She looked from one aunt to the other. If Tawney was right and her father was grooming Lance to take over the bank, she had only been fooling herself to think they would ever be equal partners. After they married, her life would be little more than that of a wealthy man’s wife, one busy with chairing fund-raising benefits, entertaining her husband’s clients, their friends. A life as a middle-aged Savannah socialite.

  Her mother’s life.

  Is that what drove Lydia to her death? Had those trips to New York been her attempt to escape a life that didn’t fit her? In that moment, Annie longed to talk to her mother, to ask Lydia’s advice and hear her side of the story. Had she once been as confused as Annie was now? Loving and wanting to please Milford, but needing something other than the life he offered? Had her mother felt trapped and unfilled and bored to tears?

  “I need to talk to Lance,” she said. She would ask him point-blank why he wanted to marry her, if he loved her, or if he only wanted her inheritance.

  “But, Annie…” Tawney stepped toward her, reaching out a hand. “Vivienne will be here any minute.”

  “Chirping orders and fluttering about like a sparrow on speed, no doubt.” Tess rolled her eyes and pulled a cigarette from the package in Sara’s purse. “Some wedding planner. She’s late.” She met Annie’s gaze and nodded at the door. “Go talk to Lance. I’ll tell Vivienne to cool her jets.”

  Annie swung around and started from the room. Seconds later, at Lance’s dressing-room door, she knocked once, then went in without an invitation.

  Lance and Vivienne jumped apart, their eyes wide and startled. Vivienne tugged the hem of her dress down over her hips. Lance’s hand flew up to his crooked bow tie.

  Annie stared at them, waiting for a stab of pain that never came. She only felt a gnawing ache of humiliation and betrayal that swiftly transformed into disappointment before morphing into sadness. Then, just as quickly, relief swept through her. Lance had confirmed that her misgivings about marrying him were justified. She was doing the right thing by walking away. Sara had been right about him all along. He didn’t give a whit about her; he only wanted the financial and career fringe benefits that their marriage would provide.

  “I wasn’t aware that that particular service was included in your fee,” she said to Vivienne. Shifting her focus to Lance she added, “Or did you pay extra for it?”

  “Annie…” His face flushed maroon.

  “You two just made what I came here to say a whole lot easier.” She pulled off the ridiculous, itchy veil, tossed it to Vivienne, scratched her head. “I don’t want to marry you, Lance.”

  As “Trumpet Voluntary” began playing in the sanctuary, Annie turned and left without waiting for Lance to respond.

  AT NOON the next day, Annie sat across a table from her Aunt Tess. Every noise in the café entered her ears and banged against her brain. “Thanks for coming,” she said, spooning sugar into her tea.

  Tess slipped off her reading glasses, set them aside along with the menu. “Are you hung over?”

  “I wish. At least then I’d have some fun memories to go along with this headache.” She stirred the tea. “I didn’t sleep last night.”

  Tess’s jaw clenched. “Firing Lance Holcomb isn’t enough punishment for what he did to you. And with the wedding planner. How cliché. Your father should’ve strangled him.”

  “Daddy fired Lance?” Annie sat straighter.

  “Last night. You haven’t talked to your father?”

  “No.” She hadn’t picked up his calls. “I wanted to talk to you first. I guess I’m a little upset with him. A lot upset. And confused.” Noticing Tess’s baffled expression, she continued, “It wasn’t what Lance did that kept me up last night. I was thinking about Mama.”

  Tess met her gaze, held it. “You heard Tawney and me talking, didn’t you?” Without waiting for an answer, she slumped back against the chair, crossed her arms and sighed. “I’m sorry, Annie.”

  “Daddy’s been lying to me, hasn’t he? All these years.”

  “No, Annie, not lying, really. Just—”

  “Not telling the whole truth.”

  “You were so young when the accident happened. He wanted to spare you more pain.”

  “I’m not young now. I haven’t been for years.” She stared across at her aunt. “Was my mother having an affair?”

  Tess bowed her head and pinched the bridge of her nose. “Lord. You should ask your father these questions.”

  “I’m asking you. You and I have never played games with each other. Let’s not start now.”

  Tess looked up and said, “I don’t know if she was having an affair. That’s the truth.”

  “Aunt Tawney said there was someone in the car with her when it crashed. Was it a man?” Tess’s silence was all the answer she needed. Annie studied the older woman’s nervous expression for a minute as a multitude of unnamed emotions twisted and tangled inside her. Finally, she asked, “Who was he?”

  “Digging all this up won’t bring your mother back. It won’t change anything.”

  “I need to know.” Annie leaned in across the table. “I’m forty years old and suddenly I realize I don’t even know who my mother was, who I am or what I want to do with the rest of my life. I feel like I’ve wasted so many years.” She covered her aunt’s wrinkled ha
nd with her own on the tabletop. “Aunt Tawney said I’m like her. So did you. Apparently my father thinks so, too. And that frightens him enough that he’s been desperate to find someone to act as my watchdog before he has to give up the duty.”

  “That’s not how it is, Annie.”

  “That is how it is. It occurred to me last night that Daddy introduced me to all three men I’ve been engaged to.”

  Tess bent her head and stared down at her lap.

  “I’m the same age she was when she died, do you realize that? Maybe if I understood—” Her throat closed and she looked away.

  “Okay.” Tess glanced up, wariness in her eyes. “You are like Lydia in a lot of ways. But you’re different, too. You’re your own person. Understanding your mother isn’t necessarily the key to understanding yourself.”

  “But it might be. I need the truth. Why was my mother traveling to New York? I know she wasn’t doing charity work.”

  Tess stared at her a minute then said, “Lydia was bored. At first she did go for the charity, then she resigned her position, but we didn’t know that for a while. Judging by the little your father was able to learn after the accident, we think she might’ve been trying to set things up so that she could move there.”

  “You mean leave Daddy.”

  “Yes.”

  “And me.”

  “I can’t answer that. Nobody can. Your father did some investigating and found out she’d invested most of her inheritance she hadn’t already squandered in some sort of business venture that never played out.”

  Sadness swam through Annie. “When I think about her…she seemed withdrawn and tired a lot of the time. And not only that last year. I didn’t dwell on it much then. But looking back now that I’m older, I can’t help wondering if she was depressed because she hated her life here.”

  “Lydia did see a doctor for depression. She had trouble sleeping. But knowing her, I’m not sure she would’ve been any happier doing anything else, anywhere else.”

  Annie didn’t want to believe that. She wanted to believe that her family was wrong about her mother, that they simply had not understood her. “The man in the car…you didn’t tell me his name.”

  Tess closed her eyes briefly. Said, “Milford’s going to kill me.” Sighed. “His name was Fred or Frank…Reno. Something like that. Your father had him checked out afterward. He was just some flashy, loud-mouthed loser who owned a club or two in the city. I can’t imagine what Lydia was doing getting mixed up with someone like him, but we found out he’s the person she invested the money with.”

  “You said ‘was’. Did he die, too?”

  “No, he survived. With little more than a few scratches, actually. It was his car, by the way. Your mother was driving and he was in the passenger seat. We don’t know why.”

  “Did Daddy confront him?”

  “No. What good would it do? It wouldn’t bring Lydia back. And, honestly, I think he was afraid of finding out something about her he didn’t want to know.” Tess leaned in across the table. “Whatever you’re thinking, Annie, let it drop. You might not want to know, either.” Blinking, Tess scanned the café and said, “What’s taking our waitress so long?”

  Noting her aunt’s escalating nervousness, Annie said, “There’s something else, isn’t there?”

  After a long stretch of silence, Tess blinked at her, released a long breath and said, “It’s only speculation, but after talking with several witnesses to the accident, the authorities thought Lydia might’ve driven off the bridge on purpose.”

  CHAPTER 2

  Six months later

  December, New York City

  Unwrapping his meatball sandwich, Joe Brady stepped out of the deli and crossed to the curb. A bite on the run was his usual routine these days. In that respect, driving a cab for a living was not so different than being a cop.

  Weather reports predicted a blizzard on the way. Bitter gray cold had arrived ahead of the snow. Joe shivered as he slid behind the wheel. His cell phone rang and he leaned back to pull it from the front pocket of his jeans, noticing that the charge was low. He couldn’t seem to remember to plug the damn thing in when he had the chance.

  “Brady, here,” he said, around a mouthful of beef.

  “Hey, Joe. Ed Simms.”

  “Ed! Good to hear your voice.” The old guy had been on the force with Joe’s father Patrick back in the day. As a kid, Joe had spent many an hour with the Simms family. Later, Ed had opened his own private investigation firm and it had thrived. Word was, he’d retired with a nice little nest egg. In Joe’s opinion, it couldn’t have happened to a nicer guy. “Where you been keepin’ yourself, buddy?”

  “Out of trouble. Old age agrees with me.”

  Joe chuckled. “How’s Nancy?”

  “Doin’ good, doin’ good. She loves living out of the city. And she’s enjoying the grandkids. You should come see ’em sometime. Bring your mother. Have dinner.”

  “She’d like that. So would I.” In fact, his mother would like living out of the city, too.

  “How is she, anyhow?”

  “Good. She misses Pop, but she’s learning to be happy alone.” By driving Joe crazy, but he wouldn’t share that with Ed. “It’s almost two years Pop’s been gone now.”

  “Hard to believe. I miss him, too,” Ed murmured. “How about you? Still driving a cab?”

  “Part-time between cases.”

  After a short pause, the older man said, “I still say you were too hard on yourself after all that mess went down. You’re a detective, not a P.I. Or a cabbie, for that matter. But it’s good to know you’re staying busy.”

  “I could be busier,” Joe admitted. He placed the messy sandwich on the seat beside him and stuck his key into the ignition. He hadn’t heard from Ed in months and wondered what had prompted this particular call. More than an offhand dinner invitation and a subtle lecture, he guessed. “What’s up, Ed?”

  “I had a call today from an old client. Hotshot banker from Savannah name of Milford Macy. His old lady drove a car off a bridge into the Hudson more than twenty years ago and he hired me to check out the vehicle’s owner, a fellow who was riding along in the passenger seat. I believe you know the guy.”

  “Oh, yeah?” Joe checked the traffic over his shoulder and prepared to merge into it.

  “It was Frank Reno.”

  Slamming his foot down on the brake, he threw the cab into Park and stayed put. “No shit.”

  “I thought that might get your attention.”

  “You thought right.”

  “Anyhow, I didn’t find out much at the time. Just that Macy’s wife and Reno were doing some kind of business together. He was small-time back then, but already threatening enough that if anybody knew anything they weren’t willing to talk. I advised Macy to let it drop and go on with his life, and that’s what he did after taking some steps to keep the details of the accident low-profile. Didn’t want the scandal of a possible suicide reaching the tea sippers back home in Georgia.”

  “So why’s he calling you again after so long?”

  “Seems his daughter moved to the city last summer and went to work at a bank. No big deal until a couple of months go by and she takes on a second job working as a waitress at Landau’s.”

  “I know the place,” Joe said.

  “You know Harry Landau?”

  “I know of him. He’s Reno’s nephew.”

  “That’s right. Reno set him up in the restaurant business. Macy didn’t make the connection but a little red flag went up when his kid started calling home with a lot of vague questions about money laundering, etcetera, etcetera. He was afraid she might’ve gotten herself in the middle of something way out of her league.”

  “Takes after her mother, huh?”

  “Apparently. So he calls me this morning and asks me if I’d check out Harry Landau, and when I tell him Landau’s bad news, that he’s Reno’s nephew, and then bring him up to date on Reno’s activities in the years since his
wife bought it in that car—”

  “Damn. Did he wet his pants?”

  “The poor guy was pretty shook up. Now he’s thinking it’s no coincidence that his kid landed herself a job at Landau’s. He thinks she’s up to something, and I tend to agree with him.”

  “Man.” Joe shook his head, reached for his sandwich, put it down again. He’d lost his appetite. Frank Reno was directly related to his reasons for turning in his badge a year ago. Joe was no longer a police detective, but he still wanted the son-of-a-bitch’s head on a plate more than just about anything.

  “Macy wants someone to keep an eye on his daughter for a while. I told him I’m out of the business, but that I knew an ex-cop familiar with Reno—that’d be you—and that you have a real hard-on for the guy.”

  Joe winced at Ed’s choice of words. “Actually it’s nailing him to the wall that excites me,” he said caustically, “Not the man himself.”

  Ed chuckled. “You in? He’s willing to pay out the nose.” The old man quoted a daily rate that shot Joe’s pulse through the roof.

  He took about five seconds to think it over. Joe didn’t like the idea of babysitting some socialite who was probably playing with fire just to add a little excitement to her life, but he needed the cash. And he couldn’t bring himself to pass up an opportunity that carried even a slim chance of taking him one step closer to locking Reno away where he belonged.

  He picked up his sandwich again and a meatball rolled into his lap. Frowning at the red smear of sauce on his jeans, Joe said, “Give me Macy’s number. I’ll give him a call. And thanks, Ed.”

  THE FOLLOWING NIGHT, Joe sat in the cab on a side street with the headlights off and his eye out for the cops since he’d parked by a pump. The last thing he needed right now was a ticket and he wasn’t counting on any special treatment, ex-detective or not.