Family Case of Murder

by Vanessa Gray Bartal

  “Bah!” She stared, horrified at the contents until Jason came to close the drawer and retrieve her again.

  “I told you not to look,” he said, exasperated.

  “You should know me well enough by now to know that means I have to look,” she said. “Gross. My eyes, they’re burning.” She squeezed them tightly closed and allowed Jason to lead her from the room.

  “Just forget what you saw, and we’ll never speak of it again,” he said.

  “Speak of what again?” she said.

  “Good girl,” he replied as he opened the next room and stepped inside.

  Lacy wasn’t paying attention to whose room they were entering, but when she saw the twin beds she knew: Bob and Rita. “Sad,” she commented. “How does a couple get to this point in their lives?”

  “They start letting other things come between them: friends, family, work, chocolate.” He squeezed her hand, and she gave his arm a shove.

  “I’m serious,” she said.

  “So am I. If you want to be with someone, then you be with them, regardless of what else life tries to throw at you, regardless of who else stands in the way.”

  Lacy had the sinking feeling that they were no longer talking about Bob and Rita, so she shook free and began her search in awkward silence while Jason gave one of his oh-so-expressive sighs and began his own search.

  “Are you finding anything?” she asked after a few minutes.

  “No. It’s like Ward and June Cleaver are staying here, as opposed to the freaks across the hall,” Jason said.

  “And yet Chuck and Sue are the ones with the happy marriage,” Lacy said.

  “Or so it seems. No one ever knows what goes on behind closed doors.”

  Lacy wondered if he was referring to his own family, and she felt a little bit sad, as she always did whenever he referenced his childhood.

  “Jason, can I ask you a serious and personal question?” she said.

  “We have no secrets anymore, Red. Fire away.”

  “Do you really believe that forever and happily-ever-after are possible? And, if so, how? After everything you went through as a kid, doesn’t it make you sort of cynical?”

  “Well, first of all, I am not my parents. My parents were happy until grief and alcohol took over their lives. You’ll notice I don’t drink, so I’ll never have at least one of their issues. And then there’s the fact that even though they went through a few years of horror, they’re together and actually in love. It’s a different kind of love, sort of subdued, but strong and deep. Even though my parents and I don’t get along, I admire them for toughing it out, for forging a new relationship from the ashes of their old one. Now it’s my turn to ask you a question.”

  She braced herself. “Fire away.”

  “How can you not believe in forever and happily-ever-after with the life you’ve had? Your parents have always seemed happy, and your grandparents have found love at their advanced age. I would think you would be the poster girl for a fantasy trip down the aisle.”

  “I was,” Lacy said. “But everything about me changed after Robert. I was broken.”

  “My parents were broken, and they emerged stronger,” Jason pointed out.

  “This is an odd topic to be having while rifling through other people’s underwear drawers,” Lacy said.

  “This is the perfect time because you can’t run away. Usually when I bring up the prospect of commitment, you bolt like a skittish foal at the first strike of lightning.”

  “I guess maybe being near Robert makes me remember what I was like before and question what I want in the future,” she said.

  “Are you finding any answers?” he asked, leaning against the bedpost smiling. When he looked at her like that, she had trouble remembering to breathe, let alone form coherent thoughts.

  Before she could frame a reply, voices in the hall and a hand on the knob alerted them to the fact that someone was coming. Lacy would have continued to stare at the entrance in mute shock, but Jason was a man of quick action. He hustled her under one of the twin beds, scooting in close beside her, their bodies smashed tightly together to avoid detection. The proximity gave her a close-up view of his face, and she stared unabashed.

  Usually when she looked at him, she stole glances, both because looking at him was like trying to stare directly at the sun and because she didn’t want to be caught giving him longing looks like a lovesick teenager. The irony was that when they were teenagers, she hadn’t cared a whit about him. Other girls had. Lacy had been in the minority because she had not been in the I-heart-Jason-Cantor fan club. Instead she’d had a secret crush on the geekiest guy at school, Chester Campbell. And so low had been her status that not even Chester had returned the sentiment.

  So it was with some dismay that she now found herself pressed against the length of Jason, staring at those eyes that could turn green or blue or amber depending on his mood or outfit.

  Overhead, Bob and Rita were talking. From Jason’s intent expression, he thought they were saying something important. Lacy should listen, but she couldn’t seem to make herself focus an anything but Jason. And—for just this once—she didn’t chastise herself over it. Instead she simply enjoyed the opportunity for girlish delight, enjoyed the fact that she was lying inches away from the most beautiful man she had ever seen.

  He arched an eyebrow at her, an expression of Did you hear that?

  You’re pretty. She gave him a sheepish, cheesy smile that he could in no way interpret, so his eyebrows lowered into a perplexed frown as he ripped his attention from her and began listening again.

  His lips were so full that they cast a shadow on his chin. If his face were a painting, she would spend her inheritance to own it, so perfect was its outline. Strange how her feelings about him were changing. At first, she had been intimidated and put off by his beauty. Being handsome had been a strike against him. But now that she knew him, now that she understood he was the total package, she found that his extreme good looks didn’t bother her so much anymore. They were mesmerizing, but not as intimidating as she once found them. Now she could enjoy his perfect composition without a piercing stab of inequality. Jason was a real person with real hurts, wounds, baggage, and even a few bad habits. Such as his propensity to eavesdrop when what he should be doing was staring at her with as much devotion as she was giving him. She was having a moment here, and he was missing it completely.

  Snatches of Bob and Rita’s conversation drifted down to her, grabbing her attention. “Not sure how much longer I can keep up this tiresome façade,” Rita was saying. Of course she pronounced it fa-cade with a long A and hard C that grated on Lacy’s ears. Somewhere Rita’s former French teacher was crying, and she didn’t know why.

  “Just a little while longer, and it will be over,” Bob assured her.

  Jason shifted slightly, just enough to relieve the pressure on his hip. Lacy’s hand brushed his stomach, and thoughts of Bob and Rita flew out the window again. Her knuckles were pressed to the ridges in his abs, and she resisted the urge to roll her eyes. How was it possible that this man had the face of a model and an amazing body, too? She had never been with anyone who actually had a six pack, never included it on the list of things that were important to her. She would never presume to judge a man over his physique when hers was so far from perfect. She carried a few too many pounds to be fashionably thin, and her hourglass figure hadn’t been in style since the fifties. But now that she was beginning to relax around Jason, to trust the fact that he wasn’t toying with her, to believe that what was between them might be more than just a strange, chemical reaction, she found that she rather enjoyed his body. So much so that she forgot time and place, eased her fingers under his shirt, and trailed her index finger over those abs.

  For Lacy, it was a bold move at the best of times. Perhaps the fact that he was helpless to reciprocate gave her courage, but she couldn’t seem to help herself. He was as tempting as any treat from her grandmother’s oven, and if she couldn
’t have sugar, then she might as well have him.

  But Jason was having none of it. He sucked in a hard breath, pressed his lips together to muffle the sound, and flattened his palm on Lacy’s hand, grinding it into his stomach. And Lacy realized she had discovered another little flaw—Jason was ticklish. She smiled what was probably an impish, evil little grin. He shook his head at her, trying and failing to look severe.

  “Come on, then,” Bob said. The bed across from them creaked as he stood up. “Let’s get back to it.” He and Rita shuffled out of the room and closed the door. They waited a moment to make sure the coast was really clear, but instead of scooting out from under the bed, Jason leaned close and kissed her, cupping her cheek as he applied his lips softly to hers. It wasn’t the kiss she would have chosen, caught up in her attraction for him as she was just then. But when he broke away and smiled at her, she failed to care that the kiss had been more tender than passionate. And then she caught up with his agenda and gave his chest a little shove.

  “I won’t forget you’re ticklish no matter how many times you kiss me,” she said.

  “It was worth a try,” he said. He scooted out and stood in one of those fluid motions that Lacy could never hope to duplicate, especially because her pants were hooked on a bedspring. Jason had to come back, unfasten her and then watch as she attempted to wriggle out. He looked as pristine as when he went under while she was covered in fuzz as if the dust bunnies of the world had decided to unite and attack, bypassing Jason’s perfection and settling for her. She brushed at herself, but the dust clung relentlessly to her hair and clothes.

  “You’re like a human dust mop,” Jason noted as he reached out and tried to help her shake free. “If I didn’t know better, I would think you had rolled around down there, trying to get as dirty as possible. Is there something about red hair that attracts dust motes?”

  “No, it’s just me,” Lacy sighed. She should warn him what he might be getting into with her. She was some sort of walking statistical anomaly. If a chair had held thousands of people before, it would no doubt rupture when Lacy sat on it. And if a thousand people walked through a field with no problems, Lacy would find the hole and trip over it. And in the hole would likely be a hornet’s nest, and they would sting her. Trouble and bad luck had a way of finding her wherever she went.

  She glanced up at him as he brushed the dust off her sock monkey hat, her heart in her eyes as she tried to warn him to run away. It’s always going to be like this, she wanted to say. I’ll always be covered in dust or chocolate or some other substance that somehow bypasses everyone else and lands on me. I’m the one who walks through plate glass windows like an errant bird. I’m the woman who misses the first step and rolls down the remaining thirty. Run away, Jason, run as far and as fast as you can.

  His hands settled on her shoulders and gave her a little shake. “It’s dust, Red, not plutonium. We’ll find a vacuum, and I’ll give you a once-over. You know how I like to clean.” He smiled, took her hand, led her from the room and, just like that, her gloomy interlude was over.

  Chapter 13

  “That was an interesting conversation,” Jason said.

  He was obviously referring to Bob and Rita’s conversation in the bedroom. “Uh, yeah. Mind-blowing. Wow.”

  “You didn’t hear a word they said, did you?” he asked.

  “Some.” Approximately five words or so.

  “I knew you were in a zone. Where was your mind?”

  “Quantum physics. I’ve been working on a new theorem in my spare time,” Lacy said.

  “Mmm, hmm. In here.” He tugged her toward Riley’s room.

  “Why are we searching in here? I thought we disqualified Riley as a suspect,” Lacy said.

  “No one is disqualified until we find the culprit. Plus I don’t like your sister, and I feel like rifling through her things just for the fun of it.” He opened the door and stepped inside. “Whoa, scratch that last part. I’m not sure she would notice if we set the place on fire.” Clothes were strewn everywhere. For a neat freak like Jason, the room was probably causing him to retreat to his happy place in mental self-defense. He was more likely to tidy it than to search it at this point, so Lacy took the lead and began looking around.

  “How do people live like this?” he muttered.

  “Uh, yeah, she’s a slob,” Lacy said, not admitting that her room often looked the same. Despite her type-A tendencies as an oldest child, being neat didn’t come naturally to her. She had to work hard to keep things in perfect order. Whenever she was under stress or crunched for time, neatness was the first thing to go. “Think you could ever be with someone this messy?” she asked, darting him a half-searching, half-teasing glance as she rifled her sister’s possessions.

  Jason was standing in the middle of the room, rendered ineffectual by the chaos. He tipped his head to study her. “I suppose it would depend on what else she brought to the table.”

  “What if you couldn’t find the table because it was buried under mounds of paperwork?” She wasn’t exactly speaking hypothetically. The dresser in her bedroom was currently concealed under a heavy layer of legal documents from the Stakely building.

  Jason shuddered, turning away. “You’re freaking me out.”

  Lacy laughed and resumed her search. The differences between them were nothing new. What was one more to add to the pile? The list of what they actually had in common was so meager it was piteous.

  Searching Riley’s things felt familiar, but not because they were Riley’s things; instead, it was akin to sorting her biological grandmother’s possessions. Barbara Blake and Riley had similar tastes is makeup, jewelry, perfume, and lingerie. Unlike Lacy who—despite becoming a millionaire—still bought her makeup and hair products from the drugstore like she always had. She suppressed a sigh, feeling as if this discrepancy somehow meant she was lacking in some way. Did she not take enough care with her appearance? If she spent fifty dollars on shampoo, would it add more spring and bounce to her rusty waves? She opened a bottle of shampoo and sniffed. It even smelled expensive.

  “What are you doing?” She hadn’t realized Jason was watching her until he spoke.

  “Smelling her shampoo. It smells good.” She held it out for him, and he took a whiff.

  “Smells like shampoo. Aren’t they pretty much all the same?”

  “This one has passion fruit in it,” Lacy explained.

  “I guess if you’re not getting enough passion in your life, then you have to add it to your shampoo,” he speculated. Lacy laughed, feeling a little more buoyant. She wondered if that had been his intent because he draped his arm on her shoulders and surveyed the room. “Did you find anything interesting or important?”

  “Besides the fact that Riley lives way beyond her means? No. Everything in this room is exactly what I expected it to be.” As she surveyed the expensive clothes, shoes, toiletries and jewelry, she felt a little sad for Riley. Maybe she was more insecure than Lacy realized. Maybe she felt like she needed all these outward trappings to feel worthwhile. While she, Lacy, was secure enough in her identity to pay less than three dollars for mascara.

  She gave herself a mental shake at her own wishful thinking. Who was she kidding? Only in fairy tales were people so clearly defined. Just because she was frugal and Riley was extravagant didn’t mean they were respectively pious or flawed. They were just different. Riley liked expensive things and she always had. Lacy had always been the one to squirrel her money away and save up for big purchases. Riley had always spent whatever money she got as soon as she received it and then begged or cried for more until her parents, grandparents, or Lacy gave in. Lacy had a secret suspicion that her parents were still fueling Riley’s over-the-top lifestyle. Their mother had never been able to refuse her baby anything, and there was no other explanation for how Riley was able to afford such pricey clothes, shoes, and accoutrement.

  “What were Bob and Rita talking about?” she asked.

  Jason dropped his
arm from her shoulders and began to rearrange Riley’s toiletries, putting them in order of size and shape. “About how difficult it is to keep up the charade of being a happy couple.”

  “Seriously? They think they’re happy?”

  “They think they appear that way,” Jason said. He finished with the toiletries and moved on to the jewelry, untangling necklaces and winding them around his finger before stacking them in Riley’s jewelry case.

  “Why would they pretend to be a happy couple, if that’s really what they’re doing?”

  “Good question, one I think we should find an answer to soon. Obviously they’re hiding something. Maybe Aunt Enid’s purse strings are tied to their marital bliss,” Jason suggested. He leaned forward on his toes, sorting a scattered pile of earrings into pairs.

  “Jason, you need help,” Lacy said.

  “You’re right. Grab those shirts and start folding.”

  “That wasn’t the kind of help I was referring to. Has anyone ever told you that you have OCD?”

  “Yes, but I prefer to call it CDO because the letters are in proper order that way,” he said, sounding totally unconcerned by her assessment. In fact he sounded happy. He began to hum as he cleaned.

  “Every time I appear at your house, it’s already clean. I’ve never seen this side of you before, the one that takes so much joy in tidying.”

  He glanced at her over his shoulder, one eyebrow raised. “It’s sexy, isn’t it?”

  “It’s something,” she agreed. He turned back around and she wound her finger around her ear in the You’re crazy motion.

  “I saw that,” he said.

  “Did you see it, or did the voices in your head tell you I was doing it?” she asked.

  He chuckled. “Good one.” He finished sorting the jewelry and picked up the box, using his sleeve to dust the top of the bureau. “The maid is dead a couple of days and things are already falling to disarray.” He clucked his tongue and turned around, ready to start on the rest of the room.