Crazy, Stupid, Dead

by Wendy Delaney

  Sometimes. “Is that a new coffeemaker?”

  “Cute, isn’t it?” Marietta stroked the humming machine as if it were a cat waking up from a long nap in that cozy compartment. “Barry bought it for me as a homecoming present.”

  Probably because he hated her coffee as much as I did.

  “Nice.” Even nicer, I didn’t see any other new acquisitions as I looked around, so maybe my mother was finally satisfied with her new life in Port Merritt.

  And maybe I could reach some level of acceptance with my thunder thighs.

  It would never happen, but it didn’t prevent me from clinging to the hope.

  I noticed that the glass table in the breakfast nook overlooking a back deck large enough for a square dance had been set for two with her good china. But I didn’t smell anything cooking or see any trace of food preparation in her immaculate kitchen.

  “Pretty,” I said, aware of Marietta watching my every movement like a hungry bird of prey.

  “I wasn’t sure what you’d like for lunch. I made a salad, but I could also scramble a couple of eggs if you prefer.”

  “Salad’s fine.” We both knew that tossing vegetables into a bowl pushed the limits of her culinary abilities.

  “Okay. Have a seat.”

  Seconds later, she placed a bowl of Cobb salad in front of me that looked identical to the premade salad I had picked up for Rox and me two days earlier.

  Which was just fine. Sharing a meal was awkward enough. At least now I didn’t have to worry about her giving me food poisoning.

  “This looks good,” I said as she took the seat adjacent to me.

  Marietta flashed me a cautious smile. “I’m glad you’re here.”

  “Me too.” Sort of.

  After a moment of companionable crunching, I had the feeling that we had just exchanged the Digby girl equivalent of apologies.

  With her fork poised over her bowl, my mother slanted me a glance. “Everything okay?”

  “Everything’s great.”

  Her extended lashes fluttered over her cheeks like butterflies dancing a jig.

  Yep. That was as close as her mouth could come to uttering an “I’m sorry.”

  “Did you happen to see the article in the paper?” Marietta asked between dainty sips of coffee almost ten minutes later.

  I kept my eyes focused on the bacon bits at the bottom of my bowl. “Not yet.” And I intended to keep it that way. “Are you happy with how it turned out?”

  “Oh, yes. The picture of the two of us that Renee used is especially good. I’m going to ask her to send it to me so that I can have it framed.”

  Whatever.

  “Also, about that,” my mother started to say when her doorbell rang.

  Pushing away from the table, she squinted at the antique pendulum wall clock hanging in the family room. “Can’t anyone be on time today?”

  Since half of that remark was aimed at me, I bit back a sigh. “Who is it?”

  “If it’s my contractor,” she said, the soles of her feet slapping the hardwood, “he’s very early.”

  While my mother modulated her voice into Southern fried Marietta Moreau mode at the door, I cleared the table and took the next few minutes to wash the dishes.

  Whatever purpose was behind this appointment with her contractor, by the volume of honey that Marietta kept injecting into every sentence, I could only assume that she wanted something the guy wasn’t too keen on providing.

  One thing was for sure: I didn’t have a part to play in this particular act. But I also couldn’t leave before she and I talked about the other reason for my visit: the car. So I followed their voices past the curved staircase to the great room, where I found a man in a navy jacket running his palm over a low section of sage green wall.

  “We can easily fix this,” he said as I waited to get my mother’s attention. “I apologize. I don’t know why this wasn’t done right the first time.”

  At least someone in this house could issue a proper apology.

  “Oh, Charmaine.” Marietta waved me over. “Come in and meet Gary Carpp—”

  Did she say Carpp?

  “—the man who built this beautiful house.”

  “Not by myself, I didn’t,” the man in his late forties said, extending his hand as I approached.

  He seemed friendly enough and had a solid handshake. There was no reason for the hair at the back of my neck to stand on end other than the fact that his jacket was emblazoned with a Cascara Construction Group logo. And even then, I had no reason to suspect that he had anything to do with the intimidation tactics the Pollard brothers had been experiencing.

  “Charmaine Digby. And I’m sorry, I don’t know that I heard your name correctly.”

  A disarming smile split his face. “If I had a nickel for every time someone said that, I could have retired by now. Gary Carpp, like the fish.”

  “Any relation to Dr. Carpp, the dentist?”

  “My older brother. I’m the better-looking one. And you didn’t need to introduce yourself, Charmaine. I recognized you from your picture in this morning’s paper.”

  Swell.

  His cell phone rang and he pulled it from the pocket of his blue jeans without masking his irritation. “Sorry, ladies. Looks like duty calls back at the office.”

  After disconnecting, he assured my mother that his scheduler would be giving her a call, and they exchanged good-byes at the door.

  “Lovely man,” Marietta said after she clicked the door shut. “I far prefer dealing with him than the underling they sent the first time. That guy hardly gave me the time of day.”

  I stood at the window and experienced another prickly feeling while I watched Gary climb into the white van parked in the driveway. “He obviously didn’t know who you are.” Or didn’t care.

  Marietta heaved a sigh. “You make it sound like I expect the star treatment all the time.”

  “Sorry. I just meant …” There was no way out of the hole I was digging, so it was best to toss aside the shovel. “Who exactly is Gary in the Cascara Construction food chain?”

  “One of the owners. Or maybe he’s the son of the owner.” My mother padded toward the kitchen. “Whatever his position, he’s high enough on the ladder to suit me.”

  “Thank goodness for that,” I muttered under my breath as Gary eased the van past Gram’s SUV parked out front. And then my heart hammered out an alarm when I got an eyeful of the company logo on the passenger side door. “Holy crap! That’s a tree on his van.”

  “What did you think Cascara stood for, silly? Even I know it’s a tree.”

  “But it’s a tree on a white van.” And his brother is a dentist.

  Holy crap!

  * * *

  “Honey, you don’t really think that Gary Carpp had anything to do with Naomi Easley’s drowning,” Donna said while we waited for her six o’clock appointment to show up at the salon.

  Too restless to sit still, I spun around in her black and chrome styling chair as I tried to piece together everything I thought I knew to be true about what happened the day of Mrs. Easley’s death. “If I had told you that I saw a guy with some sort of company van visit my neighbor a couple of hours before she was found dead, wouldn’t you find that at least a little bit suspicious?”

  “Sure, but—”

  “And if I swore he’d been there with my dentist, wouldn’t that make you wonder what that was all about?”

  Donna tucked the broom she had been using to tidy up between appointments into the closet next to the shampoo bowl. “Yes. But as far as I know, your memory is still pretty reliable.”

  “Come on,” I said, dragging the toe of my black pump to stop the spinning. “Althea identified the van, a tree guy, and her dentist. And Mavis saw them too. She was just so focused on her sister at the time that she didn’t get a good look at them.”

  “Even if they were there that day,” Donna said with a dismissive w
ave of her hand. “And I think it’s highly unlikely. It doesn’t mean that Gary and his brother did anything wrong.”

  “Maybe not intentionally.” Because Naomi Easley still ended up dead.

  “Really? You spend one minute with the guy and then see a tree on his van, and you’re ready to make a citizen’s arrest?”

  “Don’t be ridiculous.” If I had any real proof, I wouldn’t dream of making a citizen’s arrest; I’d call Steve to do it.

  “Because I know the man, and I’m telling you there’s no way that he’d hurt a nice, little old lady.”

  “You cut his hair?”

  Donna nodded. “And you should see how sweet he is to all the girls when he comes in. As charming as can be.”

  “I bet.” Because something behind all that charm had made my hair stand on end.

  “Well, hon, if I can’t convince you, you’ll just have to put him to your lie detector test and come to your own conclusions.”

  “Yeah, sure.” I didn’t know when I’d have the opportunity to do that with the younger of the two Carpp brothers, but I might have one tomorrow at my dentist appointment. Because he and his brother might have been two of the last people to see Naomi Easley before she died.

  “Oh, hey! I almost forgot.” Donna grabbed a folded newspaper from the magazine rack behind her three-chair waiting area, turned to the back page, and dropped it in my lap. “Nice picture.”

  Groaning, I refolded the paper and handed it back to her. “Don’t remind me.”

  “What’s the matter? It’s a great shot.”

  “Well, the story that went along with it wasn’t so great, was it?”

  Donna gave me a blank stare. “Was there something about it that upset Mr. Ferris? Because—”

  “Mr. Ferris! Didn’t you see the part about how Marietta showed she was so different from the terrible mother she played?”

  “Huh?”

  Why was Donna being so dense? “That’s the real story behind the car she bought me.”

  “Your mom bought you a car?”

  “That’s why Renee shot that picture of the two of us. I was supposed to look the part of the grateful recipient.”

  “When did your mom buy you a car?”

  Good grief, Donna! “It’s in that story. Didn’t you read it?”

  She shook her head. “Delle Lundgren read it to me while I touched up her roots. The only place you’re mentioned is that picture. Although there might have been a couple of one-liners about where you and Mr. Ferris work.”

  I snatched the paper away from her and scanned the article.

  Marietta Moreau, the former Mary Jo Digby, born and raised in Port Merritt … Co-starring role in the new release, Loving Lucian, blah, blah, blah. Recently married to Port Merritt High School biology teacher Barry Ferris, blah, blah, blah. Enjoying married life back home, blah, blah, blah.

  I looked into Donna’s sapphire almond eyes. “I’m barely mentioned.”

  “That’s what I told you.”

  “I don’t understand. My mother engineered that interview to slant it a very specific way,” I said. Then my cell phone started ringing.

  “It seemed pretty positive to me. Isn’t she happy with it?”

  “She said she was.”

  “Then what’s the problem?”

  “What the heck am I supposed to do about the car?”

  I reached down to grab my phone from my tote and saw that my grandmother was calling. “Hi, Gram.”

  “Wait a minute!” Donna planted her fists on her hips. “What car?”

  I waved Donna away to shush her. “I’m sorry, Gram, what?”

  “I said, are you going to be here soon?” she asked. “Stevie’s here and—”

  “I am so sorry. I’m on my way.” Disconnecting, I grabbed my tote and headed for the door. “Gotta go. I’m late for dinner.” Again.

  “Wait!” Donna followed me out the door. “You haven’t told me. What car?!”

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  “YOU’RE LATE,” Steve announced, greeting me at my grandmother’s back door.

  “I’m well aware.” I gave him a quick kiss and then turned to the lady with the peachy cotton-candy hair waiting expectantly. “I am so sorry. I was with Donna and lost track of time.”

  Gram shooed me out of her kitchen. “Go wash up. Dinner’s ready.”

  In other words, don’t be late next time.

  Five minutes later, I felt her eyes on me while I ladled gravy into the crater of mashed potatoes on my plate. “What? Am I hogging the gravy?”

  “Yes,” Steve answered for her as he pulled the gravy boat in front of his heaping plate.

  Gram shook her head as if she wanted to give us a lecture on table manners. “No, I was just wondering how your day went.”

  I had no desire to put myself in the middle of a firing squad of criticism with these two at the table. “Fine.”

  Looking down, she sliced off a tiny bite of roast beef, which appeared to be an avoidance maneuver, but failed miserably to disguise the pleasure lighting her eyes. “Did you happen to see your mother?”

  I stabbed a limp broccoli spear and pointed it at her. “You know I did.”

  She shrugged. “Well, I may have heard a little something about you two having lunch.”

  “Then you already know how the play date you set up went.”

  “You two had a play date?” Steve chimed in as he reached for another biscuit. “How cute.”

  I aimed my best withering stare at him. “Don’t make this more uncomfortable than it already is.”

  Gram set down her fork. “But I thought it went really well.”

  “It went well enough.” And I hoped to leave it at that.

  She narrowed her eyes at me while I chewed on the broccoli spear that she had overcooked. “That’s it?”

  What did she want? “We didn’t exactly hug it out, if that’s what you were expecting.”

  “But your mother called Renee to make sure that she took out any mention of the car. Surely, that deserves a little more—”

  “I didn’t know that at the time.”

  Gram leaned in. “What do you mean, you didn’t know? It was obvious from that feature in this morning’s paper.”

  Buckling under the weight of her disappointment in me, I studied the gravy congealing on my plate. “Since I’d had a preview of what Renee was going to write, I wasn’t especially interested in reading it.”

  “And I suppose your mother never mentioned it.”

  I shook my head. “If she intended to, we got interrupted.”

  Gram split the biscuit on her plate and buttered it. “You do realize that was her way of apologizing.”

  I realized that on my way over from Donatello’s. “Yep.”

  “So what’s gonna happen with the car?” Steve asked, his mouth half full.

  I gaped at him. “You are really not helping tonight.”

  He shot me an innocent smile. “I was just asking.”

  “Certainly, you discussed it when you were over there,” Gram said.

  I knew she wouldn’t give me any credit for good intentions, and I couldn’t very well mention the tree guy who cut my lunch date short in front of Steve. “Why don’t we talk about this later?”

  She dropped the biscuit she had been nibbling on. “Charmaine! Do you mean to tell me that you two didn’t get anything settled about that car?”

  “We ran out of time because I had to get back to work,” I said, hating how lame that sounded.

  “These biscuits are great, Eleanor. I shouldn’t …” Steve reached past me for another one. “But I will. Want to pass me the butter there, Chow Mein?”

  He pressed his shoulder into mine when I handed him the butter dish, his breath warm on my ear. “Who says I’m not a help?”

  Since the temperature level of the scorn emanating from the head of the table remained high enough to fry my potatoes, I patted
Steve’s knee. “Nice try.”

  “So?” Gram demanded.

  “Like I said, we ran out of—”

  She raised her hand to cut me off. “Honesty this time, please.”

  “Mom’s contractor arrived during lunch and pretty much got us sidetracked.” Which was certainly the truth as far as I was concerned. “And then I really did have to get back to the office.”

  Gram aimed an icy stare at me. “Then you’ll have to go back tomorrow.”

  “I might have plans tomorrow.” Which, depending on what my new dentist had to tell me, might very well be the case.

  “And I’m getting tired of seeing that car parked out front that no one is doing anything about, so I suggest that you rearrange your schedule so that you can talk this out once and for all with your mother.”

  I stifled a cringe. “Fine.”

  Gram wagged an arthritic finger at my plate. “Now eat your food. It’s getting cold.”

  I’d lost my appetite.

  * * *

  After we finished the dishes and left my grandmother napping in her recliner, I walked Steve home across the street.

  His arm curled around my waist as we stepped onto his front porch. “I hope you have something else in mind beyond seeing me safely home.” As he angled to kiss me, Steve’s eyes glinted dark as sin.

  “I do,” I said, delighting in his touch. “Open the door.”

  “Yes, ma’am.” He unlocked his door and pulled me inside.

  Just as Steve pressed me against the wall and started lavishing my neck with kisses, I gently pushed him away. “I’d like to talk to you.”

  Looking down at me, his brow furrowed. “Talk?”

  “For a few minutes. Consider it foreplay.”

  “I seriously doubt that what you have to say is going to resemble foreplay.”

  I pointed at his cocoa brown leather sectional. “Sit.”

  Steve took a seat and folded his arms. “This had better not be what I think it’s about.”

  I shushed him. “I just need your opinion about something.”

  “Okay.”