Desperate for Death (A Kelly O'Connell Mystery Book 6)

by Judy Alter

  He understood. “Of course. I know this is hard to comprehend. I’ll wait to hear from you. Thank you for seeing me.”

  My one rational thought, as he left the office, was that he was a corporation twit, with a lot of good manners and not a clue about people in the real world. I fingered the business card he had left in my hand.

  Claire, Keisha, and both my girls sat spellbound and quiet, but the minute Mr. Big Money Lawyer was out the door they exploded.

  “That Jo Ellen North may work herself into apoplexy before she ever gets any of her daddy’s money,” Keisha announced, with no small amount of glee.

  Maggie was erupting with a joyful shout! “College money! I can go anywhere I want.” She danced a jig around the office, but Em was less exuberant. “Do we have to use it for college? Could we use it for the new baby?”

  I hugged my sweet girl. “I don’t think we’ll use it for anything, girls. I don’t feel right about taking it.” My mind jumped to Mike. He would know what to do. I wanted to see him this minute, but I doubted he’d make himself available at three-thirty in the afternoon. I’d have to wait until supper. “Girls, let’s go home and get you started on homework, while I fix supper.”

  Claire gently reminded me that I hadn’t been cleared to drive my car. Mike apparently hadn’t dusted it for prints, and Anthony’s gas can still sat outside the back of the office. So she offered to drive us home, which is what happened.

  Grumbling, the girls headed for Claire’s car, and I called over my shoulder that Keisha should come for supper after she closed the office. “I thought you’d never ask,” she said. Claire, on the other hand, declined, saying she wanted to fix dinner for her daughters and would hear all about what was decided Sunday night.

  “It won’t,” I said with a touch of bitterness, “be a part of the news of the celebration evening.” Of all the bad timing for Robert Martin to leave me money now when I was focused on a new baby! Then I dismissed that as a selfish thought. He probably didn’t want to die whenever he had, and that was worse than my inconvenience.

  Supper was unimaginative. Tuna casserole, though I did have a killer recipe that everyone liked—it involved boiling dried herbs in wine and adding to the traditional mushroom soup base of the casserole. And because I was tired of salads, I put out a plate of raw veggies with a homemade ranch dip. Everyone ate heartily, but they all had one eye on me as Mike went around the table asking how everyone’s day was.

  “Kelly?”

  “Ah…I had an unusual day….”

  “I know about your car,” he said with just a bit of impatience, “We dusted it. No fingerprints. Anthony filled it with gas, and you’re good to go tomorrow. Since your car is still at the office, I’ll drive the girls to school and you to the office. Anything else?”

  “Oh tell him, Mom.” Maggie was bouncing in her seat so much that Mike gave her one of his long “table manners” looks.

  The story spilled out, with Keisha here and there supplying a detail I’d forgotten. When we both wound down, Mike pushed his chair from the table, went to get himself another beer, sat back and down, and said, “Wow!”

  “What do you think?” I asked.

  He shook his head. “I have no idea. What do you think?”

  “I think I want to disclaim the money.”

  He looked long and hard at me. “Why? We don’t have a college fund for the girls or for Snickerdoodle”—that was his new name for the baby I was carrying.

  “But it’s blood money,” I protested. “It’s got Marie Winton’s blood all over it.” Marie was Robert Martin’s lover who at six months pregnant and happily planning for her child was shot and killed by Robert Martin’s wife. “I can’t take it.”

  Mike responded slowly and deliberately. “Robert Martin didn’t leave you the money as blackmail. As that young lawyer told you, he left it out of gratitude. Maybe you should think of it as victim compensation. You were a victim, after all, and so were your girls who lost their father.”

  That made both girls startle, and Mike looked at them and said, “Girls, Tim Spencer was your father, no matter the relationship, and you deserve compensation for growing up without a father.”

  “We have a father, Mike. You.” Em folded her arms across her chest and got on her obstinate look.

  Mike grinned—he couldn’t help it. “Thank you. But the principle remains the same. You were robbed of your father. And your mother was almost killed. Robert Martin was, in my opinion, truly trying to make amends.” He paused a minute, lost in thought. “I never met Mr. Martin, but I’ve certainly heard enough about him. He was a rich man with some unsavory connections and I’m not sure he always walked on the side of the law. But on the other hand, I know he was prominent in society in this city and generous in his donations to charities he cared about. I think this is an example of his generosity. And he’s not here for us to question him.”

  Chapter Four

  Mike was not quite so cavalier about the inheritance when we were tucked in the privacy of our bedroom—the tree suite he called it, since it was elevated above the rest of the house and surrounded by old trees. “Kelly, that inheritance worries me.”

  I flared in anger. “That’s not what you said at the dinner table.”

  “Hear me out.” He raised a palm in the peace gesture. “I think you should accept the money. It’s due you. But have you thought about how furious this must have made Jo Ellen North?”

  I shrugged. “Not really. She’s locked up. She can’t do anything.”

  “You’d be surprised at what plans prisoners can hatch and see carried out. Does she have any siblings?”

  “I’m pretty sure not…and that Benjamin Cruze didn’t mention any. The other half of the estate will be held in trust for Jo Ellen, provided she ever gets out of prison, and minus a few charitable bequests.”

  “I don’t suppose she will ever see it. But Martin was philanthropically generous, so I imagine many charities could benefit. But I wish we could find out about siblings. That may be the clue to who’s harassing you.”

  I bristled a bit because, in my mind, we still weren’t sure it wasn’t someone harassing Mike, some ex-con with a powerful grudge. “I don’t think Jo Ellen’s reach extends that far.”

  “You underestimated her before, and it almost cost you your life.”

  I had a flashback to that afternoon when Jo Ellen and I fought like tigers over the gun she had aimed at me. If it hadn’t been for the girls distracting her and Theresa, Anthony’s daughter who was babysitting that afternoon, finally grabbing the gun as it skittered across the floor, I have no doubt I’d be dead. I’d fought hard, something I’d never done before in my life, but I underestimated Jo Ellen’s determination and her physical strength. The memory still made me shaky.

  “I don’t want to think about it,” I said and climbed into bed, turning my back to him. Behind me, I heard Mike sigh. And I think it was one of the few nights he didn’t go right to sleep. I was well aware of his restless movements beside me.

  The next morning I called Mr. Cruze, told him I would accept the money, but I wanted it to go to a trust fund, and I would call him with details after the fund was established. Then I made an appointment at Claire’s bank.

  ****

  By Sunday I had put Jo Ellen and inheritances and harassment out of my mind. I spent most of the morning in the kitchen making chili for the multitudes. I had purchased disposable soup bowls and plates. I care as much about the environment as the next person but with more than twenty people to feed, I knew I wasn’t going to have the energy to hand wash those dishes. Mike was often after me to install a dishwasher, and he didn’t listen to my argument that they weren’t authentic to Craftsman houses. Today a part of me longed for that dishwasher. It took two slow-cookers to hold all the chili I made, and I was briefly glad Mike and I had each brought a cooker to the marriage.

  People began drifting in about five-thirty and by six everyone was there except Claire’s older daughter
, Megan, and her boyfriend, Brandon. It was too chilly to be outside as I anticipated, and I wondered about the wisdom of serving chili to people who were going to have to eat out of their laps, but it was too late to do anything about it.

  Mike rapped a table knife on his beer bottle and said, “If I could have your attention a moment….”

  Heads turned toward him; curious people drifted out of the kitchen. Em and Keisha beamed in anticipation, but Maggie looked at the floor and would not return my smile. Most others looked puzzled. Mike rarely made speeches, before or after dinner. He motioned for me to stand beside him, so I did, carrying my glass of sparkling cider. I was afraid I was even getting to like the sweet stuff.

  “Kelly and I want to share a piece of good news with you. We are going to have another baby.”

  I don’t know what I expected, but I wasn’t prepared for the total silence that took over for more than a minute. Then the room exploded into a cacophony of questions and exclamations. When was it due? (Probably late May.) Boy or girl? (We didn’t know.) Would I keep working? (Yes, but Keisha would take more responsibility—she beamed at that.) What did the girls think? (Let them speak for themselves—though Maggie’s expression told me she still had doubts, to say the least.) Mostly, though, it was a joyful response. The downer comment came, predictably, from my mom. Cynthia O’Connell sidled up to me and said, “Sweetie, aren’t you a little old? I mean, is it safe? You know how I worry about you.”

  “Mom,” I whispered, “I’m not forty yet. Don’t worry. Let me do that. You take care of Otto.”

  Maggie’s best friend, Jenny, had come with her mom, Mona. Ever since they were freed from the abusive domination of Mona’s husband and Jenny’s dad, who dealt drugs, they were different people—happy in their new small apartment and very close to each other. Jenny often worked at Bun Appetit, the small haute dog restaurant Mona had opened.

  I saw Maggie pull Jenny aside after they got their chili and head back into the bedroom wing where they would no doubt trade confidences. I longed to be a fly on the wall, but I feared I wouldn’t like what I heard. Maggie would complain about the embarrassment of having a pregnant mom at her age and about the danger I put everyone into.

  Sheila, who was so entranced by her three-month-old, was indignant that I didn’t tell her when we talked a few days ago, but she quickly forgot indignation as she cooed to little Lorna about having a playmate just her age. I figured they’d be about a year apart in age.

  Everyone else was milling about, helping themselves to chili and cornbread. Mona pulled me aside to whisper, “Maggie told Jenny about the baby a couple of days ago. I hope you don’t mind, but Jenny was so excited…and more than a little bit jealous.”

  Startled, I whispered, “What did Maggie say?”

  “I don’t exactly know, but Jenny said she told Maggie she ought to be a lot more excited than she is.”

  “Maggie’s embarrassed that…you know…Mike and I had sex at our advanced ages,” I said, trying to keep bitterness out of my tone.

  Mona just laughed aloud.

  The rest of the evening people treated me as if I was fragile. “Now, Kelly, you just sit down and put your feet up.” “Can I bring you more chili?” “Here, let me take your bowl so you don’t have to get up.” Without even realizing it, I found myself pushed into Otto’s favorite chair, while he sat on the couch and stared at me, with Mom patting his knee as though to say, “There, there, it will be all right.”

  Claire drifted by and commented, “Enjoy it while you can. I foresee rough days ahead.” Little did she know the truth of it!

  Mike came by, kissed the top of my head, and said, “You’re the princess tonight…and well you should be.”

  Keisha and Mom did dishes, refusing to let me help, and I thought it was probably good for them to renew their friendship. Mom had been definitely hesitant when we announced Keisha would move in with her during the period a serial killer was targeting older women in Fairmount. Keisha had bullied and cajoled her until they became friends, and to this day Keisha looked out for the woman she called “Miss Cynthia.”

  I sat, feet in the chair, perfectly relaxed, and let the evening swirl around me. At one point Em came up, hugged me, planted a big kiss on my cheek, and ran off again to do something with Anthony’s sons. It was a lovely family gathering, and I was grateful beyond measure.

  When they all left, my kitchen was clean, leftovers put away, the world in order. The girls went to bed without being told, and I collapsed into our bed. Mike joined me almost immediately and wrapped his arms around me, stroking my hair. I fell asleep almost instantly and slept soundly the entire night.

  ****

  Life went predictably on, and there was no harassment for over a week. I began to get complacent, but I knew Keisha was watching me every moment. I brushed it off. If she made me too nervous, I’d speak to her.

  On Tuesday afternoon, Claire called. “I’m desperate,” she said, and I could tell from her voice that she was. “My boss is giving me trouble, the guy I went out with Saturday night thinks he’s a fixture in my life, and I’m worried about Megan…well, I need to vent and rant. Can you leave Mike and the kids for supper tonight? My treat.”

  “Let me call Mike,” I said. I did, and he agreed that if Claire needed me, I should go to supper.

  “Be careful though. Be aware of your surroundings. Got your gun with you?”

  “Yes,” I muttered, almost resentfully.

  I called Claire back, and we tried to think of someplace quiet where we could talk without shouting and without being overheard. That ruled out most of the places we usually went until I remembered a small Greek place on Seventh Street. It was BYOB and the food was good. The only thing was that it was closed as often as it was open. Claire agreed to experiment and bring a bottle of white wine, if I would call. Success—it was open, and we set off about six. I drove and picked her up, so she could help me navigate the dark and roughly paved parking lot. When she poured wine, I reminded her I couldn’t drink.

  “Oh, damn. That’s right. Sorry if I drink in front of you.”

  I assured her it was all right.

  Claire did have a lot on her mind. She began her rant with the conviction that her oldest daughter, Megan, was sleeping with her boyfriend.

  “Claire, she’s what? A junior in college? Twenty years old, dating this boy how long? Do you really expect her to be a virgin at her wedding? Were you?”

  “No, but that’s different…” She paused and stared off into space. “I guess it’s not, is it? But I want her to have a happy marriage, not like my spotty record.”

  “Then trust her, keep her your friend, and don’t set down unrealistic rules. Megan’s a great girl.”

  “What if she gets pregnant like I did?”

  “I think girls these days are pretty savvy about that.” I realized in telling her not to worry I was shoveling out advice I probably didn’t take myself. I worried about everything! And I was worrying about losing Maggie, when she was only fourteen. Maybe I was putting the cart before the horse or bringing my bridges up to jump them or whatever other cliché you can think of.

  “Okay, but call me when Maggie’s twenty….” she said, as though she read my thoughts.

  “Tell me about the man Saturday night,” I said, anxious to change the subject.

  Before she could answer, our dolma and saganaki arrived. I loved that Greek cheese, doused with lemon and then flamed at the table. We both dug in.

  Finally, she said, “He’s a surgeon, and just what you’d expect from a surgeon. Thinks he’s God’s gift to women and was offended that I didn’t tumble into bed with him that night. I think he sees a woman as a reflection of him.”

  No wonder she’s worried about Megan. She’s worried about herself. “Well, be flattered that he thinks you’re good-looking enough to reflect well on him when you’re on his arm.”

  “I avoided his arm. In fact, toward the end of the evening I avoided eye contact. We had di
nner at Grace downtown—lovely, elegant, I even had Steak Diane. But it was the most boring evening of my life.”

  “So?” I prompted.

  “He’s called twice a day Sunday and Monday. I’ve gotten so I look at caller ID and don’t answer, or I have one of the girls tell him I’m not in. But I think he’s one of those men who sees a reluctant woman as a challenge.”

  I couldn’t help but laugh aloud, which turned heads toward me. In my single days, I’d never ever had such a problem. Most men never called twice. It’s one of the reasons I treasure Mike—he apparently saw something other men didn’t, beyond the curly hair, lack of style, too much weight, and a tendency to be curious and tenacious. Wait? Is that my self-image? Must work on that. I drew my thoughts back to Claire.

  “Just answer one time. Tell him you don’t think things will work out between the two of you, and you’re really too busy to go out. End of story. Period.” Having never had to use such a line, I was amazed at the ease with which it poured forth.

  Now it was her turn to laugh. “I suppose you’re right. He’s not the kind to stalk me or something.”

  I wished she hadn’t said that. The word “stalking” brought my fears back up to the surface.

  Claire apparently didn’t pick up on my anxiety. “So, how’s the pregnancy, and Sunday night aside, how is everyone taking the news?”

  I fiddled with my silverware, wishing the moussaka we’d both ordered would arrive. “Mike’s overjoyed,” I began tentatively, “and I think Em is too. Maggie is less enthusiastic—you know, embarrassed that we would let this happen. Keisha, for reasons of her own, is ecstatic, because it will mean more responsibility for her. I think I’ll send her to get her real estate license. I can still be the broker.”

  Claire pondered for a minute. “Let’s go back to Maggie. She’s at the age, sweetie. You’re her mother and everything you do is bound to displease her….”