by J. D. Griffo
Jinx knew that she was exaggerating, but she also knew her Aunt Helen wouldn’t respond unless she thought the situation was dire. If she only thought Jinx was complaining because she didn’t like how Veronica answered her questions or was frustrated because she was going to have to do a considerable amount of research to uncover the truth about Teri Jo, Helen would tell her to stop bellyaching and get to work. No, if she wanted Helen’s help, she needed to make it sound as if Veronica was concealing facts.
“The only fact Veronica shared is that Teri Jo was an only child,” Jinx shared.
When Jinx heard the scream that came through the phone, she was grateful she was using her hands-free device, listening to the call through her car’s speaker, and wasn’t holding the phone up to her ear.
“Veronica is a liar!” Helen blared. “I’ll be at The Herald in ten minutes!”
* * *
Jinx rushed into the office and zipped past Mary Margaret—a twenty-seven-year veteran who was part receptionist, part office manager, and even part graphic designer—booted up her computer, and entered her password. She was starting to type out her notes from her conversation with Veronica when she heard the front door slam and the clickety-clack of very sensible heels on the wooden floor. Aunt Helen had arrived.
Slamming her pocketbook on Jinx’s desk, Helen waved a finger at her and shouted, “Jinxie, you cannot trust that woman.”
“I assume you’re talking about Veronica?”
“Yes! Teri Jo wasn’t an only child. She told me only last week while we were helping Dr. Grazioso extract a goiter from Baklava, Mrs. Della Flavia’s Irish Setter, that the only real family she still had was her brother.”
Momentarily distracted, Jinx couldn’t imagine why an Italian woman would name her Irish dog after a Greek pastry. Then she realized Helen had given her yet another reason to distrust Veronica.
“First Veronica tells us she was married, which you later told us was a lie,” Jinx described.
“True.”
“And second, Veronica tells me that Teri is an only child, when she has a brother, so that’s another lie.”
“Also true.”
“Why all the lies?” Jinx asked no one in particular. “I mean, they’re so easy to vet, how does she think she’s going to get away with them?”
Helen grabbed the back of a chair, wheeled it close to Jinx’s desk, and sat down. “Jinxie, I’ve been asking myself that question for years. People breathe, people lie. All I can tell you is that Veronica makes the best eggs Benedict on the East Coast, but she’s turning out to be a Benedict Arnold.”
“What more do you know about Teri Jo’s brother?” Jinx asked.
“Only that she hadn’t seen him in a while because he lives in Texas,” Helen shared. “Where exactly, I’m not sure, but he’s out there, somewhere.”
“It’ll be a longshot, but I’ll do an online search for the last name Linbruck and see if there are any matches for men in Texas,” Jinx said.
“Colui che aiuta se stesso,” Helen replied.
“What’s that mean?”
“He who helps himself,” Helen said. “If Veronica isn’t going to help us find out where Teri Jo’s family is, we’ll help ourselves.”
“Helen Ferrara! How nice to see you again!”
Helen stared at Wyck as if she was meeting him for the first time. Which she was.
“Aunt Helen,” Jinx said, “this is my boss, Wyck Wycknowski.”
“A bit redundant, isn’t it?” Helen asked, not rhetorically.
“I guess it is,” Wyck replied. “Wyck’s a nickname, just like Jinx. My real name is Troy.”
“You picked the lesser of two evils,” Helen said.
“Exactly!” Wyck cried, delighted by Helen’s acerbic banter. “I’m sorry, it’s just that I’ve heard so much about you from Jinx, I feel as if I already know you.”
“Are you telling tales about me, Jinxie?” Helen queried.
“Not at all!” Jinx cried. “Well, only the funny stuff.”
“The minute someone hears you’re a nun, they think you’re funny,” Helen moaned. “I’ve never known a funny nun in all my life. Correction, maybe Sister Francisco, because she had a speech impediment and a very deep voice, but in her defense she could never give up her Camels. She loved those cigarettes.”
“Helen, you remind me of my Aunt Inga, if that battle-ax only had a sense of humor,” Wyck said. “I don’t know if this would appeal to you, but if you’re interested, there could be a job for you here at The Herald.”
Jinx and Helen turned to look at each other, and their faces were mirror images of shock.
“This battle-ax doesn’t come cheap, you know,” Helen replied.
“I’m sure we could work something out,” Wyck said. “You give me a call if you want to talk further, or just let Jinx here know. She’s on her way to becoming my number-one reporter.”
“Why isn’t she number one already?” Helen asked.
“There it is! The timing, the wit, I love it!” Wyck cried. “You know what else I love? The fact that ever since Jinx and her grandmother got here, Tranquility has turned into a hotbed of homicide. This was one of the safest places to live, and now every few months somebody gets bumped off.”
“I’ve told you before, Wyck, Tranquility did have its share of murders before either of us moved here,” Jinx protested.
“Once every other year if we were lucky,” Wyck claimed. “I make sure all my doors are locked before I go to bed at night, and I increased my life insurance policy, but still, it’s terrific for business. Readership is up forty-two percent, thanks to Jinx and her crime reporting. If you’re half as good as that, Helen, you’d be worth any price.”
After Wyck left, Jinx and Helen needed to decompress for a few moments before continuing their conversation, even though they couldn’t remember where they were before Wyck interrupted them.
“I think my boss just made you a job offer, Aunt Helen,” Jinx said. “What kind of job I have no idea, but it could be interesting.”
“I don’t know if I can afford to work,” Helen said. “It might get in the way of my pension. The government does believe in the separation of church and state when it wants to.”
“The government!” Jinx shrieked. “Oh my God, I completely forgot that Veronica did share one piece of information with me that could help us find out more about Teri Jo.”
“Spill it, Jinxie! What piece?”
“She said that for a while Teri was on food stamps.”
“There’s no shame in that,” Helen declared.
“None at all,” Jinx replied. “But there should be government records, and on those records might be personal information that will tell us more about Teri Jo than Veronica ever will.”
“Sounds like it’s time we made an appointment with Uncle Sam,” Helen announced.
CHAPTER 9
Senza il tuo nome non hai nulla.
It was time to reintroduce the world to Sister Helen. Once Jinx realized the only way she was going to be able to uncover usable information on where Teri Jo came from was to dig into her past as a food stamps recipient, she knew that Helen was going to be the key to dislodging that data from the clutches of a civil servant. Even the most apathetic, hard-bitten government employee was going to find it hard to resist the pleas of a nun. At least that was Jinx’s hope as she and Helen stood on the steps leading up to the Tranquility court house. But even though Helen agreed to that theory, she refused to play her part.
“Sister Helen is dead,” Helen declared.
“She is not,” Jinx protested, the nun’s habit she was holding falling limply in her hand. “She’s standing right in front of me.”
“This is Aunt Helen, a completely different person,” Helen continued. “Sister Helen did her job and did it very well, but she has served her time and moved on. Do not ask her to come out of retirement and do not ask me to make a mockery of my religious order by donning a habit in order to find a clue
so we can solve this case.”
The passion brimming from her aunt was unprecedented. Jinx, of course, had known her Aunt Helen her entire life, but it was only within the past few years since they both moved to Tranquility that she had gotten to know her as a person and not as a relative mentioned in passing. She only knew bits and pieces of her time as a nun, although she understood that Helen’s conviction to serve God and help heal people using His message was deeply rooted. What she, or anyone else for that matter, didn’t know was why she’d left the convent suddenly and how that separation was affecting her non-ecclesiastical life. For all Jinx knew, Helen could be suffering some kind of post-traumatic stress disorder now that she had to live outside the cloistered walls of the convent. But then her jaw dropped when she recalled a memory and realized her aunt was simply living a lie.
“Hold on just one minute, Sister!” Jinx cried. “You were the one who suggested I don this habit to play Sister Maria and fool Father Sal into thinking that I was a novitiate. How is that any different than me asking you to revive your role as Sister Helen?”
“You were wearing a costume, but you’re asking me to resume a life I walked away from!” Helen barked. “Jinxie, I love you, you know that, and I don’t say this as judgment, only observation, but you’re not a very religious woman, so you wearing a nun’s habit wasn’t blasphemous. It would be a very different story for me.”
People rushed up and down the steps all around them, but Jinx felt that time stood still. Ever since she had reconnected with her grandmother, and by extension her aunts Helen and Joyce, Jinx had become a witness to a different outlook on life. An older, wiser version that was crafted, both negatively and positively, by a longer life experience. Slowly, she was learning to appreciate those moments and understand that youth wasn’t always superior. She could learn a lot from the old ladies around her, especially about herself.
Helen, of course, was a religious woman, as were Alberta and Joyce, but Jinx wasn’t brought up in the typical Italian Catholic household. Italian, absolutely—Catholic, not so much. Jinx had been christened, communioned, and confirmed, but more out of requirement than desire by her or her family. Those spiritual events were more pageantry. They were a chance to buy a pretty dress and walk down the aisle with a boy in preparation for what it would be like to walk down the aisle to meet her future husband at the altar. Jinx couldn’t remember any of the church’s teachings or reasons behind any of those ceremonies except that they were expected of her, and because she had always been a good daughter, she never questioned if she should participate in those rituals. She never even thought she had a choice. She did now.
“You’re right, Aunt Helen, and I apologize,” Jinx said, stuffing the habit into her bag. “I was being thoughtless. Please forgive me.”
Helen reached out to grab Jinx’s hands, her pocketbook hanging on her arm swaying in between them like the scales of justice. “Sweetie, we’re family, there’s nothing to forgive,” Helen replied. “And I’m sorry if I came on too harsh. Rumor has it I can do that sometimes.”
The women were still laughing when they finally got to the SNAP office and were sitting across from Connie Woo, who according to the name plate on her desk—which was being threatened with demolition by a pile of thick files that both frightened and impressed the women—was the Sussex County SNAP lead coordinator.
“We came here to talk about food stamps,” Jinx announced. “What’s SNAP?”
Weary but professional, Connie brushed away a stray hair with a long fingernail in a color Jinx couldn’t identify but coveted, and explained that the food stamps program, in an effort to reduce some of the stigma that had become associated with the name, had been officially renamed the Supplemental Nutrition Assistance Program, or SNAP.
“We still provide the same benefits and resources to those in need,” Connie replied, her voice a rough rasp, “but now with a more progressive acronym.”
“Forward thinking is what will propel this country forward, I always say,” Helen announced proudly.
From the way Connie’s left eyebrow raised, slowly and with very strong opinion, it was obvious that she was not impressed by Helen’s comment. If flattery wasn’t going to work, facts might.
“Ms. Woo, I’m here on official business,” Jinx began.
“Are you a cop?” Connie asked.
“No, I’m a reporter.”
“That’s not officially official, if you know what I mean,” Connie said.
“Honestly, I don’t,” Jinx replied.
“A cop is official. I have no choice but to answer any questions they might ask,” Connie explained. “A reporter has no official authority to make me, as an employee of SNAP, cooperate.”
“Then how about we speak to you as Connie, and not as a SNAP coordinator?” Helen asked.
Connie’s berry-mauve, matte-finished lipsticked lips formed a perfect O and they weren’t sure if the vowel formation was going to lead to an expletive or to a surrender. They did not expect it to lead to a reunion.
“You’re a former social worker, aren’t you?” Connie asked, directing her question to Helen.
“In a way, yes,” Helen replied. “When I was a nun I was many things: teacher, parole officer, and on occasion a social worker.”
“I can spot a kindred spirit a mile away,” Connie said. “Two miles if I actually wear the glasses my eye doctor prescribed, but I haven’t yet found frames that don’t squash my false eyelashes.”
Ice broken, it was time to get down to business.
“This is my niece, Jinx Maldonado, lead reporter at The Herald,” Helen conveyed. “She’s investigating the murder of my friend, Teri Jo Linbruck.”
As expected, Connie’s lips formed an even larger O at the mention of Tranquility’s most recent murder victim.
“I read about her,” Connie said. “Stabbed in broad daylight. Have they found out who did it?”
“Not yet, we . . . I mean, the police are still investigating,” Jinx stuttered. “I’m hoping that my journalistic pursuit of Teri Jo’s life and background will help bring the culprit to justice.”
“Amen to that!” Connie shouted, raising a palm to the heavens. “Anything I can do to help, just ask me.”
“Terrific!” Jinx cried. “Could you give me any and all files you have on Teri Jo Linbruck?”
“No can do.”
“But you just said you’d do anything you can to help.”
“Anything but that,” Connie said. “I’ll lose my job if I hand over files to anyone who just comes in and asks. You have to know the right way to ask certain questions.”
What Connie was asking for did not come naturally to Jinx and Helen. Neither of them could be considered subtle. They were direct, loud, demanding, impatient, and tactless. However, if they wanted to find out who Teri Jo was, they were going to have to switch tactics.
“Why don’t we start from the beginning?” Helen suggested, her syrupy voice sounding foreign even to her. “Could you please check to see if you have Teri Jo Linbruck in your system as a SNAP recipient?”
“Why, of course I can, ma’am, that’ll only take me two shakes,” Connie replied, the syrup in her voice even sweeter than Helen’s. But when Connie looked at her computer screen a grimace formed on her face, and when she spoke, the syrupy tone had been doused with vinegar. “Sorry, ladies, I got nothing.”
“What do you mean, nothing?” Jinx exclaimed. “You said you’d help.”
“I would if I could, but I don’t have any records on your friend,” Connie explained. “I even tried looking by first names, and there are a few Theresas, but no Teri Jo. I’m sorry, but according to my computer, Teri Jo Linbruck doesn’t exist.”
“That’s impossible. Veronica told me that she had to go on food stamps while she was here,” Jinx repeated. “Unless Veronica lied to us again.”
“Veronica? As in Veronica’s Diner?” Connie asked, and leaned across her desk conspiratorially. “Do you think she’s the killer?
”
“Not sure,” Helen said. “But she is a liar.”
“You can’t trust anyone these days, can you?” Connie said, accenting her comment with a loud sneeze.
“Salute” Helen replied.
Jinx gasped out loud, inspiration rapidly flooding through her veins until it formulated a question she hoped would put an end to this mystery. “Are any of the Theresas on your list Italian?”
“Why do you want to know that, Jinxie?” Helen asked.
“At the diner, the morning of the murder, you sneezed and Teri Jo said salute instead of God bless you or Gesundheit, as a non-Italian might say,” Jinx explained. “I figured it was because she had been hanging around you and picked up the word, but maybe it’s because she’s really Italian.”
Connie banged away at her keyboard, which was a feat in itself since her fingernails were at least an inch long, but when she was done it was worth the effort. “Theresa Josefina Rizzoli,” she announced triumphantly. “You can’t get much more Italian than that.”
“I assume you can’t give us any more information than that either?” Jinx inquired.
“You would be correct,” Connie answered. “As much as I like the two of you, I like my job and my pension even more. Anyway, it’s time for my coffee break so you two have to run along now.”
* * *
Running straight to Alberta’s, Jinx and Helen made sure Alberta and Joyce would be there so they could fill them in on their latest bombshell.
“Ah Madon!” Alberta cried as she set out a tray of cold cuts, olives, and mozzarella. “All this time we were looking for information on Teri Jo Linbruck and she doesn’t even exist.”
“I have to say that we’ve uncovered some surprises before, but this one is the most surprising of all,” Joyce said. “Why was this Theresa Josefina posing as a non-ethnic version of herself?”
“Aunt Helen and I talked about that on the drive over, and it could be anything,” Jinx said. “She could be running from someone, trying to live incognito.”
