by Libby Klein
“Did Brody’s ex-wife tell you who was responsible for my brother’s death?”
“She told me Brody sold him the drugs that he OD’d on.”
“Justin would never have died if Brody hadn’t been pushing cocaine on kids. And then my family finds out that Cape May gave that scumbag the humanitarian award.” Tracy’s fists were curled tight at her sides. “Are you kidding me? They may as well have spit in my mother’s face. My parents’ lives were destroyed that day. They wanted to die right along with him. My mother hasn’t left the house since I was seven years old. Can you imagine the pain she has had to live with, watching them bury her son? And you people wrote in the paper that he was a hero.”
Tracy looked toward the back of the office, where I knew there was a fire exit on the side of the building. She took a step toward it and I shifted my weight in the same direction.
“I can’t imagine what your family has been through. No one should ever have to go through the horror of losing a child. But does killing Brody make your brother’s death any less painful? Now he has a daughter in pain just like you were, and she hasn’t done anything wrong.”
“You think I don’t know that? Her life was ruined the day her father decided to play around with drugs. Why do you think I go to Nar-Anon meetings? I try to help people like her whose families’ bad decisions have caused them so much pain.” Tracy took a step toward the reception desk. “Every day I see patients whose lives have been destroyed by drugs. Their bodies are twisted with pain, their minds damaged from continual abuse. And we let the delinquents that supplied them the poison walk free. I took this assignment for a chance to get close to Brody, to tell him how he destroyed my family, and see if he had any remorse at all. Waiting for the opportunity to give him the punishment he deserved that the justice system mucked up the first time around. I’ve dedicated my whole life as a nurse to help people like your aunt. Are you really going to take that away from me? For a killer?”
Tracy made a dash through the door, back toward the exam rooms. I caught her and wedged her up against the reception desk.
“But you framed my aunt for the murder. What kind of sick person sends an elderly widow to prison to cover up her own crime?”
Tracy pushed back against me and got her foot up against my knee. “Your aunt came in here with that crazy story about her sleepwalking and breaking in to her neighbors’ houses. I looked up your address online and saw that you were only a couple of blocks away from where he lived. I couldn’t pass up my best chance. I feel bad about your aunt, but she’s old, and she’ll have a good defense because of the sleeping pills. Why do you think I gave her all the research she’d need to defend herself?”
“If you didn’t want her to go away for your crime, you wouldn’t have put on the red wig and tracksuit when you killed him.”
“I had to make it look legit, in case someone saw me. You wouldn’t believe how nosy the neighbors are. I hear them gossiping in the waiting room every day. These old people know more about what’s going on in this town than the local news.”
I grabbed Tracy’s wrist and pulled her around to where her back was in front of me. “I can’t let you do it. Not to Aunt Ginny.” I didn’t know if it was all the yoga or pure rage, but I had Tracy pinned. Only I didn’t know what to do next. I didn’t have my phone to call for help. I looked around the reception desk for the office phone. I tried to pull Tracy with me so I could get close enough to reach the receiver. I never saw her reach into her purse and pull out the statue. Tracy’s arm came up and she hit me hard on the side of the head with Brody’s humanitarian award.
My vision dimmed and I went fuzzy. Suddenly the floor was beneath my knees. It wasn’t supposed to be there.
Tracy backed up to the fire exit. “I really thought after what you went through a few months ago that you would stay out of the police spotlight and leave this alone. You were just accused of murder yourself. You know how small towns have long memories. Some people still think you’re guilty.”
“So, you’re going to run now? You won’t be able to hide from the cops. They’ll be all over you when I tell them what I know.”
“Whose story do you think the police will believe? Mine, that you broke in here looking for drugs because you were distraught over your elderly aunt killing the town hero, and I whacked you in self-defense? Or yours, that two people in your family have now been framed for murder? Cops don’t like coincidences.”
Blood was running from the side of my head, stinging my eye. It was hot and sticky and smelled like copper. If I didn’t do something now, I would pass out and Tracy would kill me without a fight. I knew my last chance was to lunge at her and hope I could knock her down and get that statue away from her.
I made eye contact with my good eye and shifted my weight. Before I could push off, the fire door flew open and slammed into Tracy. She hit her head against the cinder-block wall and crumpled into a heap. Aunt Ginny, followed by Georgina, burst in through the opening, ready for a fight.
I looked at Georgina. “You’re supposed to be babysitting.”
Georgina’s hands flew up to her hips and she made a loud tsk! “You left your laptop on. She checked your browser history and figured out where you were going. Keeping her home was not happening.”
The front door to the office cracked in half as two police officers kicked it down. Amber stepped through and said from the top of the hall, “Mrs. Frankowski, what part of house arrest don’t you understand?”
Aunt Ginny pointed at Tracy on the floor. “I already took out the perp. You’re zero for two. You know, you’re not so good at this.”
Amber let out a heavy sigh and reached for her police radio. “Officer Fenton taking a 10-7od-Frankowski. Out.” Amber turned and walked back through the now shattered front door. One of other the two officers cuffed Tracy’s still form and called it in for transport.
I asked the other, “What’s a 10-7od-Frankowski?”
“A 10-7od is a police call for I’m off duty, personal time. Frankowski is a code our precinct has adopted, meaning I’m going for a drink and to lie down for a while.”
“I understand completely.”
Epilogue
“All our full-time chambermaids are assigned. This late in the year we are pretty short staffed.”
I held my cell phone away from my bandaged temple while I checked on the pan of macaron shells in the oven at Gia’s shop. It was my twelfth batch, and if this one didn’t turn out I might just throw the whole pan in the back alley. “I know it’s last-minute, but I would be so grateful if you could come up with someone. I just don’t have the time to run the kitchen, and administrative duties, plus do all the cleaning. My bed-and-breakfast already didn’t get off to a good start. Moving forward, I need to make a really good impression on guests, to bolster our reviews.”
“Well, I hesitate to offer this. But you did say you were desperate.”
“I’ll take anything.”
“I have a part-timer, Ermintrude Galbraith. She usually cleans off-season vacant properties with no one in residence.”
“When can she start?”
“I can send her this afternoon for an interview.”
“If you’ve vetted her, the interview is just a formality. I’m sure we’ll love her.”
There was a pause. “The interview is Mrs. Galbraith’s requirement to see if she is willing to work with you.”
This time there was a pause on my end. “Oh. Okay, that’s fine too.”
We made plans for a two o’clock interview and I ended the call. I removed the sheet pan from the oven and threw the hateful almond discs on the counter.
“Every single batch is wrong! Overmixed, under-mixed, cracked, no feet, hollow. Why do the French have to make everything so complicated!”
Gia was not able to hide his amusement from his position by the walk-in refrigerator. “Calm down, fiery redhead. You’ll get it. You are so talented I have no doubt that you’ll conquer the ‘pretentious pa
stries,’ as you call them. Besides, the dining room is full of people with their fingers crossed for this to be another batch of uglies.”
On cue, Henry trotted in. “Did they work? Can we have more pis-nash—pis-smash …”
He’d been trying all morning to say pistachio. “Keep at it. I want to see where this ends up.”
Henry giggled.
Gia tousled Henry’s hair. “Say pee-stock-ee-o.”
Henry rolled his eyes. “You sound like Nonna.”
Be careful with that name. If you say it two more times she might appear, and I’ll start having nightmares again. I picked up my pastry bag and filled some of the shells with chocolate-orange ganache, then I filled a few with Henry’s favorite pistachio while Henry wiggled his butt and hopped around the kitchen trying to say pistachio some more.
Sawyer popped into the kitchen. “Did that batch turn out?”
“Nope.”
Followed by Kurt. “Oh good. Somebody hogged that last plate and I only got two.”
Sawyer punched Kurt on the arm. “I did not hog them. And you had six!”
“Did I?”
I still wasn’t happy with Sawyer’s newfound tolerance for Kurt. I didn’t trust him any more than I could fit into a size five. Why she insisted on forgiving and trying to help him was beyond me. People like Sawyer and Brody always saw the good in people. I’m not as generous.
Gia put the finished macarons on a tray. “They may not look perfect yet, bella, but they taste delizioso.”
Karla poked her head in the kitchen doorway. “Hey, you got customers out here.”
Gia left to tend the espresso machine. I lifted the tray and offered Karla a macaron.
Karla recoiled like I’d offered her a tub of lard with a spoon. “Eww. No way. You don’t eat carbs and look like this.”
Sawyer reached for the plate. “I’ll have hers. Being skinny is overrated.”
And that’s why Sawyer is my best friend.
Two batches of shells in the trash later, I cleaned up my mess and kissed Gia goodbye. “I have to get home to interview a potential chambermaid. I’ll see you tonight at dinner.”
Gia pulled me close for a deeper kiss, then handed me a coconut-almond latte he’d made me to go. “I can’t wait.”
I walked home while going over the chaos of the past couple of days in my head. Aunt Ginny was officially off house arrest as of this morning. She was probably halfway to Vegas by now. Liz had called the police station after I left the other day and filled them in on the history between Brody and Tracy. Amber was on her way to question Tracy when Aunt Ginny’s anklet alarm went off. Tracy tried to plead temporary insanity to get her case thrown out, but since she’d had over twenty years to plan the murder of Brody Brandt, the judge wasn’t buying her story. She was being held in county lockup pending her trial. I should tell her to say hi to Bebe for me the next time Bebe comes around.
Kylie Furman turned over her offshore account information to the auditors. With the money back in the clients’ accounts, Ken Freeman dropped the embezzlement charges. Kylie was able to provide evidence linking Frank Trippett to three more crimes in exchange for witness protection relocation. She may not be living it up in Iceland, but it looks like her Wit’sec plan worked after all.
I’d been over my conversation with Georgina so many times I had it memorized. I never would have guessed that her pushy, overbearing demeanor was a cover for insecurity. Don’t get me wrong, she hadn’t changed any; she was still Georgina. But now when I looked at her I tried to see past her crunchy exterior to find the soft nougat center that just wanted to be loved and included.
No one that I’d met in the past couple of weeks was black or white. Everyone was shades of gray. Not to be confused with another kind of shades of gray. Although they might be that too, I mean I don’t know them that well. But each one had a side they showed the public, while the real them was a lot more complex. Liz appeared to be a typical South Jersey single mom, and she had helped her ex-husband sell drugs. Jonathan Lynch was putting up a fierce grizzly-bear front, but when his daughter was involved, he was really just a big teddy bear. And Kylie Furman—who would ever have guessed that such a beautiful and intelligent businesswoman would be hiding abuse or devising a plan to disappear? Of course Brody Brandt was the biggest surprise. I wasn’t sure which version of him would turn out to be real. Town hero or shady drug addict. In the end it was a little of both. You never know what you’re willing to do when you’re desperate. I guess we’re all a tangled mess.
Georgina met me at the door. “There’s a scary old lady prowling around upstairs who says she’s here to inspect the house.”
Someone should tell her we’re over our limit on scary old ladies. “Already? She’s twenty minutes early.”
“What’s she doing here?”
“She’s interviewing for the position of chambermaid.”
“So you’re still planning on staying then?”
Smitty hollered from on top of a ladder in the library. “Woman! I thought we talked about that!”
Georgina hollered back. “I was just making sure.” Then to me she said, “Well, if you insist on staying in this godforsaken hellhole, I’ll just have to make the best of it.”
“That’s the spirit.” I set my purse down on the table in the foyer. “Georgina, you’ll be back before you know it for Thanksgiving.”
“I guess I can bring a few things and stay awhile.”
My heart stopped beating. So this is what it feels like to be dying.
“Aren’t you going to say how excited you are to hear that?” Georgina asked.
“There are no words to express how I feel about that.”
Georgina took that as a compliment and went to boss Smitty around some more. “You are doing such a good job up there, Smutty. That ceiling medallion looks almost like new. You missed a spot.”
I found Aunt Ginny at the dining room table drinking a cup of coffee. “How does it feel to be free?”
“Happier’n a possum eatin’ a sweet tater.”
“So … pretty excited then.”
Aunt Ginny grinned.
“Brenda called this morning. Jonathan Lynch dropped off a donation of ten thousand dollars with an apology for the damage done to Brody’s program.”
“That will go a long way to smooth ruffled feathers.”
“Guess what they want to do with it?”
“Go to Disney World?”
“No.”
“Build a racetrack?”
“No.”
“Put on a Michael Jackson concert?”
“Um … We may need to catch you up on the news. No, they want to expand their kitchen for culinary lessons. Brenda wants to offer more life skills and trade classes. Some of the older kids in the program have been kicked out of school. This is a chance for them to learn a skill that will help them find employment.”
“That sounds like a winner. Are you going to teach the classes?”
“A few. I told her I would volunteer my time in our off-season. Tonight I have to deliver cookies for Erika Lynch’s scholarship party.”
“So she’s going for it?”
“Yep. Emilio convinced her to own it, and move past it.”
“I’m so glad.”
“Me too. And, since you’ve been cooped up in this house for a week, how about I take you with me tonight. It will be your first sanctioned trip out of the house.”
“Not tonight. I’m kind of tired. I thought I would stay in and read a book.”
Are you kidding me, old lady? I narrowed my eyes at Aunt Ginny. “You’ve tried to escape for a week. Officer Birkwell had to go on administrative leave.”
Aunt Ginny hid behind her coffee cup, grinning to herself.
Georgina marched into the dining room, followed by a stern matron in a starched white apron over a steel-gray uniform. The woman appeared to be about an hour past retirement age. Figaro slinked in behind them.
I shot to my feet to introd
uce myself. “You must be Mrs. Galbraith. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”
“Sit.”
Oh, okay. I dropped back into my chair. I felt fifteen again and I had been sent to the principal’s office.
“All of you.”
Georgina took the seat across from me. She looked as intimidated as I felt.
Smitty was going to join us, but heard Mrs. Galbraith dressing us down and with a “Nyahh-ahh,” he was back out the door.
“First of all,” Mrs. Galbraith went on, “I do not work Sundays. Sunday is the Lord’s day and I treat it as such. If you have any checkins or -outs you will be on your own.”
“I’m sure that—”
She cut me off. “Second. My hours are eleven to three. If your lodgers have not gotten their belongings out by eleven on check-out day, you will be cleaning the room yourselves.”
I sat quietly, waiting for number three.
Figaro jumped up on the table and sat in front of Mrs. Galbraith, baiting her. We all held our breath.
“I do not like cats. I do not appreciate them in my kitchen or my dining area.”
Figaro walked to the middle of the table and flopped down. Then, raising his back leg, gave Mrs. Galbraith full view of the bathing ritual of his hindquarters.
The blood drained from Mrs. Galbraith’s face. Georgina covered her mouth with her hand while her eyes remained on Fig. I was too stunned to move. He knew better. This was a blatant challenge of Mrs. Galbraith’s authority.
“The cat will have to go.”
“The cat stays.” Aunt Ginny was the only one not terrified of the domineering woman in front of us. “He’s my emotional-support companion cat. His orange vest is around here somewhere.”
Figaro twisted back to look at Aunt Ginny with much the same expression we all had for Aunt Ginny in that moment.
Mrs. Galbraith breathed out long and slow, like a tire with a slow leak. “Fine. One last thing.” She pulled something from her apron pocket and dropped it on the table. It was Georgina’s diamond tennis bracelet. “I found this in the second-bedroom floor vent.”
