I remembered Daddy’s last words. Daddy’s last words, how sad. He wanted me to have his memorabilia. It was in the boxes in the attic over the carport. I resisted my urge to groan about being left with a bunch of spidery junk. Still, it made sense now, considering I wasn’t his biological daughter. Of course, my siblings inherited the estate. Such as it was. I really didn’t think they’d have much to divvy up after the bills were paid since the house was a handyman’s special, more like a handyman’s nightmare. Plus the greedy real estate people’s fees. Oh that Carla Calamari was a piece of stuff. She thought she was all that.
I walked out to the carport. The hatch was open and Daddy’s car was more or less centered underneath it. So I hopped up on the hood. Wait. It was going to be pitch-black in there. I retrieved an old red flashlight from the glove box. I pressed the switch and it faintly glowed. The batteries still had a little life in them but they wouldn’t likely hold out long. I’d have to hurry. I climbed back onto the hood. Yuck. Dusty, dirty. I leaned on the windshield and gingerly slid my body onto the roof. There I lay, facedown, spread eagle. My minor fear of heights kicked in.
Clutching the flashlight, I raised up to a sitting position. Then kneeling. And finally I braved up to standing. Hey, this wasn’t so bad after all. Shoot. Old bully next door was creeping around. I heard him taking a leak. I stood on my tiptoes and shined the light on inside the attic.
Hmm…nothing up here. I turned around. Nope, nothing. I spun all the way. It was eerily vacant. I shakily knelt back down and slid off the car.
Tammy. Should’ve known she’d clean the attic out too. I would just have to let her know that Daddy had wanted me to have his treasures. She wouldn’t care. She’d think they were junk. If they didn’t glitter, they wouldn’t make her heart go pitter. Dumb rhyme. That’s why I wasn’t a poet. Or a songwriter. I couldn’t write a non-fingernails-on-the-blackboard haiku if you threatened to paint mine blue. Hey, that rhymed. I laughed at my stupid ramblings. I wondered if Ashley was any good at songwriting. Maybe I could talk her into letting me read some of her portfolio. I guess that’s what songwriters called their bodies of work. Didn’t really know. Manuscripts wouldn’t be right.
I headed home.
~*~
I made up my mind that I was not going to be frightened to live in my own house. Whoever had broken in here could get in again but he likely found what he was looking for. If it had been Perry, I didn’t think I was in any danger. If it wasn’t him… I’d be waiting. Waiting with what? I wrestled Momma’s big old pocketbook out of my blue tote bag and removed the brass letter opener. She always carried that for protection. I had a letter opener and I was not afraid to use it. I posed in front of the foyer mirror.
Wielding the mighty sword, I looked silly in my pajamas. Like a pirate making a sailor walk the plank. Pirate. I remembered the pirate in my dream. Billyboy. Bill Blandings. Hundred Dollar Bill. Momma had busted him and his counterfeiting friends. No wonder he wanted his money back. It started making sense now.
I dropped the letter opener on the foyer table, went upstairs to weigh in. Yes! One hundred twenty-nine and seven-eighths pounds. I cracked the scale under one hundred and thirty! I got dressed.
Back down in double time, I reheated the Chinese food. It was glorious, carbs or no carbs. I cleaned up the sticky mess and decided to go and pay a visit to Perry. Just to see what he was up to. Maybe I’d confront him about the burglary and the uncut hundred-dollar bills. And the badge and panties too. The phone rang. I checked the caller ID. Payne, Perry. I picked up. “Hello.”
“Oh-Donna, Perry here. Thank you.” He was whispering.
“Perry, I was just thinking about you—”
“You are brilliant.” His whisper gushed.
“I was going to come over to visit you at work, if it’s—”
“No, actually you’d better keep your distance for now.”
“Why?”
“You know…”
“I know what?”
“The fire.”
“What fire?”
“Yeah, you’re good. Keep that up. Anyhow, I’m due back in court. And that bit about fooling old Doc Goldfarb into thinking you had a head injury, just brilliant, Sis. Gotta go.” He hung up.
So did I. What in the devil was he babbling about? Well, one way to find out. I grabbed my letter opener, my large blue pocketbook, keys and wallet. I locked up and set out for a visit to the judge’s chambers.
Stepping out my front door, I saw the back end of the white mail Jeep, so I decided to walk over to the corner and check my box. I exhaled at the sight of another of my self-addressed stamped envelopes. A Cary Grant stamp plus the extra few cents of make-up postage stamps due to the rate increase. This one was from Beegeevers Books. It felt thick. My heart went pitter-patter. I carefully opened it. I extracted a form rejection letter and my self-addressed stamped postcard. Instead of returning the postcard when they opened my submission, so I’d know they received it, this one decided to wait and send it back with the rejection. I shoved the contents back in the envelope, closed my cubby box and stuffed the letter into my purse.
“Hello, Donna.”
I looked up at Officer Dick. In uniform. No, not boxers. His police uniform.
“Hello.”
Awkward pause. I said, “I…”
He removed his mail and closed his box.
Scooby Doo-ette circled the mailbox. She pooped.
“Hey, this is the dog that licked my feet, you know, in the shower?”
“You want to press charges?”
“Against the dog? No. Why would I want to do that?”
He shrugged his shoulders. “I’ve got to go now. Pressing business. Well, see you around.” He crossed the street.
I followed him. “Wait. Dick?”
He turned.
“I want to help you.”
Scooby Doo-ette started barking like crazy.
“Help me?”
I could hardly hear him over the racket. “Yeah,” I shouted back. “You said…that night on my deck…you needed help.”
Now Scooby Doo-ette had jumped between us.
He looked down at her, annoyed, then looked at me with a poker face. “I’m afraid it’s too late for that, Donna.” He hurried over to the police car and raced off. Scooby Doo-ette calmed her nerves and trotted away peacefully.
I shrugged my shoulders. To be honest, I had felt somewhat bad for not helping him out when he’d asked for it. Not the neighborly thing to do. After all, he had been kind. Still, both my mate and my roomie Ashley, and apparently Scooby Doo-ette, wanted me to stay away from him. So since dogs had great instincts, it was probably best that he snubbed me now.
I inched the Chrysler out of the garage.
~*~
I took the long way to the courthouse, stopping on the way to buy new stamps for my manuscript submission. I wasn’t giving up hope. I would just have to find the right editor and if that meant spending a small fortune on stamps, so be it. I chose pretty ones with two birds perched on a branch sharing a devoted gaze, with the space between them forming a heart. Perfect for submitting to romance publishing houses.
I found a parking space just in front of the courthouse. The street was swarming with policemen and police cars. Probably a bomb threat or something. I asked a policeman whether it was safe to enter. He assured me that it had been a false alarm and that visitors were allowed in the building. He searched my bag as a routine measure. I jogged up to Perry’s office. I knocked and, when no one answered, stomped inside. I stashed my purse on his honor’s desk. I knelt on the couch and peeked over the rear. It was too dark, shadowy and I couldn’t really see. So I jumped up and shuffled over to the right end of the couch. I was heaving the heavy leather away from the wall when I heard the chamber door slam. I froze, cringing, waiting for some sort of accusation. The chatter from the hallway was all that wafted in the air. I slowly turned my head. My seven-foot-tall, seven-foot-wide half-brother just looked right
through me.
I faced him. But he didn’t seem to see me.
“Perry?”
He stared past me as if something in the portrait of Benjamin Franklin on his wall had hypnotized him.
“Perry?” I walked over to him. “Yoo-hoo, Perry?” I waved my hand in front of his face.
He grabbed my arm and twisted it.
“Ow! Hey, stop it!” I wrestled loose.
“Oh-Donna, go away, Oh-Donna.”
“Great to see you again too, Perry.”
“We shouldn’t be seen together.”
“Amen to that. Just as soon as I find Momma, I’m done with you. I don’t care if our paths ever cross again.”
“What?”
“Perry, what part of mutual loathing don’t you understand?”
He waddled his big self over to the window and twisted the blinds open. “It nearly worked.”
“Did it now?” I had no idea what was going on in that big goose egg head of his. But I played along. Always the best way to get information.
Perry said, “Daddy died and he found it.”
“He found what? Who found what?”
“Go away, Oh-Donna. Far, far away.” It appeared as though those words pained him. So he was telling me to beat it but with a tone that he was sorry to see me go?
“Thanks, by the way.”
I gave a phony smile. “You’re so very welcome, honey.”
He returned his gaze to the Ben Franklin portrait.
I scurried over and heaved the couch away from the wall. There was nothing on the floor at the back of it. “What did you do with the money?” I swear I saw a tear welling up in the giant’s eye. “Perry, what did you do with all the uncut, two-faced hundred-dollar bills?”
“He stole them.”
“Who?”
“My mother’s murderer.”
I remembered the tabloid article about Vera Blandings’ body found in the tub with a sheet of hundreds stuck to her back.
“Perry, who did this to you and your poor mother?”
“It doesn’t matter now. I still have no proof. But it must be…it just has to be him. I didn’t catch him. I failed Mommy. I’m so sorry, Mommy.” Huge tears flowed down Perry’s face. It was as if he’d put off grieving and now the horror of his teen years had come back with a fury.
“Perry, is your life in danger?”
“Of course. You know how many felons I’ve sentenced?”
“No, I mean is the person who murdered your mother likely to come after you?”
“No. He got what he wanted. Money. Mommy’s money. My money. Daddy’s money.”
“Daddy’s money?” In the basement, before he died, Daddy had told me that Momma demanded the money from him. But Perry kept referring to the bad guy as a “he”, so it couldn’t be Momma. This was not making much sense.
“Donna, you’d better go away. Run far.”
I suppose I should’ve begun to feel scared. Hey, why did he call me Donna? Not Oh-Donna? “Perry, if someone is after me, you’d better let me know. I mean, a girl likes to know little things.”
“Thanks, Sis.”
I huffed. “Thanks for what? Make up your mind, will ya? Perry, you make no sense. Are you on drugs?”
“If you didn’t cover the arson well enough, I don’t know how much I can finagle for ya.”
“Arson?” Hey, wasn’t this a twist. The guy who’d wrongly put my mother in an insane asylum had gone cookoo himself.
“You should’ve thought a little deeper into things. It was a good plan, in theory.”
“Perry, do you have any idea where Momma might have gone?”
“Chloe no longer exists.”
“What? No, she isn’t dead… What do you mean?” My voice cracked.
“We don’t have parents. We’re orphans.”
“Is Momma dead? Was there an accident? Did you kill her?”
“Just leave, Oh-Donna.” He waddled over and opened the door. He stomped out and disappeared into the elevator. The doors closed before I could hop in.
~*~
I retrieved Daddy’s Chrysler from the parking space. Should I drive over to the gym and see if Tammy dear knew what the heck got into Perry’s pork chops and turned him nutty? It seemed like he was genuinely concerned for my safety at some point. However, he was still mean. Why didn’t he question how I knew about the counterfeit bucks? Who had stolen the money from me, Perry, Daddy and Vera Blandings? Was the pirate still alive and thieving? Old Hundred Dollar Bill? He’d said he wanted the money.
A long horn blow caused me to make the decision to turn right and head back across the river to Virginia. I needed to find Momma. Oh God, forgive me for not reporting her missing. I just thought she might be arrested for something. How could she? She hadn’t done anything. No matter what Daddy and Perry had said about her. I knew the woman. Perry had said she was dead. No. I would not believe that. I would find Momma. Perhaps she would find me when I least expected her.
I fished around in my purse, trying to locate something to wipe my eyes with. Nothing. Dag nabbit. I reached under the seat at a stop light. Yeah, I felt a paper napkin. I yanked hard. A one-inch corner was all I emerged with. I used my sleeve. Wiped my nose on it too.
I pulled over into the grocery store parking lot. Draping my arms across the steering wheel, I let my head thud down on it and cried.
Before wiping snot on my three-quarter-length cotton sleeve again, I decided to buy a box of tissues. I slammed the car door and stomped into Giant.
Hmm…salad bar was still on special this week. Oh good, they had my favorite pasta salad. No, Donna, no. Carbs. Don’t continue blowing all the progress you’ve made. I grabbed a Diet Coke out of the cooler and a package of smoked almonds from the point of sale rack. I almost got in line before realizing I forgot the damned tissues. I stomped down the main aisle and found some on sale at an end display. I grabbed a box decorated with palm trees. I loved palm trees.
I tossed my purchases onto the conveyer belt and then opened the tissues and blew and wiped while waiting to be rung up. I noticed the cashier used hand sanitizer after she gave me my change.
Back in the car, I unscrewed the lid on the half-warmed soda bottle. I hated the big plastic bottles. Twenty-four ouncers or whatever they were. Yeah, you got more beverage for your buck than in a skimpy can but it was never cold. Aluminum cans, they were icy. I hated plastic.
I sucked and gobbled the almonds. I felt really sleepy. I shouldn’t drive like this. It was raining anyhow. So I stretched across the front seat and tried to forget everything.
A smile gently crept upon my face. I heard wind chimes. Gentle wind chimes. I could see the wind. All of the rainbow colors of the wind. A melody drew me forward. Oh wow. Elvis. “Suspicious Minds”.
~♥~
I heard splashing and opened my eyes. Looking down, I spotted him, immersed in a swimming pool. I said, “Hey you, come on over and step back into my dream. I really could use a big hug.”
I watched his bulging muscles flex and contract as he lifted himself out of the cerulean water. Oh yeah. I was being entertained.
He wrapped his arms around me. I shivered at the cold water sprinkling off him on to me.
My dream lover said, “Cinderella, what’s the matter?” He stepped back but kept his hands snuggled on my hips. “You’re shaking. Are you scared of me?”
“Should I be?” At this point, I didn’t know who the enemy was or what the heck the holy grail could be.
He moved his hands to mine and gently caressed them. Looking into my eyes, he said, “Oh never, love. I’m your mate. I will never do anything to hurt you.”
I wanted to believe him. Really I did. I had no reason to be suspicious, well, other than the song that drew me into this dream. A song about a man pretending he had innocent relationships with old “friends” and his wife just didn’t trust him. Sounded like Momma. And Daddy for that matter. Boy, was he jealous. Detective-fying her all over the place. I remembered
when she used to get her hair done every Thursday night. Daddy had insisted on chauffeuring, he whispered to us kids that she was sneaking around with one of the young interns. Yeah right. Fifty-something nurse, already retired from one career and a young doctor who was hot over her. Give me a break. She was pretty and still had a nice figure, courtesy of her tummy-smoothing undergarment.
I felt water dropping on me again. This time it was rain.
Mr. Jones wrapped his arm around my shoulders and said, “Come, love. Let’s get in out of the weather.”
I dutifully followed him into what must have been a cabana. I didn’t know for certain as I’d never been in one. If nothing else, it appeared to be a small building with a full bathroom, a room with two chairs, a small cocktail table and a telephone. Mr. Jones excused himself and went into the bathroom. I plopped down in a chair. As it reclined backward, I pulled a little unthought-of muscle in my back and bumped my head on the wooden slat. “Ouch. Dag nabbit.” I sat up and wrestled with the catches on the chair until finally getting it adjusted to an upright, yet slightly reclined position.
Mr. Jones emerged from the bathroom. He was dressed in blue linen shorts and an unbuttoned white golf shirt, with just the right amount of chest hair exposed. I wanted to put my fingers on it and play. He was running a fine-toothed comb through his towel-dried hair.
I said, “You look great.”
He smiled. “You’re not so bad yourself.” He crammed the comb in his front left pocket. “Come on, love, let’s go and get some nice hot tea.” He extended his hand.
“’Kay.” I felt my dimples as I gave him my little hand. We left the cabana place and strolled under a covered pathway to what must have been the main house. Entering through the sliding glass door into a kitchen, I suddenly had a gut instinct that something bad happened here. Tammy told me she felt that way once when she was looking at apartments. In one of them, she said she felt like someone had been beaten there. She didn’t rent it. Now I knew what she was talking about.
The Immaculate Deception Page 22
