Texas and Tiaras (The Book Cellar Mysteries 2)

by Melissa Storm

  “Hi, Lauren. The recovery is slow, but I’m hopeful,” she said, then cleared her throat. “Is there a problem with my disability paperwork?”

  A short pause before her boss finally spoke up. “No, everything is in order. That’s not why I called.”

  “Oh?” she choked out, then swallowed hard. Her mouth went dry and her breathing became shallow. She couldn’t afford to lose her job, but what else would Lauren be calling about?

  “Yes, well...I wanted you to know that the State is withholding our grant award while the Indian Consulate investigates the shelter for any wrongdoing in regards to Anjali’s death.”

  “Oh...can they do that?” Another long pause fell between them, and for a second Vi wondered if the called had been dropped.

  “Yes. They can, and they have. I just thought you should know that we will need to consider whether or not you will be reinstated into your current position after your leave runs out.”

  “You’re firing me?” Vi’s vision blurred as hot tears stung the corners of her eyes.

  “I’m just calling to inform you of the loss in funding. I’ll let you know if anything changes in regards to the investigation. The rest we can talk about when your leave runs out.” Another painfully long pause passed between them before her boss continued. “Please, make yourself available for questioning. I know it goes without saying we need that funding.”

  Vi choked back a sob. “Yes, of course. I will do everything I can to help.”

  “Good, I’m glad to hear that,” Lauren said. “We’ll be in touch.”

  The line went dead, and Vi’s heart hammered in her chest. I can’t lose my job! If they did lose the funding, they’d have to do layoffs. Texas was a right-to-work and therefore right-to-fire state. She would be canned and have no recourse. She had never worked anywhere else. Her insurance may have been crap but it did cover some of her growing medical expenses. Joy would have to move back home. She couldn’t take care of Joy, not in her state. She scrunched her eyes shut and prayed. Dear God, what am I going to do?

  Before she could get any further into her panicked spiral, her phone buzzed a text message from Jesse.

  Hey, gorgeous. Your chariot will arrive at 8 sharp for your visit with Joy. I think I might be persuaded to get a few scoops of Mexican vanilla ice cream from Amy’s afterward.

  Oh, no! She looked at the time—7:30 AM. She needed to get up and shower. She couldn’t very well smell like she had been dumpster-diving all night. She hadn't cleaned up or changed her clothes in over a week. Not even a bird bath. She imagined cartoon stink lines emanating off her tank and shorts. She peeled them off her sweaty, grimy body and let them fall to the floor—joining the ever-growing pile of unwashed clothing and towels. Vi had always prided herself in keeping a tidy house. The mess made her want to sob. How had things gotten this way?

  She turned the shower on the hottest setting she could handle. The pounding water beat the knots out of neck and shoulder muscles.

  For a brief moment after the hot water had done its magic, she felt a little relief. With minutes to spare, she threw on a ratty pair of jeans and black t-shirt that hid her scar. Never again would she wear tank tops or bathing suits, at least not in public. Her body was horribly scarred and ugly now. The drugs and inactivity had made her bloated. Her lithe dancer’s body was long gone, along with her dream of ever returning to the stage. She didn't even want to imagine what Ricky would think of her now. No one wants a pudgy girl with gunshot scars.

  The doorbell pulled her out of the sinkhole of negative thoughts for a moment. Jesse had arrived. The clock on the mantel read 8 AM sharp. Punctual as always. She shoved her feet into her slip-on shoes and plastered on a smile before answering the door.

  Jesse stood on her welcome mat with a lopsided grin. “Hey, babe.”

  His brown, disheveled hair, and piercing green eyes made him quite the catch. All the women in the neighborhood drooled over him. The way he dressed drew attention to his perfect-ten body. His airy white shirt—almost see through—showed off his swimmer's physique and his tan cargo shorts brushed against his muscular calves in such a way that a woman couldn’t help but give him a double take. But he’d never been her type. No, she liked her men tall and dark—like Ricky.

  “You’ve got to stop looking so gorgeous, Jesse.” She feigned a swoon.

  He shrugged, but his grin deepened. “What can I say? It’s a gift.” He offered her his arm. “Are you ready? I’m yours to use and abuse for the next four hours.”

  She hid her giggle behind the back of her hand. For a brief moment she felt like herself, but then a pang of pain ripped through her, making it hard to keep up the fake smile. She didn’t need to burden Jesse with her problems. If she was going to manage to keep this up she would need some pills. “Let me just grab my bag.” She reached behind the door for her purse with the pill bottles inside. “Okay, I’m ready.”

  Jesse’s sleek SUV weaved in and out of traffic. A silence fell between them. When he hadn’t been looking, she’d snuck a pill into her mouth and ground it down with her back teeth, giving her a pleasant buzzed feeling. By the time they pulled up to the home where her autistic and learning-disabled sister lived full-time, she was feeling pretty good.

  “You ready?” Jesse eyed her with concern.

  “Yeah.” She jumped out of his SUV like nothing was wrong.

  He rang the bell to the home and Melody, a young woman with Down syndrome, answered the door. “Vi!” She turned behind her and shouted to the entire room. “Joy, your sister is here!” She turned back to Vi and waved her in. “Come in, come in!”

  They stepped into the cheery home, decorated in buttercup and cerulean. The colors had a calming effect on her the moment she stepped inside, which she supposed was the point.

  Joy stood in the far corner of the open front room with her arms crossed over her chest. She rubbed her right earlobe and mumbled something incoherent. The collar of her shirt was frayed more than usual. Whenever she was distressed she would chew and suck on the fabric to try and calm herself.

  Jesse shot her a friendly smile, but he obviously felt out of his element. She touched his shoulder and smiled to reassure him. She hated to have to rely on others, but until her doctor gave her the go ahead, driving herself was out of the question. She had never been a rule breaker and she couldn't afford a cab. No, Jesse was the safest choice. He, at least, didn’t pry. There had been a time when Brooke tagged along for her weekly visits to the home, Tiara in tow. Things were different now. A long time coming, actually. She shook her head. No sense wasting head space thinking about her.

  Melody approached Joy and tugged her arm. “Your sister is here.”

  “Go away.” Joy’s gaze was trained on the activities set up on the table. Normally arts and crafts helped her, but Vi could see that her sister was too agitated to do anything.

  She crept closer and spoke in a low tone. “Joy…” With every step Vi took to close the gap between them, the more closed in her autistic sister became.

  Jesse followed close behind her.

  It had been a long time since Joy had been this agitated. Poor girl didn’t have the mental capacity to really understand what had happened with the shooting. Thankfully, she knew very little—just that Vi had been hurt. If she had known the truth—that Brooke had shot her—she would be devastated as well as withdrawn.

  A hand tapped Vi on the shoulder, bringing her back to attention. The owner of the home, Kim Lockard, stood behind her. “Can we speak?”

  “Of course.” She followed the director to her office. “I’ll be right back, Jesse,” she said over her shoulder.

  He nodded and sat down by Joy. Her sister started to relax as Jesse chatted with her, and for that she was grateful. Vi walked into the cramped office at the back of the house and the director closed the door behind her. Oh boy, this is not going to go well.

  “Have a seat.”

  Vi sat down on the chair for guests and tried to still her tremb
ling hands. Please, God, don’t let it be bad news. I don’t think I can take it. “What did you want to talk to me about, Kim?” Her calm tone stood in stark contrast to the turmoil that rolled around in her gut.

  “Well... as you know, your sister has been having a hard time since the incident in town. Her anxiety is through the roof, and she is having a lot of violent outbursts. Last night was particularly bad. She punched several holes in her roommate’s wall, which will require significant repairs that you’ll need to cover...”

  Vi’s skin prickled as she began to panic. How am I going to pay for repairs? The bills from the hospital had begun to come in. The insurance through the shelter was basically non-existent. Vi had always been healthy and had never realized how bad her insurance actually was. Now she had mounting bills for the hospital, doctors, and procedures—not to mention the ongoing care that she needed.

  “Of course.” She finally squeaked out a reply.

  Ms. Lockard nodded. “And then there is the matter of her asthma, which is no longer under control. She’s going to need to see a doctor and maybe have her medication adjusted for now as she acclimates to the current situation. I am sure once her anxiety calms back down, she will be fine.”

  All she heard was more doctors, more bills.

  Vi stood. “Thank you for letting me know.” She reached into her purse and pulled out her checkbook. “How much do I owe you for the repairs?”

  “I believe one hundred and fifty dollars will cover it. We will have to repaint the whole room.”

  Vi tore off the check and handed it over. “Thank you for the update. Is that all?”

  Ms. Lockard shook her head slowly and eyed her like she had two heads growing out of her neck. “Yes, that’s all. Enjoy your time with your sister. She’s been looking forward to it all morning.”

  Vi threw open the door and let it slam shut behind her. She quickly ducked into a corner, took another pill, and then returned to the front room where her sister and Jesse were doing a puzzle.

  He looked up at her as she sat down beside her sister, but didn’t pry. Instead he busied himself with a magazine that had been set out for the craft project. Collages, Joy’s favorite.

  Joy looked over her shoulder—avoiding looking at Vi. It would have been impossible for anyone else to notice, but Vi’s shoulders dropped just a little bit. A wave of guilt rolled over her. She had been so wrapped up in her recovery and her own despair that she had forgotten about Joy and how it might be affecting her. Vi reached across the table and tightly squeezed Joy’s hand.

  “Hey, Joy-Joy. I’m here.”

  “Sissy, gone a long time. Sissy forgot about Joy.”

  A single tear slid down Vi’s cheek. “Yes, I have. I’m sorry, Joy, but I’m here now.”

  Traffic getting back to the neighborhood was heavy. Jesse blared his hippie Austin music station and sang along to some song from the Avett Brothers, his favorite band. Even though he couldn’t carry a tune to save his life, he sang loudly along with the radio. The song came to an end, only to be replaced with an annoying car dealership commercial where the man practically screamed through the whole ad. She reached across the console and turned down the volume.

  “Ugh...Thank you!” Jesse sighed and glanced at her. “I hate those commercials.”

  Vi checked her phone. A missed call from Ricky. Her heart raced at just the sight of his number—the only one she knew by heart. They hadn’t spoken since that day at the rodeo. He’d left a voicemail. With trepidation she put her phone up to her ear to listen.

  Hey, Vi. So when were you going to tell me that you almost died? You couldn’t call me? I had to hear it second hand from Father Horatio! Are you okay? Call me!

  Vi swallowed hard and deleted the message. Why had he called? Couldn’t he just leave her alone? Her chest ached but it had nothing to do with the gunshot wound. The loss of Ricky was a raw and open wound that couldn’t heal until he stopped contacting her.

  Jesse glanced over. She bit her lip and looked out the window, not wanting him to see the tears in her eyes. He reached across and touched her leg. That was all it took to send her into a fit of sobs. Jesse pulled the SUV off to the side of the road.

  “Vi, what’s wrong?”

  “Everything, Jesse—everything!”

  Through a torrent of tears, she told him about the shelter, the home, Ricky, Brooke and her lack of actual apology, the fear that she would have to live with this pain forever. When she had told him the whole of it, she relaxed into his friendly hug.

  “Oh Vi.” He stroked her hair. “You don’t have to go through this alone. You have people in your life who love you and want to help.”

  She looked up at him and held his caring gaze.

  With his thumbs, he wiped away the tears from her cheek. “You just have to let them in.”

  That’s the part I don't know how to do, she thought.

  “Let’s go home, I’m tired.” She pulled away from him and looked out the car window.

  “All right, babe, have it your way.” Jesse started the car and started for her house.

  When they pulled into her driveway, she jumped out and bolted for the front door.

  “Vi!” Jesse called out after her, but she didn’t slow down.

  She’d had all the company she could handle for the day. The door shut behind her and she bolted it shut. She needed to be alone to lick her wounds in private. Ricky’s message had shaken her to the core. Apparently love wasn’t something you could just shut off, no matter how hard you tried.

  Chapter Seven

  Brooke

  Brooke slammed the phone down hard against the kitchen counter. Then she lifted it up and slammed it again. And again.

  “Brooke, for goodness sake, what are you doing?” Brian walked in the door, on time for once.

  Heat rose to her cheeks and she directed her gaze toward the cherry wood flooring to avoid locking eyes with her husband. Could she tell him what was really wrong? Would he even care? Honestly, she’d prefer not to find out one way or another. “I… Sorry. Just lost my cool there for a second.”

  Brian chuckled as he came over to wrap her in his strong arms. She wasn’t sure whether she felt comforted or strangled. Whatever the case, she still felt rage. So much rage these days. Vi had shut the door in the face of the home-care worker Brooke had hired to look after her—yet another clear message that her former bestie wanted nothing to do with her. Why couldn’t Vi understand that this wasn’t about her?

  Brooke needed her help, because these days it seemed that only Vi would know the best course of action when it came to Brooke’s marriage, the baby, the strange paranoia she now felt whenever she found herself alone at home. Was she actually losing her mind? Inventing problems where there weren’t any, or…?

  No, no, it was too crazy to think. Thinking is what had gotten her into this mess in the first place. Thinking she could be the hero, thinking she could save her marriage, thinking every little bump in the night was the boogie man coming to get her.

  Yup, definitely losing it. Humpty Dumpty playing dangerously close to the edge of the wall. One wrong move and splat. But Vi wasn’t there to help Brooke put herself together again. She needed to find and fit the pieces of her shattered life herself.

  Sigh.

  “How was your day?” Brian stared at her in a way that implied this chitchat was meant as nothing more than a bit of foreplay.

  “Fine, busy.”

  “Did you manage to make it to the gym today?”

  “Too busy with work.”

  “Busy? But I saw your car parked outside the Book Cellar today. You weren’t too busy to go grab drinks with that manny friend of yours.”

  “Jesse’s not a manny. It’s not babysitting when you look after your own kids.” She realized too late that she probably shouldn’t be defending other men to her husband. Anyway, how the heck did he know she’d gone to the Cellar, and with Jesse to boot? Was he taking long lunches to spy on her? Paying somebody else t
o do it for him? Maybe I’m not so crazy after all. No, something definitely wasn’t right here...

  Brian bristled, his arms growing tighter around her waist. “Still, his wife works so hard to support them, and here her husband is day-drinking with another man’s wife. Just doesn’t seem right to me.” He shrugged. “Anyway, maybe make it a point to get to the gym tomorrow, okay? I haven’t wanted to mention it, but you’ve put on a few pounds. Better to act now before it goes any further, right?”

  Brooke nodded absent-mindedly.

  “Anyway, I still find you sexy.”

  Well, isn’t that reassuring? A second later, Brian leaned in to kiss her. Now he was rubbing himself up against her thigh and attempting to unhook her bra beneath her silk blouse.

  Would he be able to discern the growing swell of her abdomen, or would he be too caught up in his own pleasure to notice the true reason she’d “put on a few extra pounds?” Oh, she knew she should just tell him, but somehow she couldn’t—not when their relationship had been so tumultuous these past couple months. No. She needed an excuse—any excuse—before he moved on to her…

  Yipes!

  “Bri, I can’t,” she said between kisses as she attempted to push him away. “I—I’ve got my period.”

  “Again? Didn’t you just have it a couple weeks ago?”

  She shrugged. “It’s been kind of irregular since the gala. All that stress and everything.”

  “Huh.” Then a second later, the look of desire returned to his eyes. “Period or no, we could still…”

  Crap, he wasn’t going to let this go, and if she continued to say no, they might have a repeat of what had almost happened the night of the gala. Would he try to force himself on her again, like he had before Ligia had walked in? Again, she preferred not to know.

  “Actually, how about I take care of you instead?”

  “Mmm. Now you’re talking!”

  Stomp, stomp, crash.

  “Wait, what’s that sound?” She pulled away from Brian. Goosebumps prickled her skin.