by D. J. Palmer
Before any more inquires could take place, Penny’s eyes snapped open. Grace saw the transition happen—rare for sure, but it was not the first time she’d witnessed a switch. First Penny’s arms crossed, then her legs, too, and she struck a defensive posture. She was leaving—Grace could feel Penny’s presence slipping away, going, going, until the sapphires of her now-open eyes burned again with that cool heat and her daughter’s delicate mouth contorted into a devilish grin.
“Oh, hello, Mother,” said Eve coldly. “What a nice surprise to see you again.”
CHAPTER 22
BIG FRANK’S HAD A round table to accommodate larger parties, and tonight everyone Grace loved the most—well, everyone but Penny—occupied the seats around it.
It was thirty minutes past closing time, and without the persistent chatter of patrons, Grace could hear the steady churn of ocean waves thrumming against the sandy beach across the street.
At the table sat Jack, slouchy as a teen, who had come home from college at Grace’s request. He looked well, she thought; maybe a bit on the thin side. At least the mountainous calzone Annie had prepared would provide him some much-needed nourishment.
Jack had on a green and black flannel shirt, a birthday present Grace had gotten him a few years back. The shirt was a bit warm for the summer weather, but for someone who’d devoured Nirvana and Soundgarden albums in his youth, the grunge look was always in season. Jack’s long hair was not in its usual ponytail tonight, allowing his dark curls to drape across his slender shoulders, and he had grown a goatee that all but completed his Seattle look. Even with the facial hair, Grace could still see the sweet-natured boy who had wanted to play in mud puddles on the day they found Penny.
Next to Grace sat Annie, dressed sharply in a blue snap shirt with embroidered roses on the collars and denim jeans tucked into her trademark leather boots. She had on a belt buckle with Freedom written in cursive and adorned in glittery rhinestones. Thematically the buckle was the perfect accoutrement, not just a random selection, because today they’d gathered to discuss how to convince ADA Jessica Johnson to drop her case against Penny.
The ammonia had changed everything. Grace believed in her heart and soul that her daughter could be innocent, but now came the hard part: proving it.
I didn’t do anything wrong.
Grace heard Penny’s voice in her head over and over, her desperate pleas sinking into the most primal of places in her heart.
Ryan, who sat between his brother and Annie, wore a scowl that couldn’t be scrubbed off with steel wool. The contrast between Grace’s two sons was stark. Jack was working on a film about his sister’s case, while Ryan didn’t show the slightest interest.
From the kitchen, Grace could hear a clatter of pots and pans, along with the muted chatter of staff on cleanup duty—including chipper Sarah, who was mopping the floor in anticipation of the next day’s opening. At Grace’s request, nobody was using any ammonia-scented products.
“All right, Mom,” Ryan said, taking a tone. “You got us here, what now?”
It was the first time in several months Ryan and Jack had been in the same room together, and Grace could feel an icy chill between the brothers. They exchanged an occasional glance, and what few words they shared—pleasantries at best—felt completely foreign next to Grace’s memories of the ribbing, the jokes, the smiles, that special sibling code. It used to comfort Grace to know that her boys would always have each other, but now the space between them felt hollow, emptied out by the wedge that Penny had driven between them.
“Now,” said Grace, “it’s all hands on deck. Penny may be innocent, and we’ve got to figure out our next move.”
Ryan screwed up his face. “Why? Because she told you she didn’t do it?” His retort came out harshly. “Sorry to burst your bubble here, but that’s pretty much what every person in prison says.”
The layered look Jack sent his older brother all but told him to shut up.
“Go on, Grace,” Annie urged between sips of Diet Coke—which happened to be Arthur’s preferred soda as well.
Grace sipped from her glass of water, her throat suddenly dry.
“The smell of ammonia not only brought Penny back to us—it’s happened twice now, I promise you it’s authentic—but it unearthed memories from that night, things we need answered, evidence we have to gather that might exonerate her.”
“‘I wasn’t alone and I didn’t do anything wrong,’ that’s what she said, right?” Jack asked.
“That’s right,” said Grace, confirming the little bit of information she’d conveyed to him over the phone.
“Well, there ya have it,” Ryan said, clapping his hands together. “Case closed. Guess I should start planning her welcome home party.”
“I think the police have it all wrong,” Grace continued, ignoring her older son. Underneath his bluster and braggadocio she knew Ryan was a kindhearted soul, a boy who called home regularly when he was away in college, never missed a holiday dinner, and always put family first, taking his dad’s motto—“better together”—deeply to heart. Whatever darkened his demeanor—grieving his father maybe, or seeing his dad’s legacy on the verge of collapse—was a secret he kept as locked as Penny did hers.
Grace continued, “We know from the Facebook messages that Penny had been in contact with her birth mother for some time before the murder. There must have been more to their reunion than we know.”
Jack said, “Did Rachel and Penny ever talk by phone?”
“No phone calls that we have a record of,” said Grace.
“Wow,” said Ryan, exaggerating the glee in his voice. “She’s sounding more innocent by the minute.”
“Just cut it out, Ryan, stop it right now,” Grace snapped at him. “I’ve had enough of your comments, your quips, your attitude. It’s extremely unhelpful and quite upsetting. Your hostility toward Penny has turned into disrespect of me, and it needs to end. Now. We need to work as a team here, and I need everyone’s support. That includes yours.”
Every word Grace spoke rang true, but in fact, she was also deeply concerned. She seemed to feel guilt at every turn. Ryan, who appeared contrite after her rebuke, was suffering, too.
Sarah came to the table, depositing a steaming basket of golden fries along with a round of beers frothing in chilled glass mugs.
“My question to all of you,” said Grace, getting back on track after the fries were savaged and beers gulped, “is what now?”
“Now, we need evidence,” Annie said. “Irrefutable, really, because anything less won’t do. Not with the trial so close.”
“I think that’s right,” Grace acknowledged, feeling a crackle of nerves near her heart snap to life. “But how do we get it?”
“Let’s watch the video,” suggested Jack. “I need to get a better sense of what went down.”
Annie agreed, while Ryan kept silent.
Grace had transferred a copy of Mitch’s recording to her laptop computer. The video replay was as unnerving and amazing as seeing it in person had been. Jack kept his eyes glued to the screen like a director watching dailies from a film shoot.
When they got to the part about the book, it was Ryan who chimed in. “That book again,” he said.
Grace paused the video, gratified to see him engaged. She had told Jack and Ryan about the book, but neither of them recalled ever seeing it.
Grace said, “Blue cover, boats in the water. You boys sure you don’t remember a book like that?” Jack shook his head, and Ryan did the same.
“It’s important to her for some reason,” Grace added. “But it’s not in her bedroom. I’ve turned it upside down looking. Strange she says it’s her favorite and we don’t know it.”
“Well, she does keep plenty of secrets,” Ryan said.
Grace ignored him and continued with the playback, getting to the part where Penny whispered that she wasn’t alone.
“You see that?” Annie piped up excitedly, right after Grace said “Vincent Rapino” on the recordi
ng. Grace stopped the playback. “She lit up when you said that man’s name.”
“I was thinking the same thing,” said Grace. “What if Vincent was there that night?” Her eyes danced across the faces staring back at her. “The police spoke to him, but they never considered him a suspect.”
“That’s because he had an alibi,” said Ryan.
“People do lie,” Jack said, sending a look that barely concealed his exasperation.
Grace resumed playback.
“I didn’t do anything wrong,” Penny said in the recording. “Nothing.”
“Maybe you’re right,” Jack said, sounding breathless. “Penny could have been an unwitting accomplice … or somehow she’s innocent.”
“Oh for Chrissake,” Ryan groaned loudly before downing the final swig of his beer. He pushed his chair back with an audible scrape and rose quickly. “I’m getting another.” He hefted his empty beer mug in his hand. “Anybody else want anything?”
Nobody answered, and Ryan was off.
“He’s so angry,” Annie whispered when he was out of earshot.
“I don’t know what to do to help him,” Grace said.
“He’s a big boy,” Jack answered assuredly. “He can take care of himself. Penny can’t. I get that Vincent should get a second look, but what about Maria? Penny said she wasn’t alone. Who else would she be with that is violent and disturbed? I’ve hung out with those two together … Maria had a lot more issues than her pyromania, I can tell you that. Maybe it was Maria who wanted to bring fantasy into reality.”
“She was at home at the time of the murder,” Grace said. “That’s what Maria’s mother told the police, and that’s what Maria will tell the jury at the trial.”
“But did Maria’s mother actually check on her?” Jack probed.
“I made the same point to the lawyer,” said Grace.
“It’s a good one,” said Jack. “And faking an illness is an easy way to get someone to leave you alone. If her mother did do a room check, a wig and some pillows would do the trick. If you’re planning a murder, you’re going to plan for that contingency.”
Ryan returned to the table with a mug of ice-cold pilsner.
“Talking about Maria, are we?” he said with a smirk. “Real sweet gal. Penny sure could pick quality friends.”
Grace eyed him but didn’t take his bait. She had already spoken her mind.
“You think Maria did it?” Ryan looked dubious. “Come on. Why wouldn’t Penny turn on Maria to save herself?”
“Eve’s the protector,” Grace said. “She’d sacrifice herself for her friend … or family. Her nature is to protect.”
“For the sake of argument,” Jack said, “let’s assume she wasn’t alone. It’s either Vince or Maria. Nobody else has come up, right?”
“That’s right,” said Grace. “We focus on those two.”
“So Perfect Murder Maria left a witness whose head she threatened to stuff into a bucket full of ammonia?” Ryan asked. “Hmmm … call me doubtful.”
“Was there a bucket found at the crime scene?” asked Annie.
“No, but Maria or Vince could have taken it with them when they left,” said Grace.
“What was up with Penny tapping the table?” Annie asked. “That was strange.”
“It was in the nine-one-one transcript,” Jack said. “Rachel couldn’t talk, so the operator told her to tap the phone.” He re-created Penny’s rhythmic taps against the table. “She was back in the apartment in her mind. She’s remembering.”
“And then listing off a bunch of cities and states like she was in some kind of trance. I’d call that strange, too,” said Annie.
“Yeah, I’ve no idea there,” Jack admitted. “The book, the taps, those locations, the bucket of ammonia—I don’t know how it fits together.”
“I do,” said Ryan. “One of the kooky voices inside your sister’s kooky head told her to kill Rachel and she did it. You’re trying to fit pieces together from a mind that’s broken apart. Good luck with that. According to Penny, a voice told her Rachel had to be gone and gone for good. Who do you know that hears voices, Jack?”
“Boys, boys, please.” Grace held up her hands like a pair of stop signs. “We need to support each other, not argue. There’s a lot of work to do to figure this out. It’s going to be all-consuming.”
“You know you can count on me to help,” Annie said.
“Me too,” said Jack.
“As long as you keep your grades up,” Grace insisted. “Here’s the thing: we are running out of time, the trial isn’t far off, and Edgewater is a dangerous place. I almost got attacked today.”
Grace recounted the Darla incident, and Ryan seemed especially intrigued.
“Sounds like Penny’s with her people,” he said.
Once again, Grace summoned the willpower to ignore her son.
“If Penny’s innocent she shouldn’t be locked up a minute longer than she needs to be, which means that Annie, I’ll need your full attention on this. You can’t put in hours at the restaurant and do what needs to be done, not until we exhaust all the possibilities. Can you commit to that?”
Grace was extremely grateful Annie’s Florida move wasn’t happening until after the trial. Ryan cleared his throat loudly.
“Um, excuse me,” he said, “but we do have a business to run.”
“I know that, sweetheart,” said Grace, “but I can’t work here until this is behind us. My entire focus has to be on Penny. The trial is weeks away. You’re just going to have to hire replacements for Annie and me for the short term.”
Ryan sent a look of pure indignation. He took a massive gulp of beer, but it didn’t seem to cool him down. “That’s all well and good, Mom,” he said angrily. “If you recall, you and Annie aren’t drawing salaries at the moment because a big chunk of the money we have to pay staff is being funneled to Penny’s defense. So where am I supposed to get the money to hire two new people?”
“I don’t know that answer off the top of my head. We’re just going to have to figure it out. We’re all fumbling our way through this.”
Ryan’s expression soured. “You’re going to fumble your way right into closing this restaurant for good. How would Dad feel about that? Huh? That his precious Penny cost us everything he and Grandpa worked so hard to build? We’re already in debt to our suppliers. If I can’t make the minimum payments, they’ll cut us off, no question about it. A lot of our regulars have left us high and dry, and now you’re doing the same.”
“I hear you, Ryan, but I don’t have a choice.”
“Oh, bullshit,” Ryan snapped. “You had a choice that day in the park to let the state take care of Penny, same as you had a choice not to give Dad a hard time about putting her where she belonged—which, by the way, happens to be where she is right now, in a loony bin. But no, you had to keep pushing, keep advocating for her, not caring a damn what it did it to me, to Dad, and now you don’t care about the restaurant either.”
Ryan got up so fast the chair he’d been sitting on toppled to the floor with a loud clatter. He stormed off, feet stomping as he went.
Annie patted Grace’s hand in a placating way. “We’ll figure out the money,” she said. “We’ll get more loans if we have to.”
“No, we won’t,” said Grace, a whisper of defeat in her voice. “No bank is going to touch us, not with the debt load we’re carrying.” She sighed aloud. “But I don’t have a choice, and I need your help, Annie.”
“Mom, what if Ryan’s right and you lose the restaurant?” Jack asked with concern.
“What if your sister goes to prison for life for a crime she didn’t commit?”
Jack said nothing, because what was there to say?
CHAPTER 23
THAT WAS AN INTERESTING night at Big Frank’s—tense to say the least. I couldn’t blame Mom for taking a leave of absence, and I couldn’t blame Ryan for his frustration. His concerns had merit. As for me, it felt like my film about you was evolving rig
ht before my eyes.
Vincent Rapino was a born dirtbag. He needed (and was going to get) more scrutiny. What I didn’t realize was how much of a role Maria would play. I thought she was a footnote, mention-worthy only because of those murder fantasies in which you wrote about Rachel Boyd.
But after viewing Dr. McHugh’s video, I had to rethink Maria’s significance. It’s no big revelation that Maria was not my favorite of your friends, but thanks to Chloe and her got-to-get-an-A perfectionism, you didn’t have many to choose from. You’d sacrificed your entire social life for your grades.
Mom and Dad couldn’t have been happier about your scholastic ambitions, but they worried you were putting undue pressure on yourself. Sorry to report, you were never that great a student. When your first science quiz came back with a B, you returned home from school that day utterly inconsolable.
“I don’t get Bs anymore,” you wailed at dinner. “Call the school! Tell them we have to get my grade changed. We have to do it now!”
Your face turned splotchy and wet, with thick tears streaking down your cheeks.
The situation only got worse as your grades didn’t conform to your plan and the blame game got going. Everything and everyone (everyone, that is, other than you) was responsible for your imperfect scores. The teacher is stupid. I never got the assignment. And so on.
That’s when Mom began to worry that your dedication to academics had moved from commitment into the realm of obsession. You demanded to quit concert band—no time to practice, you said. Next, you dropped karate and field hockey for similar reasons.
I overheard Mom tell Dad your behavior wasn’t normal. Dad said, “Well, we don’t exactly know what’s normal for her, do we?” The unknown had always been his greatest fear about you.
Mom said she was going to take you to see a doctor, and I knew that meant a psychiatrist. O’Reilly, I think was his name—he diagnosed you with anxiety and depression, but Mom didn’t think that was the root of your issues at school or at home. This behavior came out of the blue, she kept telling him. But you were entering the teen years, and adolescence can bring on rapid changes in brain chemistry.
