"You can't do this!" Grandma Mallory finally exclaimed. "I'm your mother, Paris!"
"And I'm an adult." Paris shot back. "You have to let me make my own decisions, mother. Please."
"Call the police!" Grandma Mallory turned to Scott. "Call them right now! I want this man thrown in jail for... for trespassing and murder."
"I don't know about murder,” Aunt Bethany piped up suddenly. "But he isn't trespassing. This is Paris' house, as well. And, if he was here with her permission, he wasn't trespassing."
"Fine. Just murder then,” Grandma Mallory snapped. "We'll see how he likes it in prison. As for you, Bethany, if I can cut my own daughter out of the family finances, you're a nobody. Remember that before you go running your mouth off again."
"You need to calm down, Grandma,” Scott said. "The police are on their way, but behaving like this isn't going to help anybody."
"Oh, as if you'd know. Your mother was—“ Grandma Mallory froze as a loud knocking was heard upon the door.
"The police,” Zizka squeaked. She ran to let them in and returned seconds later with Captain Walter and a grumpy looking deputy.
It took some time, but Rafael was, indeed, arrested and taken away, Captain Walter clearly content with finding a scapegoat to keep him clear of Mallory’s wrath. Aunt Paris was nearly hysterical, even as Rachel and Aunt Bethany tried their hardest to console her and reassure her that he would get a fair trial before seeing any jail. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Scott speaking animatedly to Captain Walter and scowling at whatever he was hearing.
When the police had left, Rachel cornered Scott as quickly as possible. She dragged him into the parlor where they could have some privacy and asked him what the matter was.
"I don't know,” Scott said. "Just an hour ago, I was so happy at having caught Rafael. Now, I'm not sure if I haven't made a horrible mistake."
"So you're beginning to believe he's innocent too?" Rachel asked.
Scott nodded. "Captain Walter confirmed something — Uncle Jordan does have gambling debts. He stole from the company to repay them."
"The motive,” Rachel gasped. "So, then…combined with the prior violence and the lighter near the fuse box, we have our prime suspect, don't we?"
"We thought we did. Captain Walter wanted to come arrest Uncle Jordan tomorrow morning. But now that the case has taken a new direction, he's going to think over it some more. Try and get a confession out of Rafael first. If Uncle Jordan did it, he might just get away with it if they can find a way to pin it on Rafael.”
There was a cough. Zizka stood at the parlor door, her face pale and unhappy.
"Zizka?" Rachel's voice was gentle. "Have you been listening to everything we said?"
“I…there's something I think I remember,” Zizka said. "Something horrible. But I don't know. I can't be sure I do remember. I don't know what to do."
"Come tell us." Rachel held her hand and pulled her inside the parlor. "Whatever it is, we need to know."
"It's the earphones,” Zizka said. "Master Tyler's earphones..."
"He said he left them in the foyer." Scott nodded. "Did you see him do that? Or did you see something else?"
"I just can't be sure..." Zizka said. "You see I—“
"Zizka!" Grandma Mallory's sharp voice rang out from the family room. Zizka jumped as though she had been prodded with a taser.
"Yes, Mrs Mallory!" she exclaimed, running out of the room. Whatever she had been about to say, Rachel wasn't sure she'd ever say it now.
*****
Chapter 17
Breaking And Entering
After Zizka had left, Rachel and Scott were left standing in the parlor, wondering what would come next. Dawn had just slowly begun to creep up on the night outside, and Rachel watched the black sky slowly shift to a purple hue. Outside the parlor, the grandfather clock suddenly began to chime four o'clock. What an exhausting night it had been. Rachel collapsed into an armchair, and then shuddered as she realized that this might be the very armchair Johnny Hayes had been killed in. Scott stood over her, a hand on her shoulder as if to steady himself.
"We need to talk,” Rachel told Scott.
He sighed. "I thought we'd agreed to wait until later. Just because you said you loved me—“
"Not that." Rachel waved it away, almost irritated that he'd thought she was even thinking about that now. She wasn't. She'd pushed it into a box and locked it up very tight in the back of her mind. "Not that, Scott. We need to talk about this case. Nothing makes sense. There are so many loose ends, and I'm not convinced at all that the police have arrested the right man."
Scott paused, then flopped into the armchair opposite her. "You know what? Neither am I. I mean, a jury would probably convict him, right? Even without any real evidence a lawyer could easily paint him as guilty. What are the chances that a stranger like Rafael was hiding in the house while Johnny Hayes was murdered? Very low. Yet, it happened."
"It's all because Aunt Paris panicked and was scared of Grandma Mallory,” Rachel said.
"Well, I can see why,” Scott replied. "My gosh, the way Grandma spoke about her own daughter sent chills down my spine. Who does that? Who treats someone they love that way?"
Rachel saw wonder and disgust combine on Scott's face. For the first time, it seemed to her that he was face to face with the true depth of Grandma Mallory's evil nature. She wasn't a woman who wanted the best for her children. She was a woman who wanted control of her children, and felt entitled to have it. In taking control of their lives, she had done them all a big disservice. But perhaps, at last, Aunt Paris was beginning to break free.
"I'm only glad that Emily never got involved in all of this." Scott sighed. "She was right all along, wasn't she? I was a fool to ever try and reconnect with this family."
Rachel bit her lip. "I wouldn't quite say that,” she said. "You do have some people here who are worth knowing."
Scott didn't say anything, his face working a little as he thought it through. "Anyway, what did you want to talk about?" he asked.
"The loose ends,” Rachel said. "There's some stuff that just doesn't add up for me."
"Like what?" Scott asked.
"The gold lighter, for one,” Rachel said. "Remember when we found it, there was a line of black dust on it?"
"Some ash from a cigarette, maybe?" Scott said. "I did ask Captain Walter about it. He said it was just soot."
"But why?" Rachel wondered. "Why was there soot on the lighter?"
Scott shrugged. “Again, from the cigarette maybe? Though ash is more gray than black."
"Then there's the man or woman who brushed past Zizka in the dark,” Rachel went on. "Remember?"
"How could I forget? He or she murdered your strawberry cake as well as Johnny Hayes." Scott smiled. "Poor Zizka was so traumatized."
"That's the thing, isn't it" Rachel slapped a fist upon her open palm. "How? I just don't understand it. It just doesn't piece together."
"Maybe it doesn't have to,” Scott said. "We're missing something. We just don't know what yet."
"Then there was Tyler, saying to his dad that he needed to confess something to the police,” Rachel said. "What was he going to confess? Was he going to take the blame, even if he was innocent? Or was there another story to tell? What was Zizka about to tell us regarding his earphones?" She sighed. "You're right, Scott. We are missing something. I just wish I could..."
She trailed off. Uncle Jordan had entered the room, a newspaper tucked under his arm and a pencil in his hand.
"Oh,” he said, clearly startled. “I…er…Paris and Bethany are in my room, and Mama's holed up in the family room grumbling to Zizka so I thought I'd come here to do the crossword."
"Sit down, Uncle Jordan,” Scott said, rising suddenly. "It's about time you and I talked."
Jordan couldn't maintain eye contact with Scott. He looked away, the tips of his ears growing slowly red — another family quirk Rachel had noticed in Scott before.
; "Scott. If it's about your mother..." Uncle Jordan sighed. "I know I did wrong. I quit drinking after I attacked her. Well, for a long time anyway. I have it under control now. I was…I am really sorry about what I did. But she never gave me a chance to apologize."
"Because she knew you never changed,” Scott said. "You don't fool me, Uncle Jordan. You certainly didn't fool her. You still drink, and you still have a foul temper."
Jordan looked resentful. "Look, I said sorry. What more do you want? I came in here for some peace and quiet. If you're going to badger me—“
"Badger you?" Scott laughed. "I'm going to ignore you, Uncle Jordan."
"Is that a threat?" Uncle Jordan looked nonplussed.
"It's a promise,” Scott said. "You know, when I came back to this house, I'll admit there were some dark motives under my desire for reconciliation. I wanted to punch you in the face, for example. And throughout my time here I've had to restrain myself from doing it."
"You weren't there! You don't understand! Florence, your mother, was refusing to talk to Mama. I had to make her see sense. I just got drunk and went a little too far. That's all. She reacted like her mother and I were the worst people in the world. We were her family, for goodness' sake!"
"No, you weren’t,” Scott said. "Family helps. Family protects. Family doesn't bully and threaten. I don't think you and Grandma Mallory have ever known what family means."
"You can't come into our house and talk to us that way!" Uncle Jordan fumed. "Your mother had issues. You hear me? She was far too sensitive!"
"Like I said, Uncle Jordan, there's a lot I’d like to do. But the good thing is, I'm not going to have to do any of it. Karma will take care of it." Scott smiled. "I'm going to leave this house tomorrow. I've just about had enough of Grandma Mallory and her constant barbs. I just have one question. Why now? After all this time, why did she choose to reach out to me and Emily now?"
Uncle Jordan scowled. "You know why. Her will."
"She can't want to include us in her will." Scott was incredulous. "After all, she disowned us as well as my mother a long time ago."
"Well, she regretted it,” Jordan said. His brows were drawn together. He'd tossed away the pencil and paper now and his hands were jammed deep into his pockets. "She regretted it when none of us gave her kids. As for Tyler, she was planning to cut him out of the will."
Rachel and Scott looked at each other, trying to hide their sudden shock.
"Grandma Mallory mentioned cutting Tyler out of her will?" Scott asked.
Uncle Jordan nodded. "That's right. Tyler pretended he didn't care, but I know he did. I think it scared him. He doesn't have much going for him without a cushy safety net, you know."
"Why did Grandma Mallory want to cut him out?" Rachel asked.
"Well, Mama has a habit of bossing us around, as you know. She was scolding Sidney as usual, something about Spring cleaning and emptying out the attic being his responsibility, and Tyler snapped at her. He said something rude like Grandma should hire a servant because his dad was a professor who didn't need to obey her orders."
Rachel whistled. "Good for him. He stood up to her."
"Sure. For about half a second before Sidney forced him to apologize." Uncle Jordan laughed. "But you now know your grandmother…she can hold a grudge like nobody else. She likes to run things her way, and if she can make somebody beg for forgiveness in the process, that's just icing on the cake."
Rachel was suddenly still. Uncle Jordan's words sparked something in her. "Icing,” she muttered. "Icing. Of course!”
"What is it?" Scott asked, looking at her curiously.
"Another thing that I'd thought of but never quite been able to figure out,” Rachel said. "It all makes sense now. It really does."
"What makes sense?" Scott asked.
"Uncle Jordan, have you seen Tyler or Uncle Sidney?"
"Tyler was in the garden last I checked." Uncle Jordan frowned. "I don't know where Sidney is."
"Perfect." Rachel grabbed Scott by the arm and, without any further explanation to Uncle Jordan, she waved goodbye. She pulled Scott into the hallway and dragged him until they were outside Uncle Sidney's room.
"You're awfully pushy today,” Scott teased. "What is it, Rachel? What's going on?"
"We're close to solving this,” Rachel said. She put up her thumb and forefinger in a pinch with just a little space between them. “This close.”
"Ok, but what—“
"Stand guard here, will you?" Rachel asked. "If anyone comes down the hall, whistle to alert me."
"Alright,” Scott agreed. "Planning on a little breaking and entering?"
"More like…accidental wandering.” Rachel smiled slyly. "At least, that's what I'm going to claim if anyone catches me."
Scott sighed. "My sheriff's instincts are telling me this is terribly illegal."
"And your detective's instincts are telling you I'm on the trail, aren't they?"
"They are." Scott smiled. "Get in there and find what you're looking for. I'll keep watch out here."
Relieved that he'd be cooperating, Rachel tried the door into Uncle Sidney's room. It was locked. Rachel gave a wretched sigh. "No use. Maybe I should go out back and try to climb through the window."
"You mean break through the French windows. Each room has them, remember?" Scott smiled. He put a hand in her hair and pulled out a bobby pin. "Or…” He winked. "I could help you out."
Rachel stared at him. "You wouldn't."
"I would." He smiled. Making sure no one was watching, Scott bent down and stuck the bobby pin through the keyhole. He fiddled around with the door for what seemed like forever and then, with a little smile, pushed it open.
"There you go, my lady. Your explorations can begin in earnest."
"You're a genius, Scott!" Rachel found herself flinging her arms around his neck and kissing him hard on the mouth. He froze, unprepared for this sudden display of affection, and Rachel felt self-consciousness crash over her like a cold wave.
"Sorry,” she muttered, pushing herself away from him. Scott looked like he wanted to say something, but Rachel couldn't bear to hear it. She bolted inside the room, locking the door behind her. She leaned her head against the door and gave a little groan. They really did need to talk. She still wasn't sure if he would break up with her or just want time apart or maybe, Scott would tell her that the whole thing was a joke to him and he was sorry she'd grown so serious about him. Rachel felt anxiety do a little tap dance in her stomach.
"Enough,” she told herself. "No more acting like a heroine in a B-movie. You get out there and confront Scott and figure this out."
Except, she was here for a reason, and her mind seemed really glad to procrastinate the horrible task of speaking to Scott and very likely getting rejected once again.
"Rach?" Scott knocked against the door and whispered. "You ok in there?"
She jumped. "Yes. Give me five minutes."
She let her eyes trail around Uncle Sidney's room. There were two beds separated by a table containing a telephone and a reading lamp, a small bookshelf on the wall opposite and a pair of closets. She knew what she was looking for, but wasn't at all sure where to find it. The closet seemed the perfect place to start.
She rummaged through both carefully. The first closet was neat with clean, folded shirts and pants hanging on wire hangers. The other closet contained a pile of clothes that nearly slid on top of her, avalanche-style, when she opened it. Rachel sniffed and detected the faint, skunky smell of weed. This was definitely Tyler's closet.
She was almost beginning to feel guilty about what she was doing when, at the bottom of the pile, she found what she'd been looking for.
A green hoodie.
That first evening, Tyler had been wearing a green hoodie before the lights went off and only a T-shirt after they came back on. Rachel remembered noticing but paying no real attention to it in the chaos that followed the discovery of Johnny Hayes' murder. She'd thought back to that hoodie wh
en speaking with Uncle Jordan and suddenly it all seemed clear to her. She wanted to kick herself for not piecing it together sooner. With a deep breath, she picked up the hoodie and, sure enough, on the sleeve was a stain.
The kind of stain only her strawberry cake frosting would have made.
*****
Chapter 18
What Zizka Saw
Rachel found Zizka in the kitchen. She'd handed off the hoodie to Scott with a hurried explanation and he was taking it down to the police station for forensics. Hopefully, nobody in the family had seen him go. The final pieces of the puzzle were falling into place now, Rachel was sure of it. But she had to tread carefully. Nothing about this murder, or this family, was as it seemed.
Zizka was standing by the stove, occasionally stirring a large pot of spaghetti sauce. She wore an apron saying, "Vegas Forever" over her staid maid's uniform. Her eyes were far away, and the sauce bubbled upwards, coming dangerously close to spilling over. With a quick step, Rachel turned the knob to reduce the heat to a simmer. Zizka blinked, startled out of her thoughts, and gave a little sigh of relief as the sauce settled back down.
Rachel got straight to the point. "Zizka, earlier you were telling me something about Tyler's earphones. What was it?"
"Well, I'm not sure of what I saw,” Zizka said.
"Never mind your hesitations, Zizka,” Rachel said. "Tell me exactly what you saw. You're afraid of incriminating someone but, believe me, you need to tell."
Zizka sighed, still reluctant. "Fine. I will tell. Just promise not to tell Mrs. Mallory I said this. I could lose my job."
Rachel stayed silent. She felt for Zizka, but there were more serious things at stake right now than a job.
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