The Bride Wore Dead
Page 30
“Where in the world are we?” Josie asked the driver, but he didn’t respond. She figured that he was paid not to have any personality. She imagined him home in his own high-rise apartment eating a bowl of Cheerios while still wearing his driver’s uniform, complete with cap.
The front door of the place creaked open and an elderly man in a blue waistcoat gestured her inside. He was a tiny fellow, about her own eye-level, with slicked over hair and large eyeglasses. “Please come this way, Miss Tucker,” he said, when she got close enough. He took her through the house where she saw golfing patrons at a bar in one room. Off to the other direction was a dining hall in which women were lunching while wearing hats. Actual royal wedding, Kentucky Derby style hats. Who wore hats? Josie wondered.
“A great many women enjoy wearing hats,” her escort said.
“Oops. Did I say that out loud?”
“Just as a great many young women also seem to enjoy wearing blue jeans,” he continued without a look at her. They passed through another dining hall into a private area.
“Miss Tucker,” her escort announced.
“Thanks, Mr. Peepers,” she said. He rewarded her with a watery smile. As he turned to leave them, she caught a quick wink behind his thick glasses.
It had been only three weeks since Josie had read an article in the paper about Peter and Michael Williamses’ double funeral. During the whole time of Josie’s convalescence, she hadn’t seen or spoken to Greta Williams, yet she’d been expecting something.
Every morning, she’d awakened with some kind of lingering sense that things weren’t over between them. That they had unfinished business. But still, Josie wasn’t sure what to expect. A grieving mother? Surely, she must feel loss over her sons. Losing both at once under such circumstances would shatter a normal woman. Obviously, under the circumstances, expecting something normal from Greta Williams was foolhardy. Yet, Greta looked no different to her. She was still in her customary dark-colored suit, her hair done up in a metallic coif, her posture ramrod straight.
Josie sat across the table from her and greeted her by saying, “Your first name is an anagram for the word ‘great.’”
“I know,” Greta said. And as long as she lived, Josie would never forget the level, steel-eyed look that Greta gave her across the table. She held it long enough for Josie to take four full breaths in and out. She counted.
“I knew that I was going to see you again,” Josie started, but they were clearly at Greta’s table, and Greta had her own agenda.
“Eat first,” she said and gestured to Mr. Peepers who was suddenly lingering in the doorway again. He rolled in a tray with two covered platters. “I ordered you a dairy-free lunch,” Greta said.
Josie stuck her elbow on the table but quickly got it out of the way of her lunch. “Now, how would you know what I eat?”
Greta didn’t bother to answer her. “Thank you, Henry,” she told Mr. Peepers. Josie sat staring at her. “Eat,” Greta told her again. “You look thin.”
“What are you, my mother now?” Josie was cut off in mid-thought as she looked down at her uncovered plate. “Oh, this looks wonderful.” And it was—a tremendous display of baby greens and tropical fruit with paper-thin slices of what looked to be roasted duck along the side. Strangely, she hadn’t been having a single problem with her stomach since she and Drew had their first date. And…she didn’t believe much in coincidences lately.
“I am a mother,” Greta said with a chastising quietness. And it cut Josie to the core to realize that this woman, who had built much of her life around her two sons, now had nothing to show for it. They ate without speaking for a while, and then even Greta seemed uncomfortable with the silence. She laid her fork down saying, “You eat. I will talk.”
Josie shrugged and managed an “okay” through a full mouth.
“You and I have a debt to settle. You have performed a great service to me, and I need to repay you for your effort. In addition, Mr. Obregon speaks very highly of you. He says you exhibited a true loyalty to the memory of Leann. And above all things, I value loyalty.”
Josie shook her head, mouth full again.
“You’re saying that you don’t want payment?” Greta interpreted. “I guessed that you would say as much. That is why I would prefer to forgo the payment myself. Instead, I would like to propose an arrangement between us.”
Josie squinted.
“I propose that we—you and I—will continue to have a…relationship.” She seemed to be struggling for the right word. “Just as we have had for the last months. Let me try to explain further. You look confused. What I need is the kind of person I can depend on for information, just as you provided about my sons. Eyes and ears, so to speak.”
“Like Mr. Obregon?” Josie managed to ask, out the side of her mouth. She had called to mind the lonely, almost desperate existence of the man who had first debriefed her on the whole adventure. Meeting him there in that gray, dead bar seemed a long time ago. A busted rib ago, she reminded herself.
“Not quite,” Greta frowned. “He and I have other ties between us. Whereas, you owe me nothing. I am in your debt, as I see it. And it’s a very unusual place for me to be in. Yet, I do not want to pay off my debt to you. You see, I am more interested in keeping the connection between us than in paying it off and closing it.”
“Am I going to be buried alive again?” Josie’s sarcasm got the better of her.
“Did it kill you last time?” Greta returned. She let that hang in the air a minute or two before Josie realized she was trying to be funny. “But I want to make it perfectly clear. I do intend to pay you for your service. Each time you serve me well, I will repay you with a favor.”
“What favor would that be?” Josie asked, her mouth finally empty. She was glad that she’d been given the chance to eat a little before they’d begun talking business. She couldn’t taste the food now.
Greta raised her eyebrows. “Whatever you ask me.”
“Kind of like an I.O.U.?” Josie asked.
“Certainly that’s one way to put it. And you have already earned one.”
Josie thought about it. Her heart fluttered with a masochistic tickle of fear at being in any kind of relationship with this woman, whose sons had tried to kill her, and then who, in all likelihood, had her sons killed, though there was no proof. Yet, why had Josie agreed to come this afternoon? Why had she even agreed to go to Puerta when she knew what the possible outcome was going to be? Could it be that she admired this woman? Josie wondered.
Greta certainly was a strong woman. A frightening woman, for that matter. Josie had no idea what ties she had. She knew next to nothing about the Williams family, for instance, where they’d gotten their money, what psychiatric ward they frequented most, how many other skeletons they had in their closets. She realized, belatedly, how a little research might have come in handy.
Was she morally obligated to tell someone what she knew about this woman and her sons? She wasn’t a cop, she told herself. And she wasn’t even a detective. She was an observer—and that was all. No superhero with a cape, no law enforcement with a badge, no private detective with a license. She was just a food critic with a weird skill for moving among strangers, making people talk to her and spill their guts, even when she didn’t like them. That was all.
For once in her life, Josie didn’t feel pulled strongly in any way. No one was telling her what to do. No one was leaving her without options. All she saw ahead of her was an unknown path. And when she looked into the steely eyes of Greta Williams, she knew without a doubt that this woman had to be on it. By her own choice.
Maybe it was time for something different.
“Okay, then. Should we shake hands on it?” Josie said.
“That would be fine,” Greta said.
Josie took the woman’s thin, cool hand offered to her across the table. She swallowed, her belly momentarily sated, and wondered, not for the first time in her life—and probably not for the last—what in the w
orld she was getting herself into.
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ABOUT THE AUTHOR
EM Kaplan lives in Illinois with her husband, two kids, and her dog Max. You can visit her blog at www.JustTheEmWords.com
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OTHER BOOKS BY EM KAPLAN
Mystery
Dim Sum, Dead Some, A Josie Tucker Mystery (#2)
Dead Man on Campus, A Josie Tucker Mystery (#3)
Fantasy
Unmasked, Rise of the Masks (#1)
Unbroken, Rise of the Masks (#2)