by MJ O'Neill
“Okay. I don’t think I really have anything personal.”
“It’s about Henry.”
“Oh.” She sighed and took a drink of water.
“I know you like him. Why don’t you just ask him out?”
“Is it obvious?”
“Maybe not to Henry. No offense, but he seems a bit dense.”
“None taken. Henry is my best friend. We tell each other everything. It was his idea for me to try to sell the Megathons, and he’s always helping me. But that’s the problem. I’ve been friend zoned. Do you have a boyfriend?”
“I have... complications. Men can be very confusing.”
“Right on to that.” She dug into the ice cream with a new zeal. “I’ve tried everything I know to do. I’ve hinted that maybe we could be more. I’ve tried to make him jealous. I’ve tried to point out all my girl features, and still he acts as if my name could be Mike instead of Meg.”
“We’ll just have to find a way to change that. Do you know if he has a girlfriend?” The direct approach was sometimes best.
“My Henry?” She laughed. “I’d claw their eyes out if another woman got anywhere near him. Why are you asking?”
“I saw him with a strange woman. Do you know if he’s having any money problems?”
“What do you mean?”
“Wiggins, the mortician, told me something that made me worry a bit, and then I saw Henry giving this mean woman some money.”
Meg’s brows furrowed. “I’ve seen Wiggins give him money before, but I didn’t really want to think about it. Do you think he’s okay?”
I didn’t think someone’s eyes could get that big.
Meg sat back in her chair and clenched both sides of the table. “What if someone’s out to get him or blackmailing him? You don’t really think he’s seeing that woman and just trying to spare my feelings?”
“I don’t know if he is or not, but you have to admit, it’s a bit odd. I think we should try to figure out what Henry’s into.”
“You have to help me.” She grabbed my hand from across the table. “I can’t be in love with my best friend if he’s hiding another woman on the side. Or what if poor Henry needs us?”
“If you’re open to it, I have an idea.”
Chapter 13
For the second time in a row, when I walked through the door of our apartment, the smell of brewing coffee greeted me. But this time, it didn’t stop there. Someone had cleaned. Gone was the organized clutter that usually filled the space, which now seemed almost stark. Before I could contemplate where in our tiny apartment someone could have possibly stuffed all of our—mostly Grand’s—stuff, Maybell waddled up, snortier than usual. She wore her red party dress, another sign of trouble.
As I bent to greet Maybell, my eyes traveled across the newly polished terrain. I found Mom and Grand sitting at the dilapidated thrift store table, now covered in fresh linen. Even from my crouched vantage point, I could see the light glinting off the china, china that hadn’t been in the apartment when I left.
A flash of red sequins adorning a woman’s pudgy back roll poked out of the side of the Queen Anne. Because of the height of the chair, I couldn’t make out more than her glittery back fat, other than the matching red feather that protruded from the top of the chair—and, I imagined, whatever headpiece the woman wore.
“Katherine, right on time as usual.” Mother wiped her mouth with an antique ivory linen napkin, another accessory that hadn’t been in the house earlier. “She does such important work at the hospital,” she said to the mystery guest.
I rose from the floor to move toward the table, curious to know what visitor I owed a thank-you for the miracle of getting my mother to recognize my morgue work as something other than an embarrassment.
“When I go, I’m going to donate my body to science.” Grand wore what she termed her “formal visor” for the occasion. It was made of bright-blue cloth and had fake crystals on it. When the sun shone through the window and reflected on them, it made her head a prism, directing rainbow sparkles everywhere.
By the time I’d made it to the other end of the room, I found Greta Scott sitting in the Queen Anne, her unmistakable laugh at Grand’s comment giving her away. “And they’d be lucky to have you too.” She raised her wineglass in a toast.
“Wasn’t it nice of Mrs. Scott to come visit us in our new house for a late lunch?” Mom took a big swig of her drink. “She brought wine.”
“The table looks beautiful.” I recognized only some of the china. They must have hit up a thrift store when they found out Mrs. Scott was coming. The salad plates were a French pattern that went well with the light-blue lace tablecloth. A beautiful bouquet stood on prominent display near the fourth chair at the table.
My stomach tightened. My mind raced, trying to figure out if Chentinko had been there and if he knew I’d chucked the first flowers. I could not receive two stalker bouquets in one day. I put my bag on the breakfast bar, which had been covered with doilies to act as a serving station.
“I couldn’t get the silverware when I went shopping at the hou—”
A thud sounded from under the table.
“Ow!” Grand squealed.
“Oh my, is everything all right?” Mrs. Scott asked.
“Grand must have hit herself again on that darn table leg.” Mother smiled. Whether the wine or the company had caused it, I felt grateful the cold war between Mom and Grand seemed to have thawed. At least temporarily. “I’m sure Greta understands that we still have so much in boxes from the move, Mother. Please, won’t you join us, Katherine?” She motioned me to the open chair. I felt like I had been summoned to a meeting with an auditor. “You’ll have to move the flowers. They’re for you, anyway, and these, I don’t think you’ll want to throw away.” She lifted the bouquet to me.
“I’ll save you the suspense,” Grand said. “They’re from that devilishly handsome reporter, that’s who.” A glint came into Grand’s eye.
I took the card from the flowers.
Stretch,
Sorry about your dress. Hope this makes up for it. Dinner? Tell Grand I said nice pie to Marge Van Hollister’s face and give her a kiss for me. I’ll call you.
Fletcher
“Are you dating a reporter?” Mrs. Scott asked.
Even though I was busy studying the card from Fletcher, I could feel her gaze.
“Oh, heavens no. We had a bit of a run-in. They’re a peace offering.” I tucked the card in my purse, determined to forget about Fletcher Reid’s desire to further complicate my life. I didn’t care if he could charm a banana from an angry horde of monkeys. Three days ago, he was the enemy. Of course, a lot had changed in three days. Three days ago, I still had a job. Three days ago, I wasn’t being stalked by some psycho mobster. Three days ago, I wasn’t questioning my entire upbringing.
“I think you should take him up on it. You need a rebound guy so you stop sulking,” Grand said.
I turned my head, hoping she wouldn’t notice my cringe. With everything going on lately, I hadn’t had two minutes to dwell on the implosion of my relationship with Martin. It had been almost four months since he’d called off the engagement. The breakup still felt recent, though. It hadn’t helped that when I received my belongings in the mail, his mother had included a picture of Martin and a brunette at a society function.
Martin Eldridge was a nice man from Boston with a family my parents approved of. Martin was sensible. No one shot at him. He didn’t carry a gun or track down deranged killers. He owned pastel polo shirts and wore only Brooks Brothers suits. He ordered chicken and drove a Mercedes. We had been dating for two years and engaged for only a month before my dad’s arrest. I was angry at his meddling mother, but I supposed it said something about the relationship that I didn’t feel angrier at him. He was the one who didn’t stand up to her, who dropped me like a bad habit at the first sign of trouble. We had never been all that passionate, but I’d thought we shared values, like putting family first
and being loyal.
As I looked at Fletcher’s flowers and the blinking security light of Burns’s surveillance tracker, I thought perhaps Martin had done us both a favor. Fletcher and Burns were both putting it all on the line to avenge their friend. Burns would never consider abandoning any of that ragtag group he had assembled.
“It’s important these days to find a man who respects your independence,” Mrs. Scott said.
“So true. I’m lucky Claude appreciates a strong woman,” Grand replied, a twinkle in her eye. I hated that twinkle. Old ladies shouldn’t be so perceptive.
“You must try some of this gourmet noodle stroganoff.” Mrs. Scott scooped some of the casserole onto my plate. To make it “gourmet,” Mom must have used the name-brand Hamburger Helper instead of the store brand.
“This will help.” Grand poured me some wine from a bottle on the breakfast bar.
Maybell parked her bottom on my feet. DC had helped me find her a new piggy Medicaid vet for low-income pig owners, and the vet had recommended that we not allow her to eat any food from the table. She had become quite a pill at mealtimes.
“I have to admit that now that we’re more on our own, I am quite enjoying experimenting in the kitchen.”
By “experimenting,” Mom meant learning to put different things into the microwave.
“And I’m intrigued that you’re able to fit so much charm into your new downsized space,” Greta said.
“Yeah, that’s us. Aren’t we quaint?” Grand flicked the brim of her visor.
“I feel fortunate that Katherine was able to find us a place in such a cultured part of town. Did you know, Greta, Tennessee Williams used to live near here?”
“You don’t say. I have to tell you, Lauren, when I first heard the news of Clarke’s... troubles, my heart was worried for you. But you really do seem to be taking it all in stride.”
“Smooth as pudding.” Grand took some of the spilled salt on the tablecloth and threw it over her shoulder.
“This thing with Clarke is just a big misunderstanding. I’m sure we’ll be back to normal in no time. But with this lovely new home and Katherine’s budding career, we’re really doing well.”
“And don’t you worry, Katherine.” Mrs. Scott put down her fork and covered my hand with hers. “Richard and I are in your corner.”
“Thank you. I’m sure it will all get worked out soon. But actually, there is something you could do to help.” I explained the morgue makeover plan and party to her.
“What a marvelous idea. You can certainly count on Richard and me helping you get this approved. Do the police have any idea who murdered that poor girl and stole her body?”
“As I told you at the benefit, I’m really not supposed to talk to anyone about the investigation.”
“Surely the police don’t mean hospital board members, Katherine.”
I didn’t even have to look over at her to feel Mom’s frown.
“I wouldn’t tell a soul, dear. I’m merely worried about the hospital’s reputation. I can’t believe someone snuck in there and stole a body right out from under everyone’s noses.”
“That’s not quite how it happened.” I couldn’t decide whether Mrs. Scott was just a bored housewife looking for juicy gossip or if more was going on here than it seemed. This was the second time in two days that she had pressed for information. And this time, she’d driven all the way to a less than stellar part of town to do it. I figured if I gave her some details, I might get a better feel for her motive. “A Russian man took the body, and I chased him.”
“Goodness gracious, a Russian?”
When someone had as many years of experience influencing people as I did, they became an expert at reading body language. Mrs. Scott’s hand clenched around the tablecloth, the corner of her eye began to twitch, and her face turned as pale as one of Grand’s linen napkins. The mention of Chentinko had nearly caused a panic attack.
“Thank goodness you weren’t hurt,” she managed.
“She comes from a long line of detectives,” Grand said, watching Mrs. Scott intently.
“With the outdated and broken security system, it’s really no wonder something like this hasn’t happened sooner. That’s why I’m sponsoring a morgue makeover event.”
“I’m so proud to see you put your upbringing to good use. Maybe you could get the board to chip in some money, Greta?” Mom asked.
“Oh, that won’t be necessary. I’ve already procured a sponsor. McPhee Security. Maybe you’ve heard of them?” I took a sip of wine and watched Mrs. Scott.
“McPhee?” she asked.
I caught a tiny crack in her voice even though her mask was firmly in place.
“Yes, do you know him? I understand that in addition to his security work, he runs an organization that builds schools and roads in Afghanistan. You might have donated?”
“Ingenisys. Yes, I believe we have.” Mrs. Scott wiped her mouth and took a breath before picking up her wineglass and pasting her smile back on. “The hospital is lucky to have such a resourceful employee as you, Kat. Dr. Hawthorne snagged a great hire. You make sure we’re on the guest list for this event.”
I could tell she would find her way onto that guest list one way or another.
“Do you plan on taking a position somewhere, too, Lauren?”
“Yes, once we’re settled in here. I’m being a bit particular.”
By “particular,” Mom meant that she had refused to apply to fast-food places.
“Of course you are. Progressive women like us can’t be expected to sit around and keep watching our men screw up the world, now can we?” She threw her head back and let out one last loud cackle.
After a nouveau chic dessert of Twinkies, doing our part to help rescue an American icon, we were finally able to get Greta Scott out of our apartment.
“What the hell was that?” Grand asked as the door closed behind Mrs. Scott.
“You tell me. And where did you put all of our stuff?”
“I thought it was very gracious of Mrs. Scott to check in on us.” Mom cleared the plates to the kitchen.
“Sure, if by ‘gracious’ you mean she totally had an agenda. My Nancy Drew instincts are in an uproar.” Grand tugged on her hat.
“I have no idea what the two of you are talking about. Don’t open the cupboards, Katherine.” Mom shooed me away from the cabinets.
That answered part of the question.
“Also, you might want to stay out of your closet for a while.”
“And the shower,” Grand added.
Maybell snorted. The shower had become her favorite place in the apartment. She hadn’t been allowed in the one at the old house.
“You know I love you, Mother, but I think you’re being a bit naïve. Greta Scott is up to something. And maybe this thing with Dad isn’t just a big misunderstanding.”
Grand wiggled up onto one of the breakfast bar stools and poured herself another glass of wine. With her condition, she shouldn’t have had any, but I always found it hard to tell someone who’d lived as long as Grand that she couldn’t have something.
“You’ve ignored the whole issue of your father for months, and suddenly you’re an expert?”
“I haven’t been ignoring it.”
“That’s what I love about our family. Steeped in honesty,” Grand said.
“Fine, maybe I’ve been ignoring it. But I’m not acting like an expert. I’m merely suggesting that maybe we need to start considering that this thing with Dad isn’t temporary. How much do you know about why Dad’s in prison?”
“I know what your father’s told me, that it’s all a misunderstanding and will get cleared up eventually.” Carrying the tablecloth, Grand headed for her bedroom.
“And what if it’s not?” I yelled to her in the other room.
“Then we’re pretty much screwed,” Grand said, returning to the room.
“Stop talking like this. I won’t have you disparaging your father. Is it that job making you thi
nk all these sinister things?” Mom asked.
“Funny, an hour ago I was brilliant and my job was important.”
“Someone’s got to help the dead people.” Grand lifted her glass to me.
“It’s time for us to face some facts, Mom. We need to start preparing ourselves for the real possibility that Dad is guilty, that maybe he’s not who we thought for all these years. Or at the very least, that this may not blow over.”
“Katherine Marie Waters, you look at me.” Mom squared her hips and stood up taller. “I understand that you have been through a lot lately, that adjusting has been difficult. But the one thing I know unequivocally is that your father is a good, honest man. I know you think I’m all about appearances, and perceptions do matter. But so do insides. And your father’s insides are, without question, honorable. With all the moments you’ve spent with him, you should know it too. Now, I’m taking Maybell for a walk.” She put Maybell’s leash on her halter and left, slamming the door on her way out.
“Amen,” Grand said. She slid off the barstool and came over to me. She patted my face. “We can’t lose faith.”
I took her hand in mine and kissed it. “I suppose. It’s all been a bit overwhelming.”
“And you’ve handled it like a true Waters woman. Don’t blow it now.” She gave me a slight hug and then, stepping back, tugged on her hat. “Now, how are we going to figure out what Greta Scott is up to? Your mother may not want to admit it, but there is something going on with that woman.”
Chapter 14
“If you’re going to credibly pull off this fake relationship thing with Burns, the two of you actually need to look like you know something about each other,” DC said as he paced around the war room.
We had put a picture of Mrs. Scott on the suspect board, and I relayed the events of the luncheon to everyone. When I mentioned that my hearing date had been set for a week from Thursday, DC went into planning mode.
“I don’t see how my fake relationship status is going to be relevant to my suspension hearing.” I looked between Burns and DC.