I wordlessly handed her her cat as she flicked on her porch light.
“Oh! My sweet baby boy.” The judge dropped the needlepoint hoop she’d been carrying and it rolled around her hallway floor. “Come in, Mallory, and tell me how you found him!”
I offered her a kind smile and demurred. Truman had tasked me with getting Hemingway checked out, but he hadn’t gone so far as to allow me to interview the judge. He’d asked me to withhold the information about how Hemingway had been found until he’d be able to formally question her. I let her know he’d be contacting her soon.
“Mallory.” Garrett appeared behind the judge.
What is he doing here?
“You don’t have a minute to come in?” Garrett offered me a warm smile and held the door open further. “The judge and I were just chatting.”
“Yes, I’m trying to convince Garrett to take that job offer. The deadline to decide is in, what, a week?”
Garrett had the good sense to blush a bit under the collar.
I found my blood coursing in my ears. I was growing impatient with his weighing of his options, without weighing our collective feelings and relationship.
“I’ve got to go, Garrett. Let me know when you’ve made your decision.” And with that I trotted down the steps, leaving my confused boyfriend in my wake.
* * *
“I think I messed up.”
“It’ll be okay, sweetie pie. And it is time for that man to make a decision, whether he includes you in the process or not.”
I found myself engaging in girl talk with my mom. It was just like old times. Except for the fact that our fireside chat was taking place in her cozy little jail cell.
Rachel, Doug, and I were no closer to bringing Carole home for the holidays. Christmas was in less than a week. We were facing the very real reality of spending the day with Mom in jail.
“I have my own regrets.” My mom took a sip of the horrid coffee Truman had let me bring in from the vending machine in the headquarters lobby. “I regret moving to Port Quincy. I was too eager to jump in and get both feet wet. I landed in an icy puddle.”
“The pickle you’re in is much bigger than a puddle,” I said with a laugh. One that soon died out. The guilt and pathos and despair I felt welled up and spilled over into tears. I recalled the bright and cheery decorations at Thistle Park, inspired by my mom’s love of Christmas. She should be there, enjoying the season with her family, not detained in a drafty concrete cell.
“Let’s just have another cookie.” My mom wiped away her own set of tears and reached for another cardamom man. Her preoccupation with my waistline was gone, as she had bigger issues to attend to. It was literally the only perk of her being incarcerated. She choked down the little figure with the help of a swig of the wretched coffee.
“You were a Christmas Wonder Woman growing up, Mom. If we can’t have you home for Christmas, we’ll bring Christmas in to you.”
I’d already called in my chips with Truman. He’d grudgingly agreed to let me smuggle in a small ham and other dishes on the holiday, provided I only used plastic cutlery and ran the whole feast through the metal detector. I’d rolled my eyes and consented. But I hoped it didn’t come to that. Especially since the chief himself seemed to be working hard to spring my mom.
“Believe it or not, Truman is trying to find out who planted the antifreeze in your purse.”
My mom gave a harrumph. “I’ll believe it when I’m home with you girls, Doug by my side, and Ramona in my lap.”
The one thing Truman hadn’t approved was bringing in the sweet little pug to see her mistress. Ramona had settled into a motherless existence, her little curly tail a bit less sprightly, her big pug eyes more doleful.
Doug had rallied in Mom’s absence, reminding Rachel and me to eat our square of advent chocolate each day, to bake Mom’s special snowflake lace cookies, and keep up some semblance of normalcy. I was forever grateful he was my stepfather. This month had made me reflect on what it meant to be a family. And I loved mine.
But Garrett, Summer, Lorraine, and Truman were also my family. And I might lose them. I’d had it all, and felt it slipping away.
“Hello.” The soft voice of Justine Bowman made me jump. “I thought I’d fill you in on what’s going on at work.” She nodded her thanks to Faith as the officer opened Mom’s cell and allowed Justine to slip inside.
My mom shook her head. “I don’t want to know, Justine.” She set her jaw and looked hopeful. “When I finally break out of here, I think I’ll resign.” Her resolve dissolved into hysterical laughter. “That is, if the Marches haven’t already fired me. I wouldn’t even know.”
“Oh no, they’re eager for your return.” Justine made a face. “Clementine only has eyes for your designs. It’s tough deciding whose orders to follow, hers or Goldie’s. I have to admit, I’ve enjoyed working as a stager there with you as the buffer. But with you gone, it’s hard to live up to their expectations.”
“Clementine’s a lot of hot air,” my mom offered. “In truth, if I really did follow all of her suggestions, the model homes would look too over the top. Her design choices really do need Goldie’s more prosaic choices.” She offered Justine a smile. “I let Clementine dictate the initial design. Then I work with Goldie a day or two later to smooth it out and ground it in reality.”
Justine gave a grateful laugh. “That system works. I’ll have to put it into play. That is, until you get back.”
My mom’s face fell, and she glanced at the utilitarian clock nailed high on the wall. “I think this visit will be coming to a close soon.”
Just as she’d predicted, Truman’s heavy footfalls slapped on the linoleum in the hall outside the cell. His eyes were rheumy and red from lack of sleep. “Time to go, ladies.”
“Any news on my case?” My mom’s eyes grew heartbreakingly hopeful. I didn’t want to see the bubble of anticipation popped and deflated.
“I’m sorry, no.” Truman gave my mom a look of genuine good will. “And the news for Nina Adams isn’t great, either.”
“So the body is her daughter.” My heart fell.
“No.” Truman shook his head. “That would have been some final closure for the poor woman. This skeleton is definitely male.”
I turned to leave with Justine, but the woman was already gone.
* * *
I swung by Thistle Park to pick up my sister. She’d visited my mom the day before. We’d decided to take turns visiting her in jail, not knowing how long her stay would be. Rachel and I buckled our seatbelts and headed north to Pittsburgh. We had a wedding planning errand to attend to with Olivia’s parents.
“If the body on the property isn’t Andrea Adams, who in the heck is it?” Rachel bit a shiny gold acrylic.
“It could be anyone. And despite the fact that Clementine used that section of the property as a garden, it would be the perfect place to dump a body. Up until now, they only used the cabin at Christmas and for weekends in the summer. People in Port Quincy had to know when they came and went.”
Nina Adams would be left in the dark once again when it came to the demise of her daughters. It was a dark and muddled drive as my sister and I considered how it all fit in with the impossible events this month. We were no closer to an answer as we concluded the nearly two-hour drive north. I didn’t envy Truman the task before him to unravel this complicated knot.
I pulled to a stop in front of the large house in Sewickley, a suburb of Pittsburgh where Olivia had grown up. The tasteful and rambling home was made of aged, gray stone, complete with a turret and a little moat out front. I could see echoes of this house in the cabin that had gone up in flames.
“This place has Goldie written all over it.” Rachel wrinkled her nose as we advanced up the wide slate steps. I made a motion to zip it, and we rang the bell.
“Come in, come in.” Goldie opened the wide front door. Her mind seemed to be elsewhere, as evidenced by the spacey look in her eyes. “I’m sorry, I’m tryin
g to process what’s happened down in Port Quincy.”
Alan appeared at her side and offered her a heavy tumbler of cut glass. It was filled nearly to the brim with a smooth, amber liquid. “Here, honey. Drink this.” The nutty fragrance of cream sherry emanated from the drink. Goldie raised it to her lips and downed the drink in one fell swoop. Rachel and I exchanged glances.
Whoa, slow down.
“I know she’s having a horrible December, but this isn’t a kegger.” Rachel arched one brow as we allowed Alan and Goldie to lead us down a long hallway at a safe distance out of earshot.
Alan watched with concern as his wife shoved the goblet back to his chest.
“Let’s get this over with.” Goldie’s usual politeness and propriety were all gone, apparently. I gulped and followed Goldie into a sunken living room. A full grand piano stood before a bank of glass windows overlooking a wide yard. An eclectic mix of modern and antique bird feeders provided shelter and food for a menagerie of cardinals, blue jays, and fat squirrels. March Homes was in the business of building domiciles celebrating new money. These included the big split-levels they’d constructed in the late seventies, to the colonials they’d erected in the eighties, and the McMansions they’d made in the nineties and aughts. But for their own home, they celebrated their old money.
Alan offered us drinks, and Rachel and I requested simple glasses of water.
“This December just keeps getting worse and worse.” Goldie sank into a plum-colored couch in front of a book of old Polaroid pictures. “And I think I know why.”
I was all ears. I’m sure Truman would want to be, too.
“I enjoyed working with Lacey. She was like a second daughter to me. I’ll admit, I would get testy that Olivia seemed to spend so much time at the firm. But I ended up monopolizing Lacey’s hours in a similar fashion. I enjoyed being her mentor and spending the day with her bouncing ideas around. But I should have fired her as soon as I found out she was harassing Toby.”
I wondered if this was an opening to weigh in. “It must have been a tough decision.”
“I knew how sick Lacey was.” Goldie took in my surprised face. “I was the only one she’d told at the company. I think other than me and her medical team, only her mother knew. Then she eventually told Toby. She needed a kidney, and she needed it fast.” Olivia’s mother appeared to have aged ten years in the last week. “I felt bad for Lacey, what with her sister having disappeared all those years ago, and then her health problems. I know it’s a hard surgery, too.”
Rachel blinked. “You know?”
“I had my own kidney replaced.”
“Excuse me?” I thought I’d misheard her.
“Ten years ago my kidneys finally gave out. I’ve had renal issues my whole life.” Her face grew wistful. “It prevented me from having a biological child, as a matter of fact. My doctors said a pregnancy would kill me.”
“I’m so sorry.” I felt for the woman who had had to make an odd choice of allegiance between her own daughter and the woman who was as close to her as her own daughter.
Goldie’s eyes grew thoughtful. “Christmas time usually brings blessings to my family. We’ve had two downright miracles occur. First we found Olivia outside the church. Then a kidney became available years later on Christmas Day, just when I didn’t think I’d be able to see my little girl graduate. I had the transplant the day after Christmas. It was a new lease on life.”
“And now Olivia and Toby will have their own new start in life.” I gazed at the large framed picture of Olivia and her fiancé that took up a large part of the stone mantel.
“Yes. I’m sorry I’m mired in all that’s going on this month. Let’s get to it.”
Goldie, Rachel, and I poured over pictures of Olivia as a baby. The photographs gave way to her as a chubby toddler and finally a lovely, young woman. We selected twenty photos to make a slideshow to play in the great hall at Thistle Park after the wedding. I dimly wondered if the busy judge would follow through with my request to produce similar pictures of Toby growing up. I thought I’d have a fighting chance of receiving the photographs now that I’d reunited her with Hemingway.
“Don’t forget these.” Alan entered the room with one final album. “There are some real keepers in here.” He gave his wife’s shoulder a warm squeeze, and she sent him a grateful look.
We flipped through the book in record time, selecting two more adorable photos of a young Olivia. Goldie shut the album with a satisfied smile. My eyes trailed a photograph that fluttered out from between the last page and the binder, fluttering to the floor.
I picked it up and glanced at the composition before I handed it over.
Justine.
The picture had definitely been taken decades ago. The five people in the photograph wore eighties outfits—the women with big bows on their blouses under their chins, shoulder pads, and hair teased to dizzying heights. I pushed aside the quick thought that my naturally curly, sandy hair would have been more at home back then when women paid to transform their straight hair into kinks and corkscrews. The photograph appeared to be in an office setting. And in the back stood a young Alan March, laughing and conversing with a gorgeous, incandescent Justine Bowman.
They could have been coworkers sharing a joke. But the look of love or lust that transpired between the two was evident to see. Rachel was tired of waiting to see what was taking me so long, and bounced up to my side to take a look.
“Jeez Louise.” Rachel clapped a hand to her mouth, a second too late.
“Mallory, hand me the picture.” Alan appeared by my side, a true look of alarm on his slender face.
“What’s going on? Mallory, give that to me.” Goldie appeared on my other side, leaning over my arm to take a peek.
I gulped, frozen, and held the picture flat against my front.
My sister had about nine inches on me, and plucked the photo from me. “Um, I’m not sure either of you need to see this.”
It was an awkward and farcical standoff. Goldie finally ended things. “Give me that photograph, Rachel Shepard, or the wedding is off.”
Gulp.
Rachel laid the dog-eared picture in Goldie’s outstretched palm. I felt Alan take in a pendant breath beside me.
Goldie studied the picture with intent eyes. She flicked them up after a moment, the depths of her gaze laced with sadness, disgust, and knowledge.
“I thought there was something odd about Justine Bowman. A certain familiarity or some kind of hidden agenda.”
Alan squirmed like a pinned bug. Then he decided to try a different tactic. “Yes, I knew Justine once. She worked in your parents’ South Hills office, the one in Mt. Lebanon. She was one of the decorators your parents used on a contract basis.” He decided to toss his wife a haughty look. “And what of it?”
“I’m exhausted. I think I’m going to take a nap.” Goldie’s hard voice could cut glass. All at once her hardened face softened a mere degree. “Thank you, Mallory and Rachel. The slideshow will be lovely.” And with that she left the room. An awkward silence reigned.
Rachel and I mumbled our goodbyes to Alan and got the heck out of there.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
“They were totally an item.” I wrinkled my nose as we left the North Shore and crossed to downtown Pittsburgh on the Fort Duquesne Bridge. The electricity between Alan and Justine in the old photograph had been almost palpable, transcending time and space.
“I’d be ticked, too, if I was Goldie. If Alan really had nothing to hide, he would have mentioned to his wife that he’d worked with Justine before. Even if it was dozens of years ago.” Rachel shook her head in disgust.
“This changes things. Goldie seemed to have just realized Alan had a prior relationship with Justine. But maybe she found out earlier—”
“—And gave him that antifreeze-spiked martini,” Rachel finished.
“Or,” I wondered, “maybe Justine wanted to start things back up with Alan and he refused. So she tried to poison
him.”
We tossed our various theories around as I wended my way down below the earth in a subterranean parking garage. We were headed to the Clark Building to pick up Toby and Olivia’s rings. The edifice contained some of the nicest jewelry stores in town, all located in an informal kind of jewelry district housed under one roof.
“I miss it here, but I love Port Quincy, too.” Rachel gazed at the skyscrapers as we emerged from the garage. I took in the hustle and bustle of people crowding the sidewalk at lunchtime. And lasered in on one couple in particular.
“Uh oh.”
Rachel followed my gaze and made a face. “Ugh, fancy running into Keith and Becca here.”
My ex-fiancé and his new bride spotted us as well. Becca sauntered over with a smile, her arm possessively twined through Keith’s.
“What brings you two here?” Becca swung a bag over her wrist from the priciest jewelry store in the Clark Building; owning a bauble from this store almost rendered the bag a piece of jewelry in and of itself.
“We’re here to pick up rings for a client,” I stated, offering nothing more.
“Olivia March.” Keith smirked and gave me a quick once-over. “How are things with Garrett?”
I felt my eyes narrow. What was Keith getting at?
“Just fine, thank you.”
“I hear he may be leaving Port Quincy,” Becca offered. “Good news travels fast, doesn’t it?”
I didn’t bother to conceal my disgust this time. “He’s considering a wonderful offer to direct a law clinic at Pitt, so yes, he might be relocating.” I heard the acid in my voice.
“The judge always finds a way to funnel all the best outcomes to Garrett,” Keith mused with a sinister smile. “Just look at each and every case he’s had before her. It’s not even worth putting in an appearance in court if the judge is Judge Ursula Frank, and Garrett is the opposition.” He saw my shocked expression and went in for the kill. “Everyone knows that. Everyone but you, apparently.”
I stood speechless on the sidewalk. Keith had basically just accused my boyfriend and his mentor of an improper bias, at best, and fixing cases, at worst.
Marry Christmas Murder Page 21