Pineapple Pack III

by Amy Vansant

  She’d told her mother, who told her to start looking through his stuff to find something on him.

  Well, her mother’s first suggestion had been to show him her tits, but she thought she’d try finding something to blackmail him with first.

  She had her doubts. He seemed too out of it to understand any new threats. But she’d started rooting through his drawers searching for anything useful or valuable. If she couldn’t talk him into leaving her the property, she needed to get something out of him. She needed a leg up in life and she deserved it. He’d never paid her any attention. He always favored the twins.

  It was time to pay.

  She found the key to success in the back of his sock drawer. A piece of white paper, half in and half out of the back of the drawer, crumpled from being opened and closed for who knows how many years.

  A paternity test.

  Uncle Miller wasn’t the twins’ uncle.

  He was their father.

  She’d stood there with the ragged paper in her hand, gaping at the snoring old bastard. Furious at him. Furious at the twins.

  Those spoiled little…

  What a piece of trash he was. Not only was he the world’s worst father figure—a self-centered ass to the end—he’d had an affair with his brother’s wife.

  She’d always wondered why he’d let those stupid twins into his home. Now it made sense. Of course he’d take in his own daughters.

  But why had he taken her? The daughter of the woman who’d killed his brother and sister-in-law? Lyndsey had always assumed it was because Mina had demanded it. Maybe it was. But maybe he was grateful. Maybe not having to worry about his brother discovering the affair had been a relief to him.

  Maybe I’m his daughter too?

  She tore apart his drawers that day, pulling them out like weeds, searching behind them for more tests, but she found none. Later, she asked her mother if there was any chance Kimber was her real father too, only to hear, again, the story of how the old man had broken her mother’s heart by ending their affair. This time the story had a twist. He’d dumped her because the twin’s mother told him to.

  Lyndsey asked again if she might be the old man’s kid, but she hadn’t taken up with Kimber until Lyndsey was seven. It would be difficult for her to be his baby. Then Lyndsey got to hear, again, that she was the product of a booze-soaked bar fling. The child of a one-night stand.

  The night her mother went to jail, she’d been at yet another bar, where she’d gotten it into her head she wanted to confront Kimber. On the road to the farm, she spotted them leaving Kimber’s. She recognized that bitch’s car, coming from some holiday party her mother wasn’t good enough for any more.

  That’s when she jerked the wheel into their lane with only one thought in her whiskey-sodden brain.

  To end that bitch.

  And so she did. She hadn’t planned to survive the accident, and ended up doing twenty years in prison instead of ending her misery.

  It wasn’t fair Kimber had treated her mother like trash.

  He’d driven her to do it.

  He’d ruined her mother’s life.

  I am here to set things right.

  I am an avenging goddess.

  Lyndsey knew her new problem was blood. It was one thing to talk the old man out of giving his house to Mina. It was another to keep him from handing it down to his kids. His real kids.

  That’s when it hit her.

  Uncle Kimber is nuts.

  Not only was he losing his mind, but her mother had had an affair with him. He’d seduced her at work. She’d gotten drunk at an office party and they had sex in the copy room. That’s how it started. She’d heard that story a million times, too.

  Uncle Kimber wasn’t great at times and places any more.

  Lyndsey had started a new plan.

  She’d doctored the paternity results so they pronounced her his biological daughter. She’d showed the modified document to him and asked if he remembered when he’d found out that she was his daughter.

  He did.

  Thank god I never showed him my tits.

  After that she helped him call his lawyer to request a will edit. He’d done that part very well. He’d sounded very business-like explaining the mistake and that he’d been confused about the identity of his daughter. All she had to do was give him a storyline about business and set him loose—he was terrifying. The lawyer did as he was told.

  “Mina!”

  Lyndsey put down the mayo-covered knife.

  I shouldn’t go up there. Just ignore him—

  “Where’s my will?”

  The blood drained from Lyndsey’s face so quickly her cheeks prickled.

  She looked towards the stairs.

  What does he want?

  That was the problem with his brain. Every once in a while he’d have those moments of clarity. She lived in fear he’d have another moment like that, one that didn’t work in her favor.

  One where he realized what she’d done.

  Maybe this is it.

  Lyndsey went up the stairs and peeked into Uncle Kimber’s room. He was standing in front of his closet. A collection of papers covered in light blue paper dangled in his hand.

  “You,” he growled upon spotting her.

  “What is it? You should get back in bed,” said Lyndsey, entering.

  “You’re not my daughter.”

  “Yes I am. Of course I am. I’ve been here forever.”

  “You’re that whore’s daughter!”

  Lyndsey gasped. “What?”

  Kimber raved. “I remembered. I remembered, you little bitch. This is all wrong. I never should have let Mina bring you into this house!”

  He took a step forward and shook the will in her face, spit from his sputtering lips striking her on the cheek.

  “Mina!” he screamed, trying to push past her toward the door.

  Lyndsey wasn’t sure what came over her. It might have been the way he’d spoken about her mother or the insults he’d thrown at her. It could have been fear that her plan was about to unravel. Mostly, she thought it was the paper. The way he rattled the pages so close to her face.

  I am an avenging goddess.

  She swung at him, clocking him on the side of his head with a closed fist.

  He crumpled to the right. The will flew from his hands and landed on the bed. His head struck the side of his night table and bounced, the sound hollow.

  Lyndsey stood there, breathing, her fist still balled at her side.

  Uncle Kimber didn’t move.

  “Uncle Kimber?”

  She knelt down and shook him. She rolled him on his side and his mouth hung open.

  Not breathing.

  She put her head on his chest to listen for a heartbeat.

  “Kimber?”

  It’s Mina! She was calling from downstairs.

  She’s home. She must have heard something.

  Terrible luck. She never came home from mahjong this early.

  Lyndsey jumped to her feet and grabbed the will from the bed. She smoothed the ruffled pages and refolded it before slipping it back into the lockbox at the top of the closet. The key was sticking out of the top of it. She locked it and panicked.

  Where does he keep the key?

  She didn’t know where to hide it. She tossed it in his bedside drawer and hoped Mina wouldn’t notice it out of place. She’d probably blow it off as him losing track of things.

  She sprinted into the hall.

  That’s when she heard Mina’s thumping footsteps on the stairs.

  She’s coming.

  Lyndsey opened the nearest door and slipped inside.

  Puppies swarmed around her ankles, yapping.

  No!

  This is where they keep the puppies? In the spare bathroom?

  She tried to crawl into the closet and shut the door to keep the puppies out, hoping they’d settle down, but as she cowered inside, they threw themselves against the door like a zombie hoard, trying
to reach her.

  Shut up!

  That’s when Mina found her. The puppies gave away her location as easily as if she’d worn a blaring siren around her neck.

  When Mina agreed to help cover her presence, she thought she’d won the lottery. It was stupid to take the puppies—Mina’s stupid idea. She didn’t fight her because all that mattered was that she got out of there and let Mina clean up the mess and hide any trace of her. Plus, her mother had been bothering her for a dog and she figured she’d kill two birds with one stone.

  Everything was turning out well until she put the puppies in the Jeep. She was about to hop in the front and drive away when she heard Mina calling.

  “He’s alive!”

  No.

  No, no, no, no.

  Lyndsey shut the Jeep’s front door quietly and stood staring at the ground.

  He can’t live. He can’t tell Mina what happened.

  She ran around the house to the back door and slipped inside. She heard Mina and the twins talking in the kitchen.

  She tiptoed as fast as she could to the servant stairs and crawled upwards to the hall across from Kimber’s room.

  Why didn’t I pick this door instead of the puppies door? She’d forgotten which door was which. She could have gotten away clean. If I’d just grabbed this knob instead I wouldn’t be in this mess.

  She bolted into Kimber’s room to find him still on the ground.

  “Mina?” he croaked without looking. He seemed unable to move except for a slight rocking of his torso that made him look like a weary turtle after a week of trying to flip back to its feet.

  Lyndsey looked down at the carpet, her mind racing with panic.

  The iron rabbit doorstop stared back at her. The ears looked very much like a handle.

  She stooped and grabbed it. In two strides she reached the old man.

  I am an avenging goddess.

  Lifting the rabbit above her head she swung down and struck his skull with all the force a lifetime of hate could build. She swung again before she realized his skull didn’t offer the same resistance it had the first time.

  Too much. Stop.

  She panted, taking a moment to catch her breath.

  Mina will be back.

  She scurried toward the servant stairs. A drop of blood dripped to the hall floor as she paused to open the door. She looked down at the rabbit in her hand. Its butt was smeared in blood and other bits she didn’t want to think about.

  If I carry this to the car there will be a trail leading right to the Jeep.

  She set the rabbit on the top stair, wiped away the blood drip and rubbed the ears with her shirt to remove her prints.

  I’ll come back for you.

  No one ever used the help stairs. It would be safe there.

  She ran down the steps as fast as she could navigate them and slipped out the door. She had just closed it when Gemma came around the corner.

  Gemma stopped.

  “Hey,” said Lyndsey, trying to look as casual as possible.

  Can she see my heart beating through my shirt?

  “Hey. Did you hear about Uncle Kimber?”

  “Hm? Sorry, I’m in a hurry.”

  Lyndsey walked as fast as she could without running through the back door and then bolted to the Jeep. She drove away as quietly as she could down the long drive, opening her speed the moment she hit the road.

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Mariska was watching a Hallmark movie when she heard a knock on her door. She glanced across the room at her stove clock.

  Nine twenty-two.

  It was late for someone to knock on her door.

  Worried someone was in trouble, she rocked herself out of her husband’s deep La-Z-Boy and made her way to the door. Flicking on the outside light, she peered through the window to find a young woman standing on her doorstep.

  “Crystal,” she said aloud, recognizing the girl. A thread of fear stitched through her.

  The girl who’d killed her own grandmother.

  Did she enjoy murder so much now she wanted to kill all the old ladies in the neighborhood?

  Crystal spotted her in the window and waved.

  Dang it. Too late to hide.

  “Hi, Mariska. Can I talk to you for a second?”

  Mariska pursed her lips.

  That’s just the sort of thing a serial killer would say if she knocked on your door in the middle of the night.

  Against her better judgement, Mariska moved to the door and opened it. She left the storm door closed and tried to casually lock it as she spoke.

  “Crystal, it’s late. What are you doing here?”

  “Um...”

  She raised her hand and Mariska jumped back before realizing all she held was a crumpled piece of paper. The girl’s hands were shaking. She didn’t seem like a monster. Though physically she was a big girl, she seemed small and vulnerable.

  “I have to show you this,” said Crystal.

  Mariska considered asking her to press it to the glass, but felt silly being so afraid of a young woman who, without her scary eyeliner, looked like an orphaned rabbit. Mariska glanced behind her, hoping to find her dog ready to attack should anything odd happen, but the chubby mutt was nowhere to be seen. She realized she could hear Izzy in the bedroom with her daddy, snoring.

  Useless spud.

  Bracing herself, she opened the storm door and stepped onto the small stoop. The neighbors were more likely to hear her scream than her husband was. Bob slept like the dead.

  Crystal presented the paper for her to take.

  “What is it?” asked Mariska.

  “You’ll see. You can keep it for a bit.” Crystal retreated down the two stairs leading to the driveway and pointed at a plastic shopping bag left sitting on the stoop at Mariska’s feet. She’d been blocking Mariska’s view of it. “I thought you should have those, too.”

  Mariska stared at the bag. Is it a bomb?

  Crystal walked down the driveway to the street.

  “Wait, do you want any of this back?” called Mariska.

  Crystal nodded without turning around. “I’ll come get the paper tomorrow. You can keep the yeast.”

  The yeast?

  Mariska watched the girl continue down the street toward her house until she disappeared from view. Leaning down and wincing with trepidation, Mariska flicked open the top of the plastic bag. Inside, were the three jars of yeast starter Alice had asked her to choose from before making the stollen. She recognized the yellow glass lids.

  Why would she give these to me?

  Mariska collected the bag, went inside and locked the door.

  That girl is strange. She’s probably hopped-up on the goofballs.

  Clucking her tongue, she sat down at her kitchen table and pulled her reading glasses down from her head. She opened the paper and flattened it on the table before beginning to read.

  By the fourth line, she felt her eyes begin to tear. Her hand raised to her mouth.

  She finished and scanned back to the top to read twice more before staring at the wall, allowing the message to absorb. Her phone chimed a text alert.

  Fumbling in the pocket of her house dress, she located her ancient flip phone.

  The message was from Charlotte: U up?

  Mariska called her.

  Charlotte skipped ‘hello.’ “I know it’s late but I think I have some idea what happed to Alice.”

  Mariska took a deep breath. “I’m glad you texted.”

  “Why? Are you okay? You sound funny.”

  “I’m fine, but I have something here you need to see.”

  “Now? You’re scaring me.”

  “It’s nothing bad. It’s about Alice. Crystal just stopped by.”

  “She did? What did she say?”

  “Just come over.”

  Charlotte knocked on the door a moment later.

  Chapter Thirty

  “I was halfway across the street by the time you hung up,” said Charlotte, ente
ring. “You scared me.”

  Mariska led her to her kitchen table and pointed at a pink piece of paper lying there. Covered with creases, it appeared to have been crumpled into a ball and then flattened.

  “Crystal left that with me,” said Mariska.

  Charlotte realized the color of the paper looked familiar. “That’s the paper I saw in Crystal’s hand the night we were in her house. I think that’s what she was reading when she cried herself to sleep.”

  Mariska nodded. “I’m sure it is. Read it.”

  Charlotte sat down and read the letter. Written in a tight, wobbly cursive, the message covered both sides of the paper.

  Dear Crystal,

  My beautiful girl. I know we haven’t always gotten along. I want you to know I don’t hold that against you. What happened to you and your family wasn’t your fault. I want you to know all I ever wanted to do is take care of you. I love you more than anything in the world.

  I left this letter where only you would find it. I thought the box you thought I didn’t know about would be the perfect place.

  Now that I’m gone, there are things you need to know.

  First, don’t show this letter to anyone except one person—my bread elf. I don’t know who it was, because I put this note in your box every year. I take it back the next morning after I eat a piece of stollen. You will know who the elf was. I always make sure to tell you even though I know you don’t care. It’s important though, because I only ever pick people I know will protect you.

  Each year I let the bread elf pick from three starter yeasts. One of them is full of almond flour. I don’t watch which they pick. If I eat their stollen the next morning and my nut allergy doesn’t kill me, I know they didn’t pick that one.

  I can’t take the pain of my illness anymore, so I give myself this one chance each year. This is why I never let you help me with the stollen. It has to look like an accident. My insurance won’t pay if they think it was suicide and I want you to have that money.

  Tell the bread elf it isn’t her fault. You have to make them understand that this was my choice. They’ve done me a favor.