by L. T. Vargus
When she returned to the kitchen, Nancy, still engrossed in the puzzle, said, “Told you.”
Charlie gathered her bag from where she’d hung it over the back of the dining chair.
“I’ll be back tomorrow to check in and bring some groceries, OK?”
“Where are you off to in such a hurry?”
There it was. The clinginess Charlie had come to expect from these interactions with her mother.
“I have to work,” Charlie said, bracing herself for what would come next.
Her mother would come up with some last-minute task that needed to be done. Drag it out for as long as she could. Then she’d try to cajole Charlie into staying to watch Jeopardy!. Then to sleep over.
Instead, Nancy only said, “Guess I’ll see you tomorrow then.”
Charlie closed the front door behind herself, the feeling of anxiety she’d had earlier now replaced by frustration. Had she been unfair to assume her mother couldn’t take care of herself? Maybe she really had turned a corner this time. People could change, couldn’t they?
“People… change?” Allie asked, her sudden appearance jarring Charlie from her thoughts. “Come on, Charles. You know the answer to that.”
EIGHTEEN
The storm came on in earnest as Charlie drove back to the office, the sky growing so dark she had to turn on her headlights. A fork of blue-white lightning split the clouds on the western horizon. The crack of thunder came a few moments later, loud enough that Charlie jumped in her seat while she waited for a traffic light to turn green.
It started to rain then, just a light sprinkle at first. But by the time she pulled into the office lot, the droplets had transitioned into fat blobs of water that splatted onto her windshield, forceful and insistent.
She parked as close to the back door as possible and made a mad dash from her car. She was almost to the door when her right foot found a pothole and plunged into the freezing-cold water within, soaking her shoe all the way to the ankle.
“Son of a bitch,” Charlie complained.
The wet shoe squelched as she hurried on to the back door and flung herself inside.
She kicked off her shoes as she proceeded to the front room, where she stumbled on a curious scene. Uncle Frank was bent over next to Paige, offering her a tissue. Charlie wasn’t sure, but it almost looked like Paige had been crying again. Before she could ask what was wrong, Frank swung around and saw her standing there in her stocking feet.
“What happened to you?” he asked.
“Mud puddle. Stepped in it.”
Frank let out a guffaw.
“You know, you always complain that I still call you a turkey, but not a week goes by that you don’t pull an absolute, bona fide turkey move like stepping in a mud puddle.”
A stray raindrop ran down her scalp and over her forehead, tickling her skin. Charlie wiped it away.
“I didn’t expect to see you in the office today.”
Frank stood to his full height and hitched up his pants.
“Oh, I had to pop into town to get some food for Marlowe. He decided just this morning that he no longer cares for the Sea Captain’s Choice, which used to be his favorite, by the way. So I picked up a tasty array of alternate flavors. Hopefully one of them will please his discerning palate.”
“I would have grabbed some for you,” Charlie said, dropping her bag on her desk.
Frank waved her away.
“Nah. Dr. Silva said it was OK for me to start taking short jaunts about town. I need to build my stamina back up now that I’m in remission.”
Charlie was flipping through a stack of mail Paige had left on her desk, dividing it into piles of legitimate mail and junk. She froze mid-sort, an offer for a low-interest credit card still clasped in her fingers. Slowly, she turned around to face her uncle.
“Did you say remission?”
Grinning, Frank nodded.
“I did indeed.”
This was so unexpected, Charlie almost couldn’t believe it. On top of chronic lymphocytic leukemia, Frank had only recently recovered from a bout of meningitis. Charlie hadn’t lost hope, but she hadn’t allowed herself to be blinded by optimism either.
“This better not be one of your jokes,” Charlie said. She didn’t think Frank would lie about this, but he had a strange sense of humor. He loved nothing more than to tell her little fibs just to test how gullible she was.
“It’s not. Ask her.” He aimed a thumb at Paige.
The girl nodded.
“It’s true. He told me when he first came in.”
Charlie’s gaze went from Paige back to her uncle. It was real then. Frank was in remission. Charlie was flooded with a sudden burst of relief. She threw herself at Frank, wrapping him in a hug so fierce she knocked him back a step.
“I knew you’d do it.” Her voice hitched. “I knew you’d kick cancer’s ass.”
He patted her back, chuckling.
“Never underestimate the ass-kicking power of your uncle Frank.”
Charlie stepped back, wiping the tears from her eyes.
“We should celebrate,” she said. “Something big to commemorate the occasion.”
Frank squinted thoughtfully.
“You think they still make those big novelty cakes with a half-nekkid Marilyn Monroe look-alike that jumps out of the top of it?”
Charlie snorted.
“I’ll have to look into it.”
“In the meantime, it sounds like you’ve got yourself a doozy of a case.”
Nodding, Charlie let herself fall into the lap of the old wooden chair, which groaned. She glanced at her new chair, still in semi-complete state. Would she ever be rid of this ancient, uncomfortable relic?
“Paige told you?”
“She did. The Carmichaels, huh?” Frank whistled. “Pretty big fish. Dutch Carmichael is Salem Island royalty.”
“You ever hear any good dirt about him?”
“Nothing too salacious, if that’s what you mean. But that doesn’t mean that dirt doesn’t exist,” Frank said. “And I’ll tell you something else: if I had a dollar for every time I’ve seen family dynamics go down the toilet over an inheritance, I’d be richer than Dutch Carmichael himself. This whole thing is bound to uncover a whole lot of ugly family secrets. Every family has them. Some are uglier than others, of course. And in my experience, the richer folk are, the deeper the closets they need.”
“Deeper closets?” Paige asked.
Frank waggled his eyebrows.
“Sure. To hide all the skellingtons.”
The chair squealed as Charlie leaned back in it. She’d already uncovered one family secret, and Frank’s words had her wondering what else the Carmichael family might be hiding.
“Anyhow, Marlowe gets ornery if he’s not fed on time, so I should be heading back. But before I go, can I have a word with you?” Frank pointed toward the back office.
“Sure.” Charlie got to her feet and followed Frank into the back room.
“Close the door, will you?”
Charlie shut the door behind her, wondering at Frank’s sudden need for privacy.
“What is it?”
“Has Paige ever talked about her family situation with you?”
“No,” Charlie said. “Why?”
“Well, she was very upset when I came in. I guess she has a rather… turbulent relationship with her father. Hasn’t spoken to him in years.”
“OK.”
“It seems that every few months, he tries to get in contact with her. Stirs up the aunts and uncles and grandparents and has them descend on the girl like a pack of flying monkeys, all wanting to know why she won’t talk to her poor old man. Laying on the guilt real thick. Pecking away at her in hopes that she’ll cave.”
“Ugh,” Charlie said, wrinkling her nose.
“Yeah,” Frank agreed. “So they just started up with the pecking again in the last week or so, and then dear old Dad himself called her up today. Just a few minutes before I came in.�
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“Has she blocked his number?”
“Yes, but he called the office phone.”
Charlie stared at him.
“This office?”
Frank nodded.
“That takes some big brass balls,” Charlie said.
“That’s what I thought. Anyway, I figured you should know what’s going on, in case he calls up again.”
“I almost hope he does so I can set his ass straight.”
Frank chuckled and squeezed her shoulder.
“For his sake, then, he better hope he doesn’t. Hell hath no fury like a pissed-off turkey.” Frank kissed her cheek. “I’ll get out of your hair. Sounds like you’ve got your hands full with this Dutch Carmichael thing. But you should let Paige know where you stand on things. She was pretty shaken when I came in, and I think it’d do her good to know you’ve got her back.”
“I’ll do that,” Charlie said.
As she watched her uncle slip into his jacket and head out the door, Charlie felt herself tearing up again. Frank’s cancer had been a dark cloud hanging over them for months now, and she almost couldn’t believe it was over, just like that.
“That’s because your life is kind of a shitshow,” Allie said. “No offense. But you’re used to things not working out for the best.”
“I’ll take the good wherever I can get it,” Charlie said.
Charlie went out into the front room and told Paige what Frank had relayed about her father calling the office.
“Oh, geez. I’m so sorry about that, Miss Winters. I honestly don’t know how he got the number.”
“Paige, you don’t need to apologize.”
“But it’s just so unprofessional for my family drama to be spilling over into the workplace. Not to mention embarrassing.”
“I think that’s probably exactly why he called here. It’s just another tool to wear you down,” Charlie said. “The good news is that now that we know his angle, we can disrupt it. So the next time he calls this number, hand me the phone. I’ll make sure he understands that we’re not playing his games around here. OK?”
Paige nodded and forced a weak smile onto her face.
“Thank you, Charlie.”
“Don’t mention it.”
NINETEEN
Charlie hopped up on her desk and peeled off her wet sock, draping it over the edge of her wastebasket in hopes it would dry faster that way.
“Did we get any other calls while I was out?”
It felt weird only wearing one sock, so she pulled off the dry one, too.
“Oh, yes. I almost forgot.” Paige retrieved a pad of Post-it notes the color of bubblegum. “The first was a lady named Laura Engler. She wants to hire you to prove that her husband is a, quote, ‘lyin’, cheatin’ sack of S.’ Except that she said the actual swear, and I just don’t feel right saying it, not knowing the man myself.”
She passed Charlie the note with Laura Engler’s phone number.
“And the second call was from Gloria Carmichael. She said she couldn’t reach you on your cell.”
“Shit,” Charlie said, digging her phone out. She’d forgotten to turn it back on after leaving her mother’s house. “Did she leave a message?”
“Just that it was urgent and to call her back as soon as possible.”
Charlie dialed Gloria’s number. It rang once, and then Gloria answered.
“Ms. Winters, thank God.”
Gloria sounded out of breath, and for a moment, Charlie was concerned that something bad had happened.
“What is it?”
“I think I found something,” Gloria said, her breathlessness taking on an almost giddy tone. “I’ve just been going crazy not being able to talk to someone about it.”
The enthusiastic note in Gloria’s voice eased Charlie’s anxiety some. She wasn’t in trouble, just excited.
“What did you find?”
Instead of answering, Gloria asked, “Are you at your office?”
“Yes.”
“Good,” Gloria said. “I’ll tell you when I get there. I’m on my way now.”
“You can’t just tell me what it is?” Charlie asked.
“I’d rather not say it over the phone, to be honest. It’s all a bit too sordid for my liking.” Gloria made a throaty noise that was sort of a laugh with no trace of humor in it. “Actually, this goes well beyond sordid. If it’s true, it’s quite disgusting, really.”
Charlie fiddled with a pen, clicking the retractable tip in and out.
“Well, I must admit you’ve piqued my curiosity,” she said, glancing out the front window at the artificial twilight brought on by the storm.
“Yes, well, I’ll see you in a few minutes.”
“Everything OK?” Paige asked after Charlie disconnected the call and tossed her phone onto her desk.
“I think so. She’s heading here now,” Charlie answered.
Paige sprang up from her seat.
“I think I’ll make a fresh pot of coffee so you can offer Ms. Carmichael a cup when she arrives.”
“Great idea, Paige,” Charlie said, thinking she’d never have thought to do that herself. “You’ve only been here a few weeks, and I already don’t know what I’d do without you.”
Paige blinked, looking stricken.
“Are you being sarcastic?”
“No.” Charlie frowned and shook her head. “Why would you think that?”
Eyes stretching even wider, Paige’s cheeks flushed red.
“Oh geez. I’m so sorry. I have a real hard time detecting sarcasm, and then… well, thank you. For saying those nice things.” She scurried off toward the back room. “I’ll just get to making that coffee now.”
“So… she’s weird,” Allie said.
“Yeah,” Charlie agreed. “Then again, I’m the one having a never-ending conversation with my dead sister, so maybe I’m not the best judge.”
Charlie swiveled back and forth in her chair, wondering what “sordid” information Gloria might have discovered.
“Sordid and disgusting,” Allie whispered with glee. “Don’t forget that. It’s the best part.”
The telltale sounds of coffee preparation filtered out from the back room as Charlie hopped up and began pacing around the office in her bare feet. Hinges squeaking as the cupboard door was opened, and then the soft thud as it closed again. Mugs thunking onto the countertop. The hushed scrape of coffee grounds being scooped from a can. Water sloshing into a carafe. The noises offered a pleasant background track to her contemplation.
For several minutes, the swirling pattern of her thoughts matched the circular path she took around the office. She only broke stride when she got a whiff of coffee from the back room. Paige may be a little strange, but she made great coffee, and Charlie couldn’t wait to down a cup of it.
She turned and took one step toward the back of the office but stopped when she spotted Gloria’s Bentley pull to the curb across the street. The headlights winked out a moment later. It was still pouring outside, and as Gloria stepped from her vehicle, Charlie saw that she didn’t have an umbrella.
She scurried over to the front door and pushed it open. It was a small thing. It would only save Gloria four or five seconds at most, but every moment sheltered from this downpour would be a blessing.
Gloria slammed her car door shut and jogged across the road. When she saw Charlie waiting just inside the door, she lifted a hand in greeting and started to speak, but the words never made it to her lips.
Her head swiveled away, facing something up the street that Charlie couldn’t see.
Charlie sensed something was very wrong when Gloria’s feet slowed and brought her to a dead stop on the double yellow line. Her eyes went wide.
A millisecond later, Charlie heard it. The fierce roar of a car’s engine. Too loud. Too close.
The car lurched into Charlie’s field of vision. A sheening blur of red streaking from left to right. Tires sizzling over the wet asphalt.
It veered towa
rd Gloria. Engine screaming out a higher note.
Not slowing. Speeding up.
Gloria’s body jerked to life again. She tried to dive out of the way.
Too late.
The car tracked her movement. Bashed into her. Through her. The metal slapped and thudded against the softness of her form.
She flew. Limp arms and legs splaying. Shivering with the whims of the wind surrounding her.
The car’s brake lights flickered. One flash of red. And then it sped out of view. Engine noise trailing away.
Gloria’s body toppled to the road. Scraped over the asphalt. Skidded and tumbled onto the sidewalk beyond.
And then she lay still.
TWENTY
Charlie sprinted out into the rain, the water plastering her hair to her face.
Flecks of loose gravel jabbed into her bare feet as she raced down the sidewalk. Chipped bits of rock. Jagged stone edges gnawing at her like teeth.
Down the curb. Into the street. The surface of the asphalt was wet and cold from the rain, but she could still feel the residual heat baked in by the direct sunlight over the course of the day. It felt strange. Warm and cold and wet and gritty all at once.
None of these sensations quite touched Charlie’s conscious mind. They were flitting things, experienced and forgotten all at once.
In this moment, she saw only Gloria.
Charlie felt like she was running in slow motion. Feet pounding over the street. Inching along.
She focused on the sprawled figure in the distance. Sharp and vivid.
Gloria lay face up. Crooked. Draped over the curb on the far side of the street.
There was something awkward in the pose of her limbs. Something wrong with the angle of her neck. Something disturbing about the absolute stillness of her.
Even from afar, some of the wounds were visible. Red creases standing out from the milky flesh. Slashes marring her forehead and cheek. Scrapes exposing patches of flesh on her arms and legs.
She’d landed directly under the marquee of the old Fox Village Theater. The sidewalk below was relatively dry, protected by the wide awning overhead.
Charlie drew closer, and the camera in her mind zoomed in on the blood spreading over the cement. A scarlet pool oozing outward from a gash near Gloria’s temple.