I sat in one of the leather chairs and waited for him to do the same. He moved slowly, his blue suit hung from his thin frame like a towel draped over a shower rod.
Mr. Plough settled in a chair behind the desk.
"You'll have to excuse my wife, Stacy. She's a little over-protective of my time, but she means well."
No she doesn't, but hey, whatever floats your boat.
"Now, how is Oscar?"
I sighed, "Not so good, I'm afraid. He's had a little relapse."
"Oh, I'm terribly sorry to hear that," Mr. Plough said. He frowned. His brown eyes drooped a bit at the creases.
I smiled at that. It was nice to know that his lawyer cared about Gramps that much. Now I was sure he would help.
"Anything I can do?" he asked.
"Actually, there is, I hope." I took a deep breath, organizing my thoughts before I spoke. "Well, I'm sure you may have heard about the initial cause of my grandfather's illness."
Mr. Plough clasped his hands. "I have." He shook his head. "Still can't believe it. Poison, they say."
"That's what they say." I sat there a few seconds.
"Go on," Mr. Plough urged.
"Well, the thing is," I chuckled softly and put my hands on my thighs. "Somehow, my grandmother has gotten herself...tangled up..." I made some weird hand gesture that even I didn't understand "...in all of this...and, not that it’s true, you know, but..."
"But what?" asked Mr. Plough.
I had to spit it out. "Gramps has asked me to come to you to arrange for ten thousand dollars to bail out Birdie."
Stan sat back in his chair. "I see. Well, you certainly don't need an explanation to run an errand for your grandfather."
I smiled. Yippee.
"Just give me the signed request, I’ll notarize it and the bank will cut you a check."
I stopped smiling.
“Oh don’t worry. I trust you. No one will know Oscar wasn’t present.”
"That isn’t it. I don't have a signed request."
Stan pursed his lips briefly. "Well, we can work around the formalities. Do you have a note in Oscar’s script?"
I shook my head.
"Oh. Well, I'll just phone him at the hospital."
I shook my head again. This was going downhill fast.
Mr. Plough mimicked me, shaking his head. "No?"
"He was unconscious when I left."
"Unconscious? Then how did he ask you for the money?"
"Well that was before the nurse gave him some barbie something and he passed out. Come to think of it you may have a lawsuit there." Jeez, I wasn’t making any sense.
"Stacy, without Oscar's authorization, I can't grant you access to his funds.”
I felt a lump rise in my throat, but I was determined not to cry. "Mr. Plough, my grandmother is in jail for something she had nothing to do with. The only person with enough money to get her out of jail is my grandfather, who may or may not be in a coma and who is also the one person who can lead me to who put him there. I don't know what's going to happen to either of them. And I don't know if I can help, but right now, you're the only one who can at least give me some peace of mind about one of my last remaining family members."
Mr. Plough stood up and circled around to the front of the desk. He took a seat in the chair next to me and leaned forward. I didn't like the look on his face.
"Stacy, I can sympathize with you, I can. And I would like to help you, but my hands are tied."
It was strange but I felt we had a common bond. We both had to deal with nutty women and we both played by the rules.
One of those commonalities was about to change for me.
I rose to my feet and wiped my face with a tissue. Then I remembered something about trusts.
“Wait, Gramps said there were monies in trusts. Does that include me?”
“Certainly. But that only gets activated in the event of his death.”
Back to square one. It was ironic really. Now the only way I could help Birdie was if Gramps were actually dead. Birdie and the aunts worked hard, but they barely made ends meet. Same with Pearl. She made a modest living. If Gramps kicked the bucket, the two biggest winners would be Birdie and Pearl.
Wait a minute.
“Miss Justice?”
I looked at Stan. “I’m sorry. I was lost in thought there.”
“That’s quite all right. I was just asking, did you say Oscar was in a coma?”
“I’m not sure. He was unconscious when I left the hospital.”
“Well, that would certainly change things.”
“Why?”
“Should he be incapacitated, Oscar did appoint a Power of Attorney to guard his estate and oversee his health decisions.”
“Is that you?”
“No, no. Let me see. I have the paper in his file.”
My knee betrayed my nervousness by bouncing up and down. Mr. Plough opened a large cherry wood file cabinet and rifled through it.
“Yes, here it is. The first one is…oh I see, it’s your mother.”
My mother? She’s been gone for years. A lot of good that did me now. Why wouldn’t Gramps have changed that?
“Well, if he has her listed, that doesn’t do me a lot of good.”
“There is a second,” he said as I stood to leave.
“Who?”
“The man’s name is Chance. Chance Stryker.”
I laughed. “Oh no, that must be a mistake. Chance isn’t a relative of Gramps.”
Stan frowned. “That may be but, you see here, there’s the name.”
I scanned the document. Stan was not mistaken.
“Thank you for your time," I said as I hurried towards the door.
"These things have a way of working themselves out, you'll see. You're a smart girl. You'll figure it out," called Mr. Plough.
That didn’t make me feel better.
I crossed the hall wondering what the hell was going on with Gramps and why Chance was listed as Power of Attorney when I heard, "Serves her right, you know."
I tipped back to see Mrs. Plough standing at the top of a wide curved stairway, looking down on me, her lips puckered into a twist. "Excuse me?" My stomach wrenched. Jeez, she was scary.
"Devil worshippers receive the Devil's due."
It was such a ridiculous statement that at first, I thought I had misunderstood. "My grandmother does not believe in a devil. Let alone worship one."
"My god condemns those who ignore His words."
I was about to open my mouth again when my head started spinning. I felt dizzy and grabbed the banister to steady myself. Then a picture of a thick black belt with a gold buckle flashed in my mind. Welts. Blood. A boy sobbing, crying for his mother.
And the vision was clear.
I raised my eyes up at Mrs. Plough. "And what does your god do to child abusers?" I didn't wait for an answer as I opened the door.
Chapter 22
I stood on the porch for a second trying to figure out what just happened to me. I didn't feel dizzy anymore. I shook my head. That was strange. Where did that come from? Did I see Mrs. Plough take a belt to a student once? If I did I couldn't remember.
The biscotti was not enough to get me through the day, so I decided to head to the coffee shop. Iris usually stocked ready-made sandwiches, salads, and soups and I needed some fast nourishment.
I climbed into the car and screamed my fool head off when I noticed someone was in the back seat.
“Thor, how did you get in here?” I asked.
The dog blinked, made a weird sound that sounded like exasperation, and rested his head on the passenger seat.
“Okay then. I guess you’ll be joining me for lunch.”
He barked in approval and I fired up the engine.
A few blocks from Main Street, the windshield wipers switched on, flapping from side to side at warp speed. I flipped them off and the dash lights started flashing. Then the radio blared, the cigarette lighter popped out, and the horn went
haywire.
Oh, please, not Cin's car. Anything but her precious car.
I pulled up to Muddy Waters and cut the engine for a minute wondering what method of torture my cousin would employ if I broke her car. It had to be a fluke. I cranked the engine again.
Honk, blare, swish, swish, "la, la, la," pop!
Oh no.
My phone rang then, adding a nice chorus to the mix.
"Hello?"
"Hi Stacy, it's me."
Cinnamon.
"What the hell is that noise?"
I cut the car off. "Nothing."
"So, here's the scoop on Gramps. The drug he was given was Pentobarbital. It's a sedative. The dosage he got is usually given to brain injury or brain surgery patients to protect the brain by putting it into a temporary state of unconsciousness. Turns out there was a head injury patient on the same floor that was supposed to get the shot."
"Temporary state of unconsciousness. That sounds like--"
"A coma. But the good news is it shouldn't last longer than a few days."
That was a relief. "How's Pearl?"
"Better now."
I chatted with Cin a few more minutes and made arrangements to meet her later to pick up some Thor food. I didn't mention the car. I clicked the phone off and shoved it in my sweatshirt.
I turned to face the Great Dane. “Now listen, buddy, this is our secret. What say you don’t tell Cinnamon that her Trans Am is possessed and I’ll get you a giant roast beef sandwich.”
Thor harrumphed and pawed at the air.
In that moment, plain as day, a picture of a bag of Ruffles popped into my head.
“Chips too?”
Thor panted, his tongue slapping the headrest.
“You drive a hard bargain, big man.”
I rolled the windows down and hurried into Muddy Waters. Iris was behind the counter when I walked in. She wore the same canvas apron as the last time I saw her, but her shirt was pink and the pants were blue.
She waved a finger at me. "You were holding out on me."
She must have heard about Gramps. "I thought Pearl would want to tell you, Iris," I said.
"That's what I figured." She smiled. "What can I get you, honey?"
I scanned the glass case. There were sandwiches, muffins, pastries, cookies, and chips. It all looked good. I couldn't decide where to start.
"Not sure what I want yet, but I’ll take a roast beef to go. Extra beef."
"Take your time, honey." Iris turned to collect a large sandwich from the cooler.
The door chimed and Monique waltzed in, which would have stunted my appetite on any other day.
"Iris, give me a large caramel latte to go," she said as she walked over to the counter.
She was in another leather get-up with a bustier so tight I thought she might pop a lung.
"I'm glad you're here, Stacy, I need to talk to you."
The tone in her voice led me to believe she wasn't about to invite me to a dinner party.
"What is it, Monique?" I asked still studying the menu. Turkey on rye looked good.
"Look, we both know your cousin and I have never seen eye to eye."
That was like saying the Titanic hit a patch of ice.
"But I've always considered you a friend," she continued.
I raised one eyebrow and tilted my head to the side. "Oh really?"
Monique stiffened. "Well, maybe not a friend, but I don't want to douse you with gasoline every time I see you."
"Charming, Monique. You should host a game show."
Monique didn't say anything as Iris came back to the counter to hand her the coffee. "You ready to order?" Iris asked me.
"I'll take that turkey sandwich and a bag of chips. To go please."
"Coming up." Iris grabbed a white paper bag and stuffed the two sandwiches inside it. Then she reached for the potato chips.
"Look." Monique grabbed my elbow.
I circled to face her and shot her a glare.
She let go.
"I just thought I would give you fair warning that I'm going after Leo and I would appreciate it if you would stay out of my way."
That explained the mirrored sunglasses. She thought she was in an episode of CSI.
"And why exactly are you telling me this?"
Monique jutted out her hip. "Because the word around town is that you and the good cop are rather chummy. I just want you to know that he's mine. So back off."
"Here you go, Stacy," Iris said at the register.
I pulled my wallet out and walked towards her, Monique close behind.
Now, I didn't know if anything would develop with Leo. Considering the fact that he thought I couldn't stand erect and that my family was the reason they invented Prozac, I'm sure he had mixed emotions about me. But I'd be damned if Monique Fontaine was going to tell me who I could and could not spend time with.
I threw my shoulders back. "Monique, I realize that it's a short list of men in this town you haven't tied up, held down or sent to the free clinic, but why don't you just leave the chief alone for a little while, hmm? At least, until he can update his vaccinations."
Monique placed her hand on my wrist as I settled the tab with Iris. My head pained as she said in a low sharp voice, "I always get what I want, Stacy. Just ask your cousin."
I put my finger to my temple to steady the dizziness and lifted my eyes to watch Monique walk out the door. As she did, an image of Tony passed out on a couch popped into my brain.
"You okay, honey?" Iris asked as she peered at me. I nodded. The pain subsided.
I smiled. "I'm fine, Iris. What do I owe you?"
She rang up the food and I paid her. I was just about to leave to share lunch with a handsome, furry friend but, since the universe is run by Loki, that didn’t happen.
If karma existed, I must have been a real asshat in a previous life.
"Hey, Sunshine." Shea Parker stood in front of me.
"Parker, I don't have a lot of time." I picked up the bag of food.
Parker grabbed my bag, opened it and reached in for the chips.
"Then we'll talk fast."
I snatched the Ruffles out of his hand and he shot me a wounded look.
"What do you want from me?" I asked.
"For you to work for me at the paper."
"Not gonna happen."
"Then what do you know about your grandfather?"
"Nothing."
"Baloney. Oh, that sounds good." He winked at me. "Iris, can I have a baloney and Munster on rye with ketchup.”
“That sounds disgusting.”
Parker gave me a frowny face. "You promised me a scoop."
"What do you expect me to tell you?"
"Whatever you know."
“My grandfather is sick.”
“I know that.”
"So?"
“What?”
“What more do you want?”
We stared at each other for a minute. I felt like Costello trying to reason with Abbott. Iris slipped Parker his disgusting lunch and Parker bit into it and started talking with his mouth full.
“Here’s the deal. I ask a question, then you ask a question,” Parker said through bits of round luncheon meat.
The idea of my family misfortune sprayed across the local paper was less than thrilling, although the thought of accessing Parker’s database did hold some appeal. The thing is, even though Shea Parker acted like a drunk toddler at times, in my mind he would always have one redeeming quality. My father trusted him enough to go into business with him. News was Dad's life and he wouldn't put an important responsibility like that in any idiot's hands. Just this particular idiot.
“Go,” I said.
“Who’s the Harley rider?”
“Bill ‘Wildcat’ Panther. Gramps’ war buddy. What’s with Gretchen?”
“Gretchen who?”
“Pass. What do you know about the Entwhistles and the store?”
“Turns a hefty profit. Rents from your gr
andfather. Son is an odd duck. Which war?”
“Vietnam, I think. What do you mean rents?”
“I mean he doesn’t own the land or the building. Why is the Harley guy here?”
“Business proposition. Did he sell it?”
“Who?”
“Entwhistle's son.”
“No. The old man never paid the note. It was a land contract. Fell behind on the payments. What kind of proposition?”
“Gaming. So Roy is making a bundle and no mortgage. He has it pretty good.”
“Ed would have it even better if your Gramps kicks it.”
“Why?”
“Because the entire plaza and the land would go to Ed.”
Parker explained that after a few beers one night at the Elk’s Lodge, Ed was bragging about how he got into my grandfather’s pocket. Why Gramps would leave a perfectly prime piece of real estate to a monkey in a suit was beyond me. And if that were the case what was Roy grumbling about at the hospital and why would he say Gramps owed him? Unless…
Gladys said Mr. Entwhistle. I assumed she meant Roy, but could she have been talking about Ed when she overheard that argument? I made a mental note to ask her. Then I put that aside for a minute and sucked up my pride.
“Listen, do you have any friends at the DMV?”
Parker smiled wide.
Chapter 23
Thor and I ate our sandwiches on the curb outside of Muddy Waters. He happily scarfed down the roast beef as I prayed to the automobile fairies to fix my cousin’s car.
When I turned the key, it sounded like a garbage can quartet.
Honk, honk, flash, pop, scrape, swish!
"Son of twatwaffle." I banged my hands on the steering and bent down to tinker with the knobs.
Pretty sure that made it worse.
There was only one place to go.
I didn't have to honk the horn as I swung into the parking lot of Tony's garage because it was still honking itself. Tony was bent over the hood of an old muscle car, a red towel waving from the back pocket of his jeans. When he heard the noise he unfolded himself from the hood and looked behind him.
I threw the car into park and yelled out the window. "I have a problem."
Tony wiped his hands on the towel and shouted something.
"What?" I asked.
Witch Way To Amethyst: The Prequel (A Stacy Justice Mystery Book 0) Page 12