by Amy Vansant
“Really?”
Stephanie strode into the home with little resistance from the housekeeper. Following the sound of voices, she found herself in the living room, where an old woman and a young man huddled together in frozen silence, as if their stillness rendered them invisible.
“I can see you, you know,” said Stephanie.
“Who are you?” asked the woman.
From her surveillance of Bucky, Stephanie recognized her as his long suffering wife, Cora Bloom.
She crossed her arms across her chest. “I think the better question is who are you?”
“Who am I? I’m Cora Bloom. This is my house.”
“No, I know you’re Bucky’s wife. I mean who are you. I really didn’t see this coming from you.”
“What are you—”
Stephanie held up a palm. “Please. Let me do the talking. First, tell the maid to go. You’re not going to want her to hear this.”
Cora’s gaze bounced past Stephanie, who turned to find the maid standing at the entry to the room.
“Go,” said Cora.
“Are you sure, Miss Cora?”
“Yes. I’ll be fine. Go.”
The maid scowled and left through the front door. Stephanie stepped to the window and watched her enter her car and drive off, before returning her attention to Cora.
The old woman’s hands curled into fists by her sides. “If you don’t get out of my house right now, I’m going to call the police.”
Stephanie laughed and pointed to the young man. “Call the police? With him here? I don’t think so. Not when I just watched him kill your husband.”
The blood ran from Cora’s face.
“You don’t look surprised to hear Bucky is dead. I guess Dallas already told you?”
At the sound of his name the boy, too, fell ashen, and dropped his head into his hands. “I can’t go to prison. I didn’t mean it...”
Stephanie rolled her eyes. “It’s a little late for blubbering. You should have thought about that before you attacked a wobbly old man standing near a precipice. What we need to do now, is fix this.”
The two snapped their attention to Stephanie, tears halting mid-stream.
“You’re not going to turn me in?” asked Dallas.
“No. Why would I do that? Neither of you are any good to me in prison. No, I’m going to do this the old-fashioned way. Blackmail.”
Dallas slapped his hand to his chest. “Me?”
Stephanie chuckled. “Uh, no, thanks. I’m full-up with jock straps and empty beer cans at the moment. I was thinking her.”
Cora placed a hand on either cheek and Stephanie chuckled. “Don’t do that. You look like Edvard Munch’s The Scream.”
Cora dropped her hands to point at Dallas. “He wasn’t supposed to kill him. He was only supposed to scare him. This isn’t my fault.”
“Are you sure a jury would see it that way after they realize your filthy rich husband was killed moments after diddling his young mistress?”
Cora huffed. “I’ve put up with that for years. Why would I kill him now?”
“I don’t know. Mine is not to question why, mine is but to stand as witness and tell them I saw anything I damn well please.”
Dallas whimpered again and Stephanie trained her focus on him. “Let’s take care of you first. Where’s the weapon?”
He peered at her through teary eyes. “The weapon?”
“Bucky’s body jerked before he fell. You shot him?”
“Kinda.”
“How do you kinda shoot someone?”
“I had a potato gun.”
Stephanie paused, her mouth still open. “You shot him with a what?”
“A potato gun. I brought it back from college. It’s PVC pipe, and then you fill the back of it with something, like, really flammable. My buddy’s mom had a beauty salon and he got his hands on, like, three cases of old-school AquaNet hairspray, so we used that. Then you stuff a potato down the throat and we’ve got this outdoor grill ignition that sets off the hairspray and boom!”
Dallas threw out his hands to simulate the force of the projectile.
“So it’s powerful?”
“Oh yeah. You could knock someone’s head off with one of those things—” Dallas realized what he said and tried to backtrack. “But, I mean, I didn’t load it with much and I was aiming at his stomach...”
Stephanie winked at Cora. “Boy, he’d be great on the stand, wouldn’t he, Cora? Want to put your life in Dallas’ hands? Feeling secure?”
Dallas moaned. “I swear it was an accident. I’ll tell the judge that she told me to scare him, not kill him. The gun jerked and I hit him higher than I meant to and he tipped—”
Stephanie offered him a condescending smile. “Dallas, sweetheart, I’m a criminal attorney. What if I told you that if you agreed to state on the record that Cora demanded you kill Bucky, you could walk away scot-free? Would your story change?”
Dallas’ mouth hung open, eyes darting to Cora.
Cora’s eyes flashed with fear. “But I never said that. He came to me because he didn’t want Bucky dating his sister and he knew I didn’t either. He offered to scare him away.”
“He offered to scare him away for free?”
Cora and Dallas exchanged a glance.
Stephanie nodded. “That’s what I thought. You gave him money. I don’t suppose that money is already in your bank account?”
Dallas shook his head. “It’s at home. I can give it back...”
“Check?”
“Cash,” said Cora. “I’m not stupid,” she added, muttering.
“No paper trail. Excellent. Congratulations to you both, on entering the lucrative field of kill-for-hire.”
Dallas threw back his head so it bounced on the sofa. “But she didn’t pay me to kill—”
Stephanie shook her head. “Stop. We’re past that. Let’s see, the long and the short of it is that you knocked Bucky over the wall with a potato gun. I guess, on the upside, we don’t have to worry about ballistics. Where’d you dump it?”
“What?”
“The gun. The potato.”
“I picked up the potato chunks and broke up the gun and put it in the trash.”
“What trash?”
“The trash in the men’s bathroom in the lobby of the first floor.”
“Great, black PVC pipe won’t look suspicious mixed in with the paper towels.”
Dallas scowled. “You said that kinda funny.”
“It’s called sarcasm. Did you at least wipe your fingerprints off it?”
If it was possible, Dallas grew even paler. “No. Dammit. I shouldn’t have thrown it out...that was so stupid. I was just so afraid to leave the building with it.”
“Okay. I’m done with you for now. Go home.”
“What? But—”
Stephanie flashed him her most serious glare. “Go home. Don’t ever go back to the marina and don’t come back here, understand? I don’t want you ever talking to Cora again. Keep your money and go back to school. Did she give you enough?”
“For the semester—”
“How much to finish school entirely?”
“I only have a year left so...like...seven thousand with books and everything?”
“Hm. How much cash do you have in the house, Cora?”
“What? I—”
“You know what, nevermind. I’ll tack it on to my fee and I’ll get him the cash.”
“Your fee?” asked Cora.
“We’ll get to that in a minute. Now, Dallas, do we have a deal? You get enough money to finish college, I clean up your mess and you never see Cora or the marina or anything that has to do with Bucky again. You never mention what happened. It’s like it never did. Deal?”
Dallas seemed stunned into silence.
“Let me add that the alternative is that I turn you in, hand the potato gun over the police and you spend the rest of your life in jail.”
Dallas stood. “I’m good. I’l
l never say a word. I promise.”
“One other thing. Does your sister know?”
“No.”
“Good. She never finds out either.”
“No. She’s the last person I’d tell.”
“Right. Now get out of here.”
Dallas mumbled thanks and bolted from the room.
“Now, Cora. Let’s sit a spell.”
Stephanie sat on the sofa where Dallas had been and Cora lowered herself into her chair.
“What do you want from me?”
Stephanie grinned. “I’ll let you know after they execute the will. Until then, you and I are going to become fast friends.”
Chapter Twenty-Five
Sunday, nearly a week after Bucky’s fall and a day after the Cow Town challenge…
“You’re skulking around me like the shadow of death—how long are you going to keep me trapped like this?” asked Cora.
Stephanie cocked her head and stared at her shoe as she bobbed it up and down on her toe. “Maybe I just like your company.”
In truth, she was as sick of Cora as the woman was of her, but she had no choice but to keep an eye on her. Nothing could go wrong, and only Cora had the ability to stop her.
Cora fidgeted. “You’re watching me like a hawk and I don’t know why. It makes me very nervous.”
“What should make you nervous is knowing that if you upset me, I’ll have you put in jail for colluding to kill your husband before the dirt settles on Bucky’s coffin.”
Cora looked away, wringing her hands.
Stephanie sighed. “I’m sorry. That was cruel and unnecessary.”
Cora scoffed. “What’s cruel and unnecessary is inviting yourself to my weekly bridge game and telling all my friends that I’m a terrible player.”
“You are. Awful. But you’re right, that was rude. Forgive me?”
Cora whipped her head toward Stephanie like a mongoose. “Do I have a choice?”
Stephanie raised her arms. “There we go. There’s some of the old fire back. I think if you give it a moment’s thought you’ll realize you’re not approaching our time together with the right attitude. Can’t you get into the spirit? After all, the competition between Penny and Tabby is fun, isn’t it? That was your idea.”
“It was not my idea.”
“Now, that’s not true. I was in the kitchen when those women appeared, sniffing around for Cow Town, pretending to care about Bucky’s death. You were livid. You even forgot about me for a minute, didn’t you?”
“It was hard to forget you, what with you lurking in the kitchen—”
“But you did forget about me. Just for a second.”
Cora sniffed. “Maybe. They were just so transparent—”
“Exactly. And you were mad, admit it.”
“I was. Though, I might have been taking other aggressions out on them.”
“You mean me and our little situation. I understand. It won’t be much longer. I promise. But in the meantime, let’s have some fun. What else do you want from them? One more contest for old times’ sake?”
Cora’s hand fluttered to her forehead and she tucked away an errant strand of hair. “I don’t want anything from those two harpies.”
“Come on. How else are you going to decide who to sell the land to? You told them figure it out, and now you have to show them how. The landscaping idea really showed that Tabby was the more repentant of the two, don’t you think? That was brilliant.”
“Telling them I lost my landscaping man was your idea.”
“Exactly. Like I said, brilliant. Now, what else do you need?”
“I don’t need anything.”
“What about arrangements for the funeral?”
“I’m not going to ask those Jezebels to help with my husband’s funeral.”
“Mm. I guess not. How about something for someone else? Don’t you have grandkids?”
“Of course, I’ve told you all about them.”
“Oh, right, how could I forget—”
Cora beamed and cut her short. “It’s my granddaughter Lily’s fourth birthday next week. But, I don’t see what that has to do with anything.”
“Fourth birthday. What did you get her?”
“For a present? I—” Cora’s expression fell. “Oh my. With Bucky’s death...I totally forgot.”
“There you go. That’s our answer. Let the ladies compete to find a birthday gift for Lulu.”
“Lily. But they don’t even know my granddaughter.”
“Who needs to know her? She’s four. She’s a little psychopath in pullup pants like every other four year-old on the planet. And like you said, let them figure it out.”
“I guess, if it would make you happy and bring an end to this nonsense.”
“It would. That’s the spirit. I’m going to go out for a bit. You stay here. You know what happens if you don’t do as I say.”
Cora rolled her eyes. “I know, I know.”
Stephanie waved to the ever-present housekeeper, who all but growled at her, and walked to her car. Driving back to her office to catch up on work, she passed a strip mall, and noticed a specialty toy shop next to the Publix called Buy Their Love: Toys and Unique Gifts. She’d never noticed it before, but now, it was as if a spotlight was shining down on it.
She pulled into the parking lot and walked into the shop, where she was greeted by a wall of tan Teddy bears.
“Hello?”
No answer.
The place appeared empty of both customers and staff. She strolled the aisles, searching for signs of life.
A woman stepped from the back of the store and jumped upon seeing her.
“Oh. You scared me. I didn’t hear you come in. Can I help you?”
Stephanie scanned the shelf in front of her, and realized she knew nothing about four-year-olds or their tastes in toys. “Yes, I could use some help. What would you suggest for a four-year-old?”
“Boy or girl?”
“Girl.”
The woman thought for a moment and then led Stephanie to another aisle. “Anything in this area would work.”
Stephanie’s gaze swept over the collection of pink packaged delights and she grunted with dissatisfaction.
“This all seems so gender-biased.”
“What?”
“Do you have anything less pink?”
“Oh, of course. You know, we don’t sell the same things you can find anywhere, we specialize in unique, high-quality items.”
“What about those teddy bears at the front of the store? Are they unique?”
The woman glowed with pride. “Oh, they’re very special. Imported from Germany. They’re Steiff. They invented the Teddy bear in nineteen oh-two.”
Stephanie frowned. “Really? I thought Morris Michtom, from Brooklyn, New York made the first Teddy bears in nineteen oh-two after the news ran stories about Teddy Roosevelt refusing to kill a captive bear?”
The woman’s mouth fell open. “I, I don’t know. I never heard that story. Where did you hear that?”
“Who knows?” Stephanie shrugged and tapped her temple with her finger as she walked back to the bears. She took a step back from their display shelves and surveyed them.
“How many are there here, do you think?”
The woman began to point and count out loud. Stephanie cut her off.
“I’ll save you the trouble. Eighteen. Do you have any more in the back?”
“More? No.”
“What time do you close?
“Five.”
Stephanie looked at her watch. It was four-thirty.
“Tell you what. I’ll buy all the bears except one, and I’ll have a friend of mine come and pick up that last bear before you close. But there’s a catch: you have to promise me you won’t sell that last bear to anyone except him.”
“Why would you want all of the bears?”
Stephanie arched an eyebrow. “Do you want to ask me questions or do you want to sell eighteen bears?”
> “Oh, the bears. The bears.” The woman jogged behind the register.
Stephanie set her credit card on the counter. “Do you have a trash bag or something I could put them in?”
The woman dipped behind the counter and reappeared with a plastic trash bag in her hand.
Stephanie took it and began filling it with bears. “This place is a ghost town. How do you stay in business?”
“What’s that? Did you say how do I stay in business?”
Stephanie motioned for a second bag and the woman handed one to her. “Yes. It’s been forever since I’ve seen a small, privately-owned toy store. What with the Internet...”
The woman nodded as she ran Stephanie’s card. “Oh, yes. That’s true. It helps that the residents in the area are older. Many of them don’t trust the Internet and like to shop the old-fashioned way.”
“Makes sense.”
The woman handed Stephanie her receipt and a business card. Stephanie was about to stuff it in her pocket when something on it caught her eye.
“You have a website?”
The woman laughed. “Oh yes. We’d go out of business without it.”
Stephanie nodded and hoisted the bag of bears over her shoulder like a very single-minded Santa, before heading back to her car.
Chapter Twenty-Six
Seamus sat in the cool, air conditioned bliss of The Striped Goldfish, a hole in the wall bar he’d come to appreciate. The Guinness beer wasn’t as fresh as in Ireland—where keeping a Guinness tap primed and flowing was akin to a religion—but he’d had worse. As a matter of coincidence, Billy, the owner of the Goldfish, had Irish forbears and possessed massive pride in the state of his Irish beer.
“How ya doin’ today Seamus?” asked Billy, proceeding to pour Seamus a pint without waiting for a request.
“It’s been an odd week Billy, I can tell you that much.”
“Sounds like you need a beer.”
“You’re a gentleman and a genius.” Billy set down the beer and Seamus lifted his pint in salute.
Billy leaned on the bar and stared at Seamus’ face as he took his first quaff, which Seamus would have found unnerving, if it didn’t happen every time he stopped at the Goldfish. Billy always wanted to know if the Guinness lager was as fresh as it could be.
“How is it?” asked Billy.
“As good as it can get this far from Ireland. You’ve done it again.”