Black Thursday

by Linda Joffe Hull

  For the ladies, Trent added with a devilish grin.

  FJ wrapped up the segment with a final tip they’d come up with themselves:

  While you’re busy saving money on all the cool stuff you’ve been wanting, save a little more by buying discounted gift cards at sites like plasticjungle.com, which can be used to make online purchases.

  “Clever, huh?” Mrs. Piggledy said, appearing in the doorway in her wheelchair. Higgledy sat in her lap and Birdie perched on her shoulder.

  “Naturals,” Mr. Piggledy said from behind her. “Which came as a surprise to absolutely no one in the Denver Metro area.”

  “Thank you for coming,” I said, as the sea of Michaels family members parted to allow them through. Higgledy leapt from Mrs. Piggledy’s arms to give me a big hug. “Thank you all for so many things, I can’t even begin—”

  Frank’s phone began to chirp the tune to “Brown Eyed Girl.”

  “Eloise!” he said, answering. “Yes, we’re all right here with her—”

  “Which I’ve been trying to conveniently overlook,” a nurse said, trying to enter my completely stuffed room and staring pointedly at the monkey nestled against me.

  “We’re animal therapists.” Mr. Piggledy winked in my direction. “Higgledy and Birdie here are our service pets.”

  “Riiight,” she said, drawing out the word. “And the rest of you are?”

  “Family,” Joyce announced.

  “The family rule is no more than four at a time, not four dozen,” she said. “Besides, I need to draw some blood and take her vitals. I’m afraid this party will have to continue tomorrow after she’s released.”

  “Are you coming home tomorrow, Mom?” Trent asked.

  “If you let her get some rest,” the nurse said, motioning for Frank to finish his call outside and everyone to mosey along.

  I was too exhilarated to feel tired, but too exhausted to protest as everyone hugged me goodbye and began to file out.

  The minute they were gone, there was a quick needle prick and the squeeze of a blood pressure cuff, and the next thing I knew my eyelids were growing heavy.

  I dozed off to Frank smiling from the chair beside me.

  _____

  When I opened my eyes, it was morning.

  Frank was gone.

  In his place, however, was none other than Griff Watson.

  He smiled his dimply smile. “Hey there!”

  “Griff ?” I heard myself ask, as though there was some way I wouldn’t recognize the man who’d saved me now, twice.

  “Apparently Frank felt it was safe to leave you in my care while he went down the hall to make a few phone calls.”

  “I can’t tell you how glad I am to see you.” I gave him a big, long hug. “And thank you so much. Again.”

  “This time it was a team effort,” he said, humbly.

  “Detective McClarkey told me you were the one who finally figured everything out.”

  “He did?”

  “He also mentioned that you have a big future ahead in law enforcement.”

  Griff looked entirely pleased. “Nice to hear.”

  “You seem surprised.”

  “I guess I didn’t expect he’d mention my small part in it all.”

  “I’d hardly call figuring out that John Carter lied about being in the TV line a small part. My life depended on someone making that connection and finding him before he disappeared and I was locked away forever.”

  “There were a lot of people besides me who were committed to making sure that didn’t happen.”

  “But you ultimately figured out John Carter was the killer.”

  “In the end, he was the one person who not only fit the general description, but knew exactly where his wife was that night at Bargain Barn. Really, all I had to do was check it against the interview he gave down at the station after Alan was arrested and I knew we had our man.

  “You definitely have a knack,” I said. “At least when it comes to saving me.”

  “No better than your knack for getting in outrageous trouble.”

  “Guilty as charged, I’m afraid.”

  “Next time, you think you could make it a bit easier for me?”

  “How about there isn’t a next time?”

  “That would be ideal.” He smiled. “But knowing you …”

  Maybe it was the simply the enormous affection I felt for him after saving my life twice, but if I were a few years younger and a lot more single, his innate kindness and those dimples might have had a different effect on me.

  “All I know is that L’Raine is one lucky girl.”

  “L’Raine?” His cheeks colored. “Did she tell you that … ?”

  “She didn’t have to.”

  He looked confused.

  “You did,” I said.

  “I did?”

  “Wasn’t she at your house on Cyber Monday—when I called you from Starbucks?”

  “At my house?”

  “I thought I heard you say something to her about hanging on for a second because you were on the phone.”

  “L’Raine?”

  “You called her Lare.”

  “Ah!” He began to laugh. “I think you must mean Larry.”

  I felt my own face color. I’d been reticent to introduce L’Raine to Griff because she didn’t strike me as his type, but I hadn’t even considered that she didn’t have any chance whatsoever. “Larry?”

  “Larry,” he said. “As in, my cat.”

  “Your cat?”

  “He’d climbed up on the couch and was kneading me with his paw.”

  I began to laugh too.

  “As if I needed another sign this sleuthing business isn’t for me,” I finally said. “I really thought you and L’Raine were …”

  “She’s a nice person and we did have dinner once,” he said. “But that’s as far as it went. For me, anyway.”

  At least my intuition was right about something. “I kind of didn’t think you were a match when she begged me to introduce you two, but then she had your number …”

  “So do you,” he said.

  “And you were in the gym parking lot when she started her shift.”

  “Because I was following you.”

  “Me?”

  “I was bugged that your heckler had the same initials as Cathy Carter, and I knew you were too, so I decided to keep an eye on you —which I did until you got that note on the windshield and Detective McClarkey pulled rank.”

  “And then he took it from there?”

  “Officially.” Griff exhaled deeply. “Unofficially, I might have been able to help you figure things out a heck of a lot sooner if you’d just been straight with me about all your suspicions when we talked on Sunday night. Or told me where you were going on Monday after you left Starbucks.”

  “I couldn’t,” I said. “Not until I confirmed for sure it wasn’t—”

  “Frank,” Griff finished my sentence.

  I nodded.

  “For the record, I thought it was him at that point, too.”

  “You did?”

  “With the combination of his recent track record and the fact he and Channel Three happened to be broadcasting from Bargain Barn that night, it just made sense,” he said. “Until you disappeared. I knew then it wasn’t him.”

  “Because?”

  “Even he wouldn’t go that far.”

  “Oh good, you’re awake!” Frank said, appearing in the doorway before Griff could elaborate. “I’ll let the nurse know so we can get you breakfast and hopefully get you sprung from here ASAP.”

  “Speaking of which,” Griff said, as Frank headed for the nurse’s station. “I should probably get rolling myself.”

  “Griff,” I said as he stood to go. “Thank you.”
/>
  He hugged me. “Until next time …”

  _____

  I was that much more thankful and indebted to Griff when I discovered he’d come by with my purse (which according to Frank had apparently been recovered along with my car) and had stowed it in the cabinet with my clothing.

  Not only was everything still there—ID, credit cards, cash, lipstick, and even gum—but my cell phone had been charged.

  I ate breakfast scanning hundreds of emails, voicemails, and comments on the Mrs. Frugalicious website from friends, business associates, Frugarmy members, and total strangers who wanted to let me know how happy they were about my safe return.

  While I waited for the final release paperwork, I worked my way backward, reading the prayers and messages of love and concern that had come in during the never-ending week I was locked away.

  As the orderly pushed my wheelchair for the obligatory roll down the corridors of the hospital to the front entrance where I was to meet Frank and the car, I forced myself to listen to the frantic, gut-wrenching where are you messages from my terrified family and closest friends.

  Frank was opening the passenger door to the car when I finally worked my way back to a text dated a week ago Monday.

  As in Cyber Monday at 9:38 a.m.

  The text I’d heard ping while in the basement but was never able to read.

  From Eloise:

  I wasn’t supposed to tell you this, but something is definitely up. Not exactly sure what it is, but Dad says no worries—the end will more than justify the means.

  thirty-four

  “Obviously I was way off with the Cathy Carter business and any family involvement,” I said as we exited the hospital parking lot. “And for that I’m truly sorry.”

  Frank patted my leg. “Honey, I told you, it really is okay.”

  He began to whistle the tune to “Celebration” by Kool and the Gang.

  “What exactly was going on, though?” I asked as we approached the freeway on-ramp.

  “What do you mean?”

  “Why did they show up here in the first place?”

  “Why did who—”

  “Your family,” I said. “Why did they show up here? In Denver? At our house?”

  “Because their cruise got cancelled halfway across—”

  “Frank, I saw a receipt for their plane tickets. I know there was never a cruise.”

  “Oh,” he said.

  Other than the sound of passing cars, there was silence.

  “You invited them for Thanksgiving weekend, correct?”

  He nodded.

  “I figured I needed them,” he said. “I didn’t think I had any chance of getting you back without their help.”

  “Gotcha,” I said.

  As he began to whistle again, I took another glance at the nine-day-old text from Eloise:

  The end will more than justify the means.

  And thought about Griff’s comment:

  Even he wouldn’t go that far.

  How far had Frank actually gone?

  “I also know there was something more going on than just asking everyone to come for the holidays,” I said. “To talk me into staying.”

  The whistling stopped again.

  “I was just trying to make things right,” he finally said.

  “So you admit there was a plan?”

  “More of a really good idea that evolved over the course of the weekend.”

  “Which was?”

  “How about I explain everything when we get home?”

  “How about now?”

  “Hang tight.” He smiled but said nothing more as we exited off the freeway and headed west toward the house.

  “I don’t like surprises,” I added. “Not anymore, anyway.”

  “Completely understandable,” he said. “But this one’s a good one.”

  We stopped for a welcome back hug from Louis, the retired security guard who waved cars through our neighborhood gate between games of Sudoku.

  As we rolled up to the house, I noticed the cars parked in front and across the street.

  I also noticed the Under Contract placard atop the For Sale sign.

  “The house has an offer on it?”

  “For the moment,” he said as he pushed the remote and we pulled into the garage beside my car—the one I wondered if I’d ever see again.

  “Meaning what?”

  He killed the engine, gave me a quick kiss on the cheek, came around to the passenger side, and helped me into the house.

  “Soon,” he said. “I promise.”

  The next thing I knew, I was surrounded by family and friends, including Alan Bader, who’d underwritten the smorgasbord of cold cuts, fruit, and salad that might have otherwise been left to Joyce and Barb.

  And Eloise, who’d flown home and was so overjoyed to see me safe that I didn’t have the heart to question her about her last text.

  As soon as I’d hugged, kissed, and cried with everyone (particularly Alan), given assurances to the others I was okay, and promised multiple people I’d never give them a scare like that ever again, I cornered Frank in the front hall.

  “Frank, I really do want an answer about what’s been going on.”

  “And you’ll have it,” he said. “I’m just waiting for Anastasia to get here.”

  The doorbell rang.

  “Speaking of the devil?” I asked.

  “More like an angel,” he said, opening the door.

  “Maddie!” Anastasia rushed in and embraced me in a huge but makeup- and hair-preserving bear hug. “I can’t tell you how wonderful it is to see you. There’s nothing like a happy ending!”

  The next thing I knew, Frank had gathered everyone in the living room and she was leading me to the front of the room.

  Frank cleared his throat.

  “Family and friends. I would like to thank you for your outpouring of help and support during the most awful, agonizing, and now joyous week of our lives.”

  There were claps and cheers.

  He slipped his arm around me and pulled me in close.

  “I also have a confession to make.”

  The room fell so silent, I was afraid everyone could hear the flutter of my resident butterflies, suddenly flying Kamikaze-style through my body.

  “As you all are certainly aware, things have been, shall we say, less than ideal, financially and otherwise, in the Michaels family for some time now.” He looked down at his feet. “For which I’m entirely to blame.”

  Joyce, Barb, Gerald, and even Craig bobbed their heads in agreement.

  “I’ve been racking my brain for a way to not only make things up to my family, but get us back on financial track.” He looked back up and smiled sheepishly. “After all, that’s what I do. Right?”

  “You know it,” Anastasia said from the other side of him.

  “And then I came up with an idea.” He turned to me. “Or rather, Maddie did.”

  “Me?”

  “Black Thursday at Bargain Barn,” he said. “When I realized you were planning to live blog surrounded by your Frugarmy, I got an idea and took the liberty of turning up the volume.”

  “Way up,” Anastasia added.

  “By having Anastasia interview me for the Channel Three news?”

  “And get enough tape to repackage my TV show idea, Family Finance Fixers, so the national network folks would give us another look.”

  “Us?” I asked.

  “Instead of Frank Finance and Anastasia Chastain, I planned to pitch a revamped show with Frank Finance and his sidekick Mrs. Frugalicious—the husband-and-wife financial-fix-it team.”

  “With me executive producing,” Anastasia added. “And doing guest spots.”

  “It just makes good sense,” Joyce said with an att
empted wink.

  Gerald smiled. “The family that plays together …

  “Channel Three liked the idea enough to authorize a weekend’s worth of Mrs. Frugalicious segments to see how you handled yourself on camera,” Frank said.

  “It was just going to be a matter of presenting it to the national folks from there,” Anastasia said.

  With her satisfied smile, John Carter AKA CC’s words suddenly, painfully, rushed through my head:

  To be honest, this whole event smells of a scheme cooked up by you, your TV reporter husband, and Bargain Barn to line pockets …

  “Why didn’t you tell me that’s what you were planning?” I asked.

  “Your stage fright,” he said. “For one thing.”

  “Which turned out to be a nonissue,” Anastasia added. “Which, I have to say, I predicted all along.”

  “There was also the much bigger issue …”

  “Maybe that we were getting divorced?” I asked.

  “That’s where we came in,” Barb said.

  “The last thing anyone wanted was to lose you from our family,” Joyce added. “To think we almost did anyway …”

  Other than the occasional crunch or some random chewing, dead silence prevailed in the crowded living room.

  “I see,” I finally said.

  As Frank laid out his “original plan” almost verbatim from the list I’d made, but minus the murder—first, mobilizing his family to get me back on board with our marriage, then looping in Anastasia to document the big night for Channel Three, etc., etc., I realized I’d been right all along. At least partially.

  As I’d suspected, little about the weekend had simply happened—not the producers suddenly wanted to run the Mrs. Frugalicious bargain hunting segments, not Joyce’s suggestion of a grocery-shopping expedition, not Barbara M.’s suggestion of Saturday Cash Mob, not any of Anastasia’s sudden appearances.

  “But then Cathy Carter was murdered,” I said.

  “Which threatened to put a giant wrench in our overall plan,” Anastasia said. “Initially.”

  “But, as I always say, folks really can’t ever get enough tragedy or celebrity,” Frank said. “Since we had Mrs. Frugalicious and Channel Three already on location, we just went with it and kept taping.”