A Purse to Die For

by Melodie Campbell; Cynthia St-Pierre

  A sly smile spread across Ian's face. For if there was one code he lived by, it was this: k nowledge is p ower.

  Chapter 8

  It was 6:00, cocktail time.

  "So I want to set the record straight, " Carla said.

  She looked around the room, staring them all in the eyes, one by one. Thanks to those singing lessons—the ones she begged for when she was a child not much older than Nellie—she 'd learned how to hold the attention of an audience while performing.

  "Mom 's passing is not as surprising or as sudden as you may have been thinking to yourselves, " she said. "Mom didn 't want me to tell you, but…"

  She paused to give her words effect, even if she suspected by telling Becki earlier, without asking her to keep it to herself, most of the room was already up to speed.

  "…she had cancer." She raised her glass. "Here 's to Mom. May she rest in peace."

  The room was quiet. What was wrong with everyone? They looked embarrassed . Becki was staring down at the table . Even Gina wouldn 't meet her eyes . So they already knew, just as she suspected.

  Jerry cleared his throat. "Why didn 't you tell me before, Carla ? And why didn 't she ?"

  Carla went immediately on defense. "You know what she was like, Jerry . Never show a weakness . She only told me a week ago."

  "What kind of cancer?" This, from Linda . "Was it contagious?"

  There was a gasp and a chair scuffled against the floor.

  "I don 't know." Carla heard her voice become strident . "She didn 't tell me . Some kind of internal thing. I don 't know . She wasn 't feeling well. That w as why she had to say something . It couldn 't have been that far along in that she didn 't look very sick . All I know is she didn 't intend to wait it out . No chemo and radiation for her, no sir." Carla threw her glass of wine back and took a large swallow . She put the glass down and frowned . "Don 't blame her . Lose your hair and your looks ? Better to die, " she said grimly .

  "She should have told me, " Jerry grumbled.

  "Who the hell cares?" Reggie said . "She 's dead now . That 's what counts."

  Carla turned her head away. Shut up, Reg . Jesus Christ, shut up.

  "Now, what exactly do you mean by that?" Tony 's voice was smooth.

  "Not a thing." Reg shot him a glare . "But dead is dead . Hardly matters how you get there."

  Mundane chatter after this.

  Jerry wondered where Mom's larger-than-expected fortune might have come from. Linda wanted to know if Mom kept anything of particular value hidden away for safety 's sake. Nellie, Tony and Gina talked about a Rumoli game taking place tomorrow and would she like to join in? Ian huddled with Reggie by the desk, and when she looked their way, Reggie sent her one of his charming smiles. The old expression, "h e could charm the pants off you , " fitted him well.

  Becki was quoting Albert Einstein. "'Nothing will benefit human health or increase the chances for survival of life on earth as the evolution to a vegetarian diet—'"

  "If you 'll excuse me, " Carla interrupted. "I 'm just going to pop into the washroom before we go in to supper."

  Phew! She shut the door of the main-floor powder room and plopped down on the upholstered chair facing the pedestal sink. She grabbed a copy of Chatelaine from the side table and idly read the subscription information.

  FIORENZA FERRERO 123 HAWTHORN AVENUE LANGDON HILLS , ONTARIO SHE STUDIED HER REFLECTION IN THE GILT MIRROR ABOVE THE BASIN. SHE DIDN 't inherit Fiorenza 's dark eyes, dark hair or olive skin. But at least she, Carla Williamson, didn 't tout tofu or quote Einstein, like Mom 's can-do-no-wrong goddaughter.

  She washed her hands, flicked off the light and exited.

  On her way back to the library, she heard Reggie talking in the living room. Obviously on the phone. She was just about to enter the room and coax him into coming back with her when she noted his angry tone. She couldn 't help but overhear a sentence or two.

  "For God 's sake!" he hissed. "Someone already saw us once. Fine! Tonight in the alley behind the house."

  Supper started at 7:00. Everyone took the same spot around the dining room table as at the kitchen table for breakfast. Like a real family or something. Nellie knew that 's what real families did 'cause when she went to her friend 's house for sleepovers, Abigail 's father always sat at the head of the table and her mother at the other end of the table . Nellie and Abigail squeezed in on one side and Abigail 's little brother, who was only four and a real pain in the butt, on the other side. That 's how it worked.

  But at Abigail's, they talked about cool things like the family 's trip to the zoo in Toronto, and what her and Abigail 's favourite cartoon was on TV, and what Mr. and Mrs. Spencer watched when they were little. Here, Nellie didn 't get a chance to say much of anything, and when she did, they all stared at her like she was the same age as Abigail 's little brother.

  For example, when she demanded, "What is this?" She poked at her food with the tines of her fork.

  "It 's Tuscan p oached t ilapia with g reen b eans, " Ian said.

  "Tuscan?" Nellie asked.

  "As in Tuscany . A region of Italy."

  "Grandma was from Italy and she didn 't make stuff like this."

  "Hmmm."

  Nobody seemed to want to discuss it. "What 's tilapia?" she insisted.

  Mom said, "It 's fish, honey. Try it. You 'll like it."

  "Don 't eat fish."

  "I usually don 't, either, " Aunt Becki said, "but it 's good. You 'll see. Tomatoes, olives…I bet even a little white wine."

  The wine drew Nellie 's interest.

  "Your cousin Ian 's a man of many talents, " continued Aunt Becki.

  "Like sticking his nose where it doesn 't belong, " Father said.

  "I called Karl again to explain I wasn 't leaving until tomorrow after all, " Becki said during dessert. Why do I always feel responsible for prompting conversation?

  "Was he very upset?" Carla asked.

  "Oh, he never gets upset about little things like that ."

  "Some guys don 't get excited about much of anything, " Reggie said.

  Tony shook his head. "I can imagine certain things get Uncle Karl riled up."

  "His work, " Becki agreed.

  "Totally dig it , " Ian said . "Last Design at Nine makeover, we had to tear everything out and start from scratch . I t was such a disgrace . A straight man hangs a giant flat screen on the wall and thinks he 's Ty Pennington ."

  Reggie snorted. "At least straight guys don 't sing 'Oh , I think a pink throw would look marvellous over there by the picture window .'"

  "Just ignore Reggie, " Linda said.

  Becki did just that. "Glad to hear you 're not advising your viewers to run out and buy the latest in electronics , Ian ."

  "Why 're you glad about that?" Linda asked.

  "Manufacturers don 't need designers ' help swamping people with product. Over 91,000 tonnes of electronics are sold every year in Ontario."

  "Wow!" Gina said.

  "And where do TVs, VCRs and CD players end up when new versions hit the market?" Becki asked .

  "Landfill , " Gina replied.

  "The ugly consumer and all that, " Tony said.

  "Oh, don 't get me wrong , " Becki said. "I 'm a capitalist. Have my own shop and everything so I 'm not immune to the good life ."

  "Yet this afternoon, " Linda interrupted, "you were headed home before seeing the lawyer about your Piaget diamond watch and two hundred thousand dollars."

  It was night-time again. The worst time . Tonight it was thundering and lightning . She pleaded with Mom to let her leave one light on, but the shadows were still spooky even if Macho told her not to be afraid.

  "But , Macho, something could happen here in my room and they 'd all be playing cards downstairs or sleeping in their own rooms . They wouldn 't notice anything was wrong until next morning when they found me dead in my bed."

  Not like Grandma, Macho said.

  "Exactly like Grandma."

  She lay awake and
tried to count sheep. The sky g rew lighter and lighter as the night wore on . The moon came out from behind the clouds . I t was kind of pretty , but all she wanted was for the moon to go to sleep and the sun to come up.

  Chapter 9

  Gina stood at the bedroom window and gazed out onto the backyard. It seemed to go on for miles and miles in the dark. And that 's just the way she felt—in the dark.

  A windfall of two million dollars. Grandma dying of cancer. Tony not her cousin. What else hadn 't she known? How were you supposed to keep your balance when everything you thought to be true suddenly got turned on its head?

  "We 've got to talk, " Tony had whispered after dinner when they were clearing the plates.

  "Not now, " she had said. "I need to help Becki and Ian clear up."

  "Then meet me at—"

  "Tony, can we do this tomorrow?" She felt the panic rise. "It 's nearly nine. I 'm exhausted. I just want to go to bed."

  She could see his eyes turn dark with disappointment. He moved away a bit, and looked so unhappy she almost recanted.

  Because it wasn't true. She wasn 't tired…only scared of facing the confrontation. That there would be one, she was sure. They would have to talk about this new aspect to their relationship. Could things go on as before? Could she pretend nothing had changed? The barrier of blood that had braced Gina for keeping her feelings in check was now gone. Vanished.

  She would face it tomorrow when they met for breakfast. Everything would be clearer in the morning. She turned from the window, just missing the lone figure as it raced across the lawn.

  What a hell of a day. Tony didn 't feel like going to bed yet. When a truck hits you in the face, you don 't feel like sleeping. He went in search of a stiff drink.

  Jerry was sitting on the library sofa holding a glass.

  "See you had the same idea, " he said with a welcome grin.

  Tony headed to the drinks trolley, reached for a glass and poured whiskey from a decanter. "The drink of life, " he said grimly. "Cheers." He flopped down in an easy chair.

  Jerry saluted with his glass. "Linda is doing some sort of facial thing. Can 't stand that kind of primping, so I cleared out."

  Tony nodded. He wasn't feeling a desire for female company at the moment.

  He gazed about the room. What a handsome place. He'd always loved the oak-panelled walls, the big stone fireplace and the comfortable furniture. When Tony was young, he thought there must be a thousand books in here. One rainy day he went about counting them. He counted all day in between meals, stopping only when he reached three thousand. And that wasn 't half.

  "The thing I can 't figure out is where she got the money from." Jerry was raring to talk. "Eight million dollars, for crissake. How come I didn 't know about it?"

  The old clock struck a quarter chime. Tony drank from the glass and pondered his reply.

  "Where the heck did she get it?" Jerry continued to puzzle.

  Tony was silent. Then he made his decision. "She inherited it from Italy two years ago. Some great uncle died, leaving her and two other cousins a bunch of apartment buildings in Palermo. They bought her out." So the cat was out of the bag. Let the chips fall where they may.

  Jerry rose to his feet. "You knew? She told you?"

  Tony nodded.

  "How long have you known?"

  "From the beginning."

  Jerry started to pace like a caged animal. "I can 't believe it. Does anyone else know?"

  "Just you now. She made me promise."

  "Why you and not me?" Jerry insisted. "I 'm her son—why didn 't she tell me?"

  "That 's simple, " Tony offered. "I 'm the only one in the family who speaks proper Italian. Remember, I did that exchange program in Rome for my degree. The papers from Italy were in the Siena dialect, which is what they now call Italian . Grandma was born in Palermo. She spoke and read only the Sicilian dialect. She needed someone who could translate and she wanted someone in the family."

  He left it at that. No need to point out both Jerry and Reggie would have figured out a way to get at that money . A nd Grandma damn well knew it.

  "Oh. That makes sense." Jerry ran a shaky hand through his hair. "But why didn 't she tell me after? Why didn 't she trust me?"

  Tony sighed. "Jerry, you know how she was. She loved knowing a secret and holding it over everyone. She probably would have told you eventually when she could have used it for something, like preventing you from going away. I don 't know."

  Jerry plunked down on the sofa. "The crafty old bitch." He finished the glass of whiskey and slammed it down on the end table. "One thing for sure. Wait until good ol ' Reg hears about this. Eight million dollars right under his very nose all this time and he doesn 't even know it 's there." He started to laugh and when the tears started to fall down his face, Tony joined in.

  Chapter 10

  Carla woke rather suddenly. It was morning. She didn 't know how she dared, but she poked Reggie several times to wake him. He dragged himself into a half-sitting position and pulled the covers up over his torso. She noted his rheumy eyes and his slackened limbs. He never woke up alert the way she did.

  "Woke up in the middle of the night and you were gone , " she said .

  "Huh? Give me a break. What time is it?"

  "Heard you talking on the phone before supper yesterday. You agreed to meet someone in the alley last night. That where you were, Reggie?"

  "None of your business ."

  "You all paid up now? 'Cause I 've decided I 'm not gonna deal with your gambling anymore. Not your gambling. Not your fists. None of it!" She glared at him.

  "What 's got into you?"

  "You snuck out again. After you promised ."

  "Well, where were you ?" he demanded. "When I got back, you were gone.

  "Had to pee, " she said. "Then I checked on our daughter. That 's where I was. And you 're in no position to point fingers. Don 't even know why I let you sleep, when I came back and saw you lying there snoring."

  "Admit it, baby, you love me, " he said, his voice like butter.

  His skin was warm when he touched her. No, hot. He kissed her lips. She smelled his masculine scent. Damn, but he could always make her believe. "Maybe there 's hope…" she said, pulling away, "…and only because Mom left Nellie a fortune…and we can make a good life…like we planned long ago. Make Nellie happy. Travel all over the world if we want to. But not if you ruin it, Reggie ."

  His bedroom eyes examined her.

  "I 'll divorce you, " she threatened. "I 'll get custody of our daughter and you 'll be out in the cold, Reggie. I mean it!"

  "What you talking about, woman?"

  "I deserve better than I 've been getting, " she said, traitor tears accumulating. "I so deserve better ."

  "Can 't get better than me, baby, " he said—confident, seductive Reggie.

  "Oh my Lord! What 's going on now?" Becki wondered. Out her bedroom window she saw three police cars lined up along the curb in front of the house.

  Must be a hostage situation.

  "Mom, be reasonable."

  Maybe Nellie's been kidnapped.

  "God forbid!"

  A drunk and disorderly?

  "Don 't you know what 's happening, Mom?"

  Since when have I ever been able to tip you off about something before you found out for yourself?

  "Makes me think being dead doesn 't have that many advantages."

  You're telling me!

  Becki dressed hastily. She wasn't a robe kind of person. Especially not when staying at someone else 's house. She pulled on a clean pair of black jeans, which obviously shrunk last time she washed them. A black t-shirt, which seemed snug too. Made sense. Vegetarians are prone to excessive carb consumption. Next, she combed her dark hair into a pony tail. She found if she kept it tight enough, there was a slight lifting effect to the face. She unrolled a pair of socks and slipped them on. Washing her face and applying all the various creams that were necessary when you were fifty would have
to wait until she reassured h ersel f everything was fine. The police cars were only parked in front of 123 Hawthorne because...

  Down the stairs. No one in the library. No one in the living room. No one in the dining room.

  She poked her head into every room, including Godmom 's quarters, just in case, but the ground floor was empty. False alarm. Plenty of time to go back upstairs, even have a bath before breakfast, then her long trip home. She glanced out a back window to assess the kind of day it was going to be after the unsettled weather last night.

  She spotted a police car in the alley behind the garage. Not to mention a blue-uniformed cop. She left the house by the back door. Crunching maple leaves underfoot, she waved to Gina. Gina was wearing a lovely, form-fitting jogging outfit. Becki didn 't think it was tight because it somehow shrunk in the wash. Usually friendly, Gina didn 't wave back. Instead, she bent over like she had stitches in her side. Or needed to redirect blood to her head so she wouldn 't pass out. Or was about to hurl.

  Tony dashed to Gina's side. Then he looked up at Becki and made an awkward, jerky movement. Not an effective salutation. Somehow, the whole scene whispered sinister . However, not being a just-ignore-what-you-don 't-want-to-know kind of woman, Becki continued on. Cops barked ominous commands. A woman sitting on a bench turned.

  "Mandy!" Becki exclaimed. She bent down and hugged this dear woman—was surprised to find her cheek cold and moist. "Been such a long time! So nice to see you!"

  "And you." But Fiorenza 's daughter-in-law, Tony 's mother, directed her eyes toward yellow plastic tape, wrapped carelessly around trees and other less natural markers.

  And Becki saw what the fuss was all about. Inside the barrier was a body.

  Most people just ignore six-year-olds. But the detective Nellie saw at Grandma 's funeral had set up in the library and he was interviewing everybody. Including her. Mom walked into the room with her. Held her hand.

  Nellie peered up at the detective . He was sitting behind the desk. The lamp she and Mom liked was turned on and a ll sorts of pretty colours reflect ed off the top of the desk. They were told to sit in the chairs in front of him , like he was the teacher and they were the students.