Good Gracie

by Ines Saint

  “Sounds safe. And easy.” Gracie picked up both, settled back, and took a bite of her cake.

  “Nothing wrong with safe and easy today.” Grandma Sherry smiled her most innocent smile.

  Gracie knew the word today was meant as a qualifier. As soon as Gracie got over her first day, they meant to smother, poke, and prod the comfort out of her, the way they’d done with Paige nearly eight months before, when she’d sought refuge in their grandmother’s hometown with her two kids after her now ex-husband had been indicted on charges of intellectual property theft and money laundering. After everything they’d done to push Paige out of her comfort zone, Gracie knew she should expect no less.

  Maybe she should move out of Spinning Hills and into an apartment somewhere in downtown Dayton. But then she’d drive down here anyway to drink her favorite hazelnut and Irish cream latte and eat her favorite cinnamon and walnut coffee cake. She took a sip and another bite and the warmth of both made her almost feel ready for anything.

  “When you visit Josh Goodwin, make sure you say hi for us,” Hope said.

  Gracie pretended to glance at the clock on the wall before setting down her cake and coffee. “That reminds me—I need to get there before anyone else does so I can take an uninterrupted look around.”

  “Didn’t you already do that last night?” Grandma Sherry asked.

  Gracie, who had been sliding her left arm into her blazer, rounded on her grandmother. “Are you spying on me?” she asked, stunned.

  Paige tossed both Hope and their grandmother murderous looks before getting up to put a gentle hand on Gracie’s arm. “No. She didn’t. We all guessed that that’s what you would do because we know you.”

  Gracie glared at Paige’s hand. “Please stop petting me. I’m not a puppy.” It had been a long time since she’d felt real anger.

  Paige promptly snatched her hand away. “I’m sorry. Just—don’t leave, okay? Finish your coffee and cake. We’ll stop.”

  Hope got up, too. “I’m sorry, too. I promise I won’t prod.”

  Gracie shot Hope an incredulous look. “You think you prod?” The unexpected humor in it made Gracie’s lips twitch. “Prodding involves delicacy and diplomacy. You don’t prod, Hope—you poke. With a stick you probably sharpen with your own teeth every morning.”

  Hope dimpled. “I won’t poke, then.”

  “Good.” Gracie sat back down, mostly because she wasn’t yet ready to face the day. It would be different in broad daylight. More real. “I’ll stay for a few more minutes.”

  Grandma Sherry squeezed her knee. “Well, you look like you slept well. I’ll take it to mean last night’s visit went well.”

  Paige put her hands on her hips and glared at their grandmother. “We just said we’d leave her alone!”

  “I’m merely observing to my beloved granddaughter that I’m relieved her visit seems to have gone well.”

  “Now that’s a proper prod,” Gracie muttered, giving up. It would be best to accept the meddling because no matter how much she huffed and puffed, there would be no escaping it.

  Looking relieved at Gracie’s reaction, Paige promptly sat back down, planted a hand under her chin, and stared at Gracie with her big baby-blue eyes. “It was? Good. Then tell us all about last night.”

  Gracie rolled her head back on the sofa and closed her eyes. Two minutes. That’s all she’d give them. Everything about the meeting with Josh had left her on edge. Her old feelings. Her new feelings. Her words. His words . . . I’d like to talk to Gracie Piper someday. I often wonder about her, you know.

  Oh, well. Too bad. She’s dead. I buried her, she’d wanted to say.

  But then he’d left, she’d toured the building, and ideas and possibilities had transported her to a place where she felt both confident and valuable. “I feel really good about this project. I think it’s going to be career-defining,” she admitted slowly, surprised at how good it felt to say it out loud.

  “That’s great!” Paige said.

  “It is, sweetie, and we should meet again tomorrow so you can tell us how it goes today, too,” her grandmother suggested.

  Gracie nodded noncommittally and started to get up, not knowing if she’d be up for another round of questioning tomorrow. No matter how great she felt about the project, they knew the situation was still a difficult one for her. “So, where are your cohorts?” she asked, referring to Ruby Merriweather and Rosa Medina, the other two co-owners of the café. Both women always seemed to materialize when nose-butting and unsolicited advice-giving was going on. It was odd they weren’t there today, offering their take on things.

  “They’re delivering sugar cookies.”

  “Since when do you guys deliver anything?” Hope asked. “You’re always bragging about how people drive for miles to seek out your treats.”

  “What you don’t seem to realize is that our insight is the treat people drive miles to seek. But we deliver our baked treats to special people on special occasions.”

  “Who’s the special person and what’s the occasion?” Paige asked.

  A shrug was her only answer.

  * * *

  Josh had been staring out the window when a sound made him turn abruptly. Montgomery County Prosecutor Helen Sacket was sitting at his desk, eating a sugar cookie. “What’s wrong with you?” she asked. “I’ve been sitting here for over a minute.”

  A good lawyer knew the only way to look innocent was to tell as much of the truth as possible and to avoid lies. “Nothing. I was thinking about our courthouse ghosts, that’s all,” he half-joked. “I hear a few have been haunting the building lately.”

  Helen raised an eyebrow. “Only ghost I’ve heard of making the rounds is Clyde Cupcake. They say he’s trying to clear his name again.”

  Josh smiled. Clyde Cupcake’s real name had been Clyde Stake. He’d been a custodian for most of the businesses in the nearby town of Spinning Hills, including a bakery. Every night he’d sneak a few cupcakes from the bakery, and the owner, Tilda Merriweather, would allow it. But then someone stole a lockbox full of Tilda’s most prized recipes, and Clyde Cupcake had been named the prime suspect in the theft. Local legend had it that Tilda, a descendant of the gypsies who’d founded the town, had a hard time believing it, so she cursed a cupcake with a truth-telling spell and had it delivered to Clyde. The next morning Clyde had been found dead on the sidewalk right in front of the local judge’s house, holding the cupcake in his hand.

  Clyde was said to have haunted the judge’s house and the courthouse ever since, smashing pink frosting on both buildings every year on the anniversary of his untimely death.

  “Some people never know when to quit.” Josh shrugged.

  “Ghosts certainly don’t. It’s why they’re ghosts.” Helen winked. “Although he’s been leaving messages written in pink frosting on bathroom mirrors, so I’m thinking he has a human accomplice.”

  Josh stopped. No one had told him messages were being left on bathroom mirrors. “What do the messages say?”

  “Pasts matter, but written all together, like pastsmatter.”

  “Pastsmatter? That’s it?”

  Helen nodded.

  “How many times has this happened?”

  “Once, in a men’s bathroom on the first floor.” Helen sent him a baffled look. “You’re not seriously concerned about this, are you?”

  Josh considered it. “Is anyone trying to find out who’s leaving these messages? What if it’s some sort of threat?”

  “The anniversary of Clyde’s death is coming up, he’s the friendliest ghost according to those who believe in this crap, and someone is playing a prank. That’s all there is to it.” Her tone took on a familiar, aggravated edge. “I’ve got three sentencings plus four preliminaries this week, two commissions to chair, and files up to here”—she gestured to her neck—“awaiting my attention, and you want me to worry about pink frosting?” She shook her head. “I think you’re just anxious about your announcement.”

 
The way she put it, worrying about pink frosting did sound ridiculous, even though he knew his concern wasn’t over the frosting. It was over the fact that an unknown was leaving messages.

  Josh sighed. Helen was probably right. About the frosting, not the announcement. It wasn’t that he was nervous, or even eager. It was more of a feeling that something unexpected was looming on the horizon. People had talked about such feelings all his life and he’d never believed them. Not until a winter morning nine years before, when he’d woken up with the same uneasy feeling. It had been illogical, so he’d brushed it away. But when he’d gotten to his first, supposedly temporary job in the very building where he now stood, he’d come upon Gracie hiding in a corner, pulling her hair out and crying silent tears. He’d been moved. And things had never been the same.

  It had been a blessing in the end, but it hadn’t felt like one at the time. The pressure he’d received from everyone who’d ever mattered to him to ignore his nagging conscience had been intense and nearly crushing for a twenty-four-year-old who’d previously been sheltered from certain truths. They didn’t know that a deep calling for justice had always tugged at him, he just hadn’t known how to direct it. It had shown up in snippets of his privileged upbringing, only in ways that hadn’t stirred pots.

  It shamed him to think of how righteous he’d felt over defending a bullied kid, or giving a shot to the little guy during a football or basketball game. It had been easy to stand up to people who already looked up to you. The real test was when you had to stand up to those who could crush you.

  As Gracie had.

  Helen Sacket licked a crumb of cookie off her lip. “Mmm. Who brought you these anyway? You never eat sweets anymore.”

  “Ruby, Rosa, and Sherry did, to wish me luck,” Josh answered.

  “Uh-oh.” Helen furrowed her brow. “How do you know there’s nothing funny in them?”

  Josh gave her an incredulous look.

  Helen eyed him back. “You know how they are. I wouldn’t put much past them.”

  “Seriously? This is the county courts building, Helen.”

  “I mean maybe they sprinkled the cookies with some belladonna or valerian root or any other of those roots or herbs they’re always telling me will relax me.” Helen looked at the cookie in her hand doubtfully before shrugging and polishing it off. “And how did they know you were making an important announcement today?”

  “Their ears are fused to the grapevine.” Josh half-smiled. “They also always send me treats before big trials.” How they heard about the difficult cases that didn’t make it onto the news he’d never know. Ruby, a descendant of Tilda Merriweather and the gypsies—she was positive she’d inherited their powers—told him it was her sixth sense and third eye. Rosa, a devout Catholic, said prayer guided her thoughts to him at precise times. Sherry said she had a Google alert set up for him.

  Helen laughed. “You know, it’s been a while since I’ve seen those three. Why haven’t I stopped by their café for a visit?”

  Josh looked down toward the front of the building, where a few press people were already gathered. “I’d say it’s because time flies when you’re constantly busy.”

  “Well, maybe now that I’m retiring, I’ll drop in on them from time to time.”

  “You ready?” his best friend and closest ally, Chief Deputy Jamar Johnson of the sheriff’s office, walked in.

  Josh shrugged. “It’s a small announcement in the grand scheme of things.”

  “But it’s significant. It’ll be a special election, which means you won’t be competing with major candidates for coverage, and there’s no popular incumbent this time. There will be extra scrutiny.”

  Josh nodded. He knew. Helen had originally planned to announce her retirement closer to a general election, but she’d moved it up, explaining that she was, quite simply, burned out. The inevitable extra coverage hadn’t bothered him until last night. If the press stuck to the issues, having Gracie back wouldn’t be a problem. But that didn’t always happen, and Gracie didn’t deserve to have her name out there again. Should he have warned her?

  There hadn’t been time, he remembered. And it hadn’t been a good moment.

  Josh hesitated. “There’s something you ought to know.” Both Jamar and Helen were publicly backing him. They deserved to be in the loop about anything that could potentially come up. He took a deep breath. “Gracie Piper was here. She’s, uh, the lead designer for the company in charge of the remodeling that will be taking place in the next few months, which means she’ll be working in this building for a while.” Helen, who’d been about to pop another cookie into her mouth, put it down and stared at the desk in front of her. Josh continued. “I ran into her last night.” He didn’t add that she’d changed her appearance and her name. They’d all thought she was so strong and so brave, but it was obvious now, years later, that the ordeal must’ve taken a toll. “And I informed my campaign manager, spokesperson, and treasurer last night.” Two were retired public officials who had remembered the case well. He trusted them.

  Jamar frowned at him. “Sorry, man, but I don’t know who you’re talking about.”

  Josh started. The whole thing with Gracie had been such a pivotal moment in his life that it hadn’t occurred to him that Jamar wouldn’t know. But Jamar had only lived in Dayton for four years. And they’d only become friends when Jamar had found out Josh played soccer and recruited him to play in a league he ran. A league that had expanded his world as much as meeting Gracie had. “What am I missing?” Jamar tried again. “Is she that ex-fiancée of yours who started that rumor? The one who hosts that inane morning show segment? I forget her name.”

  Helen and Josh exchanged a quick but loaded look. “No, she’s not the ex-fiancée. She’s the rumor,” Helen explained.

  “Oh.” Jamar paused. “Well, you guys have mentioned a few things here and there, but I’ve never heard the whole story. There’s always too much going on.” He sighed and sat down and Helen came around the desk.

  “An internet search will bring up the story. You might as well hear it from us.” After taking a deep, reluctant breath, Helen began. “Gracie was a high school senior when her prep-school boyfriend smooth-talked her into letting him see her naked and . . . touch her.” She cleared her throat and Josh had to look away. It still angered him. “He recorded it without her knowledge and then showed it to a bunch of kids around their small town. When some boys started groping her and making lewd comments, and girls started avoiding her, she found out. She was devastated and humiliated, but she forced herself to go to a trusted teacher at her own school, who brought it to the attention of the school principal, who brought it to the attention of the prep-school principal, who called in the boy and his parents. But that didn’t go over well and the whole thing blew up. All Gracie wanted was to have the video deleted and destroyed, but the boy’s family wanted to hang on to it, saying it was evidence that whatever happened between them had been consensual. They were acting as if she only wanted money and attention. Both had been underage at the time the video was made but at the age of consent, and that complicated matters, especially when a blogger published her name. It became a he-said, she-said situation. Many people blamed her, simply because she was a girl who lived on the outskirts of a wealthy suburb, in a trailer park that just happened to lie within their district lines, but a whole lot of people were appalled by what the boy had done and his family’s refusal to destroy the recording. The case gained national coverage for a short time.”

  Jamar sat there for a moment, taking it all in. “I think I remember it, or maybe I’m remembering a similar story.” He shook his head and looked at Josh again. “And she was one of your first cases?”

  Josh nodded. “I found her huddled in a corner, crying her heart out. Her mother was an alcoholic and had recently died. Her father had died before she’d really even gotten a chance to know him. Her older sisters were in college in large part because they wanted to help her get ahead in the world,
and her grandmother had gone to live with her so Gracie could finish out her school year. She was still too ashamed to tell them and was looking for a solution first. And we tried the easy way, but the boy’s family wanted to do it the hard way.”

  “And the rumor that you had an, uh, inappropriate relationship with her? How did that get started?” Jamar asked next.

  Josh rubbed his shoulder. “My dad’s firm was hired to defend the boy. Obviously, that caused a huge rift between me, my parents, and my ex-fiancée.” Josh shook his head, remembering. “And then my ex started a rumor that I had something going on with Gracie when I broke off the engagement. In general, few people took it seriously because Gracie’s grandmother and sisters were always with us, but those few people were relentless. Helen kept getting calls about it.”

  Josh didn’t know if having Gracie back would be a problem for his candidacy or not. Normally, he and the local news outlets had a great relationship. The fact that Josh wasn’t afraid to take on big guys or fight uphill battles if it was the right thing to do provided them with plenty of stories. A Chevy Camaro he’d loved like a son had blown up once; local nightly news ratings and newspaper sales had seldom been higher. He’d almost been blown to smithereens and had lost a dear car; they’d reaped the rewards. They owed him. Maybe they’d stick to only covering facts and ignore innuendo this time around. Maybe Gracie would be finished and gone before it even became an issue. Maybe.

  Jamar looked up. “You know, if few people took it seriously, I don’t think it’ll be a problem. Especially if you two are on good terms. I do think people would wonder if they find out you two were in the same building but went around ignoring each other.”

  “He’s right.” Helen nodded slowly. “It would look odd if you two avoid each other. Maybe you two should go out to lunch or something. To catch up and talk about how you’ll handle this.”

  Jamar, whose eyes had narrowed in thought, suddenly put a hand up. “Wait. Something else about all this is bugging me. Don’t you think Gracie’s firm getting this contract, and Gracie being chosen as the lead designer, is a little too much of a coincidence?”