Crazy, Stupid, Dead

by Wendy Delaney

  I choked off the laughter bubbling in my throat. “This is about you being a good mother? Come on, we both know this is about you wanting to have the appearance of being a good mother. And the next time you arrange for a reporter to catch you in that act, leave me out of it.”

  She gaped at me as if I had reached across the room and slapped her.

  Scrambling up from the recliner before I said anything else that I’d be sure to regret later, I made a quick exit to cool off.

  Which might have been in the realm of possibility if Steve hadn’t been peering into the window of the shiny new car parked out front.

  “Whose car?” he asked, stoking the fire singeing my cheeks.

  I reached out for a much-needed hug. “Long story.”

  “Has something happened that I need to know about?”

  I thought about what I found out from the Burnside sisters. “Yep.”

  “But I take it that you don’t want to get into it now.”

  “Nope.” In that moment, I was content to just bask in the distraction of Steve’s embrace.

  “We could go inside and do this instead of standing in the street.”

  “My mother’s in there.”

  “Or we could stand in the street and make out,” he said lowering his lips to mine.

  I was good with that.

  Chapter Fifteen

  “WHAT EXACTLY DO you expect me to do with this information?” Steve asked almost four hours later while I filled Gram’s sink with sudsy water.

  What did he think? “In light of the fact that these two men were seen visiting Naomi Easley shortly before she got into that tub, don’t you think we should find out what they were doing there?”

  “We?”

  “I meant in general, as part of the investigation into her death.”

  Taking over at the sink, Steve shut off the water. “That investigation is over, as you well know.”

  “But now you have this new information about these two guys.”

  “And you think they could shed some light on what happened that night.”

  Yes! “They could. I know there’s not a lot to go on here—”

  “Not a lot?” Steve’s lips drew into a humorless smile. “There’s not even that much.”

  “But isn’t it worth—”

  “All the time it would take to find someone who could identify them?”

  Steve was making it sound like it would take forever. Sure, it was a long shot, but … “If it could help determine that her drowning was or wasn’t accidental, wouldn’t—”

  “But it wouldn’t,” he said, handing me a plate to dry. “Even if someone confessed that they held her under, a good lawyer could probably get them off because homicide by drowning is virtually impossible to prove.”

  “But—”

  “Remember, there were no signs of a struggle and she’d been drinking. Once we get the tox results back, we’ll know more. In the meantime, do me a favor and find something else to obsess about.” He grinned. “That car outside you’re so pissed off about should be enough to keep you occupied.”

  I groaned. “Don’t remind me.”

  “All in all, I thought that went pretty well,” Gram announced, coming in from the living room with two empty wineglasses.

  My mother wasn’t speaking to me, I now had two cars that had come to me at a soul-crushing cost, and Steve had shredded the value of the eyewitness testimony I’d brought him like it was cabbage for the coleslaw I had made earlier.

  “It could have been worse.” I could have beat Barry senseless with the barbecue tongs when he came out to suggest that I apologize to Marietta.

  “You two need to get past this.” Gram clucked her tongue as she set the glasses on the tile counter. “Not even saying good-bye to one another. You should both be ashamed for the way you’re acting.”

  “I didn’t start it,” I protested, well aware that I sounded like a ten-year-old.

  Steve snickered. “Very mature.”

  I stuck my tongue out at him.

  Gram heaved a sigh. “I’m dealing with children here.”

  “Yes, you are, Eleanor,” Steve said, grinning at me.

  She slanted him a cool glance. “I was including you.”

  I was a second away from teasing him about joining me as one of Gram’s problem children when she pointed her finger at my face. “While you may not have started this kerfuffle with your mother, you’re going to be the one who ends it.”

  Me! “After what she did today?”

  “Sweetheart, I recognize that she was way out of line to use you like that, but one of you has to make the first move.”

  “I don’t owe her an apology.” I didn’t care how shocked my newest stepfather looked when I told him so … in slightly more colorful language.

  Gram gave my shoulder a gentle squeeze. “No, but you owe your mother the opportunity to fix this.”

  Short of going back in time for a do-over so that Marietta didn’t have to try so hard to play the good mother, I didn’t know that there was any hope in fixing this.

  “I mean it,” Gram said when I didn’t answer.

  “Yes, ma’am.” I could plainly see she meant every word she said.

  But that didn’t mean that I had to agree with her.

  * * *

  Dreams about cars hurtling toward me like in a deadly game of dodge ball kept me tossing and turning until I finally kicked off the covers around three. That’s when I got up, picked up a fork, and parked myself in front of my TV with a hunk of the pumpkin cheesecake left over from my mother’s party.

  Not a smart choice, which my churning gut informed me even before Fozzie licked my plate clean minutes later.

  It didn’t fix anything.

  Not with my mother.

  Not with the grandmother who was disappointed in me.

  Not with the detective who accused me of being obsessed with Naomi Easley’s death.

  And maybe I was, a little. I preferred to think of it as giving the unusual demise of one of my grandmother’s friends the attention it deserved.

  Did my restless mind require cheesecake to provide that attention? Only at three on Monday mornings after yelling at my mother, and even then that wasn’t a firm rule because it gave me one more thing to regret.

  “Well, today is off to a stellar start,” I grumbled to the dog prancing ahead of me to the kitchen. While he made a beeline for his water dish, I ground some beans to make a pot of wake-up juice, since going back to bed would be an exercise in futility.

  Fozzie knew that the gurgling sound of the coffeemaker signaled that it was time for me to get dressed and atone for the evils of the prior day, or minute as the case might be. So he met me at the door with his leash and we went on a brisk run in the predawn drizzle.

  It didn’t take long for us to jog eight blocks south to the front gate of the Victorian that Gordon and Paula Easley reluctantly admitted had once been listed for sale. Since his mother had moved into her condo around the same time, it seemed perfectly logical for her to list the big, dark house I was staring up at.

  So why follow my mother’s example and put on a show about it?

  The only thing that made any sense to me was that they didn’t want Gordon’s sister to find out just how close she had come to being ousted from her home.

  Considering the level of exasperation in Paula’s voice when she vented about Robin’s unwillingness to help with family matters, I suspected that the “problem” Gram had mentioned had been festering within the Easley clan for a long time.

  Did it cause Naomi to second-guess her decision to sell two years ago? Because unless she’d had more money squirreled away somewhere, her big nut of an asset was this painted lady.

  Watching a beam of light slash over the weeds in the yard as a car motored past, it looked like the lady was patiently waiting for someone to take care of her. And if Robin couldn’t handle the simple matter
of taking a box of her mother’s things, I imagined that Gordon would have to take action sooner or later. If his mother’s bathtub request was any indicator, my best guess would be later.

  But my gut wasn’t entirely convinced. Of course, my gut was also full of cheesecake.

  Tugging on the leash, Fozzie whimpered as another jogger in a dark hoodie emerged from the thick mist that had been creeping up from the bay like a ghostly fog.

  “It’s fine,” I said, glancing back while he pulled me to the base of a tree he wanted to water. “It’s just another runner.” Who, unlike me, actually looked athletic as she pumped her arms to sprint toward us.

  But why had she broken into a sprint?

  With my heart beating the alarm that I shouldn’t stick around to find out, I yanked on Fozzie’s leash. “It’s not fine. Let’s go.”

  “Hey!” she called out as her running shoes slapped the sidewalk. “What are you doing?”

  Growling, Fozzie stepped in front of me like a brawler itching for a fight.

  The jogger froze in front of the gate. I couldn’t see her well in the early morning gloom, but she appeared to be close to my age.

  I inched toward the street with Fozzie to get all the contenders in this fight into neutral corners. “We were just out for a run, same as you.”

  She pulled back her hood and aimed a dark, wary gaze at me that looked almost identical to the occupant of the house. “I didn’t see any running. What I saw looked a lot like someone casing the place. We’ve had a lot of break-ins in the neighborhood over the last year, and if you’re—”

  “I’m not.” And I needed to come up with a good reason why I had been standing out here for the last few minutes. “Someone told me this house was for sale. My dad’s in the market for—”

  “They were misinformed. It’s not for sale.”

  “Too bad. He loves these old Victorians.” Actually, I didn’t know anything about my sperm donor’s taste other than his preference for young, impressionable actresses. “And this one’s a beauty. Are you the owner?”

  “Her daughter.”

  Robin has a daughter?

  When I came here Thursday with my grandmother, I had the impression that Robin lived alone. “Did you two just move in?” I wrinkled my nose in an effort to look as disarmingly confused as Althea. “Because I could have sworn I was told that this was the house.”

  “Nope. My mom’s lived here for years.”

  “Then maybe I’m on the wrong block. Do you know if there’s another Victorian with blue trim around here?”

  “Maybe, but I’m only in town once a month, so I’m not the best one to ask.” She checked the fitness watch on her wrist. “Excuse me, but I have a six o’clock ferry to catch.”

  “Heading home?” I asked as she stepped through the gate.

  “And to work, so I need to go or I’m gonna be late.”

  Fozzie pushed forward to sniff the ground where she had been standing as if I wasn’t the only one of us interested in this mystery daughter.

  “Have a good day, and thanks for the info.” Because you just told me that you live somewhere near Seattle—an easy distance away if your mother needs you.

  Also an easy distance away to keep in contact with the rest of the family, like a grandmother I imagined she would have visited from time to time. Possibly even exactly one month ago.

  Chapter Sixteen

  “LOOK WHO’S GRACING us with her presence,” Duke announced from his early morning post at his doughnut fryer when the kitchen door banged shut behind me. “Didn’t get enough of my charm last night?”

  My great-aunt Alice slanted her husband of fifty-three years a glare as she measured flour into a stainless steel mixing bowl. “I think she’s had enough of your charm to last a lifetime.”

  She turned her glare on me when I grabbed one of the aprons from the nearby hook. “And since you’re here with us, instead of in your bed where you belong, I’d bet dollars to those doughnuts over there that I know why.”

  Unless they took the scenic route to the cafe and spotted me talking to Robin’s daughter, I seriously doubted it.

  “It’s your mother,” Alice said, pursing her lips with disdain.

  Okay, I couldn’t deny that Marietta played a major factor in why I was up before the birds. “Yes, but—”

  “Oh, you don’t have to tell me.” Alice gave me a knowing nod when I joined her at her worktable. “Your grandmother spilled the beans on why Mary Jo was giving you the cold shoulder last night.”

  I wasn’t surprised. Gram rarely kept anything from her sister. “So you heard what my mother did.”

  “That she bought you that car? And then you got all miffed about it because your mom’s been spending money like it’s water?” Alice rolled her eyes. “Oh, yeah, I heard all about it.”

  More creative spin. This was a talent that obviously ran in my family.

  “Can’t say I’m surprised that she didn’t take it too well when you told her to knock off the big spender act. Your mom still has a fortune tied up in that Malibu house that she’s having trouble selling, right?” Alice asked in a hushed tone as if this common family knowledge was gossip that dared not stray beyond the confines of her kitchen.

  “I suppose.” Marietta would have shouted it from the Malibu hills if her red-roofed hacienda had finally sold while she was down there.

  “It’s just her pride.” Alice scooped two cups of sugar into her mixing bowl. “You know how she loves to strut around like she’s the queen bee. Mary Jo just can’t stand to be reminded that she’s no queen around here.”

  “Ain’t that the truth,” Duke quipped as he dipped a couple of apple fritters into a pan of sugary glaze.

  There was no denying this morning’s consensus in Duke’s Cafe, but that didn’t mean that I needed to give them cause to knock my mother down another peg. Instead, I grabbed a bowl to add some banana walnut muffins to today’s bakery case selection, and my breakfast menu for later.

  “So, what are you gonna do about the car?” Alice asked, pushing her recipe book toward me.

  “I’d really like it if my mother would wise up and get her money back, but …” I didn’t see that happening anytime soon, and certainly not after the staged show she had produced for Renee’s feature article.

  “Wise up,” Duke chortled, slipping into a gravelly baritone to belt out a chorus about believing in miracles.

  Alice groaned. “It’s bad enough that the tiff with Mary Jo made the girl lose sleep. She doesn’t need you giving her nightmares.”

  He shot me a glance. “Since she seems to be here to bake, pretty sure that’s not what she’s worried about.”

  Duke knew me too well.

  “I don’t think you need to be too worried about your mother,” Alice said as if she were continuing his train of thought. “She always manages to get by.”

  With the hope that we could let that be the last word on the subject of my mother, I forced a smile and took a minute to melt some butter in the oven behind me before broaching the reason for my visit.

  “What do you know about Naomi Easley’s daughter?” I asked, reaching for the baking soda and cinnamon canisters at the end of the table.

  “Not a whole lot.” Alice met my gaze. “Why do you want to know about Robin?”

  “Just curious. I happened to run into her daughter when I was out with Fozzie, and I was surprised to learn that she was in town.”

  “Oh, Hailey’s been visiting pretty regularly, ever since Naomi took that tumble a couple years back. With both of ‘em housebound, she even moved back in for a few weeks to help out.”

  I didn’t understand. “Was Robin hurt too?”

  Alice gave me a blank look. “Hurt?”

  “You said they were both housebound. What was wrong with Robin?”

  “The same thing that’s been wrong with that girl for years. Panic attacks. Rarely leaves the house. Naomi thought she was get
ting better, even got Robin to come to lunch here a few times, but …” Alice shook her head. “Then Naomi took that fall, and that was all she wrote. The only time I’ve seen Robin since was at the funeral. Looked like she was clinging to her daughter for dear life, too, the poor thing.”

  That helped to explain the arrangement that Naomi had made with Robin, allowing her to stay in the house—the home that had probably become a sanctuary for her.

  “Then Hailey comes to town to help her mom with shopping and stuff?” I asked.

  Seating her bowl on the standing mixer next to her, Alice nodded. “Drives her to doctor’s appointments and the like. Took over for her grandma after she moved out. Not sure why, since she has to hop on a ferry to get here.”

  “So she’s been doing that for over two years?”

  “Hailey must have wanted to give Naomi a break.”

  “I guess.” Or there was some reason why Hailey wanted her grandmother to stay away from the house.

  * * *

  “Do you have any Cap’n Crunch?” Rox asked when she called me at work almost twelve hours later.

  Since one of the assistant prosecutors had me digging up information on a former captain of a commercial crab fishing boat, I wasn’t sure I heard her right. “Captain who?”

  “Cap’n Crunch, the cereal. It’s Eddie’s favorite and I’m out because I couldn’t stop eating it and pretty much every other box of cereal in the house.”

  “Sorry, Roxie. I think the only cereal I have in my pantry is oatmeal.”

  She sighed. “Unless you’re gonna come over here and bake sugary cookies out of it, I don’t want it.”

  I couldn’t help but laugh. “I thought you were done with cravings.”

  “I am. I don’t want the pickles and cream cheese anymore, but lately it’s every form of sugar on the planet. Maybe it’s because I’m bored out of my mind, so I’ve been doing a lot more nibbling.”

  “Do you want some company? I could stop at the store and pick up something for dinner.”

  “I’d love that, but only if you and Steve don’t already have plans.”