And Death Goes to . . .

by Laura Bradford

  “I do, JoAnna. And thank you. You’re the best.”

  ~Chapter Sixteen~

  I’m well aware of the fact that silence has its place.

  But there are also times when silence (from a certain bald man) can drive a person (in this particular instance, me) nuts.

  Sure, I’d gotten a few nods and an occasional grunt or two over the past fifteen minutes, but if I wasn’t looking for a wee bit more, I would have taken JoAnna up on her offer to pick me up something to eat on her way back from lunch so I could continue combing through Deidre’s lengthier-than-I’d-realized career. Instead, I’d not only called Grandpa Stu and suggested lunch at his favorite sandwich joint, I’d also swung out to the house and picked him up.

  I leaned against my side of the two-person table and pointed at his barely touched sandwich. “Is your Reuben not good, Grandpa?”

  “It’s fine.”

  “Are you not feeling well?”

  “No, I’m fine.”

  Would you have rather gone somewhere else?”

  “No, this is fine.”

  I stopped my parade of questions and simply stared at my grandfather. “Mom is paying you, isn’t she?”

  With great effort, he pulled his attention off his plate and fixed it on me. “Paying me? Paying me for what?”

  “All those fines you just gave me. She always hated it when I gave her that answer growing up. Said I’d know what she was talking about one day.” I dug into the second half of my own ham and cheese sandwich and then waved what was left in the space between us. “Though I kind of assumed she meant when I had my own children.”

  “She did.”

  I took another bite and then set the sandwich on its wrapper. “So what then? You’ve taken it upon yourself to give me a taste now? Before I have kids?”

  He looked at me for a long moment before pushing his own sandwich-topped wrapper into the center of the table. “I answered fine to your questions because it fit. The sandwich is fine, this place is fine, and my stomach and whatever else can go wrong at my age is also fine.”

  “Then why have you been so quiet the past few days? It’s not like you, Grandpa, and you know it.”

  “Maybe I’ve spent far too much of my life yapping.”

  “Uh, no…” I pushed my own sandwich out of the way, leaned forward, and patted my grandfather’s age-spotted hand. “All those lessons I’ve learned in life? I couldn’t have learned them without you.”

  “Lessons?”

  “Taking things a little at a time… How to work around my lack of a poker face… Where Grandma kept her candy stash… You know, all that stuff.”

  “All things you’d have figured out on your own, Sugar Lump.”

  “Not necessarily. And even if I had, learning them on my own would have been a whole lot less fun.” I stopped, took a deep breath, and made myself go where I’d sworn I’d never go. “Did you and Rap—I mean, Ms. Rapple, have a fight? Because—”

  The vibration of my phone against the table stole the rest of my sentence from my lips and my attention from my grandfather. A glance at the screen, as I rushed to silence the vibration, yielded Mary Fran’s name and smiling face. I considered letting her go to voice mail, but picked it up when my grandfather motioned for me to do so.

  “Hey, Mary Fran. Is everything okay?”

  “Yeah, sure, everything is fine.” I shook off the mental image of my mother grinning and tightened my grip on the phone. “I was just calling to double check on tonight and that you’re still okay letting me tag along with you?”

  Pushing my chair back from the table, I lunged my hand into my backpack and pulled out my day planner, my heart beginning to pound inside my chest as my brain started firing off a host of possibilities I must have forgotten.

  Mary Fran’s birthday (but it’s not).

  Sam’s birthday (nope, not that, either).

  A sleepover at the pet store (please, God, no).

  “I mean, I know it probably seems weird for me to want to go when I was never really close to this guy, but she was my age, you know? And their kids are still so little.”

  And, just like that, I caught up.

  Deidre’s wake.

  Damn.

  This time, when I shook my head, it wasn’t to dislodge images of my mother or her legendary I told you so face. It was to rid my thoughts of the carrot I’d given myself to get through the day—a carrot that looked and felt a lot like Andy did when we were snuggled up on the couch watching movies together.

  Damn.

  “Tobi? You still there?”

  I nodded, only to double back and repeat the gesture in a more phone friendly way. “Yeah. I’m still here. I’d actually forgotten about the wake being tonight until you just said it.”

  “Oh.”

  “But now that it’s back on my radar—yeah, I’m still going. And yeah, we can still go together if you’d like.”

  “I would. Thanks.”

  “So what time is it again?”

  “Four to six, and seven to nine. I can do either one if you want, but if we do the four to six one, I need to know so I can either get Sam in here to cover me or put up a closing early sign in the front door.”

  I searched the wall to my left and the one to my right before finding a clock. “Let’s do the later one. I still have some stuff to do at the office after lunch.”

  “Perfect. What time do you want to meet?”

  “It’s out in Chesterfield, right?” I asked.

  “Yes.”

  “Let’s plan to leave my place at seven. With it being past rush hour, we can be out at the funeral parlor inside thirty minutes. Tops.”

  When everything was set, I ended the call, set the phone atop my planner, and met my grandfather’s curious gaze. “You’re coming with us, yes?”

  At his raised eyebrow, I filled in the details. “Deidre Ryan’s wake is this evening. Mary Fran wants to go because she went to school with Deidre’s husband. I want to go as a show of respect to a colleague and a fellow nominee. And you, you can roam around the place seeing if there’s anything that can be added to your notebook.”

  “Think that pretty thing in the blue skirt and high heels will be there, too?”

  I tried to conjure up an image of someone in a blue skirt but came up empty. “Pretty thing in a blue skirt and high heels?”

  “That one right there.” My grandfather lifted his hand off his lap and motioned for me to look over my shoulder.

  I surveyed the plethora of tables behind me until I came to one in the back corner. Although my vantage point wasn’t ideal thanks to the man with the rather large head seated at a table between here and there, I could pick out the side of a blue skirt and a pair of matching blue high heels.

  Swiveling in my seat, I bobbed my head to the right to remove Big Head Man from my sight line. Now that I had, however, I had the blue skirted woman’s open laptop to contend with. But as was usually the case when you felt someone looking at you, the woman peeked her eyes over the top of her computer to meet mine.

  Cassie Turner.

  It took a moment for recognition to dawn on her face, but by the time it did, I was ready with a small wave and a smile. When they were returned, I swiveled back to my original starting place and my grandfather. “When did you spot her?”

  “When I was sitting here waiting for you to return with our order.”

  “Why didn’t you say anything?”

  “You were talking. I was watching. What difference does it make?”

  “So all this time you’ve been pretty much”—I hemmed, I hawed, I plowed ahead—“incommunicado, you’ve actually been watching her over my shoulder?”

  He drew back as if preparing for an argument, but sank back against his chair, instead. “She hasn’t moved since we got here. Hasn’t been looking
around, neither. Just working on that computer of hers.”

  “Grandpa, what’s wrong?”

  “Nothing is wrong, Sugar Lump.”

  “Are you upset about leaving? Because you can stay past Sunday if you’d like.”

  His answering laugh held no sign of genuine humor. “You have your own life, Tobi. You have a job, Andy, your friends… You don’t need some old coot getting in the way.”

  It was my turn to prepare for battle, only I had no intention of giving up the way he had. “Getting in the way? Are you kidding me? I feel like I’ve barely seen you this visit with how busy you’ve been and all. I-I’ve missed you, actually, and that’s with you here—sleeping on my couch every night, instead of in your own place on the other side of the state.”

  “I’ve been around the past day or so.”

  “Geographically, yes. But mentally, no. I need you being sharp. We’ve got a murder to solve, remember?”

  He reached out, ran his finger along the table’s edge, scraped at something with his nail, and then returned his hand to his lap. “I remember.”

  “Then help me figure out who killed Deidre and why. Help me brainstorm possible motives. You love that stuff, Grandpa—”

  The vibration of my phone cut me off once again. This time though, a check of the screen revealed a name that caused a visible reaction in my grandfather. I picked it up and held it toward him. “Do you want to take this?”

  His only response was to cast his eyes toward the floor.

  Interesting…

  I pulled the phone back, pressed the button, and held it to my ear. “Do you have news on Gertie?” I asked by way of greeting.

  Sniffle.

  “Ms. Rapple?”

  Sniffle.

  Sniffle.

  A peek at my grandfather showed that while he was still looking at the floor, he was most definitely listening.

  “Do you”—sniffle, sniffle—“know how I can reach your grandfather?”

  “My grandfather? Sure, he”—I stopped as he sat up, waved his hands, and shook his head with such earnest there was no mistaking the message. Still, I asked Ms. Rapple to hang on while I covered the phone. “Grandpa! She’s upset! She wants to talk to you.”

  “I can’t, Sugar Lump.” He stopped waving his hands, returning them to his lap with obvious effort. “Trust me. It’s better this way.”

  “How is telling her you won’t talk to her better for her?”

  “Remember how I used to take off your Band-Aids when you were little?”

  I winced at the memory. “Yeah, you ripped them off.”

  “Got it over quicker, didn’t it?”

  He had a point, so I nodded.

  “Same holds true here. With”—he gestured toward my hand and the covered phone—“this.”

  “Grandpa, she’s upset.”

  He paused, looked past me toward the table I imagined still housed Cassie, and then pushed back his chair and stood. “I’ll be outside in the car when you’re done.”

  And just like that, he was gone, leaving me alone with his uneaten sandwich, a ton of questions, and a sniffling old biddy waiting for me to answer a question I wasn’t sure how to answer.

  Great…

  I grabbed my water glass, downed the rest of its contents with one fortifying gulp, and then brought the phone back to my ear. “Ms. Rapple, I’m sorry, I…uh…just tried my grandfather on my office line and he didn’t answer.”

  I hated having to lie, but I didn’t relish stomping on a woman’s already broken heart—even when that woman was Ms. Rapple. “But if you tell me what you need, maybe I can help.”

  There, I’d said it.

  I’d offered to help my one and only true non-feathered nemesis in life.

  Switching the phone to my left hand, I covered my forehead with the backside of my right hand and tried to gage my temperature. You know, just in case I had developed some sort of plague that was robbing me of my good sense.

  When I was pretty sure my delusion wasn’t illness-based, I filled in the gap between her sniffles with yet another offer I couldn’t quite comprehend was coming out of my mouth. “I-I can come sit with you if that would help.”

  “C-could y-you just bring us back home?”

  “Us? You mean Gertie is getting to come back home with you?”

  “I c-can’t spend another night without her. I just c-can’t.”

  I had more questions, but it was obvious now was not the time. Especially when I was finding it hard to think between Rapple’s sniffles and the sight of my grandfather’s empty chair and uneaten Reuben.

  “Do you need me to come now?”

  “I know you’re working, Tobi. So I can wait until closer to five if that helps.”

  I tried to shake off the bizarreness of the moment, but no amount of shaking (or shuddering) changed reality. I was, in fact, talking to Rapple on the phone. And she, in fact, was being accommodating.

  I allowed myself one more shudder for old time’s sake and then wedged the phone between my face and my shoulder while I wrapped my grandfather’s sandwich to go. “I’ll be there in thirty minutes. Forty, tops.”

  “Thank you, Tobi.”

  I tossed my phone, my planner, and the wrapped sandwich into my backpack and then gathered up the mess left from my lunch and made my way over to the trash bin, which wasn’t too far from Cassie’s table. The fact an exit to the parking lot (not the right one, but who’s counting) happened to be located just beyond her table made stopping by for a quick chat a little less awkward.

  Or at least I hoped it did.

  “Hi, Cassie.”

  Cassie’s fingers paused atop the keyboard as she looked up at me, the concentration I’d seen on her face as I approached dissipating just a little. “Hey, Tobi.”

  “Looks like you found a nice quiet place to get some work done, huh?” It was a stupid question but it’s all I could come up with on short notice. Though, if Carter were with me, he’d pat me on the shoulder, mutter something about my social skills, and move in with some sort of witty and endearing comment capable of making the mute speak.

  “Uh huh.”

  I looked around for something I could build a conversation around, but short of the trash bin and the elderly couple standing in front of it trying to sort the plastic and the paper into the correct receptacles, there was nothing. Instead, I settled on the only thing we had in common besides our line of work.

  “So how are you holding up?”

  Her eyebrows darted upward. “Holding up?”

  “Yeah, you know, after what happened the other night.”

  Her face drained of all discernable color as she looked from me, to her computer, and back again. “It was awful, wasn’t it? I still can’t believe…” Her words trailed off in favor of a deep breath. “Well, I can’t believe it, that’s all.”

  “Did you know her well?”

  Cassie started to answer, paused, and then looked at me closely. “You mean, Deidre?”

  I nodded.

  “As much as any of us knows anyone from another firm. Which is to say, not really, no. We traveled in different circles and she wasn’t anyone I ever had to worry about, you know?”

  Actually, I didn’t know. Deidre was good at what she did. She might have been quiet and unobtrusive, but she’d put together quite a few eye-catching campaigns over the years. Heck, I’d gone up against her with two different prospective clients over the past few months and I’d only won out once.

  But then again, Cassie had always struck me as cocky. So while I was equal parts disgusted and amused by the ease in which she could so easily dismiss a true contender in our field, I shrugged it off in the end.

  I could use cockiness to my advantage in landing clients.

  I had. And I would.

  “Can I ask
you a question, Tobi?”

  I met Cassie’s eye. “Of course. Shoot.”

  “How long before you think Whitestone will be looking to fill her job?”

  “Whitestone?”

  Cassie ran her hands through her long hair, releasing a sigh (and dislodging the lone hombre strand that was the bane of Carter’s existence) as she did. “Do you think I should wait a full week out of respect, or get my resume in now before anyone else?”

  “Whoa.” I backed up a step as the meaning behind Cassie’s words took root. “You’re wanting to submit for Deidre’s job?”

  I used the time it took for her to nod to rein in my surprise. “Wow. Okay. I always thought you were happy at Ross Jackson.”

  “I was. And then I simply became good at acting.” Cassie grabbed a hold of her to-go cup, shook it enough to rattle what was left of her ice, and then took a quick sip. “I thought it would get better after she left, but then again, I’m not a sloppy seconds kind of gal. Fortunately for me, there’s now an opening of equal standing at The Whitestone Agency and I’d like to think I’d be a perfect fit, don’t you?”

  ~Chapter Seventeen~

  I was on my way back to my office after dropping Grandpa Sullen Pants off at the house when JoAnna called, her base mode cheerfulness no match for my budding crankiness—a fact she called me out on inside the first minute and a half.

  “I take it things with Stu didn’t go as you’d hoped?”

  “Not. Even. Close.” I stopped at the four-way intersection at the end of my road and let a good three or four cars go before I became aware of the car behind me—piloted by a man who’d obviously had enough of my good Samaritanism (aka, zoning time) if the repeated taps on his horn were any indication. I rolled my eyes at him in the rearview mirror (not because he could see it, but because it made me feel good) and turned left. “Why is everyone in such a rush these days, JoAnna?”

  “Everyone?”

  “Yes. The guy behind me just now at the stop sign…my grandfather…everyone.”

  I heard JoAnna’s chuckle in the background and knew she’d pulled the phone from her mouth in an effort to keep me from hearing, but considering I was the only one in my car at that moment, she hadn’t succeeded. Before I could lodge a complaint, her voice returned to the line. “I’d ask if Stu rushed through lunch, but the way you inhale your food makes that question a little silly.”