by Elise Sax
“Tell that to Harper Lee,” Joy screeched.
The soup bowls were removed and plates of lamb, potatoes, and asparagus were served. It was odd being in such a fancy, mannered environment where everyone was being nasty and hitting below the belt.
“The only good ones among us are dead,” Roman said, cutting into his lamb. “Your father was the best,” he said to me. “He wouldn’t have been trading barbs over a good meal. He would have been discussing the greats in poetry and literature.”
“And talking about how lucky we all were to be able to do what we loved,” Steve added.
“And cheering us all on,” Adam said. “He was our cheerleader. It was impossible to quit when he was around. Even for you, Steve.”
“That’s true,” Steve said. “If he were alive, I would probably still be working on my poetry.”
There was silence, while I assumed everyone thought back to their experiences with my father. I felt a surge of jealousy because I couldn’t recall many experiences with my father, and we never discussed my talents and what I would do with my life.
“I wonder what Rachel would have thought of us,” Joy said after a minute.
“Rachel Knight?” I asked. “Where is she? She couldn’t come to dinner tonight?”
“Rachel died, Gladys,” Joy said. “She died a year before your father.”
“Killed herself,” Adam explained. “It was just a matter of time.”
“She was on an anti-depressant,” Joy told me. “She probably needed a stronger one and more than just medication. She had terrible problems with depression. Isn’t that right, Roman?”
Roman put his fork down. “She was a sweet girl. A very sweet girl. It broke my heart when she died. Terrible tragedy. Terrible waste of a sweet girl.”
Rachel Knight had died before my father. I hadn’t seen that coming. I wondered why my mother had put her on my list. With Rachel Knight dead a year before my father, my suspect list was down to four. There was the weird, Komodo dragon-loving Adam, the jealous insurance salesman Steve, the one-hit literary mogul Roman, and his wife, Joy. My money was on Steve. It made sense that once he killed my father, he was unable to write any longer and hid in the insurance world. But how could I prove that he was the killer?
With the words spoken about the better people who had died before them, the atmosphere had turned less hostile. We finished the main course, and the dessert was served. It was a good meal, and I had eaten so much that my big underpants were cutting off the circulation to my lower body. I was desperate to rip them off, but then my dress wouldn’t fit. I took a bite of my dessert. Yum. Chocolate soufflé. Being rich was awesome.
“You must be getting an earful,” Joy said to me. “You decided to look up your father’s old friends, and you find out that they’re very disagreeable. I hope we haven’t made you regret your decision.”
“Oh, no,” I said. “I mean, nobody’s perfect and there’s nothing to apologize for.”
“So, what’s your real plan?” Adam asked. “Digging up dirt? Trying to figure out who the real Jonathan Burger was?”
“I don’t think Gladie is trying to dig up dirt.” Spencer was lying, but I was happy that he was coming to my defense.
“It was hard to accept Jonathan’s death,” Roman said. “But in the end, there was nothing romantic about it. No mystery at all about it. It was just a tragedy, and like most tragedies, it was banal. Mundane. He lost control of his motorcycle, and his life was snuffed out. I’m sorry that we couldn’t give you more information than that.”
“True,” Spencer said. “It was sort of mundane. He had traveled that piece of road on his motorcycle hundreds of times. Perhaps thousands of times. But for some reason on that day, on that day with perfect weather and perfect driving conditions, he lost control of his bike, and he had an accident so bad that he died. Mundane. Banal. A slip of the wheel. Taking the turn too sharply. Going five miles faster than he normally drove. Simple, small mistakes leading to a deadly consequence. Who knows? Maybe we’ll never know.”
“But Gladys wants to know?” Adam asked. “Is that why we’re here?”
“Maybe we’re here because we all want to know,” Steve said. “After all, we never talked about that day. We never even went to the funeral.”
Only my grandmother, my mother, and I went to the funeral. Grandma had wanted it that way. The grief was too private to share.
“You can’t make sense out of the senseless,” Joy said, wisely.
Without answers, the table went quiet, again. I wasn’t getting anywhere except that my mourning for my father had cracked wide open, and inside me, I was yelling at the universe for taking my father in such a senseless, stupid accident.
“So, who’s richer?” Steve asked after a long silence, changing the subject. “Roman or Adam? Roman gets all the press and the awards, and Adam is a mountain man recluse, but I bet it’s Adam. How about it, Adam? You richer than Roman? How many of those children’s books have you published?”
“Sixty-two.”
“Sixty-two books?” Spencer asked, impressed. “You’ve written sixty-two books?”
“I like to write,” Adam said.
“What do you write? Maybe I’ve read it,” Spencer said.
“Nah, you look like you’re strictly a Patterson reader,” Adam said. He was right. Spencer loved James Patterson. “I write middle-grade books.”
“That’s for eight-to-twelve year olds,” Joy explained. “Adam is a star in the middle grade market. He’s been on the New York Times bestseller list for ten years without a break.”
“Eleven years,” Adam said, talking to his dessert.
“Roman went the National Book Award route, and Adam went the fart jokes route,” Steve said. “I’m trying to figure out if there’s more money in prestigious awards or farts.”
“Probably farts,” Roman said, laughing.
“Farts?” I asked.
“Fart Boy,” Adam said. “That’s the name of my series. The Adventures of Fart Boy.”
CHAPTER 10
Some people are thinkers, and some people are doers. You’re a Burger, and Burger women are both. We’re thinking and doing. Doing and thinking. It’s called shpilkes, and we got it bad. Our shpilkes keep us moving, going forward. Sometimes the shpilkes make us a little heavier on the doing than we are on the thinking, and we find ourselves in the middle of a mess without having a plan on how to get out of it. Don’t worry about it, dolly. Let your shpilkes free. If you find yourself in a mess, you’ll get out of it, eventually.
Lesson 134, Matchmaking advice from your
Grandma Zelda
“What did you say?” I asked.
“About what?” Adam asked.
“Your series. What’s it called?”
“Fart Boy?”
“Yes, that’s it. Fart Boy.”
I almost lunged over the table and strangled Adam Mancuso to death. Fart Boy was my father’s idea. I had read it in his box in my grandmother’s attic. It was all clear to me, now. Adam had stolen the idea for Fart Boy from my father and had murdered him. Now, he was a rich and famous author, and my father was dead.
I was fuming. I was sitting across from the man with my father’s blood on his hands. No matter what, I was going to take the bastard down.
Spencer leaned over and whispered in my ear. “Are you okay? Your face is red, and you’re panting like a Chihuahua.”
“I’m fine.”
After dinner, there was brandy and cigars, but I needed to get out of there fast. I took Joy aside. “Thank you so much for your hospitality. It means a lot to me.” I took her hand in mine and gave her my best earnest look. “My Aunt Flow has come to visit,” I told her. “So, I need to leave. I hate to eat and run like this.”
“Oh, no, dear, I totally understand.”
Truth be told my Aunt Flow was always some light spotting for three days and had never stopped me from doing a thing. Besides, I wasn’t expecting it for another ten days, but it
was a great excuse, and it worked. Spencer and I said our goodbyes, and Adam and Steve stayed behind to continue their visit.
We got Spencer’s car back from the valet, and we drove away. “That must have been hard for you, Pinky. I’m so sorry,” Spencer said as he drove.
“It’s okay. I want to make a quick stop on the way home. Make a left at the bottom of the hill.”
“I know you were looking for answers, and you got none.”
“Yeah, no answers. That was hard.” I didn’t think it would be a good idea to let him know about Fart Boy just yet. I had a plan, and I didn’t want him nixing it.
“You know, family is important. I get that. And I know you want closure. That nightmare of a dinner didn’t give you any. Do you want to talk about it?”
“Yeah, sure. Talk about it.”
“Okay, Pinky. It’s going to be hard to let this go. Crazy accidents are the hardest to accept. I agree that any of those people could kill a person, but in this case, it’s obvious that you’re going to just have to swallow your grief and let it evaporate with time.”
“You’re right. You’re right. Evaporate. Time. Turn here.”
Spencer turned. “And I don’t think you should have anything to do with those people, anymore. I think there’s a reason Zelda wasn’t in touch with them and a reason they had gone their separate ways.”
“True. True. A reason. Turn right at the second street.”
“At least they said your father was a great guy. That’s something, right?” Spencer said.
“Yeah, that was really good. Here you go. Turn here.”
Spencer turned onto the dirt road. Spencer flipped on the car’s bright lights because there was no street light, and it was pitch black. “Pinky, where are we going? I thought you needed tampons.”
“My period’s not for another ten days. Okay, slow down. We’re almost there.”
“Where?”
“His house.”
“Whose house?”
“Pay attention, Spencer!”
“Pinky, help me out, here. Where are we?”
The house came into view. I pointed to a stand of trees. “Park behind the trees so he doesn’t see us.”
“Who doesn’t see us?”
“This is serious, Spencer. Park behind the trees.”
Miraculously, he listened to me and parked behind the trees and turned off the car and the lights. Spencer turned toward me in his seat. “Okay. Cough it up, Pinky. What’s happening?”
“Listen, you’re either with me or against me.”
“What am I? Al Qaeda?”
I wagged my finger at him. “Here’s what we’re going to do. We’re going to break into the house and find the proof that he’s the killer.”
“Who’s the killer?”
“Haven’t you been paying attention?”
Spencer grabbed me and pulled me toward him, planting a deep kiss on my mouth. The world spun around, and I got dizzy. Spencer’s tongue did magical work, and I melted against him. When I finally relaxed, he broke off the kiss.
“Pinky, where are we?”
“Adam Mancuso’s house. He killed my father.”
I told him about Fart Boy. Spencer said it wasn’t proof of anything, but I could tell that he was interested.
“I can’t break into a house, Pinky. I’m the Chief of Police. I would need a warrant, and no judge—no matter how stoned or drunk he may be—would give me a warrant on the basis of finding pages of Fart Boy in a box in your attic.”
“That’s what I figured,” I said. “That’s why I’m going to break in myself, and you’re going to stay out here and be the lookout. I figure if he smokes a cigar with his brandy, we’ve got a thirty-minute head start in front of Adam.”
“I’m the Chief of Police.”
“Yes, I know. So you know how to be a lookout.”
“No. I mean, yes I know how, but I’m not going to be an accessory to breaking and entering. I’m the Chief of Police, Pinky.”
“You keep saying that, like you’re bragging about it, but you being the Chief of Police has been a huge pain in the ass for me.”
Even in the dark car, I could see Spencer’s eyes grow wide. “Are you kidding me? You’re damned lucky I’m the Chief. Any other guy would have put your ass in jail months ago. If it weren’t for me, you’d be wearing orange and eating your meals with a spork.”
He was probably right. “You’re wrong, Spencer. Totally wrong. Let me go in. I know the evidence is in that house of horrors, and I’m going to get it. Time is ticking away.”
I opened the car door, but before I could step out, car lights approached us. I closed the door quickly and watched through the window at what I assumed was Adam’s car driving down the dirt road right at us.
“He must not have smoked the cigar. Good thing we’re hiding behind the trees,” I said.
Spencer sighed. “Why couldn’t I have fallen for Jessica Fieldstone, like my mother wanted? But no, I had to fall for a nuclear explosion with great legs.”
“Shh. He’s getting out of his car. You think I have great legs? Sh! Never mind that now.”
I watched Adam march into his house. The cabin lit up as he turned on the lights, but I couldn’t see what he was doing from our vantage point in the car.
“Look what you did,” I complained. “You wasted my time, and I couldn’t go in and investigate.”
“If I had let you, he would have come home while you were sifting through his desk.”
He was right. I wouldn’t have had enough time to find the proof that he had stolen Fart Boy and killed my father.
“He’s probably in for the night,” Spencer said.
“I think you’re right.”
“Thank God. The madwoman shows some sanity.”
I opened the door. “So, I’ll just have to go in and confront him.”
Spencer reached around me and pulled the door closed. “Not so fast. You’re not going in there.”
“You’re right. He might go out, later to get ice cream or whatever. We should watch his house for a while and maybe I’ll get another shot at it.”
“Fine,” Spencer said, locking the doors. “It’s not much, but I’ll take it for now.”
About two minutes later, we both fell fast asleep. Later, I would blame the heavy meal and the wine. It was also the dark, quiet car, and the soft sound of Spencer’s breathing. In any case, we dropped like stones for about twenty minutes. I didn’t wake up until Spencer jingled his keys, when he had woken and was about to start the car and drive away.
I slapped my hand over his. “No way. We’re not going anywhere. I’m going in.”
Before Spencer could stop me, I opened the door and ran out. I heard Spencer come after me, but even in the dark and in high heels, I ran fast, and I got to the front door and knocked before Spencer could stop me.
“Great,” he grumbled. “You did it. You knocked on the door.” There was a rustling behind us. “What the hell is that?” Spencer asked, looking into the dark, alarmed.
“Probably the porcupine,” I said.
“The what?”
“Adam has a collection of dangerous animals.” I knocked, again, and this time the door opened slowly, creaking loudly. “Look at that. He didn’t close his door. Hello? Adam?” I called.
“I don’t like this,” Spencer said.
“Adam? It’s Gladie with Spencer. We came to say, hello.”
Nothing. No response. Not a noise. I took a step inside. “Mr. Mancuso, this is Chief of Police, Spencer Bolton,” Spencer called, loudly. “I’m concerned about your safety, and I’m coming into the house.”
Still nothing. I took another step, but Spencer yanked me back, pulling me behind him. “You stay here. Do you hear me, Pinky? You stay here.”
“Okay,” I lied.
We walked through the living room. It didn’t look any different than it had when I had been there before, except there was a bowl and spoon on an end table next to the couch.
“See?” I whispered to Spencer. “He did eat ice cream.”
“So, where is he now?”
“Maybe he got eaten by his Komodo dragon.”
“His what?”
“Or he’s lying in wait for us, poised to kill us in a terrible way.”
“Let’s go back to the Komodo dragon thing,” Spencer said.
“Do you hear that?” There was a buzzing sound, and I followed it into the kitchen. The noise turned out to be the aquarium. I watched the fish swim around, and I got a creepy feeling up my spine.
“Nice aquarium,” Spencer said.
“They’re piranhas.”
“What the hell?”
We stared at the fish swimming, and as if on cue, we searched the bottom of the tank at the same time, looking for human body parts. There was nothing. Not even a shoe. Or a finger.
“I’m creeped out, Pinky.”
“Maybe he really did get eaten by his dragon. Either that or some other scary pet that he has. I didn’t have the chance to see the whole house. He could have a whole zoo’s worth of scary pets. I guess we’ll have to do the search now. Let’s start in the office.”
I was still determined to find proof that Adam stole my father’s work and killed him. I didn’t know if he had gone out for a walk or whatever, and I didn’t care if he discovered me snooping. I wanted to confront him. I wanted answers immediately. I wanted to find out the truth and bring Adam to justice.
We found the office without much difficulty, and as soon as Spencer opened the door, we discovered where Adam kept his pet dragon.
Spencer screamed like a little girl. I didn’t scream. Instead, I jumped onto Spencer’s back and held on for dear life. “What kind of crazy person has a Komodo dragon in his house?” Spencer screeched, his voice a couple octaves higher than normal. He sounded like he was selling Girl Scout cookies. The dragon seemed to be attracted to Spencer’s high-pitched scream. He came right at him.
“Why didn’t I bring a gun?” Spencer screamed, again. He backed up, while I held on tight to him, my legs wrapped around his waist and my hands around his throat. Spencer made a beeline for the back of the house, outrunning the dragon. We hid behind a door, and through the crack between the door and the wall, we watched as the dragon lost interest in eating Spencer and walked creepily on his reptile legs toward the front door and out into the wild.