by Libby Klein
Emilio picked up his box and took it with him.
Brenda walked down the hall trying to appear unconcerned, but she twisted the document in her hands. “Brody wanted Emilio to be brought back when he made things right, and now he has.”
I guess two old ladies in a closet didn’t seem out of the ordinary to Emilio. He chatted amiably about his late mentor. “Brody always said that no matter what you done, it’s not too late to change. That’s why he worked with screw-ups like me. He don’t want to see us make the same mistakes he did. Now I’m volunteering here every day to work off the damage I done when I hit bottom and trashed the place.”
“You’ve been given another chance,” I said. “Don’t waste it.”
“I won’t. I’m a week away from getting my thirty-day chip.”
“Good for you.”
Emilio grinned. He set the package down on Brenda’s desk.
“So what’s in the box?”
Emilio took out a bronze sculpture of a smiling man.
“Isn’t that Erika’s piece?”
“Yeah. Brody was going to place it in the trophy case to surprise her. He had a sign made special for it. Before there was all the drama. I found it stashed in the bottom of the activity-room closet.”
I took the plaque in my hand. It was inscribed: “For Erika. You’ve always been like a daughter to me. You are capable of remarkable things. We are so proud of you. Reach for the stars.”
“It’s beautiful. So, Erika was like a daughter to him?”
Brenda took the statue in her hands. “We got word this morning that she’s been offered a full scholarship to the New York Academy of Art. Brody and I had planned to throw a party to celebrate her achievements if she got in. I guess that’s not going to happen now. Erika’s dad won’t even allow her on the parking lot.”
“Why don’t you let me try to talk to her one more time? I have to discuss something with her father anyway.” Like why he lied about being in Chicago.
Emilio put the statue and the plaque back in the box and handed it to me. “That would be great if you could get her to agree to it. She can be really stubborn when she has a chip on her shoulder. I’ve been on the wrong side of that before.”
Erika’s story was starting to smell like the bay at low tide. I just had a feeling in my bones that she wasn’t being entirely truthful. One thing that became clear over the past week was that even the nicest people are capable of heinous crimes when they’re desperate.
I had no problem believing that a father could kill his daughter’s molester. But, as messed up as it would be, what if Erika and Brody had been in a misguided relationship that ended badly? Could Erika have killed Brody in a jealous rage? Could she have convinced her father to kill Brody to defend her honor? I had to get back over to the Lynch house tomorrow. Maybe the plaque Brody had inscribed for Erika would encourage her to be more forthcoming with the details.
I returned home expecting a legion of police dealing with Aunt Ginny’s latest Houdini act, but I was pleasantly surprised. Aunt Ginny and Connie were relaxing on the sofa in the sunroom, watching TV. There was a mostly empty bottle of bourbon on the coffee table next to two shot glasses.
Connie lit up when I entered the room. “There she is.”
Followed by Aunt Ginny. “Hiya, Poppy Blossom. Did ya catch the killer yet?”
Aunt Ginny’s cheeks were flushed and her eyes were glassy. “No, not yet. Still working on it. Whacha doin’?”
“Watching Cops. Connie made up the best game.”
Connie grinned. “Secret weapon.”
Aunt Ginny picked up a shot glass. “We drink every time a shirtless redneck is arrested or a perp says That isn’t mine.”
Connie laughed. “We eat a handful of pretzels every time they let the police dog off its leash.”
“Ooh, it’s back on aaaand … shirtless redneck!” Connie poured a shot and they both took a drink.
God bless Connie.
“Do you need me to call you a taxi?”
Connie swayed to her feet. “No, Mike is on his way. I texted him when I heard you park. I hope tonight was a success.”
“I don’t know if success is the word I’d use. I seem to be running to the end of a lot of leads and I’m no further along than when I started.”
Aunt Ginny hoorayed and took a shot.
Connie watched her with a smile on her face. “Well, keep trying. We’re all pulling for you.”
“While you’re at it, send up a couple of prayers. Tomorrow I have to face off with a wife beater and let him know that he has no alibi.”
Chapter 49
It was six o’clock in the morning and Figaro was pitching himself a hissy. He was standing on his hind legs looking out my bedroom window, growling and spitting for all he was worth. I pushed the curtain aside and saw nothing down in our yard. Fig started pacing like a caged lion. I grabbed my bathrobe. “All right. Let’s go see what has you so worked up.”
He led me down the front staircase to the front door, pausing every few yards to be sure I was following. Then he stood on his hind legs and swatted at the doorknob.
“Where was this level of ingenuity when I locked myself out last week?” I opened the door and Fig darted onto the porch. His fur stood up down the center of his back and his tail bristled like a bottle brush. Broken eggshells created a minefield all along the lavender-painted boards. Egg whites tracked slime trails like giant slugs, and congealed yolks were scattered like the house had chicken pox. Figaro tried to sniff at each one, his dainty paws making sure to avoid any unpleasantness.
I, however, trudged into the thick of it, slipping only once on a slime trail. From the yard I had a better vantage of the vandalism, and it made matters much, much worse. In addition to the barrage of nature’s AA bombs, someone had spray-painted MURDERER in bright red paint on the front of the porch steps.
Who would do this? Could it be Georgina, lashing out because I sent her away? Frank Trippett? He would surely know that Kylie was fired and arrested by now. Although egging the house really didn’t seem his style. And how would he know Aunt Ginny had been arrested or that this is where we live? Emilio knows where we live. And he has vandalized before, but he really seemed like he was turning a corner and getting his life together again. Of course, someone else from the Teen Center could have tipped off Erika that I was coming to talk to her again. Those kids could text the Constitution in thirty seconds using just emojis.
I went back in the house to fetch my cell phone and call Smitty. I wanted him to know what he was in for with the porch. Smitty had just left me a voice mail that he was calling out sick today. Well, that’s just great.
I quickly changed into some workout clothes and grabbed a mop, a bucket of water, and some sponges. I took some pictures of the carnage just in case I would be questioned later, and spent the better part of the morning scrubbing red paint and jumbo eggs off my newly painted, now freshly ruined, lilac porch slats.
Aunt Ginny poked her head out the front door around seven thirty. “What happened out here?”
“Just some kids playing pranks.”
“I see Figaro is helping by chasing that butterfly.”
“He is nothing if not vigilant.”
“Well, I’m going back to bed.”
“Is that code for I’m going to shimmy down the drainpipe and make a break for Tijuana?”
“No. I don’t feel well. I think I have a touch of the flu.”
“Is it the real flu or the Wild Turkey bourbon flu?”
Aunt Ginny waved her hand at me in dismissal and disappeared back into the house.
Once I got the porch finished and got myself cleaned up, I had to call in a babysitter for today. I called Sawyer, who didn’t answer. Kim had an appointment. Connie had to work. I was out of options. And desperate. Aunt Ginny could easily escape from any one of the neighbors. She was far too sophisticated for the biddies. Only one name came to mind, and no way was I that desperate. Not after how she’d tr
eated me in high school. Come on now, Poppy. Didn’t we learn our lesson here a few weeks ago? It’s time to put the past behind us and give people another chance.
You know how sometimes you have an idea that you know is a bad one, but you just can’t think of a better one? You know this is going to blow up in your face, but you don’t know how to stop it. I was having one of those ideas right now. And its name was Joanne Junk.
“Joanne? Hi.”
“Who is this?”
“Um, it’s Poppy McAllister.” Click.
Redial. “Joanne, don’t hang up.” Click.
Sigh. Redial.
“What do you want!”
“I am in desperate need of a favor. Are you still working the dinner shift at Menz’s?”
“Yeah, so what?”
“So, you don’t need to go to work until this afternoon, right?”
“Where is this going, poo face?”
Poo face. Oh good. We’ve descended to first grade name-calling. “I need someone to come … house-sit for a few hours.”
“House-sit? Why?”
Deep breath and dive in. “My Aunt Ginny is on house arrest, and I need someone to come sit with her to make sure she doesn’t escape.”
Silence. “Is this a trick?”
“No. I really need someone to stay here for the day.”
“Why are you asking me? Why not one of your lesbian friends?”
I knew this was a mistake. “The girls, who are not lesbians, can’t make it today. And I haven’t lived back in Cape May but a few weeks, so I haven’t really made any new friends yet.”
“Well, that’s not surprising. You can be really abrasive.”
I blinked a couple of times and checked my pulse to see if that last comment had killed me. “So, what do you say? Just for a few hours?”
“Fine. Text me the address. And I expect to get paid by the hour.”
“Fine. I’ll see you soon.”
God help me.
Fifteen minutes later, Joanne Junk showed up in a red pickup sporting a KEEP HONKING—I’M RELOADING bumper sticker. She was a big gal. Beefy from years of field hockey and beer in a can. She was wearing a Phillies T-shirt and XL gray sweatpants with the word Juicy written over the butt. She was carrying a brown paper grocery sack. “So, this is your place, huh?”
“Yes, or rather it’s Aunt Ginny’s. What’s in the bag? You didn’t need to bring lunch. You can help yourself to whatever you want here.”
“It’s not lunch, you idiot. It’s my knitting.”
“You knit?”
Joanne scrunched her eyes down and took on a mocking voice. “Yes, I knit. You got something to say about that?”
“No. There’s just an irony here that I can’t go into right now.”
“Whatever. Let’s get this over with.”
I showed her around the house and introduced her to Officer Birkwell when he showed up for his morning punishment. I left my number and got the heck out of there before she could change her mind.
Now that I wasn’t carting ingredients back and forth, I walked over to Gia’s shop. He broke out into a big smile when I came in through the back door.
“Coffee first?” He winked.
“Coffee always.” I slumped down on a bar stool. He may as well learn now that I am not a morning person.
He started to pull a shot to make my coconut almond latte. “So, do you have everything you need to do the baking here?”
“I’ll have to bring my rack with me.”
Gia’s eyes traveled south from my mouth, and his eyebrows went up.
I felt my cheeks heat up. “My baker’s rack. For cooling.”
He clicked his tongue and shook his head in mock disappointment.
“Are you sure you want me baking here every day? I might get in your way.”
Gia folded his arms across his chest and leaned against the counter, giving me an appraising look. “You still don’t know?”
“Know what?”
Gia grinned and shook his head.
“Don’t give me puzzles first thing in the morning. I can’t think yet.”
“Not yet, bella.” He went back to frothing my milk.
“Not yet what?”
Gia gave me a wink. He placed the latte in front of me on the counter. “Now drink.”
He didn’t have to tell me that twice.
I spent the rest of the morning flirting, I mean baking. I made Gia two sets of muffins, two kinds of cookies, and a pan of brownies. I even had time to make Liz’s gluten-free chocolate cake. It’s amazing how much baking you can get done when you’re not in a hostile work environment and someone keeps you in a constant supply of coffee.
“I never thought I would say this, but there is a point where I’ve had too much coffee, and I hit that mark an hour ago.”
Gia laughed. “I sold a record number of muffins and brownies today. I think the smells coming from the kitchen are enticing people who only come in for coffee.”
“That’s good. I was hoping that would happen.”
“Are you finished for the day?”
“Yes, I have to follow up on a lead I got from Kylie before she was arrested, so I’m revisiting Frank Trippett.”
“Be careful, bella. I don’t like the sound of this teppista.”
I stifled a giggle. “And what exactly is a tep-i-sta?”
Gia thought for a moment, then took out his phone and typed something into it. “Is, how you say, hoodlum.”
I put my hand on his arm. “Okay, I’ll be careful of the hoodlum.”
Gia grinned and grabbed my wrist. He pulled me tight against him and suffocated me with a bear hug and a kiss.
When he let me go and I turned around to pick up the cake, he swatted me on the rear. My jaw dropped and I jerked my head around to look at him. He had one eyebrow quirked and a smile that dared me to play-fight back. But I knew if I didn’t get out of there fast the whole day would be spent fooling around. And I mean that literally.
I fast-walked home on my caffeine buzz to put the cake in the fridge before going to Gleason’s Garage. I found Aunt Ginny in the front yard with Joanne. Aunt Ginny was walking the perimeter of the yard and Joanne was following behind, taking notes on a legal pad. Figaro was crouched in the grass, ready to pounce on Joanne’s untied shoelace.
“What are y’all doing?”
They answered in unison. “Nothin’.”
So I left them to it and asked Officer Birkwell, stationed at the garden gate, “What’s going on over there?”
He rolled his eyes. “They’re working together to see if Mrs. Frankowski’s rights are being violated by her anklet zone being smaller than her property line.”
“Oh good Lord. Is this going to be a problem for you?”
“Not so far. It’s been easier having her occupied with something other than fleeing the scene.”
I took one more look at the trio before going inside and storing the cake in the refrigerator. Having second thoughts, I took it back out and stuffed it in a box in the laundry room. I wrote Kale on the box in red marker to hide it from Aunt Ginny, then put it back in the laundry room on the counter.
Out in the yard I heard Joanne. “AAHH! Stupid cat! What are you doing?”
I chuckled to myself. I was almost sorry I had to leave them. I’d love to see what else Figaro had planned. But if I was going to talk to Frank Trippett and stop in at the Lynch house after school, I had to get a move on. I had a suspicion that one of them may have egged our house this morning, and before the day was over I wanted them to know that I knew.
Chapter 50
It was just after one at Gleason’s Garage. Most of the mechanics were out back eating lunch and killing themselves slowly with cigarettes. I found Frank Trippett bent over the engine of a Jaguar, muttering a colorful strain of profanity.
“Excuse me, Mr. Trippett?”
Frank’s head jerked up and he hurled a menacing growl my way. “What!”
Frank had a me
an look in his eye, like he would like to kick a puppy, and he smelled like a brewery. I kept my voice calm and light. I’d be darned if I let him see any fear in me. “I’m sorry to disturb you, I wanted to ask about Kylie.”
Frank’s eyebrows dug into his forehead and his lips pressed together so tight they disappeared. “You know damn well Kylie is in police custody. Probably because of you, nosing around where you don’t belong.”
“I spoke to her yesterday, like you told me to.”
“I never told you to talk to her.”
“You did, actually. You told me you were with Kylie the night of Brody’s murder. You said to ask her about your alibi. And I did.”
Frank folded his arms across his chest with an arrogant smile. “And she confirmed it.”
“No, actually she said she was home alone all night.”
I’ve had a shortage of pleasure in my life. But wiping that smug look off of Frank Trippett’s face, and seeing his shock when I said Kylie denied his alibi, will always be in my top ten moments. “She said you were out drinking with your friends like you do every night.”
“I don’t believe you. She would know better—”
I cut him off. “Than to defy you? To stand up to you? Because you’re just a bully, Frank. A common, lowlife bully. And I think you killed Brody Brandt. Not because you were jealous, but because you’re controlling, and you knew Kylie would be better off with someone like him. Isn’t that right?”
Frank picked up a crowbar and took a step toward me. “You fat cow. Who do you think you are, coming in here and threatening me? I warned you the other day to butt out. Some of you gals just don’t know your place.”
“What are you going to do with that?” I tried to control the nerves in my voice, but even I heard a slight tremble. “All your coworkers are right outside. Someone will hear you.” And my bloodcurdling screams if you try to hit me with that.
Frank smiled smugly. He turned on the air drill. It’s high-pitched whirrdddtt reverberated off of the aluminum walls of the garage. Okay, checkmate.
“What’d you tell the cops?”
“I told them everything,” I lied. Although in retrospect that probably would have been a better idea than barging in here armed with just a pocketbook and some sass. I took a step backwards and fumbled in my purse for my phone. Frank torqued the air drill with one hand and raised the crowbar over his head with the other. I looked behind me for a path of escape, but Frank had driven me to a corner. I picked up a wrench and prepared to fight back when a gunshot cracked through the garage.