Nearly Departed (Spring Cleaning Mysteries)

by J. B. Lynn

  "I did. He claimed to have told you nothing."

  "And now you're disappointed that our stories match up?" I asked.

  Bernie shook his head. "I believed him. I've known Smoke a long time. Long enough to know he tries to be a man of his word. If he said he didn't tell you, he didn't. What I didn't understand was you."

  "Me?"

  "Why you'd trust him enough to mislead the police."

  "I told you—"

  He lifted a hand to cut me off. "I get it now."

  "You do?"

  "You trust him." He managed to make it sound like the most momentous decree of all time.

  "He hadn't given me any reason not to," I said a tad bit defensively.

  "The police department stripped him of his job," Bernie reminded me. "A lot of people would view him as untrustworthy because of that."

  "I'm not a lot of people."

  "Obviously."

  "Besides my friend Mike vouched for him…and so did Tom DiNunzio…and so did Carla."

  "Who's Carla?"

  "My favorite waitress," I replied sheepishly. "But she's an excellent judge of character."

  "It sounds like you're defending him," Bernie said mildly.

  "I…I…Did you hear anything that Fontaine said about how Smoke had been framed and Lacey had helped him do it?" I leaned forward, trying to get closer to him as I made my point. "There was a whole freaking conspiracy against him within the police department. They're the ones no one should trust, not him." I banged my fist into the mattress for emphasis.

  "I agree."

  "You do?"

  "Whole-heartedly."

  That took the wind right out of me. My righteous anger fizzled, and I collapsed back onto my pillows.

  "You'd probably both be dead if you hadn't trusted Smoke enough to not tell Fontaine about me."

  "So I made the right choice?"

  "I'd say so. I'm hoping you'll continue to make the right choices when it comes to Smoke."

  I closed my eyes. "No problem there. I know you wanted him to stay away from me. He's doing that now."

  "I hadn't understood how much he could trust you."

  "And now you do?

  He nodded.

  "It doesn't matter. He wants nothing to do with me now. He's made that clear."

  "You shouldn't be angry with him," Bernie said softly.

  "Why not?" I asked, not caring that he saw my eyes fill with tears. "He hasn't come by. He hasn't even called to see how I am."

  Bernie plucked a tissue from the box on the nightstand and handed it to me.

  Taking it, I dabbed at the tears that had leaked from the corners of my eyes.

  I expected him to say something else, but all he did was shake his head, stand up, and walk out, leaving me there feeling sorry for myself and wondering why the hell he'd shown up in the first place.

  * * *

  On the other hand, it was obvious why Tom DiNunzio came to see me.

  "Are you going to press charges?" Those were the first words out of his mouth as he lumbered into my sick room.

  "Thanks for the fruit basket, Tom. It was much appreciated," I replied.

  I meant it. Mom had been very happy that someone had cared enough to send me a nutritious snack, unlike Mike and Venus who'd respectively plied me with an unending supply of chocolate and cupcakes.

  "Are you going to send my sister to jail?" Tom asked.

  "She did slash my tires."

  "I'll pay for them!"

  "Damn right you will."

  "She needs help," Tom pleaded with me.

  "Don't we all," I muttered.

  "To help you out I had my men finish the frat boy house." Tom paced almost as quickly as he talked. "But the money for the job is yours…all yours."

  "Sit down," I ordered.

  He did.

  I tried to frown at him but wasn't too successful. Tom had never wronged me in any way. His sister had. "About your sister…"

  "Please, Vicky. You have every right to be upset. You really do, but please don't send my sister to prison. "

  I didn't tell him that I didn't think a vandalism charge could send anyone to prison. I just sat there pretending to think about what I should do. In reality, I'd made my decision days earlier. I had no desire to have a long, drawn-out battle with the DiNunzios. "Tell you what," I offered Tom.

  He sat forward expectantly.

  "You convince your sister to go for counseling and pay for my tires, and we'll call it even."

  He stared at me like I'd spoken some language never before heard on earth.

  "Tom?"

  "Really?" he asked as though I'd performed a benevolent act worthy of sainthood. "You really mean it?"

  "I really mean it."

  "Oh wow! Thank you!"

  I waved off his thanks. "How's business?"

  "Busy without you around stealing half of it," he joked.

  I smiled weakly.

  Tom grew serious again. "Are you coming back to work, Vicky? Or are you shutting down Spring Cleaning?"

  His suggestion caught me off guard. "Why would I do that?"

  "I dunno. You went through quite the ordeal because of this job. Everyone would understand if you wanted to quit. And I'd buy you out. Your supplies. Your van. All of it."

  "I don't know…" I said slowly, letting the idea roll around in my head.

  "Think about it and let me know." He stood to leave. "You know my number."

  As he left, I wondered if he was right. Was this my chance, the excuse I needed, to let the Spring Cleaning dream die?

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

  After five days in the home of the parental units, I declared I'd be going back to my own place. It was that, or I'd lose my tenuous grip on sanity.

  Mom wasn't happy with my decision. "Your place is a pigsty!"

  "I want to sleep in my own bed, Mom." I'd anticipated her being upset and had resolved to stay calm throughout our conversation. Besides, Angel had shown up and was watching our exchange intently, and I didn't want to behave badly in front of the kid.

  "But—" Mom began to argue.

  "You've taken wonderful care of me, but I need to take care of myself now."

  She frowned. "What will you eat?"

  "Probably whatever leftovers you've been storing away for me in the freezer."

  She smiled weakly. "Am I that transparent?"

  I grabbed her hand and squeezed it. "You're that wonderful."

  "You'll be careful?"

  I nodded.

  "I couldn't stand it if anything happened to you." She gazed on me lovingly, eyes filled with tears.

  "I'm fine, Mom. I'm going to be fine."

  She bent over and pressed a kiss to my forehead, just like she'd done a million times when I was a kid, and I felt my own eyes fill with her tears.

  I grabbed her to me in a tight hug. "I love you, Mom."

  "I love you more than the world." She released me and then hurried from the room.

  I wiped away my tears and smiled at Angel. "Still not talking to me?"

  She pantomimed zipping her lips shut.

  "Are you mad at me?"

  She shook her head.

  "Is your brother?"

  She looked at me like I'd lost my mind.

  "He's okay? He's safe?"

  She nodded slowly.

  I didn't feel reassured. "You're sure?"

  It felt pathetic to be asking a little girl these questions, but I couldn't help myself. I was worried about him. His disappearing so completely from my life seemed out of character for him. It didn't make sense that the guy I'd come to depend on for being responsible would suddenly abandon me.

  Not that I'd been abandoned. I had more company than I knew what to do with, but it would have been nice to have him around.

  Angel blew me a kiss and disappeared.

  I turned to Martin who'd taken to sitting on the nightstand, in among the tissues, TV remote control, and the water glass Mom refilled every hour.
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br />   If he hadn't already been dead, I had no doubt he'd have been bored to death watching my recovery process.

  "She could talk to me if she wanted to, right?"

  He nodded.

  "It's not like Lacey scared her so badly she can't talk?"

  Martin rolled his eyes. I took that to mean no.

  Dad knocked at my door but didn't wait for an invitation to enter. "Talking to yourself again, honey?" He sat in the chair by my bedside. "You used to do that all the time."

  "I did?" I didn't remember that.

  "Sure. When you were a little girl, just after…you came to live with us."

  I held my breath. No one in the family ever talked about that time.

  Martin perked up. Apparently my family history was interesting enough to hold his attention.

  "Mom was terrified that there was something really wrong with you. I told her lots of little kids talk to imaginary friends…and considering what you'd been through it was a healthy coping mechanism."

  Dad jumped up and walked over to the window. His back to me, he stared out.

  "She's been through a lot, Vicky."

  "I know, Dad."

  "Jerry going missing and me having that heart attack…it was too much for her."

  "But she's okay now," I said.

  "For now."

  I knew he was thinking about the state Mom had been in after his heart attack. Even though we'd never talked about it, that first month had impacted us all deeply.

  I closed my eyes as the memory of the terror from that terrible time assailed me.

  Mom, my mom who'd always been so strong and capable, had fallen apart. Unable to cope with the possibility of losing her son and husband, she'd retreated from the world. Her depression consumed her.

  That first month had been hell. Pure hell. I'd divided my time between visiting Dad in Cardiac Rehab and trying to get Mom to take a shower, get dressed, and eat. Stretched thin, I'd let things at Spring Cleaning slide.

  One day, exhausted and frustrated, I announced to Mom, "That's it. Spring Cleaning is officially closing down."

  "But that means you think Jerry is…gone." A single tear had slid down her cheek.

  "I didn't say that," I'd argued quickly, not able to face her deteriorating any further.

  "But you told him you'd keep it going for him," she'd reminded me.

  And that's when I made the promise that I'd regretted every day since. "Of course I'm keeping it for him. I just meant I was shutting down for a couple of weeks while…while Dad gets back on his feet. It'll be here when Jerry gets back."

  The possibility of Jerry's return was enough of an incentive for Mom to rouse herself from her self-induced stupor. For the past three years, she'd managed to put on a brave face and go through the motions of living.

  Dad cleared his throat, yanking me back to the present.

  I opened my eyes. He'd turned back to face me. Worry etched deep lines in his face, and he suddenly looked older than I'd ever seen him.

  "I heard that man, DiNunzio, offer to buy you out," he said slowly. "Are you going to do it? Are you going to close Spring Cleaning?"

  I knew that wasn't what he was really asking me. He wanted to know if I was giving up on Jerry's dream…if I was going to take away my mother's hope that her son might someday return to her.

  I'd thought a lot about Jerry over the previous days. I'd called for him when I'd been locked in the trunk of that car, and he hadn't come to me. Did that mean that he'd already passed on and couldn't come to me, or did it mean that he wasn't dead and hadn't heard my plea?

  Part of me believed that he might still be alive, and another part of me didn't want to watch my mother fall apart again, so I said, "I'll keep it going."

  Dad's relief was palpable. He crossed the room and hugged me. "You're a good girl, Vicky. Such a good girl."

  As he squeezed me tightly, I looked over his shoulder and saw Martin brushing away a tear.

  For some reason it occurred to me at that moment that Martin should have already moved on. The real murderers had been caught, his name had been cleared, and yet he was still here.

  "I've got to get out of here," I said aloud.

  Dad nodded, thinking I was talking to him.

  I wasn't though. I looked right at my favorite mute ghost as I said, "I've got work to do."

  CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

  Someone, I assumed Mike, brought the Spring Cleaning van to my parents' house, so that I could drive myself home. Mom had wanted to get me settled in, but Dad managed to get her to let me go on my own.

  With Martin riding shotgun, I swung by the frat boy house on the way home. There was a FOR RENT sign hanging in the window.

  "Is what you need in there?" I asked my mute passenger.

  He shook his head.

  I took my time as I drove across town to my place.

  I barely recognized the place when I pulled into the driveway. The grass was mown, the cracked window had been replaced, and I was pretty sure my front door looked freshly painted. I didn't have time to ponder what house elves had performed such miracles because my driveway was full of people…some living, some dead.

  Martin was out of the car before me.

  I slid out of the van slowly, stifling a groan because everything still hurt.

  "Vicky!" Halley, who'd been playing on my front stairs, ran toward me. "I missed you!" She hugged me tightly, and the pain had me seeing stars.

  "I missed you too," I gasped, trying to disentangle myself from her before she inadvertently put me back in the hospital.

  "You're hurting her." Angel tugged on her sister's arm, pulling her away from me.

  "Sorry!" Halley said.

  "No problem," I told her.

  Angel and Halley returned to the front steps to continue playing. I turned my attention to the other people.

  Smoke, standing with Martin's parents, watched me intently. I smiled weakly in his direction. He nodded solemnly in mine.

  "We wanted to thank you, Miss Spring," Martin's father said. He and his wife closed the gap between us. "What you did for our son…"

  "I didn't—"

  Stepping up to stand beside me, Smoke casually draped an arm around my shoulders. I tried not to dwell on how good that felt.

  "Detective Reed told them what you did," Smoke said. "How your insistence that the crime scene appeared staged made him re-examine the facts."

  I shrugged. If that's the way they wanted to spin the facts, it was fine with me.

  "We owe you a great debt," Mrs. Nottoway said.

  Martin stepped between his parents and put a hand on each of their shoulders. Neither reacted.

  Saddened that they couldn't feel him reaching out to them, I said hurriedly, "I know that you're grieving, but you must be proud of him. He died trying to do the right thing."

  "Oh we are," Mr. Nottoway assured me. "We couldn't be prouder."

  I watched Martin carefully, thinking that his parents' validation might be what he needed to pass on. He didn't so much as flicker.

  "We'd like to give you something," Mrs. Nottoway said, rummaging in her purse.

  "There's no need. I'm just—"

  Martin stepped forward and slapped an icy hand over my mouth.

  I shuddered.

  Smoke pulled me closer to him, giving me a worried look.

  "We insist," Mrs. Nottoway continued, oblivious of my reaction.

  Holding his finger up to his lips to shush me, Martin stepped back, releasing my mouth.

  "Art was an amazing artist, did you know that?" Mrs. Nottoway asked. "Ever since he was a little boy, he was always drawing something."

  Martin had turned his attention on his mother as though he were trying to will her to pull something from her purse.

  She pulled out a sheet of paper, folded in half. "This is one of the last things he drew We'd like you to have it."

  "Something to remember him by," Martin's father said.

  I was going to refuse it, but Mar
tin indicated I should take it, so I held out my hand.

  Instead of handing it to me, Mrs. Nottoway threw herself in my direction. If Smoke hadn't braced me, I would have fallen from the impact. As it was, I let out a gasp of pain.

  "Miss Spring is still recovering from her ordeal," he gently reminded Mrs. Nottoway as he plucked the paper from her fingers.

  "We'll never forget this," Mr. Nottoway said, leading his wife away. "If there's ever anything we can help you with, please let us know."

  They got into their car and drove away.

  "Maybe you should sit down," Smoke suggested once they were out of sight.

  I shrugged off his arm which had still been wrapped around my shoulders. "Maybe you should explain to me what the hell is going on."

  He glanced nervously in Halley's direction.

  "In the garage," I muttered, plowing straight through Martin who was standing staring at me.

  I marched into the garage, Smoke close on my heels. Once we were out of view of Halley and Angel, I turned on him. "What the hell are you doing here?"

  "I heard you were coming home," he said with a smile.

  My fingers itched to slap that smile right off his face. Instead I tossed the piece of paper at his chest. It bounced off him and fell to the ground. "You heard? You heard?"

  His smile faded. "Bernie said you were mad at me."

  "Bernie came to visit me, which is more than I can say for you!"

  He hung his head. "I'm sorry about that."

  "Where were you?" I'd meant for it to come out as a demand, but it sounded more like a plaintive whine.

  "I…"

  "I almost died," I shouted, "and all you did was send me three pounds of jelly beans, that my mother wouldn't even let me eat because she claims they'd affect my blood pressure."

  "That's not true," Angel said, jumping between us, like her brother needed her defense.

  I didn't know if she was talking about the candy or Smoke, and I didn't much care. "Go play with your sister," I told her sternly. "This doesn't concern you."

  "Angel's here?" Smoke said, looking around as though he hoped to be able to see her.

  Angel slapped her hand over her mouth.

  "Yes," I said grudgingly. "She's here."

  "Tell him I forgot!" Angel said.

  I sighed. If I'd wanted to spend my life as a translator, I'd have gotten a job at the United Nations. "She said to tell you she forgot."