But instead of being shocked that anyone would accuse Aunt Grace of anything so horrible and praising Zoe for defending her aunt’s honor, Dad just slumped down at the kitchen table and buried his face in his hands. “Zoe, no more,” he said. “I don’t want to hear any more excuses. Now go to your room until your mother gets home. Just go. I’ll call you when dinner’s ready.”
Zoe ran up to her room in tears. She grabbed Horton and, clutching him to her heart, threw herself onto her bed and cried. She missed Aunt Grace so much. Grace would have taken her side. From downstairs she could hear the sound of a knife thwacking, thwacking on the chopping block. Then she heard the garage door opening and the gas grill being wheeled outside.
Several minutes later, she heard Mom’s car drive in. Through the half-open bedroom door, Zoe heard her parents talking in the hallway at the bottom of the stairs—something about “a search warrant,” “inheritance,” and “Grace under investigation.”
Zoe sat up and wiped her eyes on her sleeve. An investigation? She tiptoed over to the door. The delicious aroma of grilled chicken wafted up the stairs. She opened her bedroom door a bit farther and listened. The conversation had changed tone. Her parents were now arguing about what had happened with Billy. Their voices trailed off as they disappeared into the kitchen.
Zoe stepped back and plopped down on her bed. She hated it when her parents argued, which fortunately they hardly ever did. At least she should be glad that it was not like it had been with Billy’s parents. They fought all the time and now they were getting divorced.
As she lay there in the gloom, she thought about what she had heard her parents saying—something about a search warrant and Grace being under investigation. What did it all mean? Maybe there was something in the journal that could help the police in their investigation of Grace’s murder.
The door squeaked.
“Zoe?” Mom said, poking her head in the room.
Zoe rolled over on her back, her eyes red and puffy from crying.
Mom sat down on the bed beside her. “Can we talk?” she asked.
Zoe wanted to tell Mom everything—to get it off her chest—to confess. Maybe Mom could give the journal to the police and just tell them that she found it in the living room or something like that. Zoe started to speak, “Mom, I—”
“Hush, it’s going to be okay, sweetie,” Mom said, stroking her hair. “Your father told me what happened with Billy. I know just how you feel, how hard this is on you—what happened to Aunt Grace.” She took a deep breath. “So your father and I discussed it and we decided you can go to Jennifer’s tomorrow morning, but only for two hours and no trip to the mall—no movie—your father was firm on that.”
Zoe nodded grudgingly.
“And we want you to apologize to Billy.”
Zoe groaned. Apologize to Billy after what he said? Never!
Chapter Eleven
Dinner was out on the deck—grilled chicken, acorn squash made with honey and cinnamon, and a tossed salad. Pots of pink impatiens lined the edge of the deck. Overhead little brown bats swooped back and forth collecting insects in the twilight.
After dinner, Dad built a fire in the chiminea, and Mom brought out marshmallows and skewers. They sat in silence watching the flickering flames and enjoying the fragrant smell of burning pine. The chirping of crickets filled the air, and the moon cast long silver shadows as it started its slow rise from below the horizon.
Dad took a sip of the drink he was holding then said, “Patrick called. The plane from Guatemala is running late so they may stay over in Boston tonight and drive back in the morning. I’ve set up a meeting for us with the lawyer tomorrow afternoon.”
Mom sighed. “I’ll be glad when all this is behind us. As far as I’m concerned, Luke’s kids can have everything. After all Grace and Luke were married for less than a month.”
Dad shook his head. “I agree, but I’m not sure Patrick is going to. He has some big-time debts.”
“What about her car that’s out in the driveway right now?”
“Luke’s kids will be over tomorrow to pick it up,” Dad said. “Patrick and I at least agreed his kids would get more use out of it.”
They fell silent again.
Zoe gazed at the smoke spiraling lazily up through the thinning cover of red and rust-colored leaves. A tree frog—or maybe it was a bird—called out. Zoe took a marshmallow from the bag and stuck it on a skewer. “What does it mean that Aunt Grace is under investigation?” she asked, trying to sound casual.
Dad stiffened. “Where did you hear that, Zoe?”
“I…I couldn’t help hearing you and Mom. My bedroom door was open. I wasn’t spying.” Zoe looked away and poked her marshmallow into the open door of the chiminea and swished it back and forth over the red coals.
Mom reached over and gave her hand a reassuring pat, but said nothing.
Zoe shivered and moved her chair closer to the fire. A damp autumn chill was starting to settle in.
“You may as well know,” Mom said, after a few moments. “The investigation we were talking about has to do with the inheritance Grace got from Luke.”
“Oh,” Zoe said, relieved that it was not about the journal. She pulled the marshmallow from the skewer and popped it into her mouth.
Dad took a deep breath then set down his glass on the ground beside his chair and got up to put another log on the fire. The fire crackled and popped.
“So…what about the inheritance?” Zoe asked, slapping a mosquito on her arm. She made a face and picked the squashed insect from her arm and flicked it into the fire.
Mom sighed. “Well, here in Rhode Island, when a husband or wife dies and there’s no will—and Luke had no will—everything goes to the surviving spouse. In this case, it all goes to Grace: the house, his money, his pension fund. And with Grace now…” She paused. “Now everything goes to your father and Uncle Patrick as Grace’s closest living relatives. Luke’s kids get nothing—except of course the trust funds their mother left to them when she died—which, I understand, are substantial.”
“You mean…we get that big house?” Zoe asked. It was huge—like a mansion. It even had a swimming pool. “But isn’t Luke’s daughter living there?” she added.
Mom nodded. “Apparently, when Andrea refused to move out, Grace served her an eviction notice, gave her thirty days to get out. In response, Andrea and her brother Anthony hired a lawyer. That’s why Grace was staying with us—until everything got sorted out.”
“But I thought you said the law gave everything to Aunt Grace,” Zoe said.
“Well, yes, but it’s a bit more complicated than that,” Mom replied.
Zoe crossed her arms and sat back in her chair. Maybe, she thought, Luke’s kids had something to do with Aunt Grace’s murder. They seemed nice enough but you never knew—after all, they must have been pretty angry at Grace getting that beautiful house and all that money.
Mom reached over and patted Zoe’s arm. “I’m sorry, sweetie. We don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to.”
“No, no, I’m fine, really. Talking about Aunt Grace…it helps me—it helps me not feel so sad.”
Mom cleared her throat. “You’re right about the law giving everything to Grace, his wife. But there’s another law…” She hesitated and glanced over at Dad. His face was still, like a marble statue, in the pale flickering light.
“What do you mean ‘another law’?” Zoe asked.
“Well, there’s a law that says a person can’t inherit money or property from someone they’ve…they’ve…” Mom broke off and shook her head.
“Someone they’ve what? What are you talking about?” Zoe insisted.
Mom looked away. “It’s not important. I shouldn’t have brought it up. Look, would you like another marshmallow?”
“Tell me,” Zoe said. She took a marshmallow and put on the skewer.
Mom set down the bag of marshmallows. “Someone they’ve murdered,” she said in a low voice.
Zoe saw Dad’s jaw clench. “What irks me,” he said, leaning forward and jabbing at the coals with the poker, “is their ridiculous idea that Grace was somehow involved.”
Zoe felt a sickening churning in her stomach. Even though she knew it was the gypsies who had murdered Aunt Grace’s husband—after all hadn’t the newspaper said so?—Zoe could sense from the way her parents were acting something was not right.
She sat back in her chair. The sound of the crickets, which once gave her such pleasure, reminded her of the eerie sound made by the alien invaders in that old sci-fi movie War of the Worlds. She shuddered. The skewer drooped in her hands. The marshmallow slithered off into the fire and burst into flames.
After a minute of silence, Dad said, “What it means—and I know this sounds ridiculous—is that if Luke’s kids—or the police—can somehow prove Grace was involved in Luke’s murder, his kids get all the inheritance.”
Mom shook her head. “But they can’t argue that Grace had anything to do with it simply because the police don’t have enough evidence to convict the gypsies,” she said. “That’s simply not logical.”
“You mean they let the gypsies go free?” Zoe asked.
“Apparently,” Mom said.
“Of course Grace wasn’t involved,” Dad said with a note of irritation. “We all know that.”
Zoe looked at him. Was that a flicker of doubt on his face?
“But really, you can’t blame Luke’s children,” Mom continued. “After all, it was their mother’s estate. She’s the one whose family had the money, and it’s the house where they were born and their mother was born, and now they may lose it. We might do the same if we were in their position.”
“Well, try telling that to Detective Tasca,” Dad said with a snort. “Apparently she’s taken up sides with Luke’s kids and seems hell-bent on destroying Grace’s reputation.”
“But they’re wrong,” Zoe protested, “Aunt Grace loved Luke—she really, really loved him. I know she did. She never would have hurt him.”
Dad gave her an odd look.
Zoe shut up. She wanted to tell them about Grace’s journal—to show them how much Grace loved Luke. She wanted so much to show her parents the entry about Detective Tasca—to prove that she was in love with Luke too and jealous of Aunt Grace, and that was why the detective was trying to get even with Grace. But how could she tell them without them knowing she had stolen the journal? And how could she explain hiding it in the neighbor’s garage?
“Oh, my,” Mom exclaimed with forced cheerfulness as she leaned forward and checked her watch in the light of the flame. “It’s getting late. We should get going inside. I’m sure you still have homework to do, Zoe.”
“No, please—I don’t want to go inside yet,” Zoe said. “Besides, I’ve finished all my homework.” She pushed her chair back, hoping to be a bit more inconspicuous.
Dad shook his head. “Apparently the police got permission from Luke’s kids to search Grace’s belongings at the house in Warwick. She hadn’t unpacked yet, so it was all in boxes.”
Mom looked surprised. “Oh? You hadn’t told me that.”
“I just found out this afternoon,” Dad said with a snort. “And don’t worry. They didn’t find anything indicating Grace was a black widow spider, like his kids seem to think.”
“What about the journal they were looking for?” Mom asked.
Zoe swallowed hard and glanced in the direction of the unoccupied house next door. A dark cloud passed overhead, blocking the moon and casting them in darkness except for the flickering light from the chiminea.
“All I know,” Dad replied, “is that they found all her journals from past years and read through them. Of course there was nothing incriminating in them—no sinister plots to marry a rich man then murder him for his money.”
“But what about the journal for this year?” Mom asked. “Maybe that would clear Grace.”
Zoe shrank back in her chair.
“They’re still looking for it, though I don’t know why,” Dad said. He shook his head and picked up the poker and stared at it. “They also found a letter in Luke’s luggage—one he apparently hadn’t mailed before he died in Spain.”
“And?”
“I don’t know. They just said it was something about Grace and some fire—something that might possibly incriminate Grace. Detective Tasca wouldn’t go into any detail.ˮ He stabbed at the fire again with the poker. Sparks shot upward from the chiminea. “This is getting absurd,” he said. “I don’t know what they expect to find. For God’s sake—Grace was an ethics professor, not some sort of deranged serial killer.”
A gust of cold air ruffled the trees overhead. The autumn leaves rustled like dry paper. Zoe shivered and pulled her chair even closer to the fire.
****
The next morning a thin film of frost coated the grass. As Zoe got dressed, tears came to her eyes. “I want to believe you,” she whispered. “I do believe in you, Aunt Grace. And, I promise you, I’m going to get to the bottom of this. I’m going to show them what a good person you were.”
She glanced down at Yoda sitting at the foot of her bed, waiting to be taken out for his morning walk. “Come on, Yoda,” she said.
Dad was in the kitchen cleaning the coffee maker.
“Where’s Mom?” Zoe asked.
“In the bedroom getting dressed. She has to go into work today to catch up on things.”
Zoe watched him for a moment then said in a soft voice. “Dad?”
“What is it, Zoe?”
“Well, I know I’m grounded, but, well—Yoda really needs to go for a walk and would it be okay if I take him out? I’ll come right back and go up to my room until it’s time to go to Jen’s.”
He straightened up and gave her a searching look. “Okay,” he finally said. “As long as you’re home in twenty minutes. I have to go to the funeral home, but I’ll be back to take you over to Jen’s. So I’ll have to trust you.”
“You bet,” Zoe said, snatching up Yoda’s leash. “You can trust me.”
“And don’t forget to apologize to Billy if you see him.”
****
As Zoe passed Billy’s house, she spotted him sitting on the stone bench beside the walkway that led from the driveway to the front porch. He had a suitcase beside him.
She frowned. She could not believe her parents were making her apologize when it was all his fault. She flicked back a strand of hair. Well, she may as well get it over with.
As she started up his driveway, she heard a car turning onto the street and saw Dad driving out. She stepped back and waved to him. She wanted to make sure he knew that she was being good and doing what he had told her to do. He waved back and gave her the thumbs up. Then he was gone.
She took a deep breath and walked up the driveway. She stopped in front of him, her arms folded across her chest. “I’m sorry,” she said, “for kicking you.ˮ There—she did it.
But Billy just sat there like he hadn’t heard her, his eyes downcast and shoulders slouched, clutching a cell phone to his chest.
Yoda padded up to Billy and licked his hand, then lay down at his feet.
Zoe heaved a sigh of impatience. “Come on, Yoda,” she said, giving the leash a tug.
She was about to walk away when Billy said in a barely audible voice, “Me too. I’m sorry too—for what I said about your aunt.”
Zoe shrugged. “That’s okay,” she said.
He glanced back at the empty front porch with its pots of gold and orange mums lining the wide steps. “My mother’s working extra shifts—says we need the money. My father was supposed to come and pick me up,” he said.
“Oh. Well, I guess I should get going before he gets here,” Zoe replied, glad for an opportunity to get away. She gave the leash another tug and took a step in the direction of the street. But Yoda refused to budge.
Billy patted Yoda’s head. “My father was going to take me to dinner at Pizzeria Uno. Then we were going to Seeko
nk to ride the go-carts—spend the whole weekend together. Now he’s not coming. He just called and said he has to work tonight—and tomorrow.ˮ He paused a moment. “He has a new girlfriend, you know.”
Zoe turned and looked at Billy. She could see the hurt in his eyes. She felt sorry for him. It must be so hard—his father backing out on him like this. And the way the kids on the bus were so mean to him. She hadn’t known what it meant to be really lonely until Aunt Grace died.
She sat down on the bench beside him. “I’m sorry,” she said softly. “I really mean it. I shouldn’t have kicked you like that. It was terrible. And I’m sorry about your father—and Precious too.”
Billy snorted. “Yeah, well, I don’t care about him anymore.ˮ He pushed himself to a standing position and grabbed his suitcase. “Who needs him or some stupid little dog? I can take care of myself.”
Chapter Twelve
It was almost eleven o’clock by the time Dad dropped Zoe off at Jen’s house.
“I’ll be back in about two hours,” he said.
“Thanks, Dad,” Zoe said, jumping out of the car. Chickens milled around the front yard pecking at the ground. The smell of damp hay and manure hung in the air. As Zoe walked up the dirt path to the house, two goats moseyed over to a wire fence, looking for a handout.
Jen was standing on the porch waiting for her.
The front door opened into a large woody smelling kitchen that also served as a family room. Jen’s older brother Connor lay sprawled across a threadbare orange and brown sofa playing a hand-held video game. He was handsome, like a rock star, with spiked jet black hair, and dreamy almond-shaped brown eyes.
“Hey, kiddo,” he said, looking up from his game and flashing a smile. “How’re you doing?”
Zoe blushed. She thought she would melt right there on the spot.
“Come on,” Jen said, rolling her eyes and tugging at Zoe’s sleeve.
Long strings of colored glass beads hung from the doorway between the kitchen and rest of the house. The beads tinkled as Jen pushed them aside. Megan, who lived just down the street from Jen and was a year ahead of them in school, was already there sitting on the floor in front of a bowl of soy nuts and Sun Chips. Jen and Zoe settled down on the floor beside her. The topic soon turned to boys and the latest fashions.
Fall From Grace Page 7