Charles was in deep thought. “You feel disposal is better than Brent’s plan?”
“Far better,” Mick said. “Brent’s plan leaves out one glaring difference.”
“What’s that?” Charles asked.
“Carly didn’t kill some average Joe. She killed Ethan Campbell.” When Jenay looked at him surprised, Mick explained. “I know him because I know football. And I know his family is not going to sit back and let Maine dictate to them the circumstances of his death. They will hire their own forensic experts. They will hire their own team of lawyers. They will destroy you. You may think you’re taking the fall for your daughter, but both of you may go down.”
Brent and Jenay looked at Charles again. He let out an exhausted exhale and ran the back of his hand across his eyes. “That crossed my mind, too,” he said.
“But what are you talking about doing?” Brent asked Mick. “You can’t just get rid of a body.”
Mick couldn’t believe he said that. He gave Brent a chilling stare. “I can’t?” he asked.
“But what I mean to say,” Brent said, “is that his family will have questions when he turns up missing. And what about the inhumanity of what could be their lifelong uncertainty?”
But Charles looked at his son. “What do you think is the better alternative in a field of bad options? Me attempting to convince Jericho, and Boston by the way, that I killed that man in defense of my daughter? Or that man disappearing from the face of this earth with his family wondering whatever happened to him?”
“And wondering it,” Mick added, “with no tie-in to Carly or your father whatsoever. My way, Carly got rid of a scumbag and got to live another day. Your way, Carly got rid of a scumbag and your father, or Carly, or both might pay with their lives.”
Brent ran his hand through his thick, black hair. He was already in too deep. “I’m a cop for crying out loud,” his frustration forced him to say. “At least if we move the body there’s some accountability. There’s some closure for his family. It’s still wrong, but . . . How can I be a party to what you’re talking about?”
“Because you’re my son,” Charles answered instead of Mick, forcing Brent to look at him. “You have no choice.”
Brent, still distressed, looked at Jenay.
“You have no choice,” Jenay said too.
And Carly, hearing it all, burst into tears. “All of you are getting into all of this trouble,” she said, “and it’s all because of my actions. Because of me,” she said harshly and hit herself, with a fist, in her chest. “Because of me!”
Charles quickly moved over, grabbed Carly from her chair, and lifted her into his arms. He held her and let her sob.
Brent began to pace, with his hand still raking through his hair, and Jenay placed her elbow on the table, with her chin in her hand, and closed her eyes.
Charles, instinctively feeling her distress, took one of his hands and prodded her to her feet. When she rose, he pulled her into his arms too.
Brent stood against the wall, his head back, staring at his uncle. He was amazed at how calm Mick was. He was all-business, with no emotion whatsoever, at a time like this. As if disposing of bodies were nothing new to him.
But it was new to them, and they could hardly bear it. Brent walked over to his family, to his father, his mother, and his sister, and wrapped his arms around them all.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Two Months Later
She didn’t think it would make it, but it did. All the way from Baltimore, Maryland. But as she drove into the parking lot of the Saint Catherine’s Episcopal Church in Jericho County, her vintage Mustang was the least of her concerns. She had been ordered by Bishop Lanier to vacate her post as Dean of Students at Saint Catherine’s Prep Academy in Baltimore, the largest school in the diocese, to come to a small, failing school in Maine. She knew why. She knew what happened with Kent caused her relocation. But knowing why didn’t make it feel any better. And as she sat in her Mustang and watched the tall, white, steeple church in front of her, she felt that sense of failure all over again. She was on the fast track to glory just a few weeks ago. Now she was on a backroad to nowhere. How did everything go so wrong?
And how were this new staff going to feel about her sudden appointment? From everything she could gather, every school master they had ever had in their eighty-year history had always been male, white, and old. Every single one. How were they going to feel about a young, black woman taking over?
Not that it mattered how they felt, she decided, as she grabbed her attaché case off of the passenger seat and got out of the car. The Bishop appointed her. Saint Catherine’s wasn’t self-sufficient: it belonged to the diocese. They had no choice.
But when she entered the vestibule of the century-old church, and made her way into the sanctuary where members of the vestry were there to greet her, the sense of purpose she felt began to waver. The vestry was ten-person strong and, from what she could see when she entered, every one of them were either old, very old, or decrepit, and all of them were white. She knew they wouldn’t be a super-diverse group, this was Maine after all, but she didn’t expect total uniformity. Why in the world, she wondered, as she made her way down the aisle, did the Bishop in all of his infinite wisdom appoint somebody like her to come to a place like this? It seemed like a monumental mix match!
The members of the vestry sat in chairs at the very front of the church and every one of them appeared to be as surprised by the view as she was. Some even looked at each other, as if to confirm that others saw what they were seeing. They knew a woman was coming. Her name made that clear. But apparently, she realized as she walked, they had no idea the woman would be this young and, undoubtedly, this black. But she had a job to do. She kept on walking.
A gray-haired man was the only one to smile. He stood up, clasped his hands together, and then hurried to greet her. “You must be our new Headmaster,” he said. Then he smiled nervously, stopped in his tracks, as his face began turning beet-red. “Headmistress,” he corrected himself. And then he continued to hurry toward her, extending his hand. “I’m Joe Huddleson. The parish priest. The priest in charge, actually, of both church and school up until your appointment. Welcome to Saint Catherine’s!”
“Thank you,” she said as she removed her attaché case from her right hand to her left, and shook his hand. “I’m Sharon Flannigan.”
He was all smiles as they shook, and welcoming in tone, but she could see the reluctance even in him. He was the man in charge of a failing school. She was replacing him. She understood his reluctance. But unlike Joe, the rest of the members, most of whom were women, weren’t even pretending. They seemed to be too busy experiencing the shock of it all.
Joe continued. “Once I introduce you to our church leadership, and after a morning assembly where you will get to meet all of the school staff, and after I give you the grand tour of the church and school.” He paused, catching his breath. Then added: “Such as it is. We are, I am quite sure, a far cry from what you are used to in a big city like Baltimore. But after all of that, after all of the introductions and tours and the meet and greet of staff, I will be happy to escort you to the Inn.”
Sharon was confused. “The Inn?”
“The Jericho Inn, why yes. A bed and breakfast here. Given your . . . um. Your . . . um. How shall I say it? Given your gender, yes, your gender, we felt it would be unwise, or it would be best for you to select where you would prefer to live. We did not want to be presumptuous and select a place for you. And the Rectory will not do. And now, looking at you,” he said with a smile, “I think it was quite a stroke of genius actually.”
“A stroke of genius?” Sharon asked. She never cared for hyperbole. “In what way?”
Joe cleared his throat. He was most uncomfortable and Sharon couldn’t figure out why. Was it because of her sex, her race, her age? All of the above? None of the above? Then she decided it didn’t matter either way.
“What I meant to say is that I think yo
u will feel right at home at the Inn.” Joe pulled out a handkerchief and began wiping his forehead. The man was so nervous he was literally sweating. With him in charge, Sharon thought, there was no wonder the school was failing. Was the rest of the leadership this rubber-backed?
He continued. “What I meant to say is that the lady who runs the Inn, Jenay Sinatra, is a most welcoming sort of person. And the Inn itself is a lovely place. You will be comfortable there. That is what I meant to say.”
Sharon could tell he meant to say a whole lot more, but she wasn’t there to quiver with him or anyone else. She had a job to do and she was going to give it her all. It felt like starting at the bottom again, but she was used to that too. A desire to know this man’s deeper thoughts, or even the thinking among the vestry members as a whole, was a total waste of time. “Perhaps you can introduce me to the leadership here assembled,” she said, “and we can move on from there?”
He smiled, relieved. “Yes. Let’s. Get on with it, that is!” Then he cleared his throat. “Right this way, please,” he said, motioning his hand for her to follow.
And Sharon followed his lead. She followed him down the aisle and smiled as she went. She was here now. The Bishop had demoted her and relocated her. She had no choice either.
“Eat it all, Nita,” Jenay said to her youngest child as she poured herself another cup of coffee. “I didn’t give you that much.”
“When are you going to sign it, Mommy?” Bonita Sinatra asked as she ate.
“Let Carly sign it.”
“She cannot anymore,” Bonita said. “She signed the last one, but she cannot sign this one.”
Jenay looked at her daughter. “And why is that?”
“Because my teacher said one of my parents have to sign it, and Carly is not my parent.”
“She lives in your same household, she’s an adult, and she’s your sister. What’s the difference?”
“My teacher said she is not my parent. She cannot sign anymore.”
“Give that junk to me,” Ashley said with a whimsical smile on her face, as Donald laughed. “I’m good at faking Ma’s signature. I’ll sign it for you.”
“You will do no such thing, Ashley,” Jenay said. And then reached her hand toward Bonita. “Hand it here.”
Bonita smiled as she gladly handed the three-page field trip authorization to her mother. Jenay smiled when Bonita smiled. Mainly because Bonita had blossomed into a beautiful little girl with long, light-brown hair down her back, and the most pleasant of personalities.
They were in the kitchen. Jenay was standing at the center island, while Bonita, Carly, Ashley, and Donald, the Sinatra children who still lived at home, were sitting around it. Everybody were eating the breakfast Jenay had prepared. Except Jenay, who never cared for breakfast.
“They make you sign your life away,” Donald said. “Don’t they, Ma?”
“It’s all about their liability,” Jenay responded as she sipped coffee and continued to read the paperwork. “It’s all about them.”
Carly, reading yet another book on her IPad, looked up at the clock over the stove. “Is that time right?” she asked.
“It’s right,” Donald said as he looked at his adopted sister. He was always amazed by her beauty. She was even more beautiful than Ashley. He would have been proud to introduce her to some of his male friends. But she was always so serious and stern, as if she was better than the rest of them, that he never bothered. “That time is right. Dad’s just late as usual.”
But Carly knew she had better finish eating before their father came downstairs, so that she didn’t add to his tardiness. She put down her IPad, and began eating her food more vigorously.
Ashley stared at Carly too. She was always an oddball to Ash, even when they were kids, so her current odd behavior was par for the course to her. But it still was curious. “Why don’t you buy yourself a new car?” she asked her. “You’re working now. Dad got you that teaching job at Saint Catherine’s, a job you said you wanted. Instead of putting that hunk of junk of yours in the shop for repairs, you should have bought yourself a real car. I’ll help you look.”
“Thanks,” Carly said, “but no thanks.”
“Why the hell not, Carly?” Ashley asked. “You can afford it. You gave up that cushy job in Boston to come back here to Jericho, which still doesn’t make sense to me. But why wouldn’t you splurge a little?”
Carly didn’t respond to that. Nobody knew about her mishap in Boston outside of her parents, her big brother Brent, and her uncle, the mobster Mick Sinatra. And she aimed to keep it that way.
But Ashley and Donald smelled a rat, and wouldn’t stop questioning her about it every chance they could. “Why did you come back here anyway?” Donald asked, picking up the torch.
“I told you why. I wanted to be close to home.”
“That makes no sense at all,” Ashley said. “Boston is only a couple hours away. You could come home every day if you wanted to. You didn’t have to quit your job.”
Jenay glanced over at Carly, and saw her distress. “Leave her alone,” she said to Ash and Donald. “Sometimes people need a change of pace. That’s why she didn’t want to work for Daddy. She’s tired of the corporate world.”
“But why is she so tired?” Donald asked. “That’s the big question. And what does being tired of the corporate world have to do with buying a car? When she first came back to Jericho, I understood it. Maybe she needed more stability before she bought a car. But she has a job now.”
“Not to mention that big, fat bank account she brought back with her from Boston,” Ashley added.
“It wasn’t all that fat,” Carly interjected.
“But it’s fat enough to buy a car,” Ashley said. “If I can buy a car on the salary Dad pays me, I know you can buy one from all that big money you were making in Boston.”
“Leave her alone,” Jenay said again without looking up from her reading this time. “She has a car. It’s just in the shop.”
“She doesn’t have a car, Ma,” Donald said. “She has a hunk of junk. That car is as old as I am. She needs a car and we all know it.”
“And she’ll buy one when she’s good and ready,” Jenay said and then looked at Donald. “Leave her alone.”
Donald knew when to cool it with his stepmother and boss. But he also knew how to change the subject without changing the subject. “It doesn’t matter anyway,” he said, “since Dad let’s her drive his luxurious Jaguar all over town like she’s his equal. He never let me drive it once. Even when my car got---” Donald hesitated.
Ashley looked at her brother and smiled. “Go on and say it, boy.”
“Even when my car got repossessed. Okay? I said it! But I’ll get another one when I’m back on my feet again, so it’s no big deal. But even then, when Dad knew I was struggling, he didn’t come to my rescue.”
“Perhaps because you had no business struggling,” Carly said. “You made more than enough money as General Manager at the Inn to pay your bills. You chose not to.”
Ashley smiled. “She’s right about that, Donnie.”
“But regardless of all of that,” Donald said to Carly, as he was never willing to face his own demons, “Dad didn’t offer to help me.”
“He even offered to buy her a car when she first came back home,” Ashley said. “Did you know that?”
“Hell yeah I knew it,” Donald said. “And for reasons I’ll never understand until the day I die, Miss Carly turned him down.”
“Yeah, right?” Ashley said with a smile. “That amazes me still! Let Dad offer to buy me a new car. Man, I’d be at that car lot hours before it opens. I’ll spend the night there waiting to get my new ride!”
“But it’s true,” Donald said to Carly. “You, Tony and Brent get preferential treatment, I’m telling you. Dad treats the three of you differently than the rest of us.”
“For real though,” Ashley said. “Mom at least lets us drive her Mercedes. She treats all of us the same. But Dad do
esn’t allow me nor Donnie anywhere near his car.”
“Bobby either,” Donald added, still looking at Carly. “Yet you can just pop up from out of nowhere when me, Ash, and Bobby have been living in Jericho all along. We’ve been working for Dad and Mom, doing what they need us to do. But you show up and he all but turns the keys to the kingdom over to you. He treats us, especially me, differently than he treats you.”
“Maybe it has less to do with the fact that he treats you differently, Don,” Carly said, “and more to do with the fact that you have no job and haven’t shown yourself responsible enough.”
“I do have a job, for your information,” Donald corrected her. Then he added, in a more subdued tone: “Just not the same job.”
Ashley laughed. “Don’t try to sugarcoat it, bud. Your little antics with Biker Chick got your butt demoted. You went from General Manager of the Jericho Inn to desk clerk supervisor. That’s a hellava fall, my brother, even in my eyes.”
“He better be glad Ma didn’t fire him altogether,” Carly said. “If he worked on my staff and pulled a stunt like the one he pulled, where he didn’t show up for work for three days straight without even calling or letting someone know where he could be reached, I wouldn’t have demoted him. I would have terminated him immediately.”
“That’ll never happen,” Donald said, “because I’ll never work for your stuck-up butt in a million years.”
“Since I’ll never hire yours in a zillion years,” Carly retorted, “then I guess neither one of us have anything to worry about.”
“Stop arguing,” Bonita said. “You and Donnie argue too much.”
Ashley laughed. Donald rolled his eyes. Carly picked back up her IPad to continue to read her book, and occasionally eat.
Then they all heard the loud voice of their father yelling down from upstairs. “Jenay?” he blared. “Jenay?”
Jenay didn’t bother to look up. “What?” she blared back as she began signing Bonita’s paperwork.
Big Daddy Sinatra: Carly's Cry Page 6