Stand

by Becky Johnson

  After the third time I successfully broke Skeet’s hold and sent him crashing to the mat, I brought up my plan. I tried to be casual about it. Not really my strong suit. Still I gave it my best shot.

  “So I made some progress on Jimmy’s case.” There nice and casual. Skeet grunted in response so I keep going.

  “I figured out the big case Jimmy was working on before he died.” Another grunt. I was starting to speak his language because this grunt meant to keep going. So I babbled about Muriel and the new will, about her family, and about the lawsuit. Via grunt I deduced that Skeet was impressed with my investigative skills.

  “Jack is going to look into it for me. But I need more information.” This time his sound was more of a sigh. Alright Char, time to bring it home.

  “I want to speak to Muriel’s family and her caregiver. Caregiver first. I don’t have anything planned for Friday. I want to drive down to see them. If Jack is able to get me all their addresses, and they are still in the area.” Definitely a sigh. “So … want to come with me?”

  Now I had a definite response. Skeet stopped our sparring and turned me to face him.

  “If I don’t go with you, you’re just going to go on your own, aren’t you?” Ha, he must have met me before today. I gave him my most winning smile. This time the response was a groan.

  “Fine, fine, if Jack gets the addresses, I’ll go with you.” He pointed his finger at me, I bet anyone else would have felt threatened, but Skeet had never been anything but kind to me. “But they have to still be the in area. I’m not driving all over the place for nothing, especially since you are probably going to insist on driving.”

  Guilty as charged. We both knew Jack could get the contact information, at least for Muriel’s family. Whether they were still in the area or not was a whole other question.

  We went back to sparring. I was thrilled to have my plan in place, so I was more willing than usual to let myself be thrown around.

  ______

  That night Jack and I had dinner together, again. We were developing a bit of a routine. It was eerie. I came home from my self-defense training and wrote for several hours. Jack went to his own home to shower and change, then came over to mine for the night.

  Debating about it was pointless. He always won. Every time I told him he didn’t have to spend the night, and every night he insisted. I am sure my sofa wasn’t that comfortable. To tell the truth, I appreciated having him there. Tonight I was anxious to hear if Jack had heard anything back about Muriel. In two days I was driving to Virginia with Skeet to talk to Muriel’s family and caregiver. I tried to be patient, but I was anxiously waiting for him to bring it up. I think he knew. He was torturing me by keeping quiet. I broke first.

  “Did you find anything out?” Okay, I probably could have eased into that better. But the fact that Jack burst out laughing just confirmed that he knew me too well. He got up, walked over to his laptop bag, and pulled out a folder. I was practically vibrating in my seat, but he took his time sitting back down and getting comfortable before he handed me the information.

  There was a listing of Muriel’s family with their addresses, her lawyer with his office number, her gardener with his address, and then one final paper. It was just a name and an address. That was it. I looked up at Jack.

  “That’s Muriel Fitzgerald’s caregiver.”

  I really wanted to ask if there was more, but I didn’t want to seem ungrateful. I smiled and thanked him for helping me. Part of me had expected a full background on everyone, but that wouldn’t exactly be legal.

  “You really don’t have to keep staying here, Jack. I’m perfectly safe.”

  Ignoring me, he settled on the couch, gave me a smirk, and looked right at home. When I went upstairs I was again grateful to know he was there.

  ______

  The next day dragged by. I was so anxious to question Muriel’s daughter and caregiver that I wished the day over. Not something I make a regular habit of. I try to treat each day like a gift and not wish it away, but I felt driven to solve Jimmy’s case. The waiting was, well I’ll say difficult, but that probably doesn’t do an adequate job of explaining how I really felt. I planned to meet Skeet in the morning. When I went to sleep that Thursday night I had a good feeling about the next day. I felt certain I would find something that would help Jimmy.

  ______

  The arm wrapped around my throat and jerked me backwards. A sweaty, hot hand clamped over my mouth. I couldn’t breathe. I couldn’t scream. I tried to fight, but I couldn’t remember any of the moves Moshe taught me. I was helpless as my attacker pulled me to the ground.

  A scream burned in my throat as I sat upright in bed. I was alone. I must not have actually screamed because Max didn’t move from beside me and Jack didn’t come running up the stairs. It had felt so real. I could almost taste the sour sweat of that hand clamped over my mouth. I felt sick to my stomach.

  I sat in bed with my head in my hands. I was shaking. This dream was worse than any I had before. It was terrifying, down in my bones terrifying. I sat there for a while just breathing.

  When I finally swung my feet over the side of the bed and looked at the clock it was five forty-three in the morning. I don’t know what time I actually woke up, but there was no point in trying to sleep any more. I had another hour and a half before meeting Skeet. This was a morning where I definitely needed my routine.

  While I flowed through my yoga poses I thought about the questions I wanted to ask Muriel’s caregiver. I wanted to keep her talking so my approach needed to be gentle and friendly. Once I got her talking, then I could pull out the big guns.

  After a shower I took time and care dressing and getting ready. The way I looked today would help to sell my story of an author doing research for a book. Not a complete lie. I should look casual, but good. I pulled on a pair of skinny black cords and long teal sweater. A pair of low-heeled black boots was both practical and cute. I put on long silver earrings and draped a multicolored scarf around my neck. My blonde hair was braided loosely to the side, and I kept my make-up light. My black pea coat and teal knit hat wrapped it up. I figured I looked casual but successful, just what I was going for. I didn’t want to intimidate her, but I wanted to look professional enough to be believable, a delicate balance.

  After saying goodbye to Jack, who left for his office in the FBI building, I waited for Skeet. We were planning to leave at seven thirty to drive to the caregiver’s home in Maryland. Skeet pulled up at exactly seven thirty and parked in front of my house. I watched him walk toward me. He was dressed in all black. Black pants, black shoes, black coat, black gloves. He was worse than me about liking dark clothes. At least I had a little color in my outfit.

  I answered the door and let him in.

  “Am I safe in assuming we’re taking your car?” I don’t even get a hello. Real nice, Skeet.

  “Yes, we’re taking my car.” Honestly, my SUV versus his junker pickup. It shouldn’t even be a question, but I was getting a feeling of real annoyance coming from him. “You don’t have to come if you don’t want to.”

  He gave a weary little laugh, sigh combination. “Yes, I do. If I don’t go, who knows what kind of trouble you’ll get yourself into.”

  I wanted him to come, so I wasn’t fighting him, but I don’t think that was very fair. I think I have proven I am pretty good at taking care of myself.

  I would learn two things about Skeet on that trip. One, he has good taste in music and a decent singing voice. Two, if needed, he will fight dirty.

  Chapter 18

  We were on the road by seven thirty-five a.m. I was driving. I brought my laptop and my notes on the case. I had my Taser and pepper spray, but I wasn’t telling Skeet about that. I should have known I wasn’t the only one in the car with weapons.

  We headed south on I295. For the first several miles we rode in silence. Skeet was still a little annoyed with me. After a while he just gave up on his annoyance. We were just passing through Cher
ry Hill when he asked for the files.

  “I might as well look things over.”

  I directed him toward my shoulder bag and he pulled the folders out.

  “Okay Char, give me the rundown.”

  I gave him my thoughts and instinctive impressions on the case. I had been talking to him about the case while we worked out, but this was first time I took him through the details of it all from A to Z. I explained about Jimmy’s disappearance, my research into his last twenty-four hours, and about my conclusion that whatever happened to him was related to his job. I replayed the day I spoke to Jimmy’s coworkers at his law firm. I told him about my reasoning that it was Muriel Fitzgerald’s case that was the ‘big case’ Cindy Carter mentioned, and directed him toward the files on Muriel’s caregiver and daughter.

  He asked me questions as we drove, about Muriel and her family, about Jimmy. I answered them as best I could. Those I didn’t have answers for Skeet wrote down. He had a notebook of his own. I never actually saw what was in that notebook, but I assume he was writing down thoughts about Jimmy’s case. I guess he might have been writing a grocery list or playing tic tac toe. About an hour into our drive I turned on a classic rock radio station. I quickly discovered Skeet’s love of music and his ability to sing along to the radio. This may not seem like an important observation. Lots of people sing along to the radio. But this is Skeet: tough, tattoos, laconic. He doesn’t seem like the type of person to sign along to the radio, especially not someone who knew all the words to Billy Joel’s “Only the Good Die Young.” The image would have never formed in my head on its own. But he did, he even played a drum solo on the dashboard. Wonders will never cease. At that moment I realized I liked Skeet, genuinely and completely liked him as a person and a friend, and not just as a sparring partner. Crazy. But I actually started to have fun. This road trip to talk to someone about a potential murder turned into a fun day out with a friend.

  We were both singing along to Aerosmith’s “Amazing” as we reached the outer limits of Baltimore. We skirted the city and drove west into the suburbs. We were almost to our first stop.

  ______

  We pulled up at our first stop at nine seventeen in the morning. It was a small rancher on a narrow street. We had discussed our strategy for approaching her at length. While I had made an appointment with Muriel’s daughter, Elizabeth, I had decided to spontaneously drop in on Anna Brinikov, Muriel’s last caregiver. I didn’t have any real information on her. A quick internet search revealed nothing. It didn’t look like she had any social groups or anything that she was involved in. No Facebook page or Instagram account. As far as I could tell all she did was stay in her home.

  I decided it was best to approach her as an author doing research for a book. Skeet was willing to go along with me, although he had some definite opinions about what questions I should ask. We decided I would introduce him as my assistant.

  Skeet and I walked up the front walk together. When we go to the stoop, we gave each other a look. It said we were together on this. It gave me confidence. I don’t think I ever fully appreciated Skeet, until that moment.

  Anna Brinikov’s rancher was rundown and shabby. The lawn was in serious need of landscaping. The few bushes that flanked the front door were scraggly and in desperate need of trimming. The house itself looked to be in structurally sound, although the paint on the front door and shutters was peeling and chipped.

  We stood together on the small porch, which lacked any personalization or homey touches. I rang the doorbell. We waited. I rang the bell again. From inside I heard a thump. Someone was in there. I rang the bell a third time. It took almost ten minutes before we heard the click of the deadbolt. The door cracked open only as far as the chain would allow it. A bloodshot, watery, faded blue eye peaked out the gap. What we could see of Anna showed a grizzled head of wiry red hair with gray roots. The face was lined and worn. The scent of cigarette smoke and alcohol flooded out from the gap into the cold morning air.

  “Ms. Brinikov?”

  “Who are you?” The voice was rough from regular smoking and heavily accented. I placed it as Eastern European, maybe. Her ethnicity had not been listed in the information Jack had obtained.

  “My name is Charlotte Marshall.” I started my spiel. “I’m an author writing a book on Muriel Fitzgerald. I’m hoping to talk to you about the time you knew her.”

  “You have the wrong address.” The door slammed shut in our face and we heard the deadbolt click back into place. I knocked on the door.

  “Ms. Brinikov? It’s just a few questions.”

  From the other side of the door she threatened to call the police. Skeet and I quickly climbed back into my SUV. I’ll tell you the truth, I was stumped. When I had been looking for Pheares I had great luck approaching people with questions. I just expected it was always that easy, but obviously I’d been lucky. Skeet didn’t seem to be the least bit surprised by our strike out.

  Back in the car Skeet grinned, “That was fun. You really have a way with people, Char.”

  I scoffed at his sarcasm. “I don’t think she qualifies as people.”

  He laughed. We decided we probably shouldn’t stay parked in front of her house. If Anna Brinikov followed through on her threat to call the cops we might be arrested for loitering. My appointment with Muriel’s daughter Elizabeth was for eleven thirty, a few hours from now. Skeet suggested we find someplace local to review our plan. GPS revealed a public park a few minutes away.

  Once at the park we reviewed our goals for today. We had a list of people involved. Maybe it was time to try the next one. In addition to Muriel’s daughter there was a groundskeeper and a driver who lived within half an hour of our location.

  We decided to try the groundskeeper. Martin Soren was sixty-seven years old. He had worked for Muriel for thirty-five years, and he lived less than twenty minutes away.

  Martin Soren’s home was beautiful. In contrast to Anna Brinikov’s neglected dwelling, Martin’s home was older and in a lower class neighborhood. It was however, incredibly well kept. I didn’t need to meet Martin to know that he took pride in where he lived. The house was painted and clean. The lawn was landscaped and maintained. Even in the middle of winter his lawn looked lush. Skeet and I walked to the front door which was flanked by two large urns with leafy plants spilling out the top. I have no idea how he kept those plants looking so fresh in thirty degree weather.

  I rang the doorbell and the door was promptly opened by an older gentleman dressed in khaki pants and a navy sweater. His skin was the color of dark chocolate. He had a full head of white hair and a neatly trimmed beard. He smiled when he saw us at the door. When I explained that I was an author writing a story about Muriel, he welcomed us into his home and offered coffee. It was hard to imagine both Martin Soren and Anna Brinikov working for Muriel. They were polar opposites.

  Martin led us to the kitchen where he offered us fresh coffee and muffins. His wife puttered around getting mugs and plates. Honestly, I think I fell a little in love with them both.

  When we were enjoying our coffee and some truly delicious cinnamon muffins, I pulled out my notebook and began my questions.

  How long did you work for Muriel? How much contact did you have with her family? With her daughter Elizabeth? How much contact did you have with Anna Brinikov?

  Most of the answers were exactly what I expected. Until Martin said, “I didn’t talk to Anna nearly as much as I talked to Bernice.”

  Skeet and I exchanged glances. “Bernice?”

  “Yes, Ms. Muriel’s first caregiver. She took care of her for two years. We spoke quite a bit. We used to sit in the kitchen. She loved Ms. Muriel.”

  “When did Anna start?”

  “I guess it was about six months before Ms. Muriel died. She really went downhill at the end. She was a tough old bird, Ms. Muriel, a bit batty, but fun and goodhearted.”

  “Why did Bernice leave?”

  The corners of Martin’s mouth tightened. “She
didn’t leave. She wouldn’t have left. Ms. Muriel’s daughter fired her. She accused Bernice of stealing. Bernice would have never stolen from Ms. Muriel. She loved that old lady. We all did.”

  “Elizabeth Fitzgerald fired Bernice?” I clarified.

  “She did.”

  “Was Elizabeth in charge of Muriel’s care?”

  “Not at first, but toward the end there, Ms. Muriel she couldn’t do it herself anymore. Her daughter hadn’t visited in years, then all of sudden she was there every day.” He shook his head. “I didn’t really know Ms. Elizabeth, but I know she broke Ms. Muriel’s heart. She was always reaching out to her daughter, but her daughter was never around.”

  “Did Elizabeth hire Anna?”

  “She sure did. She hired her and she was there all the time checking in on her.”

  Skeet and I exchanged glances again. I was out of questions. My mind kept swirling between Elizabeth and Anna. My conclusion was one I didn’t like. Elizabeth and Anna had conspired to kill Muriel. I felt repulsed by the idea of a daughter killing her mother. My stomach was in knots. I may not always get along or understand my mother, but I could never conceive of hurting her. Not speak to her again, sure. Hurting? Never.

  After saying goodbye and thanking Mr. and Mrs. Soren for their time and the rather delicious muffins, Skeet and I returned to the car. We drove a few minutes away and then stopped to talk. I hoped Skeet would have a different conclusion than mine, but awful as it was, we were both thinking the same thing. It was time to see exactly what Elizabeth Fitzgerald-Barrow had to say.

  Chapter 19

  I made an appointment to see Muriel’s daughter Elizabeth through her personal assistant. When I first called I was told Elizabeth would not be available. I had to do a little ego stroking to get the appointment. As far as Elizabeth knew I had a book contract that was going to make her famous, and I was only available today. She made room in her schedule.