by Michele Hauf
Grace looked up and saw Vickie clinging to the tall young man she had been eating dinner with. “Sorry, honey. Well… not really,” she told her.
Vickie started giggling, a pensive nervous reaction at first, then winding up to the full laughter of absolute glee. “Well, you did say maybe someone would bash her for my birthday. Best sixteenth birthday present ever!”
4
Birthday Bash
Rich grimaced at the emotional and physical spectacle but remained silent and supportive of the giddy teenager at his side, her boisterous laughs now settled down to intermittent chuckles. He didn’t know the family dynamics but was uncomfortably acquainted with the tawdry and disgusting Nanny Elsa, now laid out on the parquet floor. She more than likely deserved the blows. Still, it was Vickie’s birthday. “Shall we make the rounds and see if we can provide a little damage control?” he asked, urging the birthday girl away.
“Ooh, that was rich,” she said with a giggle, indicating the rout but teasing him about his name. She quickly sobered up, realizing she didn’t want to embarrass her parents with even more rowdy behavior. “Sorry about the tussle,” she said sincerely. “That’s been a long time coming.”
“She probably deserved it,” he said, nudging her upper arm-to-shoulder with body language that said, ‘That’s okay. I’m cool with it.’
She leaned into him and looked up. “Yes, that was very rich. No doubt the guests will remember this night for years.”
“Yes, and now everyone will want to come to your parties. You can’t hire that kind of excitement.”
The young couple stood back and watched as Silas ushered in three valets to help lift the aging pugilist from the floor to her feet. As she regained consciousness, Nanny Elsa’s arms flailed, resisting the assistance offered, her striking-out protests prolonging the performance. The hag was leaving the humiliation spotlight but not the partygoer’s memories.
Silas drew out his handkerchief and made a quick swipe of the mess on the floor, dropped his improvised rag into a plastic bag he took from his pocket, then followed the group. Now, who are you really, Nanny Elsa? A little DNA research might help. By the time I get the results back, you’ll probably still be hanging around, your claws into someone else in this household or neighborhood. Six months is a long time to wait for lab results. Let’s just hope I find out something from other sources sooner.
On the other side of the room, Dusty and Hal came to Grace’s side, chatting nonsense to keep her from watching the staff remove the fallen Elsa. “Dad, why don’t you go see how Roger’s holding up?” Dusty suggested, his quick eye movements letting him know he needed some private time with his wife.
“Don’t worry, honey,” Dusty said once they were alone. “Papa Doc made sure she didn’t have any serious injuries. He called an ambulance just to cover our asses in case she decides to get litigious. I don’t think the guests saw it as anything but self-defense. Actually, people seem to be having a good time now. At least they have something to talk about.”
Young Rich stood off to the side, waiting silently for a break in their conversation. “I think Vickie wants to talk to you alone,” he said when Grace noticed him. “She has something for you in the kitchen.”
Grace looked back at Dusty. He shook his head and shrugged. “Don’t look at me,” he said. “You know that girl has a mind of her own.”
An anxious Vickie waited at the breakfast bar for Grace. Starting to chew on her cuticle, she realized what she was doing and quickly brought her hand down and began twiddling her thumbs instead. When she heard Grace clear her throat, she stood up, making a concerted effort to keep her hands still.
“Hey, Grace,” Vickie said, her arms crossed in front of her chest, hands tucked under her armpits. “Papa Doc said you should soak your hand in warm water and Epsom salts. I had the cook help me. I already had the Epsom salts. She just filled the big ceramic bowl with warm water. She said it’s her favorite bread-making bowl; that it should keep the heat in longer than a stainless steel one. She said she’d do anything for you now. Everyone knows…”
“You’re babbling, Vickie,” Grace said, sitting down next to her. She put her right hand in the water, an unintentional ‘Ooh’ escaping at the comforting warmth.
Vickie leaned closer to the bowl and sniffed. “I don’t think it makes a difference if they’re scented salts or not. You’ll smell like roses for a while, though.” Vickie realized that now she was rubbing her thumb and forefinger together, another form of thumb-twiddling that she’d seen her godmother do hundreds of times over the years.
Grace watched her mimic her nervous habit, then looked up at her with one eyebrow raised. ‘What did you want to talk about?’ she asked without saying a word.
“I just wanted to thank you in private for the greatest birthday present ever,” Vickie blurted out.
Grace chuckled. “We both got a gift with that one. Turn around and let me look at your ear.”
Vickie carefully lifted her fall of curls, exposing the infected area that Elsa had smeared with a heavy application of cover-up, trying to hide the red inflammation.
“Oh, good Lord,” Grace exclaimed just a little too loudly.
Dusty stepped in from the hallway. “Is everything all right in here?”
“Go get Papa Doc. He needs to clean this up. He has his medical kit in the car. He won’t leave home without it.”
Vickie waited until Dusty was out of earshot to speak. “Grace?” she asked, her voice soft and pensive. She waited until Grace was looking right at her to continue. “Why did you say I was your daughter?”
Grace blanched. Had she really said that? Out loud? “Oh? I said that?” she answered, her eyes blinking rapidly as she watched the doorway to see if anyone had heard.
“Yes, you did.” Vickie reached up and pulled back Grace’s hair, exposing one ear.
“Ooh, that’s cold,” Grace said and shook her hair back in place, feeling naked and exposed at being inspected, certain that Vickie had noticed that their ears were the same. Or were before the procedure.
“So, why did you say that?” Vickie persisted, not ready to let go of the suspicion she’d had since her thirteenth birthday.
“Well, you are my daughter,” Grace said with a sudden surge of confidence. “You’re my goddaughter, even if that’s not a legal relationship.”
“That must be why our ears look so much alike.”
Grace chuckled, then – almost as an afterthought – said, “Yes, that’s it.”
“Funny. That’s not what they told us in biology. Ear shape and pinnae are passed down from mother to daughter and father to son. That genetic trait is an even stronger and more direct indicator of relationship than hair or eye color.”
The blood drained from Grace’s face. “Really?” she asked, suddenly feeling as if she was going to faint.
Vickie laughed nervously, unsure if she wanted to continue talking about her suspicion or not. Her compassion got the best of her when she saw how upset Grace was. “Maybe it’s true. I don’t know. I just made that up. What I do want to know is why you looked like I just caught you in a lie when I said that…”
“Did someone call for a doctor?” Papa Doc called in from the hallway, Dusty standing behind him.
Dusty sat down beside Grace and looked at Papa Doc. Do you feel it?
Yes, I feel the tension in the room, too. That’s why I was so bright and boisterous when I came in – to give the women a chance to recover their composure.
“I already had the bag with me. Looks like you’re doing all you can for that hand, Grace.” Papa Doc sniffed the air. “Tea or Damask roses?”
“Damask,” Vickie said. The two women looked at each other and blinked, a visual agreement that they’d continue their conversation later – without anyone else around. Then Grace gave her a narrow-eyed maternal admonition and nodded, telling her to show Papa Doc her infected ear.
Turning around as directed, Vickie pivoted in her seat and pulled back
her hair.
Papa Doc frowned, then looked at the back of her other ear. “Well, at least only one of them is botched. Sorry, that sounds crude. Who did this?”
“The surgeon at Silver Falls Dermatology,” Vickie said. “Nanny Elsa insisted he was the best.”
“He’s a damned butcher!” Papa Doc hissed, then composed himself. “That’s not what I’m talking about, though. Who put on all this makeup? This is still a new wound. It needs fresh air and to be kept clean in order to heal properly. Don’t worry. Your ear isn’t going to fall off, but it may scar now. Well, first things first. I need to clean out this crud so it can heal right. Skin can’t mend around foreign material. This is going to hurt, darling. Sorry, but I don’t carry Lidocaine with me.”
Papa Doc looked around the room. Grace was holding Vickie’s hand and Dusty was standing in the doorway next to Ricky Rickman’s kid – what was his name? – both frowning in concern. “Dusty, go get her a drink.”
“Wine or champagne?”
“Neither. Whiskey. And make that two; one for her and one for me when I’m done. I sure hate to hurt my little girl, but it has to be done.”
Papa Doc took out the jewel-encrusted comb from Vickie’s hair and poked and scooted it, trying to find a way to keep his work area free from wayward curls.
“Here, let me help you,” Grace said. With practiced skill, she inserted the comb with one-handed dexterity as he held the tress up, the two of them working as one. “You only had sons, so you probably never had to fix hair.”
“Nothing more than a buzz cut in the summer when we were at the cabin.”
“Thanks. And it may not be your birthday,” Vickie said, then mouthed the word, ‘Mom,’ to Grace, “but it looks like you got a gift, too. I just hope she leaves and never comes back.”
“That would be a gift to your whole family!” Papa Doc said, ending the remark with a snort of finality.
“Did I miss something?” Dusty asked, a drink in both hands.
“Nope,” Grace said, all smiles at the prospect of the truth possibly coming out. “All’s good here. Very good.”
“All done,” Papa Doc said. “Now, no hair product or spray perfumes or makeup or…”
“Got it. Keep the area free from anything but soap and water and this antiseptic.”
“Yes, and just a dab. I’ll be by in a day or two to check on you.”
“Excuse me,” Rich said, waiting in the doorway. “I have some good news. Or at least, I think it’s pretty interesting.”
“Shoot!” Dusty said.
“The party guests took a poll. Everyone here saw this fine woman,” he nodded to Grace, “duck from a direct assault from Nanny Elsa. If said fine woman…”
“Her name is Grace,” Hal said, now joining the group.
“Ah, the perfect name for her,” Rich commented. “If Grace did throw the first punch, no one here tonight saw it. It would be the Swedish Serpent’s word against everyone here.”
“I’ll say it again,” Vickie held up her empty whiskey glass and toasted the group, “best birthday ever!”
“Are you sure you’re all right?” Roger asked his daughter for the tenth time. Or so it seemed.
“Yes, I’m fine. I have a little bit of a headache but getting a full night’s sleep should help that. Are you sure they’re keeping Nanny Elsa overnight for observation?”
“I insisted on it,” Roger said. “Even if she wanted to come back, I have a little bit of say there at that hospital. Plus, Silas is hanging around, asking questions. He has his way of getting informationthe.”
“Like maybe if she’s on pain medication, she’ll answer anything he asks?”
“I always knew you were a clever girl,” Roger said.
“Just like my daddy,” she answered automatically, just as she always did when he complimented her on anything. She gasped as she realized he probably wasn’t her bio-dad. Then she smiled. Yes, but he was her daddy.
He gave her a kiss on the cheek. “Now, get some sleep. It’s been a long and exciting day.”
“That’s for sure. You and Mom get some sleep, too. I worry about both of you.”
“Don’t. It’s all under control. Probably now more than ever.”
“Night, night.”
Vickie waited until she heard his footfalls disappear, then stepped into the hallway to verify. Yup. Gone to the other side of the house. Perfect. Now to do a little Silas-style snooping of my own.
She had always been curious about what Nanny Elsa kept in her room. She had never been allowed in there. She had seen, though, where the not-as-clever-as-she-thought nanny kept her spare key. Vickie reached under the drawer on the vase table and felt around. Yes! The key was hers now.
The room wasn’t dirty or messy, but it was crowded with neatly stacked boxes, all labeled with letters and numbers that meant nothing to her. The only area that was uncluttered was the bed and the desk. She ignored the bed. The thought of that woman in bedclothes – or less – turned her stomach. The desk was as intriguing as the box must have been to Pandora.
A pale-blue canvas journal with leather corners was set out, a ribbon trailing out the top as a bookmark. Vickie opened it and looked inside.
It wasn’t a journal as in a diary, but a ledger. Columns of dates and commodities lined the one side, item numbers off to the right. Vickie glanced back at the cardboard boxes. Nanny Elsa had been accumulating goods not only from her parents – their names and dates were the most frequent on the listing – but from other people, too. She looked over the item names, printed out in a hand that was as clear as a computer font. The last journal entry was only two weeks ago:
12 December 2007. Thornwhistle Family hair comb: diamonds, rubies, sapphires. Under the column labeled value was marked: est. $1,200,000. The last column marked notes read: Verify with jeweler.
Item after item. Some were small such as Merriweather Day Spa – the works – $800. Others were obscure, like 15 January 1998 – New Bodyworks – Lap-Band – $40,000. And some were just plain irritating. 5 December 2008 – 1992 Maserati Ghibli AM336 – est $75,000 – Note: intended 16th birthday gift VLT.
“That bitch!” Vickie hissed. “Daddy was going to give me the Ghibli, but she blackmailed him for it.”
Vickie thumbed through assorted papers – receipts and appraisals – that were in the back of the ledger and found what she was looking for: the title for her car. “Voila!” She rolled it into a tube and stuffed it down the back of her pajama bottoms. “Happy birthday to me all over again.”
In the back of the ledger was an envelope with postal money orders in it. Uncashed ones from someone named Chuck Armstrong. “Papa Doc?” She thumbed through them. They were all made out to Gloria Thornwhistle and were from years past – some of them fifteen years ago. No, not Papa Doc. His name was A.B.C. Armstrong. Chuck was his son who’d been incommunicado for just about forever. But why was he sending money to her mother? And why did Nanny now have the checks? They had certainly expired by now. She looked at the post office stamp of where the latest one had been issued. Wolf Whistle, West Virginia in June 2005. At least it was a starting point.
Careful to cover any evidence of her snooping, Vickie set everything back in place including the spare room key taped to the drawer. Everything except the title to the Ghibli. She’d loved that car since the day her daddy first brought it home, all silver and shiny. One day this is going to be yours, he promised. And he was right.
Back in the privacy of her bedroom, she pulled out the paper and looked it over in brighter light. Her father had signed it over but hadn’t written in the name of the new owner. His signature looked odd, though. It took a moment to realize what it was. He had dented the document from writing so hard. Stress. Duress. He hadn’t wanted to do it.
Vickie looked at the bed. She wasn’t the least bit tired. It was just the opposite. She was supercharged with a purpose. Exploratory energy was surging. Her suspicion that Grace was her biological mother just became more certa
in with her rock ‘em, sock ‘em, knock-down fight and the slip of the tongue at the party. She had also found out that her parents had been blackmailed for years. By whom was obvious: Nanny Elsa. The real question was ‘why’? Daddy had said they didn’t want to lose their little girl. Could Elsa have found out that Chuck Armstrong had proof she was adopted and she was tracking him? Did her parents actually think that she would choose anyone over them, even Dusty and Grace? They all got along: why would she want to change her family dynamics? Well, except for Nanny Elsa, everything was perfect. Time to get rid of her.
Rummaging through her closet, Vickie found some comfortable workout clothes and a warm jacket. She hadn’t found the key to the Ghibli in the desk. It had to be in the key box in the garage with the other cars. She grabbed her backpack, gloves, and a scarf. Time for a ride!
Vickie strode into the garage with confidence and walked smack into a big, muscular someone.
“Whoa! What are you doing here?” Rich asked, reaching out to steady her.
“I live here,” she said, stumbling backward. “What are you still doing here?”
“You don’t live in the garage. I’m here because I had a couple of drinks with Hal and the guys. They offered me a place to stay for the night, but my truck has a big back seat. Plus, they’d have to run me back here in the morning. Not that I didn’t want to see you again, but I didn’t want to be a burden to them.” Rich looked at her attire and noticed she had a backpack, ready to hit the road. “Are you driving or hitching a ride?” he asked.
“Huh?”
He pointed to the bag. “Two in the morning, a packed bag, warm coat, sneaking into the garage… I’d say it looks like you’re running away.”
“I’m not running away. I left a note. Well, I was going to. Once I got out here,” she added sheepishly.