Mourning After

by Stephanie Damore

  But, wait a second. I thought Gran’s purse was white. This was a brown leather purse. I peeked inside and the first thing I saw was a vile full of insulin.

  "Oh, this is Greta's purse." I thought of the poor woman at home, getting sicker and sicker without her insulin.

  The poor woman would have never gone into a diabetic coma if she had had her purse and Daniel hadn’t stolen her last vile. I wondered if she had even remembered that she had left her purse here. I looked out Gran’s door and saw that Greta's front door was open. She must have gotten home from the hospital this morning, the poor woman. My heart ached for her. I thought of how devastated she must be over Daniel's arrest. I wondered if she had anyone there with her. I knew from her family tree that she didn't have any relatives close by. Perhaps I should take her something besides her purse.

  "Sorry, Cary Grant, perhaps another time." I paused the movie and gathered my purse and keys to run a quick errand.

  The pharmacy didn’t sell cards that said, “Sorry Your Son’s Been Arrested,” but they did have Get Well cards. I thought that covered the spectrum of what Greta was facing. I picked out a card, a bouquet of flowers to brighten her day, and a couple of paperbacks to keep her mind entertained. There was nothing like a little escapism to avoid reality.

  I took the gifts and headed straight to her house. Hopefully her cold wasn't getting any worse either. Through the open screen door, I could hear Greta sobbing from inside.

  "Greta, are you okay?"

  Greta only responded with more sobbing.

  I checked, and the door was open, so I went inside.

  "Greta, it's Maven. I came over to see if you're okay. Can I help you?" I said all this while walking into the house and looking around for her. She seemed to be crying harder now from inside her bedroom.

  I followed her cries down the hall and looked inside her room. She was sitting on her bed. A handgun sat on her lap. Greta appeared ready to take her own life.

  I rushed toward her. “Greta, sweetie. No, no, no. Shh, shh, shh.” I tried to soothe her hair and comfort her the best that I could. "It's not that bad. It's okay. You're going to be okay."

  “I’ve failed him." Greta choked out through sobs.

  I took Greta by the shoulders. "Listen to me. This is not your fault. You are not responsible for Daniel's actions."

  "No, it was me. It wasn’t Daniel." I let go of Greta.

  "You mean, you killed Roseanne?" I wanted to make sure I understood what Greta was saying. She responded by sobbing harder and nodded her head yes.

  "But why?" I was truly baffled.

  "She was going to ruin him. She found Heinz's medals while cleaning my house and told me that if I did not pay her ten thousand dollars, she would go to the press. She did not care that I didn't have any money. She didn’t believe me. She didn't care that Daniel seemed to really care for her. She threw his affections away like trash. My Daniel, he is too good for her.”

  Greta picked up the gun. The large-barreled revolver looked out of place in her small, delicate hand.

  “But it was worse than that. Daniel doesn’t even know the truth.”

  Keep her talking, I thought to myself. “About his father's past?"

  “That Heinz was even his father. Joseph and I never told him. Heinz was my past, and he wasn’t a man I was proud of. But I was young, as they say. Then, I saw her. That night after your party. She left your grandmother's house and went right to that drunk’s house. She was such a horrible person. I used the only thing that I had on me, which was my insulin. Used all that I had and put an end to her. I never thought they would go after my Daniel.”

  “You attacked Gran."

  "I just needed my insulin. I knew I left my purse there, but I couldn't find it. When your sugar gets high like that, you just go crazy. Then I thought of her and Harold. He was supposed to be with me.”

  "He was?" I had never picked up on that.

  “Such a flirt, that man. Mabel stole him right from me. I saw his cane sitting there in her kitchen and it just made me so angry. She got home while I was looking for my purse and I just let her have it."

  "And you broke in to Hazel's to try to find the medals.”

  Greta nodded.

  Well, we were right as to what the person had been looking for, wrong as to who had been looking.

  Greta put the gun to her head and went to pull the trigger. Without thinking, I jumped on her, knocking her shoulders back. Her arm flailed to the right and the gun went off, blasting a hole in the ceiling. The sound was deafening. Plaster fell from the ceiling. My ears rang. I grabbed the barrel of the gun and tossed it out of her hand and onto the floor. Greta's eyes were wide seeing me straddling her. Thank heavens the gun shot was loud enough to alert the entire neighborhood. In less than thirty seconds, I had every neighbor rushing to Greta’s, including Jake.

  "It's Greta,” I said, trying to catch my breath. “She confessed to killing Roseanne, breaking in to Hazel’s, and attacking Gran." I gladly rolled off Greta and let Jake stand guard until Sheriff Evans arrived on the scene.

  Epilogue

  I stood outside on Gran’s porch waiting for Jake to stop by. We were going to grab a bite to eat before he headed back up to Peachtree. But instead of Jake pulling up, I was greeted with a rather unpleasant surprise. I watched in disgust as my ex-boyfriend pulled in the driveway. Bradley stepped out of the car and put on that slimeball smile that I used to find so charming.

  "Maven, there's my girl."

  "Eat dirt, Bradley."

  "And here I thought you would be happy to see me."

  "You obviously thought wrong. What are you doing here?"

  "I've got great news, girl. They love you. Producers, directors, you name it. You’re hot, and they all want to hire you."

  "Wait, what are you talking about?"

  "I made some calls." Bradley shrugged his shoulders. "My name still means something."

  His words made my blood boil. He thought I would just be his little puppet and gladly go running back to him. No. No way. Not after the way he embarrassed me. I was betting it was one of two ways. Either he was completely full of it and no one was looking to hire me or, and possibly even worse, he had used his name and gotten some gigs lined up for me and I would once again be in his debt. Nope. There was no way I was taking any offer that he arranged. Fool me once, shame on him. Fool me twice, shame on me. If I ever worked in New York City again, it would be because of me, not him.

  "No, thank you.” My words were as sweet as strawberry pie.

  "Excuse me?"

  "You heard me. I said, no thank you. If that's not clear enough, let me say it this way: I will never work for you again. Ever. Oh, and you still owe me my last paycheck. And while you're at it, you can just take that stupid car back with you. I don't want anything of yours."

  Bradley stood there, opening and closing his mouth. It felt so satisfying to see him speechless. I didn't know what I was going to do for a car in the meantime, but I would figure something out, on my own, which meant more to me than I could say.

  "Goodbye, Bradley."

  Jake pulled up then in his truck, and I happily walked over and climbed in without giving Bradley another look. I was the one who was in control of my life and I was moving on up.

  Sneak Peek

  Read the first chapter of MOURNING STAR book 4 of The Funeral Fakers…

  Some of the best things that ever happened to me began with a series of terrible decisions.

  Who would’ve thought my four-year marriage to a man who forgot to tell me he was already married to someone else wouldn’t have been my rock bottom moment? It most definitely was at the time, but nothing would compared to the last year of my life.

  Nothing.

  My hope was a temporary move to Asheville, North Carolina, the suspected home of part of my missing fortune, wouldn’t end in disaster. Not if I had anything to say about it. Truth be told, I had plenty to say about it and the con man who’d ripped my heart
to shreds and sent my hard-earned money on a one-way to trip to the middle of nowhere.

  It’s not as if it walked away on its own.

  Nope. It had help in the form of a six-foot tall former pool boy with an alluring smile, Zorro mustache, and long, curly eyelashes that framed hauntingly beautiful green eyes.

  I had no idea why he’d taken my money, but I knew how to retrieve it and how to make the Latin heartthrob rue the day he ever met me.

  According to Tom Perkins, the private detective I’d hired, my money was carried in a vintage Hermès bag, stolen from my private collection, under the cover of night, while I was on a press junket, promoting the sixteenth season of my show.

  This was my chance to turn the tables on the weasel, even if it meant I had to do the unthinkable and take on a regular job to complete the task. Provided I didn’t encounter the woman who’d helped him pull off the heist first.

  I had something else planned for her.

  This temporary move would prevent me from spending the rest of my life stewing about how I’d been wronged and fretting over how I’d fix the other problems he’d created for me. As it was, life in Los Angeles hadn’t been ideal in months. Sure, I had a grand home, a fleet of fancy cars, and the kind of fame most people could only dream of, but nothing was more important than my reputation. I had an image to uphold. Falling victim to a scheme as old as the day is long, didn’t fit with my brand.

  The money could be replaced. It was my reputation that was on the line. If I exposed him and his lies, I could repair my train wreck of a life and regain my status as L.A.’s telenovela queen.

  This was about more than money.

  This was personal.

  He’d broken my heart and did his best to smear my good name at the same time. He made me the laughing stock of Hollywood. That was unacceptable. I’d worked too long and too hard to get where I was. No man – not even a handsome one – would take me down.

  I just hoped what I had planned for him wouldn’t come back to haunt me.

  The limousine driver hadn’t taken his eyes off me since we’d left the airport.

  “Can I help you?” I asked as I leveled my infamous scowl at him.

  His cheeks turned crimson. “Yes, ma’am.” He tilted his head to the side. “I’d like to ask you a question.”

  It didn’t take a genius to figure out what he wanted. An autograph, of course.

  I forced a smile, but internally, I had a few choice words for him. Unfortunately, now wasn’t the time. I had to get to town and put my plan into motion. I’d have to table this conversation until after I’d accomplished my mission.

  He watched me as I wrestled with how to respond.

  Moments like this forced me to remember why I’d become an actress. It wasn’t because I wanted to hide from fans … unless they made my life too difficult, then I’d pull a Howard Hughes on them. Compared to the last few months, life as a recluse sounded heavenly. Signing another autograph wasn’t the end of the world. Was it?

  “I’d love to sign something for you, but how about we wait until you stop the car? You never can be too safe when someone else’s life is in your hands.” I eyed the traffic. Although not as congested as the freeways near my house, there were enough cars on the road to make me nervous.

  He knitted his thick and unruly brows together. They looked more like something you’d see on a replica of a caveman than someone who cared about making a good impression. Strangely, they didn’t detract from his good looks. On the contrary, he was the kind of man women couldn’t help but swoon over because he didn’t try too hard. “I’m sorry, ma’am,” he said with a hint of a southern twang. “I don’t understand. What makes you think I want your autograph?”

  I understood. He wanted to play coy.

  No one could ever accuse me of being shy. “You mean besides the obvious?”

  “Say that again?”

  I held out my hand. “Give it to me. Who should I make it out to?”

  He switched lanes. “You misunderstood. I don’t need you to sign anything for me.” He furrowed his brows. “You know what? Forget it. It’s not important. Why don’t you sit back and enjoy the VIP treatment?”

  “This is the VIP treatment?” I glanced around at the interior of the stretch limousine. It looked like every other one I’d seen. Black leather seats, tinted windows, a driver. What was so VIP about it?

  He smirked. “It’s my understanding you and I will spend quite a bit of time together while you’re in town.”

  I arched a brow. “That’s quite presumptuous of you. What makes you think I want to spend time with you? No offense. I’m sure you’re a nice guy, but I’m here for business, not to make new friends.”

  He ignored my remarks. “I’ve never been asked to escort any of my clients around town for the duration of their stay before. You’ll be my first.”

  “What? No. You’re supposed to take me into town, not around town.”

  “Do you think I made that up?” He snickered. “Look, I don’t make the rules. I try to follow them … most of the time. My orders are to get you to and from while you’re here.”

  “You have orders to escort me around town? How’s that possible? I don’t even know how long I’ll be here. Why would I ever agree to that? Do you realize how much that would cost me?” I studied his face for signs of deception. I’d heard horror stories of crazed fans kidnapping their favorite stars. Who knew what his intentions were?

  “I suppose it would cost quite a bit of money, but from what I heard, you do pretty well for yourself.” He cleared his throat, then, continued, “I’m not here to judge you or try to surmise why you do the things you do. All I know is I was told to be your private chauffeur and that’s what I intend to do unless or until you tell me otherwise.”

  “After you drop me off, you can consider this arrangement cancelled. I didn’t authorize this.” I pulled my phone out of my bag and scrolled through my contact list to find my assistant’s number.

  He chuckled. “How will you get around without me?”

  “I’m sure you’re not the only mode of transportation in town.”

  He smirked. “True, but with the other transportation companies, you won’t get me.”

  “Do I need you?”

  “Not yet, but you will,” he said in an ominous tone.

  The look on my face must’ve surprised him. He changed his ominous tone to something lighter. “I know the city of Asheville like the back of my hand. I know all the shortcuts and all the out-of-the-way places to grab a bite to eat. I’m a good person to have on your side.” He chuckled. “I’ve been here my whole life.”

  “No kidding,” I said, deadpan. “I couldn’t tell. I thought your accent was Irish.”

  His eyes widened. “Do you have something against the Irish?”

  “Are you Irish?”

  “No.”

  “Then no, I don’t.”

  We locked eyes.

  “I get it. I did a horrible job of explaining myself.” He cleared his throat. “I should start at the beginning.” I nodded. “I was told to pick you up and take you anywhere you need to go. Feel free to call my boss and let him know your plans have changed. It won’t bother me.” He turned his head.

  I wanted to make the call, but I only had so much time to complete my objectives. One was to hunt down my money and root out my soon-to-be ex-husband’s accomplice and the other was to start a new job because, according to my publicist, I could consider it a tax write-off and it would keep me out of trouble. Little did she know, the real reason I agreed to the job was so I could get in good with the locals and dig for valuable information to help me complete my first objective.

  “So, are we’re good?” he asked when he noticed I hadn’t dialed a number.

  I shrugged. “No, but I don’t have time to argue about it right now.” I dropped my phone in my bag.

  “Thank goodness. I don’t know what I would’ve done if you’d fired me.”

  I forced a
smile.

  “Besides, I kind of like you.”

  I quirked an eyebrow up. “How sweet.”

  “Actually, I’m in awe of you. Not many people are confident enough to walk around with so much jewelry on. I can’t remember who said it, but someone doled out some advice about how to accessorize. I believe she said you should take one accessory off before you leave your house.” He snickered.

  I bit back my initial reaction. “Coco Chanel.”

  “Yes. That’s her name.”

  “I don’t mean to be rude-”

  “But you will be,” he finished my sentence for me.

  “Who do you think you are? You’re not exactly a style icon. You’re a driver, so why don’t you concentrate on that?”

  He drummed his fingers on the steering wheel. “Isn’t this driving?”

  I pursed my lips.

  “Here’s the thing. Of all the towns in the world you could’ve chosen, why did you choose Asheville? If I wanted to get away from my life, I’d leave the country or something.”

  My breath caught in my throat. Who’d told him I was hiding?

  The Latin blood that coursed through my veins begged me to give him a piece of my mind, but with all the drama in my life, I didn’t need to add another layer to my mess. “I don’t know what you mean.”

  “I doubt you came all this way to see friends,” he said.

  “Excuse you, but I don’t need new friends. As to the implication that I’m in hiding, that’s nowhere near the truth.” I pulled my phone out of my bag again.

  He feigned ignorance. “Are you mad? What did I say this time?”

  I took in a deep breath. How dare he pretend he had no idea what he’d done!

  He waved his hand as if to do away with the conflict. “Wait a minute. I didn’t mean to offend you. Who your friends are and why you’re here is none of my business. You don’t owe me an explanation. Forget I asked.”

  “What’s your name?” I checked my purse for pen and paper.

  “My name?” He smirked.

  “Yes, your name. You do have one, don’t you?”