“LOOK WHO’S GRACING us with her presence,” Duke announced from his early morning post at his doughnut fryer when the kitchen door banged shut behind me. “Didn’t get enough of my charm last night?”
My great-aunt Alice slanted her husband of fifty-three years a glare as she measured flour into a stainless steel mixing bowl. “I think she’s had enough of your charm to last a lifetime.”
She turned her glare on me when I grabbed one of the aprons from the nearby hook. “And since you’re here with us, instead of in your bed where you belong, I’d bet dollars to those doughnuts over there that I know why.”
Unless they took the scenic route to the cafe and spotted me talking to Robin’s daughter, I seriously doubted it.
“It’s your mother,” Alice said, pursing her lips with disdain.
Okay, I couldn’t deny that Marietta played a major factor in why I was up before the birds. “Yes, but—”
“Oh, you don’t have to tell me.” Alice gave me a knowing nod when I joined her at her worktable. “Your grandmother spilled the beans on why Mary Jo was giving you the cold shoulder last night.”
I wasn’t surprised. Gram rarely kept anything from her sister. “So you heard what my mother did.”
“That she bought you that car? And then you got all miffed about it because your mom’s been spending money like it’s water?” Alice rolled her eyes. “Oh, yeah, I heard all about it.”
More creative spin. This was a talent that obviously ran in my family.
“Can’t say I’m surprised that she didn’t take it too well when you told her to knock off the big spender act. Your mom still has a fortune tied up in that Malibu house that she’s having trouble selling, right?” Alice asked in a hushed tone as if this common family knowledge was gossip that dared not stray beyond the confines of her kitchen.
“I suppose.” Marietta would have shouted it from the Malibu hills if her red-roofed hacienda had finally sold while she was down there.
“It’s just her pride.” Alice scooped two cups of sugar into her mixing bowl. “You know how she loves to strut around like she’s the queen bee. Mary Jo just can’t stand to be reminded that she’s no queen around here.”
“Ain’t that the truth,” Duke quipped as he dipped a couple of apple fritters into a pan of sugary glaze.
There was no denying this morning’s consensus in Duke’s Cafe, but that didn’t mean that I needed to give them cause to knock my mother down another peg. Instead, I grabbed a bowl to add some banana walnut muffins to today’s bakery case selection, and my breakfast menu for later.
“So, what are you gonna do about the car?” Alice asked, pushing her recipe book toward me.
“I’d really like it if my mother would wise up and get her money back, but …” I didn’t see that happening anytime soon, and certainly not after the staged show she had produced for Renee’s feature article.
“Wise up,” Duke chortled, slipping into a gravelly baritone to belt out a chorus about believing in miracles.
Alice groaned. “It’s bad enough that the tiff with Mary Jo made the girl lose sleep. She doesn’t need you giving her nightmares.”
He shot me a glance. “Since she seems to be here to bake, pretty sure that’s not what she’s worried about.”
Duke knew me too well.
“I don’t think you need to be too worried about your mother,” Alice said as if she were continuing his train of thought. “She always manages to get by.”
With the hope that we could let that be the last word on the subject of my mother, I forced a smile and took a minute to melt some butter in the oven behind me before broaching the reason for my visit.
“What do you know about Naomi Easley’s daughter?” I asked, reaching for the baking soda and cinnamon canisters at the end of the table.
“Not a whole lot.” Alice met my gaze. “Why do you want to know about Robin?”
“Just curious. I happened to run into her daughter when I was out with Fozzie, and I was surprised to learn that she was in town.”
“Oh, Hailey’s been visiting pretty regularly, ever since Naomi took that tumble a couple years back. With both of ‘em housebound, she even moved back in for a few weeks to help out.”
I didn’t understand. “Was Robin hurt too?”
Alice gave me a blank look. “Hurt?”
“You said they were both housebound. What was wrong with Robin?”
“The same thing that’s been wrong with that girl for years. Panic attacks. Rarely leaves the house. Naomi thought she was getting better, even got Robin to come to lunch here a few times, but …” Alice shook her head. “Then Naomi took that fall, and that was all she wrote. The only time I’ve seen Robin since was at the funeral. Looked like she was clinging to her daughter for dear life, too, the poor thing.”
That helped to explain the arrangement that Naomi had made with Robin, allowing her to stay in the house—the home that had probably become a sanctuary for her.
“Then Hailey comes to town to help her mom with shopping and stuff?” I asked.
Seating her bowl on the standing mixer next to her, Alice nodded. “Drives her to doctor’s appointments and the like. Took over for her grandma after she moved out. Not sure why, since she has to hop on a ferry to get here.”
“So she’s been doing that for over two years?”
“Hailey must have wanted to give Naomi a break.”
“I guess.” Or there was some reason why Hailey wanted her grandmother to stay away from the house.
* * *
“Do you have any Cap’n Crunch?” Rox asked when she called me at work almost twelve hours later.
Since one of the assistant prosecutors had me digging up information on a former captain of a commercial crab fishing boat, I wasn’t sure I heard her right. “Captain who?”
“Cap’n Crunch, the cereal. It’s Eddie’s favorite and I’m out because I couldn’t stop eating it and pretty much every other box of cereal in the house.”
“Sorry, Roxie. I think the only cereal I have in my pantry is oatmeal.”
She sighed. “Unless you’re gonna come over here and bake sugary cookies out of it, I don’t want it.”
I couldn’t help but laugh. “I thought you were done with cravings.”
“I am. I don’t want the pickles and cream cheese anymore, but lately it’s every form of sugar on the planet. Maybe it’s because I’m bored out of my mind, so I’ve been doing a lot more nibbling.”
“Do you want some company? I could stop at the store and pick up something for dinner.”
“I’d love that, but only if you and Steve don’t already have plans.”
“No plans.” Plus, he would surely mention the car parked across from his driveway, and I didn’t want to think about that. “So, what are you in the mood for later?”
“Besides Cap’n Crunch, peanut butter, and maple walnut ice cream? Surprise me.”
At six-fifteen, I arrived on Rox’s doorstep with Fozzie’s leash in one hand and a loaded Red Apple Market sack in the other.
“Hope you don’t mind me bringing Fozzie,” I said while he led the way to the kitchen. “He’s been alone all day because Lily has a cold.”
Lily was Fozzie’s eleven-year-old buddy who took him for a walk every day after school—something we started when I couldn’t leave him in my apartment for hours on end. It earned Lily a little money as my dog-walker, and it provided my pooch a much-needed bathroom break. Now, it just gave him some good exercise.
Except for today, so I owed Fozzie a walk as well as the companionship.
“Are you kidding?” Rox asked. “I guarantee you that I’m happier than he is to have the company.” With both hands supporting her lower back, she grinned when I pulled out two small containers of Cobb salad from the bag and then dwarfed them with a tub of maple walnut ice cream and two boxes of cereal. “I know what I want for dinner,” she said, snatching up the closest box.
Pulling it from her hands, I returned it to the cantaloupe orange laminate counter. “You’re having a salad, and then, if you’re very good, you can have the yummy dessert I brought you.”
She peeked inside the bag and found the jar of crunchy peanut butter. “Be still my heart. Maple walnut and peanut butter with Cap’n Crunch sprinkles.”
And I thought I had a sweet tooth. “Are you trying to put yourself into a sugar coma?”
“Hey, at least I’d get some sleep.”
“Speaking of which, you should be in bed. Go,” I said, shooing her out of the kitchen. “Find us a good movie to watch, and I’ll bring in your delicious salad.”
Groaning, Rox waddled into the hallway. “Cap’n Crunch can probably double as croutons. You know, for some extra deliciousness.”
“I’m going to ignore that as the ravings of a sleep-deprived pregnant woman. Besides, I have something on ice in the car that you’re gonna want to save room for.”
The opening credits had barely finished running for When Harry Met Sally when Rox turned to me. “What exactly is in the car?”
“I’ll be happy to show you.” Setting aside my salad bowl, I pushed off her queen-sized bed while Fozzie sprung to the door as if he were as eager for dessert as Rox. “After you eat two more bites of your salad.”
“Hey, who’s supposed to sound like a mom here? You or me?”
“Someone needs to make sure you eat something green so that your kid doesn’t come out swaddled in sugar.”
“At this point I’d be okay with that,” she grumbled, glaring at the round belly stretching her “Baby on board” pajama top to the limit. “ ‘Cause it’s been feeling like the pregnancy that will never end.”
“It will. He just hasn’t been ready to make his grand entrance.”
“Well, he has six more days to get ready.”
That sounded very specific. “What’s in six days? A doctor’s appointment?”
She nodded. “And if Junior still doesn’t want to come out and play, I’ll be induced.”
“So the big day will be Monday at the latest?”
I got another nod, this one accompanied by a sigh.
“Okay, then! You’re in the home stretch now.”
“Thank goodness. ‘Cause I’m really tired of having to pee every five minutes.” Rox grimaced as she swung her feet to the floor. “And my back is killing me.”
“Perhaps some pumpkin cheesecake would make you feel better.”
Rox brightened. “Your pumpkin cheesecake?”
“I made it for my mother’s party last night.”
“I’m shocked there’s any left over.”
There wouldn’t have been if she hadn’t called to save me from raiding my refrigerator as soon as I got home. “Steve’s not big on cheesecake, and I’m quite sure my mother didn’t have any.”
“Is your mom dieting again?” Rox asked, toddling to the bathroom.
“I think she’s on the ‘I don’t want anything prepared by my daughter’s hands’ diet.”
“What’s her problem?”
That was a loaded question. “It’s a long story that will definitely require cheesecake.”
Rox grinned from the bathroom doorway. “Exactly what I’m in the mood for today.”
Ten minutes later, Rox was moaning as if all the cheesecake she’d wolfed down could make a sudden reappearance. “I can’t believe she did that to you.”
“Me either,” I said, wishing that my fat cells could find some comfort in the last creamy forkful. “The story will run Wednesday.”
“You are so screwed.”
Screwed? That felt a little over the top.
Embarrassed to be cast as the lucky daughter of a rich and successful local celebrity? Yes, definitely.
Angry to be manipulated in this public way by my own mother? Heck, yes.
But screwed? “You mean because I can’t tell anybody the truth without damaging my mother’s carefully crafted image?” Because I was already all too aware of the trap Marietta had set for me.
Rox scrunched closer to where I was stretched out across the bed. “That, too, which is exactly why you have to keep the car.”
I dropped my fork to my plate. “That’s not gonna happen. I refuse—”
“I know, but think about it. The big show she put on when she presented it to you is going to become ‘the story’ when the paper comes out. Everyone who knows you is going to expect to see you in it. If they don’t and that car continues to sit at your granny’s, they’re gonna know that this was just some publicity stunt by your mother.”
“Crap.”
Rox nodded. “Like I said, you’re screwed.”
“I’m screwed,” I repeated at the same time that my phone started ringing.
Stepping into the hallway with my phone, I was relieved to see George Bassett’s name as the caller ID. Because I wasn’t ready to start driving that Subaru. “Give me some good news, Georgie.”
“Uh …” he sputtered after a long pause.
“Okay, then give me the not-so-good news.”
“I was taking your wheels off and noticed that your pads are really thin.”
I wasn’t accustomed to being told that anything of mine was too thin and tried to wrap my brain around this being a bad thing. “What’s that mean exactly?”
“It means you need a brake job. Pads and rotors.”
“Seriously?”
“It’ll get unsafe for you to drive her this way pretty soon, so it’s not just something I’m calling to recommend. I’m telling you as your friend. We need to do this.”
Jeez Louise, this was the second day in a row that someone expressed concern for my safety. Only this time it came across as sincere.
Expensive and sincere.
I gritted my teeth. “How much is this going to cost?”
“You’re not gonna like this,” he said, sounding just like he did on Thursday.
“Just tell me.”
He gave me a rough estimate that made me want to scream. “Could be more. You know these old Jags. Everything’s special order.”
“Yeah.” My car was special, all right.
“So is that a yes?”
What choice did I have? “Go ahead and do what you need to do.”
“Okay. I’ll give you a call when she’s done. It’ll probably be toward the end of the week.”
That meant I had until Friday to come up with two thousand dollars.
I was so screwed.