Chapter 11

 

 

 

 

“IT’S A tricky one,” Klo said, knitting needles clacking. “If your neighbor gave the VHS tape to the guy, technically, it’s considered a gift and it’s his property.”

“She says she gave it to him on the understanding that he’d send it back to her after he, um, watched it.”

“Then it’s her word against his, and the guy probably isn’t going to hand it over if you ring his doorbell.”

“Probably not,” Linda agreed. “So how am I supposed to get it back without breaking and entering?”

Klo shrugged. “Figure out a way to convince him to let you into his house long enough to search for the tape and take it without him knowing.”

Linda gave a little laugh. “Easy, peasy.”

“You’ll think of something.”

Pushing to her feet, Linda swung her purse to her shoulder. “Any calls with possible assignments?”

“Not yet but have faith.”

“We can’t make payroll with faith, and I don’t expect you to work for free forever.”

“Don’t worry about me,” Klo said. “I get by.”

Linda angled her head. At some point she was going to have to delve into the woman’s mysterious past. All she knew from Sullivan was that she’d been a stripper once upon a time and was a whiz with organization.

“Focus on passing your exam. Sullivan had to take it twice.”

“Did he? I don’t remember that.”

“He was embarrassed,” Klo said. “He didn’t want you to know. I’m only telling you because I don’t want you to feel bad if you don’t pass it the first time.”

She nodded although she couldn’t help but wonder if there were other things Sullivan hadn’t told her. “I have to go. I need to run errands and Octavia needs the van this afternoon to run our vending route.”

“You let her do it alone? Octavia doesn’t strike me as a person who’s accustomed to doing things that are beneath her.”

Linda laughed. “She doesn’t like it, but I can’t always be with her. And for now, it’s our only source of income.” She waved. “See you soon.”

As she was walking out, Stone was striding up the sidewalk. Because of her new awareness of his um, maleness, instantly she felt self-conscious. “Oh. Hi.”

“You’re leaving? I was coming to say hi to Aunt Klo.” He smiled. “And to you.”

“Actually, I wanted to talk to you.” She winced. “Jarrod gave up on the grass after mowing one row. He isn’t strong enough to pull the cord to start it, and I think he’s intimidated by the gas and the noise. He was in tears. I would do it, but I’m afraid that will only make him feel worse.”

“Say no more,” Stone said. “I’ll come by in a couple of hours to pitch in.”

Relief pulled at her shoulders. “Thank you.”

“Happy to do it.”

She waved, then climbed into the van. When she started the engine, she frowned at the gas gauge that was nearly on empty. Octavia hadn’t filled it up when she’d returned from Louisville yesterday.

She blew out an exhale, then put the van into gear and backed out. At the next red light, she glanced at the information Nan had given her on the guy who was blackmailing her. Tucker Bilson lived in an older part of town off the next exit. She wanted to drive through the neighborhood to get a better idea of what she was dealing with. Nan was growing more and more frantic that Tucker would tell Robert about the tape. She suspected the guy was more interested in cash than in breaking up Nan’s marriage, but people were unpredictable.

Turning the sheet of paper sideways, she squinted to read the directions she’d written down. “I need a new phone,” she muttered. She’d gotten Sullivan’s hand-me-down model when he’d bought a nicer one through the agency, but the apps moved too slowly to be useful. After a few wrong turns, she found the street she was looking for and parked behind a line of older cars. She used the binoculars to focus on the address across the street and groaned. Tucker Bilson lived in an apartment building, which would make surveillance more challenging. On the other hand, one could assume an apartment would be easier to search than a house—if she could figure out a way to get in.

When she heard a familiar jingle on the radio, she turned up the sound.

“Caller ten right now will get a prize from our prize patrol!” the announcer shouted. “Caller ten, good luck, everyone!” He rattled off the number which she’d saved in her phone from previous attempts. She hit the button and at the first sound of a busy signal, cancelled the call and redialed. She used two fingers to toggle back and forth to place as many calls as possible in a few seconds.

“You’re caller five,” the DJ’s voice said. “Try again.”

She ended the called and feverishly worked the buttons.

“Congratulations, you’re caller ten! Your prize is a fifty-dollar gas card from our prize patrol. Hold so we can get your information.”

“Yay!” Linda cheered. That would fill the minivan’s tank almost twice.

While she was on hold her phone buzzed with an incoming call. She glanced at the screen to see the name “Marbella” and sighed. Sullivan’s widowed mother who lived in Florida. The news of his death had put her in bed and she hadn’t attended the funeral. Linda viewed it as her final act of disapproval of their marriage—she’d always sensed Marbella thought she’d trapped Sullivan into marrying her.

She was tempted to let the call roll to voice mail, but when her guilt got the better of her, she connected the call. “Marbella, hello.”

“Hello, Linda. You weren’t home the last several times I called so I thought I’d try this number to make sure you hadn’t moved.”

She bit down on her tongue. “No, we haven’t moved. Next time leave a voice message and I’ll call you back. Are you feeling better?”

“Some,” the woman said. “Although now that Sullivan is gone, I’ll never feel good again. I’m sure you don’t know what I mean.”

Linda closed her eyes. “Actually, I do. I miss him every day. The kids, too, especially Jarrod.” She hesitated, then added, “You should visit sometime.”

“You don’t want me there,” Marbella said in a trembly voice.

She counted to three. “It would be nice for the kids to get to know you better.”

“I’ll think about it. Meanwhile, I’m calling to ask if you’ll send me Sullivan’s signet ring. It was his father’s and I’d like to have it back… if you haven’t sold it, that is.”

She inhaled for patience. “No, I haven’t sold it. I’ll send it to you soon.”

“I’ll be checking the mail. Goodbye, Linda.”

“Good—” But her mother-in-law had already ended the call.

She saw, too, that the radio station had hung up. She tried calling back a few times but couldn’t get through, so she let it go.

But she conceded Marbella’s phone call had stirred up a storm of remorse. She’d been putting off going to the funeral home to retrieve Sullivan’s personal effects… and his death certificate. But she owed it to him to get things in order.

And there was no time like the present. She had time to stop by the funeral home before Octavia needed the van.

But she was unprepared for the emotions that flooded back when she pulled up to the sprawling building. The name on the wood-framed marquee read “Reed,” and she remembered the shock of seeing “Smith” on the sign. She sent healing thoughts to the Reed family, whoever they were. She parked next to the office and once inside the too-quiet building, had a brief conversation with the dour-faced manager. Yes, they were still holding Sullivan’s personal effects in their safe; he’d assumed she’d pick them up when she came for the death certificate.

“Which just arrived a couple of days ago,” the man said. He consulted an inbox on his desk and sorted through several envelopes. “Smith…. Smith… oh, here it is—Sullivan Smith.” He smiled and handed it over, then excused himself to access the safe.

Linda opened the envelope and withdrew the thick piece of paper embossed with “Certificate of Death.” She scanned the information typed on the form to confirm the details—his name, date of birth, date of death, cause of death—myocardial infarction. So sterile. By comparison the clinical information in the boxes was framed by a beribboned border that resembled a certificate of achievement, which struck her as comical. She laughed through her fingers.

“Mrs. Smith?”

The man had returned and was staring at her. “Are you okay?”

She sobered. “Um, yes.”

He extended a sealed plastic bag. “Here are Mr. Smith’s personal belongings.”

She opened the bag and looked inside. His phone, wallet, driver’s license, an empty money clip, a comb, his law enforcement watch. She’d buried him wearing his wedding ring.

“There was a signet ring,” she said. “It had a crest on it—it was his father’s.”

He nodded to the bag. “Check the inventory list from the hospital.”

She pulled out the list. “That’s odd. It isn’t on the list, but Sullivan always wore it.”

“Sometimes things get misplaced during a medical emergency. I’m very sorry. You should file an insurance claim right away.”

“It wasn’t valuable,” she murmured. “Only sentimental.”

“Again, I’m so sorry. And I’m sorry to have to mention… the amount due on your account.”

She opened Sullivan’s wallet and withdrew the two twenties inside. “Put this toward the balance.”

He gave her a flat smile and reached for a receipt book.

When she returned to the van, her stomach was in knots. Marbella would be convinced she’d sold the signet ring. And even though it wasn’t her fault, she felt as if she’d let something Sullivan had held dear slip through the cracks. She pulled out his driver’s license and ran her finger over his face—his flashing blue eyes, his crooked nose, his boyish smile. Grief welled in her chest, and she gave into a few tears before setting it aside. The battery on his phone was long dead, and the charger for her older model didn’t fit his. Once it was charged, she’d take it and pass hers along to Jarrod.

Maybe it would help to assuage some of her son’s anger.

She pushed the bag inside her purse and wiped her eyes, then headed home. She was a few minutes away when Octavia called.

“Where are you?”

“I’m almost to the house.”

“Good, because there’s a situation.”

Her pulse quickened. “Are the kids okay?”

“The kids are fine, but the adults are losing their minds.”

“What?”

“Just get here.”

The call ended and Linda picked up as much speed as she dared. When she pulled up to the house it took a moment to comprehend what was happening. Stone and Oakley each wielded a gas-powered push lawnmower on her sloped yard. The men were on opposite ends of the lot and were practically running in between throwing challenging looks at each other. They were so engrossed in their competition, they didn’t even notice when she opened the garage door and drove inside.

Octavia met her when she emerged from the van.

“What’s going on?” Linda asked.

“Jarrod called Oakley to help with the grass.”

She sighed. “And I asked Stone to help.”

“The Neanderthals want to prove who can mow your lawn better and faster, and yes, that’s a metaphor.”

“Where’s Jarrod?”

“Inside, beating up the drum set.”

She handed the van keys to Octavia. “It needs gas.”

“Oh, great.”

Linda could feel herself reaching a breaking point. She set her jaw. “Roll down the windows instead of running the A/C!”

“Okay. I’m out of here, too much drama.”

Linda marched out to the front yard. The noise from both mowers was horrific. She waved her arms to get the men’s attention. “Turn them off!”

They paused, each waiting for the other to turn off their machine.

“Turn them off now!”

One machine died, then the other. Both men looked sweaty and sour in shorts, T-shirts, and sneakers.

Linda lifted her hands. “What’s going on?”

They talked over each other, glaring throughout.

“You asked me—”

“Jarrod called me—”

“—to mow the grass—

“—to mow the lawn—”

“—and when I got here—

“—and when I got here—”

“—he was doing it wrong.”

“—he was messing it up.”

Linda looked back and forth between them. “Where’s Jarrod? The idea is that he learns how to mow the grass so he feels useful around here.”

The men shifted, looking contrite.

“I’m sorry, Linda.”

“Yeah, sorry.”

She pointed to their trucks parked on the street. “Go, both of you.”

“At least let us finish,” Oakley said.

“Yeah,” Stone added.

Linda jutted her head forward. “Go.”

They went, dragging their lawnmowers with them, grumbling to each other even as they loaded the machines into their trucks. Linda watched until they were gone, then surveyed the sloped yard. Some rows were cropped practically to the dirt, some were ankle high. In between tall tufts had been missed altogether.

“Looks like shit!” Octavia yelled helpfully as she backed out of the garage and down the driveway.

Linda had to agree. Shaking her head, she walked back to the garage and threw a frown at the gasoline push mower parked in the corner. Mowing the grass shouldn’t be such an arduous chore.

An idea slid into her head, prompting her to snap a photo with her phone.

She rescued her purse from the garage floor, then walked into the house. The noise coming from Jarrod’s room was cacophonous.

“Hi, Mommy!” Maggie threw her arms around Linda’s waist. She had cotton balls stuffed in her ears. “I’m glad you’re home. Can you make Jarrod stop?”

“I’m working on it, sweetie.” She gave her a kiss and a squeeze. “Go wash up for dinner, okay?”

Maggie ran toward the hall, followed by Max, also sporting cotton-stuffed ears.

Linda opened the aged laptop on the breakfast bar and signed onto a neighborhood marketplace. She transferred the photo from her phone to the machine, then posted it on the marketplace along with the item she was looking for, offering to swap.

While she put together a simple dinner of chicken and vegetables, she squirted the spray cheese onto crackers and occasionally into her mouth. Lord, what a day.

Gradually the decibels coming from Jarrod’s room began to diminish. Poor boy was wearing himself out.

A notification sounded from the laptop. Someone had already responded to her offer, posting a photo of what she was looking for. She smiled, then put her hands on the keyboard and typed. “Deal.”