Going nowhere 2 howling.., p.12
One Big Happy Family, page 12
Speaking of Rodrigo, I send him a text. We chatted earlier after he checked in on my nana, reporting that everything was okay. I take a chance that he’s still awake. He is. I explain what’s happened as best I can.
Surprisingly, or perhaps not so surprisingly, Rodrigo takes more interest in attorney Brenda Black than in the unexpected demise of Vicki’s husband.
Is la pendeja still there?
Yeah. She’s hanging out with the rest of us. Looks pissed off, too. Don’t know what about.
I’m pissed myself. Piss drunk, that is. At Cappy’s. Gregg opened the place just for me.
Gregg is the bar owner. Cappy’s is the bar. Gregg is a sometime fling of Rodrigo’s. As long as Rodrigo’s not drinking Hennessy, all should be okay.
On my third Hennessy.
Shit.
Maybe I’ll come back there to tell Black what I really think of her.
I grimace but spare him the emoji equivalent.
I thought you went home to check on your mom?
She’s fine. I needed something to calm my nerves after seeing Black. #triggering What’s up with Bree? Any fallout?
I can’t bring myself to tell him I’ve lost my job because I’m not ready to cry.
Not yet. They’re too busy dealing with Todd. I think every cop in Jonesport is here.
So both of them?
I send three laugh emojis.
Is Dan Brennan there?
Rodrigo adds two heart emojis.
Yeah. Him.
Tell him I said hello!
He sends both the wink and the eggplant emojis.
I almost burst out laughing.
Okay … gotta get back to this shit show.
Tell attorney Brenda I’ll see her soon enough.
What’s that supposed to mean?
A shiver runs through me. It’s out of character for him to be menacing. I don’t get the expected three dots of an incoming response. There’s no goodbye. This conversation is over. He’s gone offline, and I’m left wondering what he meant by seeing attorney Black “soon enough.”
Oh, well, this night has been plenty weird. Might as well pile it on.
While I’m busy pretending to do a whole lot of nothing, Quinn comes to me with a weighted gaze.
I didn’t think it could get worse than my chambermaid outfit, but here I am in my pajamas. I have crazy bed head and can only imagine how many directions my hair is going in. I shouldn’t be thinking about my appearance when somebody just died, but hormones aren’t logical.
Unfortunately, Quinn looks cute as cute can be in his plaid pajama pants and slightly ruffled hair. He looks like he just shot a scene for some cheesy Hallmark Christmas movie—one I can’t look away from.
“How are you holding up?” he asks. His voice is warm and caring. “I’m sorry about your job.”
“I’m okay. I’ll figure something out,” I assure him, but I don’t project much confidence. “But Todd was your dad. How are you?”
I’m all kinds of awkward, not sure what to say or do. I could offer him a supportive hug, but I barely know him. So I just stand there, looking and feeling ridiculous, not to mention sad for Quinn, and let’s be honest, for myself as well.
“I guess I’m sort of in shock, maybe a little numb.” Clouds pass over Quinn’s eyes as he shakes his head slightly. His shoulders sag forward like he’s caving in on himself. “Look, he wasn’t the nicest guy or the best father—actually, he wasn’t much of a father at all. I think he blamed me for holding him back from other things he wanted to do in life; I don’t know. I always felt like he resented me for some reason, and I could never figure out why.” He looks at me with a wounded expression, his mouth twisted in anguish. “I just don’t know how to feel. It’s too much to take in. On top of it all, my mom seems to think someone did this to him—like, maybe he was … murdered.” He struggles to get out the word before continuing. “She’s probably just being paranoid, but…” His voice trails off.
“Yeah, I just heard your mom tell Officer Brennan that she’s not convinced it was a heart attack,” I say.
Quinn gazes past me. “My mom reads into things too much. If there’s a conspiracy on Facebook, she’s sharing it. But she should be careful about raising any suspicions. If the police dig into their relationship, even a little, she’d be the first one they’d look at. Anyway, I’m sorry you’ve been dragged into my mess of a family, Charley. I’ll talk to my mom later when things settle down and see if I can get her to change her mind about firing you.”
Quinn wanders over to Vicki, who’s waving to him, leaving me dazed.
Is he actually implying that his mom could be a murderer? Damn, I wish Rodrigo were here.
I should have asked Quinn if he knows where Iris is. I’m curious if Todd had something to do with his aunt going to prison as she implied at dinner. Do all three sisters have a motive to commit murder, or have I read too many mystery novels in the Library Room? Regardless, this family seems to harbor more secrets than the CIA.
In my peripheral vision, I see a figure moving into the room. It’s Brenda Black. She’s wearing her overcoat and boots, carrying her bags.
Officer Brennan notices her as she heads for the door. “Where are you going in such a hurry, Brenda?” he asks, halting the attorney in her tracks.
“I’m not sticking around here, Dan,” she says.
It’s not surprising that these two are on a first-name basis. Lawyers and cops would cross paths in such a small community. What does surprise me is that Brenda Black would try to leave in this weather, in the middle of the night. The wind is howling, and the rain’s coming down in sheets.
“It’s not safe to drive, Brenda,” Officer Brennan advises. “There are a lot of fallen trees already. I suggest you hunker down for a couple days and ride out this storm.”
“I have four-wheel drive. I’ll be fine. But thanks for your concern.”
“Well, that’s not my only concern,” says Brennan.
Black glares at him defiantly.
“It seems there’s some question about the cause of Todd’s death … doesn’t look suspicious to me, but maybe it wasn’t a heart attack. We just won’t know until the medical examiner issues a report.”
“That’s all well and good,” Brenda says, “but what does that have to do with me?”
Brennan smiles and says, “If something turns up that’s suspicious, the first person I’d want to speak to is the one who ran out the door in the middle of a hurricane.”
Chapter 19
Saturday
If I stand in the center of my room with my arms outstretched, my fingertips almost reach the opposite walls. It’s incredible how I’ve transformed such a small space into a home. It’s all about the simple touches. I painted my walls a soothing seafoam green, reminiscent of the color of the ocean on a bright summer day. On the rare occasions when I wasn’t scrubbing toilets, I would steal a moment to sit near the edge of Gull Hill. There, I’d relax on an Adirondack chair reserved for guests as if I were one, watching the waves crash against the jagged shoreline below. At night, the walls of my tiny room made me feel as though the sea was cradling me in a loving embrace, gently rocking me to sleep.
A few framed photos of my family are displayed on a shelf that Rodrigo helped me install. I don’t have a big collection, but my favorite is the picture of Nana, my mom, and me at Old Orchard Beach. The strip of asphalt at the ocean’s edge holds a variety of amusement park attractions. Most of the rides are low-rent, the kind that get carted around from carnival to carnival. But to me, it was like Disney World—or the closest I’d ever come to seeing the Magic Kingdom on our limited budget.
I take the picture off the shelf, wrap it in newspaper, and place it inside a cardboard box I found in the kitchen. And that’s that. Moving out has begun. But where am I going to go?
Tears prick the corners of my eyes. This place has been horrible for many reasons, with George Bishop topping the list and some guests not far behind. Still, it’s been my home for the past two years, and now, home is no more.
I sit on my bed, the same one where George tried several times to coerce me into giving him a massage. I thought I might actually get to enjoy my living space now that he’s gone, but such is life.
Leaving is for the best, I tell myself. Vicki Bishop did me a favor by firing me. I don’t need this job, these memories, any of it. I’m fine on my own. But I know I’m lying. I need the work, if not for me, then for Nana.
I let out a weighty sigh as I remove the plastic bin that functions as a dresser from under my bed. I have a canvas bag under there as well, but I can’t bring myself to start packing it yet. I guess I’ve got some time on account of the storm.
Looking out my window reminds me of going through a car wash. It’s hard to believe these are only the outer bands of Larry. I can’t imagine the damage it will do when it hits full force later today.
I call Nana to check on her but get no answer. Nothing unusual there. On her down days, when dementia-induced confusion takes over, she won’t pick up the phone. I call Janice for an update.
“We’re all fine here, Charley,” Janice assures me. “Your nana is safe and sound, but I’m worried about you. How’s the hotel holding up? And the Bishop sisters? Are they giving you any trouble?”
I have to tell her about Todd. She’s surprised, but not overly so.
“Bad things always follow that family,” she says. “You be careful. Don’t get caught up in anything.”
Too late for that.
I want to tell Janice that it’s her fault for raising Nana’s rent and making me desperate for extra cash. But I don’t go there. Nana taught me not to blame others for my poor choices. That was my mother’s approach, and I wasn’t like Mary Beth, Nana would say—at least until she started mistaking me for her.
After the call with Janice, my attention drifts over to my bookcase. It might be small, but all the books on it are meaningful. I’ve arranged them chronologically by the year I read them, from earliest to latest. The book that catches my eye is on the top shelf, far left. It’s the first and only story my mother ever read to me. Holding it in my hands, a wave of sorrow washes over me.
Each turn of the page transports me to a time when I felt safe and cared for. The peace, warmth, and joy of those memories envelop me like a cocoon spun by my mother’s love.
I take it all in: the familiar room with its red balloon, a comb and a brush, a bowl full of mush, and that quiet old woman whispering hush.
Tears fall onto the page as I reflect back. My sobs mask the sound of Bree entering. I’m startled when she says my name. I close the book quickly as though ashamed of my sadness.
“Hey, I’m sorry to interrupt,” she says. “Are you okay? I can come back.”
“Yeah, I’m fine,” I tell her, sniffing as I wipe my eyes with the back of my hand. “Just stupid nostalgia, is all.” I hold up the book by Margaret Wise Brown.
Bree’s expression brightens. Clearly, like most people, she knows this story well.
“Oh, I get it,” she says, settling beside me on the bed. The old mattress creaks under her weight. I thought I wanted to be alone until Bree showed up. It’s sad that a stranger is the closest thing I have to a girlfriend. Rodrigo checks a lot of boxes, but he’s still a guy.
I sniff again, then force out a laugh. “It’s the only book my mother ever read to me,” I explain.
Empathy floods Bree’s eyes. “I’m really sorry. And I feel awful that you got fired. It’s totally my fault.”
“It’s okay. I didn’t have to agree to it. I’ll figure something out,” I reply, but despair gnaws at me.
“I’ll make it up to you. I promise,” Bree assures me, determination in her voice. “I’ll pay you extra, help you find a new job, anything.”
How about finding me a new place to live while you’re at it? And the money to keep Nana at Guiding Way? But I don’t say this out loud. Bree looks too devastated and guilt-ridden for me to add to her misery.
“It’s all right,” I say. “Maybe I can move in with Janice for a while, or maybe Rodrigo and his mom will let me crash with them.”
“Actually, I might have another solution for your problem. What if you don’t get fired at all?”
I look at her, surprised. “What do you mean? We both heard Vicki. We’re out of here.”
Bree glances around nervously, as if someone might be listening. She gets up from the bed, gently closing the door.
In a quiet voice, she says, “There’s something I have to tell you. It’s about Todd.”
“What about him?”
“Last night, when I heard him outside my room—I’m not a doctor, but that was no ‘heart attack.’ He was gurgling and making these thick, strangled sounds as he was dying, and there was foam at his mouth that dissolved before the others saw it. I know they’re all saying it was a sudden heart attack, but this wasn’t sudden. It was drawn out, long … and I hate to use the word, but it sounded wet, like he was choking on liquid filling his throat and lungs. It was more than just trouble breathing.”
“Whoa,” I say. “Why didn’t you tell the police?”
“I think I was in shock. I had to process it all, but now, with some rest and a clearer mind, I have some serious suspicions.”
“You think Vicki might be right about someone killing him?”
“He might have been poisoned,” says Bree. “I mean, what else could do that to a person?”
“But you’re talking murder.”
Bree nods decisively. “Exactly that.”
“Then that would mean the killer is here, right now, in the hotel.”
“Is that so hard to believe?” Bree asks. “I overheard some of the will reading from upstairs. Okay, I confess, I snuck out of my room for a better listen. Not the best move, I know, but I was curious. You were down there, too; you heard them. This crew makes the Addams Family seem like the Brady Bunch. It could be any of them, even Vicki.”
“Not Vicki,” I say with authority. “She’s the one accusing other people.”
Bree’s sidelong glance implies I’m being naïve. “Maybe she’s creating a smoke screen to hide what she did. Last night I heard those two fighting in their room like cats and dogs. Couldn’t tell you exactly what it was about, but it was intense.”
“You think she…” I trail off, but Bree’s expression answers my unfinished question. “Damn. That’s pretty twisted,” I say, grimacing.
“Sure is. Which is why I think we need to figure out who killed Todd. If we can prove that Vicki murdered her husband, maybe you won’t have to live with Rodrigo.”
A knock at the door makes me jump. “Who’s there?” I ask.
“It’s me, Rodrigo,” comes the reply.
I let go a breath, relieved that it’s not Vicki, before inviting him to enter.
Even though he’s wearing an L.L.Bean raincoat, he looks like he’s taken a dunk in the ocean. He takes off the coat, shaking the excess water into the hallway outside my room, then flashes the same toothy grin that instantly endears him to almost every guest at the hotel.
“What’s going on?” he asks, noticing our grave expressions. “Uh-oh. Is there fallout from our stowaway?” He points to Bree.
Now I have no choice but to break the news.
“Yeah, I got fired. Vicki said I have to move out after the storm. Bree has to go, too.”
“What?” Rodrigo’s shock shifts into a faint I-told-you-so expression. “I warned you. I knew this would happen.”
“Yeah, whatever. I don’t need a lecture right now,” I say. What I want is to go back in time and tell Bree I can’t help her. But that’s the problem with hindsight: it’s painfully clear.
Rodrigo softens his reproachful look into one of compassion. “Oh shit, honey,” he says, opening his arms for an embrace. I let him hug me, even though he’s damp from the rain.
After we break apart, I go into debrief mode, filling Rodrigo in on the crazy family dynamics and accusations. I keep Bree’s suspicions about Todd’s death to myself. Rodrigo is worried about me enough as is. He doesn’t need to think I’ll be riding out the storm with a killer in our midst.
“You can stay with me and Mama as long as you need,” Rodrigo promises. “I think she loves you as much as she does me. And as for you, Ms. Bree…”—Rodrigo’s dimpled, reassuring smile flattens into a frown—“you can double what you promised so Charley gets some payback for the trouble you caused.”
“I already told her I’d do that,” Bree says.
“All right, double that, and do something else to help. You’ve made an absolute mess of her life,” Rodrigo says, his frustration evident.
“No,” I say, defending Bree, “I made a mess of it. She didn’t force me. I agreed to help.”
Rodrigo mulls this over for a moment. “I suppose so,” he says grudgingly. “I guess we should save the retribution for people who really deserve it—people like Brenda Black.”
“What exactly did she do to your family, anyway?” I ask. “You didn’t get to tell me the whole story.”
Rodrigo eyes Bree warily, unsure if he should trust her with his secrets, but relents with a shrug. “She’s a criminal, no two ways about it,” he says.
“How so?” I ask. Bree is off the bed, so we face each other in a football huddle.
“To explain that, I need to start at the beginning, when my mom was living in Honduras.”
“By the beginning, you mean before you were born?” I ask, smiling.
“Trust me, it’s important,” he says, holding up a hand. He launches right into it. “My father met my mother at a hotel in Tegucigalpa. She was working at the bar, and he was staying for a while on a construction job. They hit it off and fell in love. After they got engaged, my mom could secure a nonimmigrant visa and move with him to the United States. But my father died before the wedding—a work accident at a new job. Fatal fall, that’s all I know. My mother doesn’t like to talk about it.
“Luckily, I had already been conceived, so I was born in Texas. That makes me a citizen, but mi madre … not so fortunate. When her visa expired, she had to leave the country by law, which meant either leaving me behind or taking me back to Honduras, where there was more gang violence than work.
