Frankie's Back in Town (5 page)

“Do you know where everyone works around here without looking at a roster?”

There was a compliment in there. She could hear it in his deep voice, knew it would be all over his smile if she looked at him. So she didn’t look. “I oversee the scheduling.”

“And have a photographic memory, it sounds like.”

She was saved from a reply when they reached the elevator and the doors slid wide to showcase Mrs. Talbot.

The woman wore a badge with the lodge logo and her
name imprinted to provide easy identification for staff and residents. And visiting police chiefs.

“Good day, Mrs. Talbot,” Jack said.

She nodded politely before asking Francesca, “You’re coming for lunch today, aren’t you? It’s Tasty Thursday.”

Francesca glanced at her watch. “Fingers crossed. I can’t promise.”

“They’re featuring my squash casserole, so do your best.” Mrs. Talbot moved along with another polite nod to Minnie Moorehead, who shuffled up aided by an electric-blue walker.

Jack reached above Francesca’s head and held the elevator door.

“More like Tasteless Thursday,” Minnie said as she stepped inside.

Francesca followed, unable to hold back a laugh. “I don’t know about tasteless. Her four-bean salad was so good Chef Kevin added it to the menu.”

Minnie made a moue of distaste. “Gave me gas.”

Francesca wasn’t sure how to respond to
that
but enjoyed Jack’s surprised response. Nice to know the man could be taken off guard.

To his credit, though, he didn’t miss a beat. Stepping into the elevator, he asked, “What floor, Ms. Moorehead?”

“Fourth.” She eyed him curiously. “This your man, Francesca?”

“Minnie.” Francesca warned and hurried on before Jack could introduce himself. The last thing Minnie needed was anything more interesting than Mrs. Talbot’s squash casserole to discuss over lunch. And another visit from the police chief definitely qualified. “How did you ever find a shade of lipstick to match that beautiful sweater?”

Flattered, Minnie launched into a discourse about her particular shade of Cherries in the Snow until the elevator ground to a stop on the fourth floor.

Disaster averted.
Whew!

Jack held the door until Minnie was into the hallway before letting the doors slide closed again. He depressed the button for the basement.

“We’re riding the local today,” Francesca said to fill the quiet.

“An interesting ride.”

“Usually is,” she agreed.

“I’ve got a question for you, Francesca.”

“Shoot.”

“You mentioned that you’d spoken to the Hickmans’ daughter about the list. Do you always liaise for the residents?”

She shrugged. “Not always. Company policy is to notify family members whenever anything out of the ordinary comes up. Unfortunately, we can’t be everywhere at once.”

His visit to the Hickmans was a prime example. She’d barely made it upstairs in time to intervene. “If we can’t notify a family member, we try to make someone from the lodge available. We have a patient care consultant on staff for that purpose, but any one of the management staff will do.”

“It isn’t always possible?”

“Afraid not. Try though we might. This is a senior-living community. We don’t oversee every aspect of our residents’ lives. Our involvement is like our security vault—a courtesy.”

“But your company still has policy in place?”

Hmm.
How could she phrase this delicately to a man who clearly wasn’t grasping the whole concept of senior living? “We deal in aging services here, Jack. Double-checking details usually works to everyone’s benefit.”

“Got it.” And something about that quirk at the corners of his mouth told her he did.

They found Emelina in the laundry, but after Jack introduced himself, she eyed the nattily dressed chief of police in horror and launched into a stream of Spanish that had Francesca scrambling to keep up.

“There’s nothing wrong, Emelina,” Francesca said. “Chief Sloan just wants to ask you a few questions.”

Jack stepped in, turned on the charm and soon had Emelina eagerly looking over his list.
Anything
to help out the police chief. Francesca tried not to be impressed—by the effect of his manner or his fluent Spanish. She tried to find something off-putting in the way he used his charm.

Nada.

But she did find herself distracted when he showed Emelina an entirely different list, one that itemized costly sound systems, hi-definition televisions and computer equipment.

Could all these purchases really have been made on one credit card?

Francesca was getting a really bad feeling and pretended to watch linens being fluffed, folded and tossed into carts while listening to Emelina’s replies.

No, she hadn’t seen a notebook computer in bright pink in any of the apartments she cleaned.

Maybe, she would notice a new flat screen TV since it was her job to dust it. Maybe not. TVs all looked the same since she never had time to watch them.

Yes, there was an apartment she cleaned that had an expensive-looking electronic keyboard.

Francesca knew for a fact that Mrs. Hickman had brought a keyboard as a compact replacement for the baby grand piano she’d played most of her adult life. But that keyboard had moved in with them. Long before the captain had misplaced his wallet.

This time.

Jack thanked Emelina and looked to Francesca for an escort to the next place on his list.

“The residents’ parking garage,” he said. “Would you like to grab a coat?”

“Only if you’re planning to keep me outside a while.”

“Just a walk-around.”

“Then I’ll be fine.”

Better to get this tour over with as quickly as possible rather than delay with a trip back to her office. Besides, some cold air might help clear her head. Of course, the instant Francesca got a blast of a Mid-Hudson Valley winter, she was thinking twice about her clever idea to force Jack to hurry.

She watched him scan the rows of cars on both sides of the garage and had to ask, “Did these suspicious purchases on the captain’s credit begin the first time he misplaced his wallet?”

“I’m sorry. Can’t answer that yet.”

Okay. She understood he couldn’t discuss the details of his investigation, but she didn’t like being in the dark. She tried a side-door approach. “If you tell me what you’re looking for, I can help you look.”

“A 2009 Ducati Desmosedici RR.”

Francesca stopped short. “Ducati? As in
motorcycle?
”

“A limited edition. Red. We’ll check with gatehouse security, but I wanted to walk through in case it was brought onto the property and not registered.”

“Jack?”

He glanced around, obviously just realizing she hadn’t kept up with him. “Francesca?”

“You’re looking for a Ducati,
here?
But these cars belong to residents who can still drive. There aren’t many. Trust me. Even if the captain bought a Ducati, why would he park it here?”

A frown furrowed his brow. “I have no way of knowing.”

The wind picked up, whipping her hair into her face, blowing through her hose and freezing away any reaction she once might have had to this man’s charm. Now he was just obtuse. “You met the Hickmans, Jack. These lists of yours make it sound as if you think they went on some Bonnie-and-Clyde style shopping rampage. I understand you can’t discuss the details of your investigation, I honestly do, but can’t you be a little clearer on exactly what you’re looking for?”

That black, black gaze bored into hers for a long time before he said, “Evidence linking the suspect charges to the person who made the purchases. I need to confirm whether or not Captain Hickman made these purchases before I can know if I need to keep looking at whoever has access to his credit cards.”

“Like my staff.”

“Like your staff,” he agreed.

“So we’re not talking about a little crime your department will solve quickly? We’re talking about a big messy crime that keeps my residents worrying and every red flag I have flying.”

A crime that would keep the too-charming chief of police dropping by her office whenever he had a question.

“I’m afraid we are,” he said.

“Damn.” Francesca exhaled a frigid breath. “And it’s only Thursday.”

“Tasty Thursday.” He reminded her.

She didn’t need a reminder, thank you.

“H
ANG ON
,” S
USANNA WHISPERED
into her cell. “I can’t talk here.”

Hurrying from the lobby, she bypassed her office to step inside an exit stairwell. Easing the door closed, she shut out the familiar sounds of the administrative wing. The drone of the copier where Yvette was printing the latest edition of the residents’ activity calendar. The electronic hissing and beeping of the fax machine. The intermittent ringing of the switchboard. Once the door clicked shut, the silence enveloped her in a calm that she welcomed with a deep sigh.

“That’s better,” she breathed into the phone. “What’s up?”

“Dish,” Karan’s voice shot back over the receiver. “Becca told me that Chuck is off the case at your place, and
Jack is on.
Have you heard?”

Not even a “Hello, how’s your day?” Classic Karan. But Susanna didn’t mind. Despite Karan’s obvious quirks, she’d always been there when it counted. Like during Skip’s long battle with the non-Hodgkins lymphoma that had finally taken his life. Karan had put to work her connections with the medical community and those connections had been considerable—compliments of two ex-husbands.

“No, I hadn’t heard,” Susanna said. “But Jack has been by a few times. I assumed he was helping out.”

“A few times? And you haven’t called?”

Susanna propped the phone against her ear, reached for the handrail and began to climb in her version of a power walk. Well,
power
wasn’t exactly accurate, since she was wearing a business suit and practical pumps. But she might as well settle in for the long haul because Karan wasn’t going to hang up the phone until she’d been dished all the details.

If it hadn’t been twenty-six degrees outside, Susanna would have preferred to be on the par course. She’d settle for hoofing it up and down the stairs. Good exercise for her butt which, according to her daughter, was showing the effects of too much time behind a desk.

Thank you, Brooke.

“No, I didn’t call. It’s been crazy around here.”

“Susanna, we’re talking about
Jack.
” Karan’s tone scolded for breaking an all-important, if unspoken, rule.

Karan was always interested in Jack, regardless of who she was married to. “I was getting there. Between this place and all the nonsense going on with the police investigation, not to mention Brandon made the play-offs—”

“Stop right there, Suze. I do not want to hear your litany of excuses. Just tell me what’s going on with Jack.”

Susanna took the next few steps. “I really don’t know anything.”

“But you said he’s been by a few times.”

“He has. I saw him this morning. He asked me to give you his regards.”

“Really?”

“Yes, really.” She didn’t admit that she’d had to wheedle the courtesy out of him. Jack never so much as mentioned Karan’s name. Not in all the years he’d been dropping by the house to watch football with Skip. He’d moved on with his life, unlike someone else who would remain nameless.

“How does he look? I haven’t seen him since we ran into each other at Gary’s last five-hundred-a-head dinner.”

Not exactly a surprise. Karan might officially live in Bluestone, but she’d been spending more time in the city, avoiding the gritty reality of her latest marriage meltdown. “No obvious gunshot wounds.”

“Susanna!”
came the exasperated reply.

Susanna snickered away from the phone’s mouthpiece then said, “I really don’t know anything else. Jack’s been by a few times. That’s all I know. Frankie doesn’t share that sort of stuff with me. Or anyone else for that matter. She’s professional.
Ultra
professional. I’ve told you that before.”

“Humph. I know what you’ve said, but I still have trouble believing it.”

“Hard to believe, I know, but there you have it,” Susanna agreed automatically, confirming her position on the right side of a line that had been drawn in the sand years ago. “They did tour the property together this morning, though. I overheard her assistant telling one of the other managers.”

“Really?” Karan’s interested tone reassured Susanna that all was forgiven. “A tour of the property? Wonder what they were looking for. Probably where she stashed the body.”

“Karan.” Susanna winced. “That’s awful.”

Laughter chimed over the line like silver against crystal. “Perhaps, but this is
Frankie
we’re talking about.”

As if that explained everything. Honestly, some days Susanna wished with all her heart she’d have listened to Skip when he’d wanted to accept the job promotion that would have taken them to Napa Valley. Then, of course, they’d have been clear across the country when he’d gotten sick, with no family or friends as a support system,
alone….

“I have no clue what they were looking for,” Susanna said. “The missing wallet that started this whole fiasco
turned up a week ago. That much I know for sure. But Becca told you Chuck was off the case. I find that curious.”

“Isn’t it, though? Doesn’t Jack let his minions do the grunt work nowadays?”

“Like I would know. I don’t see Jack that much anymore.” Not since Skip.

“From what I hear, no one sees him much anymore. Makes you wonder what he does with his free time, doesn’t it?”

Susanna sighed. “Not really.”

“Jack’s working this case for a reason. I know it. Unless he’s itching to get his hands dirty again.”

There was no missing the sarcasm. Karan might not admit it aloud, but she still hadn’t forgiven Jack for veering from the path she’d had mapped out for their future. And from the day she’d set her sights on Jack in the tenth grade, Karan had been mapping. She’d intended to become the wife of a high-power attorney from a Bluestone royal family that had deep ties in Manhattan society. That life would have fit her to a T.

Obviously not Jack, though. He’d surprised them all by rolling up his sleeves and diving into law enforcement. Conversely, no one had been surprised at all when Karan dumped him for the first wealthy medical student she could get her perfectly manicured nails into.

Susanna was about to tell Karan she’d keep her informed when the sounds of young laughter and loud music distracted her.

There was an activity lobby on this floor, but the music wasn’t anything she’d expected to hear for line or ballroom dancing. More like something she’d have told Brooke to turn down. Better yet, turn
off.
What sort of dance class happened on Thursdays? She tried to remember. The activity calendar was so busy she didn’t know how Rachel kept up.

“Hang on a sec,” she whispered to Karan, pushing the door open to get a peek of what was going on inside.

Windows spanned an entire wall, and bright afternoon sun streamed over the wide expanse of carpeted lobby where nearly four rows of residents stood in lines. It was a nice turnout, over twenty people in all, male and female, all casually dressed. Susanna expected to find Roberto, the lodge’s physical therapist and dance aficionado leading the group in the slow motion steps of some dance. Instead, a young girl stood at the front of the group, a lanky young girl wearing tight jeans, layered shirts and a nose ring.

Frankie’s daughter.

Gabrielle was a pretty girl, close in age to Brooke. But that was where the similarities ended. Everything about Gabrielle screamed “Attitude!” From the artfully arranged chunky silver jewelry to the Converse All Star sneakers that looked as though they were the ones her mother had worn twenty years ago. For all Susanna knew they were.

The music stopped abruptly, and Susanna pulled her eye away from the crack in the door, not wanting to be caught.

“Let’s try it again,” Gabrielle said. “Think superhero. Y’know a dude in tights who can leap tall buildings.”

Susanna risked another peek to see Gabrielle demonstrating a dance move vaguely reminiscent of a horizontal swan dive.

Mrs. Gunderson made a valiant attempt, a slow-motion stretch of arms with gracefully pointed fingertips.

“Yeah, that’s it,” Gabrielle said with a straight face. “You’ve got it.”

Paquita Escabar, Auntie Pippa as she liked to be called, didn’t fare so well. She was a tiny woman, who was a lot older than most people knew, and she would have landed on her face had Mr. Patrick not gallantly steadied her.

Exactly why a licensed physical therapist should be teaching this class.

Susanna opened her mouth to tell Karan she’d call back as Mrs. McIlhenny stopped her attempts at the dance moves and waved her in. “Susanna. Come in. The girls are teaching us the Soulja Boy.”

The girls?
Susanna stepped inside the lobby, and sure enough another girl was working the boom box and demonstrating the same dance move…
Brooke.

“Got to run,” Susanna said and snapped the phone shut.

“Hi, everyone.” Shoving the phone in her pocket, she made her entrance. “So what’s going on?”

A chorus of replies came from the group, but they barely registered as Susanna glanced at the girls. Gabrielle cocked a hip against the windowsill, folded her arms over her chest and bristled with attitude. Brooke, on the other hand, looked as if she wished the floor would open wide and swallow her whole.

“What do you think of our featured instructors?” Roberto strode in from the direction of the elevators.

“Interesting.” Susanna forced a smile.

“They’re wonderful,” Auntie Pippa said. “Thank you so much, young ladies.”

“They promised to come back next week,” Mrs. McIlhenny added, glancing at Roberto for approval.

Like the girls would have had a chance to say no with this group. Roberto graciously smiled. “The Soulja Boy, hmm?”

“I don’t polka,” Gabrielle issued deadpan.

“We’ve had it with Lawrence Welk,” Mr. Shaw said. “You need to keep it lively or we’ll all drop dead right here.”

Roberto spread his hands in good-natured entreaty. “No arguing with that. How about you, Brooke? Are you in for another session next week?”

Brooke glanced at her mother uncertainly, but Susanna left her to make her own bed. “I’ll have to get back to you on that.”

Smart kid.

Undeterred, Gabrielle instructed the group, “You keep on practicing that superhero move, okay? You’ll get it and we’ll put it all together.”

“That we can do,” Roberto agreed. “We’ll work on it.”

“Well, have fun, everyone.” Susanna circled the group and attached herself to her daughter for an escort downstairs.

Brooke headed for the elevator behind Gabrielle, but Susanna steered her to the exit door instead.

“The stairs?” Brooke winced. She’d be a captive audience in privacy.

Susanna just opened the door and, once inside, demanded, “You’re supposed to come to my office after school. What was this all about?”

All the previous uncertainty vanished. “Nothing. I just saw Gabrielle going upstairs.”

“So you followed her?”

That one question effectively ended the conversation. Her daughter shut down in the blink of an eye, expression going blank, gaze hardening, and her entire body tensing for the fight. Susanna knew the drill. Brooke was going to stonewall her, likely for days.

Damn.

Her husband had been the patient one, the calm in the storm when life got chaotic. Teenagers were chaos.

All right, Skip,
she sent up a mental plea.
What now?

She knew no answer was forthcoming and forced herself to breathe deeply and keep her mouth shut, hoping that a floor or two of silence might give them a chance to start over. She wasn’t surprised Brooke was fascinated by
Frankie’s daughter. Gabrielle stuck out like a beach umbrella on a ski slope. She’d transferred in from a big city school and the aura of urban cool radiated off her, in her appearance and her demeanor. Brooke had been reared in Bluestone Mountain with virtually the same group of kids since birth.

The Soulja Boy.
Honestly. Susanna didn’t even want to know how Brooke knew that dance.

Another deep breath then Susanna said, “You’re going to run into Gabrielle around here. That’s unavoidable, but I really think you should give some serious thought to pursuing a friendship.” She made a supreme effort to sound respectful of Brooke’s ability to make choices.

“I wasn’t pursuing a friendship. I was helping her with
your
old people. Mr. Roberto had to leave for a few minutes. He asked us to babysit.”

“Where did he go?”

“I don’t know. He probably had to pee. He’s as old as everyone else around here.”

Roberto was a good two decades younger than Greywacke Lodge’s demographic, but Susanna wasn’t about to waste her energy explaining. At Brooke’s age, old was simply old.

Instead, Susanna watched her daughter in her periphery as they rounded the stairwell to the sixth floor, tried to gauge Brooke’s expression.

Closed for business.

Great. Just great. Here was a problem Susanna couldn’t have foreseen. She’d recently celebrated her thirteenth anniversary with Northstar Management, so when they’d offered her the chief financial officer position at Greywacke Lodge, she’d jumped all over it. The promotion had been an answer to a prayer. It ended her commute into Saugerties, a distance that had made her so inaccessible to the kids after Skip had died.

Ashokan High School was within bike-riding distance of Greywacke Lodge and shuttling Brandon from school to ball practice was a simple matter of taking a late lunch. Quality of life had improved dramatically for all of them. And she enjoyed the pace of the lodge.
Hectic
made the day go by much more quickly. A huge improvement over years spent in the financial office on her last management gig—just Susanna, a massive payroll and an assistant who’d been allergic to laughter.

Who could ever have guessed that Frankie would return to Bluestone? Or sign on with Northstar for that matter? Not in a thousand years would Susanna have ever imagined that the class of ’93’s rebel would wind up as
her
manager.

“Another of life’s little surprises,”
Skip would have said.