Not A Girl Detective (24 page)

That was fast. Too fast. I wished I could run out to my car and turn on the radio to see if he was full of it.

He pulled a tissue out of his pocket and blew his

nose. “I can’t process all of this. It’s too much.”

“It must be a nightmare for you, Mitchell.”

“It is, yes. First Edgar, and now Jake. I was too hard on him. He had to have loved Edgar more than I ever

knew to pull a stunt like this.”

“Like what?”

“Trying to kill himself, of course. He was despon-

dent over Edgar’s murder. That’s what they said.”

“What radio station?”

“I don’t know. I don’t care. I’m cursed.” He slumped

onto the bench, then looked up at me. “Actually, you’re cursed.”

“Me?”

“Everything was perfect before you came into our

lives.”

“Oh, perfect. I saw it that day at the house. One big happy family.”

“Look. Why don’t you just go, Ms. Caruso? I’m sure

you have a wonderful, fulfilling life of your very own.

Go live it.”

“Answer one question for me. What do I have that

everybody wants?”

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“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Yes, you do,” I said, my voice shaking. I was angry

and confused and tired of all the lies.

“Please keep it down,” said Hattie. “This is intensive care. There are very sick people here.” She looked at the roses. “No flowers allowed, sir.”

Mitchell went over to the trash can. “We’re finished, Ms. Caruso.” He tried to stuff the whole bouquet in, but it was too big, so he shoved it in one flower at a time.

“No, we aren’t. All of you keep asking me about

what Edgar gave me. Why do you care? What could it

possibly matter?”

“Stay out of it. Ouch.” He sucked on one of his fin-

gers.

“I’d love to stay out of it, but I keep getting dragged back in.”

“No one is dragging you anywhere. I don’t know you

very well, but I sincerely doubt you’ve ever gone anywhere you haven’t wanted to go.”

“You don’t know me at all.”

He started to walk away. Then he turned around.

“Look in a mirror sometime. Maybe you don’t see

yourself the way other people do.”

Why did everyone want me to look in the mirror all

of a sudden? “And how is that?”

“Edgar thought you were tough.
Tenacious
was the word he used. But I don’t think he understood you at all.”

“You don’t think I’m tenacious?”

“I think you’ve got some strange sense of mission.

But not everyone wants to be a part of it. Not everyone wants help. You may even find that they resent it.”

“That sounds like a threat.”

“It’s not a threat. It’s not anything,” he said wearily.

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“I don’t know why I’m talking to you at all. I want to see Jake.”

“Two police officers are watching him.”

“Why?”

“Figure it out,” I said. “And by the way, you’re

bleeding.”

He looked down at his hand.

“Damn thorns.”

“At least you’re in the right place. To get help.”

He stared at me.

“Don’t worry, Mitchell. Not from me. Despite my

sense of mission, I’m done with you. All of you.”

At least I thought I was. Until I saw Nancy Olsen

pulling her green Prelude into the visitors’ lot as I was pulling my silver Camry out.

I WAS SITTING on the slate steps outside the Holly View Apartments when Nancy came back, sometime around

three. I saw her see me from a distance and expected

her to turn and run, but she didn’t. She kept on walking until she was standing right in front of me.

“I’m glad you’re here, Cece.”

No, she wasn’t what you’d call the predictable sort.

Today she was dressed like a management trainee, in a navy blue wool suit with matching navy blue high

heels. Her hair was pulled into a low ponytail and her face was stripped of makeup.

“Who are you supposed to be now?” I asked.

“A person who works at a car rental agency.”

“I don’t get it.”

“I was at an interview earlier today. I need a job.”

“Did your mother cut you off?”

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“I cut myself off. I need discipline. I’m a mess.”

“At least you’re honest.”

“So are you, which is why I think I can talk to you.

Anyway, I’m out of options. Will you come in?” she

asked, unlocking the gate.

“All right.”

We walked up the stairs to her apartment. Outside the door was a small urn filled with calla lilies.

“What happened to the jasmine?”

“It was dead. You’ve got to whack it back, you

know.”

“Yeah, I know.”

She opened the door and we went inside.

“Sit down.” She pointed to an overstuffed easy chair

adrift in the middle of the floor. “My mother bought it for me.”

I sank down into what felt like an upholstered marsh-

mallow and looked around. Books were stacked into

skinny little towers against one wall. Clothes and shoes and jewelry and makeup were jumbled together in a

cardboard refrigerator box lying open on its side. There was a TV set, a CD player, and that was it as far as furniture went. It felt like a rec room in a halfway house.

“Where do you eat?” I asked. There was a cheap cut-

glass chandelier hanging over an empty space where

the dining room table should have been.

“Out.”

I should’ve seen that one coming.

“I don’t really know where to begin,” she said, pacing.

“Why don’t you stop that, for starters? You’re mak-

ing me crazy.”

She went into the bedroom and came back with a milk

crate. She dragged it over to my chair and sat down.

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“Tell me why you went to see Jake.”

“I didn’t go to see Jake.”

“Then what were you doing at the hospital this

morning?”

“How do you know I was there?”

“I saw you,” I said. “Listen, I thought you wanted to talk to me. What’s the point if you’re going to lie?”

“I’m not lying. I don’t even know Jake.”

“Then why were you there?”

She closed her eyes, then rubbed them with the heels

of her hands. “I was looking for my mother.”

“I can’t hear you.”

She lifted her head. “I said I was looking for my

mother.”

“Your mother? Why would she be there? What does

she have to do with Jake?”

She sprang up, avoiding my glance. “Are you thirsty?

I have bottled water in the kitchen. It’s not cold, though.”

I grabbed her arm as she brushed past me. “Nancy,

are you trying to tell me you think your mother had

something to do with what happened to Jake?”

She pursed her lips. “I didn’t say that.”

“But you think that.”

“I don’t know what I think.”

I extricated myself from the chair and followed her

into the kitchen. “Did you see your mother last night at the Witching Hour?”

“As she was leaving. It wasn’t like you could miss

her, making the usual commotion.” There was hurt in

her voice. I knew that kind of hurt inside out and backward. “She wasn’t supposed to be there. I didn’t want her there. She just showed up.”

“She wanted to surprise you.”

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“Why does she always try to surprise me when she

knows I hate surprises?”

I guess it ran in the family. “I don’t know.”

“It was a mistake.”

“Everybody makes mistakes.”

“My mother’s been making big mistakes. The kind

you can’t just fix.”

I thought about Grace Horton’s body, a swath of

flesh glowing white in the dark, sticky room. How an-

gry Clarissa must’ve been.

“I have to find her,” Nancy said.

“Maybe she’s gone home.”

“Home?” She mulled that one over. “I hadn’t really

thought of that.”

“Well, why would she stay here? Your show was

over.”

“Maybe you’re right.” She paused, then a grin spread

slowly across her face. “I’ll bet she went straight to the airport from the club. She was probably on the very

next flight out, furious at me. I can picture her up on her high horse, telling the whole ugly story to her friends.

Once again, Nancy embarrasses the entire family.”

That scenario made her happy, maybe because it was so familiar. “Here, take this.” She handed me a bottle of water.

I put it down on the counter. “Back up a little. You

aren’t sure that’s the way it went, are you?”

She looked down at her hands. Her nails were red to-

day, as slick as her mother’s.

“You’re worried. You’re worried that after your

mother left the club she tried to kill Jake. And then when she found out he was still alive, she raced to the hospital to finish the job.”

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“She’d never do that.”

But how would Clarissa have known Jake was at An-

drew’s? That’s what I didn’t understand. Had she fol-

lowed them? Had she followed me? And why Jake?

What did Jake have on Clarissa? Oh, god.

“Jake saw your mother that day in Palm Springs,

didn’t he?”

“No.” She shook her head.

“The day that Edgar died. You’re afraid it was your

mother who killed Edgar.”

“No. I don’t know.”

“But she couldn’t have killed him,” I said, thinking it through. “Because that was the day of the scavenger

hunt. She was at the hotel, planting clues. She was there all morning.”

“Not all morning.” Her voice was barely audible.

“What are you saying?”

“She left. Just for a little while.”

“How long?”

“Maybe an hour, that’s all.”

“That’s impossible. What could have dragged her

away from her precious Nancy Drew?”

“She was on the phone, upset. I don’t know exactly

what it was about. She was stomping around the Oak

Salon. Everyone saw her. Then she pulled herself to-

gether and said she had a quick errand to run.”

“Have you explained all this to the detectives in Palm Springs, Dunphy and Lasarow?”

“They talked to her at the hotel. They seemed satis-

fied with what they heard. I’m hardly about to implicate her, and neither are you,” she said, flashing me a warning glance.

“The last thing I want to do is implicate your mother N O T

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if she hasn’t done anything. But the truth is going to come out one way or another, and I’d prefer it to come out before anyone else is hurt.”

“Look, I just needed to talk to someone. I thought I

could trust you. I thought maybe you could help me figure out what I’m supposed to do.”

The painting. Blue Nancy Drew.

“What does Edgar’s painting of your grandmother

have to do with all of this?”

“I wish it had never seen the light of day.”

“When did your mother find out about it, Nancy?”

She was crying now. “I didn’t want her to find out

about it, not ever.”

I looked at her, perplexed now. “When did
you
find out about it?”

“Me?” she asked, wiping her eyes with the sleeve of

her jacket. “I’ve known about that damn painting my

entire life.”

2 6

You’ve got freckles.”

“Yeah,” said Nancy.

“I didn’t notice them with all that makeup.”

The waitress came by with our second round of so-

das. I ran my hands up and down the frosty glass.

Nancy watched me silently.

“Eat your hamburger. It’s getting cold.”

“Okay.” She took a big bite, then wiped ketchup off

her chin.

It’s hard to repress your maternal instincts even when you have reason to suspect you’re being had, and I had reason to spare. She was doing an excellent job—but

then again she was a professional. All I knew for sure was that she’d managed to blow whatever alibi Clarissa might’ve had for Edgar’s murder without looking like

she was even trying.

“You’re good.”

“Excuse me?”

“Last night. At the club.”

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“Oh. Thanks.” She had another bite of her hamburger.

“This is delicious. It was nice of you to take me out.”

“Your Dolly Parton was amazing.”

“My father was a big Dolly Parton fan. I grew up lis-

tening to her. Have you ever heard of Dollywood?”

“I don’t think so.”

“It’s Dolly’s theme park in the Smoky Mountains.

Pigeon Forge, Tennessee. My dad took me when I was

eight. I got to try on one of Dolly’s very own wigs.”

“I would’ve loved to have seen your mother in a

Dolly Parton wig.”

“She wasn’t there. They were already divorced. Then

he died, when I was thirteen. He left me the pictures.”

“So. Are you ready to show them to me now?”

She wiped her hands on her napkin and reached into

her purse, pulling out a small stack of black-and-white photographs. She sat there for a minute, then closed

her eyes.

“I’m ready.” She pushed the pictures across the table.

They were worn at the edges. They reminded me of a

rabbit’s foot I’d once had. I’d rubbed it so many times the pink fur had come off, leaving only a misshapen

piece of cartilege on a rusted chain. But it had gotten me a bike I’d wished for. I wondered if these pictures had gotten anybody anything.

I picked up the first one.

A young woman is seated on a man’s lap. His face is