Killer Words Page 3

  “Well, I’ll be jiggered,” Nana Jo said.

  I walked to the garage to get the car, amazed that I was leaving two hundred dollars richer than when I arrived, thanks largely to Irma.

  I picked everyone up and drove them back to Shady Acres and then drove home. I pulled into the garage and was about to get out when Nana Jo stopped me.

  “Okay, what’s wrong?”

  “What do you mean? Nothing’s wrong.”

  She gave me that You can’t fool me look. “Sam, if you don’t want to talk about it, that’s fine. But I know you, and I know something is bothering you. You barely said five words all the way from the casino. Did something happen?”

  “No. Everything’s fine.” I didn’t sound convincing. I took a deep breath. “Nothing’s wrong. I promise.” I told Nana Jo about what I’d seen.

  “Are you sure it was him?”

  “Yep. He’s so Hollywood handsome that he’s hard to mistake.”

  “You got that right.” She paused. “And you’re sure the woman wasn’t his wife?”

  “She certainly wasn’t the woman we’ve seen on the news by his side, although I feel like I’ve seen her somewhere before.” I thought for several moments but couldn’t recall where.

  “Disappointing that here’s yet another bull of a politician who can’t just graze in his own field.” Nana Jo opened the car door. “This is the twenty-first century. You’d think they would realize that there are cell phones and cameras everywhere, especially in a casino.”

  “I didn’t even think about that. There must be hundreds of cameras all over the casino. You’d think he would have chosen a place a bit more private.”

  We got out of the car, I heard barking and knew that Snickers and Oreo had convinced Dawson to take them in.

  The previous owner of the building had created a loft space above my garage that I rented out. Dawson Alexander was one of my former students when I taught high school English. He was now a student at MISU and my assistant at the bookstore. A door opened at the top of the stairs, and Snickers and Oreo ran down to the garage.

  We let them out to the backyard and waited while they took care of business.

  I could tell by the tilt of her head and the way she bit her lower lip that Nana Jo was deep in thought. Eventually, she said, “I read up on him when he threw his hat in the race for mayor. He’s part of the Pontolomas, the tribe that owns the Four Feathers. So, I’m sure he gets special privileges.”

  “I’ve heard the entire Pontoloma tribe shares the revenue from the casino. If he’s a member, then he must be—”

  “Privileged. Maybe he feels he can get special treatment at the Four Feathers. You know, talk to the other members and ‘wink-wink. Keep my infidelity under wraps.’ ”

  “I suppose so,” I mumbled.

  Snickers finished early, and Oreo finally hiked his leg at his favorite spot. We went inside.

  Nana Jo turned off the alarm. “He’s certainly able to afford a hotel in some isolated, out-of-the-way spot. Maybe his wife doesn’t care about his . . . dalliances, but I’ll bet you his opponent in the election will absolutely care.”

  Once we were all inside, Nana Jo reset the alarm, and we all went upstairs.

  “I suppose what he does in his personal life should be personal. I mean, his wife is the only person who really has anything to say about it. If it doesn’t matter to her . . .” I shrugged. “It shouldn’t matter to me either. After all, the United States has had countless presidents that had affairs, and they were still able to do a good job running the country.”

  Nana Jo stopped and turned to face me. “You’re right to a certain extent, but I think it’s time we had a higher standard. It’s not the fact that they are adulterers. That bothers me, but it’s what committing adultery means that matters more. It’s the fact that they made a vow to be faithful and then broke that vow. That’s what bothers me. Your grandfather and I stood in a small church in front of God and swore to be faithful. Neither one of us were willing to violate that vow.” She stopped. “Of course, your grandfather also knew that if he did violate it, I’d take my Peacemaker and make sure it was the last vow he ever did break.”

  I smiled. “Leon and I felt the same way. I mean, I know people change over time and marriage is hard. If the marriage isn’t working, then get a divorce. I know it isn’t easy, but . . . you just don’t cheat.”

  “Right; so if John Cloverton is having an affair, which it sounds like he is, then he can’t be trusted.”

  “If the allegations in the newspaper are true, then neither of the candidates for mayor are to be trusted. Either we vote for someone who ignores his marital vows and cheats on his wife or someone who may be misappropriating funds. Sounds like a choice between Scylla and Charybdis from Greek mythology.”

  “The choice between a six-headed monster and a whirlwind? Yeah, not much of a choice. I’m not sure which one is the lesser of the two evils.”

  “I can understand why people don’t bother voting when those are your choices, but—”

  “Samantha Marie Washington, you bite your tongue. Voting is a right that men and women have fought and died for so you could cast a ballot and make decisions for yourself. Regardless of the options, we are going to march down to the voting booth on election day and cast our ballots. Then we’ll get involved and attend those boring council meetings so we are informed on the issues. We are also going to write petitions, make phone calls, and hold those elected officials’ feet to the fire. By golly, I’m not going to stand by and allow these candidates to get away with anything other than the highest standards.”

  I laughed. “I was just going to say I understand why people don’t want to vote, but I’m thankful that I live in a democracy where I can vote. I didn’t mean to get you riled up.”

  “Well, I’m riled. In fact, I think I’ll write a letter right now.”

  “Nana Jo, it’s almost two o’clock in the morning. Maybe you should get some sleep first.”

  “It’ll be stronger while my feathers are still ruffled.” She marched to her bedroom.

  I glanced down at Snickers and Oreo, who were watching Nana Jo with a Who stole her biscuit? expression.

  “I think those two men are going to wish they had thought twice before running for office in North Harbor, Michigan. Nana Jo is going to eat them for breakfast.”

  Chapter 4

  For years, Sundays have always been time spent with my mom. The day typically starts with church service and then brunch, shopping, or whatever. Last Christmas Eve, my mom remarried, and I wondered if things would change. I didn’t exactly relish these Sunday excursions, but it was yet another part of my routine—familiar. I loved my mom, but I was willing to forgo the weekly guilt-fest. “Why don’t you dress better . . . lose weight . . . visit more . . . sit up straight . . . watch your posture . . . find a cure for cancer?” I’m only slightly joking about the cure for cancer. “Surely, if you put your mind to it, you could do just about anything.” I loved my mom, but the extended time spent with her had the same effects as a mood-altering drug that worked in the wrong direction. Monday through Saturday, I was a happy, positive, successful business owner, soon-to-be-published writer, and somewhat confident adult. However, after hours spent with my mom, I was usually left feeling frumpy, downcast, and lazy, with the confidence of a teenage schoolgirl. When my mom married Harold Robertson, a man who adored the ground she walked on, I expected these Sunday outings to change. Harold and my mom were usually inseparable, except on Sundays. Not wanting to “take away from our time together,” Harold rarely attended the early service, and allowed my mom and me to go together. My sister, Jenna, said he probably needed the break, but Harold’s devotion to my mom knew no limits.

  Despite my late night, I got up early, since my mom preferred the earliest church service. Most of the time, it was just me and my mom. However, I was happy when I heard Nana Jo stumbling around. It was always easier to cope with Nana Jo there as a buffer between my mom
and me.

  Showered and dressed, I followed the rich nutty aroma of coffee into the kitchen. Nana Jo sat on the barstool sipping coffee and reading the Sunday newspaper. She was awake, but the look on her face told me she wasn’t ready for dialogue yet, which was fine with me. Without coffee, my conversation was barely fit for Snickers and Oreo.

  I poured a cup of the magical elixir into my favorite mug and led a procession of poodles downstairs and outside. Snickers wasn’t a morning dog either, but she did what was necessary. Oreo bounded around but finally completed his routine.

  Nana Jo and I drove to pick up Mom, who had a villa in South Harbor. I was surprised when she and Harold chose to live there, given the fact that he was wealthier than King Midas and could probably have afforded one of those big Mc-Mansions that were popping up around town and blocking the Lake Michigan shoreline. Harold’s family had owned Robertson’s Department Store. When I was young, Robertson’s was the nicest store in our area. Although I hadn’t been able to afford anything beyond their Bargain Basement, it was still a treat to go inside and walk out with a shiny black bag with the Robertson’s name printed in gold cursive. In our area, that bag was as special as the Tiffany blue box. Harold hadn’t followed in the family business, choosing instead to study aeronautical engineering. He had spent close to half a century working at NASA. When his beloved wife was dying from cancer, he retired from NASA to care for her. After she passed, he returned to Southwestern Michigan.

  Mom climbed into the back seat of the car, and we headed to church. Eight o’clock service was generally attended by the older, more conservative members of the congregation and the music was tailored accordingly. Rather than upbeat, jazzy tunes played by a full band, the early service stuck to tried and true traditional hymns. After service, Mom wanted to have brunch at a fancy downtown hotel called The Avenue.

  South Harbor was referred to as the twin city to North Harbor. They were side by side and shared the same Lake Michigan shoreline. However, South Harbor and North Harbor were about as different as two cities could be. North Harbor was economically depressed, while South Harbor was a flourishing tourist town. North Harbor city government had gone bankrupt, and the school system had some of the worst standardized test scores in the state. While the South Harbor government thrived and the schools were highly sought after, North Harbor had deserted, burned-out buildings with empty holes where glass windows once stood. South Harbor had quaint brick brownstones on cobblestoned streets lined by fudge and ice-cream shops and stores selling shell necklaces, gaudy lighthouse miniatures, and other trinkets for tourists. In much the same way, my mom and Nana Jo were related opposites. Nana Jo was tall, tough, and sturdy, while my mother, Grace, was petite and dainty. At barely five feet tall and less than one hundred pounds, my mom bore little physical resemblance to her mother. Nana Jo, on the one hand, had been raised on a farm and learned to farm, shoot, and utilize the healing power of plants; she was resourceful. My mom, on the other hand, had what my sister, Jenna, called a princess complex. As Nana Jo’s only child, she was spoiled by her father and coddled and protected by mine. Now she was remarried to yet another man who was perfectly content with catering to her every whim. The physical differences were vast, but lately I’d noticed that my mom had an inner strength that, when called upon, showed maybe she had inherited a lot more of Nana Jo’s spunk than I’d realized.

  The Avenue sat atop the bluffs and looked out over Lake Michigan. At one time, The Avenue had been the grandest hotel for miles. However, like a Monet painting, appearances can be deceptive. From a distance, the hotel still presented a grand and impressive façade, but when you looked closely its image of elegance and wealth blurred. Despite these shortfalls, the grand staircase that greeted guests at the entry was still quite impressive.

  “Grace, you’re unusually quiet,” Nana Jo said. “Are you okay?”

  “Of course. I’m just thinking.”

  Nana Jo and I exchanged looks. My mom wasn’t exactly a profound thinker, preferring instead to leave the heavy work to someone else. However, if she had something on her mind, we’d find out about it soon enough.

  I pulled up to the front and allowed Nana Jo and Mom to get out, and then I drove around the side of the building and parked before joining them inside. I found a parking space next to a black Mercedes that looked like my sister Jenna’s car, but I pushed the idea out of my mind. I wasn’t a fan of eight o’clock service, but my sister, Jenna, was vehemently opposed to anything that required her to get up on her weekends at the same time that she had to be up on weekdays.

  Upon entering the building from the front, I arrived at a large landing. The stairs leading up went to the lobby and reception desks. To the left and right, the wide curved marble staircase led down to the dining room.

  Since both staircases led to the same place, I turned left and headed down. At the bottom of the stairs there was a large crowd of people waiting for brunch. I muscled my way to the host station, but before I could give her my name and ask how long the wait would be I heard my name.

  I turned toward the voice and wasn’t surprised when I caught sight of Harold standing at a large round table and waving for me to come over.

  Mom was already seated in the most comfortable chair with the best view. When I saw my sister, her husband, and their two kids, I knew Mom’s thinking earlier must have been pretty serious if she’d managed to convince Jenna out for breakfast.

  “Hi, Harold. I didn’t know we were having a party.”

  “Just family.” Harold helped me remove my jacket and handed it to a waiter who hovered nearby.

  I waved good morning to my brother-in-law, Tony Rutherford, and hugged my nephews, Christopher and Zaq, before taking a seat between Nana Jo and Jenna. I leaned toward my sister and whispered, “What’s going on?”

  Nana Jo and I weren’t morning people, but Jenna was in a completely different league. My sister shot me a look that would have silenced a lesser mortal or someone who hadn’t spent their formative years learning to counter the Frost Queen.

  I stuck out my tongue, crossed my eyes, and made the silliest face I could muster.

  For nearly a minute, my sister held her frosty stare; Princess Elsa had nothing on my sister. However, when I poked out my lip, her eyes softened and the corners of her mouth twitched.

  “You’d better stop or your face will get stuck like that.” She took a sip of tea to hide her smile, but everyone could feel the temperature of the room had just increased significantly.

  I uncrossed my eyes and relaxed my facial muscles. “You might be right.” I massaged my cheeks. “That hurt.”

  The waiters wore red livery with gold braids and black pants, and this one appeared to be about thirteen, with flaming red hair, freckles, and a look of pain in his eyes. He reminded me of Opie from The Andy Griffith Show. He stood very straight and looked so serious it was almost laughable.

  I leaned close to my sister. “What’s this about?”

  Jenna shrugged. “I have no idea. I got a call saying our presence was requested.”

  Harold didn’t keep us in suspense long. Opie and a slightly older waiter, who reminded me of Eddie Haskell from Leave It to Beaver, took our orders. Once the orders were placed, Harold stood up.

  “Ladies and gentlemen.” He smiled at each of us. “Grace and I are so pleased to have our family here.”

  Mom sniffed, and Harold handed her a handkerchief. He took a few moments to make sure she was okay before he continued. “We’ve asked all of you here to tell you that after long and careful consideration . . .” He babbled on about how concerned and sensitive Mom was.

  Nana Jo leaned toward me. “Is he still talking about Grace?”

  I shrugged.

  “I think he’s drunk,” she said, glancing around. “And I’m going to need a drink if I’ve got to sit here and listen to any more of this love-sick drivel. All this syrup is making my blood sugar rise.”

  We listened quietly as Harold extolled Mo
m’s virtues and Nana Jo tried to get our waiter’s attention. Eventually, she caught his eye and beckoned him over.

  Opie hurried to the table, and Nana Jo ordered a whiskey.

  “I’m sorry, but we can’t serve hard liquor this early on a Sunday,” Opie said.

  “No worries. Bring me a deconstructed Bloody Mary.” Nana Jo smiled. “I’ll put it together myself.”

  Opie left to get Nana Jo’s drink.

  Harold droned on.

  “What’s he talking about?” I asked Jenna.

  “I have no idea, but order me whatever Nana Jo just got. I’m going to need something stronger than this tea.”

  The Eddie Haskell waiter hovered too close to the table, and Nana Jo tried to grab his coattail but missed. He yelped and turned beet red.

  The twins lost control. Christopher tried to swallow a laugh and nearly choked. Zaq spat out his orange juice.

  Harold didn’t seem to notice the commotion. He merely took a long, loving look at Mom and then announced, “We’ll be leaving for Australia on Sunday.”

  “Australia?”

  “Wait, what?” I looked from Harold to my mom. “Where did this come from?”

  Mom gave me a look that shouted, I knew you weren’t listening. “Yes, dear. That’s what Harold has been explaining. We’re going to save the koala bears.”

  I felt like I’d just been pranked. “Koala bears?”

  Opie returned with a tray of tomato juice and another glass with a clear liquid that could only have been the vodka, along with a small dish of olives.

  Nana Jo tossed back the vodka. “I’m going to need another of these.”

  “Best make it a pitcher,” I said.

  Opie turned to leave, but Nana Jo stopped him. “Skip the tomato juice this time. We’ve got plenty.”

  Opie hurried away, making sure to leave a wide berth between him and Nana Jo.

  Mom frowned. “Samantha, isn’t it a bit early to be drinking?”