Bill began to warm to the task. "When I got back to the car I used the drill to foul the gun barrel. I didn't care about the serial number. If the police couldn't prove it was the murder weapon it didn't matter whose gun it was. I was going to break a window when I got home and say the house had been broken into and my gun was stolen. But I didn't have to."
"Pretty ironic, in light of what really happened," Gracie remarked. "That would've looked
really
suspicious, but you'd covered your trail well enough that I doubt the lieutenant could've proved anything."
"I
did
notice there were four empty cartridges," Bill continued, almost as if she hadn't interrupted. "I thought that was odd. Charles would've kept the gun fully loaded. But I didn't have time to worry about it. I unloaded the gun and wiped down the bullets and casings, put them in the bag. Wiped down the gun and put it in there too. I was wearing latex gloves so I wouldn't inadvertently leave any DNA. At the campground I opened up the bag and added water and some dish soap."
"Dish soap?" Gracie asked, clearly surprised.
"Yeah, dish soap," he agreed. "Everyone thinks you need fancy chemicals to get rid of fingerprints, but common every-day dish soap works just as well. You use it to clean grease, right? No more grease than is on your hands, soap will melt it easily. I just threw some dirt into the fire pit to cover the ashes from the burned clothes, but I picked out the melted bits and tossed them out the car window on the drive back. The drill bit, too. I know that sounds a little OCD, but obviously I wanted to take no chances."
"Obviously," said Gracie.
"I stopped at the drive-in and got some fries and a soda. I doubt you'll believe me, but I was scared. I couldn't believe I'd really killed him. I needed something to eat, and it gave me the excuse I needed to throw things away. I worked at a burger joint in college – that was the job your dad got for me. The trash at those places is
gross
, full of grease and slimy lettuce and soggy buns. I've always thought it would be the
perfect
place to toss a murder weapon."
"So you ate the fries and put the baggie with the gun in the paper bag along with the rest of your trash and threw it all away," Gracie surmised.
"I tossed in the paper towel I'd used to clean the gun, and the gloves too. Separately from the bag; once they got smeared with mustard and melted ice cream they wouldn't prove anything," he told her.
"I just have one more question," Gracie said. "What was it that distracted Dad and gave you the chance to hit him?"
"His cell phone rang," Bill said. "He knew better than to answer it, but it startled him and he glanced at his pocket."
"That would have been Mrs. Greene calling her husband to tell him the house had been burglarized." It was Lieutenant Ken Freeman's voice.
Bill whirled around and stared, mouth open and eyes bugged out in shock. Ken stepped out of the storage room and walked into the lab. Gracie ran to his side, and only then did he put his gun back in the holster.
"You planned all this," Bill said to Gracie. "You knew you couldn't prove anything, so you wanted me to confess. Guess you had some luck too, asking you to get the acid gave you the chance to let the lieutenant in the back door."
"I'd have thought of something," Gracie said.
"I've been here the whole time," Ken said. "I've got it all on tape. Gracie told me her theory yesterday but you were careful not to leave any evidence. We've contacted Jesse Conover, he confirmed he'd been to see you and thought you were his father. His resemblance to Mr. Greene is remarkable. The boys will start digging through the garbage as soon as you tell us which drive-in you stopped at, we'll find the gun. You're under arrest for first degree murder."
Bill looked at Gracie with sadness in his eyes. "He didn't have to cover you, Gracie. I wouldn't have hurt you."
"You already did, Bill," she said. "You already did."
"It was just three weeks ago," Gracie said to herself, "that I didn't want to go to the party at Dad's. Now I'm really glad I did." She was once again sitting on the patio at what she'd always think of as her Dad's house, with family and friends again gathered. She could almost believe it was that same day, that her Dad would come walking out the patio door any moment now to attend the grill.
But it was Clarke cooking burgers and wieners, wearing a silly apron and chef's hat. This wasn't exactly a party, more a chance for everyone to get together and talk about what had happened and how it would change their lives. Mom was here with Clay, and Candy had come along too. Justin and Zack were swimming, though this time they'd invited a couple of girls.
Aunt Jeanine was making her own drink, mostly because everyone had ignored her demands for service. Jennifer and Cindy were setting out condiments, bowls of salads and side dishes, and plate of desserts. Jim and Susan Holloway were talking to George Thompson and Jerry Wilkins. Lieutenant Freeman said he might drop by, lured by the promise of free food.
Jesse Conover was helping Clarke cook. That was one good thing to come out of all this, Gracie thought. Siblings that had never known about each other's existence had a chance to get to know each other and become friends. Mom had called him to make sure he understood that no one blamed
him
; she'd paid for his plane ticket so he could join the group today.
Gracie's friends were here today, too; Shawna and Cheryl, Chris and Kelly. She felt surrounded by love and friendship, yet was sitting by herself thinking how much she missed her father. She'd just decided she needed to quit wallowing in her grief and get up to talk to someone when Carrie Stephens sat down beside her.
"Hey, Carrie. You having fun?" Gracie asked.
"Yeah, sure. This is a great house, wish I had a pool," Carrie replied. "Uh, Gracie, can I ask you something?"
Gracie was a little surprised, she and Carrie weren't exactly friends. "OK, I guess."
"What's up with Zack?" Carrie asked, straight to the point. "He used to be a lot of fun, but he's changed. Oh, I'm not sorry I got to come here today, but I don't think I want to go out with Zack again."
"I think he's given up smoking dope and he's trying to figure out what he wants to do with his life," Gracie said.
"Oh, but that's wonderful!" Carrie said approvingly. "That stuff leads to hard drugs and gangs and nothing but trouble. But why would he quit?"
"It's a long story, Carrie," Gracie told her. She didn't want to say anything about Justin's stoned actions and how badly it'd scared him; without that it would be hard to explain that Zack was just following along with Justin's changed attitude. Though quite possibly Zack would've been frightened too, realizing after the fact that he might've been considered an accessory.
"But if he's straight now he should be more fun, wanting to do something besides get high or go parking," Carrie complained.
Gracie decided this was a day for truths, though she didn't have to be harsh about it. "Carrie, he's not a Bad Boy anymore, that's what's changed."
"But that's a good thing, isn't it?" Carrie asked.
"Yes, it is," Gracie said. "Except that you
like
Bad Boys, you think you're going to straighten them out. Now that there's no challenge, you think Zack's boring."
"That's not true!" Carrie exclaimed. "Well, maybe a little. Guys like Zack seem to have more fun than the others, but they expect
me
to do things I know are wrong."
"Exactly!" Gracie said. "You can't have one without the other. But hey, maybe you
did
get Zack to see the light, so don't give up on him too quick."
Carrie thought about that for a minute. "Yeah, I see what you mean. Thanks, Gracie. Think I'll go back to the pool, talk to Zack." Carrie got up and left.
Kelly had been hovering nearby and swooped in to take the now-empty seat. "Hi, Gracie. Thanks for inviting me."
Gracie smiled at him and said, "I'm glad you came. It's a little noisier than the picnic, but the pool's heated so we can go swimming later."
"That sounds like fun," he said. "Do you, um, have any plans for the evening? I thought maybe we could go see a movie."
"I'd love to!" Gracie replied. "This is nice, but I'll be ready for a little quieter setting before long."
"It'll be dark in the theater too. Maybe we can sit in the balcony…"
They grinned at each other in mutual anticipation.
"Hey, Kelly!" Chris called out. "You wanna play Frisbee?" Chris threw the disc towards the patio; it would've hit Gracie if Kelly hadn't jumped up to catch it first.
"Go ahead," Gracie told him. "I'll see you
later
. Think I'll go talk to Candy."
Kelly winked at her and threw the Frisbee toward Chris, then moved out into the yard so they wouldn't hit anybody else. Gracie walked over to where Candy was sitting.
"Hi, Candy. Enjoying yourself? How come you didn't bring a date?" Gracie asked.
"This is kinda nice," Candy replied. "Relaxing, you know? I don't think any of my boyfriends would like it, it's too quiet."
Gracie wasn't exactly sure how to respond to that.
"I know you thought I might've been the one who shot your dad," Candy said, rather out of the blue.
"Um, well, it's not that I thought you
did
," Gracie began awkwardly. "It's more like
your
dad seemed to think you had a good reason to. Or that
he
had motive to avenge you. And that thing with the mutual alibis was so
hokey
!" She looked embarrassed.
"I didn't get it," Candy said. "Even when Dad told me who the guy was, it never occurred to me that he'd come looking for me with some agenda. No offense, I thought he was just some old guy looking for a little fun."
"That could still be true," Gracie told her. "We'll never know, so why worry about it? I mean, since it didn't bother you, what difference does it make?"
"I've been thinking about that," Candy replied. "I didn't really want to let him pick me up, I should've listened to myself. I got real scared when that cop started asking questions and hinting that I was a
murder
suspect. Or that my Dad was. It's funny how you think there's nothing wrong with doing something, and it comes back to bite you in the butt."
Gracie was saved from having to answer by Clarke's bellow that lunch was served. She hoped that Candy would start thinking about the consequences of her actions, which would please Clay no end.
Everyone filled their plates and sat down at one of the tables on the lawn. Clarke raised his soda bottle in the air and offered a toast. "To friends and family. Jesse, we're glad to call you both!"
Jesse looked a bit embarrassed, but responded, "To Charles Greene."
Gracie felt a bit misty-eyed, covered it by digging into the heap of potato salad on her plate. George was at the table behind her, talking to her mother who was sitting next to her, apparently a conversation that had been started earlier.
"You'll need to re-paint the bedroom, and replace the shower door in the guest bath," George was saying. "And definitely get rid of that furniture in the den. It's too modern, you need something more traditional for buyers to see. I just happen to have some things that would look quite nice in that room."
"We've got time to make a few repairs," Clarissa said in response. "What about the dining room, do we need to get another chandelier?"
"Oh, I don't think so," George said. "It's a formal room, it looks fine. We'll put some cut flowers in a crystal vase on the buffet for the open house, but we can talk about those details later. If I may ask, what will you do with the books in the den?"
Clarissa hid a grin by taking a bite. "I'm sure we could work something out and include them as part of your commission."
Aunt Jeanine was sitting two tables away, but had apparently overheard this exchange. "What're you gonna do with the silver?" she yelled across the intervening table. "That's Grandma's silver service. It's an antique, and worth a bundle. I don't know why she left if to Charles anyway, men don't care about shit like that."
Gracie was close enough to hear her mother mumble, "Because Grandma knew you'd hock it to pay the rent." She didn't think anyone else heard. Clarissa beckoned to Jeanine, saying "Come over here a second so we don't have to shout."
Aunt Jeanine trudged over to their table. Cheryl told her, "Sit here Jeanine while I go get seconds."
Aunt Jeanine grunted as she sat in the vacated chair. "You're not planning to sell the silver are you?"
"Oh, Heavens no!" Clarissa said. "It's an heirloom, I'd never suggest selling it to strangers. But it needs to be cared for properly, stored carefully and polished regularly. And of course it would need to be insured. Just think how awful it would be if it were stuck in a storage unit somewhere and stolen. Grandma would come back to haunt anyone who let something happen to her silver service."
"I'm not afraid of no ghost," Jeanine responded truculently. "I should've had it in the first place."
Clarissa put down her fork and looked Jeanine square in the face. Jeanine never had been good at taking hints. "Jeanine, I'm sorry, but I can't in good conscience let you have it. Your apartment building's been broken into twice this year, it wouldn't be safe. And it would
ruin
it to dump it in storage. I don't want to seem rude, but you couldn't possibly afford the insurance premiums. I think the best thing all around is to give it to Gracie; after all, it was her great-grandmother's set. Don't you think she should have it?"
Jeanine's eyes narrowed, but she said, "Yeah, at least it'll stay in the family that way."
"Aunt Jeanine, I've been thinking," Gracie said.
"About the silver service? I guess you can use it at your wedding, people will get to see it that way."
"No, but I
do
really appreciate you letting me have it," she replied. "Once Dad's estate is settled, I could loan you the money to get that training you want."
Jeanine's face brightened. "You would? I'll pay you back, I swear. I can
finally
get a decent job and get all the things I've always wanted. But I'd pay you back first, if you'd do that for me."
"Well, I was thinking that the best way to do it would be to have you move in while you went to classes," Gracie said. Out of the corner of her eye she saw her mother's look of horror which was quickly turned into a cough.
"That'd mean I'd have to give up the apartment," Jeanine said. "Then I'd just have to get another one later."
"Yes, but the point is you wouldn't have to worry about rent or working, you could concentrate on studying," Gracie told her. "We could all see how well you're doing, and Mom and I could help you if you didn't understand something, too. Of course you'd have to help us out around the house, do your fair share of cleaning and cooking. Wouldn't that be great?"
Under the table Clarissa kicked Gracie's ankle.
"Well, I don't know," Jeanine began uncertainly. "I like where I'm at right now, I could study there just fine. Your house is bigger, I'm not sure I could vacuum all that carpet, what with my bad back and all."
"Oh, once a week would be fine, I'm sure," Gracie said airily. "And Mom doesn't like dirty dishes in the bedrooms, but that's OK, we have a dishwasher."
"Once a
week
?" Jeanine's voice squeaked.