Kernel of Truth (14 page)

The driver overcorrected again, jumped the opposite curb and this time, without any cars in its way, plowed directly into the oak tree in the front of George and Cindy Calvin's yard. In the oak-tree-versus-Civic standoff, the oak tree definitely won. Sprocket and I heard the airbag deploy with a giant
pop
and then there was nothing but a hissing noise coming from under the crushed hood of the Civic.

Sprocket and I started to run. We got to the Civic at about the same time Mrs. Calvin came out onto the porch in her bathrobe. “What in the Sam Hill is going on out here?”

“Not sure, Mrs. Calvin. Someone's had an accident.” I was pretty sure who was going to be behind the wheel of that car. It wasn't the only green Civic in town, but I thought I knew who drove this one.

“I'll say! Who the h-e-double-toothpicks is that?” She looked reluctant to come off her porch.

Normally I admire the fact that Mrs. Calvin manages to have one of the worst potty mouths in Grand Lake without ever uttering a real swear word. It was from her that I'd learned to call someone a “see you next Tuesday.” Today, however, I didn't have time for it. “Call 911.”

I grabbed the door handle and tried to pull the door open, but the force of the impact had jammed the door. I knocked on the window and peered in, seeing mainly the pillowy white airbag. “Are you okay in there?”

The blond head turned to look at me. I took a step back. Just as I thought. It was Jessica. Sprocket raised his head and sniffed. I did, too. Gasoline. Visions of the car suddenly bursting into flame exploded in my brain. I pulled again on the door, bracing my feet and putting my full weight into it. It still wouldn't budge. Jessica stared at me through the window. “Jessica, can you push on the door from the inside?”

She still stared at me, her eyes unfocused.

I pounded some more. “Jessica! Unlock the door!” Still nothing. Behind me, Sprocket was barking as if he could open the car door through sound frequency.

I looked around for something, anything I could use and saw the brick edging along Mrs. Calvin's driveway. I ran over, pulled up a brick, went to the passenger side of Jessica's Civic and smashed the window. That got Jessica's attention.
“What the hell, Rebecca?” With her words came a puff of breath that had to be about ninety proof.

I was getting a little tired of people asking me that, so I didn't bother to answer. I reached in and unlocked the passenger door, crawled halfway in and undid Jessica's seat belt. “You have to get out of the car. Can you open your door?”

Comprehension started to dawn in her eyes. She turned to her door and tried to push it open. No dice.

“Climb over this way.” I slid back out of the car to give her room, but she got stuck halfway across the console.

“I can't.” She collapsed, sprawled across the seat.

“You can, Jessica. You have to.” I bent over to look at her. Sprocket shoved his way in and licked her face.

“Oh, yuck! Your dog slobbered on me.” She tried to wipe her face, but missed, her hand waving ineffectually in the air.

My heart was thudding in my chest. “Jessica, move. There's gasoline dripping from somewhere. It's not safe for you to stay in the car. You have to get out.”

“I'm tired.” She laid her head down on the passenger seat. “The leather is nice and cool.”

“It won't be for long if your car bursts into flame,” I pointed out.

She didn't answer. In fact, I thought I heard a slight snore. Sprocket licked her face again. She waved a hand distractedly in the air like she was brushing away a fly.

Mrs. Calvin came back out onto her stoop. “I called 911. They said they're on their way.”

I listened, but didn't hear sirens. The gasoline smell got stronger. I reached into the car and grabbed Jessica under her armpits and pulled. She slid toward the door for a second then stopped. I gave another experimental tug. Nothing. I looked in. Jessica's leg was caught. I clambered over her and
moved her leg and then shifted back out again. I tugged again. Still nothing. So I tugged harder.

Big mistake. Jessica came free and I stumbled backward, landing hard on my back on Mrs. Calvin's lawn with Jessica on top of me. Mrs. Calvin screamed an actual expletive. Jessica opened one eye, closed it again and then started to scream. Sprocket licked my face enthusiastically.

As I tried to catch the breath that had been knocked out of me, I heard the sirens.

The paramedics had
taken one look at Jessica and whisked her into the ambulance. Dan took a quick statement from me and one from Mrs. Calvin and then headed to the hospital to talk to Jessica after a terse “You and I have to talk” directed at me. Mrs. Calvin offered me a cup of coffee, but I had to get to the shop, and suspected she used instant anyway. As it was, I was late. I barely had the first batch of breakfast bars ready to go before people were lining up at the door.

It didn't help that I was moving slow. My head hurt from where it hit the ground and my rib cage was bruised up enough that it hurt with every breath I took. When the crowd thinned out at nine thirty, I almost wept with relief. I collapsed into a chair at the kitchen table with a fresh cup of coffee with good cold cream and a little sugar. I reached into my purse to pull out the bottle of painkillers I kept there and my hand hit an unfamiliar shape. I pulled it out. Coco's to-do-list notepad. I'd completely forgotten about slipping
it into my purse right before Huerta burst in to arrest me. Self-righteous indignation apparently erased my short-term memory.

I set it on the table. Coco always tended to push hard on pens. She said it was a leftover from living in the days of carbon copies. You had to really bear down to make sure the words on the yellow copy were still legible. I thought it was one more sign of her energy and vitality. Even pens had to bend to her will. Whatever the reason, I could see faint depressions on the paper from where her pen had dug in.

I picked out a soft-leaded pencil from the old sugar tin I kept my office supplies in and sharpened it. Then, holding my breath, I started to run the side of the pencil over the depressions with the same gentleness Antoine had taught me to use when making pastry. My streusels will melt on your tongue in a sea of buttery goodness, and Coco's handwriting appeared on the notepad like cream rising to the top of a stoneware jug.

The date on the top was Thursday, the day she died. My hands started to shake.

The first item was hard to read. I held it at an angle to the light. It looked like it was possibly “Buy sponges.” Or maybe something about tongues? Hard to tell.

The next item was easy. Return library books. Coco was a voracious reader and was at the Grand Lake Public Library at least once a week if not more.

Third item: Pick up copies of plan. Could she have meant our business plan? The one we'd been working on together? The one no one else thought existed? But pick it up from where?

Item four, however, took my breath away. Of all of them it was the easiest to read. Coco must have been pressing down pretty hard on that pen when she wrote, “Change will.”

*   *   *

I had known
that Coco was planning on changing her will. I hadn't thought it would happen this soon. It was part of the plan that Coco and I had been making to create our personal popcorn-and-fudge wonderland. Coco's will, as it stood now, left everything to Jessica. Her house. Her car. Her shop. Her fudge recipe. The fudge recipe that Jessica had been trying to talk Coco into selling to one of the big national chocolatiers for years.

The new will was going to leave Jessica the house, the car, and the shop, but not the recipe. Coco was going to take that with her to the new shop she was going to open with me. I knew that, but I didn't think anybody else did. With no one believing me about Coco and I going into business together, I figured they'd be even less likely to believe that Coco was going to give the fudge recipe to me.

Dan came in at about noon to have our little chat. He waited until I'd set his coffee down in front of him to say, “I don't know what you were thinking, Rebecca. Why didn't you wait for us? Why did you have to pull Jessica out of that car? You knew Mrs. Calvin had called 911. You knew we were on our way.” It didn't escape my notice that I was no longer Bec.

“I could smell the gasoline. I was afraid the car was going to burst into flames. I couldn't stand there and let Jessica burn. She was too drunk to get out of the car on her own.” It occurred to me that Jessica might have been happy to let me burn. I hadn't thought that part through at the time. I crouched down next to Sprocket and buried my face in his fur. At least he was on my side.

Dan rolled his head like he was loosening his shoulders. “Cars don't burst into flame in real life. That's a TV thing.”

“Well, how am I supposed to know that?” I demanded.

He made a noise in his throat. “Jessica is talking about pressing charges, Rebecca. You dislocated her shoulder.”

I had thought I heard a
pop
as we'd gone sailing out of the car. I cringed. That probably really hurt. Good thing she had probably been too drunk to really feel it. “It wasn't on purpose. I was trying to save her from a fiery death.” I pulled out my phone, scrolled through to the favorites list and hit Garrett's number.

“Who are you calling?” Dan asked.

I held up the phone to show him. “Garrett. I guess he's my lawyer these days.”

“Maybe you should put him on speed dial.” Dan got up and left. He didn't even finish his coffee.

Maybe I already had.

*   *   *

I walked into
Garrett's office and found Pearl Bartikowski behind the reception desk. “Pearl, I didn't know you worked here.” Pearl, like her sister Ruby, had been a legal secretary for as long as I could remember. In fact, she'd worked for Mr. Crowner, the attorney who Haley had hired to get me off on the boat joyriding charges that Mr. No Sense of Humor Winthrop had refused to drop.

“I started a month ago.” She smoothed her plump hands over her pristine desk. “Mr. Crowner was making noises about retiring and then young Garrett here opened his office. I'm afraid I didn't give him a chance to even advertise the position. I marched right in, sat down, and started answering the phone.”

“That's . . . enterprising of you.” I wondered how Mr. Big City Attorney had responded to that. Or I guess I didn't have to wonder since Pearl was sitting right here in front of me.

“The commute is so much better and Ruby and I can have lunch together every day.” Pearl's sister Ruby worked for Phillip Meyer. Pearl leaned forward to whisper, “It's driving her nuts that I'm working here, especially since so many of Meyer's clients are coming to Mr. Garrett now.”

“They are?” That was interesting.

“Oh, yes. I couldn't resist giving her a hard time about Miss Coco making that appointment to redo her will.” She wiggled with the pleasure of the memory.

I guess someone else besides me did know. “You knew that Coco was going to redo her will?”

“That's what she said on the telephone when she made her appointment,” Pearl said.

“Garrett said he didn't know why she'd made the appointment.” At least, that's what I thought he'd said.

Pearl pursed her lips. “Oh, I might have neglected to write that part down, but I'm pretty sure that's what she told me. She wanted to update her will. You should have seen Ruby's face turn red when I told her that!”

“When did that happen?” I asked.

Pearl's face fell a little. “It was the day she died. Such a shame.”

“Did Coco say why she didn't want to stay with Meyer?” I asked.

Pearl nodded her head. “She sure did. Said she had concerns about her privacy.”

Poor Coco. I couldn't believe she hadn't realized that Pearl would immediately hold that over Ruby's head and thus make sure Coco had no privacy whatsoever.

Garrett came out of his office, shirtsleeves rolled up and tie a little askew. “Rebecca, come on in.” He gestured me into his office and then shut the door behind me.

“I hear today we're talking about assault charges. You're
certainly keeping me on my toes.” He settled down behind his desk.

I sat down in one of the wingback chairs across from him. “I like to diversify.”

“May I suggest that you stop?” he asked. “I'm afraid that one of the charges is going to stick or that Dan is going to have a stroke. Neither seems like a good option.”

“I can't promise anything.” I couldn't because I knew what I had planned as soon as I left here. If I didn't get caught, it would be great. Since it seemed like I got busted for every little thing—even good deeds like pulling drunk women from potentially fiery balls of vehicular death—I figured there was a good chance of us all ending up at the police station again. “Although I have definitely learned my lesson.”

His eyes narrowed and then he held up his hand. “Don't tell me anything. I really need to be able to swear total ignorance of any plans you have to break the law if I'm going to continue to practice.”

“Fair enough. I'll treat you like a mushroom. You know how they grow mushrooms, right?”

“Exactly. Keep me in the dark. Then, as for this latest debacle.” He shuffled a file folder onto the top of the stack in front of him.

“It wasn't a debacle. I saved Jessica's life when she was too drunk to help herself.” Why did everyone keep forgetting that? I was the hero of this story, not the villain.

“Okay. As for your latest lifesaving activities, I'm pretty sure you're protected under the Good Samaritan law.” He looked up at me sharply. “Your actions weren't willful or wanton, were they?”

“I wasn't aware I could be wanton while pulling someone out of a vehicle.” I hadn't been wanton in a very long time. I wasn't even sure I remembered what wanton felt like.

“I'll take that as a no, then.” He marked something down on his legal pad while muttering, “Not wanton.”

I leaned back in the chair, feeling a little relieved. “So I'm okay, then? Jessica can't press assault charges against me?”

“I'll check on a few things and we can talk about them.” He looked up at me and smiled. It made his eyes crinkle.

“Great. When?” I asked.

He hesitated, then said, “How about tonight? At dinner?”

I blinked. “Like a date?”

“Not exactly. More like dinner with your sister and brother-in-law. It's Friday.” He turned an interesting shade of pink. “Not that a date would be awful or anything . . .”

I held up my hand as I stood. “I'll see you tonight.”

I suspected Garrett hadn't been wanton in some time, either.

*   *   *

I had definitely
learned my lesson about sneaking around at night. It was way too easy to get caught when people saw lights on where they shouldn't be. It was much smarter to let oneself into one's friend's shop during daylight hours. I went up to the back of Coco's store, took out my keys, and let myself in.

The light was dim, but there was plenty to see by, at least for my purposes. I went through the kitchen to Coco's office and froze.

Everything was the same as it had been the day Coco died. Everything. Right down to the blood smeared on the credenza behind her desk.

I was not a squeamish person. I have skinned rabbits and cut up turkeys into pieces. This was different. The blood was Coco's. It was supposed to be inside the person who had been my beacon for so many years.

Coco had spent all of her seventy-two years doing what needed to be done. I would not let her down now. I marched
over to her desk, hoping the thudding of my heart would get a little quieter.

I looked around, not really sure what it was I wanted to find. This had been the last place Coco had sat, though. This had been where she'd done all of her lasts: her last thoughts, her last notes, her last breaths.

I saw a little corner of paper sticking out from under the desk blotter. I wiggled it out. It was a ticket, the kind you hand over to someone behind a desk when you're picking something up. It was for the FedEx Office in Amherst. I was willing to bet all the popcorn in the Buckeye State that it was for our business plan.

The printer's “ready” light blinked on and off. I remembered that Coco had been having trouble with it. Sometimes all it needed was to be turned off and then back on again. I switched it off, sang the alphabet song, then turned it back on. Papers started spitting out.

I picked up the top one and nearly squealed. It was the popcorn fudge recipe Coco and I had been working on. The next one was the salted-caramel popcorn fudge. I held them to my chest. I waited until the printer was done and grabbed the sheaf of papers and the FedEx ticket. Leaving everything else untouched, I returned to the back door of Coco's shop and let myself out.

“What on earth are you doing now?” a voice said from behind me.

I let my head drop. Busted again. I really was not cut out for a life of crime.

*   *   *

Annie shook her
head. “What on earth are you doing, Rebecca?” She continued over to the Dumpster with the armful of trimmings she had to throw out.

“It's kind of a long story,” I said, trying to figure out how to summarize everything that had happened up until then.

“Never mind. I probably don't want to know.” She brushed off her hands. “I do want some coffee and a snack, though.”

Relieved she wasn't still mad at me for assaulting her boyfriend, I threaded my arm through hers and started to walk back to POPS. “I have just the place.”

“You know, you're lucky it was me who saw you coming out of Coco's,” she said as we walked up the back steps to POPS.

I really should have looked around before I opened the door. I was not cut out for espionage, apparently. “You mean, instead of Dan or Huerta?”

“Or Allen. Or Jessica. Or any of the other people around here who think you've gone off your rocker.” She sat down at the kitchen table.

It was precisely because they all thought I was off my rocker that I had to do what I was doing. I had to show them I wasn't crazy or a loser. “I found this in Coco's office.” I pushed the FedEx receipt across to her.