Deadly Reunion (12 page)

Melodie
sat back down, staring off into space, considering. “If what you are telling me is true, then . . .” Melodie sighed and placed her hand on Kyle's knee. “I would like to hire you. I'll pay you whatever you want. Just name your price.”

“I can't,” K
yle shook his head regretfully. “I just thought you should know.”

“Please
, you must help me.”

“I'm sorry. I'm not even licensed to practice in Colorado,” Kyle said
, wondering if he even needed a license to act as a private investigator.

“That's no problem.
I can get you a license.” Melodie smiled at his shocked look. “My husband's—my late husband's—brother is a state senator. Let's just say he owes me a rather large favor.”

Melodie
stood up and walked over to a large ornate credenza. Opening a drawer she pulled out a small pad of paper and began writing. “Here's my cell phone and my brother-in-law's number. You fill out whatever application or paperwork you need to, and we’ll make sure it goes through without a hitch.”

Kyle was tempted. Very tempted
, but also scared to death of Grace. He could just imagine her reaction. She'd kill him. There's no way she would go along with this. He shook his head. “I’m sorry, Melodie. I can’t—”

“I'll pay you $
10,000 up front.”

“I'll have the application to you by the end of the day.
Just do me one favor. Don’t tell Grace about this just yet.”

“
Don’t tell me what?” Grace asked, as she walked into the room.

“
We are . . .” he began, looking at Melodie, who stared at him blankly, “being honored for an award back in New York. Best Detective Agency in the Greater Manhattan area. I wanted it to be a surprise, but oh well, I guess the cat is out of the bag, as they say. Oh my, look at the time,” he said looking toward the grandfather clock in the hall. “I’d better be on my way. I don’t want to miss my plane.”

Grace watched in confusion as Kyle hurriedly walked to the door, almost running over her in his haste to get out of the room.

After telling Melodie she would be right back, she dashed out the door after him. “Kyle,” she called, as she hopped down the steps, “what are you up to?”

“Don't worry a
bout a thing,” he yelled back. “I'll just drop the rental car off at the airport.”

Grace stood at the bottom of the stone stairs
, and watched him drive away. He didn't even say good-bye, Grace thought sadly, as she walked up the stairs and back into the house.

CHAPTER NINE

G
race gripped the
armrest next to her and sent a little prayer above that she, and her newly licensed brother would get home safely. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath, as she felt the right side of the car briefly leave the pavement, and then just as quickly swing back onto the road.

This is
n't how she wanted to die. Speeding along in Jeff's used, rusted, extremely old, yellow Volkswagen with hand painted black racing stripes. “Jeff, I really appreciate you picking me up, but I thought Mom was going to come and get me,” Grace yelled over the music blaring over the radio.

“Mom's at the store.
Hope wanted some special type of seaweed, wheat grass, or something disgusting. What is wrong with her?”

“I have no idea. Are you watching the road?” Grace asked
, feeling her stomach do somersaults.

“Yes,” he sighed, “of course
, I'm watching the road.” Jeff turned his head to look at his older sister. “Would you open your eyes? I'm a good driver. I've been driving for two months now, and I've only had one ticket, which wasn't even my fault. It was my friend Cameron's fault. He should have been the one who got the ticket. After all, he was the one driving.”

“That's great, Jeff.
Look we need to talk about—” Grace stopped herself and opened her eyes. “Why would you get the ticket if he was driving?”

“Because
, technically, I was the one in the driver's seat.”

Grace opened her mouth to ask how that was possible
, when Jeff made a sudden stop throwing Grace forward against her seatbelt. “That's it! Jeff, I want to drive.”

“Look,” Jeff said
, pointing to a small brick house on the corner of the street. Grace stared at the house wondering what she was supposed to be looking at. It was a charming house, but Grace doubted her brother had suddenly developed an interest in architecture.

Gra
ce threw up her hands annoyed. “What am I supposed to be looking at?”

“That's Principal Collins house.”
Jeff said giggling.

“
No, it’s not. Mr. Collins lives on Franklin Street. In a giant two story.” Grace looked at the house. As cute as the bungalow was, it couldn’t possibly compare to the house on Franklin Street.

“He d
oesn’t live on Franklin Street. I did some yard work for him a few years ago. This is his house.”

“
Fine. I’ll take your word for it.” Grace leaned her head back against the headrest, wondering why he would have sold his family’s gorgeous Victorian with those pretty gingerbread features to move to this little place. “Why are we still sitting here?”

“
Didn’t you see who walked in there? Whatshername? She’s an English teacher. She just walked in there wearing a leather skirt and boots up to her thighs.”

“U
nless I'm mistaken, Mr. Collins is single. He can do as he pleases.” Grace felt a monetary pang of sorrow. Poor Diana.

Jeff just shook his head.
“Uh uh, not after she got my girlfriend in trouble last month. Portia was in her third period English class. Whatshername told her she wasn’t
dressed appropriately
. Whatever that means. The principal made Portia go home and change. She was dressed better than whatshername is now. What a freak. Portia would love this. Look, here they come,” he said, taking out his phone and pointing it at the couple.

Grace
reached for the phone before he could take their picture. By the time she was able to wrestle the phone away, Mr. Collins and whatshername had gotten into a rather dilapidated truck and driven away.

Handing
him back his phone, Grace tried to explain the difference between appropriate school wear and appropriate date wear.

“Whatever
,” he said dismissively, as he pressed on the accelerator barely missing the car parked on the side of the road. “Besides, whatshername isn’t single, she’s married.”

*  *  *  *

“Mom, tell Grace that I'm a good driver,” Jeff yelled, as he ran into the house ahead of his sister.

Grace closed the door behind her, suppressing the urge to bend down and kiss the floor. It's
only a ten-minute drive from Melodie's home to Grace's parents' home. The way Jeff drove, it took less than three. Three minutes of mind numbing, pure terror. What idiot gave him a license? “Dad,” Grace shouted turning toward the family room. “Have you driven with Jeff?”

Grace walked in the fam
ily room. An infomercial for wrinkle cream was playing on the fifty-foot television. All the lights were off and the lone occupant of the room, her father, Will Holliday, was sprawled out in the worn leather chair, which had strategically been placed in front of the TV for optimal viewing, remote control in hand and sound asleep.

Grace smiled.
Despite the events of yesterday and today, it finally felt like she was home. She had liked living in New York. She had never been lonely. New York was exciting. There was always something to do, and somewhere to go. But this was home and she suddenly realized how much she had missed it.

Grace gently took the remote control out of her fathe
r's hand and turned off the TV.

“I was watching that.” Grace's father suddenly sat up and looked around. “Oh Gracie, you're home.
It's about time. Where've you been all day?”

“
Melodie's”

“I'spect she's pretty tore up.”

“She's handling it well, I guess,” Grace couldn't image what she would do if something happened to one of her siblings. “She's thrown herself into the funeral arrangements. We spent the day picking out the casket, flowers, and tombstone. We were just about to go to Crystal's and pick out the outfit she would be buried in when Diana insisted Melodie go to bed. I'm exhausted.”

“Hmm
, your mother and I have been waiting to talk to you all day,” he said, reaching out a hand to stop her from going upstairs. “What's all this detective business about? Who is this detective you work for? Hope said something about him working mainly on street corners. What, exactly, does that mean?”

Grace gritted her t
eeth. Hope! “Daddy, you know Hope has a wild sense of humor.”

“No
, she doesn't.” Her father countered.

Grace sighed.
“I mean, she likes to exaggerate.” Surely, her father couldn't deny that. “Oh my gosh, look at the time.” Grace yawned loudly. “It is way past my bedtime.” Grace leaned down and kissed her father on the cheek. “Night, Dad. See you in the morning.”

Grace patted her father on the shoulder and turned towards the doorway
, only to find her mother blocking the only exit out of the room. “Oh no, you don't. I want to know who Kyle Drake is, too. I thought he was your assistant at the toy company. I've been talking to Hope and—”

“Mom,
Hope doesn't even know him. She had never met him before last night. Now, I really need to go to bed. I have to get up early tomorrow. I promised Melodie that I would go with her to Crystal's house in the morning,” Grace reached out and kissed her mother on the cheek while sliding past her. “Is Hope still awake? I just want to check on her before I go to bed. I've been so worried about her all day.”

*  *  *  *

Grace stood in front of the full
-length mirror that hung in Crystal's bedroom. She had to admit, she looked pretty good. She was wearing a lavender cashmere sweater and a flowing white and purple floral silk skirt. Purple was always a good color on her. Grace reached up to admire her new princess cut, diamond earrings with matching pendant. Her sister maybe a pain sometimes, but she did have exquisite taste. It's just a shame the sweater was a couple of sizes too small. Well, that's easy enough to fix, Grace thought, as she reached up and pulled the sweater out from her chest, stretching the material out as far as it would go.

Happy with the results
, Grace turned around to admire Crystal's bedroom. Crystal certainly had been living the high life. Grace had never seen a headboard decorated with crystals before. She reached out and touched the duvet cover. Pure silk. Everywhere she looked, she saw examples of lavish wealth. Silk, crystals, and furs decorated the room. On the opposite side of the bed, sitting over an ornate fireplace, hung a huge oil painting of Crystal.

Grace looked around the room and noticed th
e many pictures of Crystal and only Crystal. Crystal playing tennis. Crystal dancing. Crystal winning some type of award. Grace tried to remember whether she saw any pictures of anyone else as she walked through the house this morning, but she couldn't recall any. She walked up to the giant oil painting.

Melodie
, seeing Grace’s expression, smiled. “Crystal loved that painting. Of course, she tended to love any picture of her.”

Not acc
ording to Kyle, Grace thought. “It’s very beautiful.”

Melodie
laughed. “You should have been here when she had the thing done. She drove Aunt Diana and me crazy. She couldn’t decide on the pose, the background, what she should wear. It was a nightmare. I don’t know how Aunt Diana did it, but she did a good job. I keep telling her she should quit and become a full-time artist, but she won’t listen,” she said, turning and opening up the French door next to the full-length mirror.

Grace followed her into the large dressing room, complete with a giant chandelier and lounging chair.
“I told you the same thing in art class. Do you still paint?”

“
No, I gave that up. I lost interest in it after we graduated.” Melodie stood in the center of the room holding up two dresses. “What do you think, Grace? The blue or the white? She loved this blue dress, but I thought she always looked best in the white one.”

“They're both lovely.”

“I think . . . the white.” Melodie dropped the blue dress onto the chaise, picked up a pair of white high heels and walked out of the room.

Grace looked aroun
d the dressing room once again. Dresses, skirts, fur coats. Hundreds of high heels neatly packed away behind glass drawers. Crystal's dressing room had everything. The only thing missing was her husband's clothes. In fact, there was no sign of Tom, anywhere.

Grace walked out of the dressing room and found
Melodie sitting on the bed with a box in her lap, reading a letter on orange stationary. “Melodie, where are Tom's things?”

Startled
, Melodie jumped up and dropped the box, scattering its contents over the floor. She looked sheepishly at Grace. “I'm sorry. My nerves are just shattered.”

“It's al
l right. Here, let me help you.” Grace bent down to gather up the letters and various trinkets that had fallen onto the floor. She carefully placed them back into the box. Out of the corner of her eye she noticed Melodie wad up the letter she had been reading and stuff it into her pocket.

“They're in the bedroom down the hall.”

“What?” Grace asked, still wondering what was in the letter.

“Tom's things.
Crystal likes to—” Melodie corrected herself, “liked to shop. He sort of, got crowded out. So, he moved his clothes into the other bedroom.” At Grace's skeptical look, she added, “The same thing happened at my house. Except, I was the one who got crowded out. My husband was just as much of a clotheshorse as Crystal.”

“Where is Tom today?”

“I don't know. Probably with James Simpson.” Scowling, she added, “He's always around. Anyway, Tom left a message with Aunt Diana this morning. He said anything we decide about the funeral would be fine with him.”

Grace
frowned. Clearly, the grieving husband.

“Have you
spoken to your boss today?” Melodie asked.

Straker?
Grace thought. “No, not today. Why?”

“I was just hoping you had heard from
Kyle, that's all. I wanted to see if he was going to be at the funeral.”

“Oh, my boss
. Yes, sorry, I spoke to him briefly last night.” Grace had tried to get in touch with him several times the day before, finally succeeding late last night. Surprisingly, Kyle had not wanted to talk. He hung up, promising he would get back in touch with her in a few days. “He’s back in New York, Mel. I don't think he will be able to make it to the funeral.”

“Why, did he say that?”
Melodie asked sharply.

“Well, no.”

“Good,” Melodie said smiling.

“Why are you so concerned about
Kyle?”

“Oh
, I was hoping he could be a pallbearer. Speaking of which, have you heard from Adam? I've been trying to get ahold of him and haven't been able to reach him.”

“Are you sure you want Adam to be a
pallbearer, after what happened at the reunion?”