Gracie's Game: Sudden Anger, Accidentally on Purpose (25 page)

"Anyone gonna eat that last slice?" Justin asked. No one objected, so he took it.

Gracie grinned impishly at her mother. "If
I
were planning things, I wouldn't leave it to chance. I'd bring my own gun. Then if I had the chance to take one from my victim I'd do it. I'd get rid of it after the murder and no one would be the wiser."

Clarissa rolled her eyes at Gracie. "That still leaves us with
how
he got your father's gun.
Plus
you're assuming it was planned. It didn't have to be, you know."

"Someone who had a reason to kill Dad just
happened
to find his gun and shoot at him not once, but
twice
. That seems pretty hard to believe," Gracie said.

"Not if he were really pissed at Dad," Justin said. "When he missed the first time he followed him out to the spook house and tried again."

Gracie shook her head rapidly to clear away her confusion. "I don't think we've gotten much of anywhere."

Clarissa stood up and tossed their used napkins into a box, closed both and handed them to Justin. "Here, put these in the trash, please. Then we need to take care of some unpleasant business."

Justin's eyes pleaded with his mother not to call the police, but he took the boxes and walked around the side of the house anyway. Clarissa waited until Justin had come back before picking up her cell phone.

"I'll just go upstairs and get Charles' suits out so we can decide which one to, um, use," Jennifer said. She disappeared inside the house.

Clarissa called the police station, but of course Lieutenant Freeman had already gone home for the evening. She managed to convince them to give her his private number without giving them any details. She told him only that they'd solved the burglary and he said he'd be there in thirty minutes.

Justin was obviously nervous. Gracie noticed he kept looking longingly toward the pool house. She supposed she couldn't blame him for wanting to "relax" before the lieutenant got there. She managed to turn her back to him and signal her mother by the simple gesture of miming smoking.

Clarissa understood immediately. "Justin, I know you're frightened," she told him. "But it'll only make things worse if you're stoned when the lieutenant gets here. I know it'll be tough, but I think you should give me your marijuana. All of it."

"I suppose you're gonna flush it," he said, somewhat listlessly. "Couldn't I just promise not to use it? Or, I could call Zack and give it to him."

"Do you want to add drug possession to your charges?" she asked him. "And I'm certainly
not
going to allow you to give it to Zack. I know he smokes it too, but that doesn't mean I approve of you giving it to him."

Justin hung his head in defeat. "OK, I guess you're right. I'm scared enough as it is, I don't want to make it any worse. I'll go get what's in my room – but there's more in the pool house, you can get that."

Clarissa agreed and Justin went into the house. Gracie said, "It's in the first-aid kit, Mom."

They met again in the den and Justin handed over his stash, though not without a sigh. Clarissa left the room and Gracie thought she saw Justin flinch as they heard the toilet flush down the hall.

* * * *

Ken Freeman wasn't particularly happy about going back to work after dinner on Friday night, but Ms. Stewart had said enough that he was willing to go talk to her. He certainly didn't seem to be getting anywhere on the Greene case, and it would be nice to get some answers. Experience told him she only
thought
she had any, but you never knew.

Ms. Stewart answered the door and invited him in. When he asked what she was doing there she told him she'd collected clothes in which to bury her ex-husband, and pointed to a shopping bag on the hall table. She refused to answer any of his questions, instead inviting him into the den. Mrs. Greene and Gracie were waiting when he got there, and the kid, Justin, came in a moment later and sat down in a chair at the edge of the conversation area. The three women looked at Justin expectantly.

"Uh, I need to tell you something," Justin began.

Ken usually preferred to stand during questioning, it tended to intimidate the other person. This time he sensed that that wouldn't be necessary, and that indeed it would be better to present a more friendly facade. He took a chair that faced Justin and still gave him a good view of the others as well. "OK, Justin. I'm listening."

"I'm the one that did it," Justin said. The words began tumbling from his mouth as if he couldn't keep them inside any longer. "I was here on lunch, Dad came home and was yelling at me and I just couldn't take it anymore and I had the gun in my pocket so I fired it. I didn't
mean
to hurt him, but he fell over and didn't move and I was
so
scared, I thought I'd
killed
him. I didn't know what to do and then I thought I'd make it look like he'd surprised a burglar and no one would suspect me. But I didn't shoot at him later, swear to God!"

Ken hadn't been sure what to expect, but it hadn't been this confession! Was the kid telling the truth? It hardly seemed likely he'd cover for the step-mother, they didn't seem close at all. The fact that he
wasn't
confessing to the other two attempts made it seem more likely he was being truthful about this one.

"I know you didn't shoot your father, Justin," Ken said in a fatherly tone. "And I believe you that you weren't trying to hurt him when you fired the gun. Can you explain to me why you did it?"

"I dunno, I just wanted to make him
shut up
," Justin replied.

"The two of you were involved in an argument, is that right?"

"Yeah."

"Did he hit you?"

"No," Justin said. "Dad didn't hit me. He didn't have to, he'd just hit you with nasty words."

"Did you feel threatened by his behavior?" Ken asked next.

Justin thought about that one for a moment, finally admitting, "Yeah, I did. He was
so
mad, I didn't know
what
he'd do."

"What was the fight about?"

Justin ducked his head. "I'd, uh, taken some money from his desk. He found out and called me a thief and a liar. I didn't know how he'd known, but Gracie told me he'd set a trap."

Ken looked at Gracie, who was sitting quietly on the couch but looking like she was about to burst.

"I overheard Dad talking about it to Jennifer, at the party," she said. "I got to wondering why he'd even
tell
Jennifer unless he wasn't sure who was taking the money." She explained about the carefully-positioned paper clip. "So if he found some of the money was missing and the clip was in place he'd know it was Jennifer, otherwise it was Justin."

"He never told me about a trap," Justin said.

Though he'd like to know, Ken refrained from asking Mrs. Greene if she'd also been in the habit of raiding the piggy bank. "So you tore up the house and took the other items and tried to make it look like there was a physical fight here in the den."

"Yeah. I hid the stuff in the pool house, Mom's got it now."

Ms. Stewart indicated a lumpy pillowcase on the coffee table. "It was right where Gracie said it would be."

Ken got up to look in the makeshift bag. Cash (he didn't count it), jewelry, everything reported stolen appeared to be there, except the gun. "Where
Gracie
said it was?" he asked.

"Gracie was the one who figured it out, Lieutenant," Ms. Stewart told him.

"How'd you do it, Gracie?"

She explained about the torn pocket and smelly smear, and how her wandering mind had thought of putting a smoking gun in that pocket. She told him that, knowing about the trap, she'd felt sure that her father would've been angry over the missing cash and put the pieces together from there. Including the alibi that Justin had tried to buy, which explained the time frame. Finally she'd reasoned that he'd want to hide it someplace close, and had looked in the pool house.

"Well done, young lady!" Ken applauded. "You were absolutely right, you
did
know something that needed to be put into context. You did a good job of fitting all the pieces together."

Gracie blushed, but said "Thank you."

Ken motioned for Justin to stand up. He walked over and inspected the pocket, bending to sniff the smear in question. "It's a little faint by now, but it's definitely GSR. The lab can confirm that."

"Are you going to arrest me?" Justin asked in a quiet voice. He looked like he might faint.

"Sit down, Sport," Ken told him as he did the same. "I'll have to run this by the DA and I can't promise what he'll say, but I'm not going to arrest you right now. He might well consider it a case of self-defense, or possibly just illegal discharge of a weapon. The fact that you voluntarily came forward with the facts will help. And I'm quite sure your family won't press charges."

"Would it help, Lieutenant, if we get some counseling for Justin?" Ms. Stewart asked.

"Yes, it might," Ken told her. "I know you don't want to wait, but I can't talk to the DA until Monday morning. I can't say 'don't worry', but I will say 'don't worry too much'. Now I have one more question – what did you do with the gun?"

"Oh, he left it on the floor beside Dad," Gracie put in, then realized the question had been meant for her brother. Justin nodded in agreement.

"I think it's pretty safe to assume that Mr. Greene took the gun with him when he left the house," Ken said. "Which, as I'm sure you've already realized," he nodded at Gracie, "means whoever killed him somehow got the gun from him. Though I can't see that that puts us any closer to knowing who it was."

CHAPTER 20

It was Saturday afternoon and everyone was back at the Greene house, sitting on the patio once more. With Clarissa's help Jennifer and Cindy had fixed a sort of pot luck lunch, nothing fancy but plenty of food for the guests. Once again it was laid out on a table in front of the patio doors. This time people mostly just grazed, no one seemed to feel much like eating.

Clarke had come home from school for the family gathering; he'd stay through the following weekend. Clarissa hated for him to miss classes, but understood that he'd want to be there. Cindy had brought a small bag with her the previous evening and was officially staying at the house, though she said she wouldn't move all her things until they knew what was in Charles' will. She said she'd hate to get all moved in and then find out they
both
had to move elsewhere.

Clay was there with Clarissa, and Bill offered his condolences to the family, telling them he'd be pleased to help them in any way he could. Justin (without Zack for once) sat apart from the group and fidgeted until his mother insisted he join them, telling him he had as much right to help make these decisions as anyone else. That seemed to please him.

Susan and Jim had come over from across the street, and even George next door had joined them. There was no loud music for him to complain about today. He managed an excuse to look inside the house; he would never have said it to them, but he was hoping to get the commission to sell the house. Always, of course, assuming that it
would
be sold, but he suspected that would be the case.

Jeanine breezed in wearing her work clothes, loudly proclaiming she couldn't stay all afternoon. She'd swapped shifts with someone and had to go in at 3:00. She made a big show of hugging all her cousins and telling them what a horrible time this must be for them. She seemed to have realized she should at least
try
to act like she was grieving.

The mood was somber, as they were discussing the funeral plans, which was scheduled for 10:00 on Wednesday morning. Clarissa told them that Charles' body was at the funeral home, and they needed to make a final decision about the casket so the body could be readied for viewing.

"Charles never said much about what kind of funeral he wanted," Clarissa said. "Like most most of us, I suspect he thought there was plenty of time to think about that kind of thing later."

Most of her audience simply nodded in agreement, though there were a couple of quiet and uncomfortable laughs. Jeanine suddenly burst into tears and threw herself on Justin, who happened to be sitting next to her. He patted her ample shoulder a little awkwardly, then eeled out of her grasp and went to stand behind his mother's chair. Jeanine continued to sniffle and sob. Susan got up and went inside the house.

"Rather than have this mob descend on the funeral home, I thought it would be easier to bring their brochure here. That way we can all come to an agreement and Jennifer and I will let them know." Clarissa handed a stack of pamphlets to those on either side of her.

"You mean we don't actually get to
see
the coffin?" Jeanine asked.

"You're welcome to come with us, if you'd like," Clarissa told her.

"Dammit, you
know
I've gotta work today!" Jeanine said heatedly. "I had to change my schedule just so I could be
here
, and that putz Tony will probably be pissed about it. I'm a member of this family too, but looks like I'm SOL as far as being involved in this important time in my only brother's life."

Clarissa resisted the urge to say something ugly, though she certainly thought it. There was a bit of an edge to her tone when she spoke. "Jeanine, I'm trying to work around your schedule as best I can, but you're not the only family member here. Please take a few minutes to look at the brochure and then we'll
all
talk about it."

Susan returned with a drink for Jeanine, who took it without a word and drained half of it in one gulp. "It's a little weak on the Bourbon," was her only comment.

Gracie was looking at the pamphlet. She'd never imagined coffins could come in so many varieties. "Hey Mom, I remember hearing about these new biodegradable coffins. They make 'em out of compressed newspapers and even banana sheaves. Wouldn't that be great?"

"Gracie, I'm not sure your father would have appreciated that," her mother said.

"I think it's
perfect
!" Jeanine said. "Charles can go straight to Hell in a hand basket! I always told him he would." Her face changed from sarcastic to devastated as she realized she was supposed to be in mourning, and she proceeded to boo-hoo dramatically.

"While everyone's looking at the pictures, let's decide on the pallbearers," Clarissa said. "Clarke, do you feel up to it? I know your father would have liked that, but you don't have to."

"I'd like to do it, Mom," Clarke said. "I always thought it would be an honor, I just didn't expect to have to do it so soon."

"Uh, Mom? Could I help carry the casket too?" Justin asked.

Clarissa had to work to keep the surprise from showing on her face. "Why, of
course
you can, Justin. I think that would be wonderful, and I'm proud of you for asking. I know you feel guilty about getting into that fight with him, and I hope you don't feel like you
have
to do this to make up for it."

"It's not to make up for it," Justin replied. "I
can't
make up, not now. We'll never have a
chance
to make up and I'll never forget that. But I want to remember something positive about him, and this will be a good start."

"I'd like to volunteer, too," Bill said. "As his best friend for many years it's the last thing I can do for him." He paused a moment in reflection. "When you're young you never think about death. You never think anything can separate good friends. Now here I am helping plan his funeral."

"Thank you Bill, I'd hoped I could count on you. Jim, I'd like to ask you as well," Clarissa said.

"It's a sad duty, but one I would be pleased to perform. Thanks for asking," Jim said. "I think Tom would like to be included, too. I'll ask him if you'd like."

"Thanks, that would be nice. If no one has any objections, I think I will ask Jerry Wilkins, Charles' boss, if he'd be the sixth pallbearer."

No one did, so the list was complete. They spent thirty minutes debating the merits and flaws of the various caskets and finally decided on one. Jeanine stalked off in a snit because it wasn't the one she'd wanted. All other details were settled and the group slowly broke up as people left.

Late Saturday afternoon Gracie was taking a break from homework to water the houseplants. Ava Avocado was doing well and Gracie rearranged the vines, looping them over the curtain rod so they hung gracefully. Mom complained that the window was starting to look like a jungle, but Gracie liked the lush plant. It was soothing to look at, as well as helping to refresh the air in her room. She felt like she needed something soothing after the events of the past week.

Finished with the plants in her room Gracie began making the rounds of those in the den. The big palm tree in the corner was dry again, but she was careful not to over-water it. As she checked the smaller plants she glanced over to see what her mother was doing. There were pictures of Dad spread all over the coffee table.

"What's with all the pix?" she asked.

"I'm trying to choose some for the slideshow," Clarissa replied. "Clarke said he'd put one together, to be shown at the funeral. I think it's a marvelous way to recap a life – better than any eulogy."

"The old 'a picture is worth a thousand words' thing, huh?" Gracie walked over to take a closer look.

"Exactly," her mother said. "This way you can see the person's entire life, the light-hearted moments as well as the important events. It gives you a better perspective on who they really were. Take a look at this one – would you ever have imagined your father like this?"

Gracie took the photo and studied it. Dad looked to be about six, wearing a cheap Batman costume. It must've been Halloween, as he carried an orange plastic pumpkin. A tiny Jeanine stood by his side in a fairy princess outfit complete with a glittery star-topped wand. She laughed and handed it back. "I'd have thought Superman was more his style."

"Here's one from his Prom," Clarissa said. "Doesn't Clarke look just like him?"

"Oh, look!" Gracie said, picking up another picture. "Here's one when Clarke was just a baby. You both look so proud, and happy too."

"Of course we were," her mother said. "We had everything we wanted, and our lives before us." She stopped and looked off into the distance, remembering. "We thought it was great when your father took the job at the insurance agency; unfortunately his success spoiled him, who would've thought?"

Clay came in, wiping sweat from his face. He'd been mowing the yard, and was chugging down a bottle of cold water. "Whew! I'm all finished out there, how's your project going?"

"I'm getting there," Clarissa said. "I don't know much about PhotoShop, do you think Clarke can crop Jeanine out of this picture?" She pointed to the Halloween shot. "Or should we leave her in?"

"Leave her in," Clay replied. "It adds to the 'cute' factor. I just hope when she sees it she doesn't decide to re-create the costume this year!"

Gracie shuddered at the mental picture that brought to her mind.

"All girls think of themselves as a princess, even when they're grown and wouldn't admit it for the world," Clarissa said with a smile on her face.

"And I try to treat you like a princess, but I'm glad you don't want to dress up like one," Clay said.

Clarissa smiled fondly at him. "The definition of 'dressing up' changes as we get older."

"Wasn't I a princess one Halloween, too?" Gracie asked.

"When you were four," her mother responded. "I made your crown myself."

"Candy was too," Clay told them. "I think she was six that year. She like to drove us
crazy
fluttering around the house in that long dress!"

Clarissa put the picture down and looked up at Clay with a funny look on her face. She took a deep breath and asked, "Clay, were you
really
with Candy on Tuesday afternoon?"

"Of
course
I was," he replied. "Oh, I know she told that lieutenant she'd called me, but she was just embellishing. You know how she likes her drama."

Gracie glanced at her mother, as if asking permission. Clarissa seemed frozen, not sure she believed her boyfriend but unwilling to push the matter.

"I thought maybe you just said that because you were at some construction site all by yourself, and you were afraid the police wouldn't believe you," Gracie told him.

Clay smiled a little uncertainly. "But why would I be a suspect in the first place?

Gracie gave him a lopsided smile to indicate she wasn't sure of what she was about to say. "Maybe you thought you'd get your hands on my inheritance?"

"Not an ice cube's chance in Hell you'd let me! You're smarter than that." he replied with a laugh.

"But don't you see it makes you look like you
needed
an alibi?" she asked. "And now neither you nor Candy have one. If I didn't know better I'd think it was
Candy
who needed the alibi, but I can't imagine why. She's got no motive, she'd never even
met
my Dad."

Clay's face seemed to fall in on itself and he sat down on the carpet, hard. At first Gracie thought it was because he was all sweaty and didn't want to get grass on the couch, but then she realized it was because he just couldn't stand any longer under the pressure of his emotions.