Chapter 25
TWENTY-FIVE
FRANKIE
Now
It was midday on Sunday when they finally returned to Aspen Creek. Other than a death certificate for Greg that stated he’d died from cirrhotic cardiomyopathy—a direct result of his drinking—Jackson had been a bust, but like Owen had pointed out, Frankie couldn’t have not gone.
They’d had no luck at either city hall or the sheriff’s office, both of which required electronic requests for records being submitted with a wait of up to two weeks.
The school district Frankie’s sister might have attended flat out refused to share information, stating it was protected by privacy laws, but considering Estelle had homeschooled Frankie her first few grades, it was perhaps fair to assume she’d done that with her oldest daughter too.
That’s to say, if Frankie’s sister had even been with them through the Jackson move.
Anything was possible at this point, and Jackson was too big a city to try finding someone who might have known the Milne family back in the eighties.
It would have been the definition of looking for the proverbial needle.
Yesterday, they’d gone to see the trailer park that Estelle and Greg had called home, but like their house in Ferrisville, it was long gone, replaced by a commerce center at some point in the past twenty years.
After that, they’d driven half the way home and spent the night at a hotel outside Atlanta. Frankie hadn’t slept well.
“Are you awake?” Owen asked from the driver’s seat as they approached Estelle’s house.
Frankie had only dozed the first hour in the car, but the weight of information still uncovered had marred her desire for conversation.
Without knowing what had happened to her sister, she couldn’t help but feel like she’d left something behind in Mississippi, but what choice did she have?
Until she found another piece of the puzzle, like it or not, she was needed here.
“Yeah,” she said, adding with honesty only he brought out in her, “I think I’m just sad. I don’t know how I’m going to go back to work tomorrow as if everything is fine.”
He pulled into the driveway and turned her way.
“We won’t give up. We’ll submit those requests for records and hope that gives us new leads.
We’ll find out what happened to your sister.
I’ll ask Grams to activate her full agent network.
” He tried for a smile, but when she didn’t respond, it faltered.
“Come on—I’ll grab your bag. What you need is some solid sleep in your own bed tonight.
” He got out of the car, and before she’d unbuckled, he’d opened her door, stepping back so she could get out.
He was right. She was tired and mentally drained, and perhaps tomorrow things would look better.
She grabbed the mail, then followed him as they rounded the house to the backyard. “Thank you,” she said. “For everything. For caring about this. I know I seem a little unhinged, but…”
“Not at all.” He stopped outside her tiny home, something both familiar and new flashing through the shadows beneath his brow. “I’m glad I came along,” he said. “It’s been… good.”
Frogs and crickets sang about summer in the thicket behind the house even though it was still only early May.
Tomorrow she’d be back at the school, back to students, colleagues, parents, bills, cold calls, performances, marketing, the looming piano.
To expectations and demands. She didn’t want to.
If she could turn back time to Friday morning, and that feeling of safety and hope that had simmered through her at waking up accidentally wrapped in him with the day ahead filled with possibility, she would.
As if he had the ability to banish the disappointment she’d returned with, she let herself into his space and wrapped her arms around him. He followed her lead, pulling her closer and resting his cheek against her head.
“I’m glad you came too,” she said, inhaling deeply to soothe that still-flailing part inside her. Then she let him go and unlocked the door. “Talk tomorrow?”
He nodded. “You know where to find me.”
After unpacking and showering, Frankie texted Kayla to let her know she was back, and then she opened her work email to see what she’d missed. Matt had also texted to check in, but she put off responding. She’d known him for so long that it felt better to say nothing than to lie.
While the page loaded, she sifted through the stack of mail she’d brought in.
There were a few bills, some ads, and a couple of straggling condolence cards, but one envelope in particular caught Frankie’s eye.
It was from the Register of Deeds office, and she tore it open immediately, hoping it would be what she’d been waiting for these past few weeks—the death certificate that would allow her access to Estelle’s private account.
“Finally,” she mumbled as she scanned the page.
What time would the bank open tomorrow? Eight?
Nine? No, she’d have to go to the school first or she’d never hear the end of it.
She’d go at lunch, she decided, and she’d bring her birth certificate too to prove her identity beyond a mere driver’s license.
She wasn’t about to give the bank another reason to turn her away.
If Starview’s struggles had been the result of any kind of financial duplicity on Estelle’s part, Frankie would soon know.
The thought made her feel better, but the relief was short-lived as the email at the top of her inbox was from Mrs. Nolan reminding her that the interview with Orla would take place at Estelle’s house Tuesday at noon, and did she need help getting things in order?
I’d be happy to send my cleaning lady over, and how about some fresh flowers? she wrote.
Frankie started typing a declining response, Estelle’s voice ringing in her head. They’d always cleaned the house together every Saturday morning like clockwork because “caring for your things is good for the soul.”
What about caring for your daughters, Mom?
Frankie thought, a pang of some serrated emotion cutting deep without warning.
It surprised her, and she blinked it away before it could take hold, but she also erased the message and started over, this time responding in the affirmative and with gratitude.
It would free up time she already didn’t have.
Maybe Lavignes didn’t ask for help, but they sure as hell could accept it when offered.
If Frankie had worried that the hours leading up to Monday noon would drag on, she was woefully mistaken.
Two days she’d been gone from work, and yet the stack of messages left on her desk added up to double digits.
The moms must have directed vendors to reach out with proposals for table, chair, and tent rentals because several of the messages listed dollar amounts in Kayla’s florid handwriting that were well above what Frankie wanted to spend.
Hope surged at two messages from potential sponsors she’d contacted last week though, so she returned those first. One was a florist in Cornelius whose daughter had been a Starview student several years ago, and she wanted to donate a few arrangements for the occasion as well as two gift certificates for classes she offered in her shop to be included in the auction.
The other was from the owner of a successful sporting goods chain who’d asked Estelle out on several occasions in the past. Frankie wasn’t sure what he might want to contribute, so she’d left her request open ended.
She called the number Kayla had written down, and he answered in the middle of a booming laugh.
“Whoo, sorry about that,” he said. “This is Cal. What can I do you for?”
“Frankie Lavigne returning your call,” Frankie said.
Cal hushed someone on his end, and when he returned, some of the joyfulness in his voice was gone. “Oh Frankie, Frankie. What a blow to us all. Sorry I missed your call last week.”
“No worries,” Frankie said, wishing she could fast forward through the commiserating part of the call. “Glad I got hold of you now.”
“As am I. It’s a wonderful thing you’re doing, and I absolutely want to be a part of it.”
Frankie’s spirits lifted. “Oh yeah? That’s great. Did you have something particular in mind? Sponsoring a basket perhaps? A gift card to your stores?”
“Oh, I think I can do you one better,” Cal said, and Frankie could practically hear him rubbing his palms together. “I’ll give you a check for ten thousand dollars, and in exchange, you put our logo in your print materials…”
Frankie’s stomach went into freefall. That was by far the most generous donation they’d received so far, and she was about to tell him as much when he continued.
“And play the exit tune at my son’s wedding this weekend.
I’m thinking a gorgeous piano version of ‘Evermore and Always.’ The cellist we’d booked broke her wrist biking of all things. What do you say?”
Frankie gripped the phone tighter. She must have misunderstood. He wanted someone to provide the music, not her specifically. “I’m sure we have a couple of students who’d be available,” she said.
“No, no. It has to be you, Frankie. Everyone we know will be there, and as Estelle’s daughter, you’re a name now. It will lend the event a certain something extra—you playing one of her songs.”
Cold sweat broke out at Frankie’s temples. Of all the things…
So far, the few notes she’d managed to play to help one of her students had provided nothing but false hope. No matter how she tried at home, her hands still wouldn’t cooperate, which meant if she said yes to Cal, she might very well make a fool of herself.
On the other hand, if she told him no, they’d lose all that money, and it was a big check to turn down.
Maybe too big for there to be a real choice.
Her ability to play could return in the next few days, and if it didn’t, wasn’t that future Frankie’s problem?
Today’s Frankie had an event to plan, students to teach, an interview to prep for, and, more immediately, a bank appointment to get to that may or may not reveal the woman Cal so adored embezzling school funds and who knew what else.
“You have yourself a deal,” Frankie said, forcing conviction into her voice.
That’s right. Fake it until you make it, Estelle said in her head, and Frankie suppressed the urge to swat the sentiment away like an annoying fly.
What if she’d told him the truth instead, she thought as soon as she’d hung up. That her fingers hadn’t cooperated since Estelle’s death. Maybe he would have understood and chosen to support her and the school anyway because he was a decent man. Had Estelle thought about that?
No, not Estelle. Frankie’s eyes swept across the motivational posters on the walls, the shelves stuffed full of music, artwork from former students. Had Frankie thought about that? Wasn’t faking it assuming the worst of people? Was that who she wanted to be?
“There you are.” Kayla strode into the room unaware of Frankie’s inner conflict and sat down in the chair across from her. “How was the trip?”
Frankie forced all thoughts of Cal out of her mind. What was done was done, and they did need that money. “Not as enlightening as I’d hoped.”
“Aw, that’s too bad,” her friend said. “But you’re back now, right, and we’ve got work to do.
” She launched into a detailed account of what she’d heard the mom committee discuss and where Frankie was needed most according to them, before relaying lesson notes about Frankie’s students.
“Oh, and I put the invoice from the mouse guy over there.” She pointed to a pile of papers at the corner of the desk. “He thinks he got them all.”
“He thinks?” Frankie reached for the invoice and balked as she spotted the amount. “Fifteen hundred dollars?”
“I called around, and he had the lowest price.”
Frankie sighed. “It’s fine. I’ll… pawn some of Estelle’s jewelry that she never wore or something.”
“Right.” Kayla chuckled, but it caught in her throat when Frankie didn’t join her. “Wait. You’re serious?”
“You know there’s no money,” Frankie said. “So yeah. I guess I am. Whatever it takes.” She stood. “Which is why I’m heading back to the bank now. Cross all your fingers and toes that that private account isn’t as empty as her other ones.”
This time, she called ahead to the bank to make sure she could get in to see the same banker as last time, and he was ready for her within minutes of her arrival. He tried to make small talk as they sat down, but Frankie’s objective was single-minded—get into the account and get some answers.
“I brought the death certificate as you requested,” Frankie said, adding because she couldn’t help herself, “Though by now her passing should be easily verifiable by a simple online search.”
“That may well be the case,” Bob said, “but rules are rules.” He navigated to Estelle’s accounts on his computer. “I’ll take your ID too, and do you have a birth certificate by chance? I’d need that to establish your relationship.”
With a sense of triumph, Frankie produced exactly what he’d asked for, practically seeing Estelle nodding approvingly before her mind’s eye.
Lavignes come prepared. She handed Bob the documents and sat back in her chair.
Finally, she’d be able to put at least one of the many conundrums that were bothering her out of her mind.
“Hmm,” he said, reading over her birth certificate before looking up. “Do you have the original of this?”
Her confidence quivered. “What do you mean? That is the original.”
He turned the page over, read it again, held it up to the window, scratched his temple.
“No…” he said. “There’s no watermark and no embossed seal.
” He placed it down on the desk between them and looked something up on his computer.
“And in fact, this stamp here”—he pointed to the page—“is not actually the seal of Mississippi.”
“I was born in a different state?” Had she misread things? Misunderstood? Frankie pulled the paper closer so she could see, but no, the place of birth clearly said Jackson, Mississippi.
“I don’t know about that,” Bob said. “But I do know this isn’t a real birth certificate.”