Twenty-four
By the time Edie and Frances understood that someone was at the door and came out of their room, Joan and Irene, both dressed for bed, were there. Irene was peeking out the closed blinds.
“It’s the cops,” she hissed.
“With pink lights?” Joan was peeking out the other set of blinds. “I don’t think so.”
“Is it Skinner?” Edie asked.
“Maybe. Maybe this is a shakedown,” Irene said.
Frances looked at her. “What exactly would he be shaking down? We look like a bunch of poorly paid teacher’s aides.”
Someone pounded on the door again, and all of them jumped.
“Stay calm, everyone. Maybe we should see who is on the other side of that door,” Edie suggested.
Frances didn’t hesitate—she stepped up to the door and looked out the peephole. She couldn’t see anyone at first. She stepped back. “No one is there.”
“Someone is there,” Edie insisted. “They just knocked.”
Frances stepped up and looked out again. She heard a voice and rose up on her toes to see more through the peephole. “Oh my God,” she said.
“Oh my God, what?” Joan whispered frantically.
Frances yanked the door open.
“Hiii,” a drunken Marcy said, with such enthusiasm that she stumbled, catching herself on the door frame.
The car with the pink lights drove off.
“Excuse me.” Edie shoved Frances out of the way, grabbed Marcy by her arm, and yanked her inside.
“Ouch,” Marcy said meekly.
Frances quickly shut the door and bolted it shut.
She turned around, her heart still pounding. Edie had Marcy on the couch. Irene and Joan were standing with arms crossed over their chests in identical fashion, both clearly unhappy.
“I’m sorry,” Marcy said thickly.
“What’s going on with her? Is she a stalker?” Irene asked.
“What in the hell, Marcy?” Edie demanded. “What in the hell are you doing here, uninvited and unwanted again?”
“And drunk! Don’t forget drunk,” Joan added.
Marcy had slid down on the couch, her head lolling against the back, her eyes closed. “I knew you’d be mad.”
“Mad?” Edie said loudly. “‘Mad’ doesn’t begin to describe it.”
“I’m really sorry, Nana,” Marcy said again, and slid a little more. “I just stopped for one drink. The Flamingo is right there,” she said, and pointed up.
“You just …” Edie put her hands on her hips. “What in the hell are you even doing in Vegas, Marcy Anne Kessler?”
The girl looked like she was about to pass out. Frances put her hand on Edie’s arm. “You’re not going to get much out of her in this state. Let her sleep it off—we can interrogate her with whips and chains in the morning.”
“But—”
“She’s right, Edie,” Joan interjected. “She’s worthless right now.” She went into the kitchen and returned with a trash can, which she set next to the couch. “Come on, let’s all go to bed. We’ve got a lot to do tomorrow and it’s already late.”
Edie glared at her granddaughter as she considered their advice. She finally stalked to the end of the couch, picked up a throw rug artfully draped over one arm, and threw it on Marcy like she was covering a stain.
“Thanks, Nana,” Marcy muttered sleepily, and rolled onto her side.
“She’s killing me,” Edie said as she followed Frances into their room. “Absolutely killing me. She never listens.”
“The young never do,” Frances reminded her. “Remember us?”
“That’s exactly what I’m saying. I remember us all too well and Marcy reminds me so much of me. Remember how stubborn I was? How I could not be told no?”
“Boy, do I,” Frances said with a hearty chuckle.
“Well, that scares the hell out of me, and it should you, too. I made huge mistakes then. Huge! And Stephen is going to kill me.”
“Who?”
“My son. Her father.”
“Okay, okay,” Frances said, throwing up both hands.
“One thing at a time. We’ll deal with your son killing you after we get past tonight’s crisis.
Look, you made mistakes. We all made mistakes.
But you were a badass, Edie. And look on the bright side—Marcy is tenacious.
That’s a good quality to have over a lifetime. ”
“Maybe,” Edie said. She fell back on the bed. “It could also get her killed.”
Or arrested. Frances could just see that girl showing up in the middle of their heist and blowing it for everyone.
What were they going to do about Marcy?
Frances slept heavily that night, thanks to the little pills the doctor had given her.
But she awoke to a throbbing head. She’d probably overdone it yesterday, running around like she was twenty-five again.
When she’d checked in with Amani yesterday (she hadn’t wanted to, but one of the medications was nauseating her), Amani had told her to take it easy until she was feeling better. “Rest is your friend, Mrs. Deluca.”
“I am hoping you hear the irony in that statement as clearly as I hear it,” Frances had said pertly.
“My advice is designed to help you be comfortable.”
Amani was so goddammed unflappable. Frances had to admire that.
She groped around for her little black bag of medicinal magic and slogged a handful of pills.
She wondered idly how much time she had left.
She’d been having such a good time in the last few days she’d forgotten to dwell on the end.
Not that it ever really left her—it was like a constant pinprick of pain, stinging in the moment she remembered, but then quickly forgotten.
As long as the meds kept kicking in when she needed them to, she could avoid thinking about it too much.
She sat a moment, let the painkiller wash over her, and only then became aware of raised voices. She padded into the living area.
Everyone was there—Marcy, bent over a trash can between her knees; Edie, bent over her, lecturing her about drinking.
Joan and Irene dressed and ready to go, Irene leaning one shoulder against the wall, Joan with her legs braced apart as if she thought she might have to fight someone. The room smelled of sick.
Frances pivoted, went back into her room, and took out the pill bottle with the anti-nausea medicine. She shook out a pill and returned to the living room.
“Just so irresponsible,” Edie was saying as she entered.
Frances walked to Marcy and nudged Edie aside. “Take this.”
“What is it?”
“It will help with the nausea.” She pressed the pill into Marcy’s hand.
Marcy didn’t even look at the pill before tossing it into her mouth and grabbing a water bottle from the end table to help gulp it down.
“Why do you have anti-nausea pills?” Irene asked.
“Because I don’t like to be nauseated. What’s going on here?”
“We’re trying to figure out what to do with this situation,” Irene said, using both hands to gesture to Edie and Marcy. “We still don’t know why she is here.”
“How does she even know where here is?” Joan asked. “Did you tell her, Edie?”
“No! I didn’t tell anyone,” Edie said, defensively.
They all looked at Marcy.
She grimaced. “Nana left a list, and this address was on it. It didn’t take a detective to figure it out.”
“A list?” Joan repeated. Now, everyone looked at Edie.
Edie groaned. “I accidentally left my to-do list. Don’t look at me like that. I am postmenopausal and can’t remember my name half the time. But I called our housekeeper and asked her to put it in my closet.”
“She did,” Marcy said. “I was in there to borrow some shoes.”
“See?” Irene said, gesturing at Marcy. “This is why we can’t write things down.”
“Not my Choos,” Edie said with a gasp at the same time Frances asked, “So, what did you do, Marcy? Just hop on a plane to this address?”
Marcy winced painfully as she shook her head. “I googled it first. I dug around and found out it was an Airbnb.”
“And then, what, you just bought yourself a ticket to Vegas with money you don’t have?” Edie asked sharply. “Without talking to anyone?”
“I told Mom I needed to get out of town and borrowed the money from her.”
“Oh my God,” Edie groaned.
“I was going to explain it all to you, but I knew you’d be mad, so I stopped for a drink. Liquid courage, Dad always says.”
“Looks like you had a bucket or two of liquid courage,” Irene said with a snort.
“It’s just really hard to talk to Nana when she’s mad.”
“Well, it’s going to be impossible for you to talk to me now, because I am livid. How dare you invade my privacy again? How dare you chase after me like I’m five? You have no right. It is not your place. And it’s so pushy, Marcy.”
“Okay, okay,” Frances said, and maneuvered to stand between Edie and her granddaughter out of fear Edie might haul off and smack her. Or worse, say something she could never take back. “Let’s wait until Marcy gets her sea legs.”
“Good idea. We’ll sober her up and then I can put her on the next plane to her father.”
“If you do, I’ll tell him what I know,” Marcy said.
That threat brought everything to a standstill.
“Excuse me?” Edie said. “What do you know? Nothing, little girl. I’m obviously on a trip with some old friends.”
“If you’re on a trip, then why did you lie about where you were going? I heard you. I heard all of you in Hunterville,” she reminded them, pointing at Frances, Irene, and Joan. “And then I heard even more when you rented that stupid house in Hunterville.”
The color began to drain from Edie’s face. “You didn’t hear anything. I sent you home.”
“Right,” Marcy said. The color was coming back to her cheeks, indicating she would probably live. “I drove around the corner and walked back to the house through the alley. And then I stood below the kitchen window, which was cracked, and heard it all.”
Joan turned on Irene. “You didn’t shut the window?”
“No! The place smelled like gas. Jesus, this kid is a like a cockroach—we can’t get rid of her.”
“I’m not stupid,” Marcy said. “I understand why I don’t know anything about your past now. And I know you hate Rocco. So do I.”
“Great,” Irene said, throwing up her hands. “We’ve been made.”
“It doesn’t help to talk like we’re gangsters,” Frances said.
“Except that we are, Franny,” Edie said. “Just not very good ones if we can’t shake our own damn families.”
“What are we going to do here?” Joan asked.
The four of them looked at Marcy.
“Please don’t kill me,” Marcy said.
“For heaven’s sake,” Joan said. “If we kill anyone, it will be your grandmother. Edie? Any ideas?”
Edie glared at her granddaughter.
“Irene has an interview. You and I have an appointment on the other side of town. We need a decision,” Joan reminded her.
“I know, I know,” Edie said impatiently. “Give me five minutes with her.”
“Five minutes or else,” Joan said.
Frances shot her a look that basically asked Or else what? But Joan shook her head and gestured for her to go into her room.
Seemed like a good time to get dressed.
Frances shut the bedroom door behind her.
Her headache was better, but she felt jittery, like her blood sugar was low.
What if she passed out? She sat on the edge of the bed and took some deep breaths, her hands braced against her knees.
She was still sitting like that when Edie burst into the room looking wild with fury. And also exhausted.
She searched around the room as if she’d lost something, then looked at Frances. “I told her.”
“About this job?”
“About … us. Sort of. Not everything, but enough. I didn’t know what else to do other than answer her questions.
But right now, Joan is going to drag me out the door if I don’t get moving and Marcy is in no shape to get herself to the airport.
” She picked up a bag and riffled through it. “What are you doing today?”
“Finding a vehicle,” Frances said. If she could swallow down this nausea. She needed to take a pill but preferred not to do it under Edie’s watchful eye.
“Could you possibly …” Edie started, then shook her head and picked up a sun hat.
“Babysit?” Frances supplied.
“I didn’t say it, but could you? I’m afraid to leave her alone now. She could ruin us. If I haven’t already ruined her. Imagine hearing your grandmother is a thief.”
“You haven’t ruined—”
“No?” Edie snapped before Frances could finish. “How would you feel if your grandkids knew about your sordid past? How would you feel if they figured out what you were doing in Vegas?”
“My grandkids?” Frances rubbed the spot on her temple she was sure the tumor was growing. “They’re young and gullible. If they could fit through an air vent, they might come in handy.” She smiled.
“Not funny,” Edie said.
“Not even a little?”
Edie sank down onto the bed. “Maybe a little. What if she can’t keep a secret?”
“She will,” Frances said with much more confidence than she felt. “Go on, do what you need to do. I’ve got this.” She stood up, her bag in hand, ready to dip into the bathroom and take another handful of pills. She could picture Amani shaking her head disapprovingly.
Edie smiled sheepishly at Frances. “Thank you. I don’t deserve your kindness or help after what I did.”
“True that,” Frances said jauntily. “But it’s water under the bridge. We are here now, and life is too short for regrets.”
She seriously believed that. She would die regretting nothing.