Nearly Dead in Iowa Page 8

  He had a master bathroom that was anally neat and free from dirt or even a hint of soap scum. The smell that I'd encountered that first night assaulted my senses as I fought through the scene in my head once again. A scent tickled my nose—that must be my father's aftershave. But it was intermingled with another familiar scent that remained elusive.

  "Look what I found in the closet!" Alice announced, distracting me from the memories. When I glanced her way, she held a shopping bag overstuffed with pictures. This might be my first chance to see what my father looked like. Once again the question surfaced. Did I really want to know?

  Suddenly it all felt real. This man was my father—a biological connection to someone I didn't know and never speculated about.

  I felt a little like Luke Skywalker. "I am your father, Isabella," the raspy voice of Darth Vader rambled through my head.

  My eyes began to fill with emotion that seemed misplaced considering the circumstances. He was lost somewhere, and in many ways so was I—kindred spirits in an odd and unsettling way.

  Using my bum knee as an excuse, I sat down on the bed as the ladies pulled out photo after photo chronicling his lifetime. A lump formed in my throat as I saw my father grow from a young man to an adult.

  "That's Stan," Ramona remarked pointing to a photo. If I looked up, they'd spot the sheen of tears in my eyes. "Your father looks the same with a few added wrinkles." She pointed to a picture where my father wore a white T-shirt and jeans. "And he always wore that gold necklace with a rabbit's foot and a pair of dice." I examined the photo and searched for something elusive that I couldn't quite name.

  "Is that your mother?" Viola asked as she placed a photo in my hand.

  This life-altering moment needed to unfold in its own time. I took several deep breaths before I glanced at the photo. Despite my preparation, the moment of validation caught me off guard.

  A younger, happier version of my mother looked back at me, capturing youthfulness and exuberance that I'd never seen while she was alive. The melancholy of the moment swooped around me, squeezing my chest.

  When I looked up, I realized I had been lost in thought for who knows how long while Viola asked me a question—probably not for the first time. "Is this you?" She pointed to a picture. When I looked closer, a baby wrapped in a pink blanket lay in my mother's arms.

  Tears dribbled down my cheeks. Plumped up by pillows, my mother laid in a hospital bed. She held me in her arms while my father's hand rested on my cheek. Their happiness nearly leaped out of the photo.

  "Do you?" I fought through emotion to finish my question. "Know what hospital this is?"

  Viola examined the photo with a discerning eye. "Doesn't it say on your birth certificate?"

  I shook my head, too overcome with emotion to speak. The only birth certificate I'd ever seen listed my birth at a hospital in New York, not Iowa. The father section had been left blank. That was definitely my mother in the picture, and the ladies confirmed that was my father as well. That meant it had to be me in the picture unless they had another child nobody knew about. As much as I tried to reconcile the information, it still didn't make much sense.

  "Did your mother go to college in Iowa?"

  I sifted through memories like I could somehow capture what had happened during my infancy. "She graduated from Columbia in New York."

  "Look at this picture." Ramona handed me another hospital photo. This one showed me in one of those baby beds with a pink card showing Iowa City Hospital and Isabella Zoe Gallione printed by the name.

  My life had been a lie from day one. The idea of it sat like a leaden stone in my gut. "Do you see any other photos of them together?" I wanted to confront someone about the fabrications that had been part of my upbringing, but one person was dead and the other was MIA.

  "That's the only one. Didn't see a birth certificate either," Dolly said.

  Viola patted my hand. "Maybe we should call it a day and head home? What do you think, ladies?" Rather than wait for a reply, she helped me to my feet.

  I felt numb. My body didn't want to move. My father had sold me off. Complicit in the lies, my mother's part couldn't be dismissed. Why she hadn't told me the truth? Was she in on the payoff as well?

  My father hadn't fought for me. And the only explanation for that was simple—I was just another one of his get-rich-quick schemes.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  After spending a couple of days sketching and licking my wounds, I came up with a plan to circumvent Viola and the ladies. I felt a little like I had a handful of mother bears hovering over their baby cub—me.

  I composed a note while the ladies were downstairs in the kitchen with their morning gossiping, coffee, and breakfast routine. As I tiptoed down the stairs, I fought back the sliver of guilt. This was about protecting them rather than being self-indulgent.

  When I was able to slip through the front door unnoticed, I didn't attribute it to my superior stealthy skills. I suspected it was more about their excited chatter and the partial hearing loss.

  Not one to tempt fate, I gingerly slipped inside my car, barely closing the driver's side door. My heart kaboomed inside my chest like it had when I'd run the marathon. I pushed down any remorse about being sneaky.

  I slipped the key in the ignition, but nothing happened. My temperamental car had always picked the worst times to do this kind of thing—late for an appointment, making a quick getaway—it never failed. While I silently cursed Joseph and his need to impress with this good-for-nothing Jaguar, I sucked in a deep breath and pounded the wooden dashboard and thought happy thoughts in spite of the urge to take a hammer to the darn thing.

  Just as I started to embrace a Zen moment with the car, a knock on my window nearly sent me through the roof. I clutched at my chest as I wondered if my heart could possibly beat any faster. When I turned, it was Gabe rather than the scary faceless man.

  Relief followed by annoyance made its appearance as he opened the driver's side door. "Didn't mean to scare you. I was headed toward Viola's and noticed you were having trouble with your car. Do you need help?"

  "I'm fine." For once I didn't feel the need to fill in details.

  "It sounded like it wouldn't turn over." He had that somewhat adorable but still annoying grin on his face. I knew better than to get sucked into anything resembling a peace treaty between the two of us.

  I ground my teeth together. "It's temperamental."

  "Sort of like its owner?" His lip curled in a half smile.

  "Is there a point to this conversation?" That might have been harsh, but I was irritated—my car wouldn't start, the ladies would take notice soon, and any thoughts I had of making a fast getaway were fading into the dust.

  "I wanted to make sure you were alright." He opened the door wide and hunkered down so that we were more at eye level. He shook his head and seemed genuinely sorry. "Once your knee is healed, I'd be happy to go running with you in the mornings."

  I dialed back some of the angst as I glanced at Viola's front door and didn't see any sign the ladies had noticed my attempted escape. Taking advantage of his mechanical expertise seemed like a good idea when I thought through the alternatives, which were pretty much nil.

  "I'm fine, except for my finicky car this morning and a few lingering bumps and bruises." I chewed my lip. "To tell you the truth, I wouldn't mind a little company when I run." I was big enough to accept the advantages of having another person with me. It didn't mean I couldn't protect myself, but I wasn't stupid either.

  "As for your car, expensive doesn't necessarily mean better." His smile seemed genuine and my shoulders relaxed. "Want me to take a look at it?"

  "If you wouldn't mind."

  "I'm not promising anything, but it might be something simple. Pop the hood."

  I did as instructed and came around the front to watch. If I intended to keep this car going, I had to have a passing knowledge of mechanical issues.

  He pointed to some wires. "This wire's a little loose." He tigh
tened something. At least I knew the general vicinity of where to look next time. "Try to turn it over."

  With a renewed sense of hope, I went back inside the car. It turned over immediately. "Thank you." Still giddy, I gave Gabe a hug. The strange animosity that had simmered between us from day one seemed to fade into the distance. But when my sanity returned, my impulsive hug felt weird. If my expression looked anything like his, colossally awkward described the exchange.

  "Sorry, I…" Before I could finish my thought, the ladies barreled down the front steps, spotting Gabe and I post-embrace. The squealing and chattering became nearly eardrum splitting.

  "What's going on?" Ramona asked as all four of them had broad, knowing smiles on their faces.

  I guiltily glanced at Gabe, but I wasn't sure why. "My car wouldn't start and…well…" where did I go with the remainder of that thought? The whole thing seemed a little surreal.

  "Come on in for some coffee, Gabe." Viola grasped his arm.

  "I'd love to, Grandma, but I just stopped by to pick up the drill I left here the other day. And then I've got to get going."

  I suddenly felt more trusting of him, especially now that we were going to be running partners. Who would have thought? Maybe I'd gone crazy. Anything was possible at this point.

  * * *

  I felt somewhat guilty when I slunk back inside Viola's house and disposed of the note I'd left. Caught in the middle of a getaway, I didn't know quite what to say so ignored any explanation as to why Gabe and I were having a bonding moment outside. Surprisingly they didn't bring it up.

  "I finally got a chance to talk to my nurse friend about Dr. Hunter. She said he's a known womanizer although he's married. Also there was some talk that he got involved in a scandal involving opioid pain medication. She wasn't sure about the specifics, but it was very hush hush."

  Interesting.

  If I could somehow make a connection between him and Stan, he'd jump into first place in my suspect pool. Was his wife having an affair with Stan as well as my father? Ick…but I guess it was possible. Maybe his wife thought there was an agreement, but he didn't. And since Stan was poisoned by opioids, that moved him to the front of the line in my book of suspects. "What do you ladies think about Dr. Hunter as a suspect?" I wanted to make them feel involved, but still keep them at arms' length.

  Alice shook her head. "I don't see the connection. Even if your dad was involved with his wife, it seems like a stretch."

  "He probably belongs in the suspect pool, but my money's still on Phil and/or Sally," Dolly said.

  "But what about the whole opioid scandal? That gives him means," Viola said.

  "I agree. What are our snooping plans for the day?" Ramona asked.

  "Are we going to investigate some of the other people we talked about? Because if so, that sounds like a hoot to me," Alice said.

  It appeared I would need to fess up and address the issue directly. "After what happened the other day, I think I should do this investigation on my own rather than get you ladies involved." Their collective facial expressions drooped for a few seconds before they started laughing.

  "We've got that covered. Ramona ordered a dozen canisters of pepper spray. That should take care of protection," Viola announced as if she were talking about new fabrics she'd ordered for their next quilting project.

  I shook my head. Senior citizens wielding pepper spray did not sound like a very good combination to me. "Nate and Gabe would kill me if anything happened to you ladies." Somebody had to be the voice of reason, and apparently it was me.

  "They think we're pushovers because we're old, but we have them fooled," Alice said.

  "Like the one time Mr. Granger's cows got lost, we managed to find out who cut the fence wires allowing them to escape," Dolly said.

  "Nate's too busy for that kind of stuff, so we helped out," Ramona added.

  "Finding out about escaped cows is one thing. A murder investigation is something else entirely." This madness had to stop, but based on their determined expression, I didn't stand a chance at winning this battle. My only recourse was to try to figure out a way to mitigate any potential damage. I wracked my brain for solutions to this dilemma, but nothing came to mind. All I could picture in my head was one of these women getting pushed down and hurt much worse than I had been.

  "We won't get hurt because we're not very threatening. Believe me, no one takes us seriously," Dolly said.

  "Besides, we've practiced some good lines just in case we get cornered. Mine is—you wanna piece of me?" Ramona's voice lowered as she growled the line.

  "And mine is a classic. Go ahead and make my day." Alice gave her best Clint Eastwood impression.

  Somehow I resisted the urge to giggle. I needed to impress upon them the seriousness of the situation. "But what if you get caught up in the crossfire—hypothetically speaking." I didn't think anyone would resort to bullets, but I shouldn't make assumptions. It started out with following me home and then a simple note. Next came the shove and then the outright threat. The pressure was escalating, and I had no idea when the next attack might come.

  "You know us—we keep a very low profile. It won't be a problem," Ramona said.

  These ladies did not know the meaning of low profile. If Ramona didn't consider the excited chatter and the nonstop questions to anyone and everyone about what was going down, she could be right—technically speaking.

  No way I'd win this argument. "Alright. But we can't let Nate or Gabe know. And you all have to promise to not put yourselves in danger. I know you fancy yourselves as Jessica Fletchers, but that was TV, and this is real life, and people have guns and nasty stuff like knives and a lot of things that can hurt you."

  "You do know you're lecturing us like we're children, don't you?" Alice asked.

  I gulped back the unexpected bout of emotion. "I worry about involving you. It seemed simple in the beginning, but what happened the other day means someone is scared that we're getting too close."

  "That's exactly why we need to keep pursuing this and catch the guilty party. We decided early this morning that it couldn't be your father behind all this. He might skirt around the law at times, but he's got too big a heart to kill his own friend. Besides, there'd be no reason for him to kill Stan. I don't care what kind of argument they allegedly had. While none of us knew him that well, it was clear he had a good heart. For example, he's found me raking leaves and would shoo me inside and take over doing it himself," Dolly said.

  "And he's helped me carry groceries to my house on more than one occasion," Ramona added.

  "He shovels the sidewalks so the kids don't have to walk in the snow to school," Alice said.

  They made it sound like my father was a male Mother Teresa. Maybe they had more confidence in him than I did—which wasn't saying much since I had zero. Maybe I could learn a thing or two from them.

  "Now that we have all that nonsense out of the way, where are we going today? I know you have something planned. And you aren't getting out of here without us. We need to follow up with Sally's husband Phil," Viola said.

  "Except he was arrested for disorderly conduct and in jail at the time of Stan's death." I hoped this might stem the flow of ideas.

  Did I really want to trust that this would all work out for them? Maybe I needed to make a leap of faith I was on the right path and no harm would come to any of us during this crazy escapade.

  "Then we'll move on to Plan B—the bowling alley," Alice announced.

  Ramona clapped her hands and bounced on the balls of her feet. "I love bowling. I haven't bowled in ages, so I might be a little rusty."

  I was glad somebody was excited about this adventure. I had my doubts of success before I got roped into including the Qs.

  "Should we take my car since yours isn't working?" Viola asked.

  "I think we're okay. Gabe showed me how to get it started if it happens again."

  Viola smiled like she knew something I didn't. Not exactly what I wanted to see. It
made me a bit anxious.

  How did I get this lucky? I tried not to groan as they piled into my car and we started out.

  Prince was slightly closer than Anton to Inez. It took only about twenty minutes to get there. Of course the ladies launched all manner of theories about how best to go about the investigation, with everything from snooping to flirtation—which I was afraid to ask for clarification as it might fall into the category of TMI—so I didn't voice an opinion.

  Together we entered the building labeled Bud's Bowling. Between cars taking up more than their fair share of space, crooked parking, and giant farm trucks, it was amazing I found a spot not too far from the entrance.

  A cigarette-type haze covered the interior even though no one was smoking. I fought down my smoke-induced urge to cough. I had to wonder if it was latent nicotine grime buried into the woodwork, walls, and floors of the place that perpetuated the aroma, or if it was due to the place not being cleaned in a decade or more.

  Joseph used to frequent an exclusive men's club in Manhattan. Whenever he would come home, the smell clung to his clothes so bad I would start coughing the minute he walked in the door. In the early days of our marriage, he'd strip off his clothes and put them in a bag and leave them out on the back porch and then shower to get rid of the remnants. Of course that had changed over the years to something much less sensitive to my smoke allergy. I really should have seen the clues long before my marriage blew up. If I had, I wouldn't be in the predicament I was in now. I could have squirrelled away a small fortune and stacked up documentation that he'd destroyed the marriage by his numerous affairs and had coerced me into signing the crazy prenup.

  "The league area might be a good place to start." Viola's voice and tug on my arm brought me back to the present.

  "Sorry, I was caught up in a bit of nostalgia." Or more like nightmare. We linked arms and started to walk, the other ladies trailing in single file behind us.