Page 10 of The Alibi Club

“Does she know that?” Lorna asked, trying to hide her surprise.

Elaine scoffed. “Of course not.” She stared into her phone and mumbled, “Children can’t possibly know what’s good for them. That’s why mothers exist.”

Lorna watched as Elaine Cromwell Frisco stalked her own daughter. She leaned over in a conspiratorial manner and said, “What would the world look like if we all had mothers like you?”

It sounded like a compliment. But it wasn’t.

CHAPTER SEVEN

Brother O’ Mine

JAMIE

After a sleepless night in which none of her sleep remedies worked, including but not limited to Benadryl, melatonin, warm milk, and three stories on the Calm app, Jamie arose from her bed, groggy and muddled. She remembered the sound of someone crying last night, which gave her a deep sense of unease, but she brushed it aside.

The sun was up. Anything was possible, goddamn it.

She tucked Dash under her arm and headed for the coffeemaker.

She heard a knock on the door, which caused her to jump, clearly a case of mild PTSD after yesterday’s maternal surprise attack. She peered toward the front door and saw Rip through the glass. She waved him in. He knew the code on the keyless entry lock.

Upon seeing Rip, Dash squirmed and entered into a fit of barking until Jamie put him down. He quickly ran over to the ankles of Rip, who produced a small stuffed dog toy in the form of a narwhal and presented it to the little dog. Dash stopped barking, sniffed the toy, snatched it away, and stalked off in the other direction. Rip called after him, “You’re welcome, you ungrateful little thing.”

“Coffee?”

“Sure.” Rip rubbed his unshaven jaw. “I can’t believe M.O.M. threw down the gauntlet.”

Jamie and Rip used the term M.O.M. not as a term of familial endearment but as an acronym for the more accurate Matriarch of Misery, a secret nickname they’d made for her when they were kids. Elaine Cromwell Frisco had never been in on the joke.

Her brother had taken a seat on her couch and proceeded to stare down at his feet. He appeared to be deep in thought, brow furrowed. This had to be a lot for him. Rip was a bit of a mess. Jamie wasn’t quite sure what he was doing for a living these days, but it likely involved Door Dash or some other stopgap measure. His aimlessness had never seemed to bother him before, but in light of this new development, she assumed he was shaken.

Jamie had a decent job, granted, one she hated, but she at least could consistently pay rent. Only professional athletes or tech moguls could afford property in Hermosa Beach these days. She’d come to terms with the fact that she might die in a rental unit, waiting for the landlord to repaint. However, when it came to retirement, she and her brother had sort of unconsciously believed that when their mom passed, hopefully of natural causes, at a ripe old age, mean streak still intact, they would inherit her money. In fact, they had probably counted on it a little too much.

Jamie sat down next to her brother, wrapped an arm around his burly shoulders, and said, “M.O.M. is nuts. This is just her last Hail Mary play to get us married off, the dramatic witch. She’s not going to cut us out of the will,” Jamie said in her best reassuring manner.

“I know.”

“That’s the spirit. Let me get you a refill on coffee.” Jamie got up.

“No, I mean, I know she’s not cutting me out of the will.”

Jamie’s head snapped back at him as she looked at her brother. “What?”

“I was going to tell you over dinner tomorrow, but then M.O.M. barged into my apartment and dragged me along to this croissant-laden Brunch from Hell to drop this bomb on us.”

“What are you saying…”

“You remember Poppy? The trainer?”

“Poppy does not look like she works out.” Jamie squinted as she recalled the last time she saw Rip with Poppy, a flat-chested, pale, waif of a girl, with thick-framed glasses and aggressive eyebrows.

“No, she’s a gamer trainer. She trains people on video games.”

“Is that a real job?”

“Well, she and I are—”

“You’re marrying a gamer?”