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“Just curious. I saw a black or maybe navy SUV parked out front. Never seen it before.”
“Maybe guests,” Greta said. “Of the neighbors. Or the kids of the Olsens, there on the corner.” She wagged a finger toward the kitchen window over the sink. “Their children are in college now—hard to believe, I know. In high school, they were always coming and going in different cars, parking overnight, a real nuisance for some of us who think street parking belongs to us. Now, one of the kids, the middle daughter, I think, is at Chico State, and always popping in unexpectedly. Has a boyfriend here, you know; the parents do not approve, but it’s only about a three-hour drive, less if you’re under twenty-one and hurrying back to meet a boy, I suppose.”
The buzzer went off again. “Better go, don’t want wrinkles,” Beverly said before disappearing into the hallway leading to the stairs to the basement, where the washer and dryer were located.
“Did you read this?” Greta asked, tapping the cover of I’m Not Me as Remmi handed her one of the mugs. She took a sip. “Ahhh. That’s better.” With a smile, she finished the last word of the puzzle, then glanced up at Remmi.
“Yeah, I finished it.”
“Accurate?”
“It meshes with what I heard from Aunt Vera, which, admittedly, wasn’t all that much. She didn’t talk about Mom if she could avoid it, and I didn’t press her. Didn’t want to talk to her. From what I understand, they never got along, never had that sister bond.”
“So I gathered.”
“They never seemed to get over that sibling rivalry and . . . well, all in all, Vera just didn’t like Mom much.”
Didn’t like didn’t quite touch Vera’s feelings for her younger sibling. Though she’d never said she out and out hated Didi, Vera had carried a deep resentment for her brighter, prettier, and more popular sister, Remmi had realized. Vera clearly placed herself as the “responsible one” or the “good girl,” both terms she’d repeated often when asked about her family. Vera’s stellar grades had earned her a scholarship, and she’d been the first person in the family to graduate from college, despite the fact that she’d married Milo at twenty and had two children. Meanwhile, Edwina—“Edie” or “Didi,” depending upon whom you asked—had bagged out of Missouri and headed for California without once looking back, while Billy had enlisted in the army.
And somewhere along the way, Aunt Vera had found religion and had dedicated her life to God and the church.
Remmi only wanted to forget the two years she’d spent as an unwanted member of the Gibbs family, but bits and pieces of her miserable life kept coming to the fore, even now, years later. How Aunt Vera seemed hell-bent to beat some Christianity into all of her family. When her husband, Milo, was in town, she’d drag him to church, along with Jensen and Harley. Though Milo might have suffered through the long sermons and even gotten closer to God, Remmi hadn’t, nor had her sons, both hellions who liked to “party” and were always trying to hit on Remmi.
She hadn’t been able to wait to leave the little bungalow in Walnut Creek. The second she’d turned eighteen, she’d been out the door. Her quick and final exit had only been possible due to scholarships, grants, student loans, and the money she’d saved working at the Burger Den while in high school. Everyone in the Gibbs family had known she’d been putting her money aside. What they hadn’t divined was that the amount had been significantly embellished by the remains of Didi’s stash, the money she’d left in Las Vegas after meeting with the guy in the desert.
Remmi had managed to hide the money, and she’d been careful, dividing it into two hiding places. Yes, there was twice the chance of it being found, but half the chance of the Gibbs family ending up with all of it. If they did uncover it, they would think they’d found her entire treasure trove, though she’d silently prayed that her ill-gotten nest egg would be safe.
She’d tucked half of the money into an envelope she’d hidden in the lining of her rolling suitcase, behind the pocket she’d filled with tampons, just to make sure no one would bother it. They hadn’t. The other half she’d slipped into a manila envelope she’d taped to the back of a heavy cabinet on the back porch. The old cupboard was used for storage; it held tools and paint cans, even old pieces of tile for replacement, and it was rarely touched, if ever. Dust covered everything on the shelves, and cobwebs draped over the upper corners.
Then, because she knew her sticky-fingered cousins would be looking, she’d seeded a few of the bills in obvious places, which included her purse and underwear drawer. Sure enough, over time that money—nearly a hundred and fifty dollars—had disappeared, stolen, no doubt, by Jensen and/or Harley. The thought of those two disgusting human beings pawing through her panties caused her stomach to churn, but at least they’d thought they’d gotten one over on her.
So . . . fine.
They knew she worked and had cash lying around, even though she had opened checking and savings accounts. She’d hoped they would think she would only leave it in the two obvious places, and when she’d had a hissy fit when twenty dollars went missing, she’d proclaimed that from that point on, she’d keep all her money in the bank. That act had been as much for Aunt Vera and Uncle Milo’s benefit as it was their sons’; hopefully, they, too, would think all of her money was in one place. Despite all her professed piety, Vera had never thought twice about “borrowing” from Remmi. She either really believed she was going to replace the money or, more probably, rationalized it as her due for taking care of her missing sister’s kid. Pious and God-fearing or not, Vera’s soul was tinged by a little bit of greed and a whole lot of resentment. She liked nice things, and though Milo provided for the family, she still had to pinch pennies once in a while but couldn’t face the daily
routine of a job, not when she had the house, her children, Didi’s teenager, and her church duties to boot. No, no, no, a job outside the home just wouldn’t fit into her already overburdened schedule.
So Remmi had hidden the money, then nearly had a stroke when Uncle Milo had returned from one of his weekly sales trips and decided to fix a few of the shingles on the roof. Aunt Vera had convinced him to paint the fascia board while he was at it, so he’d burrowed around in the cabinet on the porch, searching for enough paint and only a few inches from nearly five thousand dollars.
Remmi’s heart had been in her throat, her palms sweaty, but she’d pretended disinterest as she’d carried groceries in from the car for Aunt Vera, who also was nosing around the cabinet.
“I know I have a can of that paint somewhere,” Milo had grumbled as he’d sorted through the various cans, looking at the labels or popping off the tops with a screwdriver so he could view the color. “I put it right here.” Milo scratched at three days’ worth of stubble on his chin. Tall and lean, weathered from years working on his father’s Missouri farm, he had sharp, deep-set eyes guarded by bushy eyebrows. His brown hair was kept military-short, and at home he favored battered jeans, cowboy boots, and T-shirts. On the road, he dressed in slacks and a sports coat and sold farm machinery throughout the western United States—mostly in the contiguous Pacific-rimmed states, but sometimes into Idaho, Montana, and even Alaska.
Staring at the paint cupboard, Vera had scowled and fingered her necklace. “Could it have fallen off the shelf and rolled somewhere?”
“Did we have an earthquake when I was gone?” he snapped.
“No, but . . .”
“Probably those damned kids messin’ around.” He straightened, eyeing the surroundings of the porch, while Remmi tried not to freak out. She was probably lumped into the “those damned kids” mix with her cousins. Trying to appear uninterested, she passed her aunt and uncle, who were both seriously studying the cabinet and had only breathed again when the missing paint can was discovered hiding behind a larger one and the cabinet was once again left alone.
That had been a close call.
* * *
On the night before her eighteenth birthday, Remmi sneaked out of “her” room, had removed the envelope from the back of the cabinet, thought it felt thin and, in the darkness, peered inside. Her heart had dropped as she’d quickly reached into the manila packet and felt nothing but air. Empty. Her stash stolen. Damn! Tears burned in her eyes, and she felt bitter disappointment that quickly turned to rage.
Five thousand dollars. Gone.
