Frankie's Back in Town (10 page)

And here Francesca was, so busy settling into her new job, packing up Nonna’s house and filling her days with the fourteen hundred other things that came up between work and home…she hadn’t been accessible to her daughter.

She didn’t think for a second that Gabrielle would have willingly shared news of the incident, but had Francesca been paying closer attention, she might have noticed something was up and figured out a way to get her daughter talking.

The very first time she’d stared into Gabrielle’s sweet newborn face, Francesca had promised to treat every moment they had together as precious. She’d learned firsthand that life didn’t come with guarantees. One moment she’d been a girl, perfecting her part as the Little Red Snake in the school play. She’d wanted to shine because her parents would be in the audience. The next moment she was sitting in the principal’s office while Nonna tearfully explained how a traffic accident had changed their lives forever.

That promise to be a good mother had prompted so many
positive changes in Francesca’s life. But not since returning to Bluestone. If she’d stuck to her promise as carefully as she had through the years, through financial obstacles, night school and marital difficulties, she wouldn’t be in this office while Gabrielle was alone in a big empty house, likely replaying yesterday’s unpleasant incident over and over again.

But Francesca’s promise had gotten buried somewhere beneath the piles of paperwork that had become her life. Beneath the need to prove herself completely different from the girl who’d left Bluestone years earlier.

And her time with Gabrielle had become a casualty.

No more. She wasn’t going to sacrifice quality of life—Gabrielle’s or her own—for anyone or anything. Not a job. Not a town. And especially not for people who were going to judge her on long-ago history.

She could feel the old resentment flare to life, but Francesca was no longer the teenager with the lousy, rebellious attitude. She’d come to understand that her attitude had been her way of trying to convince herself their opinions didn’t matter. When they really had.
All too much.

A self-destructive defense mechanism.

Perhaps she’d been foolish to think she could get a fresh start in a place where there was so much baggage, to think folks would be able to leave the past in the past and get to know her for the woman she was today. But Francesca didn’t accept that. She’d known it would take time, but sixteen years was a long time. A lifetime, in fact.

Yet someone had decided that she was the likeliest suspect in this investigation, and now Gabrielle was hurting.

With a sigh, Francesca picked up her cell and text messaged her daughter. If she stood any chance at all of getting Gabrielle to talk at this stage of the game, she’d have to do it the roundabout way.

You awake yet?

In seconds, the reply came.

Yep.

How are you feeling?

Crappy.

Francesca stared helplessly at the one word, heart aching. Once upon a time, she could make everything better for Gabrielle with a hug, but now the hurts weren’t so easily fixed.

Need to go to the doctor?

No.

Want to talk about it?

When no immediate reply came, Francesca knew she’d gotten her daughter’s attention. Finally the display lit up.

How broke are we?

There it was. Had the teacher not called, Francesca might have dismissed that random question. She might have thought Gabrielle was angling for a new pair of seventy-dollar sneakers or the hardcover version of Stephenie Meyer’s latest book.

Not broke enough to risk my job and reputation by stealing.

The response came quickly, bristling with attitude.

You, steal?! Be real, Mother.

Francesca couldn’t help but smile at that, but the response did go a long way toward easing her anxiety.

Lots going on around here. I’ll tell you more about it when I get home. You getting lonely? Want me to send someone to pick you up and bring you back here to hang with Nonna? She made lasagna.
Nope. I’m reading New Moon. You could bring me Hägen-Dazs Mango Sorbet or Ben & Jerry’s Coffee Heath Bar Crunch on your way home.

Francesca smiled. Food, naturally. Gabrielle’s cure-all. Resisting the urge to tell her daughter to check on the school Web site for the work she was missing today, she typed instead:

You got it. I won’t be late. Call if you need me. BTW, you’re having a surprise quiz on chapter 17 in AP Euro tomorrow.

You didn’t forget to call me in?!

OF COURSE NOT!!!!

Kk;-)

The smiley face eased even more of Francesca’s anxiety. She might actually make it through this day, after all.

But concentrating on her reports proved impossible. Francesca might have been away from Bluestone a long time, but she knew how things worked around here. And rumor of her guilt had infiltrated Gabrielle’s world.

Her mind raced with thoughts of who might accuse her
of identity theft. Had the gossip started as a matter of unkind speculation or did someone simply dislike her enough to start spreading lies?

Either way, had Beth Fairweather not arrived in class when she had, Gabrielle would have probably come out swinging with that mouth of hers.

Like mother, like daughter.

It had taken years for Francesca to learn that fighting back wasn’t the only way to defend herself against feeling hurt. Such a hard-won lesson. A lesson she wished her daughter could learn without so much pain or so many bridges burned. Had Francesca had someone in her life who had recognized that her defense mechanism was so incredibly self-defeating, she might have learned new coping skills a lot sooner.

Nonna had tried, bless her heart, but she’d had her hands full working to support their family alone, at a time when most folks were kicking back and relaxing in life, and all on a job with no perks like health benefits or life insurance. She’d only gotten paid for the garments she beaded. Period.

Francesca couldn’t be sure she’d have listened to anyone as a teenager, but she knew that someone reaching out to her at that age would have gone a long way to making her feel accepted.

She needed to be that person for her daughter.

And she damn sure wasn’t going to let her daughter suffer for her mother’s old sins. That wasn’t acceptable or fair. Just the way it wasn’t fair for anyone to label her a suspect because of her past. Even way back in the throes of her absolute worst rebellion, she’d never stolen anything.

Well, except for Mr. Hazzard’s tractor, but that actually hadn’t been theft since she’d had his permission to drive it. More like
borrowing
the John Deere tractor without prior notice.

Had anyone bothered to look at her résumé, they’d plainly see that her work history was above suspicion.

Reaching for the telephone, she depressed the intercom and said, “Yvette, please get Chief Sloan on the phone for me.”

Within minutes, she heard the click of the transferring line then Jack’s smooth-silk voice.

“Francesca.” The pleasure in his throaty voice was so undeniable that she felt a physical ripple of awareness.

“This is a surprise,” he continued. “What can I do for you?”

Shoot her. Right now, please.

“Hello, Jack.” She forced her voice to sound coolly professional. “You mentioned once that you were having a tough time keeping people from talking on your end. I need to speak with you about that. Do you have a minute?”

There was a beat of silence then he replied, “I’ve got a break in my schedule later this afternoon. I can be there a little before five. How will that work for you?”

“You don’t have to make a trip out here,” she said quickly. Jack Sloan in the flesh was exactly what she didn’t need. Not when she was annoyed and worried and ridiculously dull-witted from exhaustion. “If you have a few moments now, we can—”

“I wouldn’t miss a chance to see you, Francesca.”

That husky admission came at her sideways. All she could do was stare at the phone for a stunned beat. Was the man flirting with her?

“And Susanna said she should have the bank statements by today, anyway. I’d like to get them to work on over the weekend.”

Francesca had the ridiculous urge to plug her fingers into her ears and chant, “La-la-la-la-la,” so she couldn’t hear him. A favorite trick of Gabrielle’s. Unfortunately, she
wasn’t fifteen, so she would pretend she hadn’t heard him. Every ounce of her sanity warned to steer clear of this man, especially now, but she couldn’t impede his investigation. Not when she needed him to get to the bottom of this mystery
yesterday.

“That’ll be fine then, Jack. I appreciate if you’ll give me a few minutes of your time while you’re here then.”

His low chuckle filtered over the phone, a throaty sound of pleasure that galvanized her. “You’ll be my first order of business, Francesca. Trust me.”

La-la-la-la-la.

Not for her life would she trust this man. Not when she couldn’t trust herself around him. People in town were talking loudly enough for her child to be impacted, for heaven’s sake. For all she knew Jack could have turned on his high-beam charm to win her over so he could use her as his entry point to the inner workings of the lodge. He’d certainly jumped at the chance to visit.
Again.

And that thought bothered her
way
more than it should. She wanted Jack to wrap up this investigation as quickly as possible for a variety of reasons. Her daughter’s sake. The residents’. Not to mention her own. She was new to Northstar Management and didn’t like criminal activity happening on her watch.

But Francesca couldn’t deny that she really didn’t like the thought of Jack wielding his charm for any other reason than to charm her.

Damn it. Damn it.
Damn it.

She couldn’t deny that, even though she wanted to with every fiber of her being.

Only by sheer stubbornness did Francesca shove aside all thoughts of Jack Sloan to plow her way through the last of the reports. And by the time she deposited them on Yvette’s desk to be couriered to the corporate office,
she’d managed to find some semblance of her equilibrium again.

She would need it to face Jack in the flesh.

“What’s the ETA on lunch?” Yvette asked. “I’m starving.”

Lunch had completely slipped Francesca’s mind. No small wonder. She’d lost her appetite long ago.

Glancing at her watch, she was surprised to note the time. “It’s after two.”

“I know.” Yvette patted her stomach suggestively. “When is your grandmother coming?”

“You’re sure she said lunch?”

Yvette nodded.

“Then I would have expected her before noon.” Francesca motioned to the phone. “Dial her room, please.”

Yvette did the honors and handed the receiver to Francesca, who listened to the line ring a number of times before rolling over to voice mail. “Hey, Nonna, it’s Francesca. Not important. Just calling to get an ETA on the lasagna.”

“What do you mean, not important?” Yvette demanded, taking the phone and returning it to the cradle. “Lunch is already over in the restaurant.”

Francesca eyed Yvette’s slight figure with a frown. Lunch might be over, but dietary had already started prepping dinner. Short of a food delivery strike or a siege on the lodge, no one would ever starve around here. “I need to get out of this office for a bit. I’ll go see what’s up.”

Yvette settled back at her desk, appeased for the moment, so Francesca beat a hasty retreat.

Francesca’s knocks went unanswered so she used her key to discover that Nonna wasn’t in her apartment.

Had she forgotten her promise to bring lunch?

Francesca checked inside the refrigerator. No traces of lasagna or the plastic container and carrier combo that she
usually used to transport food. Nonna and the lasagna had made it out the door.

Francesca locked up the apartment again, considering her options. Arriving back in the office to tell Yvette that lunch was MIA wasn’t one of them.

The most logical next step would be to check with Nonna’s friends, but Francesca didn’t want to cause unnecessary worry. Especially with the way news spread around this place.

No, Francesca’s only sane option was the back door approach. So she checked the activities calendar at the reception desk. Bingo. Water aerobics in the pool. Rosary in the chapel. The only off-site trips scheduled today were to the mall in Saugerties and the monthly trip to Atlantic City.

Nonna wasn’t listed on either of those rosters, nor had she scheduled private transportation for a medical appointment. She hadn’t mentioned anything to Francesca, but with those memory lapses of hers, Francesca wanted to double-check.

The most likely places to find Nonna were the chapel and bingo. Since the game had already started, Francesca started there. No Nonna but lots of excitement when Mrs. Svenson called bingo on B-8, which afforded Francesca the perfect opportunity to ask Fanny Brent if she’d seen Nonna.

“No, dear, I haven’t. You make sure she knows I held her seat for as long as I could. She always sits with me, but there was no telling Eileen that,” she added conspiratorially with a sidelong glance at her perfectly coiffed neighbor.

“I’ll tell her,” Francesca whispered and motioned to the bevy of paper cards on the table. Too many to count at quick glance. “Good luck next round.”

Francesca headed to the chapel next, where she found a traffic jam of walkers and motorized scooters parked outside the door. She tried to gauge where they were in the prayer
to time her interruption, but her shadow must have been visible through the shade on the glass insert because the next thing she knew, a figure within was shuffling toward the door.

So much for casual questions. Plastering a smile on her face, she greeted Mrs. Weissing when the door opened.

Still no Nonna.

By the time she reached the pool, which was about the last place Francesca would have expected to find her grandmother, who didn’t swim, Francesca was starting to worry. True, Nonna might have been visiting in one of her friends’ apartments, but short of making an announcement over the PA system, there was no way to find out. She had to be here somewhere.