Page 35 of Almost Dead (The Cahills 2)

“I’ve got her.”

“Thank God. I thought…Oh, never mind what I thought,” she said in her thick accent. “What’re we going to do?”

“We’re going to clean up the mess,” Cissy said with renewed determination. They could all grieve, all feel a little bit of guilt somehow for living when Gran was dead, just as she did, but life had to go on. “Can you handle it?”

“Sí…no…yes, yes, I can,” Rosa said, nodding her head emphatically. “Miss Eugenia, she would not like this mess.” Despite the tears streaking her face, Rosa’s nostrils flared as she spied the offensive dirt tracked across the floor: the blood, of course, and all the black dust. “It’s a pigsty in here!” Again she sputtered out Spanish, but this time she was more angry than sad. “Look at this!” she said, spying a potted plant that had been accidentally toppled. “And this!” The rug at the bottom of the stairs had been tracked upon. “My God!”

Armed with new purpose, Rosa began the therapeutic task of putting the house back together. Paloma too went about cleaning up. Cissy braced herself to deal with Lars, Elsa, and Deborah as each one arrived. Each was grim, but each found a way to assist, Deborah showing up to offer a hand despite the fact that Cissy had basically given her her walking papers.

Cissy was grateful to all of them. She helped where she could as Elsa set about straightening the kitchen, throwing out food that wouldn’t be eaten, cleaning and polishing all the small appliances, counters, and utensils. Lars headed to the cars and the garage, and Deborah tackled Eugenia’s calendar and engagements, canceling appointments and explaining a little about what had happened, referring Eugenia’s closest friends to Cissy. She said she would e-mail Cissy all of the important phone numbers and names of contacts such as accountants, lawyers, and, of course, the prepaid funeral arrangements that Eugenia, years ago, had compiled. She promised to help Cissy with the arrangements and also to start on the obituary.

As they went about their business, Cissy, satisfied that the house and some of the affairs were being overseen, was finally able to leave.

She’d just pulled out of the drive and was heading down the steep, fog-shrouded road when her cell phone jangled. Driving with one hand, she fished it out of her purse and slid it open. “Hello?”

“Cissy, hi. It’s Nick.”

“Nick.” Her uncle’s voice was like something from a distant past.

“We heard about Mother,” he said, then launched into a spate of “we’re worried about you, we’ll be there for the funeral, if there’s anything you need, please call…” All the same crap she’d heard for ten years. Nick, her father’s brother, was okay; she kind of liked him, but she wasn’t sure about his wife, the bad girl gone good, or some such nonsense. Cissy had tried living with them in their podunk, nowhere town on the Oregon coast and had jettisoned herself out of there ASAP! Talk about boring! She’d hightailed it back home, then lived with Gran for the last few months before high school graduation. After that it was southern California and USC all the way. Uncle Nick, his wife, and even her small brother were fine, just not what she considered her immediate family.

Like Jack? her mind taunted. He’s your immediate family, isn’t he? Or he was supposed to be.

It was a little sad, she thought, maneuvering down the hill, still listening to Nick. She wasn’t even that close to her brother, who seemed to be thriving with all of that backwoods stuff. Uncle Nick flew down every other week or so, as he still had his hand in the company business, but most times he’d shown up Cissy was able to duck out of their “family” dinners. She just couldn’t make herself join in the happy family stuff. Not with her mother’s crimes hovering over everything like a bad smell, even if she had been locked away in prison.

Which she wasn’t now.

“So we just thought you might need us. We know you’ve got Jack and B.J., but thought, oh hell, you know.”

“I’m fine, Nick,” Cissy assured him, just as she had when he’d called about Marla a few days earlier. But she felt tears touch the back of her eyes. She hadn’t told him about the impending divorce, didn’t want him or his wife involved, didn’t need to hear their opinions one way or the other. “I’m grown up now. I guess I should be saying ‘I’m sorry’ to you. Gran was your mother.”

He hesitated just a beat, which said volumes about his relationship with Gran. “That she was.”

“Look, I’m sure the attorneys and all will be calling you, and I’m driving and have another call coming in.”

“Okay, Cissy. Take care.”

Her throat tightened just a fraction. “You too, and say hi to James for me.” She clicked off, feeling slightly guilty. She’d lied about another call coming in, but she did not want or need Uncle Nick and his wife putting their noses into her business.

The phone rang again, and this time she looked. Her friend Tracy. From high school. Oh great…the word about Gran and her mother had hit the street. She didn’t pick up. Wasn’t ready to face the onslaught. Tracy would be just the first.

Before driving home, she stopped by Joltz, the local coffee shop and deli where she sometimes set up her laptop for a few hours of uninterrupted work, parking in a spot that still had a little time on the meter.

Joltz offered tables, couches, and free wireless, and there were days when Cissy had been surrounded by the warm scent of roasting coffee, the gentle buzz of conversation, and the sputter of the espresso machines. She didn’t mind the occasional burst of laughter or the whine of the coffee grinder. Sometimes the little table she always used as a work area was a respite from the office, where she shared a cubicle with three other freelance writers, or home, where she was always distracted, knowing her baby was nearby. Here, in relative anonymity, she had found it surprisingly easy to work, drink coffee, or even choose lunch from the array of sandwiches and salads in the deli case.

“The usual?” one of the baristas asked. “No-fat double-mocha with whipped cream?”

“I owe it to myself,” Cissy said and reminded herself to climb on the elliptical machine tucked into the extra bedroom when she got home.

“You got it.”

The workers behind the counter didn’t wear name tags, but Cissy was in here often enough to recognize Diedre, with her quick smile and sharp wit. She was slender, blond, and friendly, whereas the woman who worked with her, Rachelle, was a little quieter, not quite as outgoing, and was always rotating the colors of her hair. Today’s hue of choice was a rich mahogany shimmering with deep purple highlights. Modest by Rachelle’s standards. Both baristas were attractive and witty enough to keep the regulars coming back.

Rachelle saw her in line and said, “I heard about your grandmother.” She shook her head. “I’m sorry.”

“What?” Diedre asked as she took Cissy’s credit card. “Oh…wait.” She glanced back at Rachelle. “It was on the news, wasn’t it? The old woman in the mansion. Found dead.”

By me, Cissy thought. “Yeah,” she said, slightly uncomfortable as there were two other people in line, staring at the offerings in the bakery case while waiting to order.

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