What Stella Wants. Nancy Bartholomew
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as she knew who was skipping and with whom. It also gave her the capacity to blackmail any and all of us at any time, should she desire additional tidbits of gossip that had somehow eluded her.
While Marygrace never exactly extorted information from anyone, the threat was always there when she came to you for information. She was sweet about it. She never used her powers for evil, preferring mostly to matchmake her fellow classmates or gently sway them into various activities that she felt strongly about, like Save the Planet Day or Senior Skip Day. I admired Marygrace’s easy way with others. Everyone liked her while simultaneously fearing her. It was a pretty cool talent she had there and she knew it.
So when she appeared in the doorway of Valocchi Investigations the day after my Aunt Lucy fiasco and Bitsy’s probable death, I was glad to see her and also a bit apprehensive.
“Hi, guys!” She greeted me as if it hadn’t been twelve years since we’d last seen each other and as if it were the most normal and casual thing in the world for her to be stopping by. My internal alarm bell didn’t even ring.
“Marygrace!” Jake rushed over to pick her up in an affectionate bear hug. She squealed, a short butterball of exuberance and enthusiasm, her little feet dangling in the air as Jake whirled her around. “I haven’t seen you since…” He broke off, trying to remember.
“Since you married that bimbo you call your ex-wife. I gave you guys a toaster. You know, I knew you were headed down the wrong road with that one. She never even wrote me a thank-you note. I think she was threatened by me. Poor breeding will do that to you every time, won’t it?”
Jake was momentarily thrown by Marygrace’s summation, but I saw Nina grinning in agreement.
“So,” she said, turning her radar my way, “I hear you two are finally an item. Good, right?” Her hazel eyes bore into mine like lie detectors, and I felt my face flame.
“It’s all good, Marygrace,” I said. “How’ve you been?”
Marygrace still wore her strawberry-blond hair the way she had in high school. It fell just below her chin in a pageboy bob that somehow suited her. When she shook her head as if putting off my question, her hair swung back and forth like a shampoo commercial. I found myself staring at it, unconcerned that she had no intention of answering me and was now asking a new question.
“How come you two are partners but it only says Valocchi Investigations on the door?”
That got my attention. Unfortunately, it got everyone else’s attention, too, including Nina’s. For some reason, she decided to save me.
“Hey, Marygrace, who was in the car at the mall?”
Marygrace almost seemed to quiver, the way a dog does when it catches scent of something really, really good.
“The police haven’t released her name to the media yet, but I already know on account of them telling her mother and calling me. It was Bitsy Blankenship,” she said, turning to me. “That’s why I’m here. See, her grandmother is a patient of mine.” Marygrace caught my puzzled expression and rushed on. “I’m a social worker now, Stella, out at Brookhaven Manor Nursing Home. I know, I know.” She held up her hand. “Why is a good social worker working in a nursing home? You think only loser social workers work in rest homes but that’s just a myth. There are some really good social workers taking care of the elderly, but that’s not why I’m here.”
Marygrace barely seemed to stop for breath between thoughts. I had to work hard to follow her.
“Bitsy’s grandmother is one of my patients.” Marygrace looked at us with an anxious furrow between her brows. “This is confidential, what I say in here, isn’t it?”
“Well, technically, Marygrace, only if you’re a client, and then only within certain parameters,” Spike said, being cautious. “Is that why you’re here? Do you want to hire us?”
Marygrace cocked her head to one side and seemed to consider the matter for a second before answering.
“Well, yeah, I guess. I mean, Bitsy’s grandmother is a lost ball in high weeds. Some days she thinks we’re working at the paper mill and some days she seems just fine, but obviously she can’t hire you!”
“Huh?” Even Nina was getting lost now.
Marygrace looked around the room at the four of us. “Do I need to sign papers first or give you a check or what?” Before anyone could answer, she sped on. “Well, I’ll just tell you. It’s not like Baby Blankenship’s gonna sue me or anything. Like I said, she can’t even remember who I am half the time, so she sure won’t sue me for telling you about her! Besides, everybody knows social workers aren’t in it for the money, and Baby wouldn’t be in a nursing home if she had the money for private care, so there you are!”
“Is this about Bitsy’s death?” I asked, wishing Marygrace had a shortcut button.
Marygrace’s eyes widened. “Well, that’s why I’m here. Somebody breaks into the woman’s room and takes her stuff, then Bitsy turns up dead. Call me paranoid, but I gotta wonder.”
“Wouldn’t that be a police matter?” Jake asked.
Marygrace looked at him, hands on hips, with a frustrated frown. “Oh, yeah, right, like they’ll give a rat’s ass. Baby’s just an old lady to them. There wasn’t anything of any real value in her room. I told you, she’s poor. Don’t you know anything about nursing homes? Stuff gets stolen out of people’s rooms all the time. If it isn’t nailed down—and sometimes even if it is—it gets stolen.”
“Okay, so, you want us to find out if there’s a connection between Bitsy and whoever’s stealing worthless stuff from Baby Blankenship’s room even though she doesn’t probably even remember what it is and probably doesn’t care?” I tried not to look as if I thought Marygrace was nuts, but I was beginning to wonder.
“Who said she doesn’t know what’s going on or what’s missing? I told you, some days she doesn’t remember who she is, but the rest of the time, Baby’s a sharp old cookie. She told me someone came into her room and believe me, when I went in after the head nurse called, Baby’s room was trashed. She said someone came in and was looking everywhere and they took something.”
“So, what did they steal?” I asked.
Marygrace shrugged and for the first time seemed a little bit disconcerted. “She doesn’t know. She can’t remember. That’s what you guys are supposed to find out. You’re detectives aren’t you?”
“Whoa!” Nina said softly. “Now that’s totally a case to sink your teeth into!”
“You think?” I said reflexively.
“Aw, come on, man!” Marygrace said impatiently. “She’s an old woman. Her granddaughter’s just been killed, maybe by terrorists, and someone came into her room and took something. I’m asking you guys to do something, as a public service. It’ll be good publicity. Don’t you need to get the word out about your agency?”
I shook my head, hoping to clear the confusion of facts and questions in Marygrace’s rapid-fire statement.
“Hold up here, girlfriend,” I said, hoping to apply the brakes to Marygrace’s mouth before I became eternally lost in her next rush of words. “Let me just get a few things straight.”
“What makes you think it was a terrorist?” Jake interrupted me and set Marygrace off again.
“Hey, I watch TV. I can read between the lines. Her husband’s a diplomat. Bitsy’s car was just sitting there. It’s not like she threw a match in the gas tank or anything. It had to be terrorists. Who else? I hear Bitsy’s mama is just all to pieces.” Marygrace turned bright red and clapped a hand over her wayward mouth. “Oh, Lord, I mean she’s upset, not all to…pieces!”
Jake looked at me over the top of Marygrace’s head. She would have no way of knowing about Bitsy’s urgent phone call. It