Big Daddy Sinatra: Carly's Cry (7 page)

“He was probably on the prowl for his
next victim,” Jenay said, “and tried to make you his next one.”

“Yes,” Mick said, still staring at
Carly.
 
“More likely.
 
Where is his car?”

“Across the street,” Brent said.

“My men will get rid of it,” Mick
said, and then silence ensued.

Brent knew they had major work to do,
and waited for his uncle to get the ball rolling.
 
When he didn’t do any such thing, he decided
to do so himself.
 
“We need to move the
body,” he said.
 
“Once we get it to
Jericho, we can have better control over the circumstances.”

Mick looked at him.
 
“How is that?”

“We talked about it,” Brent
said.
 
“We’ve decided to put the body in
one of the rooms at Dad’s hotel.
 
Dad and
Carly will be there when Dad phone the police.
 
Carly can claim the guy followed her to Jericho, like some stalker or
somebody, she resisted his advances, and Dad walked in on him trying to rape
her.
 
We know there will be questions
about the fact that his death was hours earlier, but Dad can claim he blacked
out or something.
 
He was that
enraged.
 
It won’t hold water here in
Boston.
 
But we can make sure it will in
Jericho.
 
We can have control over the
narrative in Jericho.”

Mick looked at him.
 
“Control?” he asked.
 
“With a convoluted story like the one you
just told me?
 
With my brother’s life on
the line?”
 
Mick shook his head.
 
“No.”

Charles was already studying his
brother.
 
“What do you suggest we do?” he
asked.

“You and your family get on my plane
and get your asses back to Jericho.
 
Carly will remain in town, go to work as she normally does, and behave
as shocked as everybody else when she hears the news that Campbell is
missing.
 
After the furor dies down, she
will put in her two weeks’ notice, citing family issues, and return to
Jericho.”

“But she doesn’t want to stay here,”
Brent said.
 
“It’ll remind her of this
night every time she stepped into this house.”

“She won’t see a single hair that
will remind her of this night,” Mick said.
 
“My men will scrub it clean.”

Brent frowned.
 
“I’m not talking about any physical reminder.
 
I’m talking about the emotional toll it will
take on her.”

Mick looked at Carly.
 
“She will have to handle it,” he said.
 
“That’s what happens when you stab somebody
twenty-plus times.
 
You have to handle
the emotions.”

Carly swallowed hard at the thought
of reliving this night over and over and over again.
 
She already had too many memories.
 
Jenay pulled her closer.
 
Brent looked at his father.
 
“Couldn’t Carly come back to Jericho with us
now, Dad?” he asked.

“She could,” Charles said.
 
“But suspicion would immediately fall to her
if she were to abandon her job and leave town just as Ethan Campbell is
reported missing.
 
Mick is right.
 
She has to stay, at least until the noise of
his disappearance dies down.”

“I’ll stay here with her,” Jenay said.

“No, you will not,” Charles said
firmly.
 
“I’ll not have you reliving this
horror.”

“But we can’t leave her here alone.”

“She won’t be alone,” Charles
said.
 
“I’ll stay with her.”

Both Brent and Jenay were
shocked.
 
Mick was too, but for a very
different reason.
 
He couldn’t begin to
understand a man who would leave his business for what could amount to an
entire month to babysit his daughter.

Even Jenay understood the
impracticality of it. “All I’m responsible for is the Inn, Charlie.
 
You’re responsible for all of it.
 
All of your businesses and properties.”

“That’s what I’m thinking,” Brent
said.
 
“It can’t be done, Dad.
 
How in the world are you going to stay away
from Jericho for an entire month?”

“I’ll deal with Jericho when I get
back to Jericho.
 
Right now my child
needs me.
 
I’m not letting Jenay deal
with this, or you either, Brent.
 
I’m
staying with her.
 
I’m taking care of
her.
 
I’ll help her deal with it better
than either one of you can.
 
Because she
can’t just leave town.
 
She has to stay
here.
 
I’m staying with her.”

Brent exhaled.
 
“How do you feel about that, Car?
 
You’re okay with staying here for what could
end up being another month?”

Everybody looked at Carly.
 
She thought about it.
 
“There’s no other way,” she said.
 
“Dad’s right.
 
They might believe me if I tell them what really happened.
 
But they might not.
 
If they don’t, I’ll go to prison for the rest
of my life.”
 
She looked at her big
brother, a man she also loved and respected.
 
“What else can I do?”

Charles squeezed her shoulder.
 
And looked at Mick.
 
“You told us what we need to do.
 
But what are we going to do about this body?”

Mick looked Charles dead in the
eye.
 
“I’ll get rid of it,” he said.

Carly looked at Jenay.
 
But Jenay, and Brent, were staring at
Charles.
 
They took their cues from him.

Charles was in deep thought.
 
“You feel disposal is better than Brent’s
plan?”

“Far better,” Mick said.
 
“Brent’s plan leaves out one glaring
difference.”

“What’s that?” Charles asked.

“Carly didn’t kill some average
Joe.
 
She killed Ethan Campbell.” When
Jenay looked at him surprised, Mick explained.
 
“I know him because I know football.
 
And I know his family is not going to sit back and let Maine dictate to
them the circumstances of his death.
 
They will hire their own forensic experts.
 
They will hire their own team of
lawyers.
 
They will destroy you.
 
You may think you’re taking the fall for your
daughter, but both of you may go down.”

Brent and Jenay looked at Charles
again.
 
He let out an exhausted exhale
and ran the back of his hand across his eyes.
 
“That crossed my mind, too,” he said.

“But what are you talking about
doing?” Brent asked Mick.
 
“You can’t
just get rid of a body.”

Mick couldn’t believe he said
that.
 
He gave Brent a chilling
stare.
 
“I can’t?” he asked.

“But what I mean to say,” Brent said,
“is that his family will have questions when he turns up missing.
 
And what about the inhumanity of what could
be their lifelong uncertainty?”

But Charles looked at his son.
 
“What do you think is the better alternative
in a field of bad options?
 
Me attempting
to convince Jericho, and Boston by the way, that I killed that man in defense
of my daughter?
 
Or that man disappearing
from the face of this earth with his family wondering whatever happened to
him?”

“And wondering it,” Mick added, “with
no tie-in to Carly or your father whatsoever.
 
My way, Carly got rid of a scumbag and got to live another day.
 
Your way, Carly got rid of a scumbag and your
father, or Carly, or both might pay with their lives.”

Brent ran his hand through his thick,
black hair.
 
He was already in too
deep.
 
“I’m a cop for crying out loud,”
his frustration forced him to say.
 
“At
least if we move the body there’s some accountability.
 
There’s some closure for his family.
 
It’s still wrong, but . . . How can I be a
party to what you’re talking about?”

“Because you’re my son,” Charles
answered instead of Mick, forcing Brent to look at him.
 
“You have no choice.”

Brent, still distressed, looked at
Jenay.

“You have no choice,” Jenay said too.

And Carly, hearing it all, burst into
tears.
 
“All of you are getting into all
of this trouble,” she said, “and it’s all because of my actions.
 
Because of me,” she said harshly and hit herself,
with a fist, in her chest.
 
“Because of
me!”

Charles quickly moved over, grabbed
Carly from her chair, and lifted her into his arms.
 
He held her and let her sob.

Brent began to pace, with his hand
still raking through his hair, and Jenay placed her elbow on the table, with
her chin in her hand, and closed her eyes.

Charles, instinctively feeling her
distress, took one of his hands and prodded her to her feet.
 
When she rose, he pulled her into his arms
too.

Brent stood against the wall, his
head back, staring at his uncle.
 
He was
amazed at how calm Mick was.
 
He was
all-business, with no emotion whatsoever, at a time like this.
 
As if disposing of bodies were nothing new to
him.

But it was new to them, and they
could hardly bear it.
 
Brent walked over
to his family, to his father, his mother, and his sister, and wrapped his arms
around them all.

Two Months Later

She didn’t think it would make it,
but it did.
 
All the way from Baltimore,
Maryland.
 
But as she drove into the parking
lot of the Saint Catherine’s Episcopal Church in Jericho County, her vintage
Mustang was the least of her concerns.
 
She had been ordered by Bishop Lanier to vacate her post as Dean of
Students at Saint Catherine’s Prep Academy in Baltimore, the largest school in
the diocese, to come to a small, failing school in Maine.
 
She knew why.
 
She knew what happened with Kent caused her relocation.
 
But knowing why didn’t make it feel any
better.
 
And as she sat in her Mustang
and watched the tall, white, steeple church in front of her, she felt that
sense of failure all over again.
 
She was
on the fast track to glory just a few weeks ago.
 
Now she was on a backroad to nowhere.
 
How did everything go so wrong?

And how were this new staff going to
feel about her sudden appointment?
 
From
everything she could gather, every school master they had ever had in their
eighty-year history had always been male, white, and old.
 
Every single one.
 
How were they going to feel about a young,
black woman taking over?

Not that it mattered how they felt,
she decided, as she grabbed her attaché case off of the passenger seat and got
out of the car.
 
The Bishop appointed
her.
 
Saint Catherine’s wasn’t
self-sufficient: it belonged to the diocese.
 
They had no choice.

But when she entered the vestibule of
the century-old church, and made her way into the sanctuary where members of
the vestry were there to greet her, the sense of purpose she felt began to
waver.
 
The vestry was ten-person strong
and, from what she could see when she entered, every one of them were either
old, very old, or decrepit, and all of them were white.
 
She knew they wouldn’t be a super-diverse
group, this was
Maine
after all, but
she didn’t expect total uniformity.
 
Why
in the world, she wondered, as she made her way down the aisle, did the Bishop
in all of his infinite wisdom appoint somebody like her to come to a place like
this?
 
It seemed like a monumental mix
match!

The members of the vestry sat in
chairs at the very front of the church and every one of them appeared to be as
surprised by the view as she was.
 
Some
even looked at each other, as if to confirm that others saw what they were
seeing.
 
They knew a woman was coming.
 
Her name made that clear.
 
But apparently, she realized as she walked,
they had no idea the woman would be this young and, undoubtedly, this
black
.
 
But she had a job to do.
 
She kept
on walking.

A gray-haired man was the only one to
smile.
 
He stood up, clasped his hands
together, and then hurried to greet her.
 
“You must be our new Headmaster,” he said.
 
Then he smiled nervously, stopped in his
tracks, as his face began turning beet-red.
 
“Head
mistress
,” he corrected
himself.
 
And then he continued to hurry
toward her, extending his hand.
 
“I’m Joe
Huddleson.
 
The parish priest.
 
The priest in charge, actually, of both
church and school up until your appointment.
 
Welcome to Saint Catherine’s!”

“Thank you,” she said as she removed
her attaché case from her right hand to her left, and shook his hand.
 
“I’m Sharon Flannigan.”

He was all smiles as they shook, and
welcoming in tone, but she could see the reluctance even in him.
 
He was the man in charge of a failing
school.
 
She was replacing him.
 
She understood his reluctance.
 
But unlike Joe, the rest of the members, most
of whom were women, weren’t even pretending.
 
They seemed to be too busy experiencing the shock of it all.

Joe continued.
 
“Once I introduce you to our church
leadership, and after a morning assembly where you will get to meet all of the
school staff, and after I give you the grand tour of the church and
school.”
 
He paused, catching his
breath.
 
Then added: “Such as it is.
 
We are, I am quite sure, a far cry from what
you are used to in a big city like Baltimore.
 
But after all of that, after all of the introductions and tours and the
meet and greet of staff, I will be happy to escort you to the Inn.”

Sharon was confused.
 
“The Inn?”

“The Jericho Inn, why yes.
 
A bed and breakfast here.
 
Given your . . .
um
.
 
Your . . .
um
.
 
How shall I say it?
 
Given your gender,
yes, your
gender
, we felt it would be
unwise, or it would be best for you to select where you would prefer to
live.
 
We did not want to be presumptuous
and select a place for you.
 
And the
Rectory will not do.
 
And now, looking at
you,” he said with a smile, “I think it was quite a stroke of genius actually.”

“A stroke of genius?” Sharon
asked.
 
She never cared for
hyperbole.
 
“In what way?”

Joe cleared his throat.
 
He was most uncomfortable and Sharon couldn’t
figure out why.
 
Was it because of her
sex, her race, her age?
 
All of the
above?
 
None of the above?
 
Then she decided it didn’t matter either way.

“What I meant to say is that I think
you will feel right at home at the Inn.” Joe pulled out a handkerchief and
began wiping his forehead.
 
The man was
so nervous he was literally sweating.
 
With him in charge, Sharon thought, there was no wonder the school was
failing.
 
Was the rest of the leadership
this rubber-backed?

He continued.
 
“What I meant to say is that the lady who
runs the Inn, Jenay Sinatra, is a most welcoming sort of person.
 
And the Inn itself is a lovely place.
 
You will be comfortable there.
 
That is what I meant to say.”

Sharon could tell he meant to say a
whole lot more, but she wasn’t there to quiver with him or anyone else.
 
She had a job to do and she was going to give
it her all.
 
It felt like starting at the
bottom again, but she was used to that too.
 
A desire to know this man’s deeper thoughts, or even the thinking among
the vestry members as a whole, was a total waste of time.
 
“Perhaps you can introduce me to the
leadership here assembled,” she said, “and we can move on from there?”

He smiled, relieved.
 
“Yes.
 
Let’s.
 
Get on with it, that
is!”
 
Then he cleared his throat.
 
“Right this way, please,” he said, motioning
his hand for her to follow.

And Sharon followed his lead.
 
She followed him down the aisle and smiled as
she went.
 
She was here now.
 
The Bishop had demoted her and relocated
her.
 
She had no choice either.

“Eat it all, Nita,” Jenay said to her
youngest child as she poured herself another cup of coffee.
 
“I didn’t give you that much.”

“When are you going to sign it,
Mommy?” Bonita Sinatra asked as she ate.

“Let Carly sign it.”

“She cannot anymore,” Bonita
said.
 
“She signed the last one, but she
cannot sign this one.”

Jenay looked at her daughter.
 
“And why is that?”

“Because my teacher said one of my
parents have to sign it, and Carly is not my parent.”

“She lives in your same household,
she’s an adult, and she’s your sister.
 
What’s the difference?”

“My teacher said she is not my
parent.
 
She cannot sign anymore.”

“Give that junk to me,” Ashley said
with a whimsical smile on her face, as Donald laughed.
 
“I’m good at faking Ma’s signature.
 
I’ll sign it for you.”

“You will do no such thing, Ashley,”
Jenay said.
 
And then reached her hand
toward Bonita.
 
“Hand it here.”

Bonita smiled as she gladly handed
the three-page field trip authorization to her mother.
 
Jenay smiled when Bonita smiled.
 
Mainly because Bonita had blossomed into a
beautiful little girl with long, light-brown hair down her back, and the most
pleasant of personalities.
 

  
They were in the kitchen.
 
Jenay
was standing at the center island, while Bonita, Carly, Ashley, and Donald, the
Sinatra children who still lived at home, were sitting around it.
 
Everybody were eating the breakfast Jenay had
prepared.
 
Except Jenay, who never cared
for breakfast.

“They make you sign your life away,”
Donald said.
 
“Don’t they, Ma?”

“It’s all about their liability,”
Jenay responded as she sipped coffee and continued to read the paperwork.
 
“It’s all about them.”

Carly, reading yet another book on
her IPad, looked up at the clock over the stove.
 
“Is that time right?” she asked.

“It’s right,” Donald said as he
looked at his adopted sister.
 
He was
always amazed by her beauty.
 
She was
even more beautiful than Ashley.
 
He
would have been proud to introduce her to some of his male friends.
 
But she was always so serious and stern, as
if she was better than the rest of them, that he never bothered.
 
“That time is right.
 
Dad’s just late as usual.”

But Carly knew she had better finish
eating before their father came downstairs, so that she didn’t add to his
tardiness.
 
She put down her IPad, and
began eating her food more vigorously.

Ashley stared at Carly too.
 
She was always an oddball to Ash, even when
they were kids, so her current odd behavior was par for the course to her.
 
But it still was curious.
 
“Why don’t you buy yourself a new car?” she
asked her.
 
“You’re working now.
 
Dad got you that teaching job at Saint
Catherine’s, a job you said you wanted.
 
Instead of putting that hunk of junk of yours in the shop for repairs,
you should have bought yourself a real car.
 
I’ll help you look.”

“Thanks,” Carly said, “but no
thanks.”

“Why the hell not, Carly?” Ashley asked.
 
“You can afford it.
 
You gave up that cushy job in Boston to come
back here to Jericho, which still doesn’t make sense to me.
 
But why wouldn’t you splurge a little?”

Carly didn’t respond to that.
 
Nobody knew about her mishap in Boston
outside of her parents, her big brother Brent, and her uncle, the mobster Mick
Sinatra.
 
And she aimed to keep it that
way.

But Ashley and Donald smelled a rat,
and wouldn’t stop questioning her about it every chance they could.
 
“Why did you come back here anyway?” Donald
asked, picking up the torch.

“I told you why.
 
I wanted to be close to home.”

“That makes no sense at all,” Ashley
said.
 
“Boston is only a couple hours
away.
 
You could come home every day if
you wanted to.
 
You didn’t have to quit
your job.”

Jenay glanced over at Carly, and saw
her distress.
 
“Leave her alone,” she
said to Ash and Donald.
 
“Sometimes
people need a change of pace.
 
That’s why
she didn’t want to work for Daddy.
 
She’s
tired of the corporate world.”

“But why is she so tired?” Donald asked.
 
“That’s the big question.
 
And what does being tired of the corporate
world have to do with buying a car?
 
When
she first came back to Jericho, I understood it.
 
Maybe she needed more stability before she
bought a car.
 
But she has a job now.”