You've Got Blackmail: Moose River Mysteries, #5

ONE

Jake glanced in the rearview mirror, then moved our minivan over a lane. Remind me why we're doing this again?

Karma, I said.

Which means exactly what?

It means that sometimes you do nice things for people you don't want to do nice things for and then it comes back to you somehow.

That sounds like something you made up, Daisy.

I am not Shakespeare. I did not make up the word karma.

He made a sound that sounded halfway between a grunt and a sigh and checked the mirror again. It was a Saturday morning and we were headed to Ash Grove, the tony suburb about twenty minutes south of Moose River. Home to popular chain restaurants, McMansions and, now, Jake's ex-wife.

So the fact that you volunteered us to be cheap labor for Stella means that something good is going to happen to me? he asked.

Free labor, I corrected. And, yes. In theory. You'll be rewarded for this selfless act of kindness.

How?

I have no idea.

But I'll be rewarded?

There are never any guarantees, but—

I want a new car, he said. Or a trip to Bali.

And I wanted a car heater that worked. I adjusted the knob on the dash, cranking it up. The heat still blew faintly out of the vents. You don't get to request the karma you receive.

Why not? That seems totally fair.

I shook my head. Then it's not selfless. Then you're making it about you.

"This is about me, he said. It's Saturday and I'm having to go move my dumb ex-wife's crap into her dumb new house."

I don't think a house can be dumb.

Oh, I think it can.

I think maybe you need to view this all a little differently, I suggested.

He gave me the side-eye. How's that?

You are keeping the peace, I said. Making sure that you and Stella maintain a good relationship, and making sure that nothing changes with Sophie. Think of it as diplomacy.

He grunted and signaled again, then took the exit into Ash Grove. You are so lucky you answered the phone when she called. If I'd answered, I would've told her exactly what she could do with her moving van.

I rolled my eyes. He talked a big game, but he was rarely as mean to Stella as he said he wanted to be. But I had answered the phone. She’d called to ask if we knew of any teenagers that might be looking for some extra money in exchange for helping her unload a moving van full of all the things she'd placed in storage when she'd arrived in Minnesota several weeks earlier. After a job offer from the corporate offices of Bullseye, one of the largest big box retailers in the Midwest, she moved quickly from Florida to Minnesota, and she'd been staying in a hotel while she waited for the house that she'd purchased to close. She'd stowed many of her things in a nearby storage facility. Now the house was hers and she was ready to transfer everything. We'd chatted for a few minutes on the phone and I finally convinced her that she didn't need to hire anyone, that Jake and I would be happy to help her unload her van. She'd been reluctant to accept my offer, but I'd been persistent and she finally relented, but only when I caved and said she could provide some dinner in exchange for our help.

You’re going to have to deal with her, Jake, I said.

I preferred dealing with her when she was a couple thousand miles away.

Well, she's not anymore. This is our new reality. And it could be a whole lot worse.

How? You mean like you could've offered to let her move in with us?

I frowned at him. No. I mean it could be a whole lot worse if the two of you didn't get along.

Well, it was easy to get along when there were a bunch of states in between us.

So now you have to learn to do it with a few miles between you. I reached over and touched his forearm. And you will have to do it. For you and for Sophie.

He sighed and leaned back in the seat. I know.

I knew he knew. We'd talked about it at length ever since Stella had dropped the bomb on us that she was moving to Minnesota. He'd immediately panicked, worried that she'd want Sophie to come live with her, and he'd be relegated to weekend dad status. He'd relaxed a little when Stella didn't make any mention of that and reiterated more than once that she was going to be extremely busy in her new position. But I knew it was still weighing on him, the worry that she might decide she wanted a more equal custody share.

Which is why I'd suggested we do simple things to maintain a good relationship with Stella so that no bad blood developed.

Like helping her unload a moving van.

Jake maneuvered us through the crowded shopping centers of Ash Grove, the roads clogged with cars, their passengers intent on dropping their cash at the trendy shops and restaurants. The GPS on his phone pointed us in the direction of some new housing developments east of the shopping district and then through a giant archway that announced we had arrived at The Estates of Ash Grove. Bare-branched ash and birch trees lined the sidewalks, the pavement and lawns mysteriously free of fallen leaves. I wondered if there was some HOA rule that prohibited leaf litter in yards. The homes were large boxes on small, postage stamp-sized lots, with long driveways – the exact opposite of our century-old home in Moose River. I spotted a large yellow moving van at the end of the cul-de-sac in front of a light green home that looked three times the size of ours. Bingo.

Jake did a U-turn in the cul-de-sac and pulled to the curb in front of the van. He turned off the engine, then sighed again. I don't want to do this.

I know you don't, I said, patting his arm. But think of the big picture.

He turned to look over his shoulder and shuddered. Looking at that van gives me PTSD.

Big picture, I reminded him. This is for Sophie. And for you.

You say that, he said, pushing open his door, then looking at me. But you haven't seen what's in the van.

I got out, too, and walked around to him behind our car. I stared at the large moving van. What's in the van?

Everything. Anything, Jake said. There could be anything in that van. You have no idea. I won't be surprised at anything that comes out of that thing.

I shaded my eyes from the bright winter sun. How bad could it be?

For the first time that day, Jake finally smiled.

He took my hand. Later tonight, I am so going to enjoy reminding you that you just said that.

TWO

I told you, Jake whispered. I told you.

Told me what?

"That anything could come out of that van!"

Oh, please, I said. You're overreacting. You just...wait. Is that an antique piano?

Jake covered his mouth and tried to keep his cackle to himself.

The three guys in jeans and T-shirts were struggling to move what looked like a very old piano onto the ramp that led from the back of the truck down to the street. One was scratching his head, his brow furrowed. Another was blocking the ramp, making sure that the monstrosity didn't inadvertently roll down the ramp. The third just shook his head slowly, like he couldn't believe he'd come into work that day.

Be careful with that! Stella called from the sidewalk. Please! It's very expensive!

Oh, I'll bet it is, Jake whispered.

I elbowed him in the ribs.

Stella noticed us finally, held up her hand in greeting, and hustled over to us. She was bundled up in a pink and white North Face ski jacket and matching pants, almost as if she was headed out skiing. Her hair was bundled beneath a matching pink and white knit beanie and white Ugg boots were keeping her feet warm.

She wrapped her arms around herself and shivered. Aren't the two of you cold? It's freezing out here.

Jake and I both had on sweatshirts and jeans. The temperature was hovering right around freezing, but there was no wind. Which for a Minnesota fall, constituted a very mild day.

You get used to it, I said. After awhile. And it gets a lot colder.

She made a face like she couldn't believe that. When the wind chills dipped into negative double digits, then she'd believe it.

Thank you again for coming over to help, she said, still hugging herself. I so appreciate it.

Of course, I said.

These three don't have it covered? Jake asked, frowning at the van.

They've already got plenty of boxes inside, Stella said. And some furniture.

I motioned at the van. They look...puzzled.

It's very heavy. Stella winced. I feel badly for them.

I didn't know you played the piano, I said.

She doesn't, Jake whispered.

Oh, I don't, Stella said, oblivious to Jake's commentary. It was just something I picked up at an auction last week.

Oh.

Her cheeks flushed a deeper pink. I have a thing for old furniture. I just love it. Each piece tells a story, you know?

And costs a bundle, Jake whispered, then coughed.

Stella frowned in his direction. I got it for a very good price. And I'd think you'd have more of an appreciation for antiques now, given how much you've raved about your home here.

I couldn't tell whether that was some sort of dig or a compliment. I chose to go with compliment.

Stella switched her gaze to me. Anyway. I went to an estate auction last week and I just couldn't pass it up. I knew it would look great in the new house. I know exactly where it's going to go.

The guy scratching his head positioned the other two men in place beneath the piano on the ramp and they gently nudged it forward. The ramp groaned under the weight of it, and the two beneath it leaned their body weight into it to keep it from steamrolling them into pancakes.

I nudged Jake toward the ramp. He glanced at me like he wanted to turn me into a pancake, then jogged over to the ramp to lend a hand. A minute later, the four of them had it on the sidewalk and were positioning the ramp to get the piano into the house. I only caught two dirty looks from Jake.

The auction was fairly intense, Stella said, catching her breath after seeing the piano make it safely off the truck.

Intense?

She nodded and I was pretty sure the heightened color in her face was due to the excitement of the piano rather than the semi-cold temperature. Yes, there were far more people interested in it than I ever would've imagined. It turns out that it's a fairly rare piano.

Rare?

I didn’t know pianos could be rare. I mean, I knew there were antique pianos that were more valuable than others, but did the piano market have a version of Stradivarius? I made a mental note to look into this. Maybe the kids and I could do a unit study on the history of the piano.

She nodded. One of a kind, actually. So the interest in it was greater than I'd expected.

How did you find out about it? I asked.

From Bullseye, she said, referencing her new employer. The auction was a benefit for a children's charity that the company helps fund, so they sent out an email inviting everyone to the auction. I wasn't sure I was going to go, but then a co-worker invited me to go with her, so I went. I never dreamed I'd find something like that at the auction. I read about it in the auction program and was intrigued. And then when they brought it out? She clasped her gloved hands to her chest. I knew I had to have it.

Jake had told me stories about Stella’s spending and buying habits during their marriage. Jake claimed that she'd filled rooms with pieces and pieces of furniture that cost not only a fortune, but didn't really fit in their homes. He claimed it was an addiction, that she needed to spend the money and bring the pieces home in order to get some kind of high. Watching the excitement in her face as she talked about the piano led me to believe that maybe he hadn't been exaggerating too much.

I probably spent too much, she conceded. But I'm told it was still a bargain for what it's worth. I feel so lucky.

Yes. I'm sure, I said, not even beginning to understand. My favorite places to shop were thrift stores and garage sales, not high-end stores or auctions. And I usually avoided buying expensive things I didn’t know how to work.

Anyway, the auction got a little heated, Stella said. Good-natured, of course. But there was a fair amount of competition for it. She stood tall in her designer boots. So I'm proud to say that it's now mine.

Uh...yeah. Of course, I said. I'm sure it'll look great in the house.

Oh, I hope so. She stiffened, then started patting herself down like a mouse was running through her snow outfit. I can feel my phone vibrating.

I watched as Jake and the three movers gingerly pushed the piano forward toward the house. It looked for a moment as if it might not fit in the front door, but they managed to get it through the opening.

There it is, Stella said, unzipping a pocket on her snow pants. You'd think I'd know better than to put it in a zipped pocket.

I laughed. You'll learn.

She pulled an iPhone out of her pocket, then pulled the glove off of her right hand with her teeth. She tapped the screen with a perfectly manicured fingernail and waited for a moment.

And then the pink drained from her cheeks and the glove slipped from her teeth, falling to the street.

Are you alright? I asked after a moment.

She blinked several times, still staring at her phone. Hmm?

Are you alright? I repeated.

She blinked again, then looked at me and seemed to have forgotten that I was standing there next to her. What?

Are you okay? I asked again. You got a weird look on your face.

Oh. She looked at the phone again, then tapped the screen and dropped it back in her pocket. Oh. No. I'm fine. I'm sorry.

But the color was gone from her cheeks and her eyes were wide.

Are you sure? I asked.

She hesitated, then nodded. Yes. I'm fine. Thank you for asking. It's just...it's just work stuff.

Oh, I said, nodding as if I understood. I'm sure it's been a busy transition for you. Probably hard to get everything in place.

Stella pulled the phone from her pocket again. She studied the screen, then dropped it back into her pocket, imitating her movement from just a moment before. She forced a smile in my direction. Yes. You could certainly say that.

THREE

Can I take eight Advil at once? Jake asked.

Four, I told him. Just four.

He groaned and opened the kitchen cabinet, pulling out the bottle of pain relievers. I should be allowed eight. I can't feel my back.

I can still see it, I told him. So it's still there.

We were back home. Jake was complaining about his sore body and I was throwing together a meatloaf and roasted potatoes for dinner. Emily was over at her friend Bailey's, working on a school project and the other kids were scattered throughout the house. I wasn’t even sure they knew we were back.

He frowned at me and pulled the pitcher of water from the fridge. He grabbed a cup from the cupboard, poured the water and downed all four pills in one big swallow. Ha. You're almost funny.

I shaped the meat and set it into the pan. Look at it this way. You're done helping, and you did your good deed.

I'm done helping forever, he said. For. Ever.

I rolled my eyes. We'd spent the better part of the day at Stella's, helping her get boxes into the right rooms and furniture set in the right spots. The actual movers couldn't seem to get away quick enough, happy to be done with the massive amount of furniture they'd moved into the home. I couldn't say that I was sorry to finally leave when we'd finished, but I thought Jake's complaining was going a little overboard.

Karma, I reminded him. Helping is creating good karma.

There is nothing good about a severed spine.

Your back must really hurt, I said. I headed to the sink to rinse the meat from my hands. The hot water stung my cold fingers. "Hey, did I ever tell