Rip Your Heart Out Read online

  I was surprised when Ridley told us it hurt his arthritic fingers to play the piano these days, and he was going to have to give it up. Or, to be more exact, Ridley said, "Me old fingers hurt. Me no play no more."

  Although saddened to hear that the ravages of time were going to still the beautiful music his hands created, I was happy when he suggested the Steinway be donated to charity.

  Because I had a better idea.

  * * *

  I called Chase Cumberland, who was in complete agreement with my suggestion of holding a second raffle for the piano. By doing this, he could right a wrong and, to a certain extent, redeem himself. This time around he planned to pull a ticket out of the same straw basket of tickets that'd been purchased by various folks the first time the raffle was held.

  Now, although long overdue, every individual who'd purchased a ticket in the past would get a fair chance to win the pristine instrument and take the prize home with them. That included a few participants who had since passed. However, should a deceased individual win the raffle, Chase said he'd see to it the piano went to the winner's family.

  I assured Chase there was no reason anyone needed to know anything other than Mabel had requested a second winner from the initial raffle be awarded the piano. It'd be one of those little white lies that harmed no one and let water that'd been long under the bridge stay that way. The second raffle would simply be Mabel's way of giving back to the church that had been such an important part of her life. Enough said!

  Sydney stopped by shortly after the arrest of her twin sister. She was naturally upset, but appreciative of my efforts to save her from being dragged through the mud. Along with a host of other emotions, she was excited to find out Itsy was her great-aunt. She said, "I often thought the two ladies were so like-minded they could've been sisters. Those two fought like siblings at times, but were also quick to jump to each other's defense and could be counted on to support one another when the chips were down. I wish Adelaide and I could've had the same tight bond those two had."

  "I do too, honey," I said sincerely.

  Sydney then shared an amusing anecdote. "I remember once when Aunt Mabel and Aunt Itsy didn't speak to each other for two months after an argument over whether it was correct to have the loose end of the toilet tissue roll coming over the top, or coming from behind on a toilet paper holder. Crazy, huh?"

  "Yeah, crazy!" I'd agreed, even though Rip and I had occasionally disagreed about toilet paper etiquette ourselves. No one will ever convince me that toilet tissue shouldn't drape over the top of the roll. I may be open-minded about almost every other subject, but when it comes to how a roll of toilet paper should be hung, I am dead-set on my opinion.

  * * *

  On a warm afternoon, about a month later, Itsy walked into the kitchen through the back door of the Heart Shack as I was putting the final touches on a low-fat, sugar-free strawberry cake. I'd made it to celebrate Rip's release from rehab. It'd become routine for Itsy to pop in whenever the mood struck her, which was just fine with me because I always enjoyed her company. I would miss my eccentric new friend when Rip and I moved on.

  After discussing her sister's "drier than a popcorn fart" cakes, I asked Itsy, "Why have you never even attempted to locate your daddy's gold? Sydney said Mabel's will clearly states that other than her house, everything in her estate was to be awarded to her closest next-of-kin, which would be you. I'd help you, you know, and Sydney said she would, too. The gold's likely hidden on this property somewhere and if you don't find it soon, it'll be too late. Someone will eventually discover the nuggets and then the money will probably end up in the hands of the heart center."

  "I realize that, Rapella. But I have to think that's what Mabel would have wanted to happen."

  "I disagree, my friend," I said. "Mabel's in heaven now and your identity is no longer a secret. I believe she knows now that you're her little sister, Bella, and I think she'd want you to make the decision on what ultimately happens to the gold."

  "You think?"

  "I do, Itsy. I also believe the last thing Mabel would want is for you to struggle financially when the gold could help you live more comfortably, or wallow in the lap of luxury, as you put it."

  "You might be right, Rapella. Even though I've never had the opportunity to try it before, I think I could learn to wallow quite admirably."

  "Oh, Itsy," I replied with a laugh. "I've no doubt that given the chance, you could wallow with the best of them."

  After sharing a good chuckle, we called Rip into the kitchen and sang a hideously off-key rendition of "For He's a Jolly Good Fellow". After laughing at Goofus's "Tanks you!" when the song ended, the three of us dug into the strawberry cake. My husband of fifty years was back to his old self, justice had been served for Mabel's death, and life was good once again!

  Epilogue

  A few days later, Rip and I were sitting on the front porch of the old Victorian home, enjoying our tradition of one after-supper highball. The Heart Shack had celebrated its grand opening, and the first family of a recovering heart patient had moved into the suite across the hall from Ridley's in the new temporary housing facility. They appeared delighted with their accommodations. I had noticed, however, that they avoided the always unfriendly, and occasionally downright hostile, cockatoo in the kitchen as much as possible. I couldn't say I blamed them. I'd been feeding the sassy bird for two months and he'd yet to warm up to me. He was lucky I hadn't put him out of my misery with one of Mabel's cast-iron skillets, as I'd been tempted to do on many occasions.

  Rip and I were planning to head to northwestern Missouri in a week's time. We'd received an invitation from Lexie Starr and Stone Van Patten requesting our presence at a wedding which would unite Lexie's daughter and Stone's nephew in holy matrimony. We'd been present for the marriage proposal, so there was no way we were going to miss out on the actual wedding.

  As we chatted about inconsequential topics, Rip said, "I was walking around in the back yard this morning and noticed there were a couple of volunteer tomato plants coming up in that area that used to be a vegetable garden. Too bad we won't be around when the tomatoes are ready to pick."

  "Dang it! I love vine-ripened tomatoes. We'll have to go to that farmer's market in Rockdale while we're there for the wedding. Too bad there weren't still canned tomatoes from all of the canning Itsy told me Mabel did before she got too ill to tend to a garden."

  "I wonder what she did with all of those canned veggies. I also wonder why, since the veggies are preserved in jars, it's not called jarring instead of canning," Rip said before he took a long draw on his one allotted alcoholic drink for the day. He'd been as delighted as a kid in a candy shop when Dr. Murillo had told him continuing our long tradition should not adversely affect him.

  I smiled as Rip continued. "My mother used to store her Mason jars in our root cellar along with potatoes, onions, and other root vegetables from the garden."

  "When I was young, our neighbors had a root cellar, too," I said. "You reckon there's one in the back yard we don't know about? Mabel had to store all of those jars somewhere. That whole back corner is a tangled mess, you know. Apparently, someone thought that'd be a good place to stack up all of the brush, tree trimmings and limbs that fell during wind storms over the years."

  "It's worth a look around," Rip replied. "Speaking of which, the new guy they hired to manage the Heart Shack called to tell me the lawn maintenance people are coming tomorrow."

  We discussed the new manager, who seemed as nice as he could be, and then talked about Tasman adopting Gallant. The next time I'd seen the kid, he admitted to me he'd picked up my ring off the marble table in the foyer where I'd left it to protect it from the harsh chemicals I was using to clean the house. He had written the threatening note and left it and the ring in the mahogany box, turned the music on, and then hid in a closet in another guest bedroom while I had ten years of my life scared out of me. He told me the prank had been Adelaide's idea. I believed him because I
thought it was probably too elaborate a hoax for him to have come up with on his own, which is pretty sad. As Detective Akers had said, Tasman truly didn't appear to have the sense God gave a left-handed wrench.

  Tasman apologized for frightening me and I accepted his apology. I then threatened him with his life if he mistreated Gallant in any way or harmed one hair on the sweet dog's body. Tasman promised to give Gallant a good home and treat him with tender loving care. I had a feeling if I ever saw the St. Bernard again, he'd be higher than a kite from inhaling second-hand marijuana smoke.

  I was happy when Sydney opted to give the obnoxious cockatoo a home after the cardiac center informed her the pets needed to be found new homes due to liability reasons. "I told Sydney her decision to adopt Goofus was bass-ackwards. She should have chosen the lovable dog and said vamoose to that mouthy Goofus. She told me she'd much rather have had Gallant, but was afraid her yorkies would make mincemeat of the lovable mutt."

  Rip laughed. "Does Sydney know the average lifespan of a cockatoo? It's like half a century, I've heard. They're similar to parrots when it comes to how long they live."

  "Goofus was fortunate to have made it a week after I took over responsibility of caring for him. For awhile I thought the silly bird was trying to tell me who was responsible for killing his master. Now I realize he was probably just carrying on to hear himself talk."

  "Kind of like you do?" Rip asked.

  "Watch it, Buster Brown, or you'll be eating kelp on a bed of steamed couscous for supper tonight."

  * * *

  "I found the root cellar!" Rip exclaimed from the rear of the property. I was admiring the volunteer tomato plants while he poked around in the jungle of brush the landscaping crew was going to clean up later on that afternoon. "It's hidden beneath all this debris. I cleared the stuff off the door, but there's a padlock on the latch."

  "I wonder if that small key with the old skeleton keys goes to that lock." I'd placed the key ring in the back of my underwear drawer after new locks had been installed on the house. Why? Because I'd had a gut feeling that one day I might find a lock to fit that extra key, and I always take my hunches seriously.

  "It very well might fit this lock," Rip said. "Can you go get it?"

  The lock was rusty and had obviously not been opened in a long time, but Rip fiddled with it until it finally clicked open. "How about that? I'm glad Sydney didn't pitch this little key when she couldn't figure out what it went to. Not that I couldn't have used bolt cutters or busted the lock open with a sledge hammer."

  "You've come a long way in your recovery process, but I don't think you're quite ready to be swinging a sledge hammer yet." I patted Rip on the back and followed him down the chiseled-out steps with my hand on his shoulder.

  Down inside the hand-dug cellar were dozens of cases of canned vegetables. Behind the cases, was a large wooden crate. Just out of curiosity, which you know has an unshakable hold over me, I cautiously opened the lid to see if the crate contained more jars, hoping it didn't contain something like a coiled-up copperhead instead.

  It contained neither canning jars nor a venomous snake. But what it did contain was approximately one hundred pounds of gold nuggets.

  * * *

  I'd been a little disappointed when Itsy made no concerted effort to locate the gold after our discussion about searching for it. I think I'd wanted Itsy to have it more than she did. So I'm happy to report that after the gold was redeemed for two million, one hundred and seventy thousand dollars, the money was finally Itsy's to do with what she wanted.

  In a letter we received from Itsy a few weeks after we'd arrived in Missouri, she explained that she'd given two-hundred-thousand dollars to Sydney. I knew the generous gesture was not required of Itsy, but rather done out of the kindness of her big heart. To be fair, she'd given the same amount to Tasman, in hopes he didn't use it to kill himself with a drug overdose. She'd donated Adelaide's share to the heart center to go toward the future maintenance and upkeep of the Heart Shack, as she knew Mabel would have wanted. And, believe it or not, Itsy had included two one-dollar bills in the envelope to pay me back for the bus fare I'd paid when we went to the Book-E store to return her borrowed book.

  As for the rest of the money, I can't say for certain but I assume Itsy will be using it to "wallow in the lap of luxury until the day the Good Lord comes to take her spoiled ass home". Whatever the case, I have to believe Mabel is looking down from heaven at her beloved little sister, Bella, with a huge smile on her face.

  The End

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  RIPPED APART

  A Ripple Effect Mystery

  Book Five

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  Rapella's Heart Healthy Meal

  ~

  "Your daughter doesn't have the sense God gave a day-old boll weevil!"

  "My daughter?" I asked my husband, Clyde "Rip" Ripple. "I could've sworn you were present when Regina was conceived."

  "Why would she and Milo ignore a mandatory evacuation order?" Rip was too tense to appreciate my attempt at levity. "It's not like Mayor Wax would issue one for no reason."

  "When I spoke to Reggie on Friday, I literally begged her to flee the coastal area." My eyes grew misty as I spoke.

  "Well, at that stage of the game, it was probably best they stay put rather than risk getting caught up in the storm while traveling in their vehicle," Rip replied.

  I swallowed hard at the thought Regina may have reconsidered my pleading advice and, in order to appease me, convinced Milo to evacuate too late, placing them at even greater risk.

  Our fifty-one-year-old daughter, Regina, and her husband, Milo Moore, lived on Key Allegro Island in Rockport, Texas. In the wee hours of Saturday, August 26, 2017, Hurricane Harvey had made landfall as a category four storm in our quaint little hometown of approximately ten thousand people, causing massive, catastrophic devastation, according to the latest weather report.

  Reggie had informed me just hours before the storm hit that they planned to ride it out in their waterfront home. I saw no particular honor in their decision to "go down with the ship" if the hurricane was as destructive and life-threatening as anticipated, and I told her so. Three or four times, in fact! But, unfortunately, my words appeared to fall on deaf ears.

  Just a few hours later, the hurricane came roaring into Rockport, with all its pistons pumping, and wreaked havoc on everything in its path. It'd been reported that all of the town's utilities had been put out of commission indefinitely. This included cell phone and Internet service, leaving us no way to contact our daughter to see if they'd survived the storm.

  If they did, I'd be tempted to strangle them both for causing us such angst by behaving so recklessly. Rip had just recovered from a triple bypass. The last thing he needed was to be stressed out about their safety.

  Just after noon on the twenty-seventh, Rip and I were in the parlor of the Alexandria Inn with our friends, Lexie Starr and Stone Van Patten, who owned and operated the renovated Victorian bed & breakfast facility. We'd been glued to the TV for hours, watching the Weather Channel and anxiously waiting for updates on the progress of the still-churning hurricane and the devastation it was leaving behind in its wake.

  We gasped in unison as meteorologist, Jim Cantore, predicted Hurricane Harvey would inundate the Houston area with over fifty inches of rain. Fifty inches of rain!! I couldn't quite wrap my head around the idea of over four fee
t of rain falling in one storm! The magnitude of this forceful storm, that had strengthened for days in the Gulf of Mexico before making landfall in Rockport, was unprecedented and expected to become one of the costliest, if not the costliest, tropical cyclone on record.

  Through it all, we had no way of knowing how Regina and Milo had fared, or if their beautiful home was still standing. Rip and I were in Missouri and felt helpless, knowing it was unlikely we'd be able to get to our daughter's side for days. The damage reports were not exactly encouraging, either. Local airports, and nearly every thoroughfare leading from Houston to south of Corpus Christi, were closed indefinitely. Thousands of power poles that'd been snapped in two, downed electrical lines, uprooted trees, debris, and various other hazards were making every road in the vicinity impassable.

  I shook my head in despair. "Even if the kids survived the storm, I doubt their fancy-pants home did."

  "Let's not borrow worry, Rapella." Rip tenderly stroked my back. "We need to hope for the best, even as we prepare for the worst."

  Just then our cell phone rang.

  "It's Regina!" I exclaimed. Flustered, I grabbed the phone, accidentally disconnecting the call.

  "What the ̶ ?" Rip looked at me as if I'd just hung up on the Pope. When the phone rang a second time, he snatched it from my hand. "Sweetheart? Are you kids all right?"

  I nervously watched as Rip strained to hear Regina's response. As usual, he'd left his hearing aids in the safety of his toiletry bag, which was a constant source of irritation for me.

  "Give me the blasted thing!" I snatched the phone back.

  "Mom?" Regina sounded on the verge of hysteria. Her voice was cutting in and out. "I___ ___ one bar___ ___ ___first time___ ___get out all___."

  "I can't understand you, honey. Are you and Milo okay?" I asked.