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CHAPTER FIFTY-EIGHT

SEATTLE, WASHINGTON

SUNDAY, APRIL 2, 2023

2:00 P.M.

When Donna Jean’s phone rang that Sunday afternoon, it awakened her out of a sound sleep. She had been dozing in her easy chair right along with Pearl. As soon as she saw Mrs. Brewster’s name in caller ID, her heart fell. She had heard that the charges against Clarice had been dropped and that she was being released. This was the call she’d been dreading—the one where Mrs. Brewster would demand that Donna Jean bring Pearl back home.

“Hello,” she said tentatively.

“Oh, good,” Mrs. Brewster said. “You’re there. I was worried I wouldn’t be able to reach you. They just brought me home, and without that damned ankle monitor, either, thank goodness. But the house is a shambles and there’s no food here at all. Can you come by tomorrow and straighten things out?”

Donna Jean could barely believe her ears. She had managed to fill up her Friday schedule, but Mondays were still open.

“Of course,” she said. “What time?”

“The usual,” Mrs. Brewster said. “I assume you still have your key?”

“Yes.”

“Don’t be surprised if you find me sleeping on the sofa in the living room. I just went upstairs and looked. There’s still blood on the mattress. I can’t believe nobody bothered to clean up that mess. You’ll need to make arrangements to have it hauled away and have a new one delivered.”

Obviously, nothing had changed. Mrs. Brewster was still the same old Mrs. Brewster.

“Of course,” Donna Jean said. “I’ll take care of it. Do you want me to bring Pearl with me?”

“Pearl,” Mrs. Brewster said. “I’d almost forgotten about her. Why don’t you let her stay on with you for the next little while. Being at the hotel gave me something of an epiphany. I quite liked it, actually. Rather than remodeling this old place, I’m going to put it on the market. I’ve been reading up on cruise ship retirements. That’s exactly what I’m going to do.”

“What about Pearl?”

Mrs. Brewster sighed. “They don’t allow pets on cruise ships, so unless you want her, I suppose I’ll have to turn her over to the Humane Society.”

“Please don’t do that,” Donna Jean said quickly. “She’s no trouble at all. I’ll be glad to keep her.”

“Good,” Mrs. Brewster said, “it’s settled, then. See you tomorrow.”

On Monday, Donna Jean showed up at Mrs. Brewster’s place and spent most of the day taking care of cleaning up the master bedroom. She found a place that would deliver a new mattress that very day and take away the old one, too, bloodstains and all. Mrs. Brewster’s Amex card worked wonders.

“Next, you’ll need to clean out those other bedrooms,” Mrs. Brewster told her.

“What should I do with all that stuff?”

“I don’t care,” she said. “Take what you want, donate the rest, or call those Got Junk people and have them come haul it away. Now that I’ve made up my mind, I don’t want to waste any time. The sooner I list this place the better.”

Donna Jean worked like crazy that day and all the next week, dropping by Mrs. Brewster’s place to sort things whenever she could spare the time from her other jobs. There were plenty of secondhand stores that were more than willing to take Mrs. Brewster’s castoffs, which ended up including all of Mr. Brewster’s clothing and goods as well. But every night when Donna Jean came home to find Pearl awaiting her arrival, she sat down with the kitty in her lap and counted her blessings.

Two weeks later, she came home and found an envelope in her mailbox down in the lobby. The return address said LITTLE, MASON, AND DOBBS, LLC., with a street address on Madison in downtown Seattle. She waited until she was in her apartment before tearing the envelope open. Inside she found a cashier’s check made out to her in the amount of one hundred and fifty thousand dollars, along with an accompanying letter:

Dear Ms. Plummer,

Now that the police investigation into Charles Brewster’s homicide has concluded, we are pleased to send along the amount left to you in his last will and testament, given to you in gratitude for your many years of faithful service.

Yours Truly,

William Dobbs

Dropping both the letter and the check on her kitchen table, Donna Jean staggered over to her easy chair and fell into it. Then, after all these awful weeks, she finally felt free to let the tears fall.

“Mr. Brewster was always the nicest man,” Donna Jean told Pearl when the cat leaped up into her lap. “I really miss him.”