The Grimm Legacy, page 1
title page
The Grimm Legacy
Addie J. King
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An imprint of
Musa Publishing
Copyright Information
The Grimm Legacy, Copyright © 2012 by Addie J. King
All Rights Reserved. Except as permitted under the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976, no part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, or stored in a database or retrieval system, without prior written permission of the publisher.
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This e-Book is a work of fiction. While references may be made to actual places or events, the names, characters, incidents, and locations within are from the author’s imagination and are not a resemblance to actual living or dead persons, businesses, or events. Any similarity is coincidental.
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Musa Publishing
633 Edgewood Ave
Lancaster, OH 43130
www.musapublishing.com
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Published by Musa Publishing, May 2012
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This e-Book is licensed to the original purchaser only. Duplication or distribution via any means is illegal and a violation of International Copyright Law, subject to criminal prosecution and upon conviction, fines and/or imprisonment. No part of this ebook can be reproduced or sold by any person or business without the express permission of the publisher.
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ISBN: 978-1-61937-221-4
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Editor: Jaime-Kristal Lott
Cover Design: Kelly Shorten
Interior Book Design: Coreen Montagna
Dedication
This book is dedicated to
Merlin David Woodruff
I hope it’s twelve o’clock, Grandpa.
I miss you.
Chapter One
The blond newscaster was way too perky for me this early in the morning. If I didn’t get coffee soon, I’d find out firsthand if perkiness prior to percolation qualified for justifiable homicide.
My ratty old bathrobe and wild bedhead hair just couldn’t compete with the polish of the woman on the battered second-hand television. She deserved a smack for that alone, at least in my opinion. I settled for smacking the side of the television when the picture fuzzed at the edges and wished for some kind of supernatural power that would allow me to slap her through the TV.
I stumbled through the half unpacked boxes and piles of books and papers in my new apartment, yawning and stretching. I hoped I’d unpacked the coffeepot the night before; I’d just moved in yesterday, and everything was still in a jumbled mess.
“This just in; Dayton police discovered a dead wolf in McGregor Park this morning. The wolf’s stomach appears to have been cut open, and seven heavy paving stones were placed inside, likely prior to death…”
Huh? It must’ve been the lack of caffeine; the newscaster couldn’t actually be talking about something that strange. I was only twenty-two; too young for dementia. And a wolf that close to where I lived? Yikes. The park was right next door to my apartment complex. I didn’t think we had wolves in Dayton, Ohio. I stood in front of the coffee pot, willing it to brew faster and yawning some more, but the newscast caught my attention again.
“And in other news, last night police responded to a break in at the Dayton Art Institute. A source close to the museum has told us that several pieces for the upcoming German folk art exhibit have been taken, including a red cape, a spinning wheel and spindle, and a glass shoe, but none of the framed art or sculptures from the museum were touched. In a stranger note, the security cameras seem to have been malfunctioning because there is no record of entry or exit into the building after the museum closed for the day.”
The coffeepot finally finished brewing. Thank God.
Now where were those coffee mugs? I must not have unpacked them the night before. I reached for the first open box and rummaged around until I found my Give Me My Coffee and No One Will Get Hurt mug. It was my favorite.
Who would want such oddball things, as opposed to valuable art that could be stolen and sold for money? Not that I would steal anything, but the items the newscaster was talking about couldn’t be worth all that much. I looked around my tiny one-bedroom apartment furnished sparsely from garage sales and thrift stores and attics. Money was something I didn’t have a lot of, either.
My stepmother was going to be furious. Evangeline Kravits Grimm worked as a volunteer at the museum, and I knew she was preparing something big for the exhibit. I really hoped they wouldn’t have to cancel it after all of her hard work, or I’d be listening to her complain for a good long while. She’d be miserable, and she’d make me miserable with her.
I had to meet Evangeline for brunch today. I winced as I poured myself some coffee. That was not going to be a fun meal. I headed back into the living room, sipping my coffee and trying to orient myself about what I might be able to accomplish before I left for brunch.
As I turned, I slipped on the pile of mail lying on the floor below the mail slot in my front door and stubbed my toe on a nearby box of books before I could catch my balance. Coffee slopped over the side of the mug, singeing the back of my hand and spilling on the sleeve of my bathrobe.
“Ow, ow, ow.” I hopped on one foot, trying not to spill any more coffee as I also tried to see how badly I’d stubbed my toe. I didn’t see any blood. It probably wasn’t more than just bruised, but wow that hurt. I scooped up the mail and tossed it on the kitchen table where I’d sort out the junk and the coupons later. As I set down the coffee mug on the counter and wiped the coffee off the back of my hand, I noticed that the envelopes were marked “occupant.” I wondered how long it would take to start getting mail with my own name, Janie Grimm, on the label.
What to wear? My version of acceptable brunch clothing was nowhere near as particular as my step-monster’s. If left to my own devices, I’d end up in a T-shirt and a pair of jean cutoffs. It took several wardrobe changes before I finally settled on an outfit. If the newscast was to be believed about a break-in at the museum, she’d be extra picky today. She was always hard to please when she was in a bad mood, and thieves being inconsiderate enough to ruin her hard work and steal her exhibits would affect her mood for sure.
I got dressed in Evangeline-approved gear: tan slacks and a pale blue sweater set. I hated clothing like that. It made me look like one of those people in high-end shopping malls, all wearing the same outfit and carrying the same giant paisley purse, with fake acrylic French manicures and perfectly coiffed hair. They were like poodles: primped and pressed within an inch of having a life.
Speaking of primping, I’d have to find my makeup. I hated wearing it, but I needed to go the extra mile today to prevent a stepmother scolding. I always felt like I was wearing a disguise when I wore makeup; it was like I was wearing someone else’s face instead of my own.
“Where did I put that makeup kit?” I asked aloud, speaking to no one in particular, especially since I lived alone. After several minutes of frantic rummaging, I found it in exactly the place it shouldn’t have been: jammed in a box of Dad’s old books, between the leather bound family Bible and the photo album of my father’s wedding to Evangeline.
I shouldn’t have taken the time, but I cracked open the photo album to see a picture of my Dad. Mom took off when I was eight, and two years later Evangeline married Dad in a ceremony so sickeningly perfect that Martha Stewart herself would’ve cringed. I wore a scratchy pink crinoline dress that day without complaint, because it made my dad so happy.
I missed him. Dad got sick just after the wedding and spent the next twelve years fighting the cancer that finally killed him six months ago. I was, at least, able to announce my acceptance to law school before he died. He made Evangeline promise to help and support me since he couldn’t be there himself, and she had, albeit reluctantly, agreed. She was my only family now, and I was stuck with her because she held the purse strings. The relationship she and I had didn’t come without obligation.
It’s not that I can’t pay the rent, I thought, as I put the album on a shelf beside the Bible. I don’t mind hard work. I could get a job, but first year law students aren’t supposed to work. The law school was adamant all through the application and acceptance process and through orientation, telling us the workload would be too heavy to take on a job, even a part-time one. I hated the idea of putting myself in debt to Evangeline, but all she’d asked for in return for paying my rent was a promise to meet her for a weekly brunch, on her. At the time it seemed like a small price to pay.
Now I was spending the day before my classes started meeting her for brunch instead of figuring out which boxes held my notebooks and highlighters for tomorrow. I grabbed the makeup bag and hurried to get ready. As it was, I’d taken too much time looking at old pictures and ended up rushing to finish my makeup in the parking lot when I arrived.
When I got to the restaurant, a chi-chi bistro I couldn’t hope to afford on my current budget, I caught sight of my reflection in the glass door and groaned. My chin-length brown hair was not being cooperative. It was mid-August in Ohio and the humidity was making my hair look like I’d combed it with a pitchfork. I reached for a headband in my purse and hoped Evangeline wouldn’t complain too much. It was too late to do anything about it now.
And there she was: a vision in a pale yellow sweater set, her blond hair shellacked into place with enough hairspray to make me consider buying stock in Aqua Net, her long manicured nails click-clacking as they drummed an im
Evangeline’s gravelly voice didn’t match the perfect, falsely youthful, exterior. “Didn’t you promise to meet me at eleven? At least you made it here while they’re still serving brunch. My dear, you really must start wearing a good watch, especially if you’re going to be an attorney. How will you know how much time to bill a client if you don’t get used to checking your watch?”
I wondered if I could buy a reliable watch for less than ten dollars. That was just about all the money I could afford for it. I muttered an incoherent objection, not expecting to win any arguments with her but physically unable to agree with anything she said. It was a reflex after years of digs and disagreements.
And, as usual, she waved off petty concerns like money. “You have plenty of money. Your father’s estate had money and a watch is an investment in your future.”
Yeah, I’d inherited money from my dad in the form of the proceeds of selling the house we’d lived in before Evangeline married Dad, but law school tuition was the investment in my future I’d chosen to make, rather than fancy jewelry. Between tuition, books, supplies, and all the expenses other than the rent, I didn’t have much extra cash left to get through law school without running out of money, especially if I couldn’t work for the first year.
“Evangeline, how’s your work with the art institute going?” Better get it out of the way, now, I thought.
The waiter came by to take our drink order before my stepmother got a chance to say anything else. Evangeline ordered a soy milk latte, and I ordered a mimosa. This wasn’t starting well.
The waiter, a cute redheaded guy about my own age, started yammering on about the day’s specials. I smiled at him; he had served us at most of our brunch meetings. I never could remember his name, but he wasn’t bad to look at, and never tried to extend our meetings with dessert or coffee offerings. It was almost like he knew I didn’t want to be there, and was trying to help me get out of there faster. I caught a glimpse of his name tag: Aiden.
Evangeline looked down, meticulously lining up the handles of her silverware so they were even with the edge of the table. She then refolded the napkin on her lap twice before pulling out a small jar of lotion, which she proceeded to rub into her hands while she complained to the waiter that there were spots on the silverware. Okay, Evangeline was anal retentive, and the hand lotion thing was an obsession with her, but that was way overboard.
I shooed the waiter away, despite the insane urge to keep talking with him instead of my stepmother. He seemed nicer than Evangeline. He tripped on his way back into the kitchen, knocking over a tray of dishes that crashed to the floor as he fell. I definitely would have preferred to go over and see if he was okay rather than stay at my table.
Instead, I asked her the question I knew I was supposed to ask. “Are you all right?”
“Oh, I’m fine. Thank you for asking,” she said, clearing her throat and looking up from the pristine napkin in her lap. “I suppose the news last night shook me up a bit.”
Huh? The plastic Barbie of Botox shook up? This I had to hear. “What happened?” Ice queen, clenched-teeth pique, I expected. Frostily annoyed? Sure. Shook up? I’d never seen her antsy or distracted like this. Maybe I shouldn’t have brought it up.
“Someone broke into the art institute last night and several of the exhibits were taken. There was to be an exhibition of German folk art and historical artifacts to open right before Oktoberfest and now they must cancel, because the cornerstone pieces were taken.”
“What pieces?” I asked, wondering if the news had gotten it all correct.
“There was a horn mouthpiece made of bone, a glass shoe, a red cape, a spinning wheel and spindle, an iron stove, as well as twelve worn out pairs of dancing shoes. And they cannot be replaced!”
It sounded like an overreaction to me. But then again, Evangeline had perfected the art of genteel melodrama. “I’m sure it’ll turn up. At least it wasn’t a Monet or a Van Gogh. I’m assuming the exhibit had more pieces to display than that, so those six things shouldn’t stop the show, should it?” Our drinks arrived, and the waiter asked for our order again.
I sipped my drink and started to order. The cute waiter bolted, babbling incoherently about needing to get more water. I looked at our full water glasses and began to call after him, but I caught sight of Evangeline’s expression, and gaped at her uncharacteristic show of emotion.
Her face flushed, her eyes went red, and she was gritting her teeth as she spoke in clipped bursts of tight-lipped pique. “Don’t you dare belittle the value of those precious items, you ungrateful thing. They may not be traditional art, but they’re irreplaceable cultural treasures and you’d do well to remember it. Someday you’ll understand the true value of things.”
I must’ve looked shocked at her outburst, my glass halfway to my mouth. She took a moment to run her hands over her hair and smooth back the nonexistent flyaways as she took a deep breath to compose herself. Evangeline didn’t lose her temper, not ever. I’d seen her be frostily annoyed. I’d seen her nag without a crack in her polished veneer. But visibly angry? Never. And lecturing me about the true value of things? From Evangeline? Was she kidding me?
Chapter Two
I tried to apologize. Just the idea that Evangeline had actual emotions had thrown me.
I could’ve slapped myself for that ungrateful thought. If I’d managed to piss off my stepmother, I wasn’t sure how I’d get the rent paid this month. She let me stew about it a moment, and then her face relaxed as much as it was able with all of the Botox. After she collected herself, she pulled a check out of her purse and slid it across the table. I grabbed for it before she could snatch it back, and noticed that she’d written it for three hundred dollars more than my rent. Now I really felt bad. “Evangeline, I did tell you that my rent was only five hundred dollars a month, didn’t I?”
She gave me a serene smile, a one-hundred-and-eighty-degree change from just moments before. “Of course I know what your rent costs, my dear; I was there when you signed the paperwork. I just felt your father would want me to look after you better than that. After all, he did make me promise to take care of you.”
I stammered something that sounded appreciative, still in shock at her turnaround.
She continued, “You’ll have some expenses getting started that I’m sure you weren’t expecting. Of course, I expect you to buy a decent watch, as well. You’ll need to be sure to get yourself to class on time. I can’t imagine how you made it through college without someone to ensure you went to all of your classes without being late. And someone certainly needs to look after you if you don’t have the social graces to think about what you say before you say it.”
And there it was. The dig. Not that I wasn’t grateful for the money. Setting up house was more expensive than I’d budgeted for, and my savings were taking quite a beating. Who knew just how fast bed linens, and brooms, and pots and pans could blow a budget? I certainly hadn’t realized how expensive it would be.
I felt bad about belittling something that obviously meant so much to her. “I appreciate it, Evangeline. Is there anything I can do to help you this week?” It’d be hard to juggle my first week of law school with keeping her happy, but I’d fouled up, and I knew it.
“Well, if you would be a dear, the art institute is having a fundraiser on Friday night. If you could show up in an appropriate outfit and pass out programs, I would appreciate it, and you’d get a free meal out of it as well.”
Done. It was the least I could do for her when she’d covered the extra expenses that had kept me up late last night budgeting and recalculating in my head, worrying about how I’d afford food for the next two weeks. There’s only so much Top Ramen a person can eat. “I’ll be there.”
As I left the restaurant, I was congratulating myself at giving her what she wanted. The whole meal hadn’t lasted long, so I still had time to get back to my place to unpack a few more boxes and get a good night’s sleep.
I went home and straightened up my apartment, then began organizing my backpack and my notebooks to embark on my first day of law school. This was what I’d been working for. I wished Dad could be here. He used to send me off to my first day of school with a hand-packed lunch, complete with a goofy I-love-you note and cookies, even when Evangeline hadn’t approved.
