Georgette Todd

c h a p t e r   1

.38

 

Holly Todd was a 20-year-old single mother of two with a GED and little job experience. She had recently separated from her husband, who promised yet failed to pay any child support for their girls, Georgette and Kaitlynn "Lynn," ages four and two. She wasn’t surprised as he never had a job for long. Job fallouts always seemed to be someone else’s fault. Since she didn’t want to rely on her family, she had to get a job, and she did, as a secretary for Crawford’s Auto Body Shop.

 

Tom Crawford, 47, was Holly’s boyfriend before he became her boss. Whenever Tom needed her to work overtime, Holly was always willing to accommodate him. Normally, Tom would give Holly a heads-up to plan with her babysitter, but one evening, he needed her on short notice. He agreed to pay a double rate and overtime for the babysitter. The babysitter was annoyed, but was able to stay for a fewmore hours. This relieved Holly. She didn’t want to call her family last minute even though they lived close by. She had just moved out of her parent’s home, so she was determined to show everyone that she could make it on her own.

 

Holly and Tom hadn’t been dating long but they were exclusive. They met at a local bar, The Pelican Pub. Tom had been nursing a double scotch, spiritless. Nothing inside him stirred until Holly’s tall, model-lean body came into frame. Tom’s hooded eyes crept upward to her soft pink lips, a sharp lightly freckled nose, high cheekbones, and coffee-hold-the-cream eyes that matched the soft hue of her long, wavy hair. He didn’t think he could get her as she looked awfully young, and she was—just nine months shy of being old enough to frequent bars legally. But Holly liked older men.

 

There were two Hollys. The one during the daytime, who kissed and hugged Georgette and Lynn out of nowhere, sang to them every morning, dolled them up in fluffy dresses and shiny black-buckle shoes, watched cartoons with them, and giggled as her girls hopped up and down while she baked cookies and cupcakes. When Holly wasn’t working at the body shop, she’d be cleaning, cooking and inviting girlfriends over to hang out. On the evenings when a babysitter showed up, Holly changed into someone else. Off came the second skin jeans and tanks, and on came the little to the imagination black dresses, red lipstick and drugstore perfume. At night, Holly became a Revlon commercial—the Charlie’s Angels all rolled into one with her Farrah Fawcett hair, Kate Jackson body, and Jacqueline Smith prim grin.

 

When Holly lived with her family at her childhood home, she went out a lot, enough for Georgette to notice. But when it was just she and her girls at a rented house in El Cajon, Holly hardly went out unless it was with Tom. During the body shop hours, they both kept a professional appearance, but Tom had another side to him. A side that tangled with criminals, drugs, and guns. He kept a safe at the office that stored tens of thousands of dollars, and routinely met a man privately who never had a car to service.

 

On the night that Holly stayed after hours, two men, a New York prison escapee and another with a criminal history of robbing drug dealers, both came to pay Tom a visit. Holly was in the back office with Tom, who was at his desk. She was filing some paperwork when she heard a loud noise. She turned to see where it was coming from, only then to be met with the barrel of a .38 pistol.

 

“Up against the wall, bitch.”

 

Holly stiffened with hands up but turned to face the wall, as the unmasked gunmen made their demands. They were there to collect $25,000 based on a contract. Tom immediately went to the safe and counted out all the money in it.

 

“Okay, that should do it. Just don’t involve Holly. She’s just the secretary. She has nothing to do with this.”

 

The gunmen told Tom to “shut the fuck up.”

 

“My babies!” Holly worried as she welled up, her lips quivering.

 

Urine started to trickle down her wobbly legs. Holly heard the men taking their time moving around and about the office. She was horrified that they were still there. The office was silent when a gun cocked.

 

Holly turned around and saw . . .

 

“Noooo!”

 

A shot fired.

 

Holly stumbled as she rushed to Tom, flat on the floor. He was dead. “NOOOOOOOOOO!” Holly screamed as she cradled Tom in her arms, rocking him back and forth as his blood started to soak her blouse. She was shaking her head in a state of shock.

 

The men were walking out the office door until Holly yelled at them, “You assholes! He paid you!”

 

Holly’s eyes flooded with more tears as she stared down the blurry gunmen, wishing she could kill them. But it was no use. Tom was gone. She cried as she bent her head down again to kiss the man she was beginning to love.

 

And that’s when one of the men casually shot my mom in the head with a .38. My mom’s head bled for twelve hours before a co-worker found the bodies sprawled on the office floor. Our family was notified, which was good since the babysitter had left us while we were asleep.

 

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