Mother Dear

by Nova Lee Maier

  “No, she made him swear not to tell anyone about it. She lost her virginity to him, at the start of summer vacation.” Naomi looked at him with alarm. “Shit, you won’t tell anybody else, will you?”

  He raised two fingers. “Scout’s honor.”

  She looked at him inquiringly, then leaned closer. “It was in the kitchen at the Horn of Plenty, when nobody else was around. If her father had found out, Brian would have lost his job.”

  “Probably his balls too,” remarked Ralf. He experienced a sudden fervent hope that he would never have any daughters of his own.

  “Even before that, her father couldn’t stand her dating somebody beneath her. I mean, she’s still in high school, but the boys she fell for were quite a bit older and had jobs already.” She picked something from under her nail. “I can see where she’s coming from, though. High school guys are—well, they’re just boys, really. They’re happy if you let them hold your hand or whatever. They aren’t real men.”

  What did she mean by that?

  She touched his forearm. “I really need to go inside now. My little sister is home alone this afternoon, and I have to look after her.”

  “Do you need any help?”

  She shook her head. “Better not.”

  He paused. “What time do you get out tomorrow?”

  “Twelve ten.”

  “Then I’ll pick you up from school.”

  “OK,” she said, and hurriedly got out of the car.

  He watched her walk down the path behind the houses. The leather schoolbag hanging over her shoulder was the same shade of blue as her sneakers. She turned around briefly at the corner, smiled, and lifted her hand. Then she disappeared from view.

  “Sorry, Brian,” he whispered out loud. He put his hand under his belt and adjusted his boxer shorts.

  10

  The doorbell rang—a deep, loud gong that Helen had always found rather theatrical, but which somehow suited Wildenbergh’s high ceilings and gleaming stone floors, and for that reason had never been replaced. Right now, she wanted nothing more than to ignore it, but it was too late for that.

  There were two police officers at the door, and they must have been there for a reason. She fought the impulse to flee through the back and reluctantly walked into the hall. One of the officers, a black woman around thirty, made eye contact with her through the side window.

  There was no way to warn Werner.

  With a trembling hand, she opened the front door. She tried to act as normal as possible—surprised and curious, a little anxious—but she wasn’t sure whether it would come across that way.

  “Good afternoon. Is this a bad time?” It was the man who spoke. He was around fifty, balding, and had a round, friendly face. A baton, handcuffs, and a gun hung from the belt around his waist.

  She closed her eyes briefly. “Er—no, of course not.”

  “We’re currently making inquiries in the neighborhood. Have you heard anything unusual over the last few days?”

  “No, I don’t think so,” she replied quickly.

  The noise from the basement had stopped. Werner had hopefully heard the bell and was keeping quiet, but she couldn’t be sure. She broke into a sweat. What if the reason for the silence was that he had finished his gruesome task, and was about to step into the hallway in his filthy scrubs—dazed, wild-eyed, with a bloody saw in his hands? Helen could scarcely resist the temptation to look over her shoulder.

  “So, you haven’t seen anything strange either? Anything out of the ordinary?”

  “Out of the ordinary,” she whispered. A shiver ran through her body. She quickly recovered and glanced at the police officers. “I don’t think so. Why do you ask?”

  “There’s been a break-in at your neighbors’ house.”

  She exhaled almost imperceptibly.

  “The thieves forced the back door open; they probably got into the garden through the woods. The cat sitter noticed this morning that some of their possessions were missing.”

  “How terrible. What did they take?”

  “Unfortunately, we can’t share any details.”

  The woman adopted the same line as her colleague. “We haven’t managed to get ahold of your neighbors yet. The cat sitter told us they’re due back tomorrow from their vacation.”

  “Vacation,” Helen echoed. She raised her hands and produced an apologetic smile. “Sorry, I didn’t know they were gone. Otto and Frank often go away for a few days, but they don’t always tell us. We don’t actually have very much contact with them.”

  Suddenly, the house was filled with a high-pitched, piercing noise that was slightly muted by the basement door. The sharp screech of toothed metal grinding its way through solid material. The sound stopped briefly, and then the appliance squealed to life once again.

  The policewoman peered into the house. “Doing some home improvement?”

  Helen looked behind her. Her whole body was shaking. She feared that the tremor was audible in her voice too. “Oh, you know, there’s always something that needs fixing in an old house like this.”

  The male officer coughed. “So, you didn’t notice anything last night? Or early this morning? We’re trying to establish what time the break-in took place.”

  “I’m sorry I can’t help you. I didn’t notice anything. My husband and I have a lot on our plate at the moment.”

  “Oh?” asked the woman.

  Helen gave a start. Why am I talking so much? She made a dismissive gesture. “Nothing in particular. Work. And stuff with the kids . . .”

  “Teenagers?” asked the policeman.

  She nodded. “Thirteen, fifteen, and seventeen.”

  He shot her a sympathetic look, then handed her a card. “Perhaps your husband or somebody else saw or heard something. It’d be very useful if you could give us a call to let us know.”

  “OK, I will.”

  “Oh, and Mrs. Möhring?”

  Helen looked at the female officer.

  “The days are getting shorter. Neighborhoods like this one are unfortunately popular with criminals, and thieves are getting more ruthless all the time.” She gestured at Werner’s Mercedes and looked up at the façade of the house. “You might want to think about getting some cameras. They aren’t so expensive these days.”

  “Oh yes. Good idea. Thanks for the tip.”

  The policewoman gave her a friendly nod. “Have a nice day.”

  “And good luck with it all!” the man said with a wink.

  11

  It was already growing dark by the time Ralf drove home. He had spent the entire afternoon with friends and had eaten at their place too—frozen pizza and leftover spaghetti. Thanks to the idle conversations and loud music, he had managed not to think about anything the whole time he was there—but that wasn’t possible now that he was back in his car.

  He parked around the corner from his parents’ house underneath a few large chestnut trees, their leaves already changing color, and turned off the engine. As the interior lighting slowly dimmed, he remained motionless behind the wheel. Bikers trundled past, scooters and cars too. Now and then, people let their dogs out onto the patch of grass next to the car. Nobody noticed him.

  Ralf tried to imagine what Sara could have seen in somebody like Brian. His looks? Brian looked like a thug who was always spoiling for a fight. His personality wasn’t much to speak of either. Everybody thought Brian was a scumbag—apart from all the girls who were impressed by his car. But Sara’s father was rich. His Mercedes was way newer and more expensive than Brian’s Golf GTI. What was it Naomi had said? High school guys are just boys. They’re happy if you let them hold your hand. Brian was no boy; that much was true. It seemed he’d made that clear enough to Sara when he’d taken her virginity in her father’s restaurant.

  Brian had quit not long after that—he’d stopped working at the Horn of Plenty in July, and then waited a few months before trying to rob his former boss in his own home.

  How had he come up wi
th that idea? Ralf could only guess. Brian had kept him completely in the dark. He hadn’t even told him that the robbery was at Sara Möhring’s. Ralf barely knew Sara, but still, Brian should have shared that information. Had he deliberately neglected to do so? Now that Ralf thought about it, Brian had known an awful lot about the family’s movements. He’d known exactly where everybody would be that evening, as if he’d been watching the house for weeks. But he hadn’t. Brian was definitely too lazy for something like that.

  In hindsight, Ralf wasn’t sure why he hadn’t asked more questions.

  What had Brian told him about? he wondered now. Taking Sara’s virginity? Nope. Not a word. On the other hand, Brian had had so many girlfriends. Maybe he didn’t think it was even worth mentioning.

  And yet . . . Friends talked about things like that, and Ralf had thought Brian was his friend. Was the reverse also true? Or had Brian only viewed him as a useful helper and—since losing his license and his car—a chauffeur?

  12

  “Do you want a piece, Dad?”

  Werner shook his head. “You guys finish it. I’ve had enough to eat.”

  “Yeah, we’ve noticed—barely anything,” said Sara. She rolled her eyes, but covered the chocolate cake and put it in the fridge. “You’re starting to act like Mom with all her diets. It’s like you two are encouraging each other. You won’t get fat from one piece of cake, you know.”

  Werner rested his forearm on the back of the chair. “Perhaps I need to remind you that your father runs four restaurants. I get offered food all day long.”

  She pouted. “But not by your own daughter.”

  “No. By real chefs.”

  She made a face and left the kitchen.

  Werner took a deep breath and looked blankly through the window.

  Helen could tell that it was costing him enormous effort to hide everything from the children. He was at his limit. And the job still wasn’t done. He’d had to stop working abruptly this afternoon at two thirty when Sara unexpectedly came home early from school, bringing three friends with her. The four of them had occupied the kitchen all afternoon. They’d baked a cake and taken photos of every step in the process—a project for school.

  “I can sneak off for a few hours tomorrow morning,” said Werner. “But I need to go to the restaurant in the afternoon—there’s no avoiding it. I didn’t go in at all today.”

  Thom stuck his head through the door. The older he got, the more he resembled Werner, with his refined, bony features and slim figure. It was as if she’d had nothing to do with the creation of her own son. Amazing how genetics worked sometimes.

  “Have you gone shopping for my party yet?” he asked.

  Helen and Werner both turned to face Thom.

  “Party?”

  Thom’s eyes widened. “Jesus, what are you two drinking there? I’m having a party on Friday, remember?”

  “Yes, of course I remember,” answered Helen.

  Thom stared at his parents incredulously. “Are you sure? Normally there’d be boxes from the cash-and-carry in the garage by now.”

  “It’s all taken care of,” Werner snapped. “Your mother and I are trying to have a conversation here. Could we have a little peace?”

  “Well, excuse me!”

  “Now that’s enough!” Werner stood up from his dining chair and pointed at Thom. “I’ll cancel that party of yours altogether if you don’t shut your mouth.”

  Helen kicked Werner under the table.

  Thom was about to speak but thought better of it. He spun around and strode into the hall.

  “And close that goddamn door behind you properly!”

  “It was already open!” yelled Thom, pulling it shut behind him—a little too hard.

  The kitchen was silent for a few seconds. Then Werner turned to face Helen. “What did you kick me for?”

  “You don’t have to take your frustration out on him. Thom’s right—we haven’t thought about his birthday for a second.”

  “Do I need to remind you why?”

  “He doesn’t know that, though, does he? It’s his sixteenth birthday—it’s really important to him.”

  Werner stared at the tabletop, gripping his glass. His entire demeanor radiated frustration and resentment.

  “Goddamnit,” she heard him mutter. “The house will be packed yet again on Friday. Perfect timing.”

  “Maybe there won’t be anything left by then.”

  Deep lines appeared on his forehead. “Can you smuggle half a torso in your purse every day?”

  She looked at him in alarm.

  “Because that’s what we’re talking about here. We still have an awful lot of work to do.” He stood up and left the kitchen.

  Wednesday

  1

  She had never used it before: a tall, narrow, dark-red leather tote bag with a hard, rectangular base, a zipper on top, and two floppy handles. When she’d spotted it in a shop window in Rome four years ago, she’d thought it looked both chic and sturdy; back home, however, it had proven too big to use as a handbag and too small for going shopping. Helen had now retrieved her poor purchase from the linen closet in the hall and dusted it off a little. It leered up at her from the floor next to the kitchen table. There were two unusually heavy packages inside it, carefully wrapped in gray garbage bags and sealed with duct tape. The rest of her things were stored in the front compartment. She bent down to zip the bag up, and felt the chill rising from it.

  “Give it your best shot,” she heard Werner say.

  She nodded almost imperceptibly.

  “You can do it.”

  She nodded again.

  He touched her shoulder. “I’ll see you tonight. Good luck.”

  She turned around and sought his eyes. “You too.”

  He gave her a slightly distracted look. For a moment, she thought he was going to kiss her, but he simply squeezed her shoulder.

  2

  On the breakfast table lay a stack of forms along with an envelope, a pen, and a note in his mother’s neat, curly handwriting.

  Could you fill these in for me, Ralf? I’ll be home at five thirty tonight.

  He set down his breakfast plate and cup. These were the best mornings, when both his parents were at work. No nagging about his eating habits, and nobody to say anything when he spent an entire hour in the shower, wandered around in his boxer shorts, and played Comedy Central on high volume.

  Ralf cut his toast and fried eggs into small pieces and covered his breakfast in a layer of mayonnaise. He ate quickly, washing his food down with Coke. At the same time, he scanned ads on Craigslist. A few people in a neighboring town had put some promising motor scooters up for sale. Nearly new, no exterior damage. The asking prices were correspondingly steep. Two of the scooters were kept outside, to judge from the photos, and one of them even came with a matching rain cover. He pushed his plate aside and called the number on the first ad.

  A woman—Jantine or Janine?—picked up.

  “Hi, my name’s Mike Jansen. Is the scooter still available?”

  It was. He asked a few questions for the sake of form.

  The woman enthusiastically supplied him with information. “That’s right, we always keep it outdoors, but there isn’t a spot of rust on it, and the seat is dry too—no rips or tears.”

  “When could I come over and take a look?”

  “This evening would be best—my daughter will be home then. It’s her scooter.”

  “Evenings are awkward for me.” Ralf doodled triangles on his sheet of paper. “I work in a restaurant. Could I drop by during the day? Maybe tomorrow or the day after?”

  “Um—could you come right now? I happen to be free today, but I’m back at work tomorrow and the day after. Otherwise, I could do the weekend?”

  Ralf pulled one of his mother’s forms toward him and wrote on the back: Thu + Fri daytime. “Hmm, that’d be tricky. What about tomorrow evening?”

  “No, there won’t be anybody here then.” />
  He scribbled down another note and said, “You know what? I’ll come tonight after all.”

  Ten minutes later, he had made four phone calls and written down two addresses. The first option looked like the better one. He would go and take a look tomorrow night.

  3

  Helen walked into the hospital via the staff entrance, but instead of turning right toward the changing rooms and the recovery ward, she continued straight down a wide corridor that led to the central hall. She walked hurriedly. The bag was heavy—much heavier than a handbag ought to be—and every time it brushed against her leg, she felt the chill. Two nurses were standing in conversation by the escalators. They nodded at her, and she endeavored to return their greeting as casually as possible. Nothing to see here, she impressed upon herself. Nobody could possibly know what she was carrying.

  Her heart throbbed in her throat as she entered a small hallway and used her pass to open a door. She found herself in a narrow side corridor. Nervously, she took in her surroundings. She had never actually checked whether there were any security cameras in the hospital, but there had to be some. At the main entrance and in the central hall at the very least. She scanned the walls and the ceilings but didn’t spot anything.

  She had to get rid of the packages before she started work; otherwise, she would have to leave them in her locker all day along with her clothes, phone, keys, and wedding ring. She quickly pushed a door open and slipped inside.

  The room was dimly lit and not much bigger than a typical bedroom. The walls were lined with wheeled trolleys, each about the height of a man. One was filled with plastic bags of general waste, while the second held laundry bags with white bedding inside them. The third had a stack of around a dozen blue plastic containers on it, with their bright-yellow plastic lids lying next to them. The fourth and fifth were empty. By the end of the day, they too would be full to the brim with all kinds of waste and refuse, ready for collection by Transport.