by Tom Saric
"No, you didn't. You don't know how to love."
"And you do?" she screeched. "Karen hates you. She told me that, Gus. And she will die hating you."
I ignored her and continued. "And then Madeline went and did the one thing you couldn't control," I said. "She took her own life."
Tori screamed again. "No, you told him to kill her. You told him to!"
"I told him you wouldn't stop until she was dead. I was wrong about that."
"You'll know what it's like." She raised the gun and her wrist tensed.
I squeezed the trigger. A shot rang. I felt a punch in my shoulder, like I'd been hit by a boulder, and fell to the ground. I dropped onto a knee and the shotgun fell from my hand. I got on all fours, but when I tried to push myself up a searing pain radiated from my shoulder to my neck. As I righted myself, Doug emerged from the woods, pointing a rifle at me.
He stepped forward, the rifle barrel a few feet from my face. With his free hand, he grabbed my shotgun and tossed it into the woods.
"Good thing I didn't kill you, Doc," he said. "I need you to feel what it’s like to have your daughter killed." He stepped backward toward Tori. "You want to do the honors, or shall I?"
"We both know you don't have the guts."
Tori raised the weapon and pointed it at Karen's head. Karen screamed, and I saw Tori look me square in the eye as her hand began to tighten.
I jumped to my feet and lunged at Tori, my hands wrapping around her body.
Bang.
I clattered into her, smashing her against the wall of the shack and onto the ground.
Bang. Bang.
Karen and Sheila screamed.
I looked underneath me. Ragged tissue hung from Tori's throat, and she gurgled as blood spilled from the wound. Still holding the gun, she began turning it toward me. I grabbed her wrist, squeezing until she loosened her grip and the gun fell to the ground.
I grabbed it and turned around. Doug lay on his back, gasping for air like a dying fish.
Karen and Sheila were on their knees, hands behind their backs, scanning the darkness through reddened eyes. I crawled over and put an arm around each of them.
I heard a splashing behind me. I turned and saw the outline of a person approaching from the woods, holding a rifle. The figure stopped twenty yards away and reached into its jacket, then unscrewed a bottle top and knocked some of the contents back before moving forward again. I smiled as much as I could despite the pain.
"Want some?" Herman said, emerging from the darkness and holding out the flask.
"How did you know?"
Herman offered his hand and lifted me up. He pulled a hunting knife from a sheath on his belt and freed the women’s hands.
Karen and Sheila ran over and hugged me. I held them close.
Herman examined my shoulder. "I hate to do this, but hold still." He poured his moonshine onto the bullet wound, and I winced at the burning sensation. "I hate to waste good alcohol."
Herman stepped over to Doug, crouched down, and checked for a pulse. He shook his head and then walked over to Renee. He looked at her sideways as he tilted her head.
"Yup," he said. "She's still got those dead eyes."
I released Karen and Sheila from my hug.
"Herman, how did you know?"
"Well, when I see you rippin' my barn apart and runnin' away with my gun, I figured something was up."
"I'll fix those boards for you."
"Damn right you will."
The sheriffs didn't arrive for another forty minutes. At the time of my text, they were still busy scouring the county for me. They hadn't checked their voicemail, so they didn't get Sheila's message until after they arrived at the scene.
Deputy Parks took a brief statement from each of us, then let Herman drive Karen, Sheila, and me to the hospital instead of waiting another forty minutes for an ambulance. I convinced Herman to take my truck, rather than his old beat-up Chevy, mainly because I didn't think his old beater could make it that far. By the time we reached the truck I was hypothermic, numb, and in a daze, which was probably for the best, as I wasn't ready to process what had happened.
I do remember that Karen sat next to me in the back of the truck, at one point leaning her head on my shoulder.
25
I slept until the afternoon, oblivious to the beeps of IVs and heart monitors, the overhead PA, and nurses talking loudly in the chart room. I was in surgery by the next morning, and the surgeon was able to remove the bullet in my shoulder and sew me up in under two hours. They loaded me up with antibiotics and pain killers and sent me to my room.
When I opened my eyes, Karen and Sheila were sitting beside the window playing Crazy Eights. They were both cleaned up and wearing fresh clothes. A couple of get-well-soon cards sat on the windowsill next to a bouquet of daisies.
"Well good afternoon," Sheila said. "How do you feel?"
"Pretty good, they've got me on some good stuff."
"The doctor says that you'll live."
"You sound a bit disappointed about that," I said.
"It was a close one, sweetheart. I wasn't sure."
I laughed out loud, but stopped when my neck and shoulder became sore.
"You were right, you know that?"
"About what?"
"That loon was poisoning you. The doctor did a drug screen. You had barbiturates in your system."
I slowly smiled. "I thought I was losing it."
"You weren't the only one."
Sheila stood beside me and gently pushed my back forward. "You're sitting awkwardly, let me help." She fluffed my pillow and slowly lowered me back into a more comfortable position.
"I shouldn't have ever dragged you into this," I said.
"I dragged myself into it. And you couldn't have done it without me."
"True."
"You know, you told me that being your office manager would be part time."
"Are you asking for a raise, Sheila?"
"I think we should call it danger pay."
I grabbed a Styrofoam cup of ice chips and shook a few into my mouth.
"I'm going to leave you two. Karen, I'm going to bring you some decent coffee from down the street."
Karen smiled as Sheila left. "I like her, Dad."
"She's a good person. Doesn't let me get away with anything."
Karen stood up, holding an envelope. "I picked this up from your place. I found it outside fluttering around."
"The letter?"
She nodded and handed it to me. It was written in handwriting similar to mine, but must have been sent by Renee or Doug. I finished reading it and looked up at Karen.
"They sure knew how to put what I was feeling into words. I don't think I could've written it better myself."
Karen laughed. "When I first read it, I thought to myself, 'Dad couldn't have written this.' It's too heartfelt."
"I guess dealing with emotions isn't my strong suit. At least not my own."
Karen's hand slid down to mine.
"I haven't been good to you," I said. The words started pouring out as though her touch had opened a valve inside me, one that brought tears to my eyes too. "Too wrapped up in my own head to notice anyone else."
"You had a lot in your head, Dad."
I shook my head. "That's no excuse. My problems shouldn't have become your problems. Good dads don't do that."
Tears welled up in her eyes and dripped down her nose.
"Will you be there for me now?"
I nodded. "And for my grandchild too."
I was released from the hospital the next day. Wanda's funeral was held at the Catholic church in the center of town two days later. The tropical storm had given way to a cold front that covered Maine in eighteen inches of snow and sent the temperature plummeting to five degrees.
Wanda had a small insurance policy that covered her casket, plot, and burial. I sprang for the flowers so she could have gladiolas surrounding her at the funeral. A few people had bought wreath
s for her that stood next to her casket.
I thought how Wanda would have found it amusing that, given her lifestyle, she was being buried in a white casket in a church.
I was worried that the church would be empty, but the place filled up so much that extra chairs had to be placed in the aisles. I guess that's small-town living for you.
The murders had attracted only a small amount of media attention outside of Bridgetown. Ernie was fairly tight-lipped about the details of the crimes, which made it difficult for statewide and national news outlets to get the types of sound bites that sold newspapers. They were also distracted by the president's recent Twitter war with a few Middle Eastern nations. But that didn't stop news from spreading by word of mouth in town, with all sorts of rumors and variations to the story.
Joe Barrington stood in a pew by the side, looking like he wanted to wilt. Lorna wasn't with him, which I found interesting because she cared so much about outside appearances. Perhaps my attempt at shock therapy had given her the strength she needed to kick Joe to the curb.
Debbie Parks and Ernie Weagle stood next to me at the back of the church. They'd both apologized for doubting my innocence, but I couldn't really blame them. Doug and Renee had layered on the evidence against me.
"Nice," Ernie said, rubbing his chin and motioning toward me.
I decided to take Sheila's recommendation and do away with the beard altogether. I hoped I'd get used to being beardless, but I felt naked, as though something was missing.
"You were right, it was Doug’s phone," Debbie whispered to me as the priest began speaking.
I shook my head, confused.
"Wanda called Joe Barrington from Doug's phone the night before."
"Joe must not have wanted to give up his phone."
She raised her eyebrows and shook her head.
"Their plan was to get you imprisoned, you know. Then kill Karen."
I thought about that for a moment, then mouthed, “How do you know?”
"It was in the notebook in his trailer," she whispered. "They'd been at this for at least a year."
I shook my head. My blind spots had almost let them complete their plan.
"Revenge for their daughter," Debbie said.
It bothered me that I would never know if Robert killed Madeline or if she killed herself. I told myself it didn't matter, and like Sheila said, there was nothing I could do. But it didn't sit right with me.
"You know that I didn't start the fire," I said.
"I know. I looked through the report. There were pieces of a notebook by the wood stove that might have started it."
"Yellow?"
She nodded.
Robert's official record. That must have been how Doug confirmed that I saw Robert.
"That's how he got my gun."
Debbie nodded discreetly.
“Will I get my gun back?” I said.
“It’s evidence now. But I have to ask you, how did he get it out of the locker?"
"Don't even go there."
"I might have to issue an improper storage fine."
"I think I liked you better when you were serious."
After the Mass, I waited inside the church until it emptied so that I could speak to Randy. He was alone at the front of the church, sitting in the pew across from Wanda's casket. I approached him from the center aisle.
"Don't want to leave her alone?"
Randy took off his glasses and rubbed the bridge of his nose.
"She was a good sister."
I sat down next to him and crossed my arms, staring at the casket. "You know, I don't talk about my patients. I have this thing that what we talk about is sacred, secret. That I hold it in beyond the grave."
"I know."
I drew in a deep breath. "But Randy, I don't think she'd mind me telling you this. She adored you."
"Really?"
I nodded. I'd broken my rule, but perhaps some rules were made to be broken.
"Is it hard?" Randy said.
"What's that?"
"Keeping secrets."
I thought about that in light of the position Doug had put me in. "Well, it seems to be getting me into a bit of trouble. But why do you ask? Do you have a secret you want me to keep?"
He shook his head. "Not today, Doc."
I leaned back, relieved that no one wanted to confide in me right now.
"They say they might not be able to get her in the ground," Randy said. "Ground might be too frozen."
"Wait until spring?"
He shook his head. "We will have to cremate her and bury the ashes if need be."
"Why the rush?"
"The body has to be put to rest as quickly as possible. It's the Catholic way."
I nodded along, but I didn't understand. "What do you mean, the Catholic way?"
"Well, I believe, as do many Catholics, that at the end of days all bodies will rise from the grave to enter the Kingdom of Heaven."
"So if they're not in a grave?"
"They might not make it. And you never know when that day will come. So we bury our dead as quickly as possible."
The skin on my neck began tingling as Randy spoke. I quickly shook his hand, then ran out to my truck and headed for Vermont.
Jina looked out the window as Kurt Boone drove away. She waited a full minute before deciding it was safe to put down the shotgun.
She walked back to the sunroom, where Robert lay. As soon as he heard her footsteps, he turned his head.
"He's gone," she said.
"You're sure?"
She nodded.
He sat up and threw off his blankets, then grabbed a white towel beside the bed and wiped it over his face, pressing hard. It stained the towel yellow.
"This stuff is sticky," he said, trying to take off the makeup but leaving his face streaky.
"I think it's best if you have a shower," Jina said. "Use this too." She gave him a large bottle of makeup remover.
He took it and gave Jina a hug. She wasn't sure she could let him go. She needed him too; he made her feel safe. But it wasn't safe for him anymore. She wished she could go back to their home, pick strawberries from the fields, and hold him with the security that it wouldn't be the last time.
"Hurry up, let's get going. We need to get you out of here."
26
The drive to Vermont was slow because the highways hadn't yet been plowed and salted. The tree branches were covered in a layer of light snow that glinted in the sun. One of my favorite things about the cold was that it brought stillness and calm.
I remembered the day I decided I needed to quit gambling for good. It was after a slushy, wet winter storm in Boston. It was six a.m., and I was walking back from an all-night poker game in a tanning studio, fresh off a hundred-thousand-dollar loss. I decided to detour through Copley Square when my shoelace got untied. I sat down on the bench to fix it when I saw two kids, a boy and a girl, in bright snowsuits gleefully jumping and rolling around in the snow. I watched them for a moment, but my eye was drawn to their father, who sat on another bench, just watching and absorbing the scene. I realized that I'd missed all of those moments with Karen, and vowed to make changes. And now I had a chance.
I stopped twice on the way to Jina Di Santis's home, first to pop into my office for my Sig Sauer in case things went south, and second to get some lunch. I grabbed an extra-large coffee on my way out, which lasted me the rest of the drive.
I arrived at Jina's house just before suppertime. The driveway was empty, with a single set of tire tracks in the snow and no garage, which meant she was out.
I parked and walked up to the door anyway, but there was no answer.
I got back in my truck, cranked the heat, and turned on country radio as I waited by the side of the road.
Even when I last met with Jina, I knew she was being evasive, but she gave me enough about Renee to allow me to find Karen before it was too late. That gave me hope that she would tell me the truth about Robert.
I’d been waiting forty minutes when Jina pulled up in her gray nineties Cadillac, seeming not to notice my truck by the road. She walked around the car, popped her trunk, and began pulling out groceries and shuttling them to her front step. Jina wore a long puffy jacket and maroon ankle-length skirt that touched the snow as she walked.
I cut the ignition, closed the door quietly, and walked up the driveway, my boots thudding against the snow.
"Need a hand?"
She startled as she turned around, reflexively putting a hand to her chest.
"Dr. Young. You scared me."
"Sorry about that."
I reached in the trunk, lifted the last two bags, and carried them to the door.
"I didn't think I'd see you again," she said, pulling her keys out of her purse.
"I was hoping we could talk. I had a few more questions."
She nodded softly and opened the door, then hung her coat up as I helped her carry the groceries to the kitchen.
"I'll deal with these later, thank you." She grabbed a glass from the cupboard, filled it with water, and drank it quickly. "It's so dry. Would you like a drink?"
"I'm fine, thanks."
"We can talk in the back."
I followed her to the sunroom and sat down on the couch as she took the armchair across from me and adjusted her skirt.
"Sorry to come unannounced," I said. "But I'm not sure if word got here yet. Kurt and Tori Boone are dead."
Jina's head tipped forward, and she stared at me as though she didn't quite believe me.
"It's true," I said.
She didn’t speak for a long time, until finally she asked, "How?"
"Three days ago they were both shot."
"Really?"
I nodded.
Jina took a deep breath, exhaling as though she released half a decade of tension in a single breath.
"They tried to kill my friend and my daughter. But we stopped them. So Kurt Boone won't be bothering you anymore."
"Thank you."
"Well, I didn't really do it for you, Jina." I winked. "But you're welcome."
She cleared her throat and straightened up. I knew she would need some time to absorb the news, so I waited a few moments before continuing.