In the Neighborhood of Normal

by Cindy Maddox

  “What about her cell phone?”

  “She never gave any of us the number.”

  “So you think she might be ill,” he surmised. “Does she have one of those emergency contact buttons some people wear?”

  “No, her son wanted her to wear one but she refused. But Pastor Jeff, that’s not the strangest part. We got to talking about how she acted at church yesterday. She was very nervous at first, jumpy even. But by the end of the service she was very happy, like she’d come to a decision or something. And as we were talking about it, we realized that she had come to each one of us separately and complimented us or told us how much she appreciated us.”

  “Yes, she did the same to me,” Jeff said. “But I don’t see—”

  “Think about it, Pastor Jeff,” Opal said nervously. “It was almost like she was…” Her voice trailed off, and immediately Jeff knew why.

  “Like she was saying goodbye.”

  He heard a sigh from the other end of the line. “That’s what we thought, too.”

  He looked into Stephen’s face and saw that he was hearing the conversation. “I’ll drive over there right now and check on her.”

  “Thank you so much. I’d go myself but I’m—well—”

  “It’s all right, Opal. I understand. I’ll call back to the church as soon as I know anything. Stay where you are, okay?”

  “Oh I will!” she said quickly.

  As Jeff ended the call, Stephen opened the front door and retrieved his keys from the hook. “Come on, I’m driving.”

  Jeff started to say Stephen didn’t need to come along, but stopped himself. He knew Stephen cared about Mish too. And besides, depending on what he found, he might really appreciate the support.

  He told Stephen where Mish lived, and they drove there in silence. He found himself looking in ditches as they passed, making sure she hadn’t run off the road. He didn’t want to voice what was racing through his mind. We’re overreacting. There are dozens of good reasons why she might not have come to the Women’s Society meeting. But she didn’t call. She forgot. She got a flat tire. She got a last-minute doctor’s appointment. But what about her saying goodbye to everyone? He took a deep breath and reminded himself that they didn’t know that’s what she was doing. Maybe she was just trying to spread some sunshine or—or—follow the love! That was it. Mish had not been depressed. They were not going to find her dead body.

  Jeff was relieved when Stephen’s voice pulled him away from the images in his mind. “Is that the house? At the top of the hill?”

  “That’s the one.”

  “It’s bigger than I thought it would be. I guess I was expecting a farmhouse.”

  “I thought the same thing first time I was here. There’s a story there, but I don’t know what it is.” Jeff tried to remember the last time he was here. He didn’t think he’d been here since the week after Floyd died. Damn, I need to do a better job at home visitation.

  As soon as the car stopped in the drive, Jeff hopped out and hurried to the front door. He rang the bell. No answer. He knocked on the door. Still no answer. He pressed his ear to the door but heard no cries for help. He turned the knob, but it was locked.

  “Let’s check the other doors,” Stephen called from the driveway.

  The door by the garage was locked and the white curtains on the door window kept them from seeing inside. They hurried around the back and found the door to the three-season porch unlocked. In three long strides, Jeff was at the sliding glass door, which moved soundlessly on its well-oiled track. He breathed a sigh of relief as he stepped through and into the kitchen.

  “Mish?” he called softly, then louder. “Mish?”

  He looked back at Stephen, who gave him a resolute nod. Room by room they went, each time expecting to see Mish passed out—or worse. Nothing. Every room was clear.

  “Garage!” Jeff called as he raced back through the house. The garage was empty. Her blue sedan was gone.

  He walked back into the house, not sure if he should feel relieved that they didn’t find her. He was still worried and was no closer to knowing where she had gone.

  “Jeff.”

  Something in Stephen’s tone of voice made Jeff’s heart quicken again. He returned to the kitchen to find Stephen holding a piece of paper. He looked up at Jeff, and the worry was evident on his face.

  Without a word he took the note, noticing as he did so that his hand was shaking. He sat in the chair Stephen offered without question.

  If you are reading this, I am gone. I’m sorry if I worried anyone or caused any problems. It was my choice to go. I had to follow the love, and sometimes that means doing things you never thought you’d do.

  I left one piece of business undone. This money is for a young lady named Ann. That’s probably not her real name, but by this time you’ll know who she is. Don’t blame her. None of this was her fault.

  All my papers are in my box at Valley Bank.

  I love you all.

  Mish

  Jeff read the note twice, trying to make sense of it. He finally looked up and saw that Stephen held an inch-high stack of bills, his jaw slack. Stephen fanned them out. They were all hundred-dollar bills.

  They stared at each other for a long time without speaking, then suddenly Jeff shifted into gear. “Put everything back where you found it and step away. Don’t touch anything else. The police will want to investigate, and we’ve already touched too many things.” He vaguely noted that Stephen was following his orders without question. “Call the church. Tell Rachel that Mish isn’t here, but we need Opal’s help. Ask her to come right away.”

  “Why—”

  “I don’t know how to reach Mish’s family. Opal will. Just get her out here. I’m calling the police.”

  Jeff and Stephen were standing in the driveway when Opal arrived, and Jeff asked Stephen to take her into the house and fill her in on what they had discovered, while he waited outside for the police. He sat down on a large rock, closed his eyes, and took a few deep breaths. He wanted to be calm and rational when the police arrived. After four or five breaths, he opened his eyes again and rubbed his hands on his thighs. For the first time he noticed how dirty his clothes were. Even his usually immaculate fingernails had dirt under them. Not the professional image he typically tried to portray. But Mish was more important than his image.

  Apparently, she was a priority for the police as well, because they pulled into the driveway just a couple minutes later. As two officers emerged from the car, Jeff automatically moved to the driver’s side, and extended his hand. “I’m Pastor Jeff Cooper. Thank you for coming so quickly.”

  “Officer Duvall,” the young man said. “And this is Lieutenant Samson.”

  Too late Jeff realized his mistake in greeting the driver first. The lieutenant was clearly the more seasoned officer. His crew cut had more gray than brown, and he had the look of a former athlete. Jeff shook the lieutenant’s hand—making sure to give a very firm handshake—and directed his next statement to him. “So where do we start? What do you want to know?”

  “Let’s start from the top. Name of the individual, her age, and when you first discovered she might be missing.”

  “Mish Atkinson, around eighty years old, I think. No one has seen her since noon yesterday.” He noticed that the lieutenant was not taking notes, but the younger officer was. “She didn’t show up for a meeting at church this morning, which she always faithfully attends.”

  “And what caused you to think she might be missing, rather than simply absent?”

  “She was acting odd at church yesterday, talking to people like it might be the last time she saw them. It made some of her friends wonder if…if…”

  “If she was suicidal,” the officer supplied.

  “Yes,” Jeff admitted. “It probably sounds like we were jumping to conclusions, but we want
ed to err on the side of caution. Besides, Mish has been acting strange recently.”

  “Strange how?”

  “Well, she met a woman at a diner who she thinks is Jesus, and now she thinks Jesus is sending her on missions via text messages.”

  “That is pretty strange,” Lieutenant Samson agreed. “Any diagnosis of dementia?”

  “Not to my knowledge. So I came to check on her and instead found the note she left. I’m sorry to say that I touched it—and several other things in the house—before I realized I shouldn’t have.”

  “No problem. I doubt we’re dealing with a crime scene.”

  “That’s what I thought until I saw the cash. An envelope full of hundred-dollar bills.” Jeff glanced at the younger officer and saw his eyes widen and his jaw drop. Lieutenant Samson was less easy to read. “Come on in. It will make more sense when you read the note.” Jeff led them around back and into the kitchen, pointing out the note and money before stepping back to let the police do their work. He heard voices in the other room and peeked into the dining room to see Opal on the phone.

  “She reached Mish’s daughter-in-law,” Stephen whispered, taking Jeff’s hand. “They don’t live far. She and Mish’s son should be able to come right away.”

  Jeff squeezed Stephen’s hand and quickly dropped it. He wasn’t sure why, but he was uncomfortable holding hands in front of the police officers. Stephen didn’t seem to notice.

  He returned to see the young officer reading the note, which had been placed inside an evidence bag, while the older one leaned against the counter. “Tell me what you know,” Lieutenant Samson said to the younger man.

  His Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed hard. “Well, this is a note written by an old woman who might be crazy.”

  “Not crazy,” the lieutenant corrected. “Possible undiagnosed dementia. That’s different.”

  “Right, sorry,” he responded. “Yes, a note written by an old woman who might have dementia.”

  “And how do you know she wrote it herself?” he asked. Before his officer could answer, he looked at Jeff. “Officer Duvall is new to the force—a recent graduate of the academy. His partner is out sick today, so I decided to go on patrol with him. It’s a good teaching opportunity.” He returned his attention to the young officer. “How do you know?” he repeated.

  The young man was ready with his answer. “We don’t know for sure, but the writing is a little shaky and appears to be consistent with how an old woman would write.”

  “Good,” Samson responded, and the officer gave a weak smile. “And how would you characterize this note?”

  “Characterize it?” He looked at his boss, clearly not knowing what he was being asked.

  “Define it. Give it a title. What is it?”

  “Well, it’s a—a—suicide note,” he began.

  “You sure about that?”

  He studied the note again. “I thought so, but I guess it’s not clear. She just says she’s gone. But she’s left money for somebody whose name she doesn’t even know, so it can’t be a relative. There could be some foul play, or maybe coercion. Could be cause for murder.”

  Jeff was studying the older man’s face and noticed a slight twitch to his mouth, almost like he thought this was funny. But what could be funny about suicide or murder? His dismay must have shown on his face because the lieutenant’s next words were addressed to him.

  “New recruits always go for the worst,” he said with a smile. “So eager to solve a murder that they see them everywhere.”

  “So this isn’t a murder case?” the officer asked.

  “Nope. I’m not even sure that’s a suicide note.”

  “Then how do you explain—” Jeff began.

  Samson took the evidence bag and note from the recruit’s hands. “Look at this here. ‘If you’re reading this, I am gone.’ She doesn’t name it. That’s not completely unusual—sometimes even people taking their own life can’t put it into words. But there’s not a lot of emotion. There’s no talk of depression or ‘I just couldn’t take it anymore.’ Instead she wrote ‘I’m sorry if I worried anyone or caused any problems.’ That doesn’t sound like suicide.”

  “Then what is it?” Jeff asked, not at all convinced.

  “I think it’s what I call a ‘worst case scenario letter.’ Just in case there’s a car accident, or in case the person gets sick while away. I’ve seen older folks do this before. But I don’t know what this ‘follow the love’ business means.”

  “That’s the phrase she uses with these missions she thinks Jesus is sending her on—that she has to follow the love.”

  “That makes sense—well, not really, but you know what I mean. Still, I don’t get the feeling that she is in danger.”

  Jeff took a deep breath. It felt like his first since Opal’s call. “What about the money and this person whose name she doesn’t know?”

  “That is a mystery,” Samson admitted. “Why would she want to leave money for someone who she believes has given her a fake name? Is she the kind of person who could be taken in by a scam? Before the recent behavior, I mean.”

  “I think so,” Jeff said. “She is compassionate and generous, and she wants to believe in the best in people. And, of course, she firmly believes some lady she met in a diner was Jesus, who wants her to ‘follow the love.’ So yeah, she could be taken in.”

  The officer nodded grimly. “I see it a lot in older people.”

  “So, what do we do now?” Jeff asked. “Just hope for the best and wait for her to come home?”

  “No. First I want to speak with the family. See if they’ve noticed the behavioral changes you mentioned. Find out if there has been a history of depression, that sort of thing—just to be sure. I also want to find out if they know this Ann person. Do you know how to reach them? Or should I call the office?”

  “They’re on their way,” Stephen answered from the doorway.

  “Good,” Samson said. “Officer Duvall, take a look through the house and see if you find any clues to Mrs. Atkinson’s whereabouts.” The young man nodded and left the room, and Samson turned his attention back to Jeff, Stephen, and Opal. “I will need her full name, date of birth, and a recent picture. Do I need to wait for the family or can you help with those?”

  While Opal wrote down Mish’s full name and birth date, Jeff took out his phone and pulled up the app that came with their recent church directory. Mish’s picture was good. She obviously hadn’t paid the extra money for the “light touchup” the company offered. Several of the ladies, and one or two of the men, looked ten years younger in the directory than they did in real life. But Mish’s picture was pure Mish, even down to the slightly mischievous smile and twinkle in her eyes. He cleared his throat before handing his phone to the lieutenant and walking into the living room for a moment of privacy.

  He surveyed the odd collection of furnishings—furniture that would seem more natural in a farmhouse than in this big place. When he had sat in this room with Mish after Floyd died, Mish had stared at the ugly green plaid chair and told Jeff what happened. Floyd had been ill for quite some time with a variety of ailments, so his death wasn’t a shock, but it was a surprise. She hadn’t realized he was that bad.

  “Maybe his heart just gave out,” Jeff offered.

  “It did that a long time ago,” Mish had responded. Before he could ask her to explain, she changed the subject, started talking about funeral plans, the songs Floyd had wanted. Jeff remembered being surprised by his choices. He expected more traditional songs, but then, he hadn’t known Floyd all that well.

  Mish, though, he thought he knew. She had changed since Floyd died. That’s typical, of course. Grief changes people, ages them. He had seen many older people never fully recover from a spouse’s death. But this was different. Mish had been quiet for a while after Floyd’s death, more serious, but she pulled out of i
t fairly quickly. Now she laughed more frequently and cracked more jokes. She had even started playing pranks on some of the other ladies, like the time she had taken big swigs from a bourbon bottle all throughout a Women’s Society meeting. It was only when they confronted her about her drinking problem that she confessed she had filled the bottle with sweet tea. The memory made him smile despite the current circumstances.

  He had wondered at first if it was an act, if she was pretending to be lighthearted so her friends would stop worrying about her. But it seemed so genuine, so real, so Mish, that he finally determined it had to be authentic. On the other hand, this left him with a more serious question. Had her grief not been authentic? Had she only pretended to mourn her husband’s passing? For a woman who lived her life pretty straightforward, she sure was surrounded by mystery.

  But her new obsession was the biggest mystery. Meeting some woman who claimed to be Jesus, believing Jesus was sending Mish on missions? This was beyond normal even for Mish. He had been looking for other signs of dementia but hadn’t seen any. She was always on time, never arrived a day early or late for an activity, knew everybody’s names, seemed fully aware of her surroundings. It was just this one area where she seemed deluded.

  And now she was off to who knows where, doing God knows what, ready to give thousands of dollars to someone she barely knows. Her family would have to get involved now, take a more active role in her daily life, maybe even take over her finances. Mish would hate that, but it probably needed to be done.

  The young officer came striding through the living room on his way to the kitchen, and Jeff followed.

  “What did you find?” Lieutenant Samson asked the younger officer.

  “There’s no toothbrush, and only unopened toothpaste and deodorant.”

  “So she definitely planned on going away. Any idea how long?”

  “Yes, sir. There is a set of suitcases in the closet. The large and medium are both there, and a small over-the-shoulder bag is there. But the smallest rolling suitcase is missing. There are a few empty hangers but also some dirty laundry, so without knowing what’s missing, I would guess she was planning to be away no more than a few days. Plus, according to the calendar on her wall, she has a hair appointment on Thursday. If she’s anything like my granny, she will do everything she can to be back by then.”