Sleep Like a Baby

by Charlaine Harris

  “But … why would the boy start shooting?”

  “Cathy thinks Duncan believes Dr. Clifton was lying about Annette’s strange behavior, which was what landed her in the psych ward.” Brad Rodenheiser shrugged. “I guess Duncan practiced with the rifle between the party and this afternoon. Clifton’s in surgery.”

  There was no upside to this, no redeeming quality. Everyone lost.

  There were a lot of people to pity, today. I stood alone and shocked while Brad made some notes and prepared to interview other witnesses.

  “Roe, Roe!” It was Robin, being held back behind a thrown-up barricade at the main entrance to the hospital parking lot.

  I had never been happier to see someone in my life. “Can I go home?” I said. I would have pleaded, if necessary.

  “Yes. We may have to talk to you again,” Brad said. “Good-bye, Ms. Teagarden.”

  “Officer Rodenheiser,” I said, bobbing my head. After that curious formality, I hurried over to my husband. Maybe I should have gone back inside to check on my mother and John, but what Cathy had told Mr. Redding was true: the people inside the building had been the safest people in town.

  Chapter Fifteen

  By that night, the town had exploded with news trucks and reporters and curiosity seekers.

  I was glad to be at home with my family. I was not going to talk about the shooting to anyone. I was very upset about Susan Crawford. I saw her fall, over and over again.

  The next morning, I ran down my list of acquaintances to find someone close enough to Susan’s family to have reliable information.

  The wife of the brother of Susan’s baby daddy worked at my mother’s real estate agency. Mother had sold the majority of the firm to a group of her agents, though she kept a small percentage of the profit. And from time to time she dropped in, just to remind them she was still around and watching.

  The new receptionist buzzed Brenda instantly. Brenda said hello with that pleased anticipation that told you you were going to make her day.

  “Brenda, this is Aurora,” I said.

  “I’m glad to hear from you. How is John doing?”

  “He’s better, thank you. Hanging in there. I called to ask about Susan.”

  “She had to have an operation yesterday,” Brenda said. She sighed heavily. “But she’s going to be okay, and the baby’s going to be okay, at least … we think. She’ll be off work for quite a while. Her shoulder’s pretty messed up.”

  “Is she very … shaken?” I couldn’t find exactly the right word.

  “She hasn’t been talking much because of the pain meds. I think every law enforcement person in the county has stopped by or sent flowers or a card.” Brenda paused. “I couldn’t ever do that job. I admire her.”

  “Me, too,” I said. “Please let me know if there’s anything I can do. I saw … I saw it.” I felt tears welling into my eyes at the remembrance. Yes, I was shaken up plenty.

  “Oh my God,” Brenda said. “Oh, Roe! I’ll tell Susan you asked about her.”

  “Thanks.” I felt better after I hung up.

  The papers and the TV were raking into Duncan Carson’s life, leaving no stone unturned. His “mentally ill” mother and his absentee father were presented as negligent parents who “let” Duncan live in a world of fantasy and violence. Naturally, a lot was made of the fact that the shooter’s aunt was a police detective and had actually been on the scene.

  Cathy did not talk to the press.

  At least momentarily, the public focus veered off the death of Tracy Beal and the disappearance of Virginia Mitchell to explore the hospital shooting. Though public attention may have wavered, the police did not. Levon Suit called me that afternoon and asked me to come down to the police station with Robin.

  “Why?” I was very reluctant to go anywhere close to SPACOLEC, with the media scrutiny so intense.

  “There’s someone I want you to see,” he said.

  “And you’re not telling me who that someone is? I don’t know why I should oblige you, frankly.”

  Robin, who had been vacuuming his office, drifted into the family room and waited for the end of the conversation.

  “Roe, we want this situation to end as much as you do,” Levon said. “Cathy’s got to focus on her family for a couple of days, but she’s still monitoring the case. I’m trying to keep the momentum going.”

  What momentum? I would have liked to know what he considered forward progress.

  Solely because Levon Suit had been my friend for many years, I very reluctantly agreed to do as he’d asked.

  “Come at five, please,” he said. “Both of you.”

  “If Phillip is home to keep the baby,” I said.

  Phillip, who now almost envied the kids who had been at the party last Saturday night, got home in time to watch Sophie, who had just filled up. Robin was not happy about this meeting, or whatever it was. “Maybe we should get a lawyer,” he said, as we climbed in the car.

  I tried to explain that Levon had framed the whole request in terms of Cathy’s personal disaster, but Robin didn’t think that made any difference. To me, it did, but to Robin, Levon was playing emotional dirty pool.

  We were glad to see that the press seemed to be away from SPACOLEC. Maybe they were having a happy hour. I cheered up, and so did Robin. We scooted in the front door of the station and asked for Levon. He came out to greet us, and led us back into the detectives’ area. We paused by his desk while Levon talked to another officer, who’d been standing before a door with a small rectangular window embedded with wire mesh. An interrogation room.

  “Here you go,” Levon said, beckoning. He opened the door with a flourish and gestured for me to walk in first. I looked at the man sitting at the scarred table.

  He was younger than me by at least ten years, and he had a lot of curly black hair and a noble mustache. He stood politely, and I saw he was dressed in a nice shirt and khakis. He was looking at me with as much curiosity as I’d shown him.

  Robin came in right on my heels. Levon had stepped to one side, and he was looking from one face to the other.

  “Hello,” I said, at a loss.

  “Carlos Rivera, ma’am,” the stranger said.

  “Nice to meet you. I’m Aurora Teagarden, and this is my husband, Robin Crusoe.” The other shoe dropped. “Oh, are you Virginia’s half brother?”

  “Yeah, that’s me. You the lady she was working for?”

  Robin reached around me to shake Carlos Rivera’s hand, and they nodded at each other in a manly way.

  “I know you must be so worried. Your poor mother!” I shook my head in commiseration.

  “She’s very upset.” He looked down at the gray metal table. “We both are.”

  I sat down opposite him, so he could resume his seat. “How could you be any other way? We think so highly of Virginia. I’m praying she shows up soon, safe and sound, and explains what happened.”

  “You don’t think she’s dead?” He seemed hopeful.

  “I’ll believe the best until I find out different.”

  Now I understood why I was here. Levon had wanted to verify that Robin and I had never met Carlos, and that he had never seen us.

  I met Levon’s eyes. He looked down.

  It was impossible to separate Levon’s job from his behavior. I couldn’t be his friend and, at the same time, his suspect.

  Our old friendship was simply dissolving, and I couldn’t think of any way to save it.

  That was the sum total of our conversation with Carlos Rivera. Robin and I left as soon as we could.

  “I’d like to punch Levon,” Robin said as he drove home.

  “I would be glad for you to do that,” I said. “Please let me watch.” That might not be fair or right, but it was how I felt.

  “At least I was there,” he said bitterly.

  Oh, no. We weren’t going there again.

  But as it turned out, we were.

  “You got shot at, and I wasn’t there,” Robin said
. “Another thing I wasn’t around for.”

  As we pulled into the driveway and he turned off the engine I tried to think what to say to him. He started to open his door, but I put a hand out to stop him. “Robin, how can we ever know what will happen next? You’ll have your share of times, I’m sure, when I’m not around and something big hits the fan. I will never blame you for not being omniscient. Please don’t blame yourself. It doesn’t make any sense at all.”

  He leaned over to kiss the top of my head. “You’re sounding wise. I’ll try to work my head around this. But I’m still mad at everyone, including myself.”

  “I know,” I said, smiling. “I love you.”

  Robin managed to give me one of his wonderful smiles in return, and he put his arm around me as we went to the front door.

  Phillip was holding Sophie, and she was tuning up for a howl. He was glad to hand her over.

  Again, Sophie stayed awake after her feeding, though I’d been sure she’d be exhausted after the crying jag. We put her on the floor under her play gym, and sat there watching her with endless fascination. We may have taken a few pictures.

  Robin maintained that Sophie looked like his mother, Corinne. And Sophie did have the reddish fuzz that signaled “Crusoe.”

  I really liked Robin’s mother, but I figured Sophie looked more like—well, like me, frankly. Since Corinne was nine inches taller than me, we’d certainly find out which one of us was the blueprint … sooner or later.

  For a while, we had a pleasant respite from worrying about John, the dead woman, the missing Virginia, and the thief.

  “Being a mother is making me selfish,” I told Robin. “I do get concerned about other people, and I get sorrowful when they suffer, but basically, as long as our family unit is okay…”

  “I know what you mean. I don’t think it’s being selfish, exactly. If it is, I’m guilty, too. I think it’s just that our priorities have changed.”

  I nodded, feeling obscurely better now that I knew that Robin shared my altered worldview.

  “What do you think about having another one of these?” Robin said, laying a finger on Sophie’s head. He was smiling, but he was serious. We watched as Sophie, in a white and pink flowered sleeper, waved her little fists and made “eh” sounds in a wholly adorable way. Even more adorable now that her eyelids were fluttering shut. She kept opening her eyes again, but she wouldn’t be able to keep that up for long.

  “I can’t believe we had her,” I said, trying to buy some time. Since a doctor had assured me I couldn’t get pregnant—a false diagnosis that had changed the course of my life significantly—as far as I was concerned, Sophie was a miracle. I could tell that Robin was waiting for my answer. “It might be too soon after my delivery to ask me that. Having Sophie was … an eye-opening experience.”

  “I could tell.” Robin looked a little queasy at the memory. “And I know it’s awful soon to even think about it. But you’re thirty-seven and I’m forty. If we want another baby, we can’t wait long.”

  “Are you really so anxious to have another child?” I had lost my peaceful mood, and I was beginning to tense up. “First you want a puppy. Now you want a baby. When will it end?”

  I tried to sound like I was joking, but I don’t think I even came close.

  Robin could tell I was unhappy, but he forged ahead. He must have had this bottled up for a while. “She’s just so great,” he said earnestly. “Maybe two would be even greater? So Sophie wouldn’t be an only child.”

  “I was an only child. I think I turned out all right.” True, I had a half brother, but we had never shared a household.

  “I guess since I have two sisters, I thought Sophie would maybe feel a lack?”

  I gave him a narrow-eyed look to indicate I thought that was a crock.

  “By the way,” Robin said, “a quick change of subject.”

  “Okay.” And none too soon.

  “Mom knows traveling with a little one is a huge pain, so she wondered if we could have Thanksgiving here. She enjoyed it so much last year, she said to tell you.”

  “We being?”

  He looked very anxious. “The whole family. My sisters, their husbands, the kids, Mom.”

  Nine people, plus us, plus Phillip. I took a deep breath. “Sure, we can do that. Maybe I’ll get the meal catered, I’m not promising everything will be made from scratch. But I’ll be glad to be hostess. We’ll have to plan it like a campaign. A list of jobs for each day leading up to the holiday.”

  “Great!” Robin looked so delighted that I felt guilty. His entire family had come to our wedding, but they couldn’t stay long since it was inconveniently (and hastily) scheduled to take place between Thanksgiving and Christmas. Corinne had returned a couple of months ago, after Sophie’s birth. She’d stayed three days, getting to know her new granddaughter, and she’d been a tremendous help.

  Apparently, the “second child” discussion had been tabled. I was relieved. I had to admit Sophie was so spectacular the world could sure use another one like her; but the prospect of birthing and raising a second baby made me tired, just thinking about it.

  Sophie conked out after three more minutes.

  I sat on a stool at the breakfast bar/island considering our dinner options. I was going to have to cook. That meant a trip to the grocery. I pulled over a pad and pen and planned three days’ worth of meals, and the list grew and grew.

  Robin volunteered to make the grocery run. “The least I can do is walk around the store,” he said.

  “I like your attitude,” I said. All the cooking I did these days was easy. My hours in the kitchen had waned as my new job as Elsie, the milk provider, had waxed. (Incidentally, now I couldn’t eat onions or lima beans: Sophie got gassy if I did. I thought that was weird.)

  Robin collected our cloth grocery bags for the store, and some clothes to take to the dry cleaner’s, and I armed him with my list.

  After he’d left, I thought longingly of lying down for a while with a book. I didn’t have to clean, since tomorrow would be the maids’ day, another treat I’d given myself. (I was really into treating myself, post-Sophie.) I couldn’t cook until Robin returned. Yes, I could read!

  My cell phone rang. I looked at the caller ID.

  “Mother,” I said. “What news?”

  “Roe, he’s better,” she said instantly. “He’s fully awake. The doctor seems very optimistic now.”

  My shoulders sagged with relief. “I’m so glad,” I said. “Any idea how much longer he’ll be in the hospital?”

  “At least another day. More tests. More observation.”

  The hospital was the best place for John right now. My mother would run herself ragged taking care of him when he came home. Aida Brattle Teagarden Queensland had high standards for everything, and maintaining a husband was included under that banner.

  “Please let me know what I can do,” I said. “Cook or run errands, whatever.”

  “Thanks. By the way, John David tells me he saw Carter Redding in the ER after that awful thing in the parking lot. Carter said he was sheltering with you and Cathy Trumble. Is that true? Are you okay?” I wasn’t getting the full Aida laser-focus questioning only because John had higher priority right now.

  “You don’t need to worry about me,” I said. “I was safe the whole time.”

  “Thank goodness,” Mother said. “I don’t think I could take more bad news. You’ll have to tell me all about it soon.”

  “You didn’t hear the shots?”

  “No. The nurses just told me I couldn’t leave, but I wasn’t going to, anyway, and I stayed in John’s room until they told me the situation was over. They didn’t tell me what had happened. I was actually in the hospital, but I never knew a thing.” She sounded a bit bemused … but not really concerned.

  I wanted to keep it that way. “I’m fine,” I said stoutly. “If you can, find out how Mr. Redding is doing. He didn’t look so good when they took him into the hospital, and he was really brave
during the whole incident.”

  “He told John David it was like being back in the war.”

  “I hope he’s okay.”

  “I’ll try to find out, honey.”

  “Thanks, Mother. Tell John I said hello.”

  “I’ll do that.” The joy was back in her voice.

  Now I felt too restless to read. I roamed around the living room, picking up discarded newspapers and putting them in the recycle bin, throwing away outdated magazines, reshelving some books in the library in Robin’s office. As my mother would have put it, I was “piddling.”

  I was completely taken aback when Phillip emerged from his room with Sarah in tow.

  They didn’t seem self-conscious or embarrassed, and I tried to be the same. I called myself an old stick-in-the-mud, and several other names. It was just that I didn’t know she was here, I told myself. I hoped that was true.

  “Hey, I’m running over to Sarah’s,” Phillip said. “I’ll be back by suppertime. Seven?”

  I glanced at the clock. “Sounds about right.”

  “I’m glad you’re okay,” Sarah said. “I heard about what happened in the parking lot.”

  “Do either of you know Duncan?” I had a possible source of information right here at hand, and I hadn’t even thought about it.

  “I do,” Sarah said. “Not well. I didn’t like the people he was friends with. You know how that is.”

  “Sure,” I said, wondering if I really did remember how that was. “So, did people talk about him? Was he very strange or something?”

  She hesitated, looking at Phillip as though communicating with him.

  “There was that thing,” he said, maddeningly.

  “Sure. Duncan was at the last big party I went to, two or three weeks ago. He didn’t usually come, even when he was welcome to. But he was there with a couple of … boys I don’t like, because they’re posers. Like they’re so dangerous.” She looked mildly contemptuous. “Well, after Duncan turned out so crazy, maybe they really are.” She shrugged. “Anyway, this other guy showed up, an older guy. Maybe in his twenties. None of us had ever seen him before. And Duncan left with him. I didn’t see the older guy again, but Duncan came back all smirky, and you could just tell he’d done something he thought was really radical. He told a couple of friends of mine that he’d bought a rifle. Duncan said he was going to give it to his dad for Christmas. So the next weekend, when the shooting happened at Carly’s, we were all kind of wondering. But no one really believed it was Duncan, because he’d always acted so … so meek.”