Sleep Like a Baby

by Charlaine Harris

  “I didn’t put a birth announcement in the paper. I figured anyone who cared about us would know about Sophie.” I couldn’t think of anything else to say. There were too many things we didn’t know about Tracy’s visit. We were lost in our own thoughts until Robin parked in our driveway.

  Phillip threw open the door of his room when we carried Sophie into the house.

  “So what’s happened?” he said. “Where’s Virginia? She okay?”

  I told him the whole story. Phillip was delighted I’d hit a man. “You go, Sis,” he said, giving me a high five.

  “Don’t encourage her,” Robin called, as he emerged from Sophie’s room empty-armed.

  “Okay.” Phillip laughed. “So you’re all right, Virginia’s not hurt, and we know how she left that night, and why. Wait. Why?”

  “Her boyfriend, this Ford Harrison, had been in jail for something pretty minor,” I began. “And he came here to talk to Virginia, his former girlfriend. He wanted her to come back to him. When Virginia found Tracy’s body, Ford believed if he came to police attention they’d somehow find out that a rifle was in with the tools he’d stolen—which they did. Not magically, but because the toolshed owner has a conscience.”

  “And?” Phillip was impatient. “So what?”

  “They really wanted to find out who’d sold a rifle to an underage kid like Duncan.”

  “Wow,” Phillip said. “He didn’t steal it from his dad after all. This Ford guy sold it to him?”

  “Apparently. So Ford absolutely didn’t want to come to the attention of the cops.”

  Phillip shook his head. “Stupid thinking.”

  “I agree. He got Virginia in a world of trouble because he was selfish.”

  “All right,” Phillip said, dismissing Virginia and her problems. “So I’m thinking I can have Sarah over tomorrow night? And maybe Josh and Holly Maxwell? And Joss and Kay Duval?”

  “If their parents are all okay with them coming over here,” I said. “We’re not completely free of this situation. Tracy’s murderer hasn’t been caught. Not that I think he’ll come back or anything, but still.”

  Phillip nodded.

  “And you have to go to the store for whatever food and drinks you want, Phillip. I’m running on empty, as far as energy goes. I’m going to rummage in the refrigerator for our supper.”

  My brother retreated to his room to make his plans, and Robin and I repaired to the kitchen. I searched the refrigerator while Robin went through our mail and checked the messages on his phone. I felt victorious when I unearthed a chicken and rice casserole that wasn’t too old. It would be perfect for tonight. Problem solved.

  I went to sit at the island with Robin. I picked up my current book, but I put it down again.

  “What’s on your mind?” Robin put down his phone and turned to me.

  “I read an article or two about stalking, after my first encounter with Tracy. That doesn’t mean I’m an expert.” I hesitated. “But from what I learned about different kinds of stalkers…” To my surprise, I began crying. “When I saw Tracy on the nanny cam … in Sophie’s room … I was glad she died. I wanted to kill her myself. But you know … she didn’t do anything. She could have killed me or Sophie, or both of us. I was too weak to put up much of a fight. I would have expected her to hurt us, considering the last time she confronted me. And she didn’t.”

  Robin put his arms around me and I laid my head on his shoulder. “I’ve thought about that every day,” he said. “Every hour.”

  “I will not be grateful to Tracy because she didn’t kill us. That’s crazy.”

  “But we have to acknowledge Tracy had had the opportunity to commit terrible acts, and she didn’t take it.”

  I nodded against his shoulder. “I think I know why. At least, to me this is a credible reason. She couldn’t harm your child. And Sophie is so much yours. The red hair.”

  In quick succession, Robin looked startled, appalled, and pleased. “But the light was out in the nursery,” he objected. “How’d Tracy see it?”

  “The turtle night-light. There’s just enough light to see Sophie’s hair color. I think about it every time I go in there at night.”

  “Then I protected Sophie after all,” my husband said.

  I nodded. After a moment, I said, “Aubrey told me Tracy’s funeral service is tomorrow afternoon.”

  “Maybe after that her mother and sister can get back to their lives,” Robin said, but not as if he was really thinking about it.

  I wondered if there’d be many people there. I wondered if Tracy had had normal friendships. I wondered if she’d ever held down a regular job.

  It was simply weird that at that moment Robin got a call from Cathy Trumble. The conversation started off amiably enough, but Robin suddenly exploded. “You want me to do what?” He listened. “No, absolutely not,” he said. This was a voice I’d seldom heard, and it had never been directed at me.

  It seemed like a good time to start heating up supper. Behind me, I heard Robin say, “I don’t see how talking to reporters would make a bit of difference. I don’t have any special knowledge about this. The only relationship I have to Tracy’s death is that it happened in my backyard. You don’t understand how this whole situation makes me feel. The idea is ridiculous.” And Robin hung up. Wow. I decided to go hang out in our room for a few minutes. After all, it was time to pluck my eyebrows.

  It wasn’t that I was worried about being in the same room with Robin, far from it. But he had just boiled over, and he needed a minute to settle himself.

  Five minutes later, Robin came in the bathroom still fuming. “Cathy wants me to have a press conference to talk about Tracy getting killed here,” he said.

  I’d guessed right. “Why?” I tried to sound neutral.

  “She thinks that will bring someone out of the woodwork, someone who knows where Tracy was between escaping and dying here. Maybe knows of some enemy Tracy had.”

  “That just sounds dumb,” I said. “If she wants to know who Tracy might have turned to, she should film the funeral tomorrow. Someone might pop up there.”

  “Good idea,” he said slowly. “I’ll suggest it.” He pulled his cell phone out of his pocket. As he wandered out of the room, I could hear the phone ring over at SPACOLEC. I sighed when I heard Sophie stirring. My heart sank a little. I’d hoped she’d sleep an hour longer.

  As I lifted her from the crib, I reminded myself that in another month she would not need to feed nearly as often, she might even consistently sleep through the night, and I’d probably miss that unique alone time with my daughter. Maybe.

  “Sophie, your daddy is so smart,” I said to our daughter as I cleaned her little bottom before putting on a dry diaper. “And he listens to me, too. Marry a person who listens to you, my little bunny.”

  Sophie looked up at me solemnly, and I was sure she agreed.

  Chapter Twenty-four

  Overnight, the season changed for good. The temperature dropped, starting early on Saturday night. We turned on the heat, though it didn’t run much. In happy anticipation of her first winter, I got out one of Sophie’s many blankets, and gloated over the adorable white hat with mouse ears my mother had given her for just such weather.

  Since I was thinking of my mother, I called her to check in. They’d stayed home from church, too. Mother didn’t want John to be exposed to germs, during his recuperation.

  Since John was doing so well, Mother seemed much more like herself. I remembered to tell her about our Thanksgiving plans, and she said Robin’s entire family should come over the night before for a drink and (considering the many children) a buffet supper. This was a generous offer, and I said as much. “But let’s just wait and see how John’s feeling by then,” I suggested. “Not set anything in stone.”

  “Subject to change, of course. But he should be just fine in two months.” There was no doubt in Mother’s voice.

  I ended the call feeling cheerful and optimistic.

  “All
we have to do is find out who killed Tracy, and we’ll be right as rain,” I told Sophie as I changed her diaper.

  “Did Sophie answer you?” Robin called from our room.

  “Just about to, when you scared her off,” I called back. “You have to creep up to hear her. She’ll only talk if she thinks nobody else’s listening.”

  Phillip slept until nine, when he bounded from his room to tell us he was going to run a mile and then head over to Josh’s. It was a gray day, so I checked to make sure he was wearing his fluorescent yellow. (He was.) I started to ask him to let me know when he got to Josh’s, but I stopped myself just in time.

  “When I get home, can you take me to the store?” he asked. “To get the snacks for tonight?”

  “One of us will,” I promised. “You know tomorrow’s a school day, so they can’t stay late?”

  “Define ‘late.’”

  “Out by ten thirty.”

  He nodded, with the air of someone who is humoring an ancient elder. After stretching, he was off.

  Robin was trying to catch up on his work, which had been sadly neglected this week. His word count was low, he had explained, and if he didn’t catch up, he’d be behind the rest of the way. Like many (though not all) writers, Robin was very particular about turning in his manuscript on time and in good shape.

  When the clouds cleared away, the sun shone in a promising way. I carried Sophie outside wrapped in a blanket, wearing her mouse hat. Before I could take her and her carrier out the door, Robin took a few pictures to send to Mother (and several other people).

  After all, there had never been a baby so cute.

  Deborah was in her backyard covering a bush, since it might get down to freezing tonight. I had to resist an impulse to stick my tongue out at her. I took the high road, and gave her a neighborly smile, which she returned a bit stiffly. At least Lulu was not outside barking.

  Chaka was making the circuit of his yard, running close to the fence. When Peggy popped out of her back door to say hello, Chaka came to her side immediately. “Good boy,” she said. She looked over at me. “I hear you had an exciting day yesterday,” she called, strolling over to the fence.

  “Turned out to be pretty interesting,” I said. I told Peggy about the visit to Mrs. Mitchell’s house.

  “So the girl was okay and safe,” Peggy said.

  “Yes. Best possible ending.”

  “And I heard Susan Crawford’s out of the hospital. How’s this little lady?” She smiled at the baby.

  I told her more than she (probably) wanted to know about Sophie, and Peggy admired the mouse hat extravagantly. I’d been leaning against the fence, my elbows propped in a comfortable way, while Sophie sat in her carrier on the ground looking through the fence at Chaka.

  I told Peggy I had to get in, and turned to pick up Sophie’s carrier. I remembered how Chaka had cleared the fence the week before. She hadn’t witnessed it.

  And an idea flashed through my head. I froze with my right hand extended to the patio door. I thought of Deborah and Jonathan and Lulu, and Peggy and Lena and Chaka. And my brain connected several dots, finally.

  Finally, the weight of Sophie and the carrier on my left arm broke my reverie, and I opened the door. Robin was putting ice in a glass of ginger ale. “Hey, Roe, do you think Sophie could taste chocolate milk?” he said. “Maybe we can make hot chocolate tonight, and just dip a little into a spoon or something when it cools.…” He turned to face me. “Honey?” he said.

  “Wait,” I said, putting the carrier on the coffee table and collapsing onto the couch. “I’ve almost got it.”

  I have to give my husband credit for his patience. He stayed quiet while I kept turning over my ideas one after another, testing them for credulity. While I thought, he took Sophie from me. “Who’s my little mouse? Is Sophie my little mouse?” He didn’t mind talking to her in a weird high voice if I was the only one around.

  Normally, my heart melted to hear Robin talk to Sophie like the narrator of a children’s show, but today it was business as usual.

  “Okay,” I said, taking a deep breath. “Here’s what I think.”

  He waited.

  I went over it with him, point by point, to see if my theory held true.

  Robin poked and prodded at my explanation for Tracy’s death. But he never said it was silly, or dumb, or anything but clever.

  “How are we going to test this?” he said.

  “I was hoping you would help me on that.”

  “Of course,” my husband said.

  Chapter Twenty-five

  I had asked Levon to come by after Tracy’s funeral, and he had agreed to bring a recording of the service. I got the feeling Levon was trying to build a bridge to our former friendship. That would be great, but it wasn’t my primary goal at the moment.

  Phillip was home, having gone to the store with Josh (and some of my money). He’d returned laden with bags, as though the six teenagers were going to be an army. I hadn’t wanted to tell him what I had planned, but I realized he’d never forgive me if I didn’t.

  “Cool,” Phillip said. “What can I do?”

  That was a touchy point. Phillip had no intention of being left out, and he was too mature to treat like a child. On the other hand, it wasn’t responsible to involve a teenager in proceedings of life and death without a life-or-death reason.

  Robin came to my aid. “You have to get Levon over to the window,” Robin said. “He can’t look away.”

  Robin insisted on playing the role most likely to get him hurt. “You’ve already had enough illness, and you’re the one who’s been in danger,” he said. “It’s my turn.”

  Finally, I nodded.

  Levon arrived at three o’clock.

  Somehow, we sat through the video of the funeral, which managed to be both sad and boring. We noticed nothing of any value. None of the attendees were familiar. But we watched it dutifully, and Levon thanked us.

  Phillip, over by the picture window, said, “Yo.”

  “Levon,” I said. “Come watch something.”

  “What?” he said. He was suspicious.

  “Oh, come on,” I said, losing my patience. “Do you have a fire to go to?”

  Luckily for me, he thought that was funny, and he gave a surprised little bark of laughter. “Okay,” he said. “Let’s see what you got.”

  The extension that was Robin’s office cut off our view of the Cohens’ yard. But we could see the Hermans’. At around three thirty every day, Peggy let Chaka out for his afternoon run and poop. Today proved to be no exception. Chaka was doing his silent circuit around the perimeter, trotting briskly, having completed his mission. As she nearly always did, Peggy came out to toss a ball for him. Chaka abandoned his fence patrol and ran to greet her, his tail wagging. Robin was outside already, pretending to do something to the lawn chair on the patio.

  “What are you up to?” Levon said. He sounded serious, all of a sudden.

  I was as tense as a violin string. “Just watch,” I said.

  As I spoke, Robin dropped the chair with an attention-grabbing clang.

  He began to run toward the Herman fence.

  Peggy shrieked, “No, no!”

  But it was too late. Chaka was over the fence in one beautiful leap, and he went straight for Robin, who was brave enough to keep his charge going. (At least he wore a long-sleeved shirt and a heavy jacket.) With a leap reminiscent of my attack on Ford Harrison, Chaka launched himself in the air, grabbed Robin by the arm, and brought him down.

  This next moment was the scary one. But Chaka, true to his training, simply stood, his formidable teeth fixed in Robin’s sleeve. Robin did not struggle, but lay on the ground holding very still—right under the mimosa tree.

  The dog did not worry at Robin’s sleeve, or snarl, or bark, or growl. He held.

  Peggy vaulted over the fence herself, as I’d seen her do once before. She wasn’t as effortless or graceful as her dog, but it was something I could not have done. Ev
er.

  Robin had raised his free hand to show he was okay. Chaka ignored the gesture. Then Peggy was there, her chest heaving.

  “Chaka, stand down,” she ordered in a hoarse voice.

  The dog obeyed immediately, releasing Robin’s arm. He sat beside Peggy, ready for the next game.

  Since the minute Robin had quit moving, Chaka had simply been in a holding pattern, literally.

  Levon was no longer at my side. He had launched himself from the patio door, walking (not running) toward the little tableau.

  “Ms. Herman,” Levon said, “I’m going to tell you your rights, now.” With a grim face, Levon informed Peggy of her right to remain silent.

  The back door flew open and Lena ran out, stopping short as she tried to make sense of what she was seeing. “What’s happening?” she asked, terrified.

  Robin rose to his feet, very deliberately. He didn’t want to startle the dog.

  “Lena, I’m so sorry,” Peggy said, and she began to cry

  “What for?” Lena knew she was about to get bad news. You could tell it in her face and the hunch of her shoulders. She looked from Levon to Robin to Chaka to Peggy. Phillip, standing at my side on the patio, muttered, “Oh, Jeez.”

  “What’s happened?” Lena demanded, when no one spoke. “Tell me.”

  So Peggy did. She might not have confessed to us (though I think she would have, it had clearly been weighing on her), but she felt obliged to tell her sister the truth. Peggy began to speak, haltingly at first, then more quickly.

  Saturday night, the week before, Chaka had been antsy because of the approaching storm. He’d whined to go out much later than usual. Peggy, who’d been reading in bed, had gotten up to let him out. Hoping the dog would be quick about his business, Peggy stood in the open doorway, admiring the scudding clouds and the rolling thunder, when a movement caught her eye.

  “Someone was in your backyard,” she said, turning to me. “And she was running toward our house.”

  She and Lena had adopted Chaka from a Rhodesian ridgeback rescue group, who only knew that Chaka had been well trained. The Herman sisters had discovered, to their considerable surprise and dismay, that Chaka’s previous work training had been as a restraint dog. Chaka came, sat, heeled, like any well-trained dog. But he also knew that when a person—or, in fact, anything—was running toward his owner, it was Chaka’s job to bring down that attacker and make sure he stayed down.