The River's Secret

by Peggy Dulle

  I blew a raspberry at him and Jake roared with laughter.

  When I started to chuckle, I put my hand over my mouth. God, we must have made quite a sight: Jake and me laughing and William getting madder and madder.

  “You're drunk, Constance!”

  Jake patted the seat next to me. “Have a seat, William. We were just talking about you.”

  William looked at Jake and then back to me. “Sure.” He signaled the waitress and ordered a drink. “Martini. Gin, not vodka, shaken not stirred.”

  Who the hell did he think he was? James Bond? I started giggling and couldn't stop. I knew I should but couldn't.

  Jake handed me my drink. “Drink.”

  And so I did.

  The waitress brought William's drink and he took a sip.

  “First question for you, William,” Jake said.

  “What?” he asked.

  “Why the hell can't you call Connie by her name? Why do you insist on calling her Constance? It's starting to get on my nerves.”

  “Me too,” I said and took another swig of my drink.

  “It's her name.” William replied.

  “Okay, so it might be. But do you hear anyone else calling her that?”

  “No,” William replied.

  “Then why the hell do you do it?” Jake scowled and pointed at William. “The truth?”

  William shrugged but the corners of his mouth turned up slightly. “I guess it started when I first met her. I accidentally called her Constance instead of Connie. It irritated the hell out of her.” His smile broadened. “I liked irritating her and then it was just her name.”

  Jake looked at me. “Does it bother you?”

  I shrugged. “Not anymore, I guess.”

  “Okay.” Jake nodded. “Okay, second thing. I hear you're getting married?”

  William spit out his drink and so did I.

  Chapter 24

  “Excuse me?” William wiped his mouth with a napkin.

  “Yes, Connie saw you with your fiancée.” Jake said, as he cleaned off the liquid that William and I had spit at him. He pointed to me.

  William glanced at me, confusion clearly evident on his face. “What? Where? Who?”

  I scowled. “I saw you and your little fiancée. Long blonde hair, pretty face, tight body, big boobs. Just the way you like them.”

  “I do not have a fiancée.”

  “Liar!” I bellowed.

  Jake patted my arm. “You tell him, Connie.”

  “I am not lying. I'm not getting married and I do not have a fiancée.”

  “Liar,” I muttered under my breath.

  “Constance.”

  I ignored him.

  “Constance, look at me,” William said.

  I stuck my tongue out at him.

  Jake laughed and pounded on the table. “Now we're getting someplace.”

  Just then we heard the call for my flight. I smiled. “Saved by the bell.” I tried to stand, but was a little unsteady on my feet.

  William put his hand on my arm. “Constance.”

  I turned my back to William, leaned over, and kissed Jake on the cheek. “Thanks for the drinks.”

  “You're leaving before this is finished, Connie.” Jake scowled.

  I winked at him. “It's what I do best. Remember?”

  I would like to say that I walked straight over to the gate and onto the plane, but I was pretty sure I wobbled as I tried to keep myself from falling. I had reserved a window seat, so once I was seated, I leaned my head against the window, and passed out.

  The next thing I remembered was the flight attendant tapping me on the shoulder. “Do you want anything to drink or a snack?”

  I looked up, my vision blurred and my stomach rumbled. Obviously, margaritas and tuna don't mix well. “Just some crackers, if you have any.”

  An elderly lady sat in the middle seat next to me. She was old enough to be my grandmother, dressed in a flowery shift. She patted my arm. “Afraid to fly, honey?”

  “No, not really.” I shook my head and then grabbed it because it made my nausea worse.

  “Then it's got to be a man.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “No one ties one on before they get on a plane unless they are afraid of flying or have man problems.”

  I smiled. “You're a very wise woman.”

  Her smile broadened. “I thought so.”

  The flight attendant arrived with my crackers. The lady next to me took them, opened them up, and handed me one. “Take it slow, honey. I don't want you throwing up on me.”

  I took a small bite of cracker. When I finished the first one, I put my hand out.

  She shook her head. “Let's see if that one stays down.”

  A few minutes later, she gave me another. They helped settle my stomach. As I leaned my head against the seat and closed my eyes, I thought about what Jake had said about my always accepting any kind of loss and never getting angry. He was right.

  When had that started? As an only child, I was used to getting everything I wanted. I remember being angry over little things when I was small. If I didn't get the right gift for a birthday or Christmas, I screamed like the spoiled brat I was. My first big loss I can remember was when my grandmother died.

  My dad always worked late and my mom often had meetings after school, so I had spent every afternoon at Grandma's house since I was in kindergarten. She helped me with my homework and projects, and we were very close. I told her things I never told my parents about fights with girlfriends, teachers, bullies at the school, and boys I liked. I was fourteen when she got sick and my parents made other arrangements for me. They told me that she was not feeling well and didn't have the energy to watch me anymore. If they had told me the truth about her cancer, things might have been different. But they chose not to; they thought I was too young to understand what it meant.

  I felt abandoned by my grandma and I was mad. I screamed at my parents about the after-school program they had signed me up for. That was when I started to cut classes and run around. I got into trouble a lot. Patrol cars brought me home at least once a week. My parents were furious. And so was I.

  Grandma went into the hospital when I was sixteen. I would go to the hospital after school and sit with her for a few minutes and then go out with my friends. The worse she got, the more my behavior deteriorated. I got picked up for shoplifting more than once.

  The night the cops brought me home for writing graffiti all over my high school gym, my mother exploded at me. Her usual calm and even composure cracked in front of my eyes.

  “Your grandmother is dying and I don't have the energy to deal with her and you!”

  “What do you mean she's dying?” I screamed back, my voice cracking on the last word. I knew she was tired and not feeling well, but was it more and I just never noticed?

  My mother started to cry. I sat down next to her.

  “Mom?”

  “Your grandmother has cancer.”

  I was shocked. No one in my family had ever had cancer, so I didn't have any experience with it. My gut clenched and my eyes filled with tears. “Did she get it because she's been so tired?”

  My mom shook her head. “She's been tired because she has cancer. The treatments take a lot out of her.”

  I got mad all over again. “Why didn't anyone tell me?” I bellowed through the tears that ran down my cheeks.

  “We thought it was better not to tell you.”

  “You think I'm such an idiot that I wouldn't understand?”

  “No, we were trying to spare you the hurt.”

  From that day forward, I spent every spare hour at the hospital. I went to school and then sat with my grandma until late in the evening. And when she died a month later, a part of me died with her. I don’t remember ever grieving for her. No tears, no anger, nothing. I never really let her go. Now I felt a tear running down my cheek.

  “Are you okay, honey?” the lady next to me asked.

  “Yeah, I'm oka
y.”

  “He's not worth crying over, dear.”

  “Oh, I'm not crying over a man.”

  “Good, most of them are not worth it.” Then she smiled. “A few are. My dear departed, Fred, was one of them. He made my heart swoon and he always kept me laughing. If a man can make you laugh, he's worth keeping.”

  I nodded.

  “You're not crying over a man, but a man's the reason you're drinking, right?”

  “Yes.”

  “So did he make you laugh?”

  “He used to.”

  “What happened?”

  “Time, distance, life.” I sighed.

  “Those don't sound like very good reasons to dump a man who makes you laugh.”

  “It just happened.” I closed my eyes and leaned my head against the back of the seat. I didn't want to think anymore, not about William or my grandma or anything else. Both of them were gone and it was time to let go.

  About thirty minutes later, we landed at the Parsonville Airport. I retrieved my luggage and called a cab. During the ride to Arroyo, I kept my mind empty of personal thoughts and concentrated on possible explanations for two adolescent females to be killed and or buried in my town. Finally, the cab stopped and I was at my front door. Cheezy, my calico cat, met me.

  I picked her up. “How you doing, girl?”

  She meowed, her usual response.

  “How about a packet of wet food?”

  She meowed again.

  I gave her an entire package of food, then went into my bedroom and unpacked. I changed into a pair of old gray sweatpants with almost as many holes as Swiss cheese, a blue t-shirt stained with God knows what, and my pink fluffy slippers. It felt good to be relaxed and in clothes that no one ever saw. I locked my gun up in my gun safe. It was almost eight but I wanted to check in with Bob before I headed to bed.

  “Hey, Chief. How's your investigation going?”

  “It's over and I'm home.” I sighed in relief to realize that it was even good to hear Bob's whiny voice.

  “Great.”

  “Did Dr. Cain get the skulls over to a forensic artist?”

  “I don't know. He hasn't called back yet.”

  “Okay. What about Samantha Larsen? Did you talk to her about her new pastime of running away?”

  “No, I called and her dad was out on a job until this evening. You said I needed to talk to the parents and the kid, so I told Patty to have Michael call me when he got home.”

  “Call Patty and have them all come down to the station tomorrow for a meeting. We can do it before or after school.”

  “Tomorrow is one of those days off for kids and teachers. I don’t know why. It’s not a holiday. So I’ll have them come in around ten. Okay, Chief.”

  “That’s fine. And Bob.”

  “Yes.”

  “You're sitting in on the meeting.”

  “Why?” he whined.

  “Because next time, you're going to do it by yourself.”

  “But, Chief,” His voice elevated with each word.

  “Shut up, Bob.”

  “Okay.”

  “Give me Dr. Cain's number at the university and I’ll check on the forensic artist.”

  “Okay.”

  Bob gave me the number and said, “I’m heading over to Doc’s for a late night poker game. If you need me again call his house, my cell phone battery is dying.”

  I told him I would see him in the morning. Then I dialed.

  “Dr. Cain.”

  “Good evening, Dr. Cain. This is Chief Davenport.”

  “Evening, Chief.”

  “Who did you send the skulls to?”

  His phone beeped and he said, “Hang on, Chief, I’ve got a call from my office.”

  I listened to silence while I waited.

  A few minutes later, Dr. Cain came back on the line. “Sorry, Chief. We’ve had several break-ins at the lab in the last few weeks and they were calling to say it’s happened again. This week is rush week for a couple of the fraternities and I think they’ve made taking some of my bones part of their ritual.”

  “You still have my skulls, right?”

  “No, but they’re safe. I sent them to Dr. Radcliff, a professor in our art department. She does forensic art work for the local police department and even has done some work for the Feds.”

  “Perfect. Can you give me her number?”

  “Sure.”

  Dr. Cain read me the number and I wrote it down. “Thanks. By the way, do you know how the girls died?” I asked.

  “My best guess would be they were both stabbed and one might have been bashed on the back of the head.”

  “Why do you say guess?”

  “Well, I don't have all of their bones. Plus, without any tissue samples, I can't run any tests for diseases that might have killed them.”

  “So why do you think they were stabbed or hit on the head?”

  “One skull has some serious damage in the back, but it might have been done after she was dead. Especially since the bones banged around and flowed through a river before they were found. But I did find some marks on both of their rib cages that indicate that they might have been stabbed.”

  “How many times?”

  “I don't know. But if I go with just the bones I have, I'd say they were stabbed twice.”

  “Would they have died quickly?”

  “Not from the injuries I found. I think they probably bled out. But I need to do more tests and measurements before I can officially say that stabbing was the cause of their deaths.”

  “Okay, would you call me as soon as you're sure? It makes a difference if I'm looking for people who were murdered or just buried illegally after they died of natural causes.”

  “All right, I'll give you a call.”

  I thanked Dr. Cain for all his work and dialed Dr. Radcliff's number. She answered on the first ring.

  “Hello.”

  “Dr. Radcliff?”

  “Yes, can I help you?”

  I explained who I was and what I wanted.

  “I just got the skulls yesterday, so I've barely started on them.”

  “I know. I'm just anxious to see your sketches.”

  “Well as soon as I have something I'll let you know. It will probably be a few days.”

  “Thanks, Dr. Radcliff.”

  “Call me Claire.”

  “Okay, Claire. My name's Connie.”

  “Well then, Connie, I'll give you a call.”

  As I hung up, my doorbell rang. Who the hell could it be? Nobody but Bob knew I was home. I hoped Bob hadn't told someone because that would mean the Arroyo grapevine ran exceptionally fast this evening.

  The bell rang again. “I'm coming,” I yelled.

  I opened the door. William stood there.

  Chapter 25

  My pulse rate skyrocketed so fast, I thought I would pass out. I couldn't catch my breath. Was he another figment of my imagination? No, he still had on the same jeans and t-shirt he was wearing at the airport.

  “What are you doing here?” I turned from the door and went back into my house, trying to slow my breathing and heart rate.

  He came in and closed the door.

  I went into the kitchen, opened the refrigerator, and got a soda. When I turned around, William stood behind me.

  “I repeat, what are you doing here?”

  “We need to finish our conversation.”

  “What conversation?” I opened my soda and took a drink.

  “The one we were having at the airport bar!”

  I poked my finger into his chest. “I don't want to finish that stupid conversation. Get out!”

  “No,” he said calmly.

  “I want you to get out of my house.” I matched his calm with anger.

  “I'm not going anywhere,” he said in that same composed voice.

  It just made me madder. I poked him again, this time hard. “I have a gun. I'm the Chief. I can shoot you and no one would question my version of the ev
ents.”

  “Idle threat, Constance. You're not wearing your gun.”

  I poked him again. “Fine, then I'll call Bob and have you arrested. How would you like to spend a night in the Arroyo jail?”

  When I started to poke him again, he grabbed my hand and dragged me back to the couch in my living room. I did not go gently. I kicked, hit, screamed, and yelled. He threw me down on the couch.

  When I tried to get up, he pushed me back.

  Finally, he yelled, “Stay!”

  I slumped, subdued, and crossed my arms over my chest.

  “I want to finish the conversation.”

  “Fine, so finish it.”

  “Why did you think I had a fiancée?”

  “Why didn't you just ask Jake and save yourself a trip to Arroyo?”

  William sat down on the maple coffee table in front of me, straddling me so if I got up, he could push me back down. “Jake wouldn't tell me anything. He said if I wanted to know, I'd have to follow you and ask.”

  “It's not that important, William.” I took a deep breath. “I really don't care.”

  “Tell me why you thought I had a fiancée.”

  “I saw you with her at breakfast.”

  William shook his head. “The breakfast when you were supposed to join me?”

  “Yes.”

  “Why did you think she was my fiancée?”

  “Maybe it was the way she couldn't keep her hands off of you.”

  “No, well, that's true. Judy is quite the touchy-feely type.”

  “Oh Judy is, is she?”

  He laughed. “Yes. So why did you think she was my fiancée?”

  “I saw the ring on her left hand.”

  “The blue sapphire?”

  “Of course. Remember, I saw it at your apartment. You told me your dad had it made, that it was a copy of your mom's engagement ring, and that you were supposed to give it to the woman you were going to marry.”

  “Judy is my brother Charles' fiancée.”

  “You have a brother?”

  “Yes.”

  “Since when?”

  “Since I was three years old.”

  “You never told me you had a brother.”