by Tess Rothery
"It would be hard not to right now when politics are being weaponized so efficiently against common sense.”
"And maybe,” Taylor said, “we are all fighting about politics and what rights supersede other rights, because the real trouble we're facing is just too scary."
“That’s probably it.” Belle adjusted her mask and looked away.
“And I think the issues of systemic racism have hit their boiling point, because a worldwide pandemic that could wipe out a whole generation of people in a matter of weeks has focused the energy of the people on what is most important. It’s almost impossible to distract yourself from the ills of society right now." It was a mouthful, but it felt good to put her thoughts into words. She didn’t like to think about politics or the state of the nation, but it was impossible not to, this year. And though she knew it was off topic, it felt good to roll out all those jumbled thoughts that had been buzzing in her mind.
“When is it going to end?” Belle’s eyes were bright blue with unshed tears and large with longing.
“I wish I knew.”
"We’re lucky that Jonah’s dad is a smart guy. In addition to being in the Judge Advocate Generals Corp, he knows how to handle money.”
“I was wondering what losing TikTok would do for your income,” Taylor murmured.
"He helped us make good investments, so I think our nest egg is safe still.”
“Even after this house project?” Taylor asked.
“I’m afraid we won’t be able to keep up with it. I don’t want to sell it, but I guess if we have too…”
“So you have a nest egg, but maybe not enough?”
“It’s amazing how money spends. But I guess if we have to sell the house, we do. It’s not the end of the world. But, in good news, Jonah’s on Twitch now. Don’t ask me how he got the hook up, but he’s building a copy of the Boone-Love House on Minecraft, and people are watching him. Plus, there’s ghosts? I’m not entirely sure. I watched a little last night.”
“How long has this been going on?”
“I think he knew TikTok was going to crash for him. He started his Twitch as soon as he got to the content house. It’s funded differently than TikTok. More stable.”
“Stability sounds like a dream right now.” She didn’t elaborate, and a moment later, her phone rang.
“Taylor, what is my son doing?” Roxy was on the other end of the line and sounded flustered.
“If I say he’s twitching, will you panic?”
“Yes,” Roxy laughed. “Isn’t that where kids play video games for money?”
“Don’t ask me. I’m just a quilt store owner!” Taylor shifted off the bed and went to the family room so she could talk about Belle if needed.
"Lately, minding my own business has been the most effective way to parent my married-adult-millionaire son. But I sure wish he’d use some of that money and this quarantine time to go to college online instead of playing video games,” Roxy huffed. “He’s a smart kid, Taylor, but I don’t think he realizes that.”
"If you could convince him to do that, my sister would be thrilled."
“Have you had a chance to talk to Clay?” Roxy asked.
Taylor wasn’t sure she wanted to discuss their cooling relationship. “He just texted.” Taylor flopped into the corner of the sofa and hoped there wouldn’t be any big heart to heart about her ex.
Roxy ignored the shift in tone. “Good. He made me go to the bakery to talk to Dahlia after he discovered there was no way to make that highly Biblical receipt message on accident."
“He made it sound like he went himself.” Taylor rolled her eyes, glad Roxy couldn’t see it.
“Ug. Well, he would, wouldn’t he?” Roxy laughed.
“He said she hated me deeply. Was there more to it than just that?"
"That sums it up, nicely. However, when I asked specifically about the message on the receipt tape she clammed up and turned bright red."
"That sounds guilty. Do you think that message was for me, then, and not for Maddie?”
"It looked like it. I’d like to ask Asha about it, if I can."
“Asha strikes me as the kind a girl who would rat out her own mother,” Taylor said. “Would you rather I call her?”
"I'd like to try, if you don't mind. I don't have much else to do."
“Then thank you. I'll just be here trying to figure out which one of the ladies I live with murdered my least favorite friend."
“I hope you didn't put it that way to the police,” Roxy’s voice took on a worried note. “As funny as it sounds, I do have to run. I have a window of time to pick up some groceries at the curb in McMinnville. There's only so much you can get at the market here in town."
“No problem and thank you, thank you, thank you.”
“I'll take it. In this world where we don't see people in person anymore, I don't hear thank you nearly enough.”
Taylor laughed because they both knew, from many long years working in retail, that thank yous were hard to come by, even in the best of times.
Chapter Thirteen
The guests were silent and fearful the rest of the day. Taylor didn’t see Tansy or Lorraine till they shared their somber dinner. Aviva had tried her best. She’d whipped up the meal she’d planned to be their last, something called Chicken Chartreus—a minced chicken dish that tasted quite lemony. They had creamed celery, potatoes fried with onions, and an orange and bread crumb custard. All in all, it was the most successful of the historic meals, but no one had an appetite, and there was no conversation.
After dinner the guests had gone quietly to their rooms and weren’t seen till the next morning where a dismal breakfast of oatmeal and coffee awaited them. Though the cream was local and the fruit was fresh, the bowls of porridge felt like punishment for crimes they hadn’t committed.
Sheriff Rousseau didn’t wait for the tables to be cleared before he took over. He called Aviva from the kitchen and made Taylor take a seat as well.
He grilled them about Maddie’s counseling practice till Taylor thought they ought to be starting lunch, though a glance at her phone said it had only been a half an hour.
As Courtney had the most recent negative experience with Maddie’s work, she was on the defense, and her eyes above her community college branded mask were scared. “At first, I liked her attention to alternative therapies. My family is all organic. And we don't take pharmaceuticals if we can help it. The idea that she was not only open to trying new things but was regularly reading up on them and testing them in her practice felt perfect."
“What went wrong?” Rousseau asked.
"My daughter Jubilee is on the spectrum. I hate using the phrase high-functioning because it seems dehumanizing of other people on the spectrum, but I guess that's the term everyone is most familiar with. Jubilee is high-functioning. I think it would be difficult for anyone to know she was on the spectrum if they didn't know her well.”
She paused, and Rousseau nodded for her to continue.
“She fights hard to mirror the behaviors of her neuro-typical peers and is successful at it. She went through a hard time in late adolescence when she and her old friends started to have different interests. She became overwhelmed with loneliness. So, we started meeting with Maddie. You can imagine having a counselor practically on our back door who was well-read on the subject and like-minded felt like a gift. I've known Maddie for ages, anyway. I met her when I went back to college after I had my kids. That’s where we met Jeanne too. She was teaching in the nursing school on campus at the time, so even though she and I are quite a bit older than Maddie, we just all hit it off." She blushed. “I'm sorry for going on so long."
He cleared his throat. “What went wrong?”
"The bleach water treatment," Courtney blurted out. “Maddie believed that drinking bleach water did something to the brain. I've seen the videos. I've heard the testimonials. I know how the moms with nonverbal children feel about it. But that's not my daughter. She didn't have t
hose kinds of troubles. Maddie gave her something called an ‘elixir’ and asked her to drink sixty-four ounces of it every day and report back to her. One of the features of Jubilee’s neuro- diversity is she's highly sensitive to taste. She could taste the bleach immediately. We’re on well-water at our house. She couldn’t stand it.”
“Bleach water?” Sheriff Rousseau interrupted her in disgust. “That’s disgusting.”
“It’s practically abuse,” Jeanne interrupted. “Someone is bound to tell you that Courtney hollered at Maddie the night before she died. I heard her, and someone else must have as well. But it was pathetic, no offense Courtney. I think the worst thing you said was that she had not been thoughtful of Jubilee’s situation.”
Courtney nodded. “It’s true. I felt so guilty. But Jeanne promised not to tell. I should have just admitted it, but you see, it wasn’t thoughtful, was it?”
“I’d say not.” Sheriff Rousseau’s eyes seemed amused by the sweet woman.
“Jubilee was disgusted by the elixir. When she Googled it and learned she was being treated with something designed for people who are incapable of communication, she was offended. Frankly, her feelings were hurt.” Courtney caught Jeanne’s eye.
The nurse practitioner looked livid but gave a supporting nod of her head.
“If you've never seen an academically advanced young woman with a non-neuro-typical emotional response become angry to the point of political action, you haven’t lived.” Courtney looked around the room with one eyebrow lifted.
Pyper stifled a laugh although Taylor suspected that Courtney would've appreciated it.
“After screaming about it for a little while, she dumped the elixir down the toilet, wrote a scathing letter to Maddie and another one to the Better Business Bureau and a third to Maddie’s licensing board. She wrote several more to everyone at the state level who might have a say. I talked my daughter down from mailing them. I’m thankful she went with real letters rather than email because it gave her time to calm down.”
“So, your daughter did not send the letters," Sheriff Rousseau clarified.
“Only the letter to Maddie, herself.”
“She didn't leave any reviews online anywhere?”
“No, she didn't.”
“Did she have an online group where she discussed these issues with others?”
Courtney thought for a long time. Eventually she said yes and left it at that.
“I'd like to interview your daughter. Is she someone who would be willing to talk to me over a Zoom? Or would it be better if one of the other deputies went to see her?”
“I’ll ask,” Courtney said.
Sheriff Rousseau nodded. “There was a text message on Maddie’s phone from an unidentified number. It was received at 10:30 p.m. the night she died. The phone is not password protected and when we turned it on, the screen was still open to that message. We have every reason to believe that she was the one who read the message. We are working to trace the number.”
Jeanne made a small noise of excitement. "I'm sorry. I don't know what got into me. That was just so TV show.”
Sheriff Rousseau stared at her for a moment with narrowed eyes. “Do any of you know which of Maddie's acquaintances might have used a burner phone?” He looked back and forth from Jeanne to Courtney.
They both shook their heads.
“We've been friends for a long time,” Jeanne said, “but we haven't seen each other in ages. I don't live around here anymore. Courtney called me after Lorraine posted the information about this weekend event, and I signed us all up. We’ve needed a getaway, and this sounded fun and safe. As for her counseling practice, I'd heard about some of the things Maddie was engaging in with her clients. Mostly from Courtney, but I checked with other people I know as well. I thought this might be a neutral ground where I could talk to her about it. Maybe even talk her out of it. I don't know what I wanted, but I didn't like what she was doing. I thought she had the real potential to hurt kids.”
"As a medical professional it is your job to protect kids,” Rousseau said.
She nodded but looked a little sick. “I'm just a nurse practitioner, but we hold the same vow of healing and protecting as doctors. We would never, never…” She sucked in a breath unwilling to say the word murder.
"But what did the text say?” Pyper pressed.
Rousseau turned to the girl. “The text said: I'm sorry if it makes it awkward, but I had to tell her.”
Silence.
Taylor stared at Aviva. The young criminology student looked at the table. Her face was drawn and pale, but she didn't react to the message. Was it because she had already known what it said?
"That's not very useful." Pyper looked offended. “Who had to tell what? Who had to tell who what? It might've been her husband saying he had to tell their kid that she can't watch Frozen anymore. Or it could have been her mom saying she had to tell her sister about, I don’t know, a money thing. It could have been anything.” Pyper sat next to her sister Tansy who was doing the Aviva right now—staring at the table, not reacting to anything she heard.
Sheriff Rousseau seemed to notice Tansy's lack of reaction as well. “What about you?” he asked. “Any ideas of who that text might have been from or what it might've been talking about?”
Tansy shook her head no. Then she opened her mouth, and her voice came out weak. “I'm sorry I'm not helpful. You remember my friend Shawna? I'm just…this is just bringing a lot of it back, and I’m feeling a little ill.” Tansy swallowed and her face turned a greenish shade of pale. “Maddie was stabbed. Shawna was stabbed. Shawna was my best friend. Part of why I came here was to distract myself from the terrible nightmares I've been having since she died.”
Lorraine was seated alone in a chair not pulled up to a table. She didn't move towards her daughter, but she spoke to the sheriff, her face white, and her thin lips shaking. “I think there is a connection between the murders. It was him again.”
“Let's you and I go talk.” He motioned for Lorraine to follow him and walked to the door.
Taylor was stunned. Was Rousseau taking Lorraine seriously?
She’d give a dollar at least to hear what Sissy had to say about this, but Sissy and Belle weren’t present. Aviva was the only other staff in the room.
"I’d like to use Belle’s office again,” Sheriff Rousseau addressed Taylor.
"Yes, of course, but I think Maria should go with you.” It took some nerve to give directions to the sheriff, but it needed to be said.
Rousseau muttered something under his voice and then said, “Obviously. Come along Lorraine.”
Lorraine followed with shaking steps. It was almost as though the risk of being heard, understood, and believed was as rough as being dismissed.
Taylor shadowed Lorraine, loathe to leave her alone even with Deputy Maria there.
They returned to Jonah’s office. Taylor stood in the doorway so Sheriff Rousseau couldn’t shut the door. Maria was right behind her.
Lorraine sat on the edge of an Ikea desk chair that rolled slightly away from her. She wavered and put a hand to the wall to steady herself.
The Sheriff remained standing. “I’m curious about your ideas.” He sounded respectful, which pleased Taylor.
Lorraine tilted her chin up. “I know in the past I’ve had a problem with alcohol, but I am sober. I have been for months now.”
Taylor nodded at Rousseau to corroborate her tale, but he didn’t look her direction.
“What makes you think this murder was the work of the same man?” he asked.
“It’s like it was the first time.” She rolled up her sleeve and showed him the scars on her arms.
“In what way, Lorraine? How were they similar?”
“The stabbing. I woke in a hospital alone, but I remember the stabbing. I thought I was going to die.”
“Do you remember who stabbed you? Can you picture the attacker?” Rousseau’s voice was calm, but his posture was alert, stiff even.
“I’m sorry that I wasn’t sheriff when this happened to you.” He paused, letting his words rest on Lorraine. Maybe they’d help. Mayne not. “The weapon that killed Maddie wasn’t sewing shears. Are there any sewing shears on this property?”
Lorraine turned to Taylor.
“I didn’t bring any. We all just have little embroidery scissors.”
“I suppose those aren’t big enough to kill with,” Rousseau stated.
“No,” Lorraine said. “They wouldn’t be.”
“I wonder where Maddie’s sewing scissors are,” Deputy Maria asked from behind Taylor. “Pardon me.” The way Maria stepped into the office somehow pushed Taylor into the hall. And she shut the door behind her just as smoothly.
Taylor sat cross-legged next to the wall, not willing to abandon Lorraine. It was a pity the building was such a wonder of lath and plaster, with solid doors. She couldn’t hear a thing.
While she waited, she worked up the nerve to call her Grandma Quinny. Though her hand shook as she waited for an answer to the ringing, she was glad she had tried.
“Taylor. I’m glad you called. Is it true young Madeline Carpenter has been killed?”
Taylor was momentarily stunned by her grandmother’s abrupt greeting. “Yes.”
“I wish I could haul you both home. It’s ridiculous that I can’t see my grandchildren.”
Taylor hadn’t thought of how this must be hurting Grandma Quinny. Her home had always had a revolving door for wayward kids: grandkids and nieces and nephews, great, grand, or otherwise. Taylor was struck especially by the loneliness in her grandma’s tone.