‘Mom saw him just before noon yesterday. He had a lunch meeting or something. When he wasn’t home by two, she figured the meeting ran over, so she didn’t actually miss him until she got up this morning.’
‘Can I talk to your mom?’
‘She’s pretty fuzzy. You know how she gets on the pills.’
‘Have you tried calling your dad’s cell phone?’
‘Of course I did, Aunt Hannah! And it goes straight to voicemail.’
Scott worked from home, in an office carved out of a space in their former attic. If he had a lunch meeting it could have been just about anywhere. ‘Did you check his desk calendar?’
‘He keeps it on his cell phone,’ Julie said.
Of course he did, I thought. The phone that was missing.
‘Can you help me, Aunt Hannah? Mom’s a mess.’
‘I’ll be there as soon as I can,’ I promised. ‘But where are your brothers?’
‘At Cape May for a week. One of their friend’s parents has a condo on the beach.’
‘You need to call them, Julie.’
‘Mom won’t let me. She says it might be a false alarm. School starts soon and she doesn’t want to wreck their vacation. If he’s not home by tomorrow …’ Her voice trailed off.
I sighed. Dealing with Georgina could be exhausting, and not something easily accomplished over the telephone.
‘I’ll be there as soon as I can,’ I repeated.
‘I love you,’ Julie said, and ended the call.
I made a snap decision: the hell with the Metro. I tapped the Uber app, requested a car then watched the screen as the icon representing Tamara in a Red Ford Taurus inched along Maine Avenue, heading in my direction. While waiting, I called Paul and told him what I was doing. I didn’t mention my arrest. That would need to be a steak dinner, home fries and bottle of fine, red wine discussion sometime in the future.
Twenty-two minutes, twenty-seven dollars and a three-dollar tip later, Tamara reunited me with my car in Greenbelt.
In Baltimore, Julie greeted me at her front door, her eyelids red and puffy. She wrapped her arms around me, squeezed tight, and buried her face in the crook of my neck. ‘Thank God you’re here.’
I reached up to smooth her hair, her ridiculous hair, with my hand. ‘Where’s your mom?’
‘In the kitchen,’ Julie said. ‘She’s telephoning hospitals.’
‘Has she called the police?’
Julie nodded. ‘She actually went to the station on West Cold Spring. They told her to file a missing persons’ report, but when she saw a copy, she freaked.’ She lowered her voice. ‘They want a description and a picture, you’d expect that, but they also want the name of his dentist.’
I shivered. ‘That would freak me out, too.’
‘So she’s phoning hospitals instead.’
‘Let me handle your mother,’ I told her. ‘Where can I find you later?’
‘I’m supposed to be in the basement doing laundry,’ she said.
‘As good a place as any,’ I said. ‘Off you go.’
I found my sister perched on a stool at her kitchen counter, a printout lying open in front of her, a cell phone pressed to her ear. ‘Well, thanks for checking,’ she was saying as I walked in.
‘Georgina,’ I said.
She glanced up, flicked the pages. ‘Do you have any idea how many hospitals there are in Baltimore? I’m only halfway there.’
I crossed the room and wrapped her in a hug. Her body sagged, and she began to sob. ‘What could have happened to him?’
I let her cry for a bit, then offered her a paper towel, soaked in cool water and squeezed out. She pressed it to her eyes.
‘Has Scott ever …’ I began, weighing my words carefully. ‘Has he ever stayed out all night before?’
‘Gosh, no, Hannah. I get where you’re going though.’ She blew her nose on the towel, then looked up at me. ‘But you don’t have to stay somewhere overnight to, you know, have an affair.’
Something in my sister’s voice made me ask, ‘Do you think Scott was cheating on you?’
‘I honestly don’t know. It’s just that he spends a lot of time at the church, and when I ask him about it, he claims he’s working on the books.’
‘But, he’s church treasurer, right? So that makes perfect sense.’
Her green eyes flashed. ‘Well, it didn’t used to take up so much of his time.’
Filling out the personal income tax forms for the Ives family didn’t used to take so much time either, I thought. It’s just that our finances, and the tax laws, had grown more complicated over the years.
‘Church of the Falls membership has doubled, hasn’t it?’ I reasoned aloud. ‘I imagine Scott’s workload has doubled right along with it,’ I added, surprising myself by making excuses for Scott.
Georgina’s mouth formed an obstinate line. I could tell she wasn’t buying that argument. ‘His wallet’s gone, and so are his car keys, but the car is still in the driveway.’
‘Maybe his lunch date picked him up?’
‘Colin had a dental appointment yesterday morning, then I took him to Pepe’s for pizza. When I came back, Scott had already left for lunch and he’d taken the car. He was meeting somebody at the church, that’s all I know.’
‘If the car’s in the driveway now,’ I said reasonably, ‘then he must have returned at some point.’
‘Well, somebody brought it back.’
Grown men had been known to run away from home before, I thought. Go out for a carton of cigarettes and ten years later they’re found living in Arizona with a new wife and two adorable kids. But no matter how many ways I looked at it, Scott didn’t seem like the deserting type. He’d stuck with Georgina through some tough times, back when the children were young and she’d come completely unglued. I couldn’t see him walking out on her now.
‘What about his cell phone?’ I asked gently.
‘It goes straight to voicemail,’ she said. ‘He must have it with him, because it’s not in the house. I’ve looked everywhere.’
‘Have you tried using Find My iPhone?’
Georgina’s eyes widened. ‘You can do that?’
‘If Scott set it up that way.’
Georgina’s face clouded. ‘Well, he changed all his passwords after that incident with Little Miss Smarty Pants, so now, because of Julie, I guess we’re screwed.’
Knowing my clever niece, I wasn’t so sure about that. I walked over to the basement door, opened it and yelled down. ‘Julie, can you come up here a minute?’
When her head appeared at the top of the stairs, I asked, ‘Do you have access to your father’s computer?’
Julie scowled. ‘I can’t believe you’re asking me that, Aunt Hannah. No. He changed his passwords.’
I slumped. ‘I was hoping he’d set up Find My iPhone.’
Julie’s face brightened. ‘Wait a minute!’
Without another word, she bolted through the kitchen, slamming the basement door behind her. I could hear her clump-clump-clumping up the stairs that led to the second floor, followed by a moment of silence, then more clump-clumping up the next flight of stairs to her father’s office.
A minute later she reappeared, brandishing an iPad. ‘Tah dah!’
Julie pulled out a stool and sat down at the kitchen island next to her mother. ‘Dad fixed his computer, Mom, but maybe he forgot about his iPad. He hardly ever uses it.’ She opened the black leather case. After several seconds she said, ‘Damn! Battery’s dead. Where’s the charger?’
Georgina pointed to the kitchen counter. Julie hopped off her stool and plugged the device into a cord dangling from an outlet it shared with the toaster. For what seemed like hours, with the clock tick-tick-ticking overhead, we waited for Scott’s iPad to revive.
‘It’s got fingerprint ID,’ Julie said when the login screen finally materialized, ‘but you can use the access code, too.’ She tapped a few numbers, shook her head, backspaced and tried again.
; ‘We’re in!’ Julie beamed at her mother. ‘He’s using your anniversary date, Mom.’ To me, she confided softly, ‘One of his faves.’
Georgina smiled, but blinked back tears.
I watched over Julie’s shoulder as the screen refreshed and populated itself with Scott’s personal icons. Julie swiped sideways, located the Find My iPhone app – a green radar screen icon – on the third swipe. She tapped the icon, and a map appeared with symbols for each of her father’s devices on it: the iMac, the iPad and the iPhone.
Julie turned to her mother, eyes wide. ‘Jeesh! His phone’s in the backyard, Mom.’
Georgina shot from her chair, heading for the kitchen door.
‘Stop!’ I caught up with her and grabbed her arm, guiding her gently back to the stool. ‘Was Scott working in the yard yesterday, Georgina?’
‘He mentioned he might finish clipping the hedge I started, but from the looks of it, he never got around to it.’
‘I’ll go look for the phone,’ Julie said.
‘No!’ Georgina shouted.
‘But …’
‘Don’t argue with me, young lady!’
‘I’ll go,’ I said. I extended my hand, palm up. Julie got the message and handed Scott’s iPad over.
‘I’m coming with you,’ Georgina said.
‘Are you sure, Georgina? What if he’s …’
‘Don’t you even think that, Hannah.’ And with a freezing sit-stay look at Julie, she shot out the door with me following, carrying the iPad.
TWENTY
Once we’d stepped off the flagstone patio, the neatly-manicured Cardinale lawn sloped gently down to the alley that separated the Colorado Avenue backyards from the backyards of the houses on Deepdene. The hedge Georgina had been tending was on the left – scraggly tendrils indicated where she’d left off – and a trampoline popular with the boys sat at the head of the driveway on the right.
Scott’s cell phone signal seemed to be emanating from a shed in the back left corner of the yard, one that Paul had helped Scott assemble from a prefab kit purchased at Home Depot. The shed was approximately eight by twelve feet, in a classic farmhouse style, and the door was secured with a keypad combination lock.
Georgina cupped her hands around her eyes and peered into one of the windows that flanked the door. ‘I can’t see anything.’
‘We’ll need to go inside, Georgina.’
She turned a worried face in my direction. ‘I’m afraid to look.’
‘Scott could simply have left his phone in the shed.’ I didn’t sound convincing, even to myself. I considered the lock, suddenly filled with dread. ‘Do you know the combination?’
Georgina nodded, punched in the code, pushed down on the handle and pulled the door open. I reached out to hold her back, but she was too quick for me. She stepped into the shed, froze, and started to scream.
My brother-in-law lay sprawled on the concrete floor, his head resting on a bag of mulch that had been slashed open, spilling its contents.
Before I could stop her, Georgina rushed to her husband’s side and knelt in a pile of rich, dark soil.
‘Don’t touch anything!’ I yelled, hoping she could hear me over her own anguished cries.
It was obvious from all the blood and Scott’s open, sightless eyes that there was nothing we could do to help him now. I fell to my knees next to my sister and wrapped her in an embrace while she shook with sobs.
‘He’s dead, isn’t he? Isn’t he, Hannah? Who …?’
I didn’t know the who but the how seemed clear. The garden shears I’d seen Georgina working with earlier in the week had been discarded nearby, their blades darkly stained with a substance that had to be blood, and Scott’s head … I closed my eyes for a moment, swallowing the bile that rose in my throat.
Gathering courage, I felt Scott’s neck, hoping for a pulse, but there was none. His skin was cold.
‘We need to call the police,’ I said, all the while urging my sister to her feet.
‘I can’t, I can’t just leave him alone,’ she stammered.
‘There’s nothing you can do for him, sweetie. C’mon. The sooner the police get here, the sooner they’ll find whoever did this to Scott. Our being here will just make their job more difficult.’
I guided my sister reluctantly, step by agonizing step, back across the lawn and into the kitchen.
Julie, obedient for once, still sat on her stool, texting with someone on her iPhone. When she caught sight of our faces, hers crumpled. ‘Did you …? What? He’s …’
I reached out my hand. ‘I’ll need your phone, Julie. Take care of your mother.’
While Julie comforted her mother, I used her phone to dial 9-1-1. ‘There’s been an accident,’ I told the dispatcher. ‘I’m afraid he’s dead.’
When the paramedics arrived just five minutes later, all three of us were bawling.
TWENTY-ONE
It’s wicked to say so, but it’s the honest truth. I will not miss Scott.
In the twenty-five years he’d been married to my sister, I could count on the fingers of one hand the number of times we’d actually agreed on anything, other than our mutual fondness for rum raisin ice cream. I had to be there for my little sister, though. Her tortured face, red eyes and swollen lids still haunt my dreams.
Two days after Scott’s murder, I let myself in through her mudroom door, set the casserole I was carrying down on the cluttered counter, and wandered into the living room where I found Georgina propped up with pillows on the sofa, staring at the television.
Georgina’s hair was swept up and clipped into place with a black, rhinestone-studded claw. Soft tendrils damply framed her face. She wore black slacks and a black scoop-neck pullover. A gold and ruby cross hung from a chain around her neck, resting lightly in her cleavage. I have to say this about my sister: she looked stunning in widow’s weeds.
‘What are you watching?’ I asked, for want of anything cleverer to say.
Georgina picked up the remote and aimed. The TV screen went dark. ‘Something on the Nature Channel. Meercats, with cameras strapped to their necks. They’re ridiculously cute. I’m trying to cheer myself up.’
I sat down on the sofa next to her. ‘What can I do to help?’
The question resulted in an avalanche of fresh tears. I watched in respectful silence as her mascara bled into black smudges under her eyes and left telltale trails down her cheeks.
‘I’m sorry, sis,’ I said after a bit. ‘I didn’t intend to upset you.’
She snatched another tissue from a box next to her on the end table, used it to dab at her eyes, then crumpled it up. It joined a heap of used tissues on the carpet next to her feet. She flapped a hand. ‘It’s OK, really. It comes and goes.’ She pressed her palms flat against her knees, took a deep, shuddery breath, then let it out slowly. ‘There’s just too much to do. I’m overwhelmed.’
‘Where are the kids?’ I asked.
‘Julie’s taken Colin to the movies and Dylan … Dylan, he’s …’ She grabbed another tissue. ‘Dylan’s at the funeral home.’
‘What about Sean?’ I asked after a few seconds had passed and there was no sign of fresh tears.
‘Sean’s meeting with the lawyers. I can’t deal with the financial stuff, Hannah. Stocks, bonds, investment accounts, I’m clueless. Sean’s like his dad. A good head for figures.’
After a moment she said, ‘I don’t know what to do, Hannah! The police took Scott’s computer, so we don’t have access to any of his important accounts.’
‘Maybe Julie …’ I began.
‘Absolutely not!’ She stood up so suddenly that it surprised me. ‘That little miss has overstepped her bounds, big time.’ Her eyes narrowed. ‘I thought you’d have a moderating influence on her, Hannah. I didn’t expect you to aid and abet.’
It was second nature to object, but I kept my mouth shut. Georgina was speaking the truth.
‘Can I get you anything? Coffee, tea … sherry?’ she asked cheerfully, as if her
stinging reprimand had never happened.
‘No thanks, I have to drive home, but don’t let me stop you.’
I trailed after my sister into the dining room where she poured herself a generous tot of dark liquid from one of the bottles she kept on a silver tray on the buffet. ‘Gonzalez Byass Sherry Polo Cortado Anada 1987,’ she recited, toasting me with her glass. ‘A gift from one of Scott’s clients. Only 987 bottles produced.’
I grinned. ‘Finest kind.’
‘Scott was appreciated by his clients.’ She carried the glass to the kitchen, wobbling a bit unsteadily, even in her low-heeled sandals. I suspected this wasn’t her first sherry of the day.
‘Are there any plans for the funeral?’ I asked.
‘Plans? Plans?’ Georgina shouted. ‘Of course I don’t have any funeral plans! Nobody expected Scott to die!’
I tried again. ‘I just want to help, Georgina!’
Georgina shrugged and sipped her sherry. After a moment she said, ‘I’m leaving the funeral up to Dylan. He can slug it out with the church.’
‘Slug?’ I said.
‘Let’s just say that the meeting I had with Brother Bob yesterday didn’t go well.’
Although I was dying for details, I knew from past experience that now was not the time to press her. ‘Why don’t I start by putting some of these casseroles in the freezer?’ I suggested instead.
‘Suit yourself,’ she snapped.
I was losing patience. ‘I didn’t drive all the way up here from Annapolis to have my head bitten off, Georgina.’
‘I’m sorry,’ she said, sounding genuinely contrite. ‘“Take a pill, Georgina!” That’s what Scott would say.’ She turned her back on me and stared out the kitchen window.
I steeled myself. ‘Did Scott have a will?’
‘What?’ She hadn’t even been listening.
‘A will, Georgina. Did Scott leave a will?’
‘Yes,’ she said, much more calmly. Maybe the sherry was doing its job. ‘We both did. Remember? When I asked if you and Paul would take care of the children if anything happened to us?’
‘Of course I do. I just wasn’t sure you’d gone forward with it.’
Georgina slid onto a kitchen stool and took another sip of her sherry. ‘Oh, yeah. Signed, sealed, advance directive and all that shit. Scott was very thorough.’
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