by Mary Feliz
She went on talking: “Boots was so upset about the house. The land was supposed to go to her—Professor Sinclair could live in it as long as he liked and Boots couldn’t do anything about it, but the will said that if he moved out, the house would belong to the Plotters. Not Boots, not really, but to her Plotters. And she really is the Plotters, you know? She got all of us to help maintain the gardens, and she used her own money on the renovations that were done ten years ago. She was always writing grant applications and begging the city for more money. But the whole time she was doing that, she knew it would pay off when the professor moved out. When he started dating Sarah, Boots and Sarah became really close. I think Boots genuinely liked her—at least until Sarah and Professor Sinclair started talking about selling the house.”
Santana was running out of steam, and I still wasn’t clear what had happened. She wiped her eyes with the sleeve of the jacket.
“Why do you think she was so upset?” I asked.
“Boots is the garden. She poured everything into it. She has lots of other charities and her foster-care work, but she’s all about the garden. She could give up any of her other work, I think, but without the garden, she’d lose . . . herself.”
“But she’d still have the garden if the house were sold, wouldn’t she?”
Santana stood and folded up the coat. She shook her head. “You don’t get it. She is the garden,” she repeated. “Its future means everything to her. She’s spent decades planning improvements. Boots is great to us and she would do anything for us, but I think she’s a little nuts too. And any one of us would do anything for her. She didn’t even have to ask.”
In the silence that followed I heard tiny, scurrying footsteps outside and Santana’s old hard-drive laptop revved and spun, performing some automatic function.
“Santana, I know you’re upset. But what is it, exactly, that you’re afraid you did?”
“Boots had a plan and she was lining up lawyers, but she was afraid when Professor Sinclair hired Mrs. Olmos, the Realtor. Everyone knows how efficient Mrs. Olmos is and Boots was frantic. It was like the first time I ever saw her confidence crack. She was so afraid that Mrs. Olmos would come in, fix up the house, have her party, line up buyers and backup buyers, and the house would be sold before Boots could take care of whatever paperwork she’d need to put a stop to the process.”
Santana picked up her tea and took a long drink. “Boots tried to talk to Sarah, but Sarah said to talk to Professor Sinclair. And . . . you know him. Trying to pin him down to talk to was, like, impossible.”
I rummaged around in my tote and pulled out a small package of tissues. I’d been carrying them around so long they’d begun disintegrating into powder around the edges.
She took one, wiped her eyes with it, and then balled it up in her fist.
“So what did you do?” I prompted.
“Um . . . little things, mostly. I loosened a bunch of the lightbulbs and some of the connectors on the electrical box so that the lights would flicker. I started talking about the ghost of old Mrs. Sinclair and how she must be restless and dangerous, angry because her son was selling the house since she’d wanted it to go to the Plotters.” She shrugged. “I figured folks would be afraid to buy a house full of ghosts or maybe they’d want extra inspections that would slow down the process.”
“Did it work?”
Santana shook her head. “The only person who believed the story about the ghosts was Ketifa. So I tried other things, like flipping circuit breakers and fraying wires so they’d create a short. I figured it might be hard to sell a house with faulty wiring, so Mrs. Olmos and the professor would have to do a major renovation before they started looking for a buyer.”
“Weren’t you afraid you’d start a fire?”
“That was part of the reason I was sleeping in the basement or in the shed. I could keep an eye on the house in case anything went wrong.”
She took another sip of her tea and looked at her watch.
“Go on,” I said softly. I was afraid she’d realize how long she’d been talking to a relative stranger and shut down.
“But it turned out the professor had no trouble spotting where I’d done my fiddling. He’d fix the problem and move on. I’m not sure he even noticed what he was doing, to tell you the truth. You know that look he has when his mind is in his lab, but his body is somewhere else?”
I chuckled. It was an apt description of Linc and not nearly as trite as the head-in-the-clouds description I’d always used for the same behavior.
“After a while, it got to be a sort of a game. I’d started thinking of new ways to fool him and I almost forgot about why I’d begun doing it. His lab is awesome. I couldn’t believe anyone could have a lab like that, let alone one at the university and another one at home. He was tutoring me too. He’s so nice. And so smart.”
I let the silence linger until Santana looked up from tearing the bunched-up tissue into bits.
“What do you think happened the night Sarah died?” I asked.
She bit her lip and shook her head. “I’m not sure. Boots said a power surge fried her computer that night. She doesn’t live too far from here. The power went on and off all night, all over town. I’m thinking maybe Sarah touched one of those machines right in the middle of one of the power surges. Could that have done it? Could that have killed her?”
Santana looked up at me with her eyes glistening again.
“I’m not sure,” I said. “Most houses have ground-fault interrupters to stop that sort of thing. And the professor, as you guessed, knew about your experiments with the electricity and made sure everything was safe before he went to bed at night. I don’t think anything you did or didn’t do killed Sarah.”
Her shoulders relaxed and I was grateful my words had comforted her. I didn’t understand electrical currents well enough to be sure my answer was correct. But Santana had spooked when I’d mentioned the police and I didn’t want to suggest contacting them again.
A gust of wind blew rain against the shed wall and the little building shook. The hunted-rabbit look returned to Santana’s face. Remembering her story of the lecherous man who’d sent her from a warm and dry housing situation to a rat-infested shed, I put my hand on her shoulder.
“Santana, it’s getting late, cold, and wet.” I pointed to a dark space near the door where water was seeping in. “I think this whole situation will look a lot better once we get you some dry clothes, a hot meal, and a good night’s sleep in a warm bed where you don’t have to worry about anyone coming after you. Won’t you consider letting me take you home? You can leave anytime you want, but staying with us will give you some breathing room to sort things out. And maybe visit Boots too.”
I remembered that Ketifa had seemed to relax when I told her the downside of the arrangement. Maybe admitting it wasn’t perfect had convinced her I wasn’t trying to scam her. It was worth a try on Santana too.
“Look, Santana. What I’m offering you isn’t perfect. I’ve got a dog, two cats, and a kitten we’re looking after for the professor. I’ve got two noisy teenaged boys. And the house isn’t close to the college or anywhere else. We’ve had a few problems with our cars and we’re short on transportation, but we’re working that out as fast as we can. If it’s within my power, I’ll help you get wherever you need to go.”
“Ketifa’s there already?”
“Would you like to talk to her, to check?” I held out my phone.
Santana reached for it, then dropped her hand, stood up, and put on the jacket. She shoved her hands in the pockets, squared her shoulders, and said, “No. I trust you. Your offer sounds like something Sarah would do.”
I blushed and was flattered, but I didn’t want to embarrass Santana by telling her that. “Let’s get you out of here, then.” I pointed my key fob in the direction of the car. “Maybe we can get the doors unlocked from here. Ready?”
Santana nodded. She grabbed her backpack, switched off the light, and locked the
door. Then we dashed through the puddles to the car.
Chapter 21
There’s nothing as comforting as homemade soup and warm bread. Whenever I make either, I make extra and freeze the rest to reheat on cold, rainy evenings.
From the Notebook of Maggie McDonald,
Simplicity Itself Organizing Services
Friday November 7, 7:00 p.m.
As we drove home, I repeated the words I’d spoken to Ketifa earlier. “You don’t have to answer any questions you don’t want to, Santana, but I’m curious about some things.” She didn’t protest, so I pressed on: “Were you there when Boots was hurt?”
“We heard the Range Rover coming and Boots told me to go. There’s that big plot with the sunflowers just behind the shed and I hid back there. Buck, that’s my uncle’s . . . er—I’ll explain that another time. Anyway, Buck confronted Boots, wanted her to tell him how to find me. Boots wouldn’t, so he pushed her. She fell over the hose and hit her head on the boot scraper. Then Buck kicked her, hard.”
“So that’s why you thought she was dead?”
Santana nodded. “I was going to go to call 9-1-1, but Ketifa had my phone. Then I was afraid if the police came, they’d find out about the hose and say I killed her. I was afraid they’d make me go back to Buck too. I was scared, so I ran.”
I knew the police would need to talk to Santana. But not tonight. Tonight she needed food, warmth, comfort, and her friend Ketifa. I passed her my phone when we stopped at a red light.
“Ketifa’s been very worried about you. Would you like to call her? You can find the home number if you can’t remember hers.”
Santana tapped quickly on the phone with her thumbs. Max must have answered. With impeccable manners, she identified herself, explained that I was bringing her home, and that she was using my phone.
“Tell him we’re about five minutes out,” I said. She relayed the message, asked to speak with Ketifa, and the two girls talked the rest of the way home.
* * *
Tess and Teddy dropped the boys off and came in to meet Ketifa and Santana. We ate all the soup and both of the loaves of bread that Max had reheated, but he dodged our compliments, saying that as hungry as we all were, we’d have pronounced ketchup-drenched cardboard a gourmet experience.
We wrapped things up early. I helped the girls settle in, making sure that they had everything they needed and were comfortable hosting a relentlessly frisky kitten.
Afterwards, I said good night to both boys, thankful to tuck them in safely under our own roof. Belle was sticking close to me as I made my way around the house. I wasn’t sure whether she was double-checking my work as a mom and a hostess, or if she wanted to make sure I didn’t leave her behind if I went out again. I stooped and hugged her. “I’m sorry I couldn’t take you with me today, Belle, but tomorrow should be much less crazy.”
We took the front staircase down to the living room, where Max sat on the couch between our two cats, Holmes and Watson. Two glasses of golden chardonnay sat on the coffee table in front of him.
“Is there room there for me?”
“It depends upon who you ask,” Max said. “But I think Holmes here would be willing to move.”
I snuggled up next to Max and put Holmes on my lap. Belle sighed heavily and plopped her head on my foot so she’d know whenever I moved. Max grabbed the wineglasses and handed me one. We touched glasses.
“So,” Max said. “What are we appreciating this evening?” It was a practice we’d started early in our marriage, making sure that we took the time to recognize good moments and share them at the end of the day—especially on really bad days.
“That it’s nearly over?” I said.
Max laughed. “I think we can do better than that. We’re all safe and warm and out of the rain. It looks like Boots is going to recover. Oh, and I can’t believe I forgot to tell you this—Stephen called and said that Jason’s fever has broken. The antibiotics seem to be winning the war against the infection, and he may be able to come home tomorrow afternoon.”
“I’m so glad.” I’d nearly forgotten about Jason in the midst of everything else that was going on, but from what Elaine had said, he’d been close to death and Stephen had been deathly afraid. While I felt tremendous joy knowing that he was healing, I also felt like a terrible friend for not checking up on him sooner.
“Is it against the rules to talk about less wonderful things?” Max asked.
“We made the rules. We can change them. What’s up?”
“I spent much of the afternoon on the phone with the police, the insurance company, and local car dealers.”
“What a mess. Thanks for doing that.”
“Both cars are totaled and will be needed for evidence. It will take time for the dust to settle, and I’m not completely clear on what we’ll get for the cars or when we’ll get it. Paolo sent me pictures of your car.” Max’s pulled me closer to him. He kissed my head. “I can’t believe you and Linc came out of that with no injuries. I-I made a decision without asking you. You were pretty happy with your car and it did such a good job protecting you that I ordered the same one again. I hope that’s okay. If not, I’ll drive it and you can pick out something else. They had a green one. Hunter green. They’re delivering it tomorrow morning.”
“You’re kidding.”
“I’m sorry. I knew I should have checked. They might take it back—”
“No, you goose. I can’t believe you took care of it that quickly. The color is perfect, of course. And I loved that car. I wondered how on earth we were going to get wheels under us within a week, let alone this quickly.” I kissed him firmly and thoroughly. “Thank you.”
“So, are you cured of chasing bad guys, now that one of them has chased you back?”
“I think maybe, just maybe, I’ve had enough. If we’d known how many murderers we’d run into here, would we have been so anxious to move?”
“Admit it, though. You love this house.”
“I love you.”
Belle leaped up from where she was sleeping and scrambled around the coffee table to the window seat overlooking the side of the house. She scratched at the window, barking and snarling. The cats dashed upstairs so fast they skidded at the turn on the landing.
Max jumped up, turned out the light, and told me to stay put.
“Call 9-1-1,” he said, but I’d already dialed and was waiting for dispatch to answer. Max stood to the left of the fireplace and peered around the curtain. “Do we know anyone with a black Range Rover?”
I told Max to get away from the window. He ducked down and pulled Belle down with him. The fur on her spine stuck straight up and she growled as if she was impersonating a Rottweiler.
“He’s armed,” I said as I continued to wait for someone to answer my call. “He’s got some connection to Santana and he’s bad news. Very bad news.”
Dispatch answered and I said as calmly as possible that we had an armed and dangerous intruder on our property and needed help right away.
“I’m sorry, ma’am, can you repeat that more slowly?”
I told her the address and asked her to hurry. “He’s on the porch, rattling the doorknob. I have to go. My kids are upstairs.”
Crouching in front of the sofa, I crawled through the dining room, made sure the kitchen door was locked, and then ran upstairs. The boys were in the hallway holding the cats. Santana and Ketifa stood on the attic stairway clutching their blankets around their shoulders.
“What’s going on, Mom?” David asked.
“The police are on their way,” I said.
“Is it Buck?” Santana asked.
Ketifa gasped.
“Who’s Buck?” asked Brian.
They were all standing in the light of the overhead lamp in the hallway and would be easily visible through the big window on the staircase. I turned off the light and motioned them all to move to the other end of the hall.
“I think it is Buck. It looks like his car. Boys, Buck is s
omeone who has been bothering Santana. He’s also the man that hurt Ketifa. Did anyone hear him come up the driveway?”
All four of the kids looked at each other and shook their heads.
“We were asleep,” said Ketifa. Santana nodded.
“I was listening to music,” Brian said.
“Maybe the rain and the wind drowned out the sound,” said David. “It was really loud in my room.”
“Dad and I were talking. He must have come up with the lights off. Belle heard him, but we didn’t notice until she started barking. Stay here, all of you. I’m going to look out the bathroom window.”
I’d never before appreciated having a big window in the bathroom. I peeked through the curtains.
“Jane! I know you’re in there,” Buck bellowed. “Come out. You don’t want to know what I’ll do to you if you don’t.”
Brian scooted into the bathroom and handed me his phone. “It’s set to record—just hold it up.”
“Jane Evans! Your mama and daddy want you home. Either come back to me or I’ll tell CPS you ran away. They’ll send you right straight back to Arkansas.”
Jane? I turned and looked at Santana, who had buried her head in Ketifa’s shoulder.
“I have a gun, Jane. I’ll start shooting if you’re not down here in sixty seconds. Do you want these people to get hurt? I’ll come in if you don’t come out.”
Santana straightened up, threw off the blanket, and started to stand. David put his hand on her shoulder and pushed her down.
“No way you’re going out there,” he said.
“David’s right. The police will be here any minute. Just stay put. We aren’t in any danger as long as we stay away from the windows. These walls are thick,” I said.
Belle and Max appeared at the top of the back stairs.
“Paolo just texted me,” Max said. “He and two patrol cars are out front with their lights off. They’re walking up the driveway, hoping to take him by surprise.”