Window of Guilt

by Spallone, Jennie

  “I didn’t mean to upset you,” said Laurie. “Please accept my apology.”

  Silence.

  “I’m thinking he could have been a grocery clerk,” Helga confided.

  “The boy on your driveway?”

  “Your parents put you through college and you can’t follow a tiny thread of conversation without losing the needle?” taunted the older woman.

  “Sorry.” Laurie wanted to fling parakeet poop in the venomous woman’s face. But before she could slam out of here, she needed to wring from the older woman’s lips any information that would identify the dead body.

  “They’re always hiring new kids when the others get pregnant or graduate high school,” Helga gossiped. “Then again, he could’ve been a pizza delivery boy. Last year Margaret came down with the flu and had to cancel Thanksgiving dinner, so I ordered in pizza from Dominos.” The old woman licked her lips. “Yum.”

  Laurie got up and headed for the door. “Listen, I’m going to skedaddle and let you enjoy the day. Thanks for your help.”

  “Don’t run off just yet.”

  Laurie paused in her steps.

  The old woman squinted at Laurie. “You ever stop to think that young man dropped dead in the wrong driveway?”

  “Huh?” Laurie’s shoulders tensed.

  “You’re 201 Briar Road, I’m 102. Could have been his first time visiting and he got lost.”

  “Our address is clearly posted on our mailbox,” Laurie said defensively.

  “Maybe he was wanting one of them two houses between us.”

  “Sounds pretty far-fetched,” said Laurie, playing for time.

  “I gotta take a rest now.” Helga abruptly turned and started down the long hardwood floored hallway.

  “Thanks again, Mrs. Beckermann,” Laurie called as she let herself out the porch door. Ironically, her nemesis was the only other person who shared her doubts about the intruder’s quest.

  *

  Laurie Atkins drummed her fingers on Officer Gomez’s wooden desk while the officer scanned a list of phone and e-mail responses she’d received regarding the identity of the body found on Helga Beckermann’s driveway.

  “No valid leads yet, Mrs. Atkins. We’ll let you know if we come up with something.”

  ‘“The check is in the mail,’” Laurie mumbled under her breath.

  “Excuse me?” asked the officer, raising her eyes from the monitor.

  Play nice, Laurie admonished herself. It wouldn’t do to make an enemy of her only liaison, tenuous as that might be. “I was saying how much I appreciate you keeping me informed,” she said primly. Not. Ten days since the accident without any contact.

  “The department is doing what it can.”

  “I’m sure.” She debated whether to mention her chat with Mrs. Beckermann.

  Gomez picked up the black telephone receiver. “If there’s nothing else.”

  “Actually, there is one more thing.” One puzzle piece Mitzy had urged her to share with the police. “I found an army canteen around the kid’s neck. And a Greyhound bus ticket receipt stuffed in the young guy’s jeans pocket.”

  The officer held the receiver midair. “On Helga Beckermann’s driveway?”

  Laurie heaved an impatient sigh. “On my front lawn.”

  “Oh, right.”

  “You still don’t believe me.”

  The receiver slammed back into its holder. “Mrs. Atkins, we’ve been through this before. There is no evidence the vagrant ever set foot on your property.”

  “Then how’d I know about the canteen and the Greyhound ticket receipt?”

  Gomez folded her hands on her desk and leaned forward. “Why don’t you tell me?”

  “What, you think I killed the kid?”

  “I advise you to stick around in case we need to question you further.”

  “Actually, my family and I are returning to Chicago the end of this week.”

  “Uh huh.”

  “That time frame is not negotiable. I need to get my son ready for school.”

  “You’ll be hearing from me soon. Good day.”

  Laurie felt a sudden urge to convince the officer of her innocence. “I did some investigating on my own,” she confessed. “On weekdays, Greyhound buses from Green Bay and Chicago both pull into the Milwaukee station at nine o’clock a.m.”

  “Milwaukee’s a good forty miles from here.”

  “This guy probably hitched a ride from a truck driver and got dropped off on Rte. 94 at the Oconomowoc exit, then hiked the last six or seven miles from there.”

  “Nice theory. His picture’s been splattered all over the television networks, not to mention the Internet. No parent calling to claim him.”

  “You could follow up with Greyhound.”

  Gomez gave her a cold stare. “No one tells me how to do my job.”

  Laurie sensed humility was the magic key here. “Listen, I apologize for freaking out when you responded to my nine-one-one.”

  The officer groaned. “Your bogus emergency call.”

  “It’s not my fault the dead body disappeared by the time you showed up.”

  Gomez’s voice grew taut. “Mrs. Atkins, I don’t have time for this.”

  “I was crazy scared for my son.”

  “Crazy scared enough to track that pedophile to Helga Beckermann’s house and kill him?”

  “You said there was no indication he was a…”

  “Perception is reality.”

  “There’s no love lost between my family and Mrs. Beckermann,” said Laurie.

  “So she said,” said the officer. “Which makes me wonder why you chatted her up yesterday afternoon.”

  Laurie reddened. The old hag must have phoned the department right after she’d left her house. “Just trying to find out if she knew the boy’s identity.”

  “Figured you could do a better job of it than us small town cops?” the officer said sarcastically.

  “Nothing like that,” Laurie protested half-heartedly.

  “Yet you continue to stick your nose where it doesn’t belong. I trained with the CPD. This happen back in Chicago, the Department would cart your ass right down to headquarters.”

  “I resent you speaking to me this way, officer, especially after I took time out from my day to voluntarily share my Greyhound Bus theory with you.”

  “You could benefit from professional help, Mrs. Atkins,” said Gomez.

  “An attorney?”

  “A shrink. Neither canteen nor Greyhound Bus ticket receipt was discovered on or near the body.”

  “That’s impossible,” Laurie yelled.

  “You’re just asking to be read your rights, aren’t you?” threatened the officer.

  Laurie jumped to her feet. “I’m out of here. Good luck on your stupid investigation.”

  *

  The pungent aroma of paprika wafted through the dining room as Laurie shoveled mashed potatoes and broccoli onto two dinner plates. “I can’t believe you drove all the way up here to spend Shabbat with me.”

  “When you said Ryan was taking Rory to a baseball game, I figured you’d be lonely,” said Mitzy.

  Laurie tossed Rocky a forkful of chicken breast. Then she filled two goblets with Merlot and handed one to her friend. “He bought tickets months ago. Didn’t realize the game was on a Friday night.”

  “No matter,” said Mitzy. She heaped broiled chicken breasts onto both their plates. “Besides, I was worried about you.”

  “Shouldn’t you be setting up your classroom?”

  “Monday,” Mitzy mumbled, tearing into the white meat.

  Laurie dashed into the kitchen. She returned, digital camera in hand, her fluffy white dog bounding at her heels. “Detective Jeff’s gonna enjoy watching you demolish your food like a dinosaur.”

  Mitzy shielded her face. “Don’t even think about it. Besides, Jeff and I are taking a hiatus.”

  “You guys fighting again?” asked Laurie as she tore off a chunk of challah.

/>   The special ed teacher gulped down a glass of lemon seltzer water. “He’s helping his sister with her last minute wedding preparations.” Mitzy’s fingers paused over the egg twist bread.

  Laurie glared at her friend. “Don’t!”

  “What?” Mitzy looked at her, wide-eyed.

  In the split-second it took for Laurie to reach for her cloth napkin, Mitzi had done it again, for the umpteenth time: in an instant, she’d clawed out the guts of the bread, leaving a fist-sized shell of hollow golden crust.

  “I hate that!” Laurie spat.

  “The evil spirit made me do it,” Mitzy said, going limp in her chair.

  Laurie moved the challah plate out of reach. “No more for you until you learn your manners.”

  “Yes, mommy,” giggled her friend. “So what’s up with the body you supposedly found in your yard?”

  Laurie gave her friend a dirty look. “Knock it off.”

  “So sorry,” Mitzy said primly.

  “I took your advice and shared my Greyhound Bus theory with Officer Gomez.”

  “And?”

  “She said there was no Greyhound ticket receipt and no canteen, and intimated that if I was back in Chicago, the CPD would hold me for questioning.”

  “Why, pray tell?”

  “Because I’m way too interested in how this investigation plays out, that’s why. She accused me of following the vagrant to my neighbor’s driveway, then killing him to protect my child.”

  “Whoa! This is getting intense.”

  “Gomez basically told me to not leave Wisconsin in case they need to question me further.”

  “If she really thought you were a person of interest, she would have kept you at the police station. But she does have you on her radar now, which isn’t going to bode well for you or your family. My advice to you, stop playing Nancy Drew. You’ve got a lot more to focus on right now. Little things, like your marital relationship.”

  Laurie bit into an overcooked bite of broccoli. “My relationship with Ryan can wait.”

  “You’re pissed because Ryan doesn’t believe you found a dead body on your property.”

  Laurie clanked her fork on the oak table. “Ryan never backs me up.”

  Mitzy reached for the potatoes. “Sometimes you make that impossible.”

  Laurie covered the serving bowl with her hands. “Like when?”

  “There was the time that, against Ryan’s advice, you booked three tickets for an Alaskan cruise, then found out they don’t sail in December.”

  “It was Christmas break. I was trying to do something nice for my family.”

  “And the time you convinced Ryan to invest in MySpace stock?”

  “Who knew Facebook was going to shoot them out of the water?” Laurie said defensively.

  “You take unnecessary risks,” said Mitzy.

  Her friend’s words struck Laurie like a news flash. “Oh my gosh. Ryan’s trying to prove I’m crazy so he can divorce me and gain custody of Rory.”

  “Just sit tight ’til I hear back from Maggie.”

  Laurie wrung her hands. “Your detective friend has no jurisdiction in Wisconsin, right?”

  “If Gomez trained with the CPD, Maggie might know her. Just promise me you’ll stay out of this investigation from here on out. Last thing Rory needs is his mother in jail.”

  “I promise.

  “You better not be crossing your fingers beneath your tush.”

  “You still don’t trust me after all these years?” Laurie said, holding up her open palms as she crossed her ankles beneath the table.

  Mitzy peeked beneath the tablecloth. Then she snickered.

  9

  Mitzy tossed three queens on the octagonal table. “Gin!”

  “My daughter, the card shark,” Shirley Maven said proudly. “You’d win if you didn’t ‘ooh’ and ‘ah’ every time you picked a good card,” Mitzy said.

  “She’s too old to change,” kidded Harry.

  “I should have left him at the altar,” said Shirley. She placed three chocolate chip Mandel bread cookies on Mitzy’s plate. “Enjoy your winnings.”

  “What am I?” said Harry. “A piece of cake?”

  “With your tummy, you don’t need sweets.”

  Mitzy pinched the chocolate chips from the cookies and tossed them into her mouth. “Don’t be rude to Uncle Harry.”

  “She’s mad because I called her old.”

  “And he’s not your real uncle,” said Shirley with an imperious toss of the head.

  “Thanks for the update,” mumbled Mitzy, her teeth crunching the toasted cookies.

  “By the way, how’s your friend’s husband?”

  “I just visited Laurie yesterday. This month is one year since Ryan’s heart attack. Laurie says he’s still afraid to reenter the workplace.”

  “My poker buddy, Sid, had a heart attack around the same time as your friend’s husband,” mussed Harry.

  “What’s that got to do with this young girl’s hubby?” asked Shirley Maven as she filled their china cups with mint tea.

  Harry threw his hands up in frustration. “This woman won’t let me complete a sentence!”

  “She’s sorry,” said Mitzy.

  “No I’m not,” pouted Shirley.

  “Sid said living through a heart attack makes him feel like a POW just freed from captivity.”

  “How so, Uncle Harry?”

  “He feels like danger’s lurking behind every wheelchair.”

  “So Ryan’s worried the gray monkey could attack again,” mused Mitzy.

  “Don’t you love her way with words, Harry?” marveled Shirley.

  “Cut it out, Mom.”

  “Did Ryan go to the dentist right before he had a heart attack?” asked Shirley.

  “Huh?”

  “Our neighbor in 6B had a heart valve defect,” continued Shirley. “His throat was hurting him real bad but he still went to his dentist appointment. The dentist did a root canal; there’s always some bleeding with that. Unbeknown to the dentist, the guy had strep throat. Bacteria gained access to the bloodstream and settled in his heart. He developed bacterial endocarditis.”

  “Gee, Mom, you’re just full of jolly stories tonight, aren’t you? Trust me. Ryan’s fine.”

  “You’re gonna drive her away, Shirl,” warned Harry, giving his wife a dirty look.

  “All set for school to start next week?” Shirley asked brightly, dismissing his words with a wave of her pinkie.

  “Having my own resource room is going to be a lot different than team teaching in the regular classroom. I’m scared I won’t be able to handle it.”

  “Most teachers would be elated at having only six students,” said her mother.

  Harry’s blue eyes twinkled beneath white bushy brows. “Don’t listen to her. I’d be scared, too. Heaping pot of potential anarchy.”

  Shirley massaged hand cream into the back of her hands.

  “Here, let me do that for you,” said Harry, his big hands swallowing hers up.

  “Do you have a twin, Harry?” Mitzy marveled.

  Her mother laughed softly. “So what’s new with that cute Detective Jeff?”

  Mitzy stiffened. “Listen guys, thanks for the card game. I gotta go.”

  “I told you not to ask her!” Harry said to his wife.

  “I’m talking to my daughter, not you!” Shirley barked.

  “Aw shit, Shirl, I can’t do nothing right by you.”

  Mitzy quietly let herself out of the apartment and headed for the elevator.

  *

  Laurie clicked the “send” button on her e-mail screen, praying for a high grade on her class final that would grease the way into the upcoming state exam, ultimately sealing her future as a realtor. She shoved one last spoonful of mint chocolate chip ice cream into her mouth, plopped the half-eaten pint back in the freezer, and headed for the bedroom. Wiggling her cellulite hips into a one-piece black bathing suit, Laurie prepared to revel in her family’s last afte
rnoon up at the summerhouse. All she had to do now was unplug the iPod of Ryan’s scolding voice running through her brain.

  As she plucked a turquoise and pink beach towel from the laundry room, Laurie’s thoughts gravitated to the day she told Ryan her dad had willed her the summerhouse. “We can use it as an investment property.”

  “How are we going to keep track of a renter all the way up in Wisconsin? If you’re smart, you’ll sell it now so we can build a secure nest egg for Rory’s college education,” her husband had counseled.

  “Helga Beckermann says she’ll keep an eye on the house for us.”

  “We’re living on the edge. No way can we afford a second mortgage.”

  “We’ll rent out the house, except for the month of August. Think of the money we’ll save by spending our vacations up at the summerhouse instead of traipsing all over the universe.”

  Their marriage was a veritable cesspool of arguments. No more dwelling on unpleasant conversations, Laurie admonished herself. Friday had been her son’s last day at camp. Today, Ryan was taking him shopping for school supplies; one less thing to do when they returned home to Chicago in the morning. The guys would head over to Burger King for lunch. That translated into freedom! Swimming? Sunbathing? Biking? Each choice tantalized her with its neon lights.

  Grabbing a copy of Dr. Phil’s latest self-help book, Laurie lugged her yoga mat, towel, cell phone, tanning lotion, and sunglasses down by the pier. Gazing across the lake, she glimpsed a motorboat racing across the horizon. Closer in, three boats with multi-colored sails bobbed back and forth.

  Rocky’s agitated barking echoed down the driveway as she crossed to the pier. She should have taken him for a long walk first, but the heady fish smell rolling in from the lake coupled with the cool breeze jetting down her arms proved too intoxicating to turn back.

  Laurie dropped all her supplies in the sand. Then she unfurled her purple yoga and plopped down. At least it would get some use on this trip, though not for its intended purpose. At home, she and Mitzy practiced yoga two evenings a week at the Discovery Center on Lincoln Avenue. But up here, she lacked the desire to stick to a regular exercise program; even something as simple as flexibility training left her motivationally challenged.