Buyer's Remorse

by Lori L. Lake

  Paul glanced over his shoulder, waved, and pulled out.

  Kate stopped in the street, looking forlornly at his retreating back. She stamped her foot. "I wanted to go with him."

  "He deserved the first ride to himself. That's okay, isn't it?"

  "I guess."

  Kate's mother called out to her from the front porch. "Lunchtime, kiddo."

  "I gotta go," Kate said, "but I'll be watching for him. He better teach us how to drive it later today."

  Leo doubted that Kate would be allowed to ride the motorcycle by herself, but she wasn't going to be the one to shatter Kate's dream. In a hopeful tone, she said, "He won't be gone long. We'll get a ride later." Kate ran in her house, and Leo went across the street to hers.

  But Paul didn't come back.

  The Wallaces weren't home all afternoon, so it wasn't until after her dinner that Leo realized something was wrong. Through her front window, she watched the Wallaces' paneled Ford station wagon wheel into their driveway. Two of Kate's four brothers got out of the car, heads down, and went to the front porch. She squinted. Was Robbie crying? Mr. and Mrs. Wallace moved slowly, lumbering toward the house. Kate emerged last, her face red and her hands balled up into fists. Like a sleepwalker, she crossed the lawn and went into their side yard to shinny up the linden tree.

  Leo went to her mother's room. Elizabeth Reese lay on her side, her legs tangled in a mauve-colored sheet. Her eyes were closed, and her eyelids looked bruised, as though they'd been smudged with blue ink. They fluttered open, and her mother reached for her.

  "What is it, honey?"

  Leo stepped closer and took her mother's hand. "Something's wrong at Kate's house."

  Her mother winced. "Like what? Not something dangerous, like a fire—"

  "Not like that, Mom. I don't know."

  "Go check it out, then." She released Leo's hand and gave her a light tap on the hip. "Come back and report in."

  "Do you need something first? Water? Something to eat?"

  "No, baby, I'm fine." She shifted and settled on her side with a wince of pain. "I'll just...sleep...a little more."

  Leo grasped her elbows in her hands and pulled her arms tight against her middle. She watched as her mother's breathing evened out and the pained expression on her face faded. Only then did Leo tiptoe from the room.

  Outside, the sun was low in the sky. A mosquito whined past Leo's ear, and she twitched. The air was warm and heavy, like a blanket pressing down during a bad dream. She approached the linden tree in the Wallaces' yard, searching the branches for her friend. She caught sight of a tennis shoe in the farthest reaches, much higher than the two of them usually climbed.

  "Kate?" No answer. "Kate, what's wrong?"

  Nothing.

  Leo's stomach turned over. Never before had Kate snubbed her or failed at least to recognize that she was there. Leo wondered what she'd done. Had she upset Kate somehow? She couldn't think of how, though.

  A window on the main floor in the Wallaces' house shrieked open. "Hello, Leo," Mrs. Wallace said. "Is Kate in the tree?"

  "Yes." Leo could see Mrs. Wallace's outline through the screen. She wanted to ask what was going on, but something held her back.

  After a moment, Mrs. Wallace called, "Kate, come in now. It'll be dark soon." Leo waited, feeling awkward.

  "Katherine Michelle Wallace. Please come down from that tree right now. I said right now."

  Not a sound came from high in the tree. Leo said, "I don't think she's coming."

  The window whooshed shut.

  After a deep breath, Leo grabbed a tree limb and pulled herself up. Branch by branch, she climbed high into the tree until she came to where the trunk narrowed. She paused when her head was even with Kate's sneakers.

  "Kate?" She tapped on a scraped-up shoe. "Hey, Kate. Talk to me." She wormed her way around the trunk of the tree, found another toehold to push up from, and squirmed onto a sturdy limb until she was sitting even with her friend. Kate's face was pressed against a forearm resting on a branch at shoulder level.

  "What's wrong?"

  Kate lifted her head. Her face was red and tear-streaked. Her nose was running, and her blonde hair was mussed. A thin twig the size of a toothpick stuck out of the mop, over her ear.

  "Please tell me. What happened?"

  "Paul wrecked the motorcycle."

  "What?"

  "He crashed." She coughed out a sob. "A truck hit him by the 7-11. He crashed, and he died."

  "Died?" Leo whispered. "Paul's dead?"

  "What am I going to do without him?" The words came out strangled, as though Kate were choking. More tears rolled down her pale cheeks. She tried to wipe her face on the sleeve of her t-shirt succeeding only in smearing tears everywhere. "I wanna die, too. I could just let go."

  She brought both hands up and pulled on her hair, letting out little gasps as she cried. Leo shot out her hand and steadied her. She gripped the lightweight, braided belt Kate wore. "If you let go, then I do, too."

  Kate met Leo's gaze for the first time, her blue eyes bloodshot and miserable. "Don't be stupid. You have to take care of your mom."

  "What about your mom?"

  As if summoned, Mrs. Wallace's voice wafted up from the base of the tree. "Kate, please come down now. I know you're terribly upset. We all are. Please come down."

  "I won't," Kate said. "You can't make me."

  Mrs. Wallace shaded her eyes and craned her neck. "All right, take some time up there. But come down soon—before it gets full dark." In the moonlight, Leo squinted at Mrs. Wallace and noted the runnels of water dripping down her face. She lifted a handkerchief and stumbled away, her shoulders shaking.

  Leo had never seen Mrs. Wallace cry, and it shocked her. Her whole body went cold. How could Paul's mom stand it if Paul was dead? Handsome, laughing Paul? She couldn't get her mind around that fact. She and Kate had spent the whole morning helping him. How could he be dead and gone now?

  The tree was warm, and its branches and leaves surrounded Leo protectively. She settled her shoulder against the narrow trunk and tightened her grip on Kate's belt.

  Through the branches and shifting leaves, Leo watched the sun at the horizon as it blazed purple and orange and molten gold, the last tendrils of light fading gradually.

  She didn't move when Mr. Wallace came out to order Kate from the tree.

  She didn't answer when Mrs. Wallace informed them it was after ten p.m. and they needed to come down.

  And she didn't argue when midnight rolled around, and Kate finally let out a sigh and said, "I'm done." They climbed down, and without a word, Kate went into her house and Leo went to hers.

  They'd been ten that summer with Kate five months younger and a year behind in school. Leo didn't turn eleven until July, and a week before her birthday, she had her own tragedy to contend with.

  But that evening in the tree had cemented a bond between Leo and Kate, something unbreakable and akin to a sister relationship. Leo grew up relying upon the connection, even during times when she and Kate went different directions in high school. And she knew now, as she sat weeping in her car at the medical plaza, that Kate would always be there for her and she for Kate. No tree would ever be tall enough to stand in the way.

  A police cruiser pulled into the parking lot and made its way toward her. Seeing Kate arriving calmed Leo. She watched her park, get out, and stride over, her blue police uniform looking a bit rumpled on her trim, lean body. Except for blue eyes and similar height, Leo and Kate shared no other features. Kate's dark brown hair, willowy build, and Black Irish beauty marked them as opposites.

  She slid into the passenger seat, reached out and patted Leo's shoulder, and left her arm lying across the top of the seat. "Love the shades, sis."

  "I know. I can't help it. The minute I take 'em off, I go half-blind."

  "What did the doctor say, exactly?"

  Leo repeated what Dr. Spence told her. "I was so shocked, though, I might have missed some of it."


  "Bottom line is you have some sort of growth inside the eye that the ophthalmologist can see."

  "Yes. He took an interior photo with this new machine and showed it to me. With all those veins and globs of this and that, it was pretty gross. But I could sure see that the right eye is completely different from the left."

  "You're going to get a second opinion, right?"

  "Oh, yeah."

  Kate shook her head slowly. "This sucks for you, Leo."

  "I know."

  "What did Daria say?"

  "Haven't told her yet. She's in court."

  "You gotta be kidding—get her out."

  "I can't do that to her. She's up to her neck in hot water with this Dunleavey case."

  Kate pulled her arm off the back of the seat and steepled her fingers in front of her. "What are you going to do now?"

  "Pray that my dilated eyes return to normal fast so I can at least bury myself in paperwork."

  "I'm sorry you can't do your regular patrol job. That'd be easier, wouldn't it?"

  "Hell, I don't know. Maybe it's just as well that I'm doing this other thing. If I have to go through treatments of some sort, I'll feel a lot better if I'm not causing problems for the patrol team."

  "What can I do? You need me to take you to any appointments or anything?"

  "Maybe. I don't know yet. That's the hard part. I don't have a clue."

  "Yeah, yeah, I know. Man, this is frickin' unfair."

  Leo smiled at Kate's attitude and posture. When she was upset, she reminded Leo most of the child she'd been when they first became friends. A noticeable piece of the cranky, petulant Kate still existed in the adult.

  "Unfair, awful, shocking. It's all of that and more."

  "I wish I could stay and talk now."

  "Yup," Leo said, "but duty calls. For me, too. Thanks for coming to calm me down."

  "Well, I didn't do a damn thing."

  Leo socked her lightly on the shoulder. "Just knowing you're here is all I needed. It's okay telling people on the phone, but to talk about it in person makes me feel a lot better. I don't know what'll happen, but I know you're there for me."

  "When are you going to tell Mom and Dad?"

  "I'll get that second opinion first."

  Kate opened the car door and let in a wave of heat. "Call me tonight, okay?"

  "You bet."

  She hustled over to the squad car and was gone with a squeal of tires.

  Unspoken between them were all the times Kate had shown up to sit and wait with Leo as Elizabeth Reese slowly but surely lost her battle with cancer. Kate never lasted more than an hour, but in Leo's mind, it was the effort that counted. Kate liked to be active, on the move, getting things done—waiting was torture for her.

  BY ELEVEN A.M. Leo knew she could do nothing further until she got in to see the eye specialist. Her head pounded in a steady, painful beat, so she took two aspirin from the omnipresent bottle, washed them down with a slug of warm water, and put the car in gear to return to Minneapolis.

  As she drove, she wondered if she'd be able to catch Daria when lunch break rolled around. The Dunleavey trial was unpredictable, but surely the court would recess around noon. In the meantime, she'd keep busy with her work.

  At Rivers' Edge, the lighting was muted enough that she was able to take off the giant bug glasses. She tracked down the housekeeper, Missy McCarver, who was vacuuming the staff room. Missy's youth and her rangy physique surprised Leo. She didn't know what she'd expected, but it hadn't been a six-foot-tall dead ringer for Olive Oyl. She supposed those long arms would be handy when it came to dusting high corners. The young woman's broad shoulders and muscular arms would be a real asset for any kind of heavy labor.

  She was shy, too. As soon as Leo called out Missy's name, the girl flipped off the vacuum and blushed and stuttered. The staff room was quiet and out of the way, so Leo set up her tape recorder on top of one of the washers in the laundry alcove and gave Missy the boring statement of rights and requirements. She could almost see Missy's dark eyes glaze over, so she rushed through to the end and said, "How long have you worked here?"

  "Since the Christmas before last."

  "Okay. So what can you tell me about the death of Callie Trimble?"

  "Uh, well, I guess nothing."

  "You worked that day, right?"

  "Yeah, ten to six-thirty."

  "You didn't eat with the group that day?"

  "I usually never do." She blushed. "I don't really like old-people food."

  Leo chuckled. "And that would be…?"

  "You know, stewed veggies and steamed meats. Mashed potatoes and slimy gravy. I'd rather have Taco Bell or Culver's."

  "I see. How about the cooks—you like them?"

  "They're kind of old-fashioned. Dottie is always real nice, and I guess Lorraine is, too. They don't come out of the dining café much."

  "Okay, back to Callie Trimble then. Did you see her Monday?"

  "Sure. She followed me around and talked while I cleaned her room."

  "What did she talk about?"

  "Nothing important."

  "Let me be the judge of that. What topics did she bring up?"

  A flash of irritation crossed Missy's face. "Really, nothing at all. Just some talk about the weather and some questions that didn't make sense."

  "What kind of questions?"

  "I guess I don't remember. She always asked weird stuff, like, did I borrow her reading glasses when she was standing there wearing them. Or, like, did I know this person or that person. I think she asked me Monday if I knew when her mother was coming to visit. Whenever Eleanor was nearby, she'd tell Callie that I hadn't met any of her family. Besides, Callie's mother had, you know, died ages ago."

  "I see. Did you see anything at all unusual on Monday?"

  Missy said, "Nuh-uh."

  "How about lately? Anything at all?"

  Missy gawked up at the ceiling for a moment. "Nuh-uh. Can't think of anything. You know, she was a nice old lady, and it's icky that someone killed her. I'm sure glad there wasn't any blood to clean up." Missy's eyes widened and her hand went up to her mouth. "Oh, I'm sorry. I didn't mean it the way that came out."

  The girl was so alarmed that Leo wanted to reach out to assure her, but she didn't know her well enough, so she restrained herself. "Don't worry. I understand exactly what you mean. I've worked for a long time as a police officer, and nobody ever likes to see blood. Let's talk about the other residents." She went through the various names, but Missy had nothing new to add. Like so many others, she didn't like Walter Green. In fact, she sounded a little frightened when she brought him up. The rest of the residents were no problem, though she thought Agnes Trumpeter was pushy and demanding, especially about the bathroom's cleanliness, but that was it.

  "How about the employees here?" Leo asked. "Hazel, Sherry, and Habibah worked that day. And Rowena of course."

  "I don't know. I don't pay attention to them most of the time. 'Cept Rowena is my boss so I'm always, like, extra careful with her. They're all regular people, but they're so much older than me."

  "What about Hazel Bellinger?"

  Missy's eyes narrowed as she looked away.

  "Is there something strange about Hazel?"

  "Not really. She's just mean."

  "Mean to the residents?"

  "No, she sucks up to them. She's mean to me. And she's way mean to anybody who has an accent."

  "Do you think she could have something to do with Callie Trimble's death?"

  "I wish. But she was standing around in the dining room yesterday bragging about how she had an unbreakable alibi."

  "Did she say what that alibi was?"

  "No, not that I heard."

  "Did you hear that Habibah was arrested?"

  "Yeah." She rolled her eyes. "Like Habibah could've tackled Callie? I don't think so. I mean, Hazel and I are practically the only people here strong enough. Of the women, anyway. Walter's pretty tough, and Franklin's strong,
but he's also a little wobbly."

  "Where were you Monday night?"

  Missy blanched. "I—I didn't mean that I was—or that I would—" She gulped. "I wasn't here. I went out to Taco Bell first and to the movies with my sister. The police already know that."

  "Don't worry, Missy. For the record, I always have to ask that question. Thanks for talking to me. If you think of anything else, will you call me?" Leo handed her the generic DHS card with her phone number penciled in.

  Missy accepted it, her face still pale.

  Leo clicked off the tape recorder and put it away. In an offhand tone, she asked, "How do you like working for Rowena Hoxley?"

  Now that the tape recorder was off, Missy let out a breath and relaxed. "She's okay. Kinda spacey. Forgets to hand out paychecks on time. She doesn't remember to lock her office half the time. I swear, I spend more time locking up around here than anybody, and I probably get paid the least."

  "Ah, so if you go to an unoccupied apartment and the person isn't home, you let yourself in?"

  "Yeah, but nobody locks up. I always lock up when I'm done, even if they left the door wide open."

  "What happens if residents come home and don't have their keys?"

  "Doesn't matter. Someone's always here to let 'em in. Hey, I know this is kind of strange to say, but did you know your eyes are, like, real big?"

  Leo laughed. "They're still dilated. I had an eye exam." She bid farewell to Missy McCarver and strolled out to the front foyer. Franklin Callaghan sat in his favorite spot with the newspaper folded down into eighths so he could work the crossword puzzle.

  "Say, lass," he called out, "what's a nine letter word for uncertain?"

  Leo thought a moment. "Have you got any letter clues?"

  "Fifth letter is a G, and the last is an S."

  "How about ambiguous. Will that fit?"

  "Aye. Good thought. That's the one, lass. Thank you."

  She sat down near him and in a low voice asked, "Have you seen anything unusual lately?"

  "No, but I'm on the case." He smiled, his eyes dancing, and Leo thought he had probably been extremely handsome in his younger days, a real lady-killer. The Freudian slip amused her, and she smiled back at him.