by Carol Schaal
I could hear the voices of the twins in the background, anxious for grandma’s attention.
“Sounds like you have to go,” I said. “But I promise I won’t be stupid, or at least more stupid than I’ve already been. We both know telling Mom definitely would be stupid. All hell would break loose.” I laughed. “And, yes, I’ll call Greg soon.”
The one thing neither one of us could promise was that we wouldn’t cry as we bid each other farewell.
After I got my emotions under control, I decided it was time to do some good works. The list Frank and Justin gave me contained the names of several retailers, including merchants at the Alleton antique pavilion. I figured a few of them might be there on a Sunday, so I stuck a handful of information sheets that explained the bone marrow drive into my purse and headed out the door.
The two-story antique mall was not exactly busy, and most of the booths were not staffed by their owners. I checked out a couple booths, seeking ideas for interesting gifts, then managed to talk to five retailers. Three of them expressed an interest in the drive, although having to visit a doctor and submit to a blood draw curbed some of their enthusiasm. The other two were older than 60, past the age the registry would accept.
“Well, shoot,” said a booth owner who introduced himself to me as “Gus the book guy.” He was probably in his 80s, with thinning white hair and bushy eyebrows. “You get old, and you can’t even give your blood away.”
“Weren’t you at Bernice’s wake?” I asked, his well-worn face stirring a memory of that night.
“Sure was,” he said, “but I left before all the excitement.” Bernice was a friend of his, he told me, and wasn’t that a darn shame what happened to her. I didn’t tell him about my discovery of her body but did say she had run a wonderful store and I felt privileged to take it over.
“You were a darn sight lucky on that one, miss. That was a hot bidding war going on when she announced she was selling. I’m surprised she sold it to an out-of-towner. Woulda thought she’d go local. But that was Bernice, always a sharp eye on the kitty.”
Keeping my tone casual, I expressed an interest in who the bidders were.
“Lemme think. A couple out-of-towners like you, a local young hopeful, probably didn’t have the cash, and it seems like those toy store folks had a yearning for the place.”
He scratched his stubbly chin. “That Bernice, she was a tough one. Didn’t want to sell to people she didn’t approve of. The big thing, and I told this straight out to Bernice, was she was being awful spiteful to that daughter of hers, not giving her a chance at the business. But Bernice just gave me her trademark evil eye and said Sarah wasn’t smart with money. Course, I knew better than to ask more questions.”
I didn’t tell him what Natalie had said to me at the wake about Bernice’s fears over Sarah wanting to sell more high-end products, certain Gus would still think Bernice was wrong to punish her daughter. The longer I knew Sarah, the more I agreed.
Gus reached out and patted my hand. “Bernice had an eye for winners, so I ain’t wishing you luck. Don’t need it. You’ll do fine. Now that little girl, the one who needs bone marrow, she needs more than luck. You take her my prayers.”
I stopped at a few other places on my list, including two bed and breakfasts. The owner of one said she couldn’t arrange for a blood test because the B&B took all her time. The second couple, cleaning up after their big Sunday brunch, wanted to help. After the husband looked over the information sheet, however, he said he and his wife wouldn’t be accepted by the registry for several months. Both had gotten small tattoos last fall to celebrate their fifth anniversary, and you had to wait a year or so to be eligible after getting a tattoo.
Evie, I realized after reviewing my disappointing results, needed something in addition to luck and a prayer to beat her disease. She needed a gigantic pool of people willing and able to join the registry.
13
Sarah showed up Monday morning as promised, and I was thrilled to see her. In her tailored black wool pants and blazer, she looked professional, in contrast to my thick sweatpants and sweatshirt. Sarah quickly dealt with the artist who was repainting the Bathing Beauty sign, the two of them discussing details of color and shading that made my eyes glaze over. She also redid some product shelving, explaining to me the way shoppers generally behaved.
I thought about what Gus the book guy had told me and felt again the unfairness of Bernice’s decision to bypass her daughter and sell the store, even if I had profited from that choice. But Sarah’s demeanor and actions showed no sign of enmity toward me.
We stopped work for a while to gobble down sandwiches we’d earlier grabbed from the diner down the street. We had just finished when someone pounded on the shop door, yelling. I ran to the door, peeked around the edge of the shade, and saw D.J. outside, fist raised to hit the door again. I yanked the door open, and he almost fell in.
He staggered, then collapsed on the floor, sobbing so hard we couldn’t understand what he was trying to say.
Sarah bent down and put her arms around him, holding him close, rocking him. “Shhh, shhh, it’s okay, D.J. we can help. What happened? Tell us what happened.”
D.J. took a deep breath, a shudder running through his body. “My dad,” he said, “he’s dead.” Sarah and I looked at each other in shock, but D.J. wasn’t done.
“They say he was murdered, and the cops are going through the house and the shop, they got some kind of warrant and they kicked us out,” he cried. “They just came by and made us leave and my mom sent me down here and she went to the store and,” he hugged Sarah so tight I thought he would break her, “and what are we going to do?”
I stood up. “Sarah, okay if I go check things out?” She nodded, still holding D.J., and I ran to get my coat.
A few people were out shopping, and the spicy aroma from Antonelli’s filled the air, but my attention was on the scene in front of the Wooden Block. I could see Tami out front, her down jacket unzipped, hands shoved into pockets, while a police officer stood guard by the shop’s front door. Two police cars, idling but with no sirens or lights, were parked on the street. One of them was an Alleton vehicle, the other a county cop car. Did that mean Maccini was there? I had no clue how the Michigan police agencies worked, but maybe a homicide in Alleton meant the county force was involved in the investigation.
I rushed over to Tami, who threw her arms around me. “D.J. is at Bathing Beauty with Sarah,” I told her. “How are you? Do you know what’s going on?”
Tami released me and stepped back, incomprehension on her face. “The hospital called in the middle of the night, said to get down there fast. D.J. and I rushed over, and when we got there, we held his hand, but he just slipped away.”
She seemed on the verge of breaking down again but pulled herself together. “That was terrible, but then the cops showed up this morning, waving a warrant in my face.”
She glanced at the officer by the shop door and moved away slightly so he couldn’t overhear. “You know what they said? They said we had to get out of the house because they had official approval to search it and we had to come down here and open the store, so they could search it, too.”
Tami pulled some papers out of her pocket and thrust them at me. “They told us the doctors think he was poisoned, and we had to wait here until they could talk to us and I don’t know what the hell is going on or what they are looking for, but they wouldn’t let me go back to the hospital and see Den, and,” anger was starting to replace her tears, “I want to talk to the person in charge!”
Her spurt of words left me reeling. Dennis, poisoned? Bernice, overdosed with sleeping pills? And what did the police expect to find at the Tomlinsons’ house and store?
Winter’s chill was seeping into my bones. “Tami, why don’t you come to my store? I’ll get you something warm to drink, and you and D.J. can talk there.”
She nodded and walked over to the officer on guard. Her fury was clear. “I’m going to th
e Bathing Beauty store,” she snapped at him. I was glad he told her it was okay as long as she stayed there until a police officer arrived. I feared she might have slugged him if he had disagreed with her.
Sarah and D.J. were sitting on the office chairs when Tami and I arrived. D.J. jumped up and hugged his mom. They both looked on the verge of collapse.
Tami sat on a counter near Sarah and D.J., and I played hostess. Tami took the hot chocolate I gave her as if it were a lifeline and reached over to pat D.J.’s cheek. “You okay, son?” she asked.
He gave her a lost child look. “They think someone killed Dad? Do they think we did it?”
Tami had no response. Instead, her eyes roamed the room. I knew precisely what was happening. The idea that her husband was dead was starting to sink in, and she was seeking guidance, something to help her through this new life. Never mind that she might be a suspect in his death, that hadn’t hit home yet. D.J. still looked stunned, as if this all couldn’t really be happening, but Tami had gotten the message, as much as she wanted to pretend it was not real.
Sarah and I quietly drank the tea I had made, me sitting near Tami on the low counter, occasionally reaching over to touch her shoulder.
We all might have stayed that way forever, D.J. frozen in disbelief, Tami trying to process what the day had meant, and Sarah and I seeking desperately for something to say or do that would comfort the grieving mother and son, but a knock on the door broke the spell.
I got up, pulled aside the front-door shade, and shuddered. Maccini and a police officer I didn’t know stood outside. I reluctantly opened the door, and Maccini gave me a curt nod as he stepped inside the shop.
“Mrs. Tomlinson, D.J., sorry ’bout the delay. But I need both of you to come to the station with me. We need to go over a few things.”
Any hint of a caring counselor was gone. He and the other officer, who had not been introduced but was wearing an Alleton patch, looked stern and in command.
Tami, however, had a backbone, too. She slid off the counter, lifted her chin, and pointed a finger at Maccini. “Why don’t you tell me what’s going on? What were you looking for at my house, at my store? And what do you need to talk to D.J. about?”
The Alleton officer moved slightly toward Tami as if he feared she might launch herself at Maccini. But Maccini shook his head at the officer and spread his hands out. “We’re asking the questions, not the other way around.”
“What if I don’t want to go to the police station?” Tami said, putting her hands on her hips. “Are you going to arrest me? Or D.J.? Or are you going to arrest us both?”
Maccini took a deep breath and scowled right back at Tami. “You both are material witnesses. And it would help us find out what happened to your husband if the two of you would talk to us.”
I had gained a rudimentary sense of police procedures in Florida and decided it was time to step in. “Give us a minute,” I told Maccini, who glared at me. I motioned Tami to the back of the store.
“I don’t mind helping out,” she told me, her anger apparently diffused by Maccini’s suggestion that she could aid in the search for her husband’s killer.
“Oh, Tami, I’m sorry to have to say this. Even though he hasn’t arrested you yet, you obviously are a suspect. I suggest you talk to him, but only with an attorney. I’m not joking. Don’t say a word until your attorney is with you. And tell D.J. the same thing. You need to protect yourself — and him.”
She looked at the ceiling, as though seeking a divine message, but I could tell my words had connected. “Okay, I’ll do that. But an attorney? Isn’t that expensive?”
I took her hand, gave it a quick squeeze. “This is not the time to worry about the cost. This is the time to worry about your future.”
14
After everyone left, Sarah picked up a box, put it back on the floor, sighed. I opened my laptop, glanced at the Excel file of prices, then shut it down. We each grabbed a chair.
“My mom and now Dennis, what, what does this mean? I’m getting scared, Lauren,” Sarah twisted her hands together, her breathing rapid.
I lifted my shoulders, no words coming. I could hardly reassure her. All of this was scaring me, too.
“I’m going to stop by Waves End and talk to Frank and Justin,” she finally said. “They need to know what’s going on.”
I figured Frank, with his Alleton network, probably already had heard the news, but Sarah might feel better talking to him. They’d known each other for years, and I was a relative newcomer in her life.
So far at least, she didn’t seem to know that I was among those under suspicion for her mom’s death, and I wasn’t about to tell her.
Back at my condo, I uncorked a bottle of wine and pulled out my phone. I listened to Greg’s message again. He left it three days ago, and I knew if I didn’t return it soon, I might do irreparable damage to our relationship. But it was Monday night, which meant he would be at home with Carmen and little Roberto. Not the best time to call.
Taking a huge swallow of wine, some liquid courage, I thought, “To hell with Carmen.” Too bad if she didn’t like the idea of me staying in touch with my own brother. I couldn’t tiptoe around her feelings forever, and I needed to stay on Greg’s good side. Standing by the balcony’s sliding door, too nervous to sit down, I put the wine glass down and made the call.
“Vic, how nice of you to call me back. Been busy?” I grabbed on to the nearby recliner, Greg’s first words, his cool voice, sent me rocking off balance. Well, what did I expect? The guy was mad, and I couldn’t really blame him.
I took a deep breath. “I’m so sorry, Egg. Yes, I’ve been busy, and I’ll tell you what’s been going on up here. But it was wrong of me not to answer when you called back. You just hit me with a nasty shock. No excuse, really, big brother, but I hope you’ll forgive me.”
“Listen, Sis, now I’m the one who’s busy, so I can’t really talk. What I said about falling off a roof was wrong and hurtful, but it’s hard to apologize if you won’t even take my call. So maybe we’re even. And I really have to go. I’ll call you back in a few days. Bye.”
The call was disconnected. I reached over, picked up my wine glass, and threw it against the wall. The shatter-proof glass bounced off, landed on the floor, and rolled. Now all I had to show for my fit of anger and rage, and, let me be honest, embarrassment over my childish act of ignoring Greg’s call, were red stains on the wall and carpet.
15
I dragged myself out of bed, paying the price for finishing off last night’s bottle of wine. Aunt Raelynn sounded in my mind, cautionary words about giving and taking, forgiving and forgetting.
Moping around wasn’t doing me any good either, so I scrubbed the wall and carpet of my evening anger, dutifully did a physical workout, then headed out to check more names off the list of people to inform about the bone marrow registry. If nothing else, I could try to help Evie.
First, I drove by the Tomlinson house, my curiosity over the fate of Tami and D.J. too much to ignore. Like many of the retailers who kept the coastal town a must-visit for tourists, Tami and Dennis couldn’t afford the high prices of houses in town and, like Sarah, lived a few miles from Alleton’s lakeside condos and multimillion-dollar mansions.
Their two-story, shingle-sided place looked empty, and no one responded to my knock on their door. I hoped the lack of response didn’t mean they were both sitting in jail. That would have been too much for me to take in.
I made my appointed rounds, stopping at more B&Bs, visiting hair salons, gas stations, restaurants. The willingness of many to give up some time and blood to help a little girl most of them had never met helped pull me out of my funk. Maybe Raelynn had it right after all, and the good can outweigh the bad.
When my list was done, the day stretched before me. Thanks to D.J. and Sarah’s efforts, and despite my worries, Bathing Beauty appeared to be on track to open in little more than three weeks. A final shipment of botanical products was due in on Th
ursday, but the shop wasn’t in need of my presence that day or the next.
Still worried about Tami and D.J., I decided to stop by Waves End, see if newshound Frank might know the score. The shop’s bell jingled as I entered, and I made my usual obeisance to the metal sculpture of the angry creature, always reaching, never connecting.
“You really should buy that, you know,” Justin said. Looking every inch the cutting-edge artist, with his slouchy gray sweater and carefully arranged black-and-white scarf, he’d been installing some pieces of fiber art when I came in. He walked over and traced a finger along one of the statue’s outstretched hands. “It speaks to you.”
He saw me glance at the price tag. “I know, it’s a big investment. But maybe it’s worth it to you.”
Thanks to Drew’s insurance, I could easily afford the piece but was not quite ready to think in terms of buying art and setting up my own household in Michigan. My lonely life was so unsettled, I couldn’t even figure out what state I wanted to live in. And I knew I couldn’t live with the statue. Too much rage.
“I know I know, you’ll think about it,” Justin said, smiling. “The words all shopkeepers hate to hear. It means the customer will walk out, never to be seen again.”
“You can’t get rid of me,” I assured him. “Where would I get all the news? And speaking of the nosy news guy, where is he? I’m anxious to find out what happened with Tami and D.J. yesterday. Are they in jail?”
“They are not in jail, they are with that nosy news guy. He traded treating them to breakfast for an update. Sorry, don’t mean to make light of the situation. We’re all worried about this mess.”
Justin’s update was reassuring, however. He didn’t know a lot because Frank hadn’t reported back from his breakfast meeting, but he did know that the police had told Tami and D.J. that they were temporarily in the clear. Apparently, the police were still checking some of the items they had taken, but Tami and D.J. had been told that nothing immediately suspicious was found at their house or shop.