by Price, Cate
Suddenly frantic to get home, I stepped harder on the accelerator.
Angus Backstead should rot in jail. Tom Perkins’s words sounded eerily similar to Ramsbottom’s. My intuition had stood me in good stead as a teacher and I was relying on it now. If I gave Ramsbottom the credit that he was too smart to perform the act himself, then he’d gotten the Perkins brothers to handle the murder and locked down the crime scene evidence with all fingers pointing to Angus.
They certainly had the powerful physiques necessary to whack someone with a barn beam. Even more so than Fiona’s driver. And while they hadn’t exactly threatened me, they didn’t welcome my presence on their property either.
The air-conditioning was blowing cooler now, so I closed the windows.
I was driving through a wooded section before the turnoff to River Road, seeing the scene back at the feed store in my mind’s eye, until suddenly a deer loped out in front of me. I braked to avoid it, but then another one followed, and I jammed harder on brakes that were slippery in the blistering heat, until the last one, the baby, froze.
Oh, no.
I wrenched the wheel hard to the right and barely managed to steer the car between two trees until it finally came to a crashing halt in a pile of leaves and undergrowth.
I blew out a long breath, and watched the family of deer trot farther into the dark recesses of the forest.
Pay attention, Daisy.
I threw the car into reverse and steadily powered it back up onto the main road. The Subaru didn’t seem any worse for wear, and I carried on, more slowly this time.
I breathed a sigh of relief when I finally saw the sign for the village of Millbury. My nerves were completely shot. I couldn’t wait to get home. Safe. And I couldn’t wait to see Joe.
Hunger clawed at my stomach and I realized I’d forgotten to eat lunch.
As I passed Sometimes a Great Notion, I noticed there was still a light on. I banged on the steering wheel in frustration. Did I have to do everything myself? Why couldn’t Sarah be more careful? I stopped at the store, stomped inside, and checked around to make sure the coffeepot was turned off and the computer properly shut down, too. I ended up spending more time going over the day’s receipts.
Another half hour later, I walked in the front door of the house, calling hello. There was no answer. Maybe Joe and Sarah were in the garden.
The old house felt cool in spite of the heat because its walls were so thick. We didn’t need air-conditioning downstairs, only window units in the bedrooms.
I hurried toward the kitchen, but stopped still as the total and utter devastation gradually registered. “Oh my God! What happened here?”
Sarah and Joe glanced guiltily at each other. Sarah was the first to speak. “Well, I left Jasper gated in the kitchen all day, and I guess he found an interesting rip in the floor.”
Extremely interesting, apparently, because he had proceeded to methodically chew up the rest of it, leaving an impressive heap of shredded vinyl. The corners of the cabinets had been chewed, too. Ruined. Completely ruined.
Joe held up a hand. “Now, Daisy, don’t freak out—”
I sucked in as much air as I could muster. “Well, why don’t you tell me when I can freak out, Joe, because God knows I never can around here!”
Joe’s lips thinned and he turned and walked out of the room.
I turned on Sarah. “Why the hell didn’t you come home at lunchtime and let the dog out?”
“I got busy at the store. Your store, which you left me to watch!”
“Couldn’t you call Dad and let him know what was going on?”
“Daddy went to play golf. He didn’t know.”
I ground my teeth out of a combination of frustration and guilt. “You need to pay more attention to that dog.”
“Mom, you said you were going to redo the kitchen anyway.”
I thought my head might explode. “Yes, but not right now. Not right this minute!” I noticed that the legs on our precious butcher block table had also suffered from Jasper’s boredom. “Damn it!”
The phone on the kitchen wall rang.
“Don’t answer it,” Sarah begged.
I glared at her and picked up the phone anyway. “Yes?” I snapped.
A pleasant-sounding male voice asked, “Is Sarah there, please?”
“Yes, hold on.” I thrust the receiver at her. “It’s for you.”
Sarah hissed, “I told you not to answer it. Thanks a lot, Mom.” She pushed past me and ran up the stairs.
“I’ll take it in my room,” she yelled. “And by the way, I’m leaving in the morning.”
Hallelujah.
“I’ve got it. Hang up the phone!”
I slammed the phone back into its receiver on the wall.
Joe came into the kitchen at that moment, with Jasper at his heels.
I pointed at him, on a roll now. “You know what? This is all your fault.”
“What is?”
“This!” I flung my arms wide to encompass the annihilation of the room. “All of it. You spoil her to death. You always have.”
“Oh, I spoil her, do I?”
Jasper slunk closer to Joe, wagging his tail ingratiatingly.
“Yes, and I’m sick of it. Sick of always being the one to have to lay down the law with Sarah.”
I turned on the canine kitchen destroyer. “And as for you, mister . . .”
The dog moaned and slid under the table.
Joe stared at me. A long, hard stare. “Well done. You’ve frightened the pup. Are you happy now, Daisy?”
I gasped. Joe never looked at me like that.
He spun on his heel and pushed hard on the back kitchen door, letting it slam behind him as he headed outside.
Chapter Twelve
I stormed upstairs, taking the steps two at a time, ready to give the cause of our angst a piece of my mind. I adored Sarah, but I’d been the unfortunate brunt of her foul moods and dramatic temper tantrums over the years. She could be funny, inspiring, creative, and quite sweet sometimes, but there were other times when she could be a bitch on wheels.
As I reached her room, ramping myself up to finally tell her what I thought after years of stuffing down my feelings, I heard the sound of violent sobbing from behind the door.
Crying as if her heart was broken.
I sagged against the wall.
Jeez, what a day this had been. I trailed back downstairs, almost light-headed with hunger. In the kitchen, Jasper was still hiding underneath the table. Overcome with remorse, I knelt down and met his mournful gaze.
“I’m sorry, baby, I shouldn’t have yelled like that.” I reached out and he gave my hand a small lick, but he was hesitant about approaching me. “Come on out, it’s okay.”
Bridge to Engine Room. Urgent need for more patience.
I sat down on the rough exposed wooden floor and sighed. I’d wait. Wait until he was ready. For as long as it took. “I’m sorry, Jasper,” I repeated. “It won’t happen again.”
His tail wagged slowly from side to side.
“It’s not your fault. Come here.” When he finally bear-crawled out from underneath and into my lap, I bent over and hugged him, burying my face in his soft fur.
Jasper licked my arm as if to say, Don’t worry about it, I forgive you.
What had happened to my former happy, peaceful existence? My best friend was incarcerated, a killer was running around on the loose, and the house was a complete mess. Like its owner.
“Hey, Jasper, want to get out of here for a while?” I whispered. “Go for a walk?”
He jumped to his feet, panting and dancing around me in excitement.
I stood up and looked out of the open window to see Joe tinkering with a bicycle basket.
“I’m taking the dog for a walk,” I called.
“What about dinner?” Joe didn’t even bother to look up from his repairs.
“I’m not hungry anymore.” I wanted to apologize for my earlier snappishness,
but somehow the words stuck in my throat.
I hurried toward the front door, desperate to get out of the place that had once been my sanctuary. Jasper took the lead and I simply followed, stumbling after him down the street, hanging on to his leash like a lifeline.
Thoughts jumbled around in my head like so many angry bees buzzing around the hole in the siding when we’d first bought the house.
We’d called an exterminator, who plugged the opening, but warned us about the bees being irate when they tried to get back inside come late afternoon.
Around four o’clock, I had stood there watching in amazement at how many bees had showed up. Hundreds upon hundreds of them had swarmed around, confused and agitated, until they had finally figured out their home was no longer a place they could come back to.
What the hell was I going to do? About Sarah, and her lack of canine responsibility and, to be honest, lack of responsibility in general. About Joe, and his lack of support with the parental duties. About Angus, and the lack of community interest to help set him free. I was a one-man band where that was concerned.
Jasper and I walked and walked, me trailing along behind him in a daze, until it finally occurred to me it was getting dark and I hadn’t been paying attention to where we were going.
“Hey, Jasper, we should head back.”
I stopped for a moment to get my bearings until I realized I was right in front of Eleanor’s house. A red Vespa was parked outside.
Her house was a Victorian, but much smaller than Martha’s. It was painted the palest shade of Wedgewood blue, with white shutters, a white front door, and white rosette and ribbon detailing on the gable. In the tiny front garden, Eleanor had planted only flowers that were white, or a very pale shade of the lightest blue. Sweet alyssum, white verbena, snapdragons, and delphiniums.
Suddenly a light went on over the porch and the front door opened.
“Come on in, Daisy.” I recognized her husky voice even though I couldn’t make out her face in the twilight.
I gasped. “How did you know it was me? Are you psychic?”
Eleanor laughed. “Not exactly. I just had the feeling you would be coming by one of these nights.”
“God, Eleanor, it’s been a hell of a day. I’m ready to jump out of my skin.”
“Prescription: dry martini. Stat.”
“But I have the dog with me.”
“So? Bring him in. I like dogs. Better than most people, as a matter of fact.”
I opened the garden gate and Jasper and I headed her way. Instead of the usual black attire, she wore a simple white T-shirt and gray yoga pants. Jasper needed no further encouragement as he eagerly pulled me through the front door, sniffing like a bloodhound on a mission.
I was a little eager myself. I’d never been in Eleanor’s house before.
In the foyer, a ladies writing desk was softly illuminated by an Art Deco lamp featuring a nude female bronze. I dropped Jasper’s leash, and Eleanor and I followed him down the hallway.
In the dining room on the left, a vase of fragrant white phlox stood on a round tiger oak dining table. The house had a faint hint of lemon, of fresh laundry, of newly cut wood.
To our right, we passed a remodeled kitchen with cream-colored French country-style cabinets, marble countertops, and stainless steel appliances.
At the end of the hall facing us was a giant circular clock on a pale gray wall that jutted out slightly as if it housed a back staircase behind it. Instead of Martha’s living room crammed with family photos, Eleanor had one gorgeous painting of a barn at sunrise hanging above the slate fireplace. A man walked with his dog toward the barn across snow-covered fields.
The rest of the gray walls were unadorned. There was no television. The sofa and love seat were slipcovered in white cotton duck fabric and arranged in an L-shape. One armchair near the fireplace was upholstered in a blue ticking stripe, like an old-fashioned bedspread. The wood floors gleamed under exquisite wool rugs, and the wide windowsills were big enough to sit on to look out into the garden.
“Glass of wine?” she asked.
“Actually that martini sounds pretty good right about now. Could you make it a vodka one, though?”
Eleanor raised an eyebrow but made no comment. She went over to an antique dresser that had been repurposed into a bar. Jasper followed and flopped to the floor behind her while she made the drinks.
I sank into the striped armchair and tried to breathe.
A few moments later, she handed me a fishbowl of vodka. I watched the pungent oils from a twisted lemon peel smoke their way through the chilled liquor before I took a deep swallow.
The raw power of the drink burned my throat, cleared my sinuses, and raged through every quivering synapse of my system, torching any remnants of rational thought from my mind.
My God.
Eleanor perched herself on the sofa and took a sip of her own martini.
I sucked down another body-cleansing gulp and shuddered.
“Well, Eleanor, I came home today to find the house in a complete uproar. The kitchen floor is ruined, and some of the cabinets and our precious butcher block table, too. All chewed to absolute smithereens by this guy because he was left shut up in the kitchen.”
Jasper lay down at her feet and Eleanor stroked his forehead. He swiveled his eyes up to her as if to say, See, I can be good if I try.
“But you know what?” I said as I pointed the glass holding the last inch of vodka at the dog, “I don’t blame him. Not one bit. No, sir. I blame Sarah.”
I blew out a long breath. “Everything is crap, Eleanor. Everything is falling apart. Joe isn’t even talking to me anymore.”
I drained the glass, smacked my lips, and set it down on the coffee table. “There’s something else. Something I’ve never told you before. Visiting the Perkins brothers today kind of brought it all back.”
I pinched the skin between my eyebrows and wondered where the hell to start.
“At the beginning is usually the best place,” she said, even though I hadn’t spoken out loud. I blew out the rest of the breath I’d been holding. Was she really psychic?
Although with Eleanor I didn’t have to spell things out. She understood pain and suffering. If nothing else, from her years of experience as a high school nerd. I knew I could tell her the unvarnished truth and it would go no farther than these four walls. I loved Martha—she was my best friend—but you have different friends for different reasons.
Eleanor slid gracefully over to the bar and began mixing another batch of martinis.
I suppose I should have called Joe to let him know where I was, but I didn’t have my cell phone with me, and he hadn’t acted as if he cared that much anyway.
She came back quickly with a tray holding two martinis, a bowl of mixed nuts, and another one of green olives. The cocktail napkins said, “What’s a nice girl like me doing without a drink in her hand?”
Eleanor slid one of the nuts to Jasper. I pretended I didn’t notice. I was certainly a tad more relaxed. Maybe this prescription was working.
I took a sip of the fresh martini, more conservatively now, and looked back into the dark recesses of my memory bank, a place that I avoided whenever possible.
“I was teaching in Harlem. It was my first teaching job. Joe and I had been married for a couple of years by this time, and we were trying to start a family.” I glanced over at Eleanor and saw the spark in her dark gray eyes. “Yeah, yeah, I know. The trying was the fun part. Well, I’d just found out I was pregnant.”
Jasper let out a heavy sigh and sprawled out across Eleanor’s feet.
“There was this one kid—there’s always one—that you want to save. That you root for more than the others. Julio Lopez was his name. Always in trouble, always late to class.
“The breakthrough moment with him came when I was teaching my history class about the Bayeux tapestry. Something about it appealed to his sense of design. I saw the interest in his eyes for the first time, and I knew t
hat, visually anyway, I had him.”
I paused for a moment, enjoying the memory.
“He talked to me for a couple of minutes after that class. He was fascinated with the idea of telling a story through art. From that day on, I encouraged him to think about a career in graphic design. After all, I’d seen his doodling when he was supposed to be taking notes. And he’d been busted for graffiti a few months prior. Even though it was wrong to desecrate school property, it was still good stuff, Eleanor. He was really talented.”
“I’ll bet you were a great teacher.” Eleanor slid her feet gently out from underneath Jasper’s snoring body and lay against the arm of the sofa, her chin propped in her hand.
I smiled. “I don’t know about that. But that was the best part of teaching, you know. Finding the key with each kid that unlocked their interest and passion for what you were trying to convey. Seeing them make that connection was tangible, wonderful, and made it all worthwhile.”
I’d always enjoyed showing students new ways to think about things. That sense of adventure and of curiosity was perhaps why playing detective held appeal. Come to think of it, history teachers were like detectives in a way. We spent a lot of time researching unexplained things in history to make them relate to today. It also meant I noticed the small details that might tell me a kid was in trouble.
I took another slug of the icy vodka. There was a photographic volume about historic homes in Philadelphia on Eleanor’s coffee table.
“I gave Julio a book on art and design. Quite an expensive book. The next day his eyes were puffy, and he didn’t stay after class the way he usually did. I hurried after him and made him talk to me. Turns out his mother’s latest boyfriend had ripped the book apart in a drunken rage, just because he knew it meant something to the boy.”
I glanced at Eleanor. She was clutching her glass, not drinking, like she hardly dared to breathe. Silence reigned except for the gentle snoring of the one who had caused all the fuss in the first place.
As if sensing my appraisal, Jasper opened his eyes slightly, gave his tail a lazy wave, and went back to sleep.