by ACF Bookens
By then, it was two thirty, and Marcus and I had to begin to close up shop. We had posted signs on the door, and the few patrons who were still inside began to shuffle out or over to the register to make their purchases without much prompting.
Just before three, I flipped off the Open sign and stationed myself by the front door to welcome those coming for the wake and to offer a ten percent off coupon for customers who came by and found they couldn't enter. Marcus and I had talked about allowing customers to shop while the wake was going on, just to avoid this sort of situation, but we decided it was better to put off a few customers than to interrupt the wake with the sound of the register drawer slamming. None of the four people who came to the door at three seemed peeved when I told them what was happening, and they looked delighted with the coupons. I expected we'd see at least a few of them back in the afternoon, especially since Mart's boyfriend, Symeon, had offered to bake pizzas in front of Max's restaurant to give people something to do if they wanted to wait for the bookstore to open.
Max arrived promptly at three with Helen Leicht on his arm. I smiled when I saw them, and he winked at me conspiratorially as he passed me on the way to her reserved armchair in the gathering space. Once he had helped her sit and saw that Stephen had taken up his role as escort smoothly by sitting in the chair next to her, he came back to stand beside me. "I waited just inside my restaurant until I saw her park and walk up. Wanted to play the part," he whispered.
I leaned over and briefly described my conversation with her from the morning. "So I'm not sure what to believe. At the time, she felt totally remorseful, but on reflection . . ."
"I don't know how Armand Gamache does it," Max said. "How does he keep his head straight about who to suspect?"
I stared at Max briefly. "You read Louise Penny?"
Max blushed. "A woman I know really admires her, so I thought maybe I should check her out."
Now, it was my turn to blush. I was a huge Penny fan, a fact that I didn't hide but that I also didn't know Max had paid attention to. I smiled and then forced my attention back to the gathering in front of us. A small group of townspeople had come in addition to my friends, and I was grateful they'd decided to take the time. No one here actually knew Lizzie, but we all knew what it was to lose someone, some of us very well, and so people came to show their respects and to support her mother.
At five after three, I gave Walter the nod. Tuck had suggested that we delay just a bit to give Davis enough time to arrive, but if we waited any longer, it would be obvious we'd been waiting for him, which could tip him off to the purpose here.
Walter stepped to the podium and began. "This isn't the way you usually begin a eulogy, I know, but here goes. I didn't know Cassandra Leicht – or Lizzie Bordo as she went by here – at all. But I'm sad I didn't, and the fact that I didn't know her doesn't mean her life wasn't important. It was important, especially to her mother and to the people who did know and love her."
I looked over at Helen, and while she wasn't weeping the way, say, I was, I did see moisture in her eyes, and she had accepted Stephen's hand to hold when he offered it.
Walter's short speech was beautiful. It talked about how Finn, the customer who Lizzie had served at Max's restaurant, had said she was the first person in years who had actually heard what he said, a story he'd sought out just for the wake. I looked at the back of the gathering and saw Finn there, nodding his head. Walter continued by sharing the things Max had told him about Lizzie, about how expert she was at her job, about how she'd impressed him not only with her skills but her kind spirit.
Then, Walter spoke directly to Helen. "I don't know what it is to lose a child, and I'm so sorry you do. But please know that while we did not know your daughter, we loved her just the same."
I had to take a very slow, deep breath to keep from sobbing because Walter's words were so true, so sincere. He meant every word.
Walter invited everyone to stay and talk with Helen and each other and to enjoy the food and drinks in the cafe. Rocky and Mom had worked hard to lay out the food and set up a drink station so people could talk and eat as they moved around the space. Most of the people headed right over, and after they had filled plates, they sat at the cafe tables or milled through the bookshop talking in subdued voices.
Stephen had taken Helen to our established spot, and I could see them having an intense conversation, their heads very close together. Meanwhile, Walter was moving around the room and suggesting that people make their way over to offer their condolences to Lizzie's mother, and already, people were queuing up to speak to her. Henri and Bear were the first in line, and I saw Woody a couple people later. The plan was in action.
I had all but forgotten about Davis until the door above the bell tinkled, and I saw him wheel in. He was disheveled, his collar undone and his suit pants wrinkled more than anything I, the woman who didn't own an iron, had ever worn. He looked like he hadn't shaved in two days, and his hair was standing up in places. If I'd run into him on the street, I might have thought he didn't have a home.
But this was the owner of one of the most popular restaurants in Boston. He certainly had a home. Something else was going on.
I started toward the door but felt a hand on my arm pushing me back as Max walked by me to greet our late arrival. Then, beside me, Tuck said, "Let's let him move on his own for a bit once Max gives him the official greeting as planned. I want to see what he does."
I tried to look busy refilling a tray of spicey sausage balls while I watched Davis. He went first to Effie, who must have come in the back door because she hadn't been here for the wake. Then, he said hello to a few other people, including Elle, but he moved so quickly that I didn't think they'd said anything of substance. Clearly, he was casing the room waiting to see what bombshell the sheriff was going to drop. Max's ruse had worked.
Elle came to help me mix more of the sherbet punch and said, "That man is weird." She gestured with a shoulder toward Davis. "He just asked me if I'd heard the big news yet."
I turned to look at her. "Big news?"
"I wanted to say, 'What about the murder? Well yeah.' But I just told him I had no idea what he was talking about because, well, I had no idea what he was talking about." She peered at me through tiny eyes. "Do you know what he's talking about?"
I looked away and tried to seem casual. "No idea."
"Harvey Beckett, you are the most terrible liar I have ever seen." She bumped me with her hip as I moved to rearrange the napkins into a fan. "But I won't press. I expect I'll see what's happening soon enough."
I winked at her and returned to the bookstore floor. It was just before four, and Tuck stepped toward the microphone. It was time. I just wish I knew time for what.
"Thank you for coming everyone. Harvey asked me to let people know the microphone is open if anyone would like to say a few words to honor Cassandra." He looked at me, and I smiled like I had said that very thing. "Like Walter," Tuck continued, "I didn't know Cassandra, but one of the odd pleasures of the terrible job of investigating a murder is that I get to know the victims well. Everyone I've talked to, everyone I've heard talk about Cassandra, speaks of her with deep respect and admiration. She was a strong person, no doubt. In fact, she did something that I don't know if I could have done – she accepted a terribly hard change of course in her life and not only adapted by thrived."
I glanced over at Davis and saw a vein in his forehead throbbing. Helen was sitting forward in her seat as Woody kept a close eye on her from his chair next to hers. This was about to get very intense, and I was both hopeful of that and terrified of it, too.
"Recently, I learned that Cassandra decided against using her prosthetic arm because . . . well, since she can't tell us the reason, I won't speculate. But even that choice, for whatever reason, was brave given how people view those with disabilities and given that she'd gotten a prosthetic arm and changed her mind about using it. Changing our minds is often one of the most courageous things we can
do."
I couldn't get a read on Helen, but Woody had scooted forward in his chair and looked ready to jump up if need be. Davis, however, was putting forth enough fury to light a fire. His face was beet red, and he was slowly inching his chair toward Tuck. I saw Max step a bit closer to the front of the space, and when I looked over, Lucas and Mart were doing the same. We were ready.
"But not only did Cassandra make a brave choice," Tuck continued," a choice that was right for her, she also helped other people make that choice." Tuck gestured toward the front door, and Max opened it. A few people walked in and stood beside Tuck. One man was using a white cane, and another woman was missing a hand. Each person had a disability that was visible and visibly not corrected. I stared in awe as I realized that Tuck had tracked down the people who had owned the prosthetics Lizzie had stored in her storage unit. "I'd like you to introduce you to Cassandra's friends."
Tuck stepped away, and the man with the cane stepped forward. "My name is Gomez, but you can call me Go. I knew Cassandra from the bar where she worked. She was the first person to hear me say that I didn't like who I became when I could see again, the first one to tell me it was okay if I wanted to stay blind. She told me that it didn't mean I was defective or broken or incomplete. It just meant I was Go." Go was beaming as he took two steps to the left and made room for the people beside him.
One by one, each person talked about how Lizzie had reminded them that they were complete, good, beloved human beings even if they chose not to remove or lessen their disabilities. Over and over, they told all of us about her compassion, about how she had affirmed them as they were, supported them if they wanted to try an artificial limb or an assistive walking device, and supported them still when they changed their mind.
I tried to listen carefully to what each of Lizzie's friends said, but I also needed to keep an eye on Davis and Helen. Woody had reached over, and I saw that Helen was squeezing the blood from his finger. But Woody seemed okay, and I knew that if need be, he could handle that situation. It was Davis I was worried about. If he had been angry before, I didn't have words for what he was now. He'd made it almost all the way to the front of the small space we'd created, and if I had wanted to, I could have reached out and touched him.
Part of me wanted to do just that, to comfort him, to let him know he wasn't alone in whatever he was feeling. But the sensible part of me that had learned the hard way not to startle a wounded creature – cat, dog, human – stayed back. As I was wondering what we were going to do if Davis made a move, the bell over the door jingled, and I looked over to see Daniel. He smiled at me and moved into the room, and I felt myself blanch. He must have come to show support, but he had no idea what was going on. I took a deep breath. I knew him well enough to know he wouldn't stand by, as we were hoping the other guests would, if something went down.
I tried to ease my way over to him, but then, Tuck stepped back to the mic and said, "Thank you all for coming. What a wonderful tribute to Cassandra. Through Cassandra's tragic murder, I have learned something crucial, or rather, I've unlearned something that I was taught quietly, as most prejudices are. I've unlearned the idea that people with disabilities are incomplete or broken. I've unlearned the idea that everyone who has a disability should try to get rid of it or minimize it. I've unlearned the really misguided concept that I get to decide anything for anyone else about how they live, including deciding what's best for them in terms of how their bodies or minds work."
While Tuck had been talking, I had been trying to get Daniel's attention, but he was politely focused on Tuck. I had just about made my way to him with the intention of warning him, when I felt an arm catch me around the waist. Then, before I understood what was happening, my feet hit the front door of the shop, and I was in the street and moving fast.
14
As we flew past Max's restaurant and dodged an oncoming pick-up, I pulled my wits together and realized I was sitting on Davis’s lap. He was very strong, and I couldn't wiggle my way free, even though I could tell he was only holding me with one arm. I tried to grab his other one, the right, as he whipped it up and back again and again, propelling his wheelchair – and me – forward, but I wasn't strong or fast enough. He just threw my arm off and grabbed it with the fingers of his left hand.
Traffic was coming at us fast as the commuters who travelled into Annapolis or Baltimore for work returned home for the night. "Get on the sidewalk, Davis. We can talk about this," I said over my shoulder.
"No, we can't," he screamed in a voice that sounded like it belonged more to a lion than to a man. "You people just don't get it!"
I squeezed my eyes shut as we just missed the front bumper of neon green Prius and then pulled myself together enough to say, "We don't get what?"
His grip on me tightened. "That there is no way to live with this kind of messed up body in this society. Not if you want to do big things. You can't just settle to be who you are. You have to be more. You have to look completely capable." He was screaming, but he was also slowing down.
Up ahead, I could see a police cruiser blocking the road, and I didn't hear any traffic behind us. Tuck had gotten barricades up.
Davis came to a stop in the middle of the road. A few cars were parked along the side, and I contemplated, for a brief second, if I could pry myself free and make it between the SUV and the sedan behind it before Davis caught me again. I decided against it because I wasn't known for speed.
I was known for talking, though, and opted for that as my best option, especially since I knew that Tuck and everyone I loved was nearby, even if I couldn't see them. "What don't we get, Davis? And who is 'we?' Abled people?" I kept my voice calm and clear, but I tried to speak loudly enough that people could hear our conversation, or at least my end of it.
He gripped my waist tighter and said, "Yeah, 'abled' people. That's the hip new term, huh? You people who don't have to work so hard to get anything because your bodies and brains operate like other people expect. You have no idea." His voice was bitter, tight.
I nodded. "I definitely don't get it." Davis's grip around me loosened just a bit. "I have no idea what it would feel like to go up to a church, say, and find there was no way in because I couldn't do steps. And while I've had moments of depression in my life, I don't know what it feels like to be completely debilitated by that kind of illness. I most certainly don't understand."
Behind me, I could feel his breath slowing, whether a result of what I was saying or the fact that we weren't hurtling down the street, I couldn't say, but I took it as a good sign nonetheless. "But I want to try. At least I want to listen and learn. That's all I can do because, at least right now, I'm not disabled. Just like I'm not a person of color, and I'm not gay. Just like I'm not a man, and I'm not a Bostonian, and I'm not a restauranteur. The only way I can understand another person's experience is to listen to them talk about it." I tried to look at him over my shoulder, but I couldn't turn my head far enough.
"That's right. You can't." His voice was still harsh, but it was calmer now, less full of rage. "I bet you don't know what it's like to be overlooked, unseen."
I sighed. Oh, I knew that experience. I expect every person did in some way, but I definitely hadn't experienced what it must feel like to be ignored because people were uncomfortable with a wheelchair. "Not the way you do, no," I said, but then I decided I might as well use this conversation for more than simple empathy. After all, the man had just kidnapped me from a public gathering. No amount of understanding was going to cover up that error on his part. "Is that why you killed Cassandra?"
The arm around my waist tightened so much that I had trouble taking a deep breath, and I heard Davis's breath go ragged again. But he didn't speak.
I knew that Tuck wouldn't let this stand-off continue much longer, so I had to ask my questions now if I wanted any chance of getting answers. "Did Cassandra overlook you? Did she not see you?" This didn't feel like an unrequited love sort of situation, but maybe I'd misread Da
vis. I'd certainly not anticipated that he'd grab me and run like that, so it was possible. "Did she not appreciate your attention?"
Davis twisted my torso toward him, and I winced as my achy hip protested. But now I could see his face, and he was clearly confused. "What?! You think this is about Cassandra not wanting to date me. No, I never wanted to go out with a crip—" He stopped mid-word.
"With a cripple? Is that what you were going to say?" I tried to keep the anger out of my voice, but I heard it seep in.
"That's not what I meant. I wasn't interested in dating her. That's not what this," he waved his arm around the street, "is about."
I turned a bit further to face him, very aware of how awkward it is to have a heated conversation with someone while this close to them. But Davis showed no signs of letting me stand up and move away. "What is it about then? Why are you so angry?"
"Why do you think?" He slapped his hand against the wheelchair.
I stared at him for a minute, letting my brain catch up, and then I leaned back. "Cassandra could do her work without a prosthetic, but you can't. You have to have your wheelchair."
"Bingo," he said as he jabbed a finger into my arm. "She thought she was better than me because she didn't need a device to help her. She became a full-on missionary for people to give up their tech and go 'natural.'" He spun his wheelchair in a circle, and some small part of my brain made a note to look up how he'd done that with only one arm. It was kind of cool, if also scary and a little nauseating. "She didn't get it. How hard I've had to work to get where I am, even with this wheelchair to help me. No matter what, she'd be able to get up and go to work, but me, if I didn't have this thing," he spun again as I clutched at his arm, "I'd be stuck in my house all day. I didn't want that life."