Cruel and Unusual ks-4

by Patricia Cornwell

  Before I could say anything; my mother was on the line.

  “Why can't you come down here, Katie? It's sunny and you should see the grapefruit.”

  “I can't do it, Mother. I'm really sorry.”

  “And now Lucy won't be here, either? Is that what I heard? What am I supposed to do, eat a turkey by myself?”

  “Dorothy will be there.”

  “What? Are you kidding? She'll be with Fred. I can't stand him.”

  Dorothy had gotten divorced again last summer. I didn't ask who Fred was.

  “I think he's Iranian or something. He'll squeeze a penny until it screams and has hair in his ears. I know he's not Catholic, and Dorothy never takes Lucy to church these days. You ask me, that child's going to hell in a hand basket.”

  “Mother, they can hear you.”

  “No they can't. I'm in the kitchen by myself staring at a sink full of dirty dishes that I just know Dorothy expects me to do while I'm here. It's just like when she comes to my house, because she hasn't done a thing about dinner and is hoping I'll cook. Does she ever offer to bring anything? Does she care that I'm an old woman and practically a cripple? Maybe you can talk some sense into Lucy.”

  “In what way is Lucy lacking sense?” I asked.

  “She doesn't have any friends except this one girl you have to wonder about. You should see Lucy's bedroom. It looks like something out of a science fiction movie with all these computers and printers and pieces and parts. It's not normal for a teenage girl to live inside her brain all the time like that and not get out with kids her own age. I worry about her just like I used to worry about you.”

  “I turned out all right,” I said.

  “Well, you spent far too much time with science books, Katie. You saw what it did to your marriage.”

  “Mother, I'd like Lucy to fly here tomorrow, if possible. I'll make the reservations from my end and take care of the ticket. Make sure she packs her warmest clothes.

  Anything she doesn't have, such as a winter coat, we can find here.”

  “She could probably borrow your clothes. When was the last time you saw her? Last Christmas?”

  “I guess it was that long ago.”

  “Well, let me tell you. She's gotten bosoms since then. And the way she dresses? And did she bother to ask her grandmother's advice before cutting off her beautiful hair? No. Why should she bother telling me that-”

  “I've got to call the airlines.”

  “I wish you were coming here. We could all be together.”

  Her voice was getting funny. My mother was about to cry.

  “I wish I could, too,” I said.

  Late Sunday morning I drove to the airport along dark, wet roads running through a dazzling world of glass. Ice loosened by the sun slipped from telephone lines, roofs, and trees, shattering to the ground like crystal missiles dropped from the sky. The weather report called for another storm, and I was deeply pleased, despite the inconvenience. I wanted quiet time in front of, the fire with my niece. Lucy was growing up.

  It did not seem so long ago that she was born. I would never forget her wide, unblinking eyes following my every move in her mother's house, or her bewildering fits of petulance and grief when I failed her in some small way. Lucy's open adoration touched my heart as profoundly as it frightened me. She had caused me to experience a depth of feeling I had not known before. Talking my way past Security, I waited at the gate, eagerly searching passengers emerging from the boarding bridge. I was looking for a pudgy teenager with long, irk red hair and braces when a striking young woman met my eyes and grinned.

  “Lucy, “ I exclaimed, hugging her. “My God. I almost didn't recognize you.”

  Her hair was short and deliberately messy, accentuating dear green eyes and good bones I did not know she had. There was not so much as a hint of metal in her mouth, and her thick glasses had been replaced by weightless tortoise-shell frames that gave her the look of a seriously pretty Harvard scholar. But it was the change in her body that astonished me most, for since I had seen - her last she had been transformed from a chunky adolescent into a lean, leggy athlete dressed in snug, faded jeans several inches too short, a white blouse, a woven red leather belt, loafers, and no socks. She carried a book satchel, and I caught the sparkle of a delicate gold ankle bracelet. I was fairly certain she was wearing neither makeup nor bra.

  “Where's your coat?” I asked as we headed to Baggage.

  “It was eighty degrees when I left Miami this morning,” “You'll freeze walking out to the car.”

  “It's physically impossible for me to freeze while walking to your car unless you're parked in Chicago.”

  “Perhaps you have a sweater in your suitcase?”

  “You ever notice that you talk to me the same way Grans talks to you? By the way, she thinks I look like a 'pet rocker.' That's her malapropism for the month. It's what you get when you cross a pet rock with a punk rocker.”

  “I've got a couple of ski jackets, corduroys, hats, gloves. You can borrow anything you wish.”

  She slipped her arm in mine and staffed my hair. “You're still not smoking.”

  “I'm still not smoking and I hate being reminded that I'm still not smoking because then I think about smoking.”

  “You look better and don't stink like cigarettes. And you haven't gotten fat. Geez, this is a dinky airport,” said Lucy, whose computer brain had formatting errors in the diplomacy sectors. “Why do they call it Richmond International?”

  “Because it has flights to Miami.”

  “Why doesn't Grans ever come see you?”

  “She doesn't like to travel and refuses to fly.”

  “It's safer than driving. Her hip is really getting bad, Aunt Kay.”

  “I know. I'm going to leave you to get your bags so I can pull the car in front,” I said when we got to Baggage. “But first let's see which carousel it is.”

  “There are only three carousels. I bet I can figure it out.”

  I left her for the bright, cold air, grateful for a moment alone to think. The changes in my niece had thrown me off guard and I was suddenly more unsure than ever how to treat her. Lucy had never been easy. From day one she had been a prodigious adult intellect ruled by infantile emotions, a volatility accidentally given form when her mother had married Armando. My only advantage had been size and age. Now Lucy was as tall as I was and spoke with the low, calm voice of an equal. She was not going to run to her room and slam the door. She would no longer end a disagreement by screaming that she hated me or was glad I was not her mother. I imagined moods I could not anticipate and arguments I could not win. I had visions of her coolly leaving the house and driving off in my car.

  We talked little during the drive, for Lucy seemed fascinated by the winter weather. The world was melting like an ice sculpture as another cold front appeared on the horizon in an ominous band of gray. When we turned into the neighborhood where I had moved since she had visited last, she stared out at expensive homes and lawns, at colonial Christmas decorations and brick sidewalks. A man dressed like an Eskimo was out walking his old, overweight dog, and a black Jaguar gray with road salt sprayed water as it slowly floated past.

  “It's Sunday. Where are the children, or aren't there any?” Lucy said as if the observation incriminated me in some way.

  “There are a few.” I turned on my street.

  “No bikes in the yards, no sleds or tree houses. Doesn't anybody ever go outside?”

  “This is a very quiet neighborhood.”

  “Is that why you chose it?”

  “In part. It's also quite safe, and hopefully buying a home here will prove to be a good investment.”

  “Private security?”

  “Yes,” I said as my uneasiness grew.

  She continued staring out at the large homes flowing past. “I bet you can go inside and shut the door and never hear from anyone never see anyone outside, either, unless they're walking their dog. But you don't have a dog. How many trick
-or-treaters did you have on Halloween?”

  “Halloween was quiet,” I said evasively.

  In truth, my doorbell had rung only once, when I was working in my study. I could see in my video monitor the four trick-or-treaters on my porch, and picking up the handset, I started to tell them that I would be right there when I overheard what they were saying to each other.

  “No, there isn't a dead body in there,” whispered the tiny UVA cheerleader.

  “Yes, there is,” said Spiderman. “She's on TV all the time because she cuts dead people up and puts them in jars. Dad told me.”

  I parked inside the garage and said to Lucy, “We'll get you settled in your room and the first order of business after that is for me to build a fire and make a pot of hot chocolate. Then we'll think about lunch.”

  “I don't drink hot chocolate. Do you have an espresso maker?”

  “Indeed I do.”

  “That would be perfect, especially if you have decaf French roast. Do you know your neighbors?”

  “I know who they are. Here, let me get that bag and you take this one so I can unlock the door and deactivate the alarm. Lord, this is heavy.”

  “Grans insisted I bring grapefruit. They're pretty good, but full of seeds.”

  Lucy looked around as she stepped inside my house. “Wow. Skylights. What do you call this style of architecture, besides rich?”

  Maybe her disposition would self-correct if I pretended not to notice.

  “The guest bedroom is back this way,” I said. “I could put you upstairs if you wish, but I thought you'd rather be down here near me.”

  “Down here is fine. As long as I'm close to the computer.”

  “It's in my study, which is next door to your room.”

  “I brought my UNDO notes, books, and a few other things.”

  She paused in front of the sliding glass doors in the living room. “The yard's not as nice as your other one.”

  She said this as if I had let down everyone I had ever known.

  “I've got plenty of years to work on my yard. It gives me something to look forward to.”

  Lucy slowly scanned her surroundings, her eyes finally resting on me. “You've got cameras in your doors, motion sensors, a fence, security gates, and what else? Gun turrets?” “No gun turrets.”

  “This is your Fort Apache, isn't it, Aunt Kay? You moved here because Mark's dead and there's nothing left in the world except bad people.”

  The comment ambushed me with terrific force, and instantly tears filled my eyes. I went into the guest bedroom and set down her suitcase, then checked towels, soap, and toothpaste in the bath. Returning to the bedroom, I opened the curtains, checked dresser drawers, rearranged the closet, and adjusted the heat while my niece sat on the edge of the bed, following my every move. In several minutes, I was able to meet her eyes again.

  “When you unpack, I'll show you a closet you can rummage through for winter things,” I said.

  “You never saw him the way everybody else did.”

  “Lucy, we need to talk about something else.”

  I switched on a lamp and made certain the telephone was plugged in.

  “You're better off without him,” she added with conviction.

  “Lucy.. “

  “He wasn't there for you the way he should have been. He never would have been there because that's the way he was. And every time things didn't go right, you changed.”

  I stood in front of the window and looked out at dormant clematis and roses frozen to trellises.

  “Lacy, you need to learn a little gentleness and tact. You can't just say exactly what you think.”

  “That's a funny thing to hear coming from you. You've always told me how much you hate dishonesty and games.”

  “People have feelings.”

  “You're right. Including me,” she said.

  “Have I somehow hurt your feelings?”

  “How do you think I felt?”

  “I'm not sure I understand.”

  “Because you didn't think about me at all. That's why you don't understand.”

  “I think about you all the time.”

  “That's like saying you're rich and yet you never give me a dime. What difference does it make to me what you've got hidden away?”

  I did not know what to say.

  “You don't call me anymore. You haven't come to see me once since he got killed.”

  The hurt in her voice had been saved for a long time. “I wrote you and you didn't write back. Then you called me yesterday and asked me to come visit because you needed something.”

  “I didn't mean it like that.”

  “It's the same thing Mom does.”

  I shut my eyes and lead my forehead against the cold glass. “You expect too much from me, Lucy. I'm not perfect.”

  “I don't expect you to be perfect. But I thought you were different.”

  “I don't know how to defend myself when you make a remark like that.”

  “You can't defend yourself!”

  I watched a gray squirrel hop along the top of the fence bordering the yard. Birds were pecking seeds off the grass.

  “Aunt Kay?”

  I turned to her and never had I seen her eyes look so dejected.

  “Why are men always mode important than me?”

  “They're not, Lucy,” I whispered. “I swear.”

  My niece wanted tuna salad and cap latte for lunch, and while I sat in front of the fire editing a journal article, she rummaged through my closet and dresser drawers. I tried not to think about another human being touching my clothes, folding something in a way I wouldn't or returning a jacket to the wrong hanger. Lucy had a gift for making me feel like the Tinman rusting in the forest. Was I becoming the rigid, serious adult I would have disliked when I was her age?

  “What do you think?” she asked when she emerged from my bedroom at half past one. She was wearing one of my tennis warm-up suits.

  “I think you spent a long time to come up with only that. And yes, it fits you fine.”

  “I found a few other things that are okay, but most of your stuff is-too dressy. All these lawyerly suits in midnight blue and black, gray silk with delicate pinstripes, khaki and cashmere, and white blouses. You must have twenty white blouses and just as many ties. You shouldn't wear brown, by the way. And I didn't see much in red, and you'd look good in red, with your blue eyes and grayish blond hair.”

  “Ash blond,” I said.

  “Ashes are gray or white. Just look in the fire. We don't wear the same size shoe, not that I'm into ColeHaan or Ferragamo. I did find a black leather jacket that's really cool. Were you a biker in another life?”

  “It's lambskin and you're welcome to borrow it.”

  “What about your Fendi perfume and pearls? Do you own a pair of jeans?”

  “Help yourself.” I started to laugh. “And yes, I have a pair of jeans somewhere. Maybe in the garage.”

  “I want to take you shopping, Aunt Kay.”

  “I'd have to be crazy.”

  “Please?”

  “Maybe,” I said.

  “If it's all right, I want to go to your club to work out for a while. I'm stiff from the plane.”

  “If you'd like to play tennis while you're here, I'll see if Ted has any time to hit with you. My racquets are in the closet to the left. I just switched to a new Wilson. You can hit the ball a hundred miles an hour. You'll love it.”

  “No, thanks. I'd rather use the StairMaster and weights or go running. Why don't you take a lesson from Ted while I work out, and we can go together?”

  Dutifully, I reached for the phone and dialed Westwood's pro shop. Ted was booked solid until ten o'clock. I gave Lucy directions and my car keys, and after she left, I read in front of the fire and fell asleep.

  When I opened my eyes, I heard coals shift and wind gently touching the pewter wind chimes beyond the sliding glass doors. Snow was drifting down in large, slow flakes, the sky the color of a dusty blackb
oard. Lights in my yard had come on, the house so silent I was conscious of the clock ticking on the wall. It was shortly after four and Lucy had not returned from the club. I dialed the number for my car phone and no one answered. She had never driven in snow before, I thought anxiously: And I needed to go to the store to pick up fish for dinner. I could call the club and have her paged. I told myself that was ridiculous. Lucy had been gone barely two hours. She was not a child anymore. When it got to be four-thirty, I tried my car phone again. At five I called the club and they could not find her. I began to panic.

  “Are you sure she's not on the StairMaster or maybe in the women's locker room taking a shower? Or maybe she stopped by the mixed grill?” I again asked the young woman in the pro shop.

  “We've paged her four times, Dr. Scarpetta. And I've gone around looking. I'll check again. If I locate her, I'll have her call you immediately.”

  “Do you know if she ever showed up at all? She should have gotten there around two.”

  “Gosh. I just came on at four. I don't know.”

  I continued calling my car phone.

  “The Richmond Cellular customer you have dialed does not answer…”

  I tried Marino and he wasn't home or at headquarters. At six o'clock I stood in the kitchen staring out the window. Snow streaked down in the chalky glow of streetlights. My heart beat hard as I paced from room to room and continued calling my car phone. At half past six I had decided to file a missing person report with the police when the telephone rang. Running back to my study, I was reaching for the receiver when I noticed the familiar number eerily materializing on the Caller ID screen. The calls had stopped after the night of Waddell's execution I had not thought about them since. Bewildered, I froze, waiting for the expected hang up to. follow my recorded message. I was shocked when I recognized the voice that began to speak.

  “I hate to do this to you, Doc…” Snatching up the receiver, I cleared my throat and said in disbelief, “Marino?”

  “Yeah,- he said. “I got bad news.”