No Perfect Secret

by Weger, Jackie

  Caburn’s heart sank. “Not that, Helen, please. Take one of those tours where you swim with dolphins. I saw that on Discovery. Very healing.”

  “You’re planning on this big fat romance, aren’t you? Exotic location, sandy beaches, fiery sunsets—”

  A flush crept up Caburn’s neck and a muscle pulsed in his cheek. “I haven’t planned anything. I gave my word to Albert that I wouldn’t take advantage. Besides, I didn’t choose the location. Mr Charles did.”

  The cat strolled in, mewling, her tail straight up. It leaped up onto Caburn’s desk, then into his chair.

  “That cat is pregnant, Helen. You’d better do something.”

  The sight of the cat seemed to intensify Helen’s emotions. “Get those papers to Anna and come right back and help me with this list of residential homes. We’ve got to find a bed for Clara, even if it’s only temporary. I don’t know why we have to do it today. Albert said after the holidays would be okay, and now suddenly it’s urgent.”

  “Oh, lord. You don’t know.”

  “What don’t I know?”

  “Nesmith’s mother left the hospital last night. She did another number on Anna’s house. You should’ve seen this boning knife! She shredded Anna’s sofa, dumped her laptop in a sink full of water, emptied the fridge all over the kitchen floor, plus destroyed Anna’s family photo album. Albert and Louise came, Dr Neal came, the EMTs came.”

  Helen sagged into her chair. “Dear God. Was Anna hurt? You?”

  “No. We were out to dinner. Miss Lila called and told her she saw Clara getting out of a taxi.”

  “Life just doesn’t ease up for that girl. How’d she take it?”

  “How could she take it? It was done. Dr Neal took her aside to chat. I think that helped. She was pretty together when I left.”

  Helen waved her hands over a half-dozen area telephone books opened to the yellow pages. “I guess we’d better play catch-up.”

  “Helen.”

  “I know that tone of voice, Frank. I’m not in the mood for jokes.”

  “This is not a joke. While I was shopping—you know I have to order flowers for Louise—I got your Christmas present. I was gonna wait and give it to you Thursday, but if I give it to you now, it might make you feel better.”

  He took an envelope out of his inside blazer pocket and placed it on her desk.

  Helen looked at it. Caburn slid it closer to her fingertips. Helen was still skeptical.

  “Paper worms are gonna pop out when I open it.”

  “No. It’s the real thing. I promise. Open the damned thing.”

  “It’s amazing to get a gift from you that doesn’t have a dead frog on top of it, or a bunch a night crawlers.” She opened the envelope. “Oh my. A gift card...From Elizabeth Arden...The Red Door. This is really—I’m speechless, Frank.”

  “Since when?”

  “What’s it for? Pedicure? Manicure?”

  “Why would I gift you with a manicure, Helen? You do your nails down here all the time. It’s for a whole day. A glamour thing. They move your wrinkles around or camouflage them or something. That’s what the lady said.”

  “Oh, my God, Frank. You actually went inside the salon. I’ll bet you stopped traffic.”

  “I got flashed by an old lady in one of those pink wraps. All of her skin was hanging down like one of those wrinkle dogs.”

  “A Shar pei?”

  “That’s it.”

  Helen laughed. Then she started crying.

  “Oh, geez. Do you have to cry?”

  She slapped her desk with the palm of her hand. “Yes, I do!”

  Caburn threw up his hands.

  He went into Phipps’ office to call Anna. The instant she answered he felt himself getting more than a little aroused at the memory of holding her in his arms. He imagined he could still smell her perfume and the sensational feel of her entire body against his own.

  “Frank?”

  “I’m here. Just a little scattered this morning.”

  “I need those papers for the bank.”

  “Could we meet for a late lunch and I’ll go there with you?”

  “Couldn’t you just fax them to the bank?”

  Disappointment reigned. “Oh, sure what’s the number?” He wrote it down on Phipps’ calendar. “If you have any trouble with that bank guy, just call me.”

  She was silent for a few seconds. Caburn finally got it. “My phone is charging right now—next to my desk.”

  “Okay, then. Thanks.”

  “Anna, wait. How are you? I mean really.”

  “I’m like you—a little bit scattered. I’m at a boutique. I’ve been trying on swimsuits.”

  Yum. “Swimsuits are good.” She didn’t pick up on that, so he said: “What about dinner? I could pick you up about eight.”

  “I can’t.”

  “Anna. You’re not going to ground on me, are you?”

  “No, it’s nothing like that. Goodwill is picking up some furniture this afternoon. Then Clarence and JoJo are coming over to finish packing up Kevin’s stuff for the shelter. That way the men there will have something for Christmas.”

  “Okay. But, if you need anything, you’ll call me?”

  “Yes, I will.” She hung up.

  “Be well,” Caburn said into a dead phone. In the outer office he put the letter Helen had written and the de mort certificate on her desk. “Anna asked us to fax these over to the bank.”

  “You do it.”

  “Please.” He tilted his chair to remove the cat.

  “You’re really, really, pushing your luck, Frank.”

  “Thank you. Helen, depend on it. I’m gonna get you something really nice for your birthday—if you tell me when it is.”

  “Good try.” She moved to the fax machine, waited for it to warm up.

  To her back, Caburn said, “Your tenants have kind of moved in on Anna.”

  Helen didn’t bother to turn around. “Jealous?”

  Maybe a little bit. “I was just saying.”

  “Speaking of my tenants,” Helen said. “JoJo gave me an envelope to give you.” She reached into her purse and tossed it Caburn.

  He told her what he’d asked JoJo to do, then tore open the envelope and dumped the contents on his desk. “Oh, Jesus have mercy. Here we go again.” More condoms. Two one dollar bills. Three business cards. He moved them around with a pencil. Two scraps of paper with names and phone numbers. He eased the condoms off his desk into the trash can.

  “Explain it to me, Frank. Why is a hunk like you so squeamish about condoms? Don’t you believe in safe sex?”

  Caburn’s neck burned. “I’m not having this conversation.”

  “Yes, you damned sure are.”

  “Helen, these things are private. A married man ought not be carrying them around in his wallet or pocket. It’s...it’s just downright disrespectful.”

  “Maybe, but those things were not readily available when I was a kid, and believe me, the lack of them caused a lot of heartache. Before Margaret Sanger’s efforts condoms and birth control were illegal. Nesmith was a miscreant of the worst kind, but at least he used them, and didn’t bring home any STDs to Anna.”

  Caburn clamped his jaw shut. Imagining Nesmith with Anna was not a picture he wanted in his mind. “Not another word, Helen. I mean it.” His expression looked carved in marble.

  Helen issued a ‘why me, lord?’ sigh. “Okay—what else is there?”

  Caburn handed across the cards and slips of papers. Helen glanced at them.

  “Whoa. Here’s a doctor’s appointment for January 16. A cardiologist in NYC.” Without ado she dialed up the number. “Yes, thank you...I’m just confirming my husband’s appointment for January 16. At 10:15 a.m. Kevin Nesmith... Uh, uh. That’s right. Sure. Thank you very much.” Helen ended the call and exhaled. “No two ways about it. He waited too late.”

  Caburn didn’t want to feel sorry for the man—but he almost did. “Let’s put all this stuff in the file. He rub
bed his chest. The tape was peeling around the edges and driving him nuts. “If any of these numbers show up after the obit is published—we can follow up.” He stared at the gray wall for a long minute. “This case is really depressing me. And, we’ve yet to tell Anna about the Florida marriage and divorce.”

  “I faxed those papers over to Dr Neal. Albert thinks she should be the one to explain it to Anna.”

  “I know. I’ve been thinking about it, though. That’s kind of the coward’s way out, don’t you think?”

  Helen shrugged. “You be the messenger, then. Get killed.”

  “I’ve considered that, too. But, we promised not to keep any secrets from her.”

  “You promised.”

  “Suppose a newshound gets hold of the story. Anna would be blindsided. Suppose all hell breaks loose in Ellicott City on Thursday? Or, the obits draw out a crazy looking for her fifteen minutes of fame?”

  “You want my advice? Tiptoe.”

  Caburn rested his head briefly in his hands. In his mind’s eye he was seeing the shape of Anna’s face, the curl of her small ears, the lovely long neck, the golden flecks in her dark brown eyes highlighted by the flickering candles at Vincenzo’s. Finally he heaved a sigh. “I’ll take the divorce decrees. If the opportunity arises...”

  “Stop your mewling, Frank. Help me make these calls.”

  After an hour and a half Caburn slammed the phone book shut. “I have an idea, Helen. Let’s close up for the day and go out to lunch.”

  “Food court at the Mall? Watch the kiddies meet Santa Claus? Hit the candy store for some Lady Godiva?”

  “Works for me.”

  ~~~~

  Caburn had been checking his phone for missed calls all afternoon and evening, knowing full well that the damned thing had not rung once. Of course, that meant Anna had everything under control. Still, he hoped to hear from her. He had also stayed busy. He’d picked up a half-dozen knit shirts—with collars—at the mall, new underwear, and a swimsuit. And, at Helen’s nagging, a shirt with red flowers against a cream background. As if he’d ever wear a shirt with flowers. But, it had made her happy to win that argument. He’d also bought a huge box of Lady Godiva chocolates for Anna, but Helen tore into the box before it could be bagged, so he’d had forked over another fifty for a second box. After dropping Helen off at her car, he stopped at the tailors for his new un-cuffed beige linen slacks.

  He took his phone into the bathroom while he showered. He bit the bullet and yanked the remaining tape off his chest. That brought him to tears and nearly to his knees. His chest was crisscrossed with patches of raw, red skin, and the hot water pounding down on raw skin stung as if he’d walked into a nest of killer bees. He gingerly patted himself dry, pulled on skivvies and sat down on the sofa next to his half-packed suitcase and called Anna. She answered after three rings.

  “It’s me,” he said. “I was just wondering how things went at the bank.”

  “Good. There was some huffing and puffing, but the bank manager was there today. She and I have a cordial relationship, so in the end, the papers you faxed over worked just fine.”

  He heard the ‘but’ in her voice. “And the account?”

  “All but empty. I went ahead and closed it. I can do all my banking from my personal account now that I’m not...sharing.”

  “Anna, if you need some help...”

  “I don’t. I’m good. I cashed a CD, and most of my leave is going to be paid. I had vacation time and personal time coming.”

  He could hear the kitchen radio going in the background, tuned to a station out of Nashville. Happy honky-tonk music—lots of piano and electric guitar. “Good. Good. So. What are you doing now?”

  “Cooking. Lila is lending a hand. Clarence is hauling boxes out to the van and JoJo has my lap top all apart on the dining room table.”

  He wanted to know what she was cooking. “She thinks it can be fixed?”

  “She worked magic on the Colonel’s old desk top. Lila is cruising cyberspace like she owns it now. So, I’m hoping JoJo can bring something up on the hard drive. I have some data on a backup memory stick, but that still leaves of lots of data I’d have to re-do. She’s drying parts with my hair dryer. It’s been a good day. We’ve accomplished a lot.”

  Caburn was enjoying the sound of her voice, the soul-jarring music in the background, forgetting what he wanted to say next.

  “...about eight-thirty would be fine.”

  “What? I’m sorry. My brain switched off there for a minute.”

  “I said, if you want to come over later—?”

  “Sure. I’d like that. I have some new information about...your situation.”

  “Oh. That sounds ominous.” Yet, her voice was calm, as if she had already endured the worst the universe could throw at her—and all else could be put on a shelf to sort out a later time.

  ~~~~

  A thunderstorm passed through the Capitol late in the day, washing all the marble monuments free of dirty ice and cleansing the streets of gritty salt. Fog was building on the Potomac, slowly embracing both sides of the river. By the time Caburn reached Anna’s the murky haze obscured all but the tallest monuments.

  Lila Hammond opened Anna’s door to him. She was wearing red tennis shoes, stretch pants, and an ancient flannel shirt that hung down to her knees, making her seem more waif-like than usual.

  “We were wondering if you’d make it in this muck,” she said in greeting.

  “How you doing, Miss Lila?” He bent low to buss her on the cheek.

  “We’ve been busy all day, but I’m winding down.” She eyed the bag in his hand. “You bearing gifts?”

  “A small one,” he answered.

  “Well, Anna could do with a bit of cheer, however small. She’s been up and down all day. It’s awful, what Clara-Alice did to her sofa and album.”

  He followed Lila into the living room. Only a single lamp cast a cone of light, but it was enough to discern the lack of furniture. “Whoa. Where’s the huge coffee table?”

  A sheet had been draped over the damaged sofa. A suitcase lay open, partially packed. A wing chair had been pushed against the wall. The sofa, the chair and the table lamp were all that was left in the near empty space.

  “We had to take that sucker apart so the Goodwill folks could get the bedsteads and chests out. It’s leaning against the wall in Anna’s bedroom. Anna just kept pointing to stuff for them to take. I tried to caution her about getting rid of so much, but she said it had bad mojo. C’mon. I’ll show you.”

  Anna’s bedroom held only an antique armoire, a mirror, and the dismantled coffee table. The closet doors were open. They were empty except for a single suit of men’s clothes hanging on an inside hook. Lila waved toward the clothes. “She kept those back for the funeral.”

  Caburn’s stomach tightened. The tightness moved to his throat.

  Lila switched on the light in Clara’s room. It was empty except for taped up cardboard boxes. All were labeled with her name and a list of contents. “Clarence and I packed everything in here. The furniture was Anna’s—so Goodwill took it. Clara-Alice’s furniture is in the basement. Anna said once Clara-Alice lands somewhere, she’ll ship it to her.” Lila shuddered. “Let’s go. It feels spooky in here.”

  Anna’s laptop was still in pieces on the dining room table.

  “Ain’t that a shame,” Lila said, pointing. “Makes you wonder what’s been going through Clara-Alice’s mind all these years.”

  In the kitchen the aroma of fried pork chops lingered in the air. The door to the basement was open. Lila moved to the top step. “Anna! Frank’s here.”

  “I’ll be up in two minutes,” she called.

  Lila moved down a step. “I’m going home, now. I’ll see you in the morning.”

  “Okay. Thanks for your help today. You were great.”

  Caburn exchanged goodnights with Lila, and moved to take her place on the basement steps. “You need any help down there?”

  He
heard a drawer click shut and Anna appeared in the dim light of the basement bulb. She came up the flight of stairs, her hands full of files.

  Her hair was pulled into a ponytail, revealing her small ears. She wore no makeup; her cheeks and hands were flushed with the chill she’d experienced in the basement.

  “No. I’ve got what I need.” She smiled, taking in the long muscular length of him, made to appear more so by the slimness of faded jeans worn low on his hips. His well-worn chambray shirt was tucked in, the unbuttoned collar revealing a white undershirt. His sandy-colored hair, beginning to show more curl, was awry. His jean jacket and knit cap were folded over the back of a kitchen chair. Anna was intently aware of his body—and her own.

  She felt an uptick in her heart beat. The faint smell of his aftershave rose on the warm kitchen air. She knew his scent well now. She had slept in the guest bedroom last night, her head on the pillow that was redolent with Old Spice. The sheets and blankets held that peculiar odor of hospital adhesive. As her body warmed the bed, the smell had grown stronger. It was oddly comforting, especially after the destruction Clara-Alice had left behind. She had slept dreamless and to her astonishment, awakened wholly refreshed and energized.

  She put the files on the table. “There’s a plate of pork chops and mashed potatoes warming in the oven. And, cold asparagus—if you’re hungry. I didn’t invite you to dinner because I didn’t want it turn into a party. I bought a six pack of beer, too. Clarence and JoJo have been wonders...I just can’t talk them into accepting money.”

  “I can always eat pork chops.” He pointed to the paper bag. “Helen and I went to the mall today. We thought you might enjoy this.” He slid the Godiva chocolates from the bag.

  “Oh. I love Godiva.” She made a soft, exuberant sound in her throat. “But I’m not eating a single piece on the same day I tried on swimsuits. No way.” She whisked the box off the table and into the pantry. “I hope I don’t sleepwalk tonight.”

  “You sleepwalk?”

  “No, but I’ve never gone to bed with a huge box of Godiva in the pantry either.”

  Caburn was pursing his lips.

  “Does that hurt your feelings?”