by Nancy Tesler
I stopped at a light and reached in my bag for my cell.
I never saw it coming, only heard and felt the crash. The car shuddered under me. Somehow I had the presence of mind to shove the gearshift into park, unsnap my seat belt, and throw myself onto the passenger seat. Instinctively I covered my head with my hands. In the distance I heard a screech of tires. When I looked up, the windshield had disintegrated into a crazy spider-web pattern.
I don’t know how long I lay there frozen in shock until a man appeared at the driver’s-side window, waving a large rock. Terrified, I sat up and drew back.
“You all right?” he shouted through the glass.
I couldn’t make my vocal cords move.
He knocked on the window and shouted at me again. “You hurt?” I felt the door shake as he tried to open it.
“Lady, you okay?”
My mind was reeling. I couldn’t think what to do. Why was this man trying to get into my car? Who was he? In a daze I managed to mouth “I’m okay,” and wave him away. He looked disconcerted but took a few steps back.
“Black car, foreign job,” he yelled, holding up the rock. “Threw this right at you. Stay there! I’m gonna call the cops!”
Black car.
Paranoia set in. Maybe this was the killer! A hired hit-man. I had to get away. I realized the motor was still running and reached for the gearshift as I hit the accelerator. The car swerved wildly, almost veering out of control. I glanced through my rearview mirror, saw the man staring after me. Then he shrugged and tossed the rock into the gutter. And then I was shaking all over and crying, and I knew I was on the verge of hysteria.
Through a blur of tears and shattered glass, I tore into my street and pulled half over the lawn into the garage. I cut the engine and dashed toward the house. My fingers were blocks of wood as I tried to fit the key into the lock. Safely inside at last, I slammed and locked the door and dropped, exhausted, onto the couch.
The image of the splintered glass played over and over in my head. My skin went clammy just thinking what could have happened to me had I lost total control of the car.
Who would have deliberately thrown the rock? And why? Was it that man? Was he a hired thug? Maybe he was only a passerby trying to help. A witness whom I’d ignored. Worse, fled from, and I hadn’t even gotten his license plate number. He’d mentioned a black car. Sue had mentioned a dark-colored car. Who owned a black car?
I took deep breaths until my heartbeat slowed, got up, poured a whole brandy glass of sake, had downed half of it before I caught myself. I was drinking too much. I was a person who worked with substance abusers, yet more and more I’d found myself trying to block out the horrors of the past week with alcohol. I put the glass down and tried to focus on the situation.
Who had reason to want to harm me? Who knew my car? My habits? Who knew this neighborhood? Who had I antagonized? Who had I rejected?
Rich.
Impossible. Rich would never hurt me, not physically anyway. Granted, with me out of the way, the children would live with him, he would retain all the assets of our marriage, and there would be no alimony payments. But he had loved me once, and I was the mother of his children. Besides, he’d agreed to a lie detector test. He wouldn’t do that if he were guilty.
Unless he knew how to fool the lie detector. I had shown him how it’s possible to slow one’s electrodermal responses. The “fight or flight” response. Wasn’t that what a lie detector detected?
But Rich would have no possible motive to kill Erica. Unless—-it was a crime of passion. He’d returned home earlier than he’d let on, they’d had a fight, maybe she had somehow found out about his cheating between the call I’d heard and the time he got home, and she’d dumped him! Or maybe she knew something related to the business that could sink the company, and had threatened to use it. Rich was a wheeler-dealer. Maybe he’d made one bad deal too many.
My mind raced crazily on like a tape on fast forward.
As for Dot, she knew everything that went on in that office. She’d been furious when Rich had left me for Erica and not for her. Maybe she’d been blackmailing Rich. One thing I’d finally come to understand about this man. Rich would sell me, Erica, Dot, and the children, with his mother and Horty thrown in for good measure, to save himself. The big question was, would he kill?
No, I concluded. Never. No matter what else he’d done, no matter how many other compromises he had made with his conscience over the years, my husband was not a killer. I was as certain of that as I was of my love for my children.
I suppose there’ll always be a piece of me that’s connected to Rich. It’s as though he were my left arm, turned gangrene and necessarily amputated. I’m learning to live without the arm, but like the amputee, the ghost sensations of the strong healthy limb will stay with me for the rest of my days.
The appalling fact remained, however, that someone had tried to kill me today. I had no choice but to report it. I grabbed the phone and called Ted Brodsky. He wasn’t at the precinct, would be back tomorrow, the impersonal voice told me. I left a message to have him call me immediately if he checked in.
I sat on the couch for a long time. Then I picked up the phone and dialed Meg.
SHE WAS AT MY DOOR in less than twenty minutes. She looked terrible, which in Meg’s case just meant she looked beautifully sorrowful.
Horty didn’t care what she looked like. He was all over her, licking her face and hands in delight as though it had been years instead of days since he’d last seen her. She stopped to pet and hug him before turning questioning eyes on me.
I was the one who had made the call, but she had a lot of explaining to do before I was going to take her into my confidence.
“Why,” I demanded icily, “didn't you tell me you knew Rich?”
“I couldn’t, Carrie. You'd never have given our friendship a chance.”
“That’s a crock.”
“It isn’t. If I’d have told you, you’d have been out my door before the kettle had whistled.”
My head was aching and I didn’t want to think about whistling tea kettles. Horty started whining. It sounded to my ears more like Horton the elephant than Horty the dog. I grabbed for the doorknob.
“Out, Horty.”
But the traitor just stood there frantically wagging his tail, gazing adoringly at Meg. Then he did something he hasn’t done since he was a puppy. He lifted his leg and peed on the floor!
“Horty,” I yelled.
“He’s excited. Outside, Horty,” Meg commanded, giving his rump a tap. And Benedict Horton trotted out.
It’s a sad world when your own dog won’t mistrust whom you mistrust.
“I have a headache,” I said, the understatement of the century, and headed for the kitchen and some paper towels.
Meg followed. “You okay?”
“No.”
“What’s the matter? What’s happened? Why’d you call me?”
First things first. “You lied about everything,” I said, reaching for the aspirin bottle, struggling with the childproof cap.
Meg, who has no children, took the bottle from me, gave a twist, and handed me two pills. “There’s a difference between lying and not discussing something.”
Oh, sure. I was familiar with lies of omission.
“When we met,” she went on, “you were so broken up about Rich, I couldn’t burden you with my problems.”
My fault, right? I filled a glass with water, swallowed the pills, and grabbed the roll of superabsorbent Bounty. “A whole year's gone by since then, Meg.”
“Every time I decided to tell you, it seemed there was a new crisis in your life. Like now.”
Who was I, Calamity Jane?
“I didn’t think you could handle it.”
I forgot all about Horty’s accident, sat down overcome with guilt. Had I become so absorbed by my own problems that my best friend couldn’t share her troubles with me? I didn’t like the thought.
‘Tell me now,�
� I said.
“About who? My husband or Rich?”
“Start with your husband.”
She pulled up a chair and lit a cigarette. “It was three years ago,” she began, her voice so low, I could barely catch the words. “Kevin was president of a small pharmaceutical company. Peter, his brother, ran the animal facility. Pete’s—-well, he never really grew up. Their parents are dead, and Kev’s always watched out for him. Anyway, Pete falsified some data on some scientific studies he never did. The drugs never went on the market because Kev found out about it in time. He was ready to kill Pete, but then the FDA investigated and Kevin reverted to being big brother. He covered for him. It was stupid.”
“Where did you fit in? Brodsky told me---”
“I destroyed some letters from Peter that implicated Kev in the cover-up. That made me an unindicted co-conspirator.” She squashed out the cigarette in a saucer. “Pete got probation and community service.”
“And Kevin?”
“As president of the company, Kev was held responsible. He has three more months to serve.”
What do you say to a story like that? Sorry, I didn't have time to listen?
“That’s where you go, then,” I managed finally. “On those days you disappear.”
“I have to keep the café open on week-ends and there are no visiting hours on Tuesdays and Wednesdays. That leaves Mondays and Thursdays. If I’ve promised Kev I’ll be there, I’m there.” She took a breath. “I thought the trial was the worst experience of my life, but living without Kev is. It’s one of the reasons our friendship has been so important to me. I didn’t want to jeopardize it.”
I was feeling pretty lousy about myself, but I wasn’t finished with Meg yet. “Tell me about Rich,” I said. “I know about the photo sessions.”
“It was only two or three jobs, Carrie. A long time ago. Way before we met.”
“Were you one of his little flings? Did you sleep with him?”
“No!”
I don't know why I said it. I hope it was the wine talking. “I don’t believe you.”
She looked at me a long time. “I can’t help that.”
She waited for me to say something. I looked away.
I heard the front door close behind her.
Horty came bounding into the kitchen, plopped down in front of me and rested his head on my knee. I stroked his rough fur.
Goddess did it right when She created dogs. If they love you, they love you for life. No trying to dig through lies and deceptions to figure out whether or not you deserve it. If you forget to feed them, they still love you. If you’re mad at the world and take it out on them, they forgive you. We could learn a lot from the canine species.
Meg was backing out of the driveway by the time I got to the front door.
“Meg, wait a minute!”
She cut the engine and waited for me to reach the car.
“Please try to understand,” I began haltingly. “After Rich, trust comes very hard. So when the facts were piling up against you, it was easy to believe I’d been taken in again.” I concentrated on the door handle. “You paid for Rich. I’m sorry.”
“Oh, Carrie.”
And then she was out of the car and we were hugging and laughing and crying at the same time.
Later, after I’d mopped up Horty’s accident, and we were sitting at the kitchen table, I began telling her what had gone on the past couple of days. When I got to the part about searching Rich’s office, her expression changed.
“When are you going to stop playing amateur sleuth? There’s a killer out there. When are you---”
“Now! Right now. I’m not going to do another thing about finding the murderer. I swear. Okay?”
She was taken aback by my sudden change of heart. “Well, good. When did you decide to turn in your badge?”
“Today.” I took a breath. “Come out to the garage. I want to show you something.”
We walked outside. This is an old house built in the days when a lot of houses weren’t connected to the garages. Meg kept shooting nervous glances in my direction. Halfway to the garage, she stopped. “God- almighty, Carrie, it’s not another body, is it?”
“Not yet.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
I opened the garage door. “It means somebody meant there to be. But they missed.”
The gasp Meg couldn’t suppress echoed off the cement walls. “What happened?”
I blurted out the story. When I’d finished, she asked in a tight voice, “Have you called the police?”
“I tried to get Ted Brodsky. He was out of touch. I left a message for him to call me.”
Meg approached the car. “A little more heave to that throw and it would’ve ended up in your lap.”
“I know.”
“Do you?” Her voice was low, but I couldn’t miss the underlying anger. “Do you understand what kind of danger you’re in? Has it crossed your mind that you could’ve been killed?”
“Stop it, Meg. I’m nervous enough.”
“No, you’re not! You’re not nearly nervous enough! Dammit it, Carrie, you keep doing these crazy, foolhardy---” Tears suddenly sprang to her eyes and spilled over. “Let's get out of here.”
I grabbed the poetry book off the car seat and trailed her back to the house. I knew her reaction was born of concern for me, but it shocked me. I wasn’t used to a Meg out of control.
At the front door she stopped. “That the book?”
I held it out. “Want to see it?”
“No, I don’t. Just put it away somewhere until Brodsky gets here.”
We closed and locked the door behind us. We were silent for several minutes, both of us breathing hard.
Then Meg took my hand. “I have to get back to the shop. When are the kids getting home?”
“Late tonight.”
“Do I have to stand over you to see you put in another call to Brodsky?”
“No. I was going to try him again.”
“Double lock the doors, and don’t you dare go anywhere till I get here tomorrow. I’m moving in till this is over.”
“I have a patient at nine, and then I promised the kids---”
“It's a holiday.”
She sounded like Matt, and I laughed, but it came out more like a croak. “I promise I'll be back by ten-thirty. You can come shopping with us.”
“God, Carrie. You’re too much!”
“Come on, Meg. Nothing’s going to happen in broad daylight.”
“Really? What about today?”
“I’ll cab it over and back, I promise.”
“Promises, promises,” she groaned, throwing her arms around me. “You shouldn’t be treating other people. You should be locked up yourself!”
“It would help if you came over and stayed with the kids while I’m out. After today I’d rather not leave them alone.”
“Okay, I’ll be here around eight. If you get home one minute after ten-thirty, I’m calling the police!”
After she left I hid the book on my bookshelf in among some other anthologies. I tried to watch some TV, but the strain of the day caught up with me. I lay down on the couch and was asleep in less than five minutes.
I dreamed Rich was running through the nature center in back of the house clutching the poetry book, and I was chasing after him, yelling, “Give me back my arm! Give me back my arm!”
CHAPTER TWELVE
Monday, May 31
THE FOLLOWING DAY was Memorial Day Monday. There was no school, and I had planned to take advantage of the sales and go shopping with Allie at Forever Twenty-One, her favorite store. Matt was planning to spend the day alternating between GameStop and the Apple Store. Without a car again we’d have to take a bus to the mall. I tried to think how I was going to explain my shattered windshield.
I had scheduled only the one appointment. Vickie had left a message on my answering machine.
“Please, please, can I see you tomorrow? The Bloomingdale’s inte
rviewer set me up with an appointment for Tuesday morning with the Revlon rep. Can we work on a visualization to help me through it?”
I had called back, but it was telephone tag again. I got her machine, left a message saying I would make a special trip to the office and see her at nine. I wanted her to get that job.
I took a taxi and was in the office by eight-twenty, the only person in the building working on the holiday. I’d left the children sleeping. I’d forgotten to tell them I was going to the office, but Meg was there and would explain when they woke up. I figured they were exhausted from their weekend and would probably still be out cold by the time I got home anyway.
The heat wave had returned and held us firmly in its grip. I’d dug out an old cotton pantsuit, not caring that it was baggy and wrinkled, and slapped on some lipstick, deep-sixing my usual morning face-lift. Despite dressing for the tropics, I was sticking to my chair and my palms were sweaty as I reached for the phone to call Ted Brodsky. He wasn’t in yet but was expected any minute. I left a message that it was urgent I speak with him.
I pulled Vickie’s chart and disk, took out the prep gel and electrode paste, and switched on the computer. Glancing up at the wall clock, I saw I had half an hour till she was due, just enough time for me to do a quick alpha-theta session. Normally I try to rev up my creative juices by training for peak performance at least twice a week. This week had been a disaster so far as my own brainwave training was concerned. Maybe, I thought, if I go into a deep, meditative state, the pieces of this crazy puzzle will come together. At the very least going into a theta state would serve to quiet my overwrought brain.
Attaching the sensors, I checked the impedance meter to make sure I had a good contact, flipped my disk into the computer, plugged in, and closed my eyes.
It was an effort to make my mind a blank. Images from the past week crowded my thoughts, thwarting my quest for stillness. Rich’s sullen angry face Saturday night as he left my house, Matt’s, the day he’d fought for my honor, Ruth-Ann offering her cousin’s karate-trained legs for the same reason. And sounds, the loud thumps of my own heartbeat after the rock smashed my windshield, thumps blocking out the chords of the software. And then...