Chained

by Eileen Brady

  After several songs Mari came back, another cocktail in hand. Now overly full of Chinese food, I started to leave, but before I could make my move, Flynn’s grandmother gestured for me to come sit next to her.

  “Excuse me, Kate. You’re the new veterinarian who’s working at Doc Anderson’s place, right?” Sophia continued, demanding my attention. “Didn’t you discover that poor girl Claire’s killer? I seem to recall…”

  “Yes. She’s the one,” Mari spoke up enthusiastically. “Maybe Kate could help you find out what happened to Flynn.”

  Horrified by Mari’s suggestion, I put my head down and silently opened my fortune cookie. Sophia’s hand reached out and touched me on the arm. “Now that might be too much to ask. The policeman who contacted my daughter-in-law didn’t sound too hopeful.”

  Her fingers were lumpy and swollen at the joints.

  “That’s so kind of you,” I began, “but I really don’t know much—”

  Mari happily interrupted. “Don’t let her fool you. She has some kind of weird talent for solving crimes.”

  I gave Mari an icy stare to try and get her to cease and desist. It didn’t work.

  “You know she’s solved two different murders.”

  I felt like making it three by murdering Mari if she didn’t quit talking.

  “Maybe Kate could sit down with your family—”

  Now it was my turn to interrupt. “Mari, please let it go for now. Okay?”

  By that time it was too late.

  Sophia invited both of us to her daughter-in-law’s home for a chat. I felt guilty turning her down after attending the memorial luncheon and chowing down on all the free food. She glanced at her watch. “Let’s make it five o’clock. Kate, you can meet our entire family.” Flynn’s grandmother then stood up and hugged Mari. “Thanks for bringing her today. It’s a sign, I think.”

  A sign?

  Solving a crime that was ten years old? I should have let her read the fortune hidden in my cookie. “Roads that look promising often lead to dead ends.”

  ***

  Two hours later a sobered up and embarrassed Mari stood with me outside Flynn’s family home.

  “Sorry, Kate,” she told me for the umpteenth time.

  “It’s okay.” I didn’t want to admit a tiny part of me was curious to hear what the family had to say.

  The house was a modest brick in the ranch-style that was very popular in the fifties. Not particularly New England in style, the home looked like it had seen better days. The Keegans’ faded red front door was unremarkable except for the black wreath hanging above a worn brass knocker.

  A familiar person opened the door, recognized Mari, and gave her an almost imperceptible nod. I, on the other hand, received a suspicious stare. From Mari’s description and my observation at the memorial service I recognized her as Flynn’s younger sister, Fiona.

  Although she’d changed her clothes, the color black still appeared to be most of her wardrobe. Despite the cold, she wore a thin short-sleeved t-shirt over silver-studded black jeans, with a black fake-fur vest. Her uncovered arms sported numerous tattoos, seemingly random in choice and most poorly executed. A shame, since Fiona could have been an appealing girl if she lost the attitude and most of the Goth-like makeup.

  “Hey, Fiona.” Mari made no attempt to hug or comfort her in any way. She’d warned me ahead of time that the girl she used to babysit didn’t like to be touched.

  “Hey.”

  With that nominal greeting Fiona motioned us into the house. A noticeable lack of color was the predominant color scheme. Empty beige walls blended into the beige carpet in the hallway. Positioned in distinct clumps in the tan living room were three generations of Keegan women. The only man present sat in a brown faux leather recliner in the corner, his feet elevated, with an annoyed expression on his face. He reminded me of an old football player whose muscle had turned to fat.

  Lizette, Flynn’s delicately beautiful mother, welcomed us from her wheelchair. Grandmother Sophia sat on the sofa furthest from her daughter-in-law, while Fiona leaned against the living room wall, arms crossed in front of her.

  “Would you like something to drink?” Sophia asked us.

  For a crazy moment I thought they were offering us more cocktails.

  “I’d like a cup of coffee, black, if you have it.” Mari sat down and smiled at them all.

  I also sat, feeling terribly awkward, already regretting my decision to come to the house.

  “Make that two coffees, thank you.” I genteelly folded my hands in my lap.

  There was another one of those silences until Mari spoke. “Lovely church service. Very moving.”

  The entire group nodded except Fiona who began to text, the clicks of her messaging the only sounds in the room.

  At that moment Sophia returned with a tray and two steaming china cups and saucers. Mari thanked her and put both on the small table between our chairs. I sensed tension between grandmother, mother, and daughter. Sophia’s warm expression vanished as soon as she returned to the sofa. Looks of annoyance were equally directed at Lizette and Fiona. The man in the corner, she ignored.

  There was no way I was going to initiate this conversation.

  To my surprise the guy in the recliner started the ball rolling.

  “Don’t think I know you, but I’m Bruce, Flynn’s stepfather.” From my angle I mostly saw the top of his head with greasy receding hair slicked back behind his ears.

  “Correction. If you actually married my daughter-in-law, you’d be his stepfather.” Sophia’s bitter statement dropped like a bomb in the middle of the room.

  “We can’t afford to get married what with the benefits and everything. You know that.” Lizette sighed in exasperation and helplessly looked around the room for confirmation.

  Now Sophia angrily folded her arms in front of her.

  As if on cue, Fiona weighed in. “What’s your love life got to do with anything? My brother is dead.”

  Mari picked that moment to speak, which was pretty brave of her. “Your grandmother invited Dr. Kate and me here to see if we could help in any way.”

  “Like any of you care. You’re the reason he left in the first place. He hated all of you.” Fiona spewed out her harsh words before storming out of the room and slamming the hallway door. The family declined to comment, ignoring her outburst as if this were a daily occurrence.

  Bruce made a half-assed effort to get out of the recliner but Lizette stopped him. “Honey, leave her be. She needs some time to herself.” Her fingers fluttered in futility.

  Obediently he collapsed back down, scratching his head. For a moment I thought he was going to say something, but instead he cranked the chair back into the full reclining position.

  Compared to the rest of the family, Sophia sounded like the voice of reason. “As you have been told, I have asked Dr. Kate to look into Flynn’s death for us.” She turned and focused all attention on me. “How does this work? Do you want to ask us questions?”

  I sensed multiple eyes staring at me. Should I address what Fiona said? Her outburst might have been truthful or merely a dramatic version of the truth. The Keegan family dynamics certainly were odd. Resentment bounced between them like balls of heat lightning.

  The five of us sat in the beige living room on beige chairs trapped together. All of them nervously waited for me to answer Sophia. I needed to say something.

  “Well, I never met Flynn. Why don’t you start by telling me a little about him?” The tension eased up on hearing my simple request, but winnowing out the truth, I suspected, would be a whole different ballgame.

  No one volunteered to begin, so I directed my first question to his mother. “Where did he grow up? Here in town?”

  Sophia and her daughter-in-law eyed each other before Lizette spoke. “I moved to Oak Falls when Flynn was o
nly a baby. Tony had been killed in a helicopter crash. Sophia suggested we move into one of her rental properties.”

  “I’m in the house directly next door,” Sophia explained. “Flynn lived there with me until he was ten or eleven, right up until Fiona was born.”

  “Why was that?” I tried to keep my voice nonconfrontational.

  Lizette shifted in her wheelchair, smoothing down the tan blanket draped over her knees. “I have MS, multiple sclerosis. The type I have is called waxing and waning—so sometimes I am very bad and other times I feel almost normal. After we moved here I became very sick and could barely stand. My mother-in-law took care of Flynn while I tried to recover. It was a horrible time for all of us.”

  “Not so horrible when you felt good. Or do you forget the parade of boyfriends in and out of here? Pretending you didn’t have a son. Shame on you,” Sophia bluntly interjected. There was a stunned silence from Mari and me. No one else batted an eye. They’d obviously heard that story many, many times before.

  Lizette sighed again and wearily put her head down.

  Sophia directed her next comments to me. “Did you listen to the music today? Those were the songs Flynn and I danced to. We would twirl around and around. I taught him the Twist and the Mashed Potato and all the crazy sixties dances. So much fun, we had so much fun.” Her eyes glistened with tears yet unshed. “My sweet grandson.”

  Her daughter-in-law fiddled with her nails.

  “Who took care of you, Lizette?” I asked. How, I wondered, did Bruce figure into the family picture?

  “My husband’s survivor benefits and pension paid for my health costs and home nursing care,” Lizette explained. “I also received Social Security benefits for Flynn. Although Sophia took care of him most of the time, I’d try to see him every day if I could.”

  Sophia harrumphed and frowned.

  I secretly blessed Mari when she asked the next question.

  “Fiona and Flynn have the same last name. Was Antonio Keegan the father of both of your children?” A flicker of something passed between Sophia and Bruce.

  “No.” The answer came from a different side of the room.

  We all looked up.

  Fiona had returned without anyone noticing.

  “No. Flynn’s father was killed in Afghanistan. He got a purple heart and a commendation for bravery. My father is sitting on his ass in the recliner over there. I’m not sure he even has a heart.” Like a dark vengeful shadow she glared at Bruce, daring someone to contradict her. When no one rose to the bait, she mumbled something inaudible and stalked out again, this time without slamming the door.

  “Fiona is upset. She doesn’t mean it. Please forgive her,” Lizette pleaded. She gripped the sides of her wheelchair and glanced over at Bruce, whose face was slowly turning bright red. “I’m joining Sophia in asking you to find out what you can.”

  Obviously, this was not the “normal happy family” of everyone’s dreams, the family extolled in the newspaper articles I’d read.

  What had life really been like for Flynn, the town’s “Golden Boy?”

  ***

  After the second uncomfortable family blowup, Mari and I made a lame excuse to leave. I promised to do what I could. Truthfully, I hoped the police would step in and I would be able to step out of the picture. More toxic family situations, I didn’t need. After my own mom and brother had died in a hit-and-run accident, I’d been lost in a funk of anger for years, hating my father for his perceived indifference until my grandfather rescued me. It had been twelve years since I’d spoken to my own father. I didn’t need to vicariously revisit all that pain.

  Once back home I decided to concentrate on Jeremy’s surprise visit. Bolstered by a glass of cold white wine and a piece of chocolate, I wandered around the apartment, viewing it with a critical eye. Buddy followed me, not sure what the heck I was doing. First I needed to set Jeremy straight on my odd living arrangements. Old Doc Anderson had converted the hospital garage into one big room with no privacy whatsoever. Used primarily as a “crash pad” to stay in when he saw a late-night emergency, function definitely trumped form. After his wife died, Doc added a kitchenette, sold their home, and moved in. Nobody thought it would be permanent. That was fifteen years ago.

  Feeling somewhat guilty I sent Jeremy a lengthy e-mail explaining my living situation and tried unsuccessfully to set up another Skype session before he got on a plane back to the States. There was nothing to do now but wait. And clean. Again.

  No way did I want him to stay here with me in this cramped space. Too much togetherness so quickly would make me uncomfortable.

  With the weather still rotten, I didn’t relish driving to the grocery store, so I searched the kitchen for something to eat. Forgotten cooked pasta in a gooey clump and a crusty open bottle of marinara sauce didn’t look that appetizing, or healthy. In the freezer I discovered a package of peas and another of white corn, but I had the vague suspicion I’d used one or both of them as emergency ice packs.

  Not much lurked in the pantry cabinet other than sugar, salt, and granola bars. However, sticking my hand behind some flour, I uncovered a half-full jar of peanuts and a can of chicken wedding soup with those little meatballs. Wine and peanuts as an appetizer followed by a main course of soup…I’ve had worse dinners.

  Buddy woofed for one of his dog bones.

  We both settled down on the sofa and crunched away. That scene in Flynn’s home kept haunting me. What must it be like to live in a constant cauldron of anger and despair? Maybe the murderer was closer to home than anyone thought.

  Still thinking about the Keegan family, the chime of my phone caught me by surprise.

  Hungry?

  Of course, I texted back

  Open the door.

  Buddy began barking before I could read the response. It was just like Luke to pop up unexpectedly, especially when I was wearing sweats with my hair a mess.

  “I didn’t think I’d see you so soon.” I opened the door and he rushed by me, raindrops sliding off his coat, his hair dripping. Two paper bags oozed the very familiar odor of Chinese takeout. Obviously, he hadn’t agonized over our argument at the potbellied pig wedding like I had. But why would a guy just back with his girlfriend keep stopping by my place?

  Since Luke had been here many times, usually with some sort of takeout, he knew exactly what to do. I joined him in the kitchen area, while he put the bags on the counter and took off his wet coat.

  “Where should I put this?”

  “Go ahead and hang it on the extra chair.” He looked like he’d taken a shower in his clothes. I threw him the towel that I’d used earlier to dry my hair. “Be my guest.”

  “Thanks.” Blotting and rubbing vigorously, he dried off his face and head, which left some hair sort of standing on end a bit. Darned if he didn’t look even better that way.

  “You know tonight isn’t Thursday.” I decided not to mention I’d been to the Lucky Garden for lunch today and spoken to the Keegan family. It would spare me another argument about staying out of police business.

  He glanced up from his plate. “I took a makeup class. Thought you might be hungry.”

  Luke and I had gotten into the habit of sharing Chinese food together on Thursday night, after his pre-law class at the community college. That was also my late night at the hospital and by the end of the day I often felt too tired to move. Our habit started months ago when we were trying to solve a murder case and had continued, as we’d became friends. What I thought might grow into a serious relationship had now crashed and burned.

  Buddy followed Luke to the kitchen table, confident that a morsel of chicken would somehow end up in his mouth.

  “Did you get my text about having to leave after the wedding?” I couldn’t believe that was already a week ago.

  “Yes. No problem. I had to run, too.” He plunged his eggroll in
to the sweet and sour sauce.

  Not to be outdone, I put a large spoonful of hot mustard on my eggroll and took a bite. After about a second my eyes started to water and my throat lit on fire.

  “So, I hear you’re expecting some company soon.” Luke scooped fried rice onto his plate and lifted a piece of chicken with his chopsticks.

  With my throat still burning from the mustard and my face turning red, all I could do was nod.

  “Is Jeremy going to be staying here? In Oak Falls, I mean?” He eyed me with a curious expression on his face.

  Still unable to talk I chugged a glass of water since I didn’t have any milk in the house. When that didn’t work I tried to put out the fire in my mouth with some steamed rice. Tears dripped from my eyes.

  “Are you okay? I’m sorry. Maybe you don’t want me asking you any personal questions.

  I wiped my sweating forehead with a napkin. “No, no it’s fine. He’ll be visiting me for a few days.”

  “You’re probably looking forward to that. It’s been a while, hasn’t it?” This time he didn’t even pretend to be subtle.

  Recovered from the mustard attack, I speared a forkful of Chinese vegetables. “Yes.” After my one word answer, I innocently smiled at him and continued to eat. If he wanted more information from me he was going to have to work for it.

  “Well, I hope everything goes well for you. You deserve it.”

  “Thanks.” Strange to be having this conversation with him, considering there were so many times I’d wished…

  “Sorry.” Luke snuck a quick peek at his watch. “I’ve got to go.” He jumped up and carried his paper plate over to the garbage.

  This was our pattern. Sometimes our Thursday evening get-togethers would be social and stretch out for a few hours and sometimes they ended up a terse eat-and-run.

  “Wait a minute. Can you tell me anything about the Flynn investigation?”

  He paused. “What do you want to know?”

  “Well, I know they are calling it a murder.” I started closing the takeout boxes and putting them in the refrigerator.