SEAS THE DAY

by Maggie Toussaint

  I tried her mobile number again. This time I heard it ring inside the house until it clicked over to messaging. This was starting to feel like very bad déjà vu. Chili had been here one moment and gone the next. I walked up the front steps again and banged on the door, yelling loudly, not caring who saw or heard me.

  Nothing from inside and nothing from the neighbors.

  How very strange.

  I tried the doorknob and it turned easily. My blood ran cold. Opening the door wide, I shouted her name with increasing dread. “Estelle!”

  The sound of my voice died to nothing, and I heard a ragged gasp. “Estelle?” I left the door ajar, punched in the digits of the emergency number with my thumb poised over the call button, and stepped inside.

  Several items dotted the foyer floor. Two jackets and a hat had fallen off the coat tree hooks. In the living room, the coffee table was upended, magazines on the floor, and a lamp tipped over. Something happened here.

  I prayed whoever grabbed Chili hadn’t come here and harmed his mother. If I rejected that explanation, then sudden illness, like the flu, might have felled her. If so, I could improve her health with hydration in the hospital.

  First, I had to find her. She must be close for me to have heard her from the door.

  I headed down the narrow hallway to the kitchen, where I’d heard her phone ring before.

  “Estelle! Where are you? This is River Holloway. I’m looking for you.”

  My heart beat so loud in my ears, I could barely hear anything else, but I stopped to listen. There it was again. That rasping noise. Definitely coming from the kitchen.

  Summoning my courage, I kept going. I saw a bloody handprint on the white refrigerator. Dishes had fallen off the counter and broken. Then I noticed a black heel poking out from behind the island.

  I turned the corner, saw a bloody, battered mess on the floor, and froze.

  Chapter Eight

  “What’s your emergency?” the 911 operator asked.

  I clutched the phone lifeline. “Estelle Bolz is hurt, bad. She needs help. Send an ambulance.”

  “Is she conscious?”

  “Her eyes are closed and she didn’t respond to my voice. I don’t know CPR. I’m afraid to touch her. Everything is bruised.”

  “What’s the address?”

  “Two hundred Beachview Drive, Shell Island. Please hurry.”

  “Stay on the line.”

  A few moments later, the woman returned. “EMS and the sheriff’s office are on the way. What’s your name and contact information?”

  I told her, adding, “I feel so helpless.”

  “You’re helping her by calling us, River. Is there a pool of blood or a bleeding wound?”

  “No puncture wounds that I can see. No pool of blood.” I tried to be objective, but I couldn’t breathe until my body forced air into my lungs. I sagged against the center island. “I don’t know how long she’s been lying here. Her hands, face, and clothes are caked with dried blood.” I sniffed back tears. “None of it looks fresh.”

  “You’re doing fine. Stay on the line until help arrives. Is anyone else in the house?”

  “No one’s on the ground floor. I didn’t check upstairs.” I gulped air and glanced around, feeling alone and vulnerable. “The house is quiet, and I left the front door open when I entered.”

  “Tell me what happened.”

  “I came to check on Estelle. She didn’t answer calls or knocks on the door. Her door was unlocked, so I came inside, shouting her name. I found her in the kitchen, on the floor. Her face and arms are black and yellow and puffy. I thought she was dead, but she’s breathing, barely.”

  “How old is Estelle Bolz?”

  “Not sure. Her sons were my age, so she must be in her fifties. I don’t know.”

  “Her sons’ names?”

  “Kale Bolz. He died at sea six months ago. Chili Bolz vanished last week. Far as I know she has no other immediate family.”

  Estelle’s eyes fluttered when I said Chili’s name.

  I gasped and fell to my knees beside her. “Estelle!”

  “What’s wrong?” the operator asked. “Are you in danger?”

  “Her eyes opened. Her pupils are big as saucers.” I set the phone down on the wooden floor and leaned over her. “Estelle, can you hear me? It’s River. Who did this to you?”

  “River,” Estelle said. “The bridge. Check bridge.”

  Her eyes fluttered shut again. I took her cool hand gently in mine. “I’m here with you, Estelle. Hang on, help’s on the way.”

  The phone squawked beside me. I reached for it. “Estelle was awake briefly, but her eyes closed again.”

  “Stay on the line. What did she say?”

  I repeated the four words and added. “Estelle was my mother’s bridge partner. I don’t understand what she meant. Maybe she wants me to check the bridge calendar to get a sub for her. That was always a big deal for my Mom, even on her deathbed.” I realized what I’d said. “I didn’t mean that, Estelle. Hang on. You can’t die on us. Chili needs you.”

  “Do you hear a siren yet?” the operator asked.

  I listened. A high-pitched warble reached my ears. “Yes.”

  “Help will be there soon. Secure any pets in the home for their safety.”

  I didn’t need to look for fur balls or animal bowls. Estelle was allergic to animal dander. “No pets. Just me and Estelle.” I prayed silently as I held the phone and Estelle’s hand.

  Behind me I heard car doors open. “Sheriff’s Office,” a man called.

  I recognized Deputy Hamlyn’s voice. “Lance. Back here. In the kitchen.”

  Footfalls thudded on the wooden floor. Lance knelt beside me. “She alive?” he asked.

  “She’s still here. Where’s that ambulance?”

  The air roiled around him. “On the way. They just finished a call at the other end of the island. Takes a while to drive to this end with the traffic circles.”

  “I hate those things,” I said. “Can I hang up the phone now?”

  “Yes, I’ll discharge the operator.”

  Placing my phone in his gloved hand, I leaned close to Estelle. “Keep breathing, Estelle. You can do this. I know you can.”

  Another ragged breath heaved from her chest. EMS and firefighters arrived. In a few short moments, they loaded Estelle on a gurney and drove her over the causeway to the hospital.

  A female officer escorted me to Lance’s SUV, tucking a blanket around my shoulders. I clung to it while investigators scoured the house. My breathing evened out, and my hands quit trembling. I may have dozed once I warmed up because the clock showed an hour had passed.

  Deputy Hamlyn strolled out and joined me. “Talk to me,” he said. “Why’d you come here this morning?”

  “I gave all that to the 911 operator.”

  “Humor me. What brought you to Estelle’s house this morning?”

  The vivid memories slammed back, front and center, in my thoughts. I hugged the blanket tighter. “You were right.”

  “Come again?”

  “Asking questions was a bad idea. You said somebody could get hurt, and somebody did. Estelle.”

  “We don’t know that her assault is connected to questioning people.”

  “I feel terrible. My actions drew attention to the Bolz family. For all I know, Estelle is the last of her line. I could’ve been the final straw in their family’s extinction. I brought death to her doorstep.”

  Lance handed me my phone. “No need to be melodramatic. Go home and rest. If you’re too upset to drive, I can take you.”

  “I got this.” Wearing the blanket like a shawl, I exited his SUV, walked over to my catering van, and drove to the nearest ice cream parlor. I ordered mocha chocolate chip, two scoops. The sweetness cut through my guilt and made me fe
el a little less like crying. Halfway through the first scoop, my hands stopped trembling, and by the time I’d scraped the bowl clean, I felt strong enough to power through an afternoon of house cleaning. I felt a pang of guilt for not heading straight to the hospital, but I wasn’t family, and it wasn’t likely I’d be allowed in to see Estelle anyway. Not until she woke up and could ask for me. In the meantime, I’d promised to help Rosemarie and cleaning would give me something to do besides worry.

  Chapter Nine

  Even though I made it to the rental on Rude Dog Lane a little before one, Rosemarie arrived first. A pile of sheets and towels lay on the laundry room floor, and the washing machine and dryer were humming, so she’d already done one of my jobs. That meant I had to hustle to get in the groove.

  “Rosemarie, I’m here,” I said as I entered the five-bedroom ranch style house. Nothing fancy about this place, except for the panoramic marsh view. That kept renters coming back year after year. Well, that and the gleaming state of cleanliness my friend consistently delivered. You could literally eat off any surface in this house.

  She hollered at me from the back bedroom over LeAnn Rimes belting out how could she possibly live. Rosemarie loved ninety’s music. “Great. You know the drill.”

  Indeed, I did. I collected trash and moved items back to their proper places as Toni Braxton sang about wishing her heart was unbroken. I wiped down the kitchen cabinets and counters, knowing full well Rosemarie would go over them again. Mariah Carey sang about her vision of love as my friend emerged from the bedrooms.

  “I’ve dusted all the bedrooms and cleaned three of the bathrooms,” Rosemarie said. She looked energized and perky with her trendy white and purple striped hair. “You can vacuum the floors back there now. By the time you hit the living room, I’ll be finished with the sleeping quarters, and we can polish the floors.”

  “Sure. You got here early. You’re way ahead of me.”

  The music changed and Ace of Base sang jauntily with a personal question about belonging I couldn’t answer. Where did I belong? I was rooted in Shell Island, Georgia, but my heart was in California. I had two allegiances. How could I choose?

  I snapped out of my mental lapse to realize Rosemarie was talking a million miles an hour, as she was apt to do. I rewound the conversation and hoped I caught the gist of it.

  “The renters left early, so I swung by at noon to start a load of sheets. One thing led to another and I didn’t leave. We should have the linens done before we finish.” She studied me closely. “What’s wrong? You don’t look like yourself.”

  “Rough morning. A friend of mine went to the hospital.”

  “Estelle Bolz?”

  “How’d you know?”

  “Heard it on my police scanner. What happened?”

  “Someone beat her nearly to death. I hope she makes it.”

  “We’ll call the hospital when we’re done, okay? They need time to stabilize her. That must’ve been quite a shock. Estelle and your mom were good friends.”

  Estelle’s battered face surfaced in my mind, and I tried to shake it loose. “Yes. I can’t wrap my head around it.”

  Rosemarie patted my shoulder. “I can finish this if you need to leave.”

  Her compassion sparked my energy. “No. I need the work. I can do this.”

  “You sure?”

  I reached for the big vacuum. “Definitely. I can compartmentalize for now.”

  When we finished, Rosemarie whipped out two canned lemonades from her car cooler and invited me to sit on the porch with her. We settled in the padded rocking chairs, eating the egg salad wraps I brought. She called her cousin Herman who worked in billing at the hospital. She hit the speakerphone button so that I could hear the conversation.

  Rosemarie leaned close to the phone. “Hey, Cuz. I’m with my friend River Holloway, and we’re concerned about Estelle Bolz. They hauled her to the hospital a few hours ago. How is she?”

  “Rosie, you can get this information from the front desk.” Herman sighed heavily. “It interrupts my flow when you make me think about patients.”

  “I do it because I love you. Too many numbers aren’t good for you, Cuz. You need to connect more with living people.”

  “Speak for yourself. People always want something from me. Uh-oh.”

  “What-oh?” Rosemarie asked.

  “I, uh, have bad news for you. Ms. Bolz didn’t make it. She’s listed as DOA at the hospital.”

  “Dead? That can’t be right,” I blurted out. “She was alive when she left in the ambulance.”

  “Must’ve been her last moments,” Herman said. “I’m sorry I don’t have better news for you. Oh…”

  “You’re killing me, Herm,” Rosemarie said. “What’d you find?”

  “Ms. Bolz was a frequent flyer at the ER. Seems she was beaten two months ago, and there are visits stretching back over the last eight months. Someone beat the crap out of her on a regular basis. Repeated head trauma is too much for a person’s brain. I’m sorry for your loss.”

  I was sorry too. And steaming mad. “Why didn’t she report the assaults to the police? Why didn’t the hospital report her recurrent injuries to the police?”

  There was a painful silence, then Herman dropped his voice. “You didn’t hear it from me, but we recently changed hospitalist services.”

  I glanced at Rosemarie who shook her head. How strange to clearly hear the words someone spoke but to utterly lack in comprehension. “I have no idea what that means.”

  “The group we contracted with previously treated each patient visit as a single occurrence. They didn’t flag repeated visits. They treated whoever presented that day according to their symptoms and then forgot about it. We have a different team now and much better patient oversight.”

  My blood simmered. “Excuse me? Estelle’s death was preventable?”

  “No, and if you tell anyone we spoke, I’ll deny it. Estelle is responsible for her own life. She should’ve taken actions to avoid that violent person.”

  I died a little inside. “That’s not right. Some people can’t help themselves.”

  “The hospital isn’t liable for this. Don’t go getting any ideas in your sweet head. Gotta go.” Herman ended the call.

  “I’m sorry about Estelle,” Rosemarie said.

  I rubbed my eyes, surprised they were dry. “This is terrible. I should’ve checked on her sooner. She didn’t call yesterday so I visited her first thing this morning. I found her in the kitchen and called 911. I held her hand, but it wasn’t enough.”

  “You helped by finding her. It’s a shame Chili’s missing. He’ll be devastated when he hears the news.”

  “It’s stunning to know someone can be repeatedly battered and no one notices. I didn’t know.”

  “Domestic violence happens all the time. Many attackers are savvy enough not to strike a person’s face.”

  “Chili didn’t hit his mom.”

  “I didn’t mean to imply he did. But since it wasn’t a one-time thing, she likely knew her attacker and didn’t report him or her to the sheriff’s office.”

  Her words settled over me like a rime of frost, providing crystalline clarity. Estelle was in trouble before she came to me. I didn’t cause her beating by asking questions about Chili’s whereabouts. Who could have done such violence to another person?

  “Pete was right,” I mused aloud. “People disappear for a reason. Whatever got Estelle killed is likely the reason Chili vanished. If the assailant beat Chili too, I pray he’s mending. If he knew about Estelle’s previous beatings, why didn’t he take her with him?”

  “I don’t have the answer,” Rosemarie said.

  “Sorry. I’m frustrated at my failure to find Chili, and now Estelle’s dead. She probably knew more about Chili’s disappearance than she let on, so why’d she ask me to find him?”

>   “Playing devil’s advocate here,” Rosemarie said. “Perhaps she wanted to make sure no one could find him. Everyone knows you’re a good finder. If you couldn’t do it, he’s safe wherever he is.”

  “Maybe, but now I’m honor-bound to find Estelle’s killer and her son.”

  Chapter Ten

  When Pete called for our nightly chat at bedtime, I braced for the retelling of my day, knowing he would be concerned.

  As soon as he heard my strained hello, his face dominated the video call screen. “Something happened, didn’t it?”

  “Yes, it did.” I exhaled a shaky breath. “Estelle Bolz died today. I was at her house.”

  “Your mother’s friend?” Pete asked. “I’m sorry to hear that. Was she ill?”

  “Someone beat her. Battery, the cops said. She was on the floor when I found her. She died in the ambulance.”

  “Are you all right? Why didn’t you call me earlier?”

  “I’m fine. My friend Rosemarie helped me decompress this afternoon. This was my day to help her clean the rental. I didn’t call you because you were working and because I needed to stay busy.”

  I paused as Estelle’s face surfaced in my thoughts. “It was awful seeing her like that. I kept thinking that someone did this to her. Then she mentioned playing bridge. Her wires must’ve been scrambled by the blows. All I could think to do, besides calling for help, was to sit with her and hold her hand. I thought I’d saved her, but I was too late.”

  “You did a good thing, a hard thing, for a friend.” Pete’s fierce expression softened. “You gave comfort when she needed it most.”

  Tears blurred my vision. “I failed her. I couldn’t find Chili, and now she’s dead. I owe it to her memory to find her son.”

  “This sounds serious, River. Let the cops handle it.”

  I sat up in bed, needing my wits about me. Pete couldn’t help his protective instincts, but I’d made my decision. “The cops couldn’t find Chili in a week, so how can they figure out what happened to Estelle?”