“Yeah?”
“Let me know, will you? When you find out?”
“Find out what?”
Sam grinned. “Whether or not Keaton changed the towels.”
48
The kids slept in the car on the way home. Sonora carried Heather to her bed and guided Tim into his. Clampett had made three messes, in spite of being let out regularly by the boy next door, who had dutifully deposited the mail and newspapers on the kitchen table as instructed.
Sonora left her carry-on bag in the hall. She flipped through the mail in the kitchen, finding monthly greetings from MasterCard and her utility company, and a reminder that it was time for the children to visit their dentist.
She paused in the dark hallway, feeling the ulcer, too tired to move but too wired to sleep. A long soak in a hot bubble bath would be good right about now.
She had just belted into a bathrobe when the phone rang. Please be Keaton, she thought.
“Sonora?”
It was him.
Sonora kept her voice formal. “Thank you for checking in, Mr. Daniels. Are you at your wife’s house?”
“No. Red Roof Inn, exit seven off seventy-one north.”
“I’ll be in touch as soon as I know something.”
“Sonora—”
“I’ll be in touch, Mr. Daniels.”
“Oh. Thank you, then.”
“Good night.” Sonora hung up, switched the phone to the children’s line. Called information, Red Roof Inn. He answered on the first ring.
Sonora caught her breath. “Sorry, Keaton. My line is monitored right now. I’m calling on the kids’ phone. You okay?”
“No.”
“We need to talk.”
“How about dinner tomorrow night?”
“Not possible. Keaton, I’m in trouble here, about you and me.”
“I was getting that impression tonight. You acted funny.”
“I lied to my sergeant. About us. I told him it was strictly business.”
“Is it?” He sounded cold suddenly, wary.
“I don’t usually sleep with witnesses. Look, I have to ask you about the towels.”
“The towels?”
“In the bathroom. When we … got together. After I took a shower, did you change the towels?” She held the phone clamped tightly in her fist.
“Oh. Sorry, no I didn’t. Is it a problem?”
“There’s physical evidence, Keaton. Hell, they found pubic hair in the bathtub drain. It could be mine or hers. They think it’s hers, but we know better. It could be either of us.”
“What did your sergeant say?”
“I didn’t bring it up, Keaton. I’d prefer not to get fired, considering my kids and the state of my bank account. Mortgage and all, you know?”
“Sorry, I must be dense, this really is trouble.”
“It really is. Another thing I need to know. I saw on your dresser before I left for Atlanta your journal of investigation.”
“That was private.”
“I didn’t read it.” Just the first page, she thought. “Was it there when Flash got into your bedroom?”
“Flash? Is that what you people call her? Is this some kind of a cop joke?”
Sonora winced. “It’s slang, and it’s not a joke, it’s real life in the world of a police officer. I’m sorry if you’re offended. Was the journal out when Flash came through your town house? Did she take it, or did our lab people get hold of it?”
“She took it.”
“I see. What was in there?”
“Personal things I’d just as soon no one else read. It started out as a log of investigation, but there’s also things about my brother. And about you.”
“About me?”
“Yeah.”
“Damn. That journal is going to piss her off big-time. You take care of yourself, Keaton, and watch your back. Call me at the first sign of trouble.”
“Do I understand you to mean that’s the only time I call you?”
Sonora closed her eyes. “Afraid so.”
“For how long? That we can’t see each other?”
“Till I catch her, Keaton. And bring her to trial. And convict her ass.”
“Yeah. I see.” He hung up.
Sonora set the phone down gently. Maybe not the bubble bath routine. Maybe just a very hot shower.
She checked the kids—both sound asleep. Clampett was stretched in the hallway between their rooms. He lifted his head when Sonora walked by. Whimpered.
“Want to go out?”
He wagged his tail and got up with a painful, jerky movement that made Sonora notice the white fur rimming his black lips, the sagging muzzle, rheumy eyes. She crouched low and hugged the dog, thinking from the smell of him it was high time for a doggy bath.
“Go out, Clampett?” She headed down the hallway, turned off the alarm. A cold shock of air wafted through the door, and Clampett slowed. Sonora nudged his hind end with her knee, and the dog kept going. Slowly.
“Good boy.”
She flipped on the back porch light. Waited. Clampett disappeared into what was left of the garden. Sonora reset the alarm and went to take her shower.
The bathroom was still neat—the kids had not had a chance to shed clothes, pull down towels, toss washrags, and leave lumps of toothpaste in the sink. Sonora turned the shower on hard and hot, closed her eyes as water streamed across her shoulders.
She was rinsing shampoo out of her hair when the burglar alarm went off.
Sonora left the water running, grabbed a towel, and stepped over the side of the tub, wiping suds out of her eyes. Her robe hung from a hook on the back of the door. She grabbed it just as the doorknob turned, then caught on the snap lock.
Sonora froze, jammed wet arms into the sleeves of the nubby terry-cloth robe, belted it quickly, and opened the door.
The hallway was empty.
She checked the children—mother first, cop second. Tim was asleep in spite of the alarm. Heather sat bolt upright in bed, clutching a stuffed penguin.
“Stay put,” Sonora said.
Clampett barked, the hysterical bark, guard dog aroused. His toenails raked the back door.
Sonora smelled smoke just as the detector went off. The earsplitting buzz made the hair stand up on the back of her neck.
She ran down the hallway. The front door stood open, broken panes of glass in the foyer. She heard footsteps—someone running across the sidewalk. She was torn, but she’d seen enough fire scenes to know how quickly a house could go up.
A car door slammed as she headed into the kitchen.
The fire was on top of a pizza pan, pictures curling into flames. Sonora grabbed a dish towel and smothered the tiny blaze. She heard footsteps, saw her son.
“Fire’s almost out. Go see to your sister.”
The dish towel was blackened and smoking, and she tossed it into one side of the sink and turned on the water. Outside, Clampett sounded suddenly far away.
Sonora looked down at the Polaroids. Saw her son’s face, this time sound asleep. She frowned. Recognized the bed she’d just hauled him out of. Stuart’s place. Her hand trembled as she flipped the second picture.
Heather, clutching the penguin, cheeks round and soft in sleep. Same nightgown she wore right this minute. The pictures had been taken hours ago at Stuart’s.
Sonora took another dish towel and waved the air beneath the smoke detector. The alarm stopped. Silence, except for the shower running. She took a deep breath. Went to the phone, hit the automatic dial button for her brother. The squeal of a disconnected line was loud in her ear.
“I’m sorry, the number you have called is not in working order. Please—”
Tim and Heather stood in the doorway, close together. They asked no questions, which told Sonora how shook they were. She clutched the edge of the kitchen counter.
“Somebody broke in, and I’m worried about Uncle Stuart. I’m going to call for help, then all of us are going to get in the car and go check on him. We’re sta
ying together, got that?”
They nodded.
“Can Clampett come?” Heather asked.
“You bringing your gun?” Tim said.
Sonora bit her bottom lip. “Yes to both questions.”
Both children looked satisfied.
49
The windshield fogged as the car spiraled downhill. Sonora opened the window, smelling the river, listening for sirens. Her hands were unsteady on the steering wheel, and Clampett’s doggy breath was moist on her shoulder as he leaned over the back of her seat.
“Heather. Get the dog.”
“Mommy, are you okay?”
“Drive faster,” Tim said.
“Everybody’s seat belt fastened?”
The riverboat rose out of the water, a smoking black skeleton. Blue lights from police cars strobed across red pulses from the ambulance and fire trucks.
“Mommy.”
Sonora caught her breath. “Maybe he wasn’t home. Stay in the car, I’ll go check. Hang on to the dog.”
The first person she recognized was Molliter. She was about to call to him when a uniform stepped into her path.
“I’m sorry, Miss—”
“I’m a cop,” she said.
He looked dubiously at her wet hair, still sticky with shampoo, the sweatshirt, blue jeans, Reeboks, no socks.
“This is my brother’s place.”
His look went from tough to pitying. “Could you step over here please, ma’am?”
It was Molliter who came to the rescue. Molliter who waved the uniform away and sent someone to sit with the kids. Molliter who took her to a smoke-grimed fireman who offered her a blanket and a sweaty handshake.
“Did you bring anybody out?” she asked.
He hesitated. He had blue eyes, big shoulders. He looked past her to Molliter, who said, “Best tell her what’s going on,” in a flat tone of voice.
Cop tones, she knew them.
“You say your brother was inside?”
“Maybe. He lives on the third floor. There’s a storeroom up there, next to his apartment.”
“Right about where would that be, ma’am?”
Sonora pointed.
The fireman gave her a look of sympathy. “I’m sorry. We weren’t able to get him out in time.”
He glanced over her shoulder at the waiting ambulance. Sonora followed his gaze, aware, for the first time, that the paramedics were standing around. Waiting.
“He’s in the ambulance?” Sonora said.
“Uh, no. Actually, our man went in and—” The fireman cleared his throat. “Clearly, the victim was dead, and it was … it was obviously a matter for the police.”
“Obviously a matter for the police,” Sonora echoed. She wondered what the fireman had seen that made the upstairs apartment so clearly a matter for the police. “When can we go in?”
“Still pretty hot up there, ma’am.”
Molliter touched her elbow. “Let’s find you a place to sit, shall we?”
Sonora agreed that would be nice.
Her hair was dry by the time Sam and Crick arrived.
“Long time no see,” she said.
“You don’t have to be tough tonight, Sonora.” She didn’t know Gruber was there till he touched her shoulder.
“She can’t help it.” Sam crouched down on one knee. “Shelly’s here.”
Sonora let a breath escape. “Good. Where?”
“In the car with your kids.”
“What about Annie?”
“At the hospital.”
“Of course, Sam. Sorry. Can’t believe I forgot.”
“That’s okay, honey.” He squeezed her shoulder, and she put her hand over his. She thought for a minute she might like to cry, but the urge quickly passed.
Crick edged close. “Sonora, I can’t believe this is happening. Did I hear right? Flash was at your place tonight?”
Sonora nodded.
“Thank God your kids are all right.” He shifted his weight. She realized he was talking to her in a tone of voice she’d never heard. Maybe it was the voice he used with the babies in the church nursery. “Sonora, we’re going in now. I want you to—”
“Please, Sergeant Crick. Let me come in.”
He got that look of infinite patience. “Not a good idea.”
“Your brother, you’d go in.”
“I’ll leave it up to you, Sonora. My advice is stay away.”
She nodded. Dropped the blanket that had been around her shoulders. She picked it up off the ground, shook it out, folded it, then frowned, not sure what to do. Crick waited as if he had all the time in the world. Gruber took the blanket from her matter-of-factly.
“Let’s go,” Crick said.
He had a flashlight. Sonora followed, Sam on one side, Gruber on the other, Molliter bringing up the rear.
It was hot inside, acrid with smoke. Sweat filmed the back of Sonora’s neck, dripped down her spine. She felt hot and cold, a tense flutter in her chest. She was breathing hard. Tasting salty sweat on her upper lip.
She went up the side of the stairs, thinking how much her brother had loved this place. The smoke-singed tables and charred wet carpet seemed vaguely familiar. She glanced over her shoulder at the bar. Thought of Stuart developing his palate during his restaurant days, sampling leftover drinks from the night before while cleaning the bar the next morning. Thought of him looking after the kids, feeding them TV dinners, playing Monopoly, giving horsey rides.
Thought of him in the bad old days, walking home alone every afternoon.
Crick faltered at the top of the stairs, and Sonora took the lead, first one in the tiny, well-equipped kitchen. The pictures that Heather had colored and taped to the refrigerator were torn and shredded. The round glass table was over on its side, and the drawer that held kitchen knives gaped open.
“The oven’s still on,” Sonora said.
Sam looked thoughtful. “They were baking cookies tonight, weren’t they? Stuart and the kids?”
Sonora nodded. Opened the oven door. Cookie sheet, no cookies. “My guess is he was in here baking when she surprised him. Looks like they fought.”
“Mess could have been made by the firemen,” Gruber said.
“They’re not going to rip the pictures off the refrigerator.” Sonora pointed. “Bedroom’s that way.”
Gruber and Molliter headed down the dark hallway. Sam patted Sonora’s shoulder.
“Let me go in first a minute, okay?”
She nodded, reluctant now.
“You all right?” Crick said. He wiped a handkerchief across the back of his neck.
Sonora said yes, heard the snap of rubber gloves from the bedroom, the drip of water down the wall, the roar of traffic on the bridge across the river.
She looked at her feet. “I think I’m going in now.”
“If you’re sure.” Resignation and fatigue in Crick’s voice.
She started in just as the others came out.
It was Sam’s face that changed her mind. He put an arm around her and turned her away. “Don’t be going in there, honey. It was pretty quick. He didn’t suffer long.”
Sonora hid her face in Sam’s shoulder and squeezed her eyes shut, thinking how land he was to lie.
50
The children did not know what to make of her. She had laughed when she broke the news of Stuart’s death, then apologized and laughed again. Tim had looked at Heather and said, “You know, we may have to commit her.” Then all three of them had burst into tears.
Sonora still had her funeral dress on, but the kids had changed into blue jeans.
Tim looked at the clock in the airport restaurant. “Baba’s going to make us miss the flight.”
Sonora grimaced. “She’ll come rolling in at the last minute. No one in your father’s family is punctual. It’s genetic.”
Heather waved her new Barbie doll. “Thank you for all the presents, Mommy, and my new jeans.”
“You sure we can afford this?” Tim aske
d.
Sonora gave him a look. “You like the Walkman?” They were young, she thought. Young enough to be distracted by pretties.
“I wish you could come with us, Mommy.”
Tim ate a large bite of hamburger. “How come you can’t? You’re off the case, aren’t you?”
Sonora put her finger in a wet mark on the table. “Yeah, I’m off.”
“That’s mean, Mommy, when you work so hard.”
“No, hon. I can’t work it anymore. Them’s the rules, and they’re good ones.”
“It would be upsetting, dork.” Tim looked at Sonora, grimaced, and exchanged looks with Heather. “She’s doing it again. Mom. Why are you looking like that?”
“What’s wrong, Mommy? And don’t say nothing.”
Tim put his french fry down. “Is it because of Stuart, or because we’re going? We can stay with you, Mom. I’m not afraid.”
Sonora rubbed her eyes. “It’s Stuart. I’m going to be upset about this awhile, okay? Aren’t you guys upset?”
Heather stuck her thumb in her mouth.
Tim shrugged. “I loved him, okay? But I never miss people. When they’re gone, they’re just gone. I still have my life.”
Sonora chewed the knuckle of her left fist. Hard words from a thirteen-year-old. Which worried her more than tears. “Eat up, kids.”
Heather put her hands demurely in her lap. “It’s very good, but I’m not hungry. Mommy, are you going to be lonely?”
“Clampett will keep me company, and I’ve got some stuff to do that’s going to keep me busy.”
“What stuff?” Tim said.
Sonora wiped her hands clean on the thin and unsatisfactory paper napkin. She poured salt in her palm and ate it. She hadn’t done that since she was Tim’s age.
“But where are we going?” Heather said.
“Atlanta,” Tim told her.
“But after Atlanta.”
Sonora squeezed her daughter’s hand. “Won’t know till you get to Atlanta. Baba’s going to pick. Why don’t you talk her into taking you to a beach?”
“The ocean?” Heather said.
“That’s where beaches are.”
Sonora scowled at her son. “Be nice. I’m counting on you. I’m counting on both of you. Look after each other and be good. And do your schoolwork.”
Flashpoint Page 25