by Amy Isaman
“Ma’am. Are you there?”
My hand continued to shake as I held the phone. “Um, yeah. I’m here. Somebody just ran out of the entry to the laundromat. Scared the shit out of me.” Why didn’t they come out and help the old man? Or me? Or had they stabbed him? Oh, my God. It was the murderer. He’d been right there, and I didn’t even know it because I’d been staring at the effing sky.
“Okay, so whoever was there left? There’s no threat?”
“Um, no threat. They’re gone. Maybe they did this, though.”
“How’s the patient?” The 911 operator was keeping me talking just like I was trying to keep the old man awake and talking.
“His breath seems to be getting shallower, and he keeps moaning. I can smell a ton of alcohol on him. And he’s obviously in a lot of pain.”
Shit.
I glanced down the street in both directions. We were totally alone. Where the hell were the paramedics? My legs were starting to tingle, but I couldn’t stand up to shake them out. I sat down on my butt, put my phone on speaker, and held onto his hand that wasn’t clutched around the knife. His hands were rough and calloused—working hands. And they were also ice cold.
“Tell me about Iris,” I said.
He shook his head.
“Who’s Iris?”
Nothing.
“Do you have any kids?” I tried again.
He nodded. “Tell her…” he paused, his breath shallower and shallower.
“Tell who? Iris? Or, uh, Carly?” I tried again.
“She’s the…” Sirens pierced the night air, and I said a prayer of thanks.
“That’s the paramedics, Ma’am,” the operator said. “You’ve done well. Keep him talking.”
I tried, but he closed his eyes and seemed to slump even further into himself, which made a fresh bloom of blood blossom on his shirt. As soon as the paramedics arrived, they leapt from the ambulance and took over. I stood, rubbing my own arms and trying to stay warm while they laid him on a stretcher, talking to him the entire time. They all seemed to know the old man since they called him Frank. As soon as they had him in the ambulance, a deputy approached me. Like Frank, he also looked somewhat familiar, and I immediately decided that I wasn’t a huge fan of coming home to a place I hadn’t lived for thirty years and sort of vaguely recognizing everyone but not being able to know who they were. I preferred the anonymity of the city.
But anonymity clearly wasn’t an option in Elk Creek.
The cop simultaneously reached his hand out to shake mine while introducing himself. “Hi. Mike Pickard. You were the one who found Frank?” Mike was taller, maybe 6’2” with short hair that was graying at the temples.
I shook his hand firmly. Mike Pickard. I knew that name. “Yes. I found him. Did you go to school here?”
“Yep. Class of ‘78. You?”
I nodded. “Tricia Seaver, um, Tricia Warren Seaver.” I corrected before adding. “‘83.” Wow, that made me feel old.
He narrowed his eyes and studied my face. “I’m sorry. It’s been a long time.” Clearly, the man didn’t recognize me. At all. He was super-hot forty years ago, which is why I recognized him. I think he graduated by the time I got to high school, but he wouldn’t have recognized or remembered me, anyway. For my entire school career, I was the slightly chunky, studious, smart girl who did every bit of homework because I was hell bent on college and going somewhere with more than three stoplights.
I rubbed my arms and stomped my feet a bit to get the blood moving again.
“So, did you just find Frank passed out here?” Mike asked.
“Yeah. I went to dinner over at Shepherds with Debbie Clark, and I was walking back to my mom’s house. I’m here for a few weeks taking care of her after she fell and broke her hip…”
“Oh,” he interrupted. “Wait. You’re Anne’s sister. My daughter plays volleyball and basketball with your niece, so we see Anne and Brian all the time. And usually, your mom too. She’s quite a lady, goes to all the games. We’ve missed her since she fell.”
I felt a pang of guilt. I’d never seen my niece, Madi, play in any kind of athletic event, though I knew she was quite the little athlete. And my mom hadn’t had the opportunity to be such an amazing grandma to my kids, since I only brought them here once a year or so for a long visit. I flew her out to visit us too, but as she grew older, those trips became harder and harder on her.
I started to answer, and my voice cracked as tears welled. I wasn’t normally a crier, but I also never dealt with anything like this before. “I’m sorry, um, do you think we can sit in your car?” My throat felt tight, and I started to shake.
“Sure,” Mike said. “Yeah, this is a lot. Take a few breaths.” He guided me toward his patrol car. Why did everyone keep telling me to breathe? Couldn’t they hear that I was breathing, like panic breathing?
I sank into the warm car. “Thank you. It’s cold out there.” I’d never sat in a cop car before. I pressed my hands to the heater vents in gratitude for the heat. It also gave me a minute to get a grip of myself.
“So, how’s your mom doing?” Mike asked.
I rubbed my hands together, trying to get them to stop shaking, but it didn’t work. “Well, hopefully she’ll be better shortly. It’s been slow going getting her mobility back. She’s not one to enjoy sitting around watching TV all day. As you know, I’m hoping she’ll be able to walk a little easier over the next week. She’s going a little stir crazy.”
“Yeah, I can imagine.” He pulled out a small notebook and a pen. “So, back to Frank. You found him passed out while you were on your way home from Shepherds?”
“Yes, I turned on this street because of the music coming from Charlie’s Bar. It was loud, and I preferred quiet. I turned off Main at the corner and pretty much stumbled into Frank, there.” I pointed to the spot he’d been and then felt foolish. The dark blood where he sat made it more than obvious as to his location.
“So, you found him. Then what?”
“Well, he was moaning, so I kneeled down to talk to him. He grabbed at me, and I saw the knife. That’s when I called 911. The operator wanted me to keep talking to him, but what he was saying was mostly nonsense. That’s it.” I paused and looked back at the Laundromat. “No wait, there was someone in the entryway of the laundry. I didn’t see them when I walked by, and after I’d been talking to Frank for a minute, they came bolting out of the doorway. Scared me to death. I screamed a little and scared the 911 operator. She got all concerned.”
“Wait, someone was in there?” He pointed to the recessed door-way. “And you didn’t see them when you walked by or when you were with Frank? They didn’t talk to you?”
I shook my head. “No. They bolted out of the entryway and took a left at the corner, but I didn’t see anything after or before that. I have no idea if they were the person who hurt Frank. He was loaded. The first thing I noticed when I knelt down next to him was that he reeked of alcohol.”
“Yeah, Frank’s been known to tie one on, and he’s gotten into a few bar fights. But it’s not like we have a whole bunch of homicides here.” Mike tapped his pencil on his notepad and stared out the windshield. “Tell me a little bit more about the person you saw running. Can you describe them at all? Male? Female? What they were wearing?”
I closed my eyes and tried to imagine, but I hadn’t really looked at them. I’d seen them out of my peripheral vision, glanced up, but they were moving fast. I was completely freaked out and focused on Frank. “They were medium build, not super tall or big. It really could have been a smaller man or average-sized woman. They were wearing black, I think, but I only saw them from the back. It could have been navy blue? I really don’t know.”
“What about their head? Hat? Short hair? Long hair?”
“Uh, I think they must have been wearing a hoodie, or something pulled up. I really just saw a running silhouette. And it was dark. There aren’t streetlights on that section of street.” I stopped and looked at Mike. �
��Which is probably why they chose that spot to attack him. But you know what? The knife looked like a Leatherman. My dad always carried one with him. It’s like part of the man uniform here, and I don’t know any women who carry them. Maybe it was a guy?”
He smiled. “Well, it could have been Frank’s, but, quite a few women have their own Leatherman’s around here. They’re pretty handy.”
“I’m sorry that I can’t give you anymore details, but I really didn’t see anything. I was looking at the stars. I miss that. You can’t see them at all in San Francisco.”
“Is there anything else that you can think of? Did he say anything to you? Anything that might indicate anything about the runner you saw?”
“Uh, nothing about the runner. He was mumbling about a key and something about Iris.” I paused and shut my eyes. “It was about Iris and his legacy. It didn’t make much sense.”
“Do you recall his exact words?” Mike asked.
“It was something about the key… no wait, it wasn’t the key… it was that his legacy is in the heart of Iris. That might not be exactly right, though. I’m assuming his wife is named Iris? Do you think that’s important? It honestly felt like random drunken rambling to me.”
Mike wrote it down and repeated it before looking at me with his eyes raised. “His wife, well ex-wife, is not named Iris.”
“Oh, Carly. He also said the name Carly. Is that his wife?”
“Yeah, that’s her.” He took a few more notes down. “I’m not sure what the rest means. It might have been rambling, but you never know.”
“He was mumbling, drunk, in pain. He had a knife in him, for God’s sake.” My hands started to shake harder. It was like I had permanent shivers.
“Are you still cold?” Concern creased Mike’s forehead.
“No, I’m not. I don’t know why I’m shaking.”
“It’s shock. Your body’s just moving it all through. Don’t fight it. It’ll get worse. I’ve seen this before.”
I nodded as my teeth joined the party and started to chatter.
Mike and I sat silently, except for the rattling of my teeth. When that began to subside, Mike spoke again, “Did he say anything else at all that you can think of?”
“No, it was really rambly. And I couldn’t understand some of it. I’m sorry.”
Mike nodded. “That’s what he does when he gets drunk. Rambles and mumbles. Accuses people of taking everything from him. He’s a bitter man. But that’s a whole other story. Maybe another time. I’ve gotta get you home and head to the hospital to see if Frank survived and can tell us anything. Thanks for your help. You might have saved his life.” He put the car into drive. “You staying at your mom’s house?” He didn’t wait for an answer but headed the six blocks to my childhood home.
“If you think of anything else let me know,” he said as he stopped in front of my mom’s house and pulled a card from his shirt pocket. “Here’s my card. It’s got my number.”
“Thanks.” I put the card in my pocket. “I’ll let you know if I remember anything. And will you let me know about Frank? If he’s, uh, okay, I’d like to go see him.”
Mike nodded. “I’ll see what I can do.”
I got out of the car and headed up the walk. When I left for dinner with Debbie, I was looking forward to time with a friend and a break from the daily routine mom and I had fallen into.
I hadn’t planned on stumbling across this town’s first homicide in years.
Chapter 3
I TURNED AND WAVED goodbye to Mike who waited to see me safely inside. I felt like a fourteen-year-old whose friend’s dad had just dropped her off after a night at the movies.
“I’m home,” I yelled toward the family room before heading down the hall. All I wanted was a hot shower to wash away the night. Blood covered my hands, literal sticky red blood, not metaphorical like Lady Macbeth. As I peeled my jeans off, I could see it had also soaked into my jeans where I crouched next to Frank.
I stood in the shower and closed my eyes as the adrenaline worked its way out of my system. I felt a bone-deep exhaustion alongside the whirring of my brain going over and over the whole incident. Despite the weariness I felt, I knew sleep wouldn’t come easy tonight.
Thirty minutes later, I was ensconced in my favorite yoga pants and sweatshirt. My poor mother perched on the hard, tall wooden chair that the physical therapist said to sit in until her hip healed up. No cushy couch for her while she watched the dancing competition show with Madi who was snuggled up on the couch, buried under quilts I made and sent through the years.
“Oh, you’re all here,” I said, surprised. My mother was a consummate night owl, so I knew she’d still be up, but I hadn’t expected my sister, Anne, to be here too. “I didn’t see your car Anne. When did you get here?” I asked her.
“Not too long ago. I was at the gym with my girlfriend. She dropped me off. Mom’s new neighbor gets pissy if we fill up the street with cars. I thought I’d come over and have a girl’s night with Madi and mom. We missed you.” She disentangled herself from her daughter and the pile of blankets that covered them and stood to clear the popcorn bowls from the coffee table.
I followed Anne into the kitchen and noticed my hand still shaking a bit as I filled the kettle with water for some chamomile tea. I’d need all the help I could get to fall asleep tonight. My brain was already wondering about the phrase Frank shared and who the heck Iris was.
I finished with the tea and we returned to the family room. I sat on the side of the couch that had become my “spot” over the last two weeks. Mom had a huge, cushy L shaped sectional that we all fit on with space to spare. I could only dream of having such a giant piece of furniture in my apartment. I held my tea and took a sip. The shaking subsided enough that I thought a little handwork would help calm my nerves. I set the tea down and pulled my quilting bag onto my lap and pulled out what I needed.
“How’s Debbie?” Anne asked.
“Debbie was great. It was after dinner on my walk home that things got a little more exciting.”
“That’s impossible,” Madi chimed in. “Nothing exciting ever happens in this town.”
I laughed. I remembered feeling exactly as she did when I was her age.
“Yeah,” Anne said, “but this is your Auntie Trish we’re talking about. Exciting things always happen around her.”
“Hardly,” I scoffed. “I’ve spent the last eighteen years working in art insurance fraud for God’s sake. Nothing exciting about that.” My life was purposefully plain like vanilla since Bret died, with an occasional swirl of caramel or chocolate. As a single mom, my sole focus was on surviving and raising my kids, making sure that I didn’t miss any signs that there was something seriously wrong like I had with my husband.
“Hardly? Really? Let’s summarize.” Anne held up her hand and began ticking off events in my life. “You left here right after high school, traveled the world, and went to school in a big city. Last summer you found some ancient tarot cards in London, cards that have been missing for what, four-hundred years? You went to New York and hooked up with your British hunk. And you’ve been texting more than I’ve ever seen you text before. I’m guessing it’s not Laurel you’re chatting with. And you live in San Francisco where you’ve opened your own cool shop filled with antiques and art. I’ve lived here, in Elk Creek for my entire life except for the two years I spent at Boise State a whole half an hour away before Logan was born when I was the ripe old age of twenty. Yeah. Whose life is more exciting?”
“Wow. Thanks mom,” Madi said, reaching her foot across the couch and nudging her mother’s thigh. “Sorry we’ve ruined everything for you.”
Anne laughed, patting Madi on the leg. “No, I didn’t mean that. I love my life. I love Elk Creek and your dad, your brother, my career, all of it. But compared to your aunt’s life, mine would be the least exciting of the two.” She turned back to me. “So, tell us about this excitement tonight.”
I started with leaving Shepher
ds, stargazing, and finding the drunk old man bleeding out on the sidewalk.
Anne stopped me with her hand in the air like a crossing guard. “Wait. You said his name was Frank?”
“Well, he never told me his name, but that’s what the cop, Mike, said it was.”
“Mike? Mike Pickard?”
“Yes. Him. Stop interrupting.” I looked at my niece. “Some things never change. Your mom has always been antsy and impatient.”
Madi rolled her eyes. “Tell me about it.”
I laughed. Fourteen-year-old girls were both nightmares and delightful, all at the same time, and I was so happy that Lauren was no longer fourteen. By the time I finished my story, Anne was sitting up and leaning forward, intently taking in every word.
“Oh, my God,” she said softly when I was done. “Was Brian there?” She glanced at her phone. I assumed to check if she missed a call from him. “He got called in to work tonight. Did you see him?”
I shook my head. “No. He wasn’t on the scene. There were a few cops, but I didn’t see Brian.”
“Huh. That’s odd. I would think they’d all be there. I wonder what else happened tonight. I’ll have to ask him later, but what was the phrase Frank said again?”
“It was something like my legacy is in the heart of Iris. Do you know who Iris is?”
“No. Well, maybe, but Brian has to hear this.”
“Why?” I asked.
“What time is it?” She looked at her watch. “Oh shoot.” She stood up abruptly. “It’s almost eleven. We need to go. It’s a school night, and we both have to be up and at ‘em early.”
Madi rolled her eyes again. “Mom, I’m fine. I want to hear this.”
Anne ignored Madi’s pleas and pulled the quilt off of her daughter. “Get up chickadee. We’re leaving.” She leaned over and gave mom a quick hug.
Anne stood and turned toward me. “I’ll call you first thing tomorrow. I want to hear the rest of this.”
“Uh, there is nothing else. I think I covered everything.”