"I said, or you'll what? You'll kill me too?"
Minerva gulped and her eyes bugged. "What the hell are you saying?" Minerva's heart rate rocketed and the floor below her moved in waves. She ignored the yapping dog at her heels. She dropped her head and clenched her eyes shut. Piper's mental strength seemed to come from nowhere, and Minerva didn't know how to handle it.
"What happened to Daddy?"
Minerva blanched and her jaw parted. The words she wanted to say sucked in with her breath and she choked on them, a feeble croak escaped her throat instead.
"Piper, don't," Minerva heard George say. "Come on, let's just go."
Minerva opened her eyes and saw Piper grabbing her purse off the end of the couch and bounding out the door, George behind her. Minerva was on their heels. By the time Minerva reached the front porch, they were down the cleared steps. "Never come back here again!" Minerva said, her face twisted in a grotesque mask. Her hands found the same board Piper used to beat the door days earlier. She stayed on the porch, swinging it through the foggy air until her arms grew weary. "I never want to see you again! You hear me?" She watched her daughter and son-in-law spin from the shoveled driveway, the truck tires slinging mud while they backed out.
Minerva dropped the board where it thudded to the porch floor, yanked open the door and stepped inside. Lew yelped when Minerva's heel clamped on her paw and the dog scampered away, the misstep lost on her shaking owner.
Chapter Eleven
A couple of days after Christmas, Minerva tied a knitted cap under her chin and chose a green down jacket from the hall tree. It had been days since she had left the trailer and she shoveled the piled snow from the driveway, started the car, set the heat on high, and stomped back in the trailer. Today was her first doctor's appointment in a while and she vowed she'd make this one. Dr. Tower's office had called again to remind her of her monthly visit. "You can't afford to miss again, Mrs. Day," the receptionist affectionately said. "Your meds aren't the type that can come and go. Got to keep them steady. You don't want to feel unwell again."
"I know," Minerva said, rolling her eyes. "Thanks for the pep talk." Minerva had stuck her tongue out at the phone then hung up. She picked up two fruitcakes from the counter and headed to the warmed car.
Minerva scribbled thank you for helping me carry in my Christmas tree on a small note card and placed one of the cakes in the mailbox of the family next door to her trailer. She thought of all the neighbors she had given cakes to over the years. She must have given the Smiths a dozen of them. Henry used to laugh and say they probably never received so many cakes from someone who hadn't spoken more than twenty words to them. He would laugh even more when one of the neighbors would knock on the door and Minerva would sprint toward the back room, whispering for everyone present to shush so they wouldn't be heard. Opening the blank card on the other cake, she thought about who this one was for, but couldn't recall. Minerva squinted through her sunglasses. After a minute, she gave up trying to remember and drove off.
She wanted to be on time for her doctor's appointment. She needed to tell him of her new aches and pains and maybe get a stronger medicine this time. The visit was brief. She said she'd had a couple of spells over the last few weeks, and Dr. Towers scolded her for skipping her medication.
After the appointment, she picked up the new prescription order. Minerva set it on the passenger seat in the car and drove to Sav-A-Lot. She was glad that stores remained open during the holidays.
"Hi Minerva, how are you this lovely day?" she heard Walter ask when he saw her coming in the store. The roads were icy and customers were few. Business would pick up around noon, as it usually did, then taper off in the evening. Minerva wiped her boots on the black mat in front of the sliding doors. She couldn't help but notice the crisp white shirt he wore with a lovely blue tie.
"As well as could be." She wasn't about to spill her guts about what happened with Piper and George. Not now, anyway.
He stepped from behind the counter and kissed her cheek. "You haven't been out in a while."
"Just had my doctor's appointment is all, and thought I'd bring you this cake." She pulled the cake from her purse and handed it to him.
"Thank you." She saw him frown and push his Buddy Holly glasses up the bridge of his nose. "Is everything okay with the doc?"
Minerva waved him off. "Oh yeah, usual stuff. Gave me a new prescription for my aches and pains. Now where's the mint cocoa?"
"Mint cocoa?" Walter looked around as if trying to remember. "Probably with the other cocoa, I'd imagine - aisle three." She walked with him down the aisle, not saying much except to mention a sale on green beans, and she watched him stop to straighten a pack of paper cups about to topple off a display.
Looking through the assortment of cocoa, she spotted the mint and checked the price. "Stuff's expensive."
"Minerva, there's something I want to tell you." Walter turned to her and she noticed his serious look. Sometimes serious looks made her feel uneasy and she changed the subject.
"Told Gloria I'd get some cocoa for us." Minerva checked the price on a can and chose another.
"Your neighbor? I thought you didn't like her."
Minerva snorted. "What makes you think that? I'm going over there to visit her."
Walter grinned and she pursed her lips. "Maybe because you've told me you don't like her?"
"Never mind what I said, I like her again. Always have." Minerva handed the cocoa to the clerk when they reached the counter. "Why aren't you on the register today?"
"I'm no longer on the register." Walter held out his arms as if to welcome a hug and a wide smile stretched across his face. Minerva smiled back, anticipating good news. "I'm now Assistant Manager."
"Look at you, big man on campus now. When did this happen?" Walter dropped his arms and pulled Minerva to the side so as not to block a customer.
"Yesterday. I was going to call you with the news tonight."
"I'm glad for you."
"But Minerva, there's something I want to say to you," he said, leaning in to her, turning serious again. "Come on, let's walk." Walter escorted her out of the store and held her elbow across the ice-patched parking lot.
A rush of discomfort surrounded Minerva and she almost protested. News made her jittery, since it was almost never good, and sometimes she would push off hearing it as long as she could.
Walter opened the car door, and, turning to Minerva, took her arm. "I want to tell you I really like you, and I'm glad we're seeing each other."
Minerva twisted the knitted cap between her hands. "You like me?"
"That's what I said." He bent to kiss her cheek. "Let me help you in the car. Hand me your bag."
Minerva scooted in, rolled down the window, and looked sideways at Walter. She saw his eyes on her and felt her cheeks turn crimson. "Thank you." She patted his hand and entwined her fingers in his. When she moved, the new bracelet caught her eye and she smiled.
"You are welcome, Ms. Minerva Day," Walter said, squeezing her hand. "But unfortunately I have to get back to work now, so I'll see you later." Walter smiled and released her hand.
Minerva eased out of the parking lot, a warm feeling spreading through her. I really like you. She let the words sink in, let them percolate and settle. It had been a while since she'd heard anyone say they liked her. She wondered if she loved Walter. "He's no Henry," she said to herself, amused at the idea. Minerva's favorite chocolate drink sat beside her on the seat. She peered at the paper sack and clicked her tongue. The warm feeling grew while she rounded the corner to her trailer and noticed Gloria waiting for her across the street. Gloria waved and Minerva gave a short wave back. She had told Gloria she would visit this afternoon and bring a treat of mint cocoa.
Pulling into her driveway, Minerva reached to turn off the radio, but her fingers stopped short. "Fellow Johnson, the five year old son of Mr. and Mrs. George Johnson, remains missing after disappearing from the Christmas carnival one week ago," said
the voice on the radio. "If you have any information on the whereabouts of Fellow Johnson, please contact the Sheriff's office. Any person providing information leading to the recovery of Fellow will be rewarded."
Minerva snapped the radio off, pulled on her knitted cap, and grabbed the bag of mint cocoa. Mumbling to herself, she dodged patches of ice on the street and sidewalk leading to the Smith's front door. Wonder who put up the money, she thought. Probably church people, since George couldn't afford it. Minerva's face drooped and she suddenly felt older.
***
"Sheriff Davis, now I think you're doing all you can to find my son, but I gotta say, it's been over a week and outside of Fellow's jacket, what else do you have?" George plucked the hat off his head and hung it on his knee. He sat in the gray-walled sheriff's office, the lawman perched on a corner of his desk across the small room. "What's the plan?"
Davis cleared his throat and George saw his eyes dart to the ceiling. He thought Davis looked weary and beat. "We're doing our best." His eyes planted on George. "As I said, we'll let you know anything as soon as we hear it."
George shifted in his seat. "But it's been a week and no leads; that's not good news."
"I'm aware of what you're saying... we checked all known criminals in the area," he said, counting on his fingers. "We've checked criminals in other areas, we've interviewed lots of people at the carnival that day." He watched the sheriff open a folder and remove several pages from the side pocket. "Look, I want you to know we are doing everything we can."
He tugged a pair of reading glasses from his shirt pocket and reached for the folder. "What's that?"
"Sorry, I can't let you read this. But it's names and statements of people we've interviewed, including neighbors, people at the school, at the carnival, anyone who might have come in contact with Fellow."
"Nothing in it?"
"That's right, George, useless information, unless there's a lie somewhere in here."
"What are the odds of that, or of missing someone?"
Sheriff Davis chuckled and rubbed his chin. George might have found his mannerisms funny under different circumstances. "Great odds. As in every search, there's evidence that can be missed until it's discovered. That's why we're still on the case."
"Anybody of interest?"
"Yes, we do have a couple suspects, but can't say right now. Still looking into the possibilities."
"Not enough evidence? Look Sheriff, my wife is a basket case over this, on sleeping pills, Valium to help her nerves. She walks around like a damn zombie." George stopped to calm himself. "We've got to do something. Who are the suspects?"
George saw a sympathetic smile form on Davis' face before he answered. "I'm sorry I can't release that information to you."
"Is Minerva Day one of them?" George didn't expect an answer. He folded his glasses and shoved them back in his pocket.
"Just about anyone could be. By the way, I could use any information, informal of course, on your mother-in-law."
"What's informal mean... that it can't and won't be held against me in a court of law?"
"Sort of, and that it's off the record." Davis leaned back and propped a polished, black shoe on his desk and rested his arms against the back of his head.
George was deep in thought, eyes moving from Davis to the floor and back to Davis. "I don't know that I have anything for you. Why you looking at her, anyway?"
"You mean other than she was possibly the last to see him, or that he was last in her care?" He unfolded his arms and rolled the chair to his desk. "Don't you communicate with your wife, George? She came to see me a couple days ago."
George looked surprised. "I didn't know she talked to you."
He watched Davis pick up a pencil, turn it eraser side down, and tap it against his desk. "I want to know all about Henry Day, about his illness, his relationship with Minerva, anything you can tell us."
A deep sigh escaped George. "And what if I choose not to? It's Piper who believes her mother may have had something to do with her father's death. It's not that I don't believe her, but—"
Davis gave the pencil once last tap, dropped it, and sat back. "Then we'll use what your wife gave us, until possible further notice."
George sighed again and the corners of his mouth formed a line, causing him to look angry. "There's no evidence there. My wife is just distraught."
"Well, that might be the case, but we're taking anything we can get right now."
***
"I don't recall Minerva doing that," Dill said to Piper. "But it doesn't mean she didn't." Uncle Dill had arrived earlier that day and sat sipping coffee, the cedar smell of a cigar filling the room. He had called every day for the last week, asking if there had been any news about Fellow, and he promised George he'd come back for the weekend to help John look after Piper while George worked for a sick co-worker.
"Well, she did," Piper said. "She literally drowned those puppies." Piper yawned and the bags under her eyes stretched to saggy vees.
She watched him take a deep drag and blow it out, his mouth forming a small circle. "Oh, I do remember that incident. Henry was devastated. Yep, he's the one who told me about it."
"What did he say, Uncle Dill?" Piper asked.
"Just said Minerva drowned a newborn litter of the mutt's puppies. Said she flushed them one by one down the toilet. They were little bitty things. Born too early and all...they didn't look right. Maybe it was for the best."
A gospel choir belted on the radio in the background, while they sat without talking, sipping what remained in their cups. The heaviness in the air was palpable while Piper held her face in her hands and rubbed them across her cheeks. She was sleepy but fought the urge to go lay down.
She watched while her uncle stood and picked up an eight-by-ten photo of Fellow, dusting it with his sleeved arm. "I don't know...but I do remember Henry saying something about them pups having a deformity." He pointed his head toward Piper. "Might be why she did it."
Piper tried sinking Dill's words into her brain. She had never heard of the pups being deformed and didn't remember it that way. "Shit. Uncle Dill, do you think she had anything to do with Daddy's death?"
Uncle Dill rubbed gray whiskers on his chin. The wavy hair on his head was white as snow. As a child, Piper would slip her uncle's comb out of his shirt pocket and spend hours combing his thick hair. "You're getting into dangerous territory, don't you think, little girl?" He looked sideways at her, still rubbing his chin.
Piper's jaw squared and she shifted in her seat. "I want the truth. I'm tired of family secrets, tired of no one caring enough to say anything."
"What does John think?" asked Dill.
"I don't know. He's said a couple things, but that's what I'm saying...no one talks about it. I don't know what he truly believes, but he knew of the woman dad had an affair with."
Dill stopped pulling on his beard. "You know about Della?"
Piper jumped like she'd been stung. "You knew about Della?" She tapped her forehead once with her fingertips. "Why am I always the last to know?"
"Henry mentioned her once to me, years ago," Dill said. "Told me there was a friend he talked to at the library. I recognized the name when John told me about her at Thanksgiving. I didn't know the extent of things."
Piper looked at her uncle and their eyes met but Dill didn't continue. "But that doesn't answer my question," Piper said. "Uncle Dill, do you think Mother had something to do with Daddy's death? He was sick for so long. It just didn't make sense how no one else was affected, and no specific cause was ever found by the doctors."
"Now Piper," Dill said, one eyebrow cocked. "The doctor's report said he died of an array of things, complications from pain pill addiction, infection all in his gut...."
"A weakened heart and immune system over time," Piper added. "I've read the report. What I want to know is why couldn't the doctors fix any of these things? People survive these things all the time."
Uncle Dill put his arm on the c
ouch behind Piper and she felt his fingertips tap her shoulder. "Because sweet pea, doctors aren't God and they don't always have answers."
Piper brushed her cheek with a finger. "I just don't get it. So you believe she's innocent?"
Dill reached and wobbled his hand on top of her head. "Until proven guilty."
Chapter Twelve
It had been years since Minerva Day had felt she was in love. Giddy with the thought of Walter saying he was glad they were seeing each other, she felt guilty reveling in the sexy feelings that warmed her. Those words had so much promise in them, she thought. But wasn't she supposed to be in shock? Wasn't she supposed to be mourning her grandson? Minerva couldn't find the answers, only dwelled in the possibility of the moment. She had absolved herself of all wrongdoing on the part of Fellow's disappearance, and beyond that, for her, it was a matter of finding him. Now it was a waiting game, on Fellow, on Piper, on the police. Besides, her new prescription helped ease her pain. Her knees hadn't felt this nimble in months.
She thought of Gloria. No one would have said she'd ever be friends with her. The feeling of friendship lifted Minerva's spirits. Like a gift from God, like someone sent from above to help her. It wasn't they talked much about Henry, but they did talk about Minerva and how an unfair situation like this was thrust upon her, how unfair Piper was to her.
Her heart quivered at the thought of Walter, and she questioned the validity of her feelings. Maybe she needed this. After all, her life had been turned upside down. Maybe it was a rebound from the death of her husband...but surely Henry had been dead too long for that. Or perhaps it was shock from the turmoil with her daughter. She tossed this around in her head and decided that no, it couldn't be that, since she and Piper had many problems over the years.
She pushed Piper from her mind. She wanted to forget her troubles for a time, wanted to forget her lost grandson, her detached daughter, her aches and pains. She picked up the phone and called Walter.
He arrived at eight p.m. on the dot, as promised. Minerva told him to come on in, since the door would be unlocked, signal he was there, and wait for her to come out. On the counter sat a bucket with a bottle of chilled Strawberry Hill wine inside and two stemmed glasses sitting beside it. He was to pour wine for the two of them, then sit back and relax on the couch.
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