Minerva Day

by Christie Keele

  Her wide eyes lowered to the floor. "I didn't know it was still that bad. I thought getting her stomach pumped would be the end to that." She thought of the words "stomach pumped" and her spine tingled. She was talking about her only girl, her baby. The reality of it clutched her for the first time and a primal fear spread through her. Now George wasn't there to protect Piper, either, so she'd be alone. John couldn't visit her every day. "Is that why you two split up?"

  "Things have been hard," George said.

  "How are you doing?"

  George's hands were still entwined and his voice broke when he spoke. "I don't know anymore. But I need something from you." He cleared his throat. "Piper needs something from you." He inhaled sharply and it took him a minute to look at her. "I want you to patch things up with her."

  Minerva responded by dropping herself against the back of the couch, feet splayed apart. She knew it might come to this and she knew it would probably be George making the request. How did it get to this, she and her daughter so disconnected, so at opposite ends, and she unwavering on her own stance? Things had been off between them for so long she almost couldn't remember a time when they weren't. Her lips tightened when she thought of how the situation might be useless, how it might be too late to mend something that was never healthy to begin with. Piper was too darned stubborn, only thinking of herself. Minerva found herself catching the same mental train she rode often and decided to switch tracks and quit thinking of Piper's faults. She had her own faults, she knew. She always meant well, but Piper would sabotage her good intentions every chance she got.

  "I can't do that, George. It's been too long, and she doesn't even like me anymore. Hell, she thinks I killed her kid. Nope, can't do it."

  "Yes, you can," he said, an urgent tone to his voice. "You hold the key to changing this situation between you and her, Minerva. You've always held the key."

  Minerva started to argue but instead busied herself with the pink scarf. Unpinning it, she examined the underside of it, re-rolled it, and clipped it around her head. The pain in George's voice had affected her, but her only response was to fiddle with the scarf.

  She thought of Piper, the one who always believed she peered into life from the outside, not a true part of the world, just as Minerva believed the same about herself. The little blond girl, whose place was in her bedroom most of the time, when she wasn't on the heels of her twin brother, playing basketball without a real hoop in the back yard, laughing and delighted with each other. When she grew older, she loved closing the door to her room, stretched out, reading a book. The door would remain shut for hours, and sometimes Minerva would poke her head in to check her and she'd be asleep, looking like she did as a baby, with a book spread open over her stomach. She knew Piper read to escape, read to shut out the dreadful feelings. She knew Piper read of happier times, where people were loving and peaceful.

  ***

  Piper rolled herself to a sitting position, the blanket falling from her bare shoulders. She reached with a wobbly finger and pushed the snooze button on her alarm clock. She flopped back on her side and pulled the blanket to her chin. The phone rang and the noise caused her shoulders to tighten, forcing her awake.

  "Hullo," she said into the phone, trying to sit up. Her mouth tasted of burned chemicals, her eyes felt stabbed with tiny needles, and her heart beat hard through her chest. Sheriff Davis was on the other end, telling her to come down to his office. George was already there. "There is news for you," he said. She whispered "Okay," the word thick in her mouth, her lips cracked and dry. She hung the receiver halfway off its cradle and fell back onto the mattress, dozing with half-lidded eyes.

  ***

  While waiting for Piper, Davis explained the news to George. Dr. Leeman's final report had been sent to Striker, Minerva's lawyer. Striker had read it over, and he and the doctor went to speak to Davis. There was a critical detail, something Dr. Leeman had put in at the end of his report. Striker had kept up with Davis's investigation, and knew the Sheriff would want to hear it. When he told Davis about the socks, Davis had called George for a meeting.

  "Yep, we got the son of a bitch," Davis said, smiling.

  "Alfred Potts," George said, scowling. He looked at Davis. "So he was wearing Fellow's socks? What kind of sick man would do that?"

  "It's common for killers to take a trophy. I guess it was his twisted way. I'm just relieved Minerva's mind served her right and she remembered the details on the socks. Saved this whole case." He leaned back in his chair and clasped his hands behind his head. "I didn't believe Minerva had anything to do with Fellow's disappearance. I'm glad she went back to her doc's office to tell him that detail." He unclasped his hands and folded them in his lap. "It's none of my business, but maybe someday Piper can thank her mother. She really helped us with this in the end."

  "My god, Piper should be here to hear this." George shook his head. He let out a deep sigh. "Maybe it can help change things between Piper and her mother. I don't know. Where is Potts now?"

  "He's been apprehended and is now sitting in the county jail. Schmidt and I arrested him at his home this morning. The sick bastard tried stuffing the socks into his pocket when we dragged him kicking out of his chair."

  ***

  Minerva squeezed Walter's hand on one side and Gloria's hand on the other while she spoke of the details of Fellow's body being found. Davis had come to visit her personally to deliver the news. "This is just so hard," she said, crying while she talked. Gloria had showed up right after she called her, after she and Walter returned from a picnic.

  George showed up that evening after work. She and Walter, bundled in their coats, sat in lawn chairs on the porch when the truck pulled in the driveway. She plowed down the steps, the porch's frame creaking while she went. She glanced back to see Walter fast behind her, a solemn expression still on his face.

  Minerva poured all three a second cup of tea while they gathered around the kitchen table. She had changed from her best jeans and tennis shoes to her housedress, the one with small ribbons tied at the bodice. She felt closer to both Walter and George, maybe because of the news about Potts. After all, everyone knew now she wasn't Fellow's murderer, and the thought lit a part of her up inside. Gloria had nodded good night and left, saying Lenny would wonder about his dinner. Minerva wished she could have stayed.

  George looked forlorn while they sat and talked. His face would dip into pain, a place that she recognized. "Piper's heard the news by now. Davis called her."

  George's face lifted a little from staring down at the floor. "Good, she needs to know. Wonder if she's still drugged out of her mind?"

  Later, after Walter left, Minerva and George sat in the living room watching late-night television. When she couldn't stop yawning, she stood, said goodnight to George, and switched off the lights when she left the living room. Her last sight before turning to the hall was George sitting in the dark on the couch in the cold room, shoulders slumped, face blank, while the television host cracked through his monologue.

  ***

  Clouds breezed overhead and the morning sun was growing brighter while winter reached its final weeks. Piper slushed through melted snow and ushered herself into the county office building. She had questions, and a favor to ask of Davis.

  She sat stone-faced in front of him, twisting her hands. He chose another walnut from the bowl, wrapped his forefinger around it, and cracked it against his palm. He popped the nugget in his mouth after discarding the shell in a wastebasket near the chair. "Want one?"

  "Mr. Davis, why can't we do this?" Piper said, ignoring his offer. She wrapped a jeans-clad leg around the other one, her white tennis shoes new and pristine. "You know as well as I do it needs to be done."

  "Maybe so," Davis nodded. "Maybe so. But here's the deal...we're looking at a drawn out legal process that may or may not happen, even if we do start the proceeding. One just can't ask for an exhumation and have it granted. There are procedures and it takes time." He popped another
walnut in his mouth. "By the way...I'm curious about your dad's .45. Did you and George decide to keep it?"

  "Uh, no," Piper said, distracted by her thoughts. "George gave it to John for safekeeping." She gave a short laugh and looked at Davis. "Guess he didn't trust me with it." When Davis didn't respond, she continued. "I don't care what it takes. We need to find out what happened to my father. He suffered off and on for a very long time, and none of the rest of us did. Don't you find that odd?"

  "I find it odd that people die of natural causes and it doesn't warrant full-blown explanations. The medical field can attest to that fact." Davis leaned sideways in his chair, his elbow rested on the arm. "I don't mean to make light of your situation, but sometimes bad things happen for no damn reason."

  "But you didn't answer my question. Don't you find my father's death strange?"

  Davis pushed the bowl of walnuts away, swiped his left hand across his desk, and slapped it against his pants to get any remaining dust off his hands. "I do, based on what little I know about the situation. But I'm not a doctor. I think your mother's behavior and how she deals with the world is damn strange—excuse my frankness. But there's nothing we can do about that."

  Piper sat back, her shoulders relaxed. "Okay, so what about those things together, the way my father was always sick and how mother can be difficult. Doesn't it add up? Sheriff," she rose stiffly and tucked a strand of honey brown hair behind her ear. "Is there nothing we can do?"

  "We'd have to have strong probable cause to exhume Henry's body. And since the perpetrator in Fellow's case has been identified, that gives us less of a reason to dig him up. The woman may be mean, and she definitely has problems, but murder is another thing altogether. The law says there has to be reason to take that kind of action."

  "What kind of reason?" Piper asked.

  "There has to be strong evidence of a crime before a body can be exhumed. All we have in this case is circumstantial, and that simply is not enough. You can't just have a feeling about it. You got to have proof. And remember your father has been dead for some time now. An autopsy might not show anything, and we'd be putting your family through a lot. Chemicals and evidence break down and degrade over time."

  Piper sighed and perched an elbow on her folded arm, rubbing her chin. She was only half listening to what he had to say, picking and choosing what she wanted to hear. "What kind of evidence would I have to find? Tell me that."

  "A weapon, written evidence, say, a confession or a letter written to someone from Minerva...Maybe a letter or something like it written by Henry stating he thought he was being poisoned. Or, better yet, an account of someone actually seeing it happen. The weapon in this case would possibly be some kind of toxic chemical."

  "Such as what?"

  "I don't know. I'm not a scientist, but maybe something hard to detect, like arsenic, something like that. It's known to have properties that are hidden in the body. In other words, no one would know a person was being poisoned with arsenic unless a test was done particularly for it."

  "So they'd just be sick, like with the flu, stomach problems, vomiting...."

  "That would seem so. But remember that it could've been any number of things besides poisons and toxic chemicals. People get sick all the time. Look, don't take me for trying to plant anything in your head. We have nothing, Mrs. Johnson."

  Piper's eyes gave away her fear and she seemed lost in her thoughts. "They'd be sick like my father."

  Davis nodded. "Maybe."

  "Well," she said, rising. "Thank you for your time, Sheriff." Piper slung her purse strap over her shoulder.

  Davis rose with her and pushed his chair out. "I'd advise you not to go do anything stupid, Mrs. Johnson."

  Piper glared at Davis. "And what would that be?"

  "Anything that could get you in a heap of trouble."

  Chapter Nineteen

  Walter rang up the last customer's purchases before approaching the lady asking to speak with him. He knew her from church, but had never spoken with her. Mrs. Mason was known as a quiet, unassuming type, but Walter was guarded, with stiff movements of his arms while he punched in the numbers for the groceries, and sideways glances at her, almost to see if she might have left. He invited her to follow him to his office.

  "It's nice you have your own office now, Mr. Athens." Mrs. Mason's soft voice filled the tiny space. He watched while she looked at his bulletin board. "Nice picture of you. When did you win the Clerk's Award?"

  Walter adjusted his glasses on his nose. "Last year. What can I help you with today?"

  Mrs. Mason's eyes stayed glued to the board. "Is that Minerva?"

  Walter didn't turn to look. "Yes."

  "Mr. Athens," she said, stepping back around his desk. "I'm here on behalf of the church," she paused to take a breath. "And...well, there's some concern about you and your welfare."

  "My welfare?"

  "Well, yes. Mrs. Stout was talking the other day and she, I mean, we...came up with the idea to speak with you about Minerva Day."

  George's hand went to his mouth and he cleared his throat. "You mean my lady friend, right? Just speak plainly, please."

  "Yes, we mean your girlfriend." Mrs. Mason cleared her throat as well. "I'll get right to the point, Mr. Athens, you see—"

  "Please, call me Walter. We go to church together." Walter emphasized the word "church" as if it should hold some kind of meaning in the conversation.

  Mason nodded a thank you. "Walter, we're concerned about you...socializing with her. I mean, she is in trouble for the death of that young boy."

  Walter smiled as if he was amused and he was certain she noticed, but she continued anyway. "You know we strive to have a close congregation, and we think you having anything to do with this woman is scandalous."

  Walter's eyebrows rose in a high arc and he took note of her outfit: gray conservative skirt, the hem grazing well below her knees, a white, long-sleeved, collared blouse, what one would call "sensible shoes." But it was the pin she wore clamped right above her breast, "Warrior for God. Help clean up America" that caught his eye. He was a thoughtful enough man to not react to it, but the button annoyed him.

  "Do you know Minerva?" he asked.

  "No, I don't, but, do you? I mean, do you really know her? You're such a nice guy and—"

  "She came to church with me on a couple occasions, but I don't recall you meeting her. So Mrs. Mason, do you have any idea what you're talking about?" His smile was tight while he looked at the nervous woman in front of him.

  "But Mr. Athens, she's a murderer." Her eyes flashed on his then she dipped her head. "The church doesn't need these kinds of goings-on."

  Walter's hand flung again to his mouth as if trying to hold in his words and his fingers tapped his desk. He took a deep breath before speaking. "Two things, Mrs. Mason: you don't deserve hearing this, but one, Minerva has been cleared. They arrested the man who did it. And two, you need to leave now, or I'll start saying things that maybe I shouldn't."

  Mrs. Mason's mouth was locked open, her eyes wide, and she stood as if she had been stung. "I wanted to help. Mrs. Pearson sent me over, it was the natural consensus of the Ladies of Fellowship that something needed to be said, and—"

  "Oh? She sent you, huh? How nice of you to do her dirty deeds, considering you look about as nervous as a blind woman in a seeing contest." He pointed to the door. "Please leave before I say something I'll regret about...the Ladies of Fellowship."

  After she left, Walter stretched across his desk to close the door. He removed his glasses and placed them on his desk. Looking at the picture of Minerva, he stood and removed the tack holding it in place. It was a small photo, cut out from a copy of her driver's license. Walter had been with her the day she renewed it, and while waiting, she cut the picture out of the old one with eyebrow scissors. She made him laugh when she handed it to him, calling it her "prison photo." Walter flopped in his chair and reached for his glasses. He held the photo closer to his face and studied
the woman in front of him. His sighed and rested his head against the back of his chair. He would never speak of this to her. There was no way he would.

  ***

  The Valentine's Day party loomed in Minerva's mind, even though it was planned a week late and still a week away. She had been too busy with her counseling sessions to have it on the actual day. She gathered worn boxes and a new box of decorations and lugged them to the living room where she dumped them in the middle of the floor. Minerva loved this part, a part she looked forward to every year, the making of Valentine goodies. It being almost March didn't bother her a bit.

  She pulled on a pair of old shorts under her housedress, and, barefooted, crouched by the first box. This was her favorite—pictures of the family. She opened the box and realized the position she was in cramped her knee, so she pushed a box out of the way and lowered herself to the floor. She removed album after album, some small, some large, before she came to a flowered one stored at the bottom. She ran her hand across it and looked at the teddy bear smiling up at her. The kids loved this album, especially Piper. When they were younger the album sat on the bookshelf beside the encyclopedias. Piper would take it out often and browse through the snapshots of her early childhood. Minerva retired the album to the spare bedroom when one day, she found Piper about to cut something out of it. She wanted a picture of John to put in her little purse, but Minerva told her no. This keepsake was hers alone. Besides, the front cover and its edges had become worn. It was time to put it away.

  Minerva found a picture of each child and put it aside. She opened another album and flipped through photos of Henry, but wound up putting it back. She would not display a photo of him, not this year. She closed the lids on the boxes and pushed them aside.

  Heaving herself with her one good knee, she rose with the new box, pictures of the kids on top. She padded to the hall closet and gathered glue, tape, and shoving things out of the way, found some glitter in the back. She piled all this on the table, grabbed an apron from the nail on the wall, and hung it over her head.