Dangerous Habits

by Susan Hunter

  “David Cooper, man of mystery. What’s up with these?”

  He shrugged. “I have eclectic tastes.”

  I had been kidding with the ‘man of mystery’ line, but it was true in a way. We moved in and out of each other’s lives easily, using the foundation of our 20-year friendship, but we weren’t kids anymore. We each had things that we hadn’t shared.

  I sat back down and took a sip of thick and bitter coffee, and wished I’d added another pound of sugar to my cup. “What about Sister Mattea’s family? Have you talked to them?”

  “Parents are both dead. She had a brother in California. I talked to him yesterday. He’s making arrangements with the Catherines. The body was released to the nuns this morning.”

  I forgot myself and took another sip of coffee, then used the subsequent coughing fit to decide whether to mention the newspaper clipping and the note from Sister Mattea. Coop beat me to it.

  “So, aren’t you going to tell me about your message from beyond the grave?”

  “Sounds like you already heard about it.”

  “Yeah, I ran into Miguel yesterday morning.”

  “So, I suppose now you’re going to tell me it’s stupid, let it alone, it doesn’t matter now, blah, blah, blah.”

  “Nope,” he said, shaking his head and reaching into his desk drawer. He pulled out a manila file folder and tossed it across to me.

  “What’s this?”

  “A copy of the files on Lacey’s case from the sheriff’s department. I went over and got them after I talked to Miguel. I knew you’d want to see them.”

  I stared at him. “So, you don’t think I’m crazy? You do think Sister Mattea was going to tell me something about Lacey?”

  “Well, those are two different questions. Sure, I think you’re crazy.” He raised an eyebrow and gave me a half-smile. “But, yeah, maybe Sister Mattea wanted to tell you something. I’d want to know if I were you.”

  “Did you look at the file?”

  “I haven’t had time. I tried to talk to Charlie Ross, the investigator on Lacey’s case, but he wasn’t around when I picked this up.”

  “Doesn’t matter. I remember him. He makes Darmody look like Sherlock Holmes. Coop, does it seem weird to you that Lacey died in a fall and then five years later Sister Mattea dies in a fall, and they’re both accidents, and they both happened at or near the Catherines’ place when no one else was around?”

  He was quiet for a minute considering his response.

  “No, Leah, it doesn’t. It’s like asking if I think the drunk driving accident on High Street five years ago is linked to the fatality last year when the traffic light malfunctioned. Two totally different things.”

  I started to answer, but he wasn’t finished.

  “I’m just gonna say this straight. Your sister had a history of drug and alcohol abuse. She was found with hydrocodone in her purse and an empty bottle of booze near her body. She was on the road to that accident a long time before it happened, and she was driving herself. Sister Mattea was different.”

  “Oh, because Lacey was a drug addict slut, and Sister Mattea was a saint?” I snapped out the words without thinking. Where does that atavistic urge to defend the family honor come from? I knew Coop was right, but it was like I can say whatever I want about my sister, but don’t you try it mister—even if it’s true.

  He started over in the calm voice I hate, especially when I need calming.

  “Leah, what I’m saying is that the circumstances surrounding Sister Mattea’s death—the weather, the soft ground, the high wind—those circumstances came together in a way that made for a freak accident. Take any one of them away and it might not have happened. But Lacey’s case is different.”

  He could see the anger rising in me. “Get as mad at me as you need to, I can take it. But like I said, Lacey’s case is different. Her high risk behavior—drugs, bad decisions, worse friends, finally, that party in the woods—take any one of those factors away and she’s still on a collision course with an unhappy ending. I think Sister Mattea’s death was just plain bad luck. Lacey’s death was predictable for the last three years of her life. I’m sorry. I don’t think they’re the same at all.”

  “Well, if Lacey was just a waste and her death was her own fault, why did you bother to get me the files?” I knew I was being unreasonable, directing at Coop the anger I felt at myself for not taking care of Lacey, but I couldn’t seem to stop.

  “Quit putting words in my mouth. I never said and I never will say Lacey was a waste. Like I told you, I got the files because I knew you’d want to see them, and because maybe Sister Mattea did want to tell you something that might help you and your mom feel a little more at peace with things. Maybe if you look at the records now that time’s gone by, something will strike you that helps you figure out what that might have been. I didn’t get them for you because I think there’s some DaVinci Code plot linking the two deaths.” I should have laughed off his slight sarcasm, but I didn’t.

  “You’re such a patronizing jerk sometimes I—”

  My cell rang. I stopped, looked at the caller ID. Miguel.

  “I should take this.”

  “Sure, feel free to stop ragging on me anytime.”

  “Miguel? What’s up?”

  “Leah—Alex is hurt. He’s in the hospital. Max is freaking out.”

  “What? What happened? When?”

  “He fell out of a tree, and he’s in the ER. That’s all I know.”

  “OK, OK. Are you at the hospital?”

  “Yes, I drove Max over. We were at the paper when Ellie called. I don’t know what’s going on.” The usual teasing note in his voice was gone, and he sounded sober and scared.

  “OK. It’s all right. I’m on my way.”

  I turned to Coop. “Alex is in the hospital. I’m going over there.”

  Alex cracked me up. He was only 10, but he’d already announced he was going to be a forensic architect. Seriously, how many 10-year-olds even know what an architect is, let alone one who specializes in determining how and why buildings fail? Last time I talked to him, he showed me the plans he and his best friend, Lincoln Methner, had drawn up for their tree house—excuse me, tree condo. Max built the platform for them, but the boys had big expansion plans. Their version looked more appealing than my last apartment.

  I pulled into the parking lot, ran to the ER and headed for the desk, but Miguel intercepted me.

  “How’s Alex? What’s going on?”

  “I guess he tied a rope to a branch so he could swing down from his tree house like Spiderman. The rope broke and he fell. Then his friend ran in and told Ellie Alex wasn’t breathing. She called 911, then Max. He was so freaked out, I drove him here. It feels like they’ve been in there a long time.”

  At that moment, the doors from the ER swung out, and Max’s wife Ellie came through. She had the bright blue eyes, long curly red hair, and impossibly perfect body of an animated Disney heroine. Normally, I kind of hate her. To my surprise, as soon as she spotted us, she ran straight toward me and flung herself into my arms, tears streaming down her face. People don’t usually turn to me for comforting hugs, but I tried to step up. I noticed in a distracted way that she exuded the same grassy fragrance Max had. Alex’s signature scent.

  “It’s OK. He’s going to be fine,” I murmured, though what did I know?

  She hiccupped as her sobs subsided and then pulled back from me. Miguel, who had been hovering anxiously on the sidelines, brought her a wad of tissues big enough to sop up the Mississippi.

  “I know, I know. Alex is fine. That is, he’ll be fine. It’s just. Oh—” Her eyes welled up again, and she blew her nose.

  “That’s good, that’s good,” Miguel said, gently leading her over to a couch and adroitly sitting them both down. I pulled up a chair across from them.

  “What did the doctor say?”

  She took a deep breath, held it a minute and got her thoughts together.

  “He has a concu
ssion, but the doctor thinks he’ll be fine. He had the wind knocked out of him, and he was a little woozy, and that scared him—and me. But he’s alert, and his memory seems fine. I’m sorry to be such a hysteric. I was just so scared when Lincoln came running in and said Alex couldn’t breathe. Then, I saw him lying on the ground, gasping for air, and I thought, ‘Oh, God, what if he broke his back or—”

  “Pobrecita. Poor baby,” Miguel said, patting her hand.

  “But the doctor said he’s going to be OK?”

  “Yes. They’re keeping him overnight just for observation. We were lucky. So, so lucky. If anything happened to Alex, I just couldn’t go on. I just couldn’t,” she repeated. From the look on her face, I believed it.

  She made a shaky attempt at a smile. “You’d never know I was a nurse in a past life, would you? The way I fell apart.”

  “Cut yourself some slack, Ellie, it’s your kid. You’re allowed to fall apart a little. Hey, you got him here, he’s fine, and it’s all good. Can we stop in and say hi, just for a minute?”

  “Let me go and see if he’s settled in.”

  In a few minutes, we were hovering in the doorway of Alex’s hospital room. I peeked inside. He was sitting up in bed, a small bandage on his forehead, talking excitedly. His brown eyes grew large as he used his hands to make a point. A piece of dark brown hair fell forward, and he pushed it out of the way.

  On either side of him, Max and Ellie stood gazing at their only son with such intense, naked love that I had to look away. But then Alex spotted us and shouted hello.

  “I didn’t really fall, Leah,” he asserted.

  “Oh? You gave a pretty good imitation of it, I hear.”

  “Well, yes, I fell, but the rope broke, so it really doesn’t count. I mean, it’s not because I didn’t do the jump right. How could I know the rope was going to break?”

  “How about you were told not to put one up at all?” Ellie made an attempt at sternness, though the fact that she was gently pushing his hair back from his forehead took a lot of the oomph out of it.

  “I know. I’m sorry, Mom. We just thought—I just thought—it would be so cool, and Dad told me how when he was my age he used to swing out over the Himmel River and drop in and so I—”

  “Hey, I can get in enough trouble with your mother without you helping me,” Max said. “You’re supposed to be smarter than me.” He gave Alex a fierce look that didn’t faze the kid a bit.

  “Leah, I got an MRI and a CT scan. I have a first degree concussion. That’s the minor kind. Good thing I had my lucky dog tags, right?”

  “Lucky tags?” Miguel asked.

  “Yeah, didn’t you ever see them, Miguel?” He reached over and pulled a set of silver tags on a chain from his bedside table and motioned Miguel to come closer.

  “Cool, huh? They were my dad’s. I mean my first dad. Ian. He died before I was born.

  * * *

  Ian McCallister

  493 Waterford Way

  Los Angeles, CA

  Blood Type O negative

  Religion Presbyterian

  * * *

  “See, my dad was O negative. I’m B positive. The nurse told me I should always ‘be positive.’ Get it? B positive and ‘be positive.’ That’s a pun.”

  For a second I flashed back on Lacey. She loved puns, too, when she was a kid, and as she got older she loved wordplay and puzzles of all kinds. She was so smart. And so lost. I gave myself an internal shake and turned my attention back to Alex.

  “Mom gave me these tags to wear so I’d know my birth Dad was always looking out for me.”

  I glanced at Max to see if he was bothered by Alex’s obvious attachment to the tags, but he just rubbed his son’s head and said, “Buddy, I’m glad Ian was watching out for you, but those things aren’t magic you know. You have to make smart choices. And swinging out of a tree isn’t a smart choice.”

  “I know, Dad. But still, they are my talisman. That means lucky charm,” he added, lest Miguel and I not understand.

  “You’re lucky, that’s for sure. I hear you have to stay tonight though, yes?” Miguel asked.

  “Yeah. The nurse said they have to observe me tonight, so I have to stay. Mom thinks she has to stay, too, but she doesn’t. I can be here by myself,” he said, enough anxiety creeping into his voice to make it clear he hoped she would insist.

  “Of course, you could stay yourself, no doubt about it,” Ellie said. “But let me put my nurse’s training to use a little. I could use some practice just to keep my hand in. You can be my guinea pig.”

  “Did you know a long time ago, like the 1700s, scientists used to almost always use guinea pigs for experiments, instead of rats or mice like they do now? That’s why people started saying ‘guinea pig’ when they were going to try out something new. And, besides, it sounds better than saying, ‘You can be my rat,’ ” Alex informed us.

  “Little man, nothing wrong with your brain. How you come up with that stuff?” Miguel asked, giving Alex a light tap on the shoulder.

  “It’s a gift.”

  “And, on that note, I think we’ll take off.” I moved closer to Max and gave him a sideways shoulder squeeze—neither of us would have been comfortable with a full-on hug, but I wanted him to know any tension between us was over—at least as far as I was concerned.

  “Don’t worry about anything at the paper. Miguel and I can handle it. And Courtnee, of course we have Courtnee to count on, too.”

  Max smiled. “Hey, before you go, why don’t you take Ellie down to the cafeteria for some dinner? I’ll keep Alex company, and then we can get things squared away for the night.”

  “Max, I don’t need—” Ellie started to protest.

  “Yeah, you do. Besides, me and Alex are gonna catch the last inning of the Brewers game.”

  “OK.” She threw up her hands in surrender.

  Miguel had excused himself because he had a date, so it was just me and Ellie at the small round table. She picked at a chef salad, and I dug into a surprisingly good cheeseburger.

  “Ellie, are you all right? Seriously?”

  “Yes, I’m fine, Leah. I know Alex will be OK. It’s actually Max I’m concerned about.”

  “You mean because he’s so worried about Alex?”

  “No, not that. Has he talked to you at all about the paper? Never mind, you don’t need to answer. I’m sure he hasn’t. He’s barely talked to me.”

  “You mean the finances? He hasn’t said anything, no, but I can see ad revenues keep falling. When I left the paper, we had three sections of the Times every week. Since I’ve been back, we’re lucky to have enough advertising to support two. And Max hasn’t been himself lately. He’s been pretty cranky.”

  “I know. He’s even been a little short with me, which isn’t like him at all. It would hurt him so much to lose that paper, the paper his grandfather started.”

  Her words gave me a sick feeling. “I knew it wasn’t good, but I didn’t realize things had gone that far.”

  “He has a meeting with Miller Caldwell next week, trying to get some kind of business loan from the bank. But he’s worried about it. Max thinks Miller isn’t going to be supportive, and there’s another board member who thinks it’s a bad investment.”

  “Who’s that?”

  “His name is Reid Palmer. He’s a retired lawyer or investor, something like that.”

  “What’s he got against the paper?”

  “I don’t know. Max said he met Miller for lunch last week, and they ran into Reid, so he joined them. Max was sort of testing the waters about the loan, but Reid wasn’t very encouraging. Talked about online newspapers and how every change brings some casualties. Max didn’t think it went very well.”

  “Max is a really smart guy, and he’s got a lot of friends in this town. This Reid Palmer guy won’t be the deciding factor.”

  “He could be. He has a lot of influence, not just with Miller but with other people on the bank board. And he’s a big contributor t
o Miller’s campaign for the senate.” She hesitated, as if deciding whether to say something, then went ahead. “Max told me you’re planning to dig around at DeMoss Academy, question the nuns and things. Reid Palmer is on the board there, too.”

  “And so?”

  She sighed in exasperation. “So, think about it from Max’s point of view. We don’t need the paper stirring things up, maybe upsetting the nuns—the board, Reid Palmer.”

  “I don’t want to stir things up, Ellie,” I said, a little puzzled at the direction our friendly conversation had taken.

  “But you will stir things up if you go out to DeMoss, asking the Catherines questions about your sister, implying they didn’t take proper care of her, and they were keeping something from you. That’s not going to go over very well. What if they complain? What if Reid Palmer gets upset and pressures the bank not to loan Max the money? Have you thought about that?”

  “No. Why would I? Why would he get mad at Max or the paper?”

  “Oh, don’t act so naïve. You don’t think the Catholic Church might be just a little sensitive these days to a reporter nosing around?”

  “I’m not going as a reporter. I’m going there as Lacey’s sister. I won’t pretend I’m representing the paper. I’ll make it clear the only thing I’m representing is my family. I can’t see why you and Max are so worked up about it. I think you’re a little over the top on this one.”

  “My family is the most important thing in the world to me. I would do anything to keep Max from being hurt. And it will kill Max if he has to close that paper. So, I really don’t care if you think I’m ‘over the top.’ If Max thinks it’s a bad idea, I think you should respect that. Surely you owe him that much.”