by Delia Parr
“Me, either,” John snapped. “If what you’re telling us about them is true, then why in the world were these…What would these girls be doing in Philadelphia? With a gun?” he demanded. “It’s almost so unbelievable to think that these girls were involved that I wonder if you have even gotten the people truly responsible for Steve’s death.”
“Oh, we think they’re responsible,” the detective argued.
“The ballistics test has provided a number of leads which I can’t discuss at this time, but it confirms the gun that the girls turned in is the gun that fired the bullet that killed your son.”
“But why? Why did they shoot the gun? Did they target Steve? Why? Why Steve? Why our son?” Anger and outrage fueled Barbara’s questions and her heart pounded against her chest. Tears of frustration welled, and she blinked them back. “Tell me why.”
“We’re still investigating the motive, but according to the girls’ statements, the shooting was accidental.”
John snorted again. “Accidental? Hogwash. They didn’t accidentally drive to Philadelphia. They didn’t accidentally have a gun which was accidentally loaded, did they?” He held up his hand to keep the floor to himself. “They killed our son. They left our two granddaughters orphans. That’s no accident. That’s a cold, hard, bitter fact of life we’ll have to live with and so will they. I don’t care who these girls are. They’re murderers, and they should be held accountable,” he demanded. With his chest heaving, he glared at the detective who waited until he had regained his composure before answering him.
“If they’re responsible for Steve’s death, they will be held accountable,” she murmured, “but right now, you need to give us time to finish our investigation. We still have a lot of questions that need answers.”
Barbara shook her head. “But I thought you said the girls already gave a statement of some kind. If they admitted which one shot the gun that killed Steve, isn’t that enough?”
“According to the District Attorney’s office, their statement, such as it is, will probably be ruled inadmissible, since they did not have their parents or an attorney present when they turned themselves in to the local police. If we can confirm their statements, then we can charge the girls accordingly. Unfortunately, there’s a gaping hole in the investigation that needs to be filled in before we can proceed.”
John glowered. “What hole? You have two girls who turned themselves in with the gun that killed our son and who admit they’re responsible.”
“True, but we have to corroborate their account of that day, and frankly, we need to find out where that gun has been since July when Steve was shot. Just because the girls had the gun now doesn’t mean they had it in July. Maybe they did, but maybe they didn’t. And if they didn’t, who did? Did they accidentally shoot Steve and now, months later, were so overwrought with guilt they turned themselves in without even consulting with their parents? Or are they covering for someone else. If so, who? And why?”
Detective Sanger straightened in her seat. “Those are the questions that need answers before we arrest anyone. I want to know everything about these girls and every move they’ve made since July and well before that before I give credence to a single word they’ve said. If they’re responsible, they’ll be arrested. If not—”
“The justice system,” John argued, “is supposed to be a code of law, not one ‘if’ after another.”
“The justice system is based on law, but the system, unfortunately, does not move as quickly or as surely as the families of victims might like,” the detective countered gently. “I know you want answers. You want justice, and you want closure. Please be patient. Be strong. I’ve got the numbers here for several victims’ organizations you can go to for support. In the meantime, give us all time to unravel the truth of what happened that day. That’s what you want most of all, isn’t it? To know what really happened to your boy and why?” she asked softly.
Barbara lost the battle to keep her tears at bay and let them trickle silently down her cheeks. She took John’s hand again. “We do,” she whispered. “We’ll try to be patient, won’t we?”
John turned and met her gaze, and she wiped the single tear from her husband’s cheek.
Silence fell between Barbara and John on the ride back to Welleswood. He dropped her off at home and headed straight to the office, once again retreating with his grief and his anger into his work. Instead of going inside her empty house to get her keys and driving to the avenue to open her shop, she went to her room and changed into jeans and a sweater. Seeking comfort, she wrapped herself in the shawl that had been made for her by women who participated in the Shawl Ministry at church and headed for the river that created a natural boundary between Welleswood and neighboring communities to the north.
At nearly noon on a weekday, the children were all in school. Parents were either at work or inside their homes, and she walked the several blocks filled with stately Victorian homes to the river without seeing anyone at all. The air was cool and the breeze was crisp, but her steps were slow and deliberate. She crossed the last street, paused to acknowledge the police officer on bike patrol as he rode by, and crossed over the paved walking path that encircled the river.
She cut through the grassy park and went straight to the giant oak tree at the water’s edge. Now mid-September, autumn had yet to paint vibrant colors on the trees that hugged the park or to deaden summer reeds at the river’s edge. Waves gently lapped at the gnarled, exposed roots of the oak tree. She pulled the shawl tighter around her shoulders, sat down and leaned back against the trunk to gaze out over the river.
Memories quickly surfaced. Watching Steve learn to sail here on the little twelve-foot, fiberglass sailboat John and the boys had made from a kit. Helping Steve release the frog he had watched develop from a tadpole for a science project. With her mind’s eye, she saw him again, eight years old, soaked to the skin and mud up to his knees after falling into the river while trying to keep the frog in view as it hopped away.
She choked down a half chuckle, half sob, recalling how hard he had tried to train for cross-country by running around and around this river his freshman year in high school, only to suffer an injury in the first event that sidelined him for the rest of the season.
“Steve.” She whispered his name, and her heart ached for the sight and the sound of him, just once more. She closed her eyes and felt the gentle stir of the breeze on her face, but despite the shawl she wore, peace and comfort did not caress the anguish in her heart. “I miss him. John misses him. Steve’s girls miss him. He didn’t deserve to die. Please. Help me to understand,” she prayed.
As her mind replayed the morning’s conversation in the detective’s office, she bowed her head. She struggled to juxtapose the idea that Steve’s death might have been nothing more than a tragic accident with the notion he had been murdered in cold blood. Had those two girls wielded the gun, or had it been someone else, someone who was still unknown? “Help John. Help the girls. Just…help us. We can’t do this alone. I can’t do this…it’s too hard,” she whispered, but her heart was confused.
Was there a difference between seeking justice and wanting vengeance? If so, which did she truly want? Steve was dead, a cold, hard fact, just as John had said. Did it really matter if Steve’s death had been an accident or a deliberate act?
With one beat of her heart, it mattered a great deal to her. With the next beat, she did not care at all. Steve had died. That she knew for sure. “I’ve lost my son,” she cried and placed her broken heart in the hands of the One who understood the utter devastation that burdened her heart.
Chapter Eleven
Some days, Judy was tempted to get back into bed, pull up the covers and spend the entire day hiding from the world. Unfortunately, this was one of those days….
Her day started with a call from the plumber telling her that the problem with the toilet was now fixed, to the tune of ninety dollars. His news made the toothbrush Brian had accidentally flushed down
the toilet one very expensive toothbrush. She had been interrupted in the middle of giving Mrs. Rosen a permanent by a call from the refrigerator repairman with even better news. Her eighteen-year-old refrigerator was not worth fixing. Unless she wanted to live with several coolers permanently lined up on her countertop to keep her food cold, she needed to buy a new refrigerator.
Torn between relief that the toilet was working again, her annoyance with Brian and anxiety about financing the refrigerator she could ill afford, she needed another call from the school like she needed to have yet another appliance break down.
With Mrs. Rosen now under the dryer, she gripped the telephone receiver hard. “Yes, I’m Brian’s grandmother,” she replied and braced herself to hear more bad news.
“This is Pam Smith. I’m President of the PTA at Park Elementary this year. Since you haven’t volunteered for one of our school activities this year, I thought I’d call and see if we could set something up for you.”
Judy sighed with relief that Brian had not gotten into trouble again. “I wish I could help, but I work full-time.”
“A lot of our mothers are working. Fortunately, we managed to get all our Room Mothers and library aides this year already. I was thinking that perhaps you could help with the Book Fair. It’s the third Saturday in October. Each school sponsors a table offering used books for sale, with proceeds directly benefiting that school. Gail Maguire was going to organize the book donations we’ve been getting at the school since last year’s fair, but she’s laid up with a bad back and won’t be able to do it for us.”
Judy hesitated. “I’d like to help, but I don’t know all that much about books, and I work on Saturdays. Perhaps there’s something else—”
“It’s really very easy, assuming you can tell the difference between a cookbook or a novel or an accounting book,” she added with a chuckle. “We’d need you to weed out any book that would be inappropriate, of course. The books are all at the school. All you’d really have to do is organize them by category, affix stickers with the prices, and be able to set them out on the tables early the day of the Book Fair, say seven o’clock? We have all the volunteers we need to sell the books once the fair opens at ten.”
Judy heard the door to the salon open, nodded to Mrs. Hart when she entered, and held up a finger to let her know she would be right with her. “I’m sure I could organize them, but I still can’t get to the school during the day. I work—”
“No problem. Mr. Fletcher, the janitor, is on duty weekdays from three until nine every night. He can let you in, and you could bring Brian along. You could even get a friend or two to help so it wouldn’t take much time at all. We really do need to get started….”
As Pam Smith droned on, Judy waited for the woman to draw a breath so she could politely decline, but the dour look on Mrs. Hart’s face told Judy she needed to end the conversation now or risk alienating a client. “Fine. I’ll do it. Let me call you later—”
“Wonderful! There’s no need to call me back. I’ll tell Mr. Fletcher to expect you and several friends, perhaps. Thank you so much!” She hung up, leaving Judy no choice. She either had to find the time to organize the books or the courage to call back and tell Pam she had changed her mind.
Judy gave Mrs. Hart a smile. “I’m sorry to keep you waiting. The PTA at Brian’s school needed someone to organize the book donations for the Book Fair in October.”
Mrs. Hart cocked a brow. “And you agreed?”
Judy shrugged, still not convinced she would be able to find the time. “I guess I did.”
“Good. I’ve got boxes of books in my basement and no way to get them to one of the schools. Since you’re in charge, I’m sure you’ll be able to do that for me.” She looked around the salon. “Ann’s not here? I have an appointment with her.”
“No, I thought she called you. She’s—”
“Not that gout again, I hope.”
Judy shivered. “No, she’s beat that for the time being. She’s at the dentist this morning. She broke a tooth. She said she was going to call you at home to reschedule.”
“I’ve been away for a few days. Will you have time? I just wanted a wash and set.”
“No problem,” Judy assured her and set aside her concerns about volunteering time she did not have to concentrate on using the time she did have today to keep Mrs. Hart satisfied as a client.
By one o’clock, the last client had left the salon, and Judy had two hours to herself before she had to be at the Towers. She ate the brown-bag lunch she had packed for herself, chased the peanut butter and banana sandwich down with freshly brewed iced tea, and packed up the rest of the baked goods from McAllister’s without taking a pastry for herself. She left the box behind the reception desk to pick up later, ready to head out to the appliance store, when Ann hobbled into the shop.
“I thought you were going straight home after the dentist.”
Ann’s novocaine grin was lopsided as she leaned on the cane she had been using while recovering from her most recent encounter with gout. “I thought I’d stop in on my way home. Did Mrs. Hart come in for her appointment? I couldn’t reach her to reschedule.”
“She just left. She said to give you her best.”
“Thanks. Are you ready to hear my good news?” she asked sarcastically.
Judy grimaced. “Don’t tell me you had to have the tooth capped.”
“Even better. I’m getting a triple crown bridge.” She shrugged. “I think that’s what Dr. Randall called it. Lucky me. Seems the tooth next to the one I broke is cracked, and the tooth on the other side…Well, to make a long, sad story a bit shorter and sweeter, I’ve got a full-morning appointment scheduled for the end of next week. He just patched me up until then.” She shook her head. “Dr. Randall said I just might get the Most Chair Time Award this month. That’s one award I’d like to let someone else get!”
“I’m so sorry,” Judy murmured.
“Me, too. I’m falling apart, from one end to the other, aren’t I?” She chuckled and looked around the shop.
“Maybe Jamie is right. Even with a fresh coat of paint, the shop’s still just an old gal, like me. I’m not sure how much longer either one of us will hold up before we both just disintegrate. Maybe it’s time to really think about what that means and retire both of us.”
Alarmed, Judy walked from behind the reception desk and put her arm around Ann’s shoulders. “You and the shop are both going to hold up just fine for a long time,” she insisted, although the idea that Ann would one day retire suddenly loomed as more than a distant possibility. “You’re just feeling a little down. First the gout. Then your tooth. This time next week, when you can put that cane away for a while and you have your new crowns, you’ll be feeling a whole lot better.”
“I’m not so sure about that.” Ann paused and fiddled with the handle on her cane. “Jamie wants me to retire and move down to North Carolina to be near her. She’s got plenty of room. I could live with her until I find a place of my own. I told her I’d think about it.”
Judy swallowed hard. Ann’s daughter had moved south years ago, but she and her mother had remained close—a stark contrast to the estrangement between Judy and her own daughter. Setting aside a tinge of jealousy, she gave Ann a hug and smiled. Maybe getting Ann to help with organizing the books for the Book Fair might take her mind off her health problems long enough to set aside any real thoughts of retirement and moving away. “You’re way too young to retire, and I think I know just what you need to make you feel better.”
“A new set of teeth and a new set of toes?”
Judy chuckled. “Sorry. I wish I could, but—”
“A big hunk of chocolate?”
“No. Don’t even think about it, or you’ll be flat on your back again.”
Ann shrugged. “So what do you think will make me feel good enough to forget about retirement?”
“I don’t know. Maybe having something important to do. Something…something that would take yo
ur mind off your troubles. Maybe some volunteer work for the school?”
Ann stared hard at Judy. “You’re going to try to talk me into doing something you already volunteered to do, aren’t you?”
“Well, it’s not that I don’t want to do it, but I sure could use some help. The president of the PTA called this morning, and I promised I would help organize the books donated to Brian’s school for the Book Fair. You wouldn’t have to actually help me to organize them. I could get some of the other mothers to do that. Maybe you could just help by making up the stickers with the prices. That would be a great help. If you feel up to it, that is,” she added with a grin.
“If I’m up to it?” Ann straightened her shoulders. “Of course I’m up to it. I can stop and buy the stickers on the way home. You’re going to the Towers, right?”
“Not until three, but I was just getting ready to leave. I have a few errands to run,” she admitted, although she was reluctant to complain about buying a new refrigerator when Ann was dealing with the much more important issue of her health.
“You go ahead. I’ll just rest up here a few minutes before I head off.”
“If you’re not feeling well, I can stay with you—”
When Ann gave her a no-nonsense glance, Judy held up both hands. “All right. All right. I’m going.”
Judy picked out a basic refrigerator, arranged for a late delivery the next afternoon and put the purchase on the emergency credit card she kept just for occasions like this. With careful spending, she might even be able to pay off the cost of the refrigerator in less than a year and keep the finance charges to a minimum.
She left the store, checked her watch, and frowned. She had spent over five hundred dollars in less than fifteen minutes! Feeling guilty after she compared this expense with what Ann was facing, she turned her thoughts to the problem of her new volunteer job. Ann’s help notwithstanding, Judy still needed to recruit some volunteers to help her do the physical job of actually organizing the books. The few friends she had had before Brian came to live with her all had grown children. They had paid their dues to the school years ago, just as Judy had done with Candy. Although supportive of her new situation as both mother and grandmother to Brian, they had far less in common now than they had had a few short months ago.