What Has Mother Done?

by Barbara Petty

  He didn’t react quickly enough, and her blows made him stagger back. With him off-balance, Mother started pushing and shoving at him, until she had him trapped against the banister of the front stairs.

  Thea shook off her paralysis, and rushed to grab her mother, wrapping her own arms around her and pushing her fists down. Mother twisted in her embrace, but then let her body collapse against her daughter’s. Thea could feel her mother’s heart pounding, her limbs shaking.

  Detective Anderson regained his balance, but as he stepped away from the two of them, his eyes met Thea’s in a fury, seeming to ask, “Do you still think your mother is so innocent?”

  Later, when the house was cleared of police, the body removed by the coroner, crime scene tape strung in the backyard, and her mother upstairs sleeping soundly, Thea went to George’s liquor cabinet. She rooted around among the bottles and found the eighteen-year-old single-malt Scotch and poured out a couple of fingers neat. Sinking back in the recliner, she took a tentative sip and rewound all the nocturnal events in her mind, trying to make sense of them.

  Bud Prentice was dead. That was the one thing she knew for certain. Someone had struck him on the back of the head and killed him. The weapon appeared to be a log from the woodpile George had kept at the back of the garage. Whether or not it was a single blow that killed Bud was still to be determined. If indeed it was a single blow, then that meant the killer was someone strong. Certainly stronger than Mother, Thea reassured herself. But, unfortunately, that was a category she herself qualified for—and Detective Anderson had made a point of letting her know she was under suspicion, too.

  Thea realized it was time to contact a lawyer. No more of this going it alone. She had almost certainly aggravated the situation by that stunt she pulled with the tape recorder at the Starlite Room. No doubt, Jerry Anderson had it in for her now.

  And after tonight it could only get worse. After that attack her mother made on him, he was probably out for blood. Not only had his masculine ego been damaged, but it might have proved he was right. Was Mother more than capable of the violent assault that pushed George over a cliff?

  Of course it was still possible. But the intensity of Mother’s attack tonight had come from a different motivation than mere spur-of-the-moment anger. It had taken Thea a while to recognize that motivation: tonight Mother had been defending her.

  Just yesterday she had reflected bitterly that her mother had never been the kind of mother to protect her child as fiercely as Annie was protecting her own thankless daughter. Tonight, Thea had been shocked to realize that her mother hadn’t been attacking the detective, she’d been defending her child. Somewhere deep inside Mother, maternal instinct was still alive and when she saw her daughter threatened, she’d reacted—as any mother would have done under the circumstances.

  Thea sighed. She would have a hard time convincing Jerry Anderson that was why Mother went after him. She took a long sip and let the whiskey work its warm, smoky way down her throat, and felt herself let go just a little.

  The rest of the world would probably go on thinking that her mother had killed George and had now committed this latest murder. But now, more than ever, Thea knew—as much as it was possible to know—that wasn’t so. And she knew that she hadn’t killed Bud, so she was now going to have to prove that they were both innocent.

  As she hoisted herself out of the chair and then trudged her way up the stairs to go to bed, another nagging thought occurred to her: Obviously someone else had killed Bud. So, who was it? And what had this person been doing in their backyard?

  CHAPTER 31

  When Thea stumped down the back stairs in the morning, Annie and Aunt Dorothy were there, along with breakfast smells that held no interest for Thea. Her aunt was at the kitchen sink washing a skillet, and Annie was wiping off the counter. They broke off their conversation and greeted Thea with tentative smiles. A tension was in the air, but that wasn’t surprising given the events of the previous night.

  “Is there any coffee?” she asked, noticing that her mother was over in the breakfast nook consuming a plate of sausages and pancakes dripping in maple syrup.

  Annie poured out a large mug of strong-smelling coffee, which Thea accepted gratefully. “What’s going on?” she asked.

  The two women exchanged a glance. “We’re running interference for you,” Annie said.

  Thea blew across the surface of the coffee. “Interference?”

  Aunt Dorothy put down the skillet and pointed toward a small-screen TV sitting on the kitchen counter. There was no sound on, but Thea could see a video clip of the exterior of a large house that looked rather familiar. Then the broadcast cut to a live shot of a reporter talking into a microphone; she was standing in front of the same house. George’s house.

  “They’ve been outside for the last two hours,” Aunt Dorothy said.

  “I can’t believe I slept through it all,” Thea said, staring at the TV screen.

  “They’re fairly quiet. Maybe they’re showing you some professional courtesy,” Annie quipped. “You know, you being a reporter and all.”

  Thea rolled her eyes at her friend, and then walked over and switched off the set. Taking a test sip of the coffee, she stopped. Still too hot. “Well, what are they saying?” she asked.

  “In brief,” Aunt Dorothy turned toward her, drying her hands on the front of her apron, “a former accountant for the Collins factory was killed here last night. They’re reporting that he died from a crushed skull and that the circumstances are ‘mysterious.’”

  “They don’t even have his name?”

  Annie shrugged. “Oh, sure. They know it’s Bud Prentice, but that’s not a strong enough angle for them. Bringing in the Collins name makes a bigger splash.”

  Thea chuckled softly. “Wow. Tabloid journalism—even here in Rockridge.”

  “It’s everywhere now,” Aunt Dorothy sniffed. “They’ve cheapened the news.”

  Thea nodded. “Have they said anything about Mother or me?”

  “No,” Annie said, shaking her head. “When they showed the video of the house they called it ‘George Prentice’s house’ and then went on to call him the recently deceased former Chief Financial Officer of Collins Manufacturing.”

  “Interesting,” Thea said. “Have they made any connection between the two deaths?”

  “Not really,” Annie responded. “Not in so many words, that is. But the fact that they keep dragging in the Collins name seems to imply that there’s some kind of connection. Don’t you think so, Dorothy?”

  Thea’s aunt nodded her head. “It’s there between the lines.”

  “Well, maybe I should just sit back and let Rockridge’s news media take over this investigation,” Thea said. “I think I’ve already ruffled a few too many feathers around here.”

  Annie’s eyes narrowed. “What are you talking about?”

  Thea explained about Jerry Anderson and how she and her mother seemed to be his primary suspects for last night’s murder.

  “Well, fine,” Annie said, “he’ll change his tune once the forensic tests show that you and your mother didn’t have anything—”

  “Annie,” Thea interrupted her, “I don’t know that those tests will exonerate us. I put my hands on him trying to find a pulse. Could be I got some of his blood on me. And I definitely touched the murder weapon.” She shook her head and glanced over at the breakfast nook. “As for Mother, well, I just don’t know...”

  Annie blinked at her. “We’ll get you a lawyer.”

  “Yes,” Thea said. “I know now that I have to do that.” She heard voices outside and glanced out the kitchen window to see a couple of Rockridge’s finest prowling around the backyard. One of them was hunkered down by the still-bare lilac bush next to the garage. “How long have they been there?” she asked.

  “About an hour,” Annie said, coming to stand next to her at the window. “They’re the forensics guys, very polite. I gave them some coffee.” She pointed at the gunmet
al gray sky. “They’d better hurry. The weather forecast said we’re in for a storm—maybe even a little snow.”

  As she stared at the spot where Bud’s body had lain, Thea felt her stomach lurch. There was no blood, only faint depressions in the grass, but she still remembered how his inert body had felt. She turned away from the window and leaned back against the counter. “Oh, God, I don’t know what to make of this.” She let out a long, soulful sigh and looked to her friend.

  Annie was only inches away, and Thea yearned to find comfort in her friend’s eyes, but the gulf between them felt like it was growing. Bitterly, she thought that, like the San Andreas Fault, it was only a matter of time before it cracked open.

  Thea turned away from Annie. “George’s death was bad enough.” She went on, “But this makes no sense.” She shook her head, then set the coffee mug down. “I can’t help wondering who could have done this to Bud.” Pointing toward the backyard, she continued, “Somebody else was out there last night, right? But what were they doing there? Were they spying on us or were they spying on Bud? If I could figure that out then maybe I could get Jerry Anderson off my back.” She took a deep breath and let it out. “And there’s something else.”

  “What?” Aunt Dorothy and Annie said in unison.

  “The security company found Mother a couple of blocks away from here. She was in her bare feet. She walked two blocks through who knows what: grass, dirt, maybe some gardens. Her feet should have been filthy, but when I looked at the bottoms of her feet they weren’t that dirty.”

  “What are you saying?” Annie asked.

  “I think somebody drove Mother over there,” Thea said. Pausing for dramatic effect, she glanced from one surprised face to the other. “And who else could it have been besides the murderer?”

  CHAPTER 32

  The storm that Annie had predicted came rumbling in. Thea had forgotten about the dramatics of Midwestern storms, with all their thunder and lightning. Her pulse quickened as the first bolt of lightning flared outside the kitchen window, followed by a resounding roar of thunder.

  “They’re leaving!” Annie reported with glee as she came back from checking the status of the media camped out in front of the house.

  The phone rang. They let the answering machine pick it up and then listened to Beryl’s voice shrieking from the tinny speaker: “What in the world is going on out there? You made the Chicago news! What—”

  Thea grabbed the phone. “Okay, Bear. We’re here. What are they saying about us in Chicago?”

  “Ha!” Beryl said, sounding smug. “They’re making it sound like there’s a bunch of terrorists or serial killers stalking the financial officers of the Collins factory.”

  Thea groaned. “Well, so far there’s only been local reporters here, but now that it’s hit Chicago, national coverage won’t be far behind. Still, it’s not that juicy a story, so it’ll probably die down soon. Even the locals will move on to something in a couple of days.”

  Beryl responded with a mirthless laugh. “Are you kidding? This is the biggest thing to hit Rockridge in years. They’re going to milk it for all its worth.”

  Thea hoped her sister was wrong. They talked for a few minutes more, Beryl promising to come and spend a few days with Mother just as soon as she could get away from all the divorce wrangling. Thea wasn’t certain just how much help her sister could be, but she mouthed the words that made it seem that she was looking forward to a visit from her.

  She hung up the phone. “Beryl’s coming for a few days.”

  Aunt Dorothy got a kind of pinched look to her face, but said nothing.

  Annie simply sighed. “Bringing all her baggage with her, no doubt. Both literal and emotional.”

  Thea glanced over at her mother, who was staring in fascination at the rain pouring down outside the window by the breakfast nook. “Of course. If there’s any kind of drama going on, the Drama Queen’s got to make an appearance.”

  After the storm had passed, Detective Jerry Anderson descended upon them. He came alone. His manner was not as brusque as it had been the previous night, but Thea guessed there was still a part of him that was hoping either she or her mother would break down and confess to murdering Bud Prentice, thus making his life so much easier.

  Well, he could just go on hoping for that until it was time to don some thermal underwear to go ice-skating in hell.

  “What is it now?” Thea asked, keeping her tone barely civil.

  He stood in the middle of the den, and at least had the decency to look uncomfortable. “I’d like to talk to you and your mother alone,” he said, giving pointed looks to Annie and Aunt Dorothy. “Sorry, Miss Linley, Mrs. Biggs,” he added.

  Thea wanted to tell him to shove it. Instead, she turned to her friend and her aunt and said grudgingly, “Do you mind?” They shook their heads and made a quick exit from the room. Thea could hear them scurrying up the stairs as she went to stand by her mother, who was in the recliner staring at a muted image on the TV screen.

  “Mother,” she said, stroking her forearm, “you remember Detective Anderson from last night, don’t you?”

  Mother pulled her arm away. “Bad man,” she said, wrapping her arms around her chest.

  Thea didn’t bother to hide a smirk as she turned to look at Jerry Anderson. “I guess she does remember you.”

  He frowned and shifted his weight from one foot to the other. “We found a witness,” he said. “Someone who might be able to corroborate your version of last night’s events.”

  A wave of relief coursed through Thea’s body. “Really,” she said as she found her way to the couch and dropped onto it. “Who?”

  He hesitated a moment and then eased himself down on the other end of the couch. “One of your neighbors,” he said with obvious reluctance. “I can’t give you the details, but this person is certain that they saw three people in your backyard last night. Two dark figures and a woman in a light-colored nightgown.”

  “That was Mother,” Thea interjected.

  “Most likely,” he went on. “One of the dark figures hit the other one.”

  “I told you it couldn’t have been Mother,” Thea said, striking her fist against the arm of the couch. She heard a tiny gasp from the recliner, and quickly reminded herself not to make any more violent gestures or outbursts. She modulated her tone. “She couldn’t have.”

  He responded with a shrug. “I never really thought she did it.”

  Thea stared at him, swallowing hard. He was talking about her. He was about to accuse her of murder. It felt as if the air had gone out of the room and she was only able to take rapid, shallow breaths. Any second, she was going to suffocate.

  He ignored her obvious discomfiture. “Then something strange happened.”

  “What?” she managed to croak out.

  “The suspect and the lady in the nightgown disappeared—together. How do you suppose that happened?”

  Thea took a deep breath and squinted at him. “Are you saying that other person was me?”

  “No,” he shook his head. “Our witness saw you come out of the house when the alarm was turned off.”

  “Well, thank God for that,” she said, sarcasm edging her voice. But she felt so much relief she could have actually kissed him.

  “Look,” he said, shifting his tone abruptly. “I’m not giving this information to the media. I don’t want the suspect to know that we have a witness. I want him or her to go on thinking that we’re focusing on you and your mother.”

  “Haven’t you seen the reports that make it sound like there’s a serial killer out to bump off the Collins factory bean counters?” she asked. “I heard we even made the news in Chicago.”

  “I don’t care what the media thinks,” he snapped. “Just as long as there’s one person in town who doesn’t know the truth.” His eyes zeroed in on her. “And that’s the killer.”

  Thea couldn’t resist. “Well, I won’t tell him,” she said, pasting a too-sweet-for-words smile onto her
face, “if you won’t.”

  CHAPTER 33

  By the time Jerry Anderson left, Thea had hardly become best friends with him, but they seemed to have reached a level of cooperation that she previously would have thought impossible. In response to the information he had given her about the witness, she had told him about her mother’s almost-pristine feet and what she had deduced from that. He appeared to be impressed that she had already figured out that the killer had taken her mother away after Bud Prentice was killed.

  Of course, neither of them could decipher what that meant. Was the killer someone Mother knew? Or was it simply someone she had trusted in her childlike way? Or had the killer threatened her or overpowered her in some manner?

  But the biggest question was: Why? Why would the killer take her away? She wasn’t cogent enough to identify him or her, so was there some other reason? And then, why leave her?

  When it was obvious that neither of them had answers to any of those questions, Jerry Anderson took his leave. But before then he had attempted to make Thea promise that she would tell no one about the witness.

  “Not even my aunt and my best friend?” she had said in a low voice, pointing upstairs.

  He had sighed deeply. “I suppose you’ll have to tell them,” he said, his gaze full of resignation. “I’m not worried about your aunt, but Annie Biggs is married to a man who likes to use insider information to throw his weight around...” He let his voice trail off as he gave Thea a knowing look.

  “I’ll make her promise that she won’t say a word to him,” Thea vowed, holding herself back from crossing her heart to show her sincerity. She figured she could at least trust Annie with keeping this information away from Dan. Little did the detective know that there were many, many things that Annie kept secret from her husband. And her best friend.

  Thea filled Annie and Aunt Dorothy in on what Jerry Anderson had come to tell her about the witness. “You can’t tell anybody about that,” she said, giving Annie a searching look, “especially Dan.”