by Alison Stone
Kathryn handed the newspaper to Benjamin. Her gaze went from Mrs. Smythe to Monica and back. What was this about? “We’re already aware of David’s arrest and the accident.”
“We figured you would be,” Mrs. Smythe said, wringing her hands in her lap. Kathryn imagined the older woman craved a cigarette, but resisted the urge in deference to her pregnant hostess. “But we didn’t think you’d connect the dots.”
“Dots?” Benjamin asked, furrowing his brow.
“Yes, first Nicholas, then Johnny, now Terry.” Mrs. Smythe raised her folded hands to her lips. “All murdered.” Her watery eyes grew round.
Benjamin sat down on the edge of the coffee table. He leaned toward Mrs. Smythe, the compassion in his eyes touched Kathryn’s soul. “I can’t even begin to imagine your pain.” He straightened his back and gave her a weak smile. “I’m afraid the only connection between your son, David and Terry is that they were suspected of stealing from Midport Industries. Johnny’s death was a terrible accident.”
Mrs. Smythe fidgeted with her hands in her lap. “My son was never charged with a crime.”
Benjamin bowed his head and his shoulders tensed. Midport Industries had not pressed charges against Nicholas because she and her husband had been longtime employees of the company. Obviously, he felt no need to rub that in the grieving mother’s face.
Suddenly, Mrs. Smythe’s head shot up. She glared at Benjamin with a determined, steely gaze. “Tell them, Monica.”
The younger woman stopped rubbing her belly and wrapped her hands around the arms of the chair. “I recognize that guy.” She pointed to the photo of David and leaned back in the rocker, resuming the back-and-forth motion.
“David? From where? The plant? Around town?” he asked, leaning forward, his elbows resting on his thighs.
Monica shook her head. “No, he came here a few times last month. Before Johnny’s accident.”
“So he and Johnny were friends?” Kathryn fingered the handle of her teacup as unease settled in her stomach.
Monica slowly shook her head. “I wouldn’t say friends. That man—she jabbed an index finger toward the photo—came here a few times late at night.” She started rubbing her pregnant belly again. “Johnny stepped outside to meet him. Told me to stay inside.” She tipped her head back and looked heavenward. A tear rolled down her cheek. ”I peeked out the window. It was dark, but David’s face was visible under the porch light. He seemed angry.” She drew in a deep, shuddering breath. “Really angry.”
“Did your husband tell you what David wanted?” Benjamin asked.
“No,” Monica said, her voice sounding small, fragile. “But Johnny always seemed agitated after he left.” She shook her head, then tapped her fingers on the arms of the chair and started rocking again. “Looking back, I think Johnny was trying to protect me by not telling me.” She lowered her hands into her lap, her eyes wide, pleading. “I’m afraid.”
Kathryn stood up and walked around the coffee table. She ran her hand across Benjamin’s shoulders as she passed. The cool leather felt smooth to her touch. She knelt next to Monica’s chair and took her hand. “You think Terry and Johnny’s deaths are related?”
“And my Nicholas getting fired,” Mrs. Smythe said.
Kathryn offered Mrs. Smythe a sympathetic nod, then shifted her focus back to the young woman. Monica’s pain glistened in unshed tears. “Yes, I think the deaths are related.”
“How?” Benjamin stood and scrubbed a hand across his face. It looked like sleep had eluded him last night too.
Kathryn handed Monica a tissue from the box on the coffee table. She dabbed at her tears then blew her nose. “Do you see this place?”
Kathryn squeezed Monica’s hand and glanced around. Amid the worn furniture and threadbare carpet were a new baby swing, bouncy seat and stuffed animals. A pain nearly crushed Kathryn’s lungs, stealing her breath. This was supposed to be a joyous time for Monica. Planning for a new baby. Instead she had to arrange a funeral and prepare for life as a single mom. Kathryn lowered her head in a bid to get hold of her emotions.
“Johnny wanted more for me.” Monica’s voice broke over the words. “For the baby. He talked of buying a house.” Her eyes darted around the room, as if seeing it for the first time. “He hated the idea of raising a kid in a dump of a house like this.”
“He had a good job,” Benjamin said. “He worked hard to provide for you. He loved you.”
Monica cast Benjamin a look of defeat. “Johnny was a big kid at heart. He never planned on me. The baby. He had a decent job but never saved any money. He lived like there was no tomorrow.” Monica’s face blossomed red with her unfortunate choice of words. “Then shortly after we met, we found out I was pregnant. He vowed no kid of his was growing up poor.”
Kathryn rubbed the top of Monica’s hand. “I don’t understand.”
“The article said the guy they arrested is a person of interest in the break-in and attack at the warehouse. Something about stolen parts to sell for drug money. Something like that,” Monica said, her voice sounded breathless. “Maybe Johnny knew something that got him killed. Maybe he was involved.”
“Involved with what?” Kathryn asked.
“My Nicholas hinted that something was going on at the plant. When he pressed the issue, he got framed. Fired for stealing parts. They wanted to get rid of him before he figured it out.” Mrs. Smythe stifled a sob.
“That David character came by our house shortly after Nicholas was fired. That’s how I recognized him.” Mrs. Smythe folded her hands in her lap and jutted out her chin, putting on a brave show. “I arrived home and found him and my son arguing in the front yard. After he left, Nicholas, who was scheduled to leave for basic training the next week, made me promise to call the police if he ever came around again. When I pressured him for more details, all he said was that David was a drug dealer and up to no good.”
Mrs. Smythe shrugged. “I thought Nicholas was looking out for the kids in the neighborhood. Looking back, I think David must have threatened Nicholas.” She cleared her throat. “Or he threatened to hurt his father and me.”
Mrs. Smythe picked at an imaginary piece of lint on her worn pants. “I never connected that meeting with Nicholas’s work. Now I’m wondering if Nicholas knew what David was up to at the warehouse. Maybe they were stealing parts or maybe they were dealing drugs. Maybe both.”
“Why do you think David was dealing drugs? All they found on him were stolen parts,” Benjamin asked.
Mrs. Smythe narrowed her eyes. “Well, Nicholas called David a drug dealer. Why else would he say that?”
Monica nodded. “I don’t want to believe Johnny was doing something illegal. But when Mrs. Smythe brought me the paper, showed me David’s picture—” she took in a shaky breath, “—asked me if I recognized him.”
She paused. A small smile touched her lips at the irony of it all. “It does make sense.” She started to rub her belly again. “All of a sudden, we had extra money. And I was so stupid, I didn’t ask any questions. I didn’t want to know.” She swiped at her nose with a tissue. “Then Johnny got real antsy. Said he wanted out of the warehouse.”
“And then David starting coming around,” Kathryn said before Monica had a chance.
“Yes, I think David Thompson wanted my husband to stay the course.”
Benjamin stood, moved to the window and pulled back the blind. Dust-filled shafts of sunlight streamed across the room, landing on Monica’s belly.
“Did you call the police?” Kathryn asked.
“No.” A quiet tear ran down Monica’s cheek. “I’m afraid for me…and my baby.” Her eyes widened in fear. “Who’s to say whoever killed my husband won’t come after me?” She grabbed Kathryn’s wrist and pleaded, “You can’t tell anyone we spoke. I’m out here all alone. If they killed Johnny, what would they do to me?” She covered her face with both hands. “What would they do to my baby?”
Kathryn rose to her feet and rested her hand on Monica
’s shoulder. “Don’t worry. We’ll look into it.” She reached over, plucked a tissue out of the box nearby and offered it to her. Her heart broke for the devastated pregnant woman. “Rest assured. We won’t tell anyone you talked to us.”
“Wait. Where are we going? You missed my turn.” Kathryn flattened her palm against the dash, startled out of her thoughts. Her mind was swirling with everything they had just learned from Monica and Mrs. Smythe.
Staring at Benjamin’s profile, she noticed his smile. “Thought it might be safer if you stayed with me until we figure out what’s going on.”
“I really want to go home.”
He turned his steady gaze on her. “You sure?”
“Yeah, Betsy should be there and I don’t want to leave her alone.”
“Okay.” Benjamin made a U-turn and headed toward her road. “If she’s not home, I don’t want you staying there.”
He turned left onto her road and jerked his head back. “What the…?” His words trailed off. Kathryn thought his anger was directed at her until she noticed the crowd gathered on her front lawn. Confusion clouded her mind as he slowed the car in front of the house. A dozen or so men lifted signs and shook them at her. Their voices blended in an incoherent, angry chant.
Benjamin turned into the driveway, daring to break through the picket line. She braced against the dash and turned her head, shielding her face from the crowd. The car lurched forward. She cringed, fearing a stubborn picketer would end up under the tires. Benjamin jammed on the brakes, then the gas. A game of chicken.
He cursed under his breath as he threw the gearshift into park. He pushed open the door. In a panic, she reached out to grab his arm. Her fingers brushed his hand before he stepped out of the vehicle.
“Come on, guys. This is a private residence.” Kathryn heard Benjamin’s deep timbre through the open driver’s side door. She opened her door and slipped out. She sidled around the front of the car to stand next to Benjamin.
“She’s going to close the plant,” one man yelled.
“Call it a night, guys,” Benjamin demanded. “Let’s set up a meeting at the plant.”
“If we leave things to her—” a man jabbed a finger in Kathryn’s direction, “—there won’t be a plant.”
Kathryn was all of a sudden outside herself, watching the situation unfold. She stepped away from Benjamin and forced her shoulders back, feigning a confidence she didn’t feel. “You need to leave. Take your signs with you.” Her words came out harsher than she intended. No. They came out exactly as she intended. Her skin was on fire. She had had enough. “Leave.” She pointed toward the road. “I don’t want to see any of you near my mother’s home again.”
The crowd parted and Bud Farley, the head of the union, stepped forward. “Do you think you can get rid of us this easily? Get rid of the plant?”
“Bud,” Benjamin said, raising his palms, “you’re jumping the gun here. The plant’s not going anywhere.”
Bud took a long drag on his cigarette. “Oh yeah? Who were the guys walking the perimeter of the grounds this morning? Looked like they were checking out the buildings.”
A heat warmed her neck as Benjamin cut his gaze toward her, a question in his eyes. “Xenon Corporation may have done a walk-through of the complex. That’s all.” Kathryn cleared her throat. “None of this means the plant will close.”
Bud stepped forward. “You’re not going to let this happen, Benjamin, are you?” He flicked the cigarette, sending ashes to the ground. “Your father built this company. Now you want to sell it for a quick buck?”
“That’s not going to happen.” A muscle worked in Benjamin’s jaw.
Kathryn’s resolve began to wane. “You need to leave, now.”
Bud twisted his mouth into a wry grin. His round face grew red as he jutted his chin toward Kathryn. “You and the old lady on the same page? Because if you’re not, what do we gotta do to get her to turn the page?”
A brown bottle flew out of nowhere. Kathryn ducked instinctively as it whizzed by her head and shattered against Benjamin’s windshield.
“Get off the property now.” Benjamin’s angry voice rose above the murmur of the crowd. He ushered her around to the passenger side of the car. He tucked her safely in, then slammed the door.
He ran around to the driver’s side, gesturing angrily to the crowd. He got behind the wheel and turned toward her. “You okay?”
She nodded, unable to find words. The bottle had missed her. Barely. She scanned the crowd, searching for the guilty party. Bud seemed agitated, perhaps because one of his union brothers had nearly taken her head off, or maybe because he hadn’t.
The whoop-whoop of a siren sounded behind them. Officer Gavin pulled up, cruiser lights flashing.
“You sure you’re okay?” Benjamin asked, a deep crease marring his forehead.
“Yes.” No. But Kathryn didn’t dare be honest. Emotionally exhausted, she feared she’d break down. She hoped they’d say their goodnights and call it a day.
She shrugged out of her coat and hung it on the banister. An awkward silence settled between them. There was no sign of Betsy, but Kathryn suspected she was upstairs. Who else would have called the police? Good thing too, because Officer Gavin had effectively cleared all the picketers. He’d also convinced her not to file charges for the bottle-throwing incident since she didn’t get hurt. Besides, no one owned up to it. He claimed it would be a waste of resources.
By the way Bud Farley and Officer Sean Gavin chummed around, she didn’t question the validity of his statement. The good-old-boys’ club. And at this point in her life, she had bigger problems anyway.
Kathryn turned to face Benjamin. “Well, thanks for seeing me safely inside.”
“You know…” His green eyes held a glint of an emotion she couldn’t quite name. “I hope you give your plans serious consideration. Don’t be so quick to run away.” He jerked his thumb toward the street. “Don’t let them force your hand.”
“I have a lot of history in this town,” she said by way of an explanation. “A lot of it isn’t good. It goes well beyond the angry workers picketing in my driveway. You know that.” She stepped back, needing to put some space between them. She wrapped her hand around the cool banister, trying to get her bearings. “I think we both like to remember the good old days, when we were kids. But we’re not kids anymore. Too much has changed.”
“I still care about you.” Benjamin closed the distance between them, warmth radiating from his body. He tipped her chin up with his thumb and index finger.
She took a step back and stumbled on the bottom stair. His hand caught her around the waist and pulled her close. She studied the worn flooring. “My plans haven’t changed.”
She could feel Benjamin’s stare. She slipped from his grasp and took a few steps away. His pained expression sliced through her heart. “Bud was right.” Benjamin sounded crushed. “He wasn’t bluffing. Xenon has been around.”
She nodded. “I had Bill Summers show them around.” She tucked a stray lock of hair behind her ear. “Don’t you understand? I have to sell Midport Industries. I have to do it for my mom.”
“A greater gift would be for you to stay.” He rubbed a hand across the back of his neck.
Guilt, an emotion never far below the surface, jumped out front and center and sparred with her growing anger. “I can’t stay in Midport. There are too many unpleasant memories… I miss my life in Buffalo.”
Benjamin inclined his head, trying, it seemed, to peer into her soul. “I can see you’re afraid. You witnessed a horrible tragedy when your father died. You’ve struggled to understand how he could do that to your mother. To you.”
Kathryn’s entire body shook as a tsunami of emotions she’d been trying to suppress overwhelmed her. He ran his knuckle down her cheek. “I would never hurt you.”
Benjamin’s words exploded in her head. She jerked back, away from his reach. “Don’t you understand? I could never be happy here…with you.”
She raised her hand to stop him. “That night…the night my father died, I was in a hurry. My dad wanted me to stay and plant flowers with him, but I couldn’t. I wanted to find you. Finally share my true feelings.” She hiccupped on a sob. “Finally take a chance on you.”
“Oh, Kathryn,” Benjamin whispered.
“Let me finish.” She cleared her throat. A hardness crept into her voice. “I was in such a hurry to leave. To find you at the party down by the lake. When I got there, I found you on a porch swing flirting with some girl.”
Kathryn had never spoken the words out loud. She hadn’t had time to register them in her mind because as soon as she had run home—heartbroken as only an eighteen-year-old could be—she’d tragically learned melodrama by the lake would pale in comparison to the nightmare waiting for her.
Guilt pinged her conscience. If I hadn’t gone to the lake in the first place…
Benjamin shook his head. “I don’t remember…” He held up his hands.
She batted them away. “The lake doesn’t matter. You didn’t matter…” Kathryn’s knees went out from under her and she collapsed on the stairs, burying her face in her hands. Gathering what little courage she had, she lifted her eyes to meet his. “I was in such a hurry to see you, I left my dad.” She ran a hand under her nose and sniffled.
Benjamin’s eyes grew compassionate as realization seemed to settle in. He spoke in a hushed tone. “While you were gone, your dad committed suicide.” He sat down next to her and wrapped his arm around her.
“It’s all my fault.” She buried her face in his chest
“It’s not your fault,” he said.
“My logical mind tries to tell me that, but this place, this town… They’re all terrible reminders.”
“And me?”
Kathryn nodded, fresh tears running down her cheeks. “And you.”