Slow Dancing

by Suzanne Jenkins

  “Mommy!” the boys screamed. Boyd put them down in the dining room, saying firmly to stay put and ran to her, picking her up and running to the bathroom with her.

  “You’re home,” she said, tears running down her cheeks, in shock and in pain as the burn was just beginning to take hold. He put her in the shower and turned cold water on her.

  “Stay here, I’m calling for an ambulance.” He ran back out to the hallway and called dispatch, telling them what happened. The operator said a unit was on the way.

  Carol was sitting on the floor of the shower when he got back, leaning against the tiles, letting the freezing water run over her body. “Where are the girls?” he asked, their two daughters, old enough to watch the boys.

  “Next door,” she said, her eyes closed. Boyd went back out to the dining room, his sons frozen with fear.

  “Mommy will be okay,” he told them. “Go next door and get Marisa and Gayle and tell them to come home right away. Tell Mrs. Anderson mommy is going in the ambulance.” The boys left the house together, and he watched them running to the neighbor’s house. He went back to the bathroom to wait with Carol, wrapping her upper body in a towel, letting the water splash on him so that he was soon wet, too.

  “I feel like a dope,” she said, softly. “Thank you for coming home.”

  “Of course, I’m home,” he replied, kissing the top of her head.

  “I don’t know why, but I had the strongest feeling you weren’t coming home tonight, like you were going to leave me.”

  “I’m not leaving, Carol,” he said.

  “I love you, Boyd,” she said, looking up at him, water running down her face. The siren in the distance got louder. The screams of the girls entering the house blended with the siren, each holding onto a brother, echoing into the bathroom, their neighbor running along with them, frightened for what she might find.

  “I love you, too,” Boyd said, meaning it. “I love you, too.”

  Delicious grilled chicken with barbeque sauce, potato salad, cold slaw, biscuits, corn on the cob, tomato salad, watermelon, and strawberry sundaes rounded out the picnic meal Ellen and Frank treated themselves.

  “Oh, I am about ready to burst,” she said, leaning back as far as she could without falling off the picnic table. “That was really good.”

  “I’m full, but I’m not getting up just yet, just in case I burp and make a little room for some more of that potato salad. Sister, you outdid yourself.” Ellen burst into laughter.

  “Frank, you made that dish. All I did was peel potatoes and cut up celery.” Then she burped with her mouth closed, very lady-like.

  “Excuse me! I believe I can eat a little more now,” she said, still laughing. She stretched her legs over the bench to get up. “You want a cup of coffee?”

  “Okay, sounds good,” he said. He watched her walk around to the back of the house, could hear the sound of running water through the kitchen window. Completely satisfied, he shook his head. Here, he had so much at stake; if the law pressed charges against him, he could go to jail, and worse, he could lose Ellen. Monday was coming and he was expecting to learn something. He wondered what was happening with Mary, if they’d found her.

  Ellen brought two cups of coffee out to the picnic table. “We need to practice a little bit before tonight,” she said.

  “Thank you for reminding me. Between sheriff visits, interrogation and Mary, I forgot all about it.” He stood up and put his arms out, humming a tune. Slowly at first, they two-stepped away from the picnic table to a large, flat space in the yard, waltzing and the lindy hop, fox trot and samba. After ten minutes, they were both sweating and laughing out loud.

  “The moral to this story is not to eat like a pig before dancing,” Frank said releasing her.

  “We better clean up this mess and get ready to go. I’m getting nervous!” Ellen started stacking plates and covering dishes with foil, carrying what she could into the kitchen with Frank following.

  “It will be good,” Frank replied. “You’ll do fine and make me look like I know what I’m doin’.”

  ***

  Mary was sitting in the same chair Frank had sat in that morning, but instead of calmly tapping a foot, she was squirming in the chair, alternately crying and laughing, miserable. Dave and Faye watched her through the window as seasoned investigator Henry Cort entered the room to speak with her.

  “Do you know why you were brought in to the station?” Henry asked.

  “I have no idea, but harassment has somethin’ to do with it. I was minding my own business when you picked me up for no reason.”

  “What were you doing last Monday night?” Mary screwed up her face and put her finger on her forehead, mockingly.

  “You expect me to remember last Monday?” she asked sarcastically. “I can’t remember what happened yesterday.”

  “Didn’t you just tell Frank McPherson you were out at his place? Spying on him and his kid through the living room window?” Henry picked up a piece of paper and began to read it out loud. “‘I was walking by the river when I saw you two.’”

  “I never said such a thing. Those two are insane. It runs in the family.”

  “What do you know about the family’s mental health?”

  “Why Frank’s wife is, was insane. Committed for life up at Hallowsbrook.”

  “Why do you say was?” Henry asked. “Did she have a healing?” Dave nudged Faye.

  “Now it’s getting interesting.”

  “Ha! No, she didn’t have any healing. She killed herself. I was there to visit her and she did it herself. She was acting all goofy and out of it. Kept falling asleep. It was horrible.”

  “No one knew that,” Faye said, excited. “It wasn’t made public at the request of the family.” Everyone knew what the death certificate said because someone leaked it and the gossipmongers spread it around town like wildfire. Faye pressed a buzzer to get the investigator attention. He excused himself, leaving Mary alone in the room. She immediately began to primp in front of the mirror, and then examined it carefully to see if she could see through to the other side.

  Henry entered the room. “What’s up?”

  “Stop the interview. You just got her to admit to the coroners report. No one knew she might have done it herself.”

  “Faye, everyone in town knew it.”

  “Shut up, Henry. You’re talking gossip. We just needed someone to slip up in front of an officer of the law. Call Frank and tell him we have cause to question Margaret McPherson’s cause of death.”

  There was a knock on the door and Rosalie the dispatcher opened the door. “Thought you guys should know, Boyd’s wife Carol was just admitted over at Beauregard Medical with second-degree burns on her legs and feet.” Faye and Dave exchanged looks.

  “Thanks, Rosalie,” Dave said. “Let us know if you hear anything more.” She nodded her head and closed the door.

  “Tell Miss Cook to go home, but she should stay in town.”

  “She never goes anywhere,” Dave said, snickering.

  “Just tell her,” Faye snapped and left the room. Dave knocked on the interrogation room door.

  “Mary, you’re free to go.” She looked up at him, squinting. He thought she was very attractive for a woman approaching middle-age, but she was a nut job.

  “How am I supposed to get home? This place isn’t exactly in the middle of town.” He shrugged his shoulders and waved her over.

  “Come on then. I’ll give you a lift.” It was a scary proposition being alone with her in a car. No one trusted Mary, for their safety or for the stories she might carry. She followed him out of the station, pausing as he stuck his head in the dispatch room.

  “Rosalie, I’m going to drive Miss Cook home.” Making sure everyone knew where he was and whom he was with was more for his own peace of mind, but Rosalie looked at with him concern.

  “Okay,” she answered. “I just saw Fred’s cab drive by. You want I should call him over?” Dave smiled and laughed, shak
ing his head.

  “See you in fifteen. Call out the troops if I’m not back by then.”

  When they got outside, Mary finally spoke. “Jesus, you act like I gonna ravish you. You’re not that cute, Dave.”

  “Ha!” He laughed out loud. “That’s the problem with a small town, Mary. Everyone knows who the troublemakers are.”

  “I’m highly insulted,” she answered.

  “Yes, well be that it may. I’m to tell you not to leave town this week.”

  “Where the hell am I going to go? Oh wait, tonight is June Extravaganza at Phillip Anderson. I can’t miss it.”

  “Beauregard doesn’t count,” he answered. “You dancin’ in the contest?”

  “No, just watchin’. But I’ll be dancing the rest of the time. You going?” she asked.

  “Wife doesn’t dance,” Dave answered. “She’s about ready to hatch.” Mary didn’t reply, resentful that yet another local woman was going to have a baby and she was still alone and barren. The car pulled up to her house just as a stranger, a woman was walking down her steps.

  “A boarder! Let me out of this damn car.” She opened the door before he was fully stopped but he slammed on the brakes as she jumped out. The woman stopped on the sidewalk, shocked to see the police car.

  “Thanks so much for the lift, honey!” Mary said, waving at Dave as she climbed up to the sidewalk, smiling at the woman. “Just my boyfriend. Help you?”

  “Is this your place?” She pointed over her shoulder at Mary’s house.

  “Yep, it’s all mine,” Mary said walking up to the porch.

  “I was told you rent rooms,” the woman said, taking in Mary’s disheveled appearance.

  “Who told you? Frank?”

  “No, some man at the grocery store. Bearded fellow.” Mary frowned; those characters at the check-out really were a nuisance most of the time. Turning the key in the lock, she pushed the door open and the familiar smell of her house wafted out along with the cold air.

  “Just passing through?”

  “Yep, just for the night. Took a wrong turn down in Mobile I guess.”

  “Come on in,” Mary said, stepping aside so the stranger could enter. “No one here at the moment so you’re in luck.” She turned to close the door, looking on the street for her car.

  “Leave your car uptown?” Mary asked. The woman didn’t answer so Mary turned to look at her and repeated the question. “Leave your car uptown?”

  “Ah, yes. Uptown,” the woman answered.

  Chapter 26

  The rest of the weekend was uneventful. Frank and Ellen had fun dancing in Beauregard Saturday night, helping them forget what was happening back in Seymour. Sunday morning, trying to brighten Ellen’s day, he drove into town and got take out fresh pastry and french toast for breakfast, the café’s specialty. Although they tried their best to recover from the week, worries about the possible charges pending made them both ill, waking up Monday morning with a feeling of dread. Trying to sweep it aside by sticking to his routine, he got into the shower and ended up cutting himself shaving, his hands were shaking so badly. They were supposed to learn something about the allegations against him that day. Hopefully, the investigation would be dropped, but if not, he couldn’t imagine what he would do about Ellen. Margo came to mind; Ellen liked her and she was kind and trustworthy, so as soon as he was dressed, making sure Ellen was still asleep, he went into the kitchen and dialed Margo’s number.

  ***

  Late Saturday night, Boyd left the hospital. He was tempted to stop by Margo’s, but forced himself to head straight home. Once he was sure his children were okay, he went back to the bedroom and called Margo.

  “I was worried about you,” she said, angry. “When you left this morning you said you’d call me, that I’d see you. I expected you to be here for dinner.”

  “Please forgive me Margo,” he answered, grasping for the right words.

  “Are you home now? What happened, Boyd?” He told her about Carol’s accident, and although she felt sorry for the woman, she was livid that a clumsy mishap was enough to drive Boyd back to her and leave Margo in the dust. Incredulous, Margo needed to hear him say the words. They were through. “So are you saying you’re not leaving her now?”

  “Please forgive me, Margo. I know it sounds like a lame excuse, but I can’t do it to my kids.” It was more than that, he couldn’t do it to Carol, either. But he was trying to avoid a blowup and using finesse was the only way to do it.

  “Fuck you, Boyd. Don’t ever call me again.” She slammed the phone down and burst into tears. Immediately regretful, she tried to call him again but he didn’t answer. It would be a sleepless night.

  Sunday was hell; she knew he was at the hospital with his wife but had no way to contact him and he probably wouldn’t have taken her calls anyway. She debated going to the hospital to confront him, but aware it would be unprofessional, maybe enough for her to lose her job, she dropped it. Between bouts of uncontrollable sobbing, in which she’d listen to melancholy love songs, and forcing herself to do something productive, she got through the day. Longing to hear his voice after two days of silence, she stayed busy wishing Monday morning would hurry up and arrive so she could go to work.

  Standing in the kitchen, she drank morning coffee while holding an ice bag to her swollen eyes, looking out over the lawn. The heat of summer would soon do a number on her garden and this year, she wouldn’t fight it, let nature take its course. The ringing phone snapped her out of her stupor.

  “It’s Frank, Margo. I hope I didn’t wake you.”

  “Oh, no, Frank. I’m awake. Just waiting to start my day as usual. Everything okay?”

  “I don’t know yet,” he admitted. “I should hear something about the prosecutor making a case against me.”

  “Oh, right,” Margo said, empathy for him driving some of her own angst away. “I don’t think it will come to that, Frank.”

  “I need to be prepared, just in case,” he replied. “You’re about the only person in town Ellen and I trust. You are the only person. I know this is a lot to ask. If I’m put in jail, or if they take her away from me, can she stay with you? I’m sick thinkin’ they might place her in one of those awful foster homes you read about in the paper.” Margo’s heart rate sped up. Frank just paid her a compliment she didn’t deserve. It was her call to Boyd that started the whole mess against him, giving the words of gossips life, fueling their hatred.

  “I don’t deserve this,” she said, fighting tears, self-pity and condemnation flooding over her. “Frank, I would be honored to take care of Ellen if it comes to that. But you don’t know what you’re saying. I’m not that great.”

  “Look, all I care about is my kid is taken care of by someone I trust and admire and that’s you. There ain’t no one else, Margo. No one.” Margo sat at on a stool at her kitchen counter and started to weep. Thinking of her empty life, in which getting involved with a married man was the most exciting thing she could conjure up, persuading him to leave his wife and kids, Margo really didn’t deserved the trust Frank was placing in her. It was an answer to prayer. He was waiting for her reply.

  “Okay, Frank, don’t worry about Ellen. She has a room here with me if need be. But I don’t think that it’s going to be a problem, okay? Let’s not be premature.”

  “Thank you, Margo. Thank you,” he said, choked up. “I have to wake her up now. But I’ll be in touch later.” They said goodbye and hung up.

  The sound of Frank’s voice, the praise he gave her and trust he put into her, although undeserved, triggered a complete one hundred-eighty degree change in Margo’s mood so that what Boyd had done in betraying her no longer mattered, as a matter of fact, his timing was perfect. She stopped thinking about him all together. What she’d wanted was a chance to get Frank’s attention and it looked like she’d succeeded. Everything was falling into place. Looking in the hallway mirror on her way out, Margo was pleasantly surprised how pretty she looked. “Have a nice day!”<
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  ***

  Faye Baker was at her desk early Monday, her boss and two detectives sitting across from her, deliberating. “So it’s agreed, we have no case against Frank McPherson.” The others nodded their heads.

  “Agreed,” they echoed.

  “Good. Now we can concentrate on Alan Johnson.” They closed one file and opened another, thicker file. “We have two knives, one a steak knife from the café and the other a carving knife from the same manufacturer, both covered with Mary Cooks fingerprints.”

  “The only problem is that she works at the café,” Dave Madden said. “Boyd was able to smuggle his steak knife out without a problem after she gave it to him with his lunch. How do we know the same thing wasn’t accomplished with the carving knife?”

  “We don’t,” Faye replied. “Does the café do a knife inventory?”

  “They do, and that knife is missing. We have her neighbor’s testimony that after Johnson left Mary’s place she had a temper tantrum and smashed the mug he used on her driveway.”

  “Sounds lame to me,” Henry said. Faye hit her palm on the desk.

  “Bring her back here,” she told him. “She’s at work by now at the café. Please bring me back a blueberry danish.”

  “I’ll go,” Dave said.

  “Go with him,” Faye said, pointing at Henry. “She’s trouble and God knows we don’t want any more belly punches.” The detectives left the office, laughing but feeling badly for Boyd.

  Faye sat across from her boss. “What’s next?” he asked, looking at his watch.

  “I want to reopen Margaret McPherson’s death investigation.”

  He pushed his chair away from her desk. “Knock yourself out,” he said, saluting her and left the room. Opening the file in front of her, she reread the nurse’s testimony from Hallowsbrook, listing the onset of symptoms and the speed at which Margaret succumbed. Pulling her phone close, she dialed the number of a nurse friend of hers who might be able to unlock the mystery behind the gibberish that was the autopsy lab reports and spot something someone, including the coroner missed. It was a long shot.