“Should we use that phone over there?” Mother pointed to a payphone she would never touch, not even with her gloves on.
“I’ve got change.” I plunked my Chanel handbag down on the sergeant’s desk, dug for coins, and triumphantly produced a dime. “Sergeant, what’s your first name? So I can tell Uncle Jimmy.” If I ever called Jim Graham Uncle Jimmy he’d probably have me arrested. Sergeant Decker did not need to know that.
“Wait.” The sergeant held up his hands. “Let me see if I can find you someone to talk to.”
“Are you sure? It’s no trouble to call the club.” I held two fingers to my chin and looked at the water-stained ceiling. “You know, now that I think about it, we should probably talk to whoever is in charge.”
“Just give me a minute, ma’am.” He picked up the phone and spoke low and fast.
Mother and I exchanged a look—we’d worked together and got something we both wanted. A first. Both the working together and the wanting the same thing.
We waited. Standing. Mother unwilling to risk her Persian lamb for the dubious comforts of the chairs that lined the walls. I didn’t blame her. There was no way my camel hair was going near their stained surfaces.
A woman with teased hair and blue eyeshadow emerged from the door behind Sergeant Decker. “This way please.”
We followed her into a squad room. Women—bell-bottom-wearing nature girls, mothers in twin sets and loafers, grandmotherly types wearing too bright coral lipstick with hair like cotton balls—occupied chairs next to all the desks. This was who the police had decided to arrest?
Grace and Aunt Sis sat together at a disreputable desk, their backs to the door.
My daughter and my aunt turned in unison. I’d like to think they turned because they felt my stare burning into the back of their fool heads. I’d like to believe that, but I was pretty sure it was Mother’s stare that singed the hair on their napes.
“Let’s get them out of here.” I spoke through gritted teeth. “We can kill them later.”
sixteen
The policeman sitting across the desk from my aunt and daughter had caterpillars hanging over his eyes. Deep lines etched his face from the sides of his nose to the corners of his mouth. He’d loosened his tie and collar and rolled up his sleeves. He looked bone tired.
He pressed a phone between his right ear and shoulder and took notes with his left hand, nodding from time to time as if the person on the other end could see him.
“Yes, sir. I understand, sir. No problem.” He hung up the phone and rubbed his forehead as if he had a headache.
He probably did. And it was probably from all the smoke.
Smoke rose from countless cigarettes and the heat was damp and close.
The air was as fresh as daisies when compared to the energy in the room…I wasn’t the only one to notice that men sat on the business side of the desks, that men had arrested women who were demanding equal rights.
The policeman fixed his dark gaze on Aunt Sis. “You ladies are free to go.”
For a half-second I wondered if Anarchy had been on the other end of that phone call.
Ridiculous.
Anarchy believed in rules. And consequences.
Aunt Sis and Grace had broken the rules. If it was up to him, there would be consequences.
Whoever had okayed Aunt Sis and Grace’s release had to be a friend of my father’s.
Aunt Sis crossed her arms and leaned back in her chair.
“We’re not going anywhere. Not as long as you’re holding everyone else.”
“For heaven’s sake, Sis.” Mother turned Aunt Sis’ name into a furious hiss. “Someone has to be the first to leave. None of these women will be here long.”
Mother was right. Even the nature girls looked like they had bail money.
“Let’s go. Before they change their minds and decide to charge you.” I jerked my chin toward the door.
Grace leapt from her chair. Eager to return home or eager to escape the full ashtrays and pervasive scent of smoke? It didn’t matter as long as we were leaving.
Sis sighed and stood.
We walked to the exit and I made mental notes. Mother was mad at all of us. I was mad at Aunt Sis and Grace…and Mother. She should have told me Phyllis Schlafly was the speaker. Aunt Sis was angry with Mother and possibly me. The ride home was going to be a barrel of fun.
We paused outside the police station, glad of the gusts of chilled wind. Glad of air that didn’t reek of cigarettes.
“My house or yours?” Mother’s lips and nose and eyes were pinched with unexpressed emotion. She looked ready to kill someone. Me or Aunt Sis? Maybe both of us?
“Yours.” There had been enough murders at my house already.
“I’ll take Sis. You drive Grace.”
I wasn’t about to argue over details.
“Mrs. Russell!”
I turned.
Detective Peters hurried toward us, his shoes crunching the dirty snow on the sidewalk. “What are you doing here?”
“Who is that?” whispered Aunt Sis.
“Anarchy’s partner,” I whispered back.
He stopped in front of us and waited for an answer.
“There was a misunderstanding at a luncheon today. We cleared things up.” Mother’s voice made it clear further questions were unwelcome.
Detective Peters ignored Mother’s verbal hint. “Who got arrested?”
“I did,” said Sis.
“And you are?”
“My aunt. We’re done here. Have a nice afternoon, detective.”
“I have a few more questions about last night.”
Of course he did. “Now is not a good time.”
“I’ll come by your house later.” Was that a threat?
“Call first. I’m very busy.”
There was the scowl he reserved just for me. The one that made his brow look like crumpled newspaper and narrowed his eyes to slits. “I’ll do that.”
The wind suddenly seemed much colder—no longer refreshing, instead, bone-chilling.
We hurried to the cars. Grace rode with me. Aunt Sis rode with Mother.
Grace climbed into the passenger’s seat. “Can’t we just go home?”
“It’s better to get it over with.”
“How mad is she?”
“Scale of one to ten?” I asked.
Grace nodded.
“Eleven. Maybe twelve.”
Grace slumped in her seat with her arms crossed. “How mad are you?”
“With you? Five.” I slowed for a stoplight.
“Really?” She sounded almost hopeful.
The car came to a stop, and I turned and looked at her. “You skipped school.”
“Aunt Sis wrote a note.”
I pondered that. “She signed my name?”
Grace kept her gaze pinned to the windshield. “Yes.” A small sound but a truthful one.
The car behind me honked. The light was green. I pressed on the accelerator. “You’re grounded for the weekend.”
“Mooooom. No. That’s so unfair. I had to protest that woman.”
“I’m not grounding you for protesting. I’m grounding you for skipping school.”
“Like you would have let me go.”
“I would have.”
“Really?” She sounded surprised.
“Really.”
“But the party.”
“I didn’t know who the speaker was.”
“Really?” Now she sounded disbelieving.
“There’s been a lot going on.” Finding a new body every four days could be very distracting.
“If you say so.”
We drove in silence for a few blocks,
then she added, “Please don’t be mad at Aunt Sis.”
I shifted my gaze from the road ahead to my daughter. Was she serious?
“I would have gone without her.”
“Be that as it may.”
I didn’t have to be looking at her to know she rolled her eyes.
We pulled up to the curb in front of Mother’s house but neither of us opened our doors.
“This is going to be bad, isn’t it?” Grace asked.
“Think Guernica.”
“The painting by Picasso?”
“Yes, but also the town. Guernica was bombed to near rubble by the Nazis.”
“She’s that mad?”
I closed my fingers around the door handle. “She’s that mad.” I opened the door and added, “But so am I.”
We marched up the front walk and rang the bell.
Penelope answered the door. “Your mother isn’t home, Mrs. Russell.”
“She will be.” I sounded grim.
We stepped into the foyer and Grace looked up at the gaping hole in the ceiling. “Wow.”
“It’s been a rough week. For all of us.”
“Should I make coffee?” asked Penelope.
“That’s an excellent idea. Thank you.”
“May I take your wraps?”
“We’ll keep them with us.” We’d need our coats if we had to make a speedy escape. “Grace and I will wait for Mother in the living room.”
We didn’t wait long. I was just laying my coat over the back of the sofa when Mother and Aunt Sis marched in. They looked as stiff and uncompromising as the shafts of nine-irons. Obviously they’d had words in the car.
Mother’s gimlet gaze bounced between me and Grace. Eeny, meeny, miny, moe…“Ellison, what do you mean you broke things off with Hunter?” I was the winner, the first to receive her ire.
“Who I date is none of your business.” Calm. Reasonable.
“It’s as if you don’t want to be happy.” Either Mother hadn’t heard me or, more likely, my assertion that who I dated was none of her damned business wasn’t worth considering.
“Now, Frannie, Ellison doesn’t need a man to be happy.” Aunt Sis’ intentions were good—maybe. Statements like that were like throwing gasoline on a fire.
“Your sister and granddaughter were arrested, and you’re mad at me for breaking up with Hunter?” This wasn’t exactly a surprise.
“They’re out of jail. The charges are dropped. You won’t get another chance to catch a man like Hunter.”
“So be it.” It was time to go on the offensive. “How could you neglect to tell me that the speaker at Cora’s luncheon was Phyllis Schlafly?”
For an instant—less than a blink of an eye—Mother’s expression shifted from controlled fury to guilt. “Don’t be ridiculous. I assumed you knew.” Mother scratched the end of her nose.
Itchy noses when lying were a family curse.
“You did not.”
“Of course I did.”
“You had me host a party for that woman. Thank God her plane was delayed.”
“There’s nothing wrong with Phyllis. She’s a lovely woman.” Mother had a tough audience for comments like that.
Aunt Sis snorted. Grace rolled her eyes. And I guffawed.
Mother was losing an argument, an occurrence as rare as Haley’s Comet. Unlike Haley’s Comet, Mother had the ability to change course. “You two—” her gaze encompassed Aunt Sis and Grace “—have behaved shamefully.”
Aunt Sis raised an unconcerned brow. Grace swallowed audibly.
“No matter how you feel about Phyllis, that was your cousin’s luncheon. Family comes first.”
The arch of Aunt Sis’ brow slipped.
“You—” Mother pointed at Grace “—will apologize to your cousin for disrupting her luncheon.”
“But—”
“No buts, young lady.”
“I’ll go with you, Grace. You can explain why you protested. And I’ll tell Cora that if I’d known what you were doing, I would have been there with you.”
Aunt Sis closed the space between us and draped her arm over my shoulders. “We would have asked you to join us, but with two murders on your plate, we assumed you were busy.”
“Sis, I’d like a word.” Mother looked angry enough to spit golf tees.
My aunt seemed unconcerned. She waved us toward the front door and escape. “I’ll talk to you later.”
Maybe. If Mother didn’t kill her.
We slipped outside and climbed into the car.
I stuck the key in the ignition. “Do you want to get it over with?”
Grace tilted her head. “Get what over with?”
“Apologizing to Cora.”
Her teenage jaw dropped. “Wait. You’re actually going to make me do that?”
“I am. She’s your cousin.”
“Aunt Sis doesn’t have to apologize.”
“She doesn’t have to, but she will.” Maybe.
“Fine,” Grace huffed.
I drove the few blocks to Cora and Thornton’s and parked.
“What do I say?” asked Grace.
“Tell her it wasn’t your intention to disrupt her luncheon.” I offered up an encouraging smile.
Grace caught her lower lip in her teeth. “What if she’s mad at me?”
“What if she is?”
“I hate it when people are mad at me.”
I’d spent most of my life feeling that way. It hadn’t gotten me far. “All you can do is apologize and ask for her forgiveness.” I stared out the windshield. The sullen gray of the street matched the sky. “It wouldn’t hurt to tell her how strongly you feel about women’s rights so she knows you didn’t do this on a lark.”
Grace squared her shoulders and opened the passenger’s door. “Let’s get this over with.”
The wind propelled us toward the front door. I rang the bell and we waited.
And waited.
Another gust buffeted our backs and still we waited.
“Isn’t that Cousin Cora’s car in the drive?” Grace pointed to a gold Cutlass.
“It is. And that’s Thornton’s Mercedes behind it.” I rang the bell a second time.
Grace jammed her hands in her pockets. “They’re not here.”
The door flew open and a red-faced Thornton glared at us. With his tie askew and his hair mussed, he looked slightly deranged. “What?” More than slightly deranged.
Grace took a step back.
I held my ground. “We’d like to see Cora.”
“Cora doesn’t want to see anyone.”
“Grace would like to apologize.”
Thornton stared at us.
Another gust of wind assaulted us. And him. And Thornton wasn’t wearing a coat.
“Fine. Come in.” He stood back from the door, and Grace and I hurried inside.
“I’ll tell Cora you’re here.” Thornton left us standing in the foyer.
“He’s really mad,” Grace whispered.
I didn’t argue.
A moment later, Cora shuffled into the front hall with Thornton behind her. She looked twenty years older than she had last night. She moved as if she ached and her eyes were red-rimmed.
“Cousin Cora, are you all right?” Grace took a step toward her cousin and reached out her hand.
Cora looked at Grace’s hand as if it belonged to a leper. “I’m fine. Thornton said you wanted to apologize.”
“I do. I’m so sorry if I upset you or disrupted your luncheon.”
“You should be.” Thornton glared at her.
“Thornton, might I trouble you for a cup of coffee?”
“Coffee?”
“Wonderful beverage,” I said. “Hot and full of caffeine.”
“I’ll make some,” said Cora.
“No, no. You stay here and talk to Grace. I’m sure Thornton can show me where everything is.” Thornton probably didn’t know what a coffee filter was, much less where to find one, but I wanted Grace to have the chance to make her apology without him interrupting.
I stepped forward and laid my hand on his arm. “The kitchen?”
“Fine.” He said the word grudgingly. “This way.”
I followed him down the hallway to a kitchen that was bright and cheery despite the dreary weather outside.
“This is lovely,” I said. “Khaki designed this?”
“It cost a fortune.” He pointed at a Mr. Coffee. “There’s the coffeemaker.”
“I don’t usually drink coffee so late in the day, but it’s so cold out and—”
Again, he pointed. “She keeps the stuff in the cabinet.”
The stuff. Coffee and filters. I put a filter in Mr. Coffee, scooped grounds, and added water to his reservoir.
Thornton sat at the kitchen table and watched me.
“What a gorgeous table.”
“It should be. It could have belonged to a president for what I paid for it.”
Thornton had many faults, but I’d never counted being cheap among them. Or maybe he wasn’t being cheap, maybe complaining about the high price was his way of highlighting his ability to pay.
“I’m sure it’s worth every penny.”
He snorted.
Mr. Coffee diligently filled his pot.
Of the two men in the kitchen, I knew which one I preferred.
“Grace and Sis didn’t mean to disrupt Cora’s luncheon.”
Thornton scowled. “I don’t know why I ever thought she could pull something like that off.”
“How did Cora pick the speaker?”
Thornton shifted in his chair as if it had suddenly become uncomfortable.
“Not that I’m judging, but Phyllis Schlafly was bound to be controversial.” I needed to shut up. The scowl on Thornton’s face was deepening with every word I said.
Watching the Detectives Page 15