Watching the Detectives

by Julie Mulhern

  I picked up the phone and dialed.

  Mother’s housekeeper answered on the second ring. “Hello.”

  “Penelope, this is Ellison. I’m returning Mother’s call.”

  “Good evening, Miss Ellison. Your mother asked me to tell you that she needs you at the hospital. Your cousin Cora fell down the stairs.”

  Oh dear Lord. Poor Cora, she was having a horrible week. “Is she all right?”

  “She’s at the hospital, Miss Ellison.”

  Yes, but there was a difference between a broken leg and a broken neck. “Thank you, Penelope.” I hung up the phone and turned to Grace who was nibbling on a chicken breast under Max’s unwavering gaze. “I’ve got to go to the hospital. Cora had an accident.”

  Grace, her mouth full of fried chicken, merely nodded.

  “I don’t know when I’ll be home.”

  She nodded again.

  “Give some of that to Max.”

  Max favored me with a grateful glance.

  The woman sitting behind the information desk at the hospital was vaguely familiar. “Good evening, Mrs. Russell.” Did everyone at the hospital know my name?

  “Good evening. I’m looking for my cousin, Mrs. Thornton Knight.”

  She studied a list of names. “Cora Knight? Three-fourteen.”

  “Thank you. What about Karen Fleming?”

  The woman consulted her list. “She’s in intensive care.”

  Poor Karen.

  “And Jinx George?”

  Another consultation. “She’s in room—”

  “Thank you.” I already knew Jinx’s room number. The question was to ascertain if she was still there.

  I trudged to the elevator and pushed the up button.

  “Hold the eleva—oh, it’s you. Your mother will be glad you’re here.” My father, who held two steaming paper cups, leaned forward and kissed my cheek. The scent of coffee filled the air around us.

  “What happened to Cora, Daddy?”

  “She tripped.”

  “And?”

  “Her collar bone is broken and she has a possible head injury. She’s still unconscious.”

  The elevator arrived and we climbed aboard.

  “Thornton found her.” Daddy shook his head. “He’s beside himself.”

  I pushed the button for the third floor. “How long have you been here?”

  “Since two.”

  The elevator began its glacially slow climb.

  “Daddy?”

  “Yes?”

  “Is the Stanford USC game a big deal?”

  He cocked his head to the side. I didn’t usually ask questions about football. I never asked questions about football. “Yes, Ellison. For alumni, it’s a very big deal.”

  The elevator doors slid open and we stepped into the hallway. Despite the hospital smell, despite the fact that my cousin’s wife lay in a hospital bed, despite the very real possibility that Mother would spend the next three hours scolding me, my heart sang. Anarchy Jones had skipped watching a big game to spend the afternoon with me.

  We walked halfway down an antiseptic hallway and entered Cora’s room.

  “There you are.” It was the Frances Walford equivalent of where the hell have you been?

  Daddy handed her a cup of coffee. He gave the other to Thornton.

  Mother took a tiny sip. “This is awful.”

  Daddy shrugged, immune to her bad mood. “They made it fresh for you, Frannie.”

  Thornton sipped and grimaced.

  “You’ve been here all afternoon?” I asked.

  “Yes. And I’d like to know where—”

  “You must be hungry.” If I let Mother get a head of steam, there would be no stopping the diatribe. “I’ll sit with Cora. Why don’t you go get something to eat?”

  “I couldn’t ask you to do that.” Thornton shook his head.

  “Don’t be silly. We’re family. Run on over to Winstead’s and get yourselves hamburgers and decent cups of coffee.”

  “She’s right, Thornton.” It was hardly surprising Daddy agreed with my plan. Six o’clock was dinner time.

  Mother stood and disappeared into the bathroom. The sound of coffee being poured down the sink was unmistakable. She reappeared. “Let’s go, Thornton. We won’t be gone long, and there’s no sense in all of us just sitting around.”

  “What if she wakes up and I’m not here?” Thornton was being far more solicitous of unconscious Cora than he ever was when she was alert.

  “I’ll tell her you’ll be back in a jiffy. Go. You’ll feel better after you eat.”

  They went.

  I settled into the chair nearest Cora’s bed and picked up the paper. A judge had dismissed the charges against the guardsmen who fired on the students at Kent State.

  “Ellison?”

  I dropped the newspaper to the floor and leaned forward.

  “Cora! How are you feeling?”

  “May I have some water?”

  A cup with a bendy straw sat on the table next to her bed. I held the straw to her lips and she drank.

  When she’d had enough she turned her head. “He’s not here?”

  “Thornton? He’s been here all afternoon. He left just a few minutes ago with Mother and Daddy. They went to Winstead’s for something to eat. He’ll be back soon.”

  The noise Cora made sounded an awful lot like a whimper.

  The blood in my veins formed ice crystals. I’d already seen one woman whose husband hurt her. “Cora, did Thornton do this to you?”

  “No!” Cora winced as if speaking emphatically made her head hurt. “How could you suggest such a thing?”

  Because I’d seen Karen. Because I’d been to Phoenix House. “If he did, we can get you help.”

  She turned her head away. “I don’t need any help.” Never had I heard anyone sound so bleak.

  “Cora—” she didn’t respond to her name “—I’ll help you.”

  “I don’t need help.” She spoke to the wall, not me.

  “Cora.” I instilled her name with empathy.

  “I tripped.” The wall remained more interesting than anything I might say.

  “On what?”

  A few seconds passed. “My own feet.”

  I didn’t believe her. “Why are you covering for him?”

  “It was my fault. The luncheon was a disaster and that’s on me.”

  “What does that have to do with your tripping?”

  “Go. Away.”

  “No. You need help, Cora. Tell me what happened.”

  “He’ll kill me.” I’d heard that so often. When Preston gets the Harzfeld’s bill, he’ll kill me. Said it so often. Mother will kill me if I’m late subbing at her bridge game. This was the first time I’d heard he’ll kill me and knew the person speaking meant it. Literally.

  “We’re going to get you help.”

  “Don’t get involved, Ellison.” Cora’s voice was thick with tears. She turned her head and her eyes were red-rimmed and her nose was scarlet. “Look what happened to the last person who tried to help me.”

  Oh dear Lord. She didn’t mean…

  “Look what happened to Khaki.”

  twenty

  I collapsed onto the uncomfortable hospital chair (so many naugas sacrificed for no good reason), ignored the rude sound it made, and gaped at Cora. “Thornton killed Khaki?”

  Tears leaked from Cora’s eyes.

  What was I going to tell Mother? She adored Thornton. Adored him. And what about Anarchy? Yes, I’d identified Khaki’s killer, but I’d done it within two hours of promising not to get involved.

  What about poor Stan? Had Thornton killed him in my house with fifty
people around? I dropped my head to my hands.

  “You don’t believe me.” Her face crumpled. “You’re on his side.”

  “No.” I reached out and took Cora’s hand. “I’m on yours.”

  “I’m so tired of feeling frightened all the time. Every day I wait for the sky to fall.”

  I squeezed her hand. “We’ll get you someplace safe, and we’ll get you a lawyer.”

  The door to Cora’s room pushed open and we stiffened as if we’d been caught doing something wrong.

  A nurse entered and smiled brightly. “We’re awake. How are we feeling?”

  “My head hurts.” Cora’s voice was faint.

  “I’ll page the doctor and ask if we can give you some meds for the pain.”

  The nurse picked up the chart hanging at the end of the bed and shifted her gaze to me. “How long has she been conscious?”

  “Ten minutes.”

  She made a note.

  “Cora is thirsty. May she please have some ice water?” The cup at the side of the bed was half-empty and tepid at best.

  “Of course.”

  “Is there a telephone directory in here?”

  The nurse pointed to the drawer of the bedside table.

  “Thank you.”

  She bustled over to the bedside, took Cora’s pulse, and laid her hand on Cora’s forehead. More notes went on the chart. “I’ll go get you that water.”

  She departed. I pulled open the drawer and plunked the phone book into my lap.

  “Who are you calling?” asked Cora.

  “Sally Broome.” I ran my finger down the list of names. How was is that the print got smaller every year? I squinted and tapped. “There she is.” I dialed.

  “You won’t reach her on a Saturday night.”

  True—but I couldn’t phone the lawyer who would take my call on weekends. I’d told him I wanted to stand on my own; I could hardly ask for his help four days later. “I’ll leave a message.”

  A disinterested voice answered the phone. “Answering service.”

  “This is Ellison Russell calling. Would you please have Ms. Broome call me?” I left my number.

  Cora still looked worried.

  “They’ll keep you here for several days. You’ll have Sally on retainer before you leave.”

  “Retainer?”

  “A deposit to pay for her services.”

  “I don’t have any money.” The admission came with fresh tears.

  “I do.”

  “Cora! You’re awake.” Mother spoke from the doorway. “You had us all so worried.” With a few words Mother made it clear that Cora had caused everyone (or at least Mother) an immense amount of inconvenience. How would Mother feel when she learned that Cora hadn’t tripped, that Thornton was a wife-beater and a murderer?

  The man himself followed Mother into the room, hurried to Cora’s bed, and dropped a kiss on her cheek. “Thank God you’re awake.”

  Max once cornered a rabbit in the backyard. The poor little thing froze, its fear apparent only through its suddenly too big eyes. That was how Cora looked now. Frozen. Terrified.

  I stood, drew a huge breath deep into my lungs, and planted my hands on my hips. “Thornton, we need to—”

  Cora squeaked.

  I glanced down at the bed.

  She shook her head. More tears streamed down her cheeks. “No.”

  Had she lost her mind? The man had tried to kill her.

  Cora seemed to shrink before my eyes, a tiny, too-thin woman in an enormous hospital bed. “I…I need to fight my own battles.” Her left hand bunched the sheets, but she lifted her chin defiantly and stared at her husband. “I told Ellison what happened.”

  “What happened?” Mother’s gaze traveled from Thornton to Cora and back again.

  Thornton’s shoulders slumped. “It’s my fault.”

  I stared at him. He was admitting to attempted murder? Would he admit to killing Khaki next?

  “Cora tripped.” Mother held onto the truth as she knew it.

  “No.” Thornton shook his head. “Cora and I were having an argument at the top of the stairs. I jerked her arm and she fell.”

  Mother’s face looked as if it had been hewn from Carrara marble. That pale. That hard. “Move out of the way, Ellison. I need to sit.”

  I ceded the uncomfortable chair to Mother. She sank. No rude sounds ensued. The naugas didn’t dare.

  Mother sat rigid, her back poker straight. With her crimson blouse and black skirt, she looked like the Red Queen. Next she’d look at me, the bearer of bad news, and declare off with her head.

  I readied myself for a battle royale.

  But Mother directed her ire at Thornton. “If you had her arm, how did she fall all the way down the stairs?”

  “I lost my grip.”

  “Really?” With one word she demolished any argument he had or ever would have. “You told us she tripped.” Mother’s lip curled. “This is terribly déclassé.”

  Thornton’s stolid expression didn’t change. That Mother had just called him trashy hadn’t registered. Yet.

  The nurse pushed through the door with a pitcher in her hands and Daddy at her heels. “I brought water.”

  Given the icy fury emanating from Mother, the water in the pitcher probably froze solid as soon as she crossed the threshold.

  The nurse put the pitcher down on the table, rubbed her arms for warmth, and backed out of the room. “I’ll let you visit.”

  Too bad I couldn’t escape with her.

  “Thornton and Cora had an argument.” Mother directed her remarks to Daddy. “He’s responsible for her injuries.”

  “But you told the doctors she tripped.” Sometimes Daddy was too sweet and kind for his own good. He failed to see the dark side in people.

  “We are not that sort of family.” Mother glared at Thornton. “Men in this family cherish their wives.”

  I snorted. Henry had not cherished me any more than Thornton, who’d spent the past several decades berating and belittling his wife, cherished Cora.

  “This is not a family where men go down to—” Mother’s chest puffed with righteous indignation “—gin joints, drink too much, then slap their wives around.”

  “I didn’t hit Cora. It was an accident.”

  “Was it?” Mother was as angry as I’d ever seen her. “You had a fight at the top of a flight of stairs. You raised your hand to your wife and she fell. In my book, that doesn’t sound like an accident. You pushed her down the stairs.”

  What had he done to Khaki and Stan White? An active grenade would make less of an impression than me accusing my cousin of murder. Frankly, I didn’t think my family could handle the explosion. I bit my tongue.

  On the other hand, Thornton was family. Did he deserve the right to defend himself before I told Anarchy?

  The nurse made the decision for me. She came back with a doctor who kicked us all out of Cora’s room. Even Mother. Apparently a medical degree made one brave.

  While I might have accused Thornton of murder in private, I wasn’t about to do it in a public hallway. Mother would never believe me. Not unless Thornton confessed. Since that seemed about as likely as Nixon regaining office, I marched up to the nursing station. “Mrs. Knight has just informed us that she didn’t trip and fall. She was pushed.” I cast a telling glance in her husband’s direction. “Would you make certain she’s not left alone?”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “Mother, I’m exhausted. I’m going home.”

  She was so angry with Thornton for behaving like a low-rent, gin-guzzling, wife-beater, she didn’t care what I did.

  Thornton did. He followed me to the elevator. “Ellison, wait.” His hand closed around my upper arm.

/>   We both paused and looked at the pale skin on the back of his hand. The contrast with the fabric of my coat was marked.

  “Take your hand off of me.”

  His grip tightened. “What did Cora tell you?”

  “She didn’t trip.”

  “What else?” He shook my arm hard enough to rattle my teeth.

  I hated bullies. “Did you do it?” I asked. “Did you kill Khaki?”

  “What the hell is going on?” Mother’s gaze was fixed on my arm.

  “Nothing.” Thornton released me, pulled at the lapels of his jacket, then leveled a murderous glare my way. “I did not kill her.”

  I did not believe him.

  I drove home. Somehow. My mind remained back at the hospital. Had Thornton killed Khaki and Stan? Why? Because they knew he was beating Cora? Because they’d tried to help her?

  I sat in the driveway resting my head against the steering wheel until the cold drove me indoors.

  Max met me at the front door. He watched as I pulled off my boots, a disgruntled expression on his doggy face. Had Grace forgotten to feed him?

  And where exactly was Grace?

  She was grounded. God help her if she’d gone out with her friends. The downstairs was quiet. She’d better be pouting in her room

  “Are you hungry?” I asked Max.

  He trotted toward the kitchen and dinner.

  I padded after him. The light over the kitchen sink was on and the counters were spotless.

  Now that Max was in the kitchen, he ignored the door that hid his kibble. Instead he sat next to the entrance to the darkened family room and stared at me. So he wasn’t hungry.