Wall-To-Wall Dead

by Jennie Bentley

  Robin nodded. “I got pregnant out of wedlock,” she explained. “His mother made Guy ‘do the right thing—’” Her soft voice twisted as she said the words. “But his heart wasn’t in it. He’d just wanted to have some fun, he hadn’t expected me to get pregnant, and being tied down didn’t suit him at all. It wasn’t long before he started taking his frustrations out on me.”

  “You mean he hit you?”

  She nodded, and Bruce’s expression darkened further.

  “It wasn’t so bad while I was pregnant,” Robin continued. “His mother would have killed him if he did anything to hurt the baby. But after Benjamin was born, and I was tired all the time, and Jamin had colic and cried all night, and Guy had to stay home instead of going out with his friends…that’s when it got bad. I stood it as long as I could, and then I left.”

  “Why didn’t you report him to the police and have him arrested?” That’s what I would have done. Not taken my baby and fled.

  “I was afraid,” Robin said simply. Bruce patted her hand. “The Quinns are an important family, while I was some little upstart from the wrong side of the tracks who everyone thought had gotten myself in the family way so Guy would marry me.” She made a face. “The mayor was Guy’s uncle. The chief of police used to bounce him on his knee when he was little. I knew nothing would happen to Guy in Mobile.”

  “How did you end up in Maine?”

  “I drove to New Orleans,” Robin said, “and sold the car at a used car lot. I thought it would make Guy lose the trail. If he bothered to look for me at all, that is.”

  I nodded. Around me, Josh, Jamie, and Derek were also listening intently.

  “From there, I took a train to Chicago, and another train to Boston. I didn’t want to fly because there would be a record of my name if I did.”

  “Why Boston?”

  “It was where the train stopped,” Robin said. “And it was as far away from Mobile as I could get without going out West.”

  “And Maine?”

  Robin blushed and shot a glance at Bruce. He picked up the story.

  “Robin and I met in Boston. She was looking for a car, and a friend of mine has a used car lot. I happened to be there when she came in.”

  “I freaked out a little when I realized I had to fill out paperwork,” Robin said softly. “I didn’t want my name recorded anywhere, just in case Guy came looking for me. For Benjamin.” She looked over at the closed bedroom door. Behind it, I could hear Winnie the Pooh singing about being short and fat and proud of that.

  “We got to talking,” Bruce said, “and Robin put up the money while I put my name on the registration. I gave her my phone number and told her to call if she needed anything. Two days later she did.”

  Robin was still blushing, and the look she slanted at Bruce was almost shy. “He was so nice. And he’d already been so helpful. I felt bad about imposing any more than I already had, but I didn’t know what else to do. I needed a job, but I was afraid to apply anywhere, since I thought they’d want to check references, and—”

  “You didn’t want Guy to find out.”

  She nodded. “So I called Bruce and asked him if he knew of something I could do, maybe under the table. I ended up telling him the whole story. He told me to drive up to Waterfield and we’d figure something out.”

  “She spent a couple of months living in the spare bedroom with Benjamin,” Bruce said. “I have a job, enough to pay the bills, and she doesn’t eat much.”

  He grinned at Robin, who smiled back, a little tremulously.

  “Eventually we decided to try to make something more of it. That’s when we bought the rings and started telling people we were married. Robin needed a new name, just in case Guy was still looking for her.”

  Robin nodded. “Guy couldn’t care less about me, or for that matter about Benjamin, but he’s still Jamin’s biological father, and he and his mother have a lot more money and power than we do. If they want Benjamin back, they can cause a lot of trouble for us.”

  “And Miss Shaw figured that out?”

  Bruce nodded. “I don’t know how, but she stopped me going upstairs one day, waving that damn paper in my face and asking if I knew that my ‘wife’ was already married to another man. Guess she thought Robin hadn’t told me.”

  “What did you do?” I asked.

  His face darkened. “Threatened to rip her tongue out if she caused any more trouble.”

  Derek smiled faintly. I swallowed. “That would have been good enough for me.”

  Bruce shrugged. “Musta been for her, too, I guess, ’cause I never heard about it again. And Guy never showed his face around here.”

  Probably a good thing for Guy, since I was pretty sure Bruce would have rearranged it for him if he had.

  We sat in silence another few seconds. Again, it was Josh who broke it. “I’m really sorry, but I have to give the envelope with the stuff to my dad.”

  Both Robin and Bruce looked ready to interrupt, but he continued before they could. “If someone’s going around killing the people in the building, I can’t not share it with him. It might be relevant. And I want to stop this person, whoever it is, before someone else dies.”

  “Wayne isn’t unreasonable,” I added. “He’s a nice guy. He’ll understand your situation. And it’s not like you’ve done anything illegal. You didn’t really commit bigamy; you’re just pretending to be married. Just tell him the truth. He might even have something to suggest for how you could divorce Guy for real.”

  Robin didn’t look convinced, but she nodded.

  “Sorry to be the bearer of bad news,” Josh added and got to his feet. “We’ll leave you guys alone. Sorry to spring it all on you. I just…we just”—he took in the rest of us with a glance—“we wanted you to have fair warning. So that when Dad shows up to talk to you, you’ll know what happened.”

  Bruce nodded. “We appreciate it. Let me see you out.”

  He herded us toward the front door while Robin made a beeline for the bedroom and Benjamin. I guess she probably felt the need to see him and hug him and reassure herself that he was there, and whole, and hers. I know that’s what I would have wanted to do.

  “You gonna visit everyone in the building tonight?” Bruce asked as we filed past him out of the apartment and into the stairwell.

  Josh nodded. “Pretty much, yeah.”

  “She dig up dirt on other people, too?”

  “Everyone in the building.”

  Bruce nodded. “Good luck.”

  “Thanks.” Hopefully the rest of the visits wouldn’t turn out to be as surprising as this one had been.

  Across the landing, we knocked on Amelia Easton’s door and stood back to wait. We could hear music from inside, 1980s techno-pop or something like it, and when Amelia came to open the door, she looked happy and relaxed, too, in jeans and a bright turquoise T-shirt, with her hair down, a big balloon glass of something pale green and slushy in her hand—frozen Margarita?—and her feet bare with matching turquoise polish. Hardly the statement I’d expect from a staid professor of history.

  Of course, the happiness slipped right off her face when she saw us. Her eyes turned wary and the corners of her mouth drew down. “What’s wrong?”

  And then she noticed Jamie, and must have realized what had happened. “Oh, no. Candy?”

  We nodded. Jamie’s eyes filled with tears again.

  “That’s terrible,” Amelia said. “Any idea what happened?”

  Since Derek was the one who had tackled the answer to that question last time, we left it to him to bring her up to speed. I was a bit surprised when he simply said, “Heart failure.”

  But Amelia didn’t question it, just nodded. She seemed to have realized she was holding a ginormous glass of alcohol, and I could see her eyes flicker as she looked for somewhere to put it down.

  “Can we come in for a minute?” Jamie asked. “We need to talk about something.”

  Amelia hesitated, but it wasn’t like she could
say no, really. “Of course.” She stood aside to let us in.

  “Thank you.” We filed into the hallway and looked around.

  Here, everything was a mirror image of the apartment across the hall, and of ours downstairs. The kitchen was right instead of left, the living room left instead of right.

  But unlike Amelia herself, who was bland to the point of boring—at least when she wasn’t barefoot—the place was full of color and excitement. The walls in the hallway were light purple, with tasteful black-and-white landscapes in black frames flanking a beautiful sunburst mirror. The bathroom had been updated with marble tile and what looked like a big soaking tub, and the kitchen had white high-end cabinets with glass fronts, a bright blue counter, and stainless steel appliances. It was gorgeous, especially against the big bowl of oranges sitting on the counter.

  “Wow.” I looked around. “This is beautiful.”

  “Thank you.” Her voice was sort of toneless. Usually people get excited when you compliment them on their homes, but Amelia was more stiff. But maybe she was just worried about the other shoe dropping. The shoe Jamie had intimated was coming when she’d said we had something else to discuss. “Why don’t we sit down in the living room?”

  She led the way without waiting for our answer.

  Like the kitchen, hallway, and bath, the living room/dining room combo was gorgeous, and bespoke excellent taste, enough money to indulge it, and a love of luxury and fine things, albeit in a more personal—and less ostentatious—way than in the Rossinis’ home. There, there’d clearly been a designer at work. Here, it looked like Amelia had lovingly put it all together herself. The floors were polished hardwood, and two Persian rugs defined and separated the living room and dining room areas. The dining room set was upscale modern: dark wood with simple Quakerish lines and tasteful seat cushions. A huge flower arrangement sat in the middle of the table: what looked like at least two dozen calla lilies in a hand-blown glass vase. Both flowers and vase must have cost a small fortune, separately or together. I’d priced calla lilies for my wedding bouquet, and they don’t come cheap. Nor does art glass.

  The living room sofa and chairs were leather, but that was the only thing they had in common with Bruce and Robin’s cracked couch across the hall. This stuff was the color of eggplant, and looked brand-new. When we sat down, it was like sinking into a mound of pillows. The leather didn’t even squeak.

  “This is gorgeous,” I said, stroking it. It was as soft as butter, or the proverbial baby’s bottom.

  “Thank you.” Amelia didn’t sound any more excited about that compliment than she’d been about the previous one. “What’s going on?” She took the matching chair while the four of us made ourselves comfortable on the sectional. It was plenty big for all of us.

  Jamie glanced at Josh and Josh glanced at Jamie. It was a tiny bit disconcerting to watch them, since I had the impression that if it hadn’t been for Shannon, Josh and Jamie might have been very happy together.

  “It’s about Miss Shaw,” Jamie said eventually, turning back to Amelia.

  Amelia looked wary. “Yes?”

  “Remember I told you about Miss Shaw finding out about my job and threatening to call my parents? And remember that envelope of information I told you we found in Miss Shaw’s condo after she died?”

  Jamie didn’t wait for Amelia’s nod. “It didn’t have just information about Candy and me in it. There was stuff about everyone in the building. The two of us, Josh, Robin and Bruce, Mariano…even Avery and Derek.”

  Amelia glanced at me. “What kind of information?”

  “Jamie’s job,” I said, sticking to the things I figured she already knew about. “Candy’s affair. My aunt’s death.” She might not know about that last one, but I didn’t care if she found out. Better I talk about that than any of the other neighbors.

  “Now that Candy’s dead,” Jamie continued, “the police need that information. I don’t want to believe that her boyfriend or his wife did something to her—but someone did.” She sniffed. “She was always so healthy, at least until she drank that stupid wine he sent.”

  “Of course,” Amelia said. “It’s all right, Jamie. Candy can’t be hurt by anything we do anymore. What we need to do now is help the police figure out who did this to her.”

  Jamie nodded. “That’s why we’re going to give the police the envelope tomorrow. With everything in it. We just wanted to let you know.”

  Amelia nodded, but I thought she looked a little confused, or perhaps “concerned” is a better word.

  “We wanted to warn you,” I tried to explain, “in case Wayne brings up that old story about your college roommate again. That information was in the envelope, too. I guess maybe Miss Shaw didn’t realize it was common knowledge. Maybe she thought there was something more sinister to it than there was.”

  Amelia shook her head. “It was nothing more or less than it looked like. A terrible tragedy, and a great personal loss. I loved her, in spite of her failings. I’m just sorry her weaknesses caused her death.” She sighed.

  We sat in respectful silence for a few seconds until I got to my feet. “Is this her?”

  It was a small strip of photographs, the kind you get out of a photo booth, tucked away in a corner of the shelving unit, sharing space with a few strategically placed books—chosen more for their looks than for Amelia’s enjoyment of them, I thought—another glass vase, a few glass animals—birds—and other knickknacks. Other than the landscapes on the wall in the hallway, clearly professional quality, these were the only photographs I’d seen since entering Amelia Easton’s apartment.

  Amelia nodded. When I picked up the strip for a closer look, I think she twitched a little, but I might have been mistaken.

  The pictures showed two young women around the age of twenty squeezed into a photo booth together, mugging for the camera. Or at least one of them was. I recognized Amelia’s face, even with her eyes crossed and her tongue sticking out. Her hair was longer then, thick and wavy, down past her shoulders, not pulled back in that no-nonsense knot she wore these days, and a pair of chandelier earrings almost the size of the real thing decorated her earlobes.

  The other girl must be the dead roommate. They looked a lot alike, actually. Same round, unfinished face, same big eyes. Both were brunettes, but Nan had curlier hair she kept pulled back so only a few wisps framed her face. I understood that compulsion; curls—like kinks—can be hard to tame. No earrings for her, but she was wearing a crucifix on a chain around her neck. The same crucifix, or one identical, was curled next to the strip of pictures. The links pressed into my fingertips when I picked it up.

  The crucifix was engraved, I realized. With a date and a name. The date was from the mid-1980s—maybe a confirmation or the Christian equivalent of a Bat Mitzvah, when Amelia had been thirteen or fourteen?—and was engraved on the crossbeam, while the name ran vertically down the shaft.

  “We each got one,” Amelia said, looking over my shoulder. “All the girls did. Confirmation gift.”

  “I have one, too,” Jamie said from behind us. As I put the photograph back down on the shelf, she added hesitantly, “I know it’s not my place to tell you what to do, Professor Easton, but you should consider going back for a visit. It’s a different place now. At least that’s what my mom says.”

  How different could it be, I wondered, if parents still threatened to drag their grown children back home by the hair if they strayed too far from the straight and narrow?

  And then I caught on, a few seconds belatedly. “I didn’t realize you two came from the same place.” Judging from Josh’s expression, he hadn’t realized it, either.

  “The same congregation,” Jamie said. “Although Professor Easton had left by the time I was born, I think.”

  She turned back to Amelia. “There’s no commune anymore, you know. That happened soon after…”

  She trailed off. “Anyway, we live all over now. In normal houses in normal neighborhoods. The kids get immunized, j
ust like all the other kids. We have medical records and dental records and birth certificates. I went to a regular school. A private Christian school, so it was stricter than the state schools, but I had friends who weren’t part of our congregation. My parents even let me go on group dates once I turned sixteen. It isn’t like it used to be.”

  Amelia nodded, but it didn’t look like she believed it. Or if she did, it certainly didn’t look like she’d ever consider going back, even for a visit. If I’d narrowly escaped a place like that, I’m not sure I would have, either. It must be just as stifling and horrible as Robin’s bad marriage.

  And none of this was any of our business. It was obvious we were making Amelia uncomfortable. We’d done what we came for. I got to my feet. “We should get going. We still have to tell the rest of the neighbors the news. Thank you for inviting us in.”

  Since she couldn’t say it was her pleasure, Amelia simply nodded. “Thank you for stopping by to let me know about Candy. I’m sorry it ended that way. I hoped, since she got to the hospital in time, she might have a chance.”

  “She hung on for a while,” Derek said as we made our way toward the front door. “But her system was just too compromised, I guess. The damage was already done by the time we got to the hospital. It was just a matter of time. But at least we can take some comfort in the fact that she didn’t suffer.”

  “She didn’t?” Jamie’s eyes were huge in her pale face, and begging for reassurance.

  “No,” Derek said gently, “she didn’t. She was beyond feeling anything at all the whole time she was in the hospital. From when we found her in the basement until she died, she didn’t feel a thing. At least that’s one thing to be grateful for.”

  Jamie nodded and bit her lip. When her eyes overflowed again, we all pretended not to notice.

  —18—

  “Two down,” Josh said when we were outside in the stairwell, with Amelia Easton’s door closed and locked behind us, “and two to go.” He sounded as exhausted as I felt.