Dying to Remember

by Judy Fitzwater

  “We simply want to ask her a few questions,” the policewoman assured him. “I’ll have her back in a few minutes.”

  Jennifer felt panic prickle through her body, which, having ditched the fight option, was poised for flight. She glanced desperately toward Sam and Teri, but all she got in return were two shrugs.

  “We’ll wait,” Sam assured her.

  Now that was helpful.

  Chapter 10

  “That...that...” Jennifer repeated as she paced.

  “I don’t know why you’re having trouble finding the word,” Teri said. “I can think of half a dozen. You want I should start alphabetically with the Bs?”

  “She actually told them I knew all about Danny and what was eating at him. Then she had the nerve to tell the police that I was the last person to see him alive. As if that wasn’t enough, she brought up everything that happened twelve years ago and accused me of stealing him away from her.”

  “Now that’s a bad one. What’s it carry? Twenty to life?” Teri yawned and rubbed both her eyes.

  “Ooooh. I could...I could...” Twelve years of repressed and not-so-repressed anger bubbled to the surface.

  “Capture that thought and see if you can’t get it into that chapter you showed us last week. That’s what I was trying to tell you was missing, that seething hatred.”

  Sensing the knotted muscles in her neck, Jennifer stopped and uncurled her fists. Hatred? Did she hate Sheena? She thought she’d forgiven Sheena years ago. Looked like she had some work of her own to do. “It’s just that the police were treating me like I was Dr. Kervorkian, like I helped him kill himself.”

  What’s more, before she’d left the high school, she had to explain to Sam about her relationship with Danny. And about Sheena. And Danny’s trying to talk to her that night. All of which she’d hoped to never have to mention to anybody ever again, least of all Sam.

  She started pacing again.

  “Do you mind? You’re wearing a groove in my mom’s new carpet,” Teri said, trying to prop open her eyelids with her fingers. “Besides, it’s—” she checked her watch. “Holy....Do you know it’s almost three-thirty in the morning? Calm down.”

  But she couldn’t calm down. Danny was dead, Sheena was still causing her grief after all these years, and something was very, very wrong.

  Teri’s eyes, heavily lined and shadowed with the same aqua as her dress, drifted shut, and she tumbled sideways against the arm of the chocolate-brown corduroy couch. She jerked back up and put her index finger to her lips. “Shhhh. You’ll wake my mom.”

  “Your mom takes her hearing aid out before she goes to sleep.”

  “Okay, then, you’ll wake me.”

  “It was your idea to bring me home with you, all the way across Macon to the south side,” Jennifer reminded her.

  After her confession, she’d sent Sam off to write up the story for the Telegraph. He’d only agreed to go when Teri assured him she would see to Jennifer. What was worse, he’d been so unbearably nice about it all.

  Teri had bundled her into the car and taken her home like a lost cat. She’d cut the headlights, using only the glow of the street lamp to see, when they pulled into the driveway of the modest one-story, brick house two blocks off Pio Nono. Her mom’s bedroom was at the far left front corner, and Teri didn’t want to wake her with the flash of headlights. She’d maneuvered the car between the two large Magnolia trees growing out of the packed red clay, and parked in front of the car port.

  Teri had grown up there. She told everyone she stayed because she couldn’t afford a place of her own, but Jennifer suspected it was because her mom was alone.

  “If I’d had my car with me, I wouldn’t be here,” Jennifer informed her. “I asked you to take me to my apartment. I felt awful calling Mrs. Ramon so late and asking her to walk Muffy one last time for the evening.”

  “I didn’t want you staying by yourself tonight, fretting. I thought if you came here you might get some sleep. Silly me. I can’t even get you to sit.” Teri reached over and pulled Jennifer down next to her onto the sofa. “Muffy obeys better than you do.”

  “They didn’t find a suicide note,” Jennifer reminded her.

  “We’ve been all over this more times than I can count. Besides, most suicides don’t leave notes.”

  “You made that up.”

  “Yeah, but it sounds right. Face it, Jen. The guy had a problem, a big problem. If his wife is half of what you say she is, I’m surprised he survived this long.” She yawned broadly, snuggled her head against Jennifer’s shoulder and closed her eyes. “Besides, he’s her concern. You were done with him long ago. I don’t know why you’re worrying about his problems now. He certainly isn’t.”

  Teri had a point. Jennifer lived with an overactive conscience, and if there was blame to go around, she always seemed first in line.

  Still, Danny had come to her asking for help, or at least she felt sure he would have if it hadn’t been for Al Carpenter. And she had done nothing. What if this time when Carpenter showed up, she’d told him to take a hike? What if she could have made a difference in whether or not Danny died?

  Abruptly, she stood up, and Teri plopped sideways onto the sofa cushion. “You can’t tell me that a person would choose such a public place to commit suicide. It doesn’t make any sense. He would have gone home where he could have a nice garage—assuming he had a garage—to poison himself in. The chances of someone finding him in that parking lot—”

  “But no one found him, Jen. He wasn’t actually in the lot. Besides, everyone was inside.” Teri shook her head. “People who take their own lives are irrational, backed into some kind of corner. If they weren’t, they wouldn’t do it. But he did.”

  But Danny hadn’t seemed at all irrational when she spoke with him earlier. Nor had he been one to avoid problems—except where Sheena was concerned. He’d been at the reunion. With friends. It simply didn’t make any sense.

  “If it was suicide, that’s between Danny and God. But what if it wasn’t. What if it was—”

  “Oh, no,” Teri groaned. “Don’t even go there. He killed himself, Jen, and you’re just going to have to accept it.”

  Chapter 11

  The answering machine was flashing when Jennifer got home close to one o’clock Sunday afternoon. She’d awakened around noon, and Teri’s mom had forced her to eat some cheese grits when she politely refused the fried chicken (the one food on earth that threatened her vegetarianism), milk gravy (okay, that, too), homemade biscuits, mashed potatoes, and collard greens that Mona had prepared when she got back from church. She’d muttered something about Jennifer wasting away to nothing from a protein deficiency, and poured her an enormous glass of whole milk to go with it. Mona’s concept of the ideal weight was a good deal higher than that of the general public.

  The grits, comfort food of the highest order, were pretty darn good, and she was indeed hungrier than she thought. Mona stood guard until every last bite of grits and every last sip of milk had disappeared. Then she allowed Teri to drive her home. Jennifer missed having a mother of her own, so she didn’t at all mind having Mona fill in on occasion, especially when she was tired and confused.

  She shoved the door of her apartment closed behind her, dumped her purse on the table, and turned to pick up a slip of paper lying on the floor just inside the door. Sam. He’d been by to check on her. The note said he hoped she was feeling better and that he’d stop by later, after she’d had a chance to rest. Sweet.

  Her head hurt in that deep place behind her right eye. Wasn’t it enough that she was emotionally drained? Did her body have to turn on her, too?

  Muffy was pulling her you-abandoned-me act by pretending not to have heard her come in, which was just fine with Jennifer. Fortunately, Mrs. Ramon had volunteered to take her out in the morning, too. A human ego held no candle to a dog’s.

  She hit the Play button on the answering machine, and the tone screeched at her. Why the heck did they make those thin
gs so loud?

  “Jennifer, you know and I know they’re wrong. Danny didn’t kill himself. Jennifer, are you there? Pick up. I need to talk to you. Two thirty-six A.M.”

  Sheena. Why was she calling her? And why was she so certain Danny hadn’t committed suicide? Of course. Sheena must be carrying some of the same guilt that she herself had been feeling, only multiplied by ten years of marriage. Sheena was at the reunion, too, and certainly knew Danny a whole lot better than she did.

  Beeep!

  “Jennifer, the police are still saying suicide. They won’t listen to me. Why didn’t you tell them the truth? Three forty-seven A.M..”

  Beeep!

  “I don’t know who else to call.”

  Sheena’s words were slower and softer, barely audible. Jennifer thought she could detect a deep sob of exhaustion in her voice.

  “I can’t get hold of Al Carpenter. I don’t care what you told the police, you’ve got to tell me what Danny told you last night. Five fifty-three A.M.”

  Beeep!

  “Sorry I didn’t catch you in. It’s Seth, just calling to check up on you. I’ll try you again later. Hope you’re getting some rest. Nine forty-two A.M.”

  So Seth had called. Somehow she’d thought he wouldn’t.

  Beeep!

  “Hey, pretty lady. Understand you were at the Riverside High School Reunion Saturday night when one Danny Buckner met his Maker. If I’d known you were there, I would have made it a point to find you. Give me a call, Marsh, and we’ll talk. Could be worth dinner to you. With me. What more could a girl ask? See you later. I promise. Ten twenty-seven A.M.”

  Just the sound of Teague McAfee’s voice was enough to make her skin crawl. So he had been there last night. Well, he was crazy if he thought she’d let him quote her in the weekly gossip rag, The Atlanta Eye, that he wrote for. But young Teague did have a sense of humor, especially if he thought she’d ever call him back. Still, he could be dangerous. If he caught a whiff that she or Sheena suspected that Danny’s death might not be suicide, all heck would break loose.

  The caller ID showed one unavailable plus three other calls from D. Buckner. Persistent little devil. Like a deer tick. She could cause an irritation, then a rash, and show up later with all kinds of debilitating side effects.

  Jennifer sighed. She really ought to call Sheena back. The woman sounded frantic. She lifted the receiver and punched in the first three digits of the number displayed on the caller ID, then stopped and dropped it back into the cradle. Nope. She wasn’t going to do it. She didn’t owe Sheena a thing. Sheena had been terrible to her not because of anything she’d ever done, but because some boy had liked her. What kind of sense did that make? Sheena’s problem had been with Danny, not her, and she didn’t care to ever speak to someone who couldn’t figure out that simple truth. Even someone obviously in as much pain as Sheena was now. That woman had brought unbelievable grief to her young self and she was still doing it, by siccing the police onto her. It’d be a cold day before she sought out Sheena Cassidy Buckner.

  Jennifer took two aspirins, wet a washcloth with cold water, kicked off her shoes, and lay down on the couch, draping the rag over her eyes. She wanted all thoughts of Sheena, Teague, and Danny’s death out of her head, at least long enough to take a nap. She desperately needed a shower, but it would have to wait, unless she didn’t mind falling asleep under running water. Exhaustion rapidly won out, and she sank into the soft oblivion of the weary.

  It took her a full minute to realize the pounding that was stirring her consciousness was coming from the door and not from inside her head.

  Clutching the cloth to her forehead, she scurried to the door in her stocking feet, blocked a yelping Muffy with her knee, threw back the security bar, and jerked it open. This had better be good.

  Without so much as a hello, Sheena, clad in jeans and a T-shirt, a stuffed book bag slung over her shoulder, bumped past her. “Ever hear of returning a phone call?”

  Twelve years had done nothing to soften the woman’s manner.

  But twelve years had done a lot for Jennifer. “Out!” she barked. “Out! Now!” As soon as the words passed her lips, she was sorry. The woman had just lost her husband.

  Sheena drew back. “What the hell’s got into you? All I want is to talk to you.”

  Muffy growled softly, refusing to leave Jennifer’s side until she gave her a good rub and assured her everything was all right.

  Sheena looked her up and down. “God. Don’t you have anything else to wear besides that blue jersey?”

  She should have changed her clothes. And taken that shower. But how dare Sheena point that out!

  “You’ve got three seconds,” Jennifer told her, looking at her watch. Widow or no, she didn’t have to put up with insults.

  “Danny was murdered,” Sheena said.

  “So you’ve been telling my machine. I don’t know anything about it, and I certainly don’t intend to let you accuse me of—”

  “Of what?” Sheena said, staring at her as if she were crazy. “You think that’s why I came here, to accuse you of murdering Danny? You’re nuttier than even I thought you were.”

  Okay. So maybe even Sheena wouldn’t sink that low.

  “I don’t know why you’re here,” Jennifer said. “I can’t imagine where you got the idea that Danny was murdered.” Unless it was from the same place she had gotten hers. “Something was bothering him. You’re his wife. What was it? What did he tell you last night?”

  “He told me nothing. He said he didn’t want to worry me.” Sheena’s lip curled up in one of those ironic smiles. For a moment Jennifer felt sorry for her. It dawned on her that Sheena was fighting hard not to grieve, that she was running one step ahead of ruination, that if she paused to rest for even a moment, it’d catch her.

  “Look. I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t have to be,” Sheena went on. “I don’t relish associating with you any more than you do with me. My husband is lying dead in the morgue, and they won’t even release his body for burial until they’ve done an autopsy and finished their investigation. They’re saying suicide, and I know it wasn’t. And you, whether you’ll admit it or not, know it, too. What did he say to you when the two of you went out into the hall together?”

  “Nothing. Al Carpenter dragged him away. The only thing he mentioned was in the note I got in the mail. I think he wanted to hire a private investigator. Why?”

  Sheena gave her one of her you’re-so-dumb looks. “I don’t know. Haven’t you been listening?”

  “Carpenter’s an attorney,” Jennifer pushed. “He’d have contacts with P.I.’s. So why would Danny be asking me for a recommendation?”

  It was a good question, Jennifer thought. One that said something about Danny and Al’s relationship. Or one that said something about the nature of what Danny wanted investigated.

  But Sheena didn’t seem to appreciate her contribution. She was acted as if it wasn’t worth responding to. She sat down on the floor in front of the couch and pulled her backpack into her lap, unzipping it. She dug out two cans of RC Cola, a box of Ho Hos, and a stack of yearbooks. She popped the top on one of the cans and set the other toward Jennifer, who had sat down, too.

  “So, Jenny. This is where you live. Twelve years out and you’re still in some dinky apartment? What you got here? One bedroom?” Sheena took a big swig of cola, fingering the worn fabric of the sofa cushion she was leaning against.

  Jennifer wondered if such remarks were sufficient provocation for justifiable homicide. They would be if she were on the jury. She knew calling her Jenny was.

  “Talk to Al Carpenter,” Jennifer snapped at her. “And the name is Jennifer, not Jenny.”

  “I can’t find Al. His wife Candy—do you know Candy?”

  Jennifer shook her head.

  “She was on my cheerleading squad. Did incredible splits. We put her at the top of our pyramids because she was so little. She said Al hasn’t been home since before the reunion. She didn’t go.”


  “Did she report it to the police?”

  “Nope. Al does that sometimes. Goes out drinking with his buddies. When I find him, we’ll talk. Until then, you’re it.”

  Lucky her. “But why me?”

  “Whatever it was that had Danny all in a tizzy must have happened about the time the two of you were dating. Why else do you think he was so hot to talk to you?”

  That one made her blush and angry, both at herself and at Sheena. What could she say to a question like that?

  “We only dated for two weeks,” Jennifer reminded her.

  “Fifteen and a half days.”

  Sheeesh. And she thought she was obsessive!

  “So what was it?” Jennifer demanded.

  “I don’t know.” Sheena tossed a yearbook in Jennifer’s direction.

  “What do you expect to find in these?”

  “For four years this was Danny’s world. The people he associated with are all in these books, from students to teachers to staff. Even the janitors. There has to be a picture of someone or something that will jog your memory.”

  “Don’t put this all on me,” Jennifer warned. “I don’t think I ever really knew Danny.”

  “You think I did? Talking wasn’t something we did a lot of when we were together, especially when we were in high school. Look, Jennifer, I know you don’t like this any better than I do, but you’re all I’ve got. I’m not giving you a choice. You know something, all right. You just don’t know you know it, and you’re going to help me find out what that something is.”

  Sheena opened Danny’s senior yearbook and leafed through it. “Danny hung pretty tight with his crowd. They were one of the most popular groups in school,” She said proudly, as though it still mattered.

  It had never mattered to Jennifer.

  “So, remind me. Who was in the group?” Jennifer asked. She felt certain she knew all their names, that, indeed, she’d seen them all together at the reunion. But perceptions were tricky. It would be best if she let Sheena define Danny’s friends.