CHAPTER NINETEEN
I was glad I made the effort to get to a meeting. Sue was there, so I was able to tell her about the board meeting.
“You got more out of them than I expected,” Sue said.
“Not really. It’s all paperwork. They gave in just enough to say they complied, but that’s all. My impression was that the lawyer wasn’t confident that they could just ignore Regina’s will. But they were adamant that I not have any contact with the nonresident clients. And since they’ve divided the current residents between Clotilde and Lachlyn, it doesn’t look like I’ll have any face-to-face time with any of them, either. They have to be feeling pretty stretched. From what I can tell, Clotilde’s main duties before this were community outreach and fundraising while Lachlyn managed the day-to-day stuff. You can’t keep a facility like that running without a constant inflow of money, and that takes personal attention. Lots of it.”
“What exactly are you looking for, Letty? Is this just a power struggle or do you have a definite goal in mind?”
Good question. Before I could answer, a familiar voice hooted a greeting to me from across the room. “Hey, Letty! Hey!”
Tall and gangly with a sheaf of blond hair, Paul still looked like a corn stalk, but since getting sober he’d filled out a bi. The added confidence of belonging somewhere had also calmed his twitchiness somewhat. I had gotten skilled at sidestepping his attempts to ask me out, but it was a constant balancing act between salvaging his feelings and not getting hooked into a date. Unfortunately for me, Paul had displayed unswerving loyalty and even a burst of self-sacrificing courage during that horrible period of my life. Whether I liked it or not, I owed him. Besides, he was such a vulnerable, social misfit that I couldn’t bear to do anything that might hurt him regardless of how uncomfortable I felt with his fawning.
Paul took a lot of energy.
After the meeting, not wanting an encounter of the Paul-kind, I scooted out of the club as quickly as I could. This might be a good time to return to the shelter. The board members had scattered immediately after their meeting and I’d watched Clotilde drive away as well. That left Lachlyn, but if she was there perhaps she’d let me get started on the files.
No surprise, none of the administrative staff had hung around. Joyce, however, was still there, scrubbing out the stove in the communal kitchen, but she wouldn’t relinquish any of the files without Lachlyn being present. Couldn’t blame her really.
I wanted access to the resident side of the building, hoping I could maybe talk to a few of the women without Lachlyn breathing down my neck. “Would you mind if I explored the shelter a bit?”
She paused so long I thought she was ignoring me. “You can’t go on the residents’ side. If you really want to help, you can go upstairs and get some blankets,” Joyce finally answered. “A new girl came in this morning. First room on the left at the top of the stairs.” She pointed down the hall in the general direction of the therapy offices.
There weren’t too many rooms on the administrative side that I hadn’t been in. The one area that I had no reason to enter, and frankly, hd no desire to, was the upper story. I knew I should examine the stairs and what lay beyond. I just didn’t want to. I got the feeling Joyce’s request was inspired by her own desire to avoid the site of Regina’s death. She stared at me, stone-faced, awaiting my decision.
The door leading to the stairwell was next to Clotilde’s office. In all the times I’d been here, I’d never seen anyone go upstairs.
Holding my breath, I made it past the spot where Regina’s body had been found. I promised myself that if I caught even one whiff of Regina’s fancy perfume, I’d haul ass out of the shelter and never come back, pushy ghost bitch or not.
They were steep, too, those stairs. My foot barely fit on the tread, so I had to go up angled sideways. They shot straight up like a ladder into the darkness above. Apparently back when the house had been built, people had had teensy, tiny feet and strong-like-bull thigh muscles. Three-quarters of the way up, they took a hard right.
Stars danced in front of my eyes by the time I reached the top. I told myself it was from holding my breath, but the button of my slacks digging into my belly argued a different cause.
Spooked and in active button-denial, I turned into the first room I came to. Somebody had decided that this was the room where furniture came to die. A jumble of mismatched wooden chairs had been shoved against the far corner, their legs entwined incestuously. An ancient, too-cheap-to-be-antique bureau squatted, gap-toothed, against the wall, several drawers missing and a pile of chipped ceramic planter pots stacked haphazardly across its surface.
Dust thickened the air, dulling individual color into a homogenous skin over the objects. Even the wall paint and window curtains had aged to a tired taupe.
Made it hard to breath, too. Cupping my hand over my face, I glanced around for blankets, even though the state of the room made it an unlikely place to store linens. A space had been cleared in front of the closet door, however..
I cracked the door open and peered into the darkness. It was a deep closet, not quite a walk-in but deep nonetheless. Files cabinets lined the back, five across. Dust coated most of their surfaces, except on three cabinets where recent finger marks had left clear swathes. I pulled open a drawer on the closest and, unsurprisingly, found it stuffed with manila files, jammed so tightly I couldn’t fit a finger between them. The second drawer down showed a disturbance. A section of files jutted up, an obvious irregularity.
These must be the shelter’s archives, although they couldn’t possibly hold all the files since the shelter first opened. Maybe those had been recycled. Agencies only had to hold on to their files for a certain number of years—seven, I thought. I performed a hurried check to see if the disturbed areas matched the files Regina had appropriated.
They did.
CHAPTER TWENTY
Had Regina been attempting further research the night she was killed? Unbidden, visions of the women’s faces—their poor, broken faces— rose in my mind. I didn’t have time to explore deeper. Heart thumping, I clicked the closet door shut as quietly as I could, suddenly feeling like Bluebeard’s most recent wife.
How long had I been up here? I tiptoed toward the door, hoping that the creaking floors hadn’t given away my presence. Unfortunately, I didn’t prove to be a proficient tiptoer. In my haste, my feet tangled and I fell full out on the musty, threadbare carpet almost breaking my nose on an extended leg of one of the wooden chairs.
Bet they heard that.
Air huffed out of my lungs and I lay there gasping a vile dusty air mixture. From this vantage point, I could see the pile of chairs wasn’t just any old pile. Somebody had made a fort with just enough wiggle room for a child to squeeze through to the cavernous space in the middle. I would have smiled at the memories of my own childhood forts—Kris and I using upended couch cushions and the old quilt to fashion a snug hidey hole—except that a swath of red fur caught my eye.
Recognizing the missing Mo-mo really did make me smile. Returning it to Mikey would earn me bonus points as well as giving me an excuse to return to Karissa’s trailer. I pulled it out, feeling the lumpy stuffing of a well-loved toy. The smile died when a glint of silver alerted me to the tiny bauble caught in a terry cloth loop. A charm. A fat, sassy little cow with black enamel spots. I’d seen it many times dangling from Regina’s wrist. The whimsical nature of the charm bracelet had always surprised me, but even more so, this cow. It seemed so… well…Wisconsin-y.
Finding it there, under the chairs, meant Mikey had probably been there at the same time Regina had. Maybe they’d even had some kind of interaction. Maybe she’d handed the toy to him, snagging the charm. Maybe she’d discovered his hiding place when she’d come up to research the archives. Hell, maybe they’d been playing hide-n-seek; staff often organized play activities for the shelter’s children. Maybe, maybe, maybe.
Maybe he’d been here, tucked away in his fort, when Regina h
ad plunged to her death.
I practically levitated off the floor, OD-ing on adrenaline: hot and dizzy, ears ringing, a tinny flat taste in my mouth. Clutching Mo-Mo, I stuffed the bauble in my slacks pocket and fled. In the room across the hall, I found lots of blankets—stacks and stacks of them on a banquet table running the length of the back wall. Pillows, too.
A door creaked from the lower floor. Snatching up a set of sheets and a blanket, I stuffed the toy between their folds, wiped sweaty palms on the uppermost, and scurried to the top of the stairs.
Lachlyn emerged out of the murky darkness of the stairwell like a bubble rising to the surface of a stagnant pond, her eyes fixed on mine. My poor overworked adrenal glands had no more juice to give. I stood there, dumbly.
“What are you doing up here?” She didn’t actually hiss, but in my mind, she did.
With a throat so dry I feared it would spontaneously combust, I husked out a reply. “Joyce… There’s a new girl. She, um, said she needed a blanket. So I got it. For her. Joyce, I mean.” I held the linens up.
“Uh-huh. Well, now that you have them, you don’t need to loiter. This area is off-limits, except to staff.” She stood back, silently indicating I should precede her down the stairs.
Let her walk behind me on the stairs that Regina had been pushed from? Not. Gonna. Happen.
“I’ll be right there.” I plopped down on the top riser. “I have something in my shoe. You go ahead.” I pulled off my flat and shook it wildly. Nothing fell out, but neither of us believed I was telling the truth anyway, so no surprise there. Her lips did that bleached white thing, but she started down the stairs.
“Meet me in the group room in ten minutes,” she tossed over her shoulder. “Since you’re so helpful.”
I had just enough time to hide the stuffed animal, toss the bedding on the kitchen table, and dart into the bathroom to quietly urp in the toilet. I multitask.
I wasn’t in any shape to co-lead a group session, but after bitching about the need to interact more, I couldn’t very well say no.
Strangely, the metal folding chairs had all been pulled back from the circle and stacked tidily against a wall. Four sets of wary female eyes stared at me when I walked in. Lachlyn was at the opposite end of the room and didn’t bother to look up. For the first time, I noticed she was wearing sweats, hair scraped back from her head, feet bare.
Everybody else was in some form of loose clothing, mostly sweats with Green Bay Packer logos, although one woman wore pajama bottoms and a stretched-out tank top. If it weren’t for Lachlyn’s casual apparel, I wouldn’t have been surprised. It was Saturday, after all, and the women could be expected to dress for comfort. Not Lachlyn though. Emotionally, she just wasn’t the relaxed-casual type.
Obviously we weren’t going to be running a therapy session. Aerobics, maybe? Lachlyn was still fiddling with something across the room so perhaps she was setting up a CD player. Secretly, I was rooting for a meditation session. Relaxation and stress were some of the few activities I’d liked about my own recuperation. I could sure use some deep breathing right about now.
I said hi to the women, smiling and introducing myself. Each gave her name, which I promptly jumbled up. There was a Sharon, a Candice, and a Barb, but they were all wearing green-and-gold and milling around. I was pretty sure Jan was the one in pjs.
At any rate, I was overdressed.
And oh, so wrong about the activity.
CHAPTER TWENTY ONE
Lachlyn was teaching a self-defense class. Definitely not my favorite activity. Despite Regina’s rigorous drilling, I always flinched when she screamed to disorient me, cowered when she rushed at me, and got the giggles when she pinned me to the mat.
I was light-years away from ninjahood. And I sure didn’t like the look in Lachlyn’s eyes either. Her “pleasant” expression didn’t lie comfortably on her face muscles, unused to the emotion as they were. Her eyes, however, retained the usual pissed. Nothing new there.
The other women clustered several feet away from me. As hyper-vigilant to anger as they were, they sensed enough to stay out of Lachlyn’s sight line. Self-preservation ran strong. Couldn’t blame them.
Lachlyn turned to me with a smile. Not what I would call a friendly smile, but it did seem genuine. That made sense since she was about to thrash my ass.
“All right, ladies, let’s get to work. Today we’re looking at choke holds—a favorite of a lot of abusers. They like to get up close and personal. Letty? How about volunteering? You can be my victim.” Lachlyn laughed as she made the suggestion.
I didn’t. I didn’t break eye contact with her either, letting her know I was on to her game. One of the few things that Regina tried to teach me that took was show no fear.
I was sick and tired of fear anyway.
“Geez, Lachlyn, don’t look so eager,” I said. “You’re not trying to scare me, are you?”
The residents giggled nervously. Lachlyn’s smile lost some of its genuineness, but none of the malice.
We faced off.
“OK, first off, it’s important to remember that while there are always exceptions, generally speaking, a strong man can render an average-sized woman unconscious in five seconds. Five seconds, ladies. Count them off, one-thousand one, one-thousand two… That’s not much time at all. Ten seconds after that, you could be dead. Fifteen seconds, start to finish. Keep that in mind.”
She motioned to me, my cue to choke her. Finally. And I had permission and everything.
Face to face, I wrapped my hands around her throat, but lightly. There were witnesses, after all. She smiled, eyes narrowing.
“You have to protect your airway,” she continued, angling her head back. She was taller than I, giving me an instant disadvantage as her height pulled my center of gravity up. “That’s first. It’s imperative. Don’t try jerking away or scratching at him; he’s too strong and you don’t have enough time. Don’t try fancy footwork; you’ll only end up tripping yourself and your clumsiness will help him finish you off. Tilt your head back to increase air flow, and get to the thumbs.”
Bringing her arms outside my own, she reached in, grabbed my thumbs and levered down hard. I slammed to the floor, pain singing through my knees as I landed. “See how vulnerable your big, bad attacker is?” Lachlyn said as she smiled down at me. “Look at all the places you can hurt her. I mean, him.” She air-jabbed at my eyes and throat and feinted a kick at my midsection. Then, she stood.
I rose slowly to my feet as she nattered on about heel strikes to the nose, palm strikes to the carotid artery, and the ever popular kick-him-in-the-nuts-and-run. It was nice to see someone enjoy her work.
My turn. I waited until she was done with her mini-lecture, and then said, “Mind if I try?”
“Of course. By all means.”
“OK, so I’m getting choked.” Lachlyn wrapped her fingers around my neck. Long and cold, I felt their strength even though they rested lightly on my skin. “So I tilt my neck back … Then reach through, get my thumbs between yours and … twist.” I moved slowly through the steps—not fast, not hard—carefully matching a running commentary to the actions.
When I finished, Lachlyn smiled and said, “That’s ri—”
“And I could do this, right?” I grabbed her by the back of the head and her chin, and spun her around. Pretty easily, too; bodies, after all, tend to go wherever the neck goes. But not too hard. Manslaughter would not look good on the old resume. “Because he would be all vulnerable and everything. In fact, if I really thought he was trying to kill me or go after my kids, I could just snap his neck like killin’ a chicken for dinner.”
As soon as I released her, she spun around, face red, mouth pulled into a snarl. Adrenaline spiked through me like a cocktail, my lips snarling into a crazy-ass smile.
Astrid materialized, shoving her body between us, pushing me sideways and grabbing Lachlyn’s arm. “That’s wonderful! Wow! What a treat we’ve had tonight. Ladies, let’s give these two a r
ound of applause for their hard work. Look at you two. You’re both tired out. Lachlyn, can you pour the lemonade out? You look thirsty.” Turning her back on me, she herded Lachlyn over to the table holding cookies and drinks.
I stood there, panting, as a cold sweat popped out of my skin. I felt nauseous. I looked around for a chair, but despite a wave of weakness washing over me, I changed my mind. I really didn’t want to stay any longer. My glance caught on a glint of silver lying on the floor.
The charm.
I snatched it up, slipping it back into my pocket, then looked around quickly to see if anybody had seen.
Lachlyn’s gaze burned at me from across the room.
CHAPTER TWENTY TWO
I could feel the bruises gelling under my skin on the drive home, and when I turned my head to the left too sharply, there was an ominous twinge in my neck. I looked forward to a long Epsom salt bath until I realized that no amount of hot water would ease the anger-rich tension from my muscles. Lachlyn hadn’t scared me away; she’d royally pissed me off. At least now we knew where we each stood.
Once home, I grabbed the copy of Regina’s calendar and set it with the files on my coffee table. Siggy jumped up to inspect the pile, then followed me into the kitchen to supervise my coffee-making preparations.
“This might be a long night, Sig.”
He blinked up at me, then walked over to his food dish as though reminding me to get my priorities straight. I hadn’t been spending enough time with him, and he was not averse to heaping on the guilt.
“I know, I know,” I told him as I poured his favorite cat food into his bowl. “Maybe you could sit by me and help solve the case like those cats do in books, huh?” Ignoring me, he hunkered over his food like a prison convict, tail lashing, ready to kick butt if anyone tried to take his salmon flavored Kitty Krunchies.
Whittaker 02 The One We Love Page 9