by H E Joyce
‘What the hell do you want? I was taking a bath.’
‘Are you Beth Anderson?’ asked Frank.
‘What if I am, who the hell are you? Are you selling something? Because if you are, I’m not interested.’
‘I’m not selling anything. As a matter of fact I’m here to ask a favour of you.’
‘What do you mean, a favour? Who are you?’
‘My name’s…’
‘Hey, wait, I’ve seen you somewhere before.’
‘I don’t think so, Miss, but…’
‘So what do you want?’
‘I can’t really talk out here in the hallway, do you think we could talk inside?’
‘Are you kidding me?’
‘It’s about Michael Peterson.’
‘Are you a cop or something?’
‘I’m a private investigator,’ Frank said, handing her a business card through the two inch space. She looked at the card at length before releasing the door chains and opening up.
‘I do recognise you, you were at the bar the other night.’ She wore a long bathrobe and her hair was wet as she led him into the small living area. ‘So, what’s this all about?’ she said, lighting a cigarette.
‘May I?’ Frank said, gesturing to a chair. She simply shrugged. Frank sat down as she continued to stand, pacing the floor and taking constant puffs of her cigarette. ‘Well, Miss, I won’t beat around the bush, I’m here to ask you to leave Mr Peterson alone. You’ve been having an affair with him and he wants to end it; it seems though, that’s not on your agenda.’
‘Did he put you up to this?’
Frank ignored the question. ‘There is something else. His wife has been receiving threats. I don’t suppose you’d happen to know anything about that, would you?’
‘Why would I?’
He raised an eyebrow. ‘Then let’s get back to Michael then, shall we? You know we could get a restraining order, but I’m sure you don’t want that. Wouldn’t it be better all round if you just left him alone and got on with your life?’
‘I’ll think about it.’
‘Yes, do, and think about the other thing I mentioned as well. His wife doesn’t deserve receiving threats now, does she – unless of course you have a reason for threatening her?’
‘I don’t know what you mean. I’d like you to leave now, Mr… Mr Doyle,’ she said, glancing at his card.
‘Okay, I’m leaving, but let me just ask you this. Do you really love Michael? Or is there some other agenda? Did you start seeing him to get to Laura, perhaps? You see Miss Anderson, I know who you really are, or at least who you used to be – Miss Mitchell.’
She grabbed him by his coat and manhandled him to the door. ‘Get out! And don’t ever come back here if you know what’s good for you!’
‘I’ll be advising Mr Peterson to take out that restraining order, and in the meantime, I’ll be watching you. Just stay away from Laura Peterson, d’ya hear me?’
‘Get out! she shouted, pushing him out of the door. She was deceptively strong.
‘I’ll be watching, Miss Mitchell,’ he said through the closed door.
Frank returned to his car and after a few moments of thought, took his cell phone and dialled out the number for Michael’s office. He wasn’t sure if he would still be there, but he had to try. Michael’s secretary answered.
‘Oh hi, could you put me through to Mr Peterson please.’
‘Who is calling?’
‘I saw him earlier today, Frank Doyle.’
‘One moment please, Mr Doyle.’ The line went dead briefly before Michael answered.
‘Mr Doyle?’
‘Hello, Mr Peterson, look. I’ve been to see Miss Anderson and I’m afraid it’s no dice, I don’t think she’s going to play.’
‘Well that doesn’t surprise me any.’
‘I told her we’d get a restraining order, but that’s not going to happen, not until after the holiday anyway.’
‘Do we really have to go down that route? Surely Laura will find out?’
‘Now look, Mr Peterson, I don’t want to alarm you, but I think you’ve got yourself into something much more complicated than you realise.’
There was a pause. ‘What do you mean, more complicated?’
‘Well, let me ask you, how much do you really know about this woman? I mean for example, did you know that she was once known as Beth Mitchell?’
‘Beth Mitchell?’
‘Yes, ring any bells?’
‘No, why should it? Wait! That was Laura’s married name.’
‘Yes, exactly. Beth, it seems, was Patrick Mitchell’s daughter.’
‘His daughter? But… but that’s impossible. There has to be a mistake.’
‘There’s no mistake. And that’s not all. She’s mentally ill, Mr Peterson. She’s psychotic. I don’t think there’s any doubt she is the one behind the threats to your wife.’
‘Why?’
‘Well, that I’m not sure of yet, but one thing’s for certain, she’s a dangerous individual.’
‘This can’t be happening.’
‘Well it is, and I think under the circumstances your wife has a right to know. I think you should come clean and tell her everything – for her sake, if you love her that is.’
‘Of course I do.’
‘Well, then you know what you have to do. I’ll be keeping an eye on Beth Anderson. You in the meantime, well, just keep your wife safe, Mr Peterson.’
Fifteen
Jody was blissfully ignorant of the strained relationship between his aunt and his mother, and Laura had no desire to turn him against her merely because of their failure to get along. She longed for a proper sisterly relationship, one in which she could call Sally on the phone at any time for a chat about nothing in particular. But they had never bonded, and somehow it seemed unlikely that would change; there was simply too much history between them.
The airport, though a relatively small one dealing only with domestic flights, was busy. It was the eve of Thanksgiving and people were arriving, and even more leaving, to visit family and friends for the holiday. Laura checked the arrivals board and saw that Sally’s flight was on time. They waited at the arrivals gate, Jody eager to see his aunt, Laura apprehensive, unsure of what she would say or how she would greet her sister. Should she hug and greet her warmly, as she longed to so much? Or should she simply say, “Hi,” with nothing more than a cursory embrace?
It was only minutes before the passengers began to file through arrivals. It was Jody that spotted Sally first; she was wearing a black winter coat and pulling a small piece of hand luggage on wheels. She stopped and looked around, searching for Laura; it was Jody waving excitedly that caught her eye, and she directed a smile at him as she made her way through the crowds towards them. And it was Jody she went to, stooping down to hug him affectionately, barely making eye contact with Laura. She seemed to hold the position for what seemed an eternity, leaving Laura standing there feeling awkward and shunned.
Sally, however, could not continue the exaggeratedly long greeting forever and she eventually stood up and faced her sister, her expression becoming more sober as she did so. Laura began to extend her arms instinctively, but withdrew them, sensing her sister had no intention of offering the same show of affection as she had to Jody.
‘Hello Laura,’ she said.
‘Hi, how are you? Good flight?’
‘Yes, it wasn’t too bad thanks.’
‘Good, well, shall we go?’
‘Yes, let’s. I can’t abide airports.’
‘No, me neither.’ Laura smiled, pleased that they had at least one thing in common. ‘The car isn’t too far away. You must be tired.’
‘A little, but mainly I could do with a cup of tea. You do have tea at your house, don’t you?’
‘Yes, I have tea.’
‘I don’t mean that awful herbal tea that you seem to swear by, I mean real tea.’
‘Yes, we have that too. I actually quite like it
myself, you know.’
‘Really? I didn’t know that.’
‘Well – who knows, maybe there are other things we don’t know about one another. Maybe we can…’
‘Shall we go then?’ Sally interrupted, leaving Laura’s words hanging awkwardly in the air.
*
Michael had closed the office early and was at home by the time they returned from the airport. During the journey, Laura drove quietly as Sally directed all conversation to Jody, who sat between them in the pick up. Small amounts of debris blew across the road as the beginning of the forecast storm approached.
As they pulled up outside the house, Michael came out to greet them. He kissed Sally warmly and took her luggage, then kissed Laura. She smiled at him and sensed he knew how tense she felt. They had barely spoken on the journey; it seemed the rejection of her sister had already begun.
Once inside, Sally took off her coat, which Michael hung up for her. ‘Would you like a drink Sally? Coffee, or a glass of wine perhaps?’ he asked.
‘I think Sally would like some tea, I’ll put the kettle on,’ said Laura. Sally followed her into the kitchen while Michael took her luggage up to her room. Jody sloped off into the living room and switched on the T.V.
Laura took advantage of having her alone for a moment. ‘So, how are things?’
‘Much the same as ever, I’m working hard.’
‘Mom and Dad okay?’
‘They’re fine. I think they’d appreciate a call from you once in a while though.’
Laura ignored the dig. ‘I’ve been meaning to call, but I’ve had a lot on my mind lately,’ Laura said, pouring the boiling water into a fine china teapot.
‘Really?’
‘Really.’
Sally looked at her curiously. ‘Is everything alright with you and Michael?’
Laura hesitated to answer. ‘I don’t know.’
‘You don’t know?’
‘You don’t want to hear about my problems, Sally.’
‘Well, like it or not, we are still sisters, Laura.’
Laura turned to her. ‘I know, but I wish we could be more than sisters simply by blood. What happened to us? Did I do something to make you dislike me so much?’
‘Dislike you? I’ve always been under the impression that it was you that disliked me. Maybe we’re just too different,’ she said resignedly.
‘I don’t dislike you, I never have. Yes, you’re right we are different, but…’
Michael appeared in the doorway and Laura cursed under her breath at the timing. He looked at them, realising he had walked in on something. ‘I’ll go see what Jody’s doing,’ he said, then left them alone again. The moment had seemingly passed though, and they both stood uncomfortably silent, drinking their tea for several moments until Sally finally spoke again.
‘I would like to hear about your problems, you know. That is, if you want to share them.’
Laura smiled at her sister, something she couldn’t remember doing for such a long time. ‘I’d like that,’ she said, ‘but maybe later would be better, okay?’
‘Alright then, later. This is very good tea, by the way.’
After a light dinner, Sally excused herself and went to her room for a nap. Laura seized the opportunity to start the preparations for the Thanksgiving dinner the following day, while Michael retired to the living room with Jody. It was as she was mixing the chestnut and onion stuffing, and taking the occasional sip of wine, that the phone rang. She stopped what she was doing and froze, listening for the answering machine to spring into action in the hall. She heard Michael’s footsteps; he too was waiting.
The kitchen door was slightly ajar. Laura heard the machine beep and start recording, and then a sigh just before Michael picked up. She moved closer to the door and listened through the gap. She strained to hear as he spoke in a low whisper, yet his fury with the caller was clear.
‘Don’t ever call here again, do you hear me? Leave us alone or I’ll call the police. Do I make myself clear?’
Laura closed her eyes, her shoulders sagging, grateful that for once she didn’t have to deal with it. There were a few moments of silence, but then he spoke again.
‘I don’t care, Beth, it’s over,’ he hissed. ‘Just leave us alone and get on with your life, I beg you.’
She audibly gasped. For a second she thought her legs were going to give way, and she gripped the kitchen counter, steadying herself.
‘How many times do I have to tell you – it’s over, Beth. I have to go, please don’t call again.’
She wiped her eyes with the back of her hand and swallowed hard. It felt like a knife had been plunged deep into her heart. Tears sprung up in her eyes and she fought them back, as desperate as they were to come.
‘What’s that supposed to mean? You’re crazy, don’t you come near her, I’m warning you.’
Michael replaced the receiver and Laura held a hand to her mouth in an attempt to smother the mournful sound of desolation at his betrayal. She could see Michael standing in the hall as she peered through the gap in the kitchen door; he looked shocked and confused. She recoiled back from the door as he glanced towards it.
A few moments later when he appeared in the kitchen, Laura was sitting quietly at the table.
He looked in her direction, avoiding her eyes, his expression solemn. He didn’t speak as he passed behind her and half filled a glass with whiskey. Laura stared straight ahead and waited. Finally he pulled out a chair and sat down next to her. The atmosphere was palpable.
After a few moments of silence she spoke. ‘How long?’
He stared into his glass.
‘How long, Michael?’ she said again, shocked that she was actually able to form the words. She could hardly breathe; it felt like all the air had been sucked from the room.
His eyes filled with tears. ‘I tried to finish it; I’ve been trying for a long time. You have to believe me, Laura.’
‘How long goddammit?’ she shrieked, her heart racing.
‘Since before we met. She means nothing to me, she’s crazy. Laura, I love you, please, you have to forgive me. I never meant to hurt you.’ His eyes bore into hers; she hardly recognised him as her husband.
‘Forgive you?’ Laura shook her head in disbelief and stood up, the calmness of her body in strange contrast to the rage stirring within it. She felt like she was floating. She poured herself a whiskey, almost filling the glass. ‘Are you serious, Michael? You bastard! she yelled, giving in to the fury and slamming her fist on the counter. Michael visibly shook. ‘Do you really expect me to forgive you? You’ve been lying to me all this time; from the moment we met, it’s all been a lie. Have you any idea how that makes me feel. I’ll tell you how I feel, I...’
‘I’m sorry,’ he said.
She laughed aloud. ‘You’re sorry? Sorry? Well that’s alright then, isn’t it? Michael’s sorry. Let’s forget all about it, shall we? What shall we do? Watch a movie? Play a little golf? What d’ya fancy, Michael?’
‘Laura, I...’
‘Shut up! Just shut up!’ She paced the floor, back and forth in front of the table where he was sitting there, just sitting there, looking pathetic.
‘I don’t know what else to say, Laura. You deserve better.’
‘You’re damned right I do. I trusted you,’ she spat. ‘Do you know what it feels like to be betrayed? Do you have any idea?’ She tipped the contents of the glass into her mouth and swallowed it in one gulp, waiting for the burn.
‘Just give me a chance to put things right, that’s all I ask,’ he said, looking up at her. He really did look pathetic. She strolled over to the table glaring at him, and when she couldn’t bear to look any more, she slapped him hard across the face.
‘I guess I deserved that,’ he said.
‘I haven’t even started,’ she said, basking in the satisfaction of feeling a red-hot sting across the palm of her hand.
He rubbed at his face. ‘There’s something else I should tell you.�
�
‘There’s more?’ Laura quipped, pouring another drink and sloshing a considerable amount on the counter-top. ‘I can hardly wait!’
‘Frank Doyle, your detective friend, came to see me yesterday.’
She spun around to look at him, annoyed that Frank had chosen to deal with him instead of her. ‘Well, it was a wasted visit. The case is closed, isn’t it,’ she said. ‘One stupid, fucked-up mistress who for some reason thinks you’re a decent catch. Well she’s welcome to you.’
‘Honey, it’s...’
‘Don’t call me honey, or I may just have to hit you again,’ she snapped.
‘I’m sorry. But it’s a bit more complicated than that. I don’t know where to start.’
Laura laughed. ‘Well give it a shot why don’t you. Hell, it can’t be worse than discovering my husband’s been having an affair the whole time we’ve been married, now can it?’
‘Point taken, but I tried to finish it before we were married, I swear. You have no idea what she’s like, and as it turns out, neither did I.’
‘Well you took a fucking long time trying to find out,’ she said, then took another mouthful of whiskey. There was no burn this time; just an immediate warmth.
‘This is going to come as something of a shock, Laura.’ He paused to find the words. ‘According to Mr Doyle...’
‘Get on with it, Michael, for God’s sake.’
‘The fact is, Laura, she’s Patrick’s daughter.’
‘I don’t care whose fucking daughter she is,’ Laura said, raising the glass to her mouth. And then something inside shifted and she froze for a moment. ‘Patrick who?’
‘Patrick,’ Michael said flatly. ‘Your ex-husband.’