“Mrs. Martin,” Sylvia asked. “Is there anything special about him that you can remember? Anything he might have said or done that was—odd? Didn't it strike you as a little unusual that he was a white man, and yet his sister Ruby is black?”
“Well, maybe a little,” she admitted. “But everything is possible nowadays. I heard of a woman that gave birth to twins—one white, one black. I assumed either Ruby or her brother might have been adopted—or even both of them, for that matter. I sat and thought about that a long time after he'd left. And, I felt very proud of myself for not being afraid of him, since he looked so peculiar. It's not nice to judge people by their appearance, you know. His face looks like he might have been in some sort of accident.”
“That is true, Mrs. Martin,” Sylvia had to admit.
“I feel terrible that he turned out to be a bad man, and here I am the one who let him in.”
“You can't be blamed, Mrs. Martin,” she assured her. “The man tricked you. He has tricked a lot of people we are finding out as we are learning more about him.”
“You know,” Mrs. Martin began. “One reason why I trusted him was because of the huge gold ring on his finger. I imagined that anyone who could afford a ring like that would surely not be desperate enough to steal from an old lady.”
That ring had also caught Crystal's eye when he was in her cafe. It must mean something, Sylvia pondered, as Mrs. Martin offered her tea, and it made her feel regretful that she hadn't bothered to ever talk to this woman before. Why are city people like that, she wondered. They think they don't need to, or perhaps they value privacy and assume others do as well. Sitting there distracted as she had been by the conversation, Sylvia suddenly realized that it was way past the time when Pops should have been back.
“Oh my God,” she exclaimed. “Pops is still in the basement! Could you keep an eye on the baby while I go check on him?” The baby had drifted off into nap mode, so she felt that she should present no problems for the elderly lady.
Sylvia ran down the stairs two at a time, and reaching the bottom, the darkness shocked her. Turning on the light, she saw Pops lying prone on the floor just a few feet from her with a bloody gash on the side of his head. He seemed to be unconscious.
“Pops, are you okay?” she called. He raised a hand as if to ask for assistance to get up. “No, lie still, Pops. You might be hurt bad. I'll get an ambulance.” She dialed 9-1-1 on her cell phone as Pops began to protest.
“I'm all right,” he said angrily. “I don't want no amba-lance.” He pronounced the last syllable the same as the weapons knights used to joust with. She was glad to hear him complaining because that meant he couldn't be hurt too badly, or so she hoped.
“Did you see who did this to you, Pops?” she asked, about to dial Greg before she realized that he had no cell phone. Didn't think he needed one.
“I did it to me,” Pops yelled. “I'd get up and walk, but I turned my knee funny under me and it hurts like hell—pardon my language. I bumped my stupid head on that overhang I didn't see, then I fell. What the blasted kind of set-up is that, putting a light switch on the other side of the hall? If you could see the darned thing you wouldn't need the light in the first place.”
“Oh, Pops, I'm so sorry,” cried Sylvia. “This is all my fault. I should have told you where the light switch was located. It is odd, but I'm so used to it, I just didn't think. Your knee is probably broken, not to mention your head. How's your head feel, Pops? How long were you unconscious?”
“I wasn't unconscious, I fell asleep. Got tired of waiting for someone to come and help me. Once I stopped trying to put weight on it, the pain stopped,” he complained. “But never mind about all that. What's done is done. I'll be okay. I wish you'd just try to help me up instead of calling an amba-lance. Where's the baby?”
“She's fine, Pops. My neighbor has her. I'm going to go upstairs now to get Debbie and wait for the ambulance. It'll only be a few minutes. Don't move,” she assured him as the sound of sirens echoed from up above.
“If I could move, I'd be out of this predicament,” he argued.
“I mean don't try to move. You might cause further injury to yourself,” she corrected herself.
“Down here, down in the basement,” Sylvia raced upstairs yelling. “My father-in-law is hurt.” It became real to her just then. She was going to marry Greg Devine, and Pops was really going to be her father-in-law.
The paramedics took very good care of him, carrying him up the stairs on a stretcher with a head brace. They agreed to meet Sylvia at the hospital. By the time they were ready to head out, Ruby had come home from work and expected Andrew to be following her shortly. She insisted on taking care of the baby in her apartment. Her own children were in college, and she loved the idea of having a baby to cuddle for a while. Sylvia got Debbie's diaper bag and the bottles from the refrigerator.
“I should only be a few hours,” Sylvia assured them, anxious as a new mother leaving her child in the care of someone else for the first time—which was, after all, very close to the truth.
“I know how emergency rooms can be,” Ruby answered. “Don't worry. Take as long as you need. If she empties her bottles, assuming she's on regular milk by now, there's plenty in my fridge. And if we need more diapers we can run to the store. What else could a baby need? I raised two boys. I'm going to have fun with a little girl for a change.”
Sylvia ran to Ruby and hugged her with tears in her eyes. That said it all.
At Saint Mary's Hospital in Clayton, a suburb of St. Louis, the physicians attended to Mr. Devine's injuries in a surprisingly efficient manner. They wanted to keep him overnight for observation because of the head wound. His knee cap was fractured, so they fitted him with a cast. He would not be able to put weight on it or bend it for several weeks. They insisted on a hospital stay in spite of his quite vocal protests, and only when they explained to him that Medicaid might not cover his expenses if he left against the doctors' orders did he stop threatening to walk—or rather hobble—out of there.
A pretty nurse set up things comfortably in his room, bringing him a warmed blanket and an extra pillow, and Pops actually felt good enough by that time to flirt with her. They came with a supper tray, and things were looking much better indeed.
“Oh my God,” exclaimed Sylvia. “It's almost five o'clock. I need to get hold of Greg. He's probably home by now.
He answered on the first ring, so obviously he was there, and he was probably concerned as to why his house was empty. Sylvia tried to explain everything that happened. He wanted to come immediately. Although he hadn't been worrying, having just come through the door, he was now.
“I understand that you want to come, Greg,” she said, “We are heading back in the morning for sure. Everything is fine now. The crisis is over. And, think about it for a minute. You would miss work. You will spend a lot of money on gas with that truck of yours. And, we really need you to take care of things there.”
Pops listened to the one-sided conversation, and really regretted causing all these problems just because he fell, like a fool. He was sorry he had been so short-tempered with Sylvia, too.
“I'm just so sick of this mystery, Greg,” she said crying. “I want to forget about it. Maybe I could just get a gun, learn how to shoot it, and carry it with me everywhere I go. I should be making plans about the lake—and wedding plans, too. This whole business should be handled by the police.”
He told her that by the time she learned to shoot, it might be too late. He said that she couldn't give up. Someone had threatened her. This was not a “Murder She Wrote” episode that you could just turn off. They would all be in danger until this man was caught. She might have evidence the police could use, and, after that—then she could step away from the forefront of the investigation.
“Well, I hope you've already turned off the crock pot,” she continued. “That was supposed to be our own private, intimate little dinner so that we could talk. Pops' idea. Save me some, okay
? Then you need to go out and take care of Nippy for the night. Be sure to rub him down good with that ointment. The tube is on the grooming shelf. And wear rubber gloves when you put it on him. That was a warning on the instruction sheet. That's all I can think of right now. I love you,” she said last, realizing it was the first time she'd said it. He said it back. His first time, too.
“They said I could stay with you, Pops,” she said to him, patting his hand. There was a sofa in the room. “But, I need to take care of Debbie. Do you think she'll sleep all right in the car seat?”
“I have no idea,” he said, chomping on his fried chicken. “This is definitely not my secret recipe,” referring to the food, “but it's not bad”. You go on now, and quit worrying about me. I didn't know St. Louis had such pretty nurses. All we got in our neck of the woods is old battle axes.”
“You're terrible,” she scolded. “I'm out of here. Be good, and I'll see you first thing in the morning. I'll be packed up and have Debbie with me. We can leave for home straight from the hospital.”
“What about the box in the basement?” he asked. It was something they had seemed to forget about.
“Oh, yeah,” she said, remembering. “What did you do with the key?”
“I don't know,” Pops tried to think. “Look in my clothes. If it's not there, then I dropped it.”
Sylvia looked concerned. Would it still be on the basement floor? She would check for it before picking up Debbie from Ruby's apartment.
“Don't you dare go down in that basement by yourself. Promise me, Sylvie,” he insisted, knowing what she was thinking.
“Okay, I promise,” she said. “Maybe Andrew, Ruby's husband, will come with me. I'm sure he won't mind if there is any chance it might help catch the intruder.”
Driving back to the apartment, Sylvia kept thinking of the basement and how to situate the baby for the night. She regretted telling Greg to stay in Pevely. Now she wished he were spending the night with her. She wondered if a baby sleeping between them would be sufficient chaperone with as hungry as they had been for each other. They would certainly need to speak to a priest soon because it was going to be nearly impossible to hold off on sex before marriage. Luckily, there were ample confessionals around town.
Arriving at Ruby's door she was greeted warmly with smiles and laughter.
“I'm so terrible, girl,” she said teasing jovially, “you know what I went and did? When Andrew walked in the door and saw the baby playing on the floor, I told him I just decided to have another baby and popped us out a little girl. Let me tell you, his eyes bugged way out of his head before he realized that the baby was white and also nigh onto a year old. It was so funny.”
“Yeah, she's a real cut-up, that Ruby,” Andrew droned from behind his newspaper. “Always at my expense, too.”
Sylvia filled them in on Pops' condition, and then asked about Andrew going with her to the basement. He, of course, was happy to oblige. Ruby packed up Debbie's things while they were gone.
The key was in plain view on the concrete floor, but unfortunately, the box was not so easily found. After a whole lot of climbing and shifting, they found the much-sought-after elusive box marked “Marshall's Meats” and he carried it up the stairs for her. In short order, Sylvia found herself standing inside her apartment with a box, a baby, and a dilemma as to what to do with all of them.
She went to her bedroom and moved the large chest of drawers, which was extremely heavy, and then shoved her bed against the wall. She bathed Debbie in the sink, as she had done at Greg’s that first night. She fed her a bottle sitting in her comfy chair, and Debbie fell asleep easily. Sylvia moved her to the side of the bed against the wall, jostling her to sleep as she had seen Pops do, and piled all the spare pillows along the open side so that she might not fall out of the bed. It wasn't a sure thing, but it was the best she could do under the circumstances.
Sylvia wanted one tiny peek inside the box before she curled up next to little Debbie. It mostly appeared to be filled with papers, even time cards from which the butchers punched in and out of the plant. She flipped through them. One name caught her eye immediately. Arthur Caplan worked for my dad, she realized. He was, or is, a butcher. That explains why it wasn't so weird that he made an appearance at the funeral. A lot of the butchers came to the funeral because they all thought the world of Joe Marshall—all but one of them, perhaps two of them, obviously. This box was going home with them. She was too tired to talk to anyone about it now.
Closing the box lid, it almost tumbled to the floor, and when Sylvia caught it, she noticed a strange object inside. She opened it again for a closer look to find a red velvet ring box. Flipping the lid, inside she found a thick gold ring, an unusual one with an insignia and a small diamond. Her father's initials were engraved on the under side. Strange, she thought. She didn't remember her father ever wearing anything except his wedding band. But, how much would a thirteen-year-old girl notice about her father's attire. Another piece of the puzzle she thought, as she double-checked the chain on the door and the flipped deadbolt.
Sylvia was unable to judge whether her feelings were unfounded or not, but now finding herself in the dark, her whole body seemed to quiver in fear, and she felt a sudden difficulty with her breathing. The prospect of going to sleep alone here was dreadful. Everything was so quiet. She looked at the door and noticed the hall light shining from underneath. She had never been concerned for her safety here before, but now things were very different.
She cleaned up the kitchen, cluttered with baby paraphernalia, which was actually only a row of appliances and cabinets to the side of the living room, but her eyes kept shifting toward the door. He had a set of lock-picking tools, and even though he dropped them, who's to say he didn't have more.
Sylvia stepped quickly over to the sitting area and removed all the horses from her coffee table, then turned it upside down and tried to wedge it under the doorknob as she had seen in the movies. It slid forward and crashed to the floor. She remembered that it was a chair that had been used that way, a simple straight-backed chair. She had none like that because her “kitchen” did not have room for an eating area.
She moved the horses back to the table and began to push the sofa over to block the door. But, in the semi-darkness she noticed a shadow appear along the door bottom where the hall light had been glowing. She watched the dark shadow move back and forth, then the knob rotating, but it stopped because she had been prudent enough to have turned the lock. She tip-toed to the kitchen area and drew a butcher knife from the counter, never taking her eyes off the door. I am my father's daughter, she thought. I know how to use one of these. But, the shadow left, and Sylvia proceeded to push her sofa against the surface of the door.
She thought about windows. The one in her living room area faced the front street and was a good fifteen feet from the ground. She made sure it was locked. The only other window, a small one in her bedroom, had been covered completely when she moved the huge chest of drawers. The baby lay spread eagle on her back, oblivious to the dangers Sylvia sensed all around them. She slipped quietly next to her and tried to rest, if not sleep, before her body would be called upon for a whole new set of stresses the next day.
Little Debbie woke her with soft, slobbery baby fingers that reached for her nose and eyes. It was morning before her limbs were ready for it. She changed her first poopy diaper since her teenage babysitting years and disposed of it in her trash bag, which she determined would not be left inside her apartment when she returned to Pevely. Oh, that smell would take some getting used to, she thought—much worse than horse manure, that's for sure.
Pops had packed plenty of clothes for Debbie, but she only had a few diapers left. And, there was no oatmeal. They hadn't expected to be there for breakfast. Peas and carrots did not seem an appropriate morning meal, so Sylvia decided to make a quick trip to Quik Trip and stock up on things for the journey home. Yes, she was calling that place home now instead of the apartment she had l
abored over for years, making sure every picture was placed in exactly the perfect proportions to the other furnishings. These horses were going to get packed in boxes soon—she vowed, and if necessary, they would go back into storage until it was decided where they might find a new home.
There was a knock at the door, and Sylvia called out for them to wait. She had to move the sofa aside. When Ruby glanced inside Sylvia's apartment for the first time, she just stared wide-eyed and open-mouthed in a state of disbelief. She also thought the horses were amazing—odd, but amazing. Then, not previously noticing the elephant in the room—she commented on the sofa in front of her.
“You moved this sofa by yourself?” she asked. “If you were scared last night, you should have come upstairs and stayed with us. We have a couch that opens into a bed. I should have offered, but I didn't think of it.”
Indian Foot Lake Love Story Page 10