Mercy Street

by Mariah Stewart

  Charlie had never lived in this small house, which even all these years later he thought of as the “new” house. He’d grown up in their old home, and all of his childhood memories had been made there. He’d come here for occasional visits, holidays and special family event days, but he hadn’t stayed. On those visits, he’d slept on the sleeper sofa in the basement recreation room, since this house had three bedrooms, and all of them were occupied. He’d never really minded sleeping in the basement, though. It gave his visit more of a transitory flavor, and for years that was fine with him.

  Not anymore, he reminded himself as he grabbed the morning paper from the lawn where it had been tossed and forgotten, and unlocked the front door.

  The house was dark, as it generally was these days, and quiet—also normal—so much so that upon entering the tiny space that served as a front foyer, Charlie could hear water dripping from the spigot in the kitchen sink. He turned on the hall light and followed the sound of the drip.

  “Charlie’s home! Charlie’s home! Charlie’s home!” The whirlwind that was his sister flashed into the kitchen. “I drew a picture for you! Come see! Come see! Come see!”

  Ah, he thought. Today everything comes in threes.

  “I’m coming, Jilly,” he told her as she grabbed on to his arm and tugged him along with her to her room. “Show me what you did today.”

  “See see see,” she said as she dragged him to the small table in the corner of her bedroom. “A bird! A bird! A bird!”

  “I do see,” he replied, studying the picture at the same time he glanced around. He could always tell what kind of a day Jilly’d had by the state of her bedroom. On a good day, the room was tidy, everything put away neatly if not compulsively. On a bad day, the room reflected the chaos that sometimes stirred in Jilly’s mind, and on those days anything could—and often did—happen. Today Jilly’s desk was neat as a pin. So far, so good.

  It was one of the two reasons Charlie came back to Conroy.

  “You drew a great bird, Jilly. A beautiful bird,” he told her.

  “More.” She pointed to him gravely. “More more.”

  “A beautiful bird,” he repeated. Then because today was a three day, he said it again. “A beautiful bird.”

  Jilly smiled broadly, and he reached for the picture she held out to him just as his cell phone rang. His sister clapped her hands over her ears and moaned, falling to the floor in a heap, a look of intense pain on her face. He fumbled with the phone in his pocket to turn it off.

  “Jesus, Charlie!” his mother called from the next room. “Damn it, how many times have I told you to turn that damned thing off before you come into the house? You know what it does to her.”

  Without responding, Charlie sank to the floor next to his sister and held her, rocked her, until the pain stopped. It happened every time she heard a bell or a siren or a car horn. It was one of those things that parents of autistic kids had to learn to deal with.

  Unfortunately, his mother’s way of dealing was to drink herself into a near stupor by late afternoon every day. Which meant the skills that Jilly had acquired during all those years at Riverside had fallen by the wayside. Her teachers had stressed the importance of consistency and routine, but it was apparent that there’d been precious little of either in Jilly’s life over the past several years. Now, at twenty, it seemed she had regressed. She looked like a typical pretty young woman, with her strawberry-blond ponytail and pert face, but she had the social skills of a child. Something had to change, for both his mother’s and his sister’s sakes.

  Mary Jo Wanamaker stood in the doorway, her light brown hair pulled back into a bun that earlier in the day might have been neat. She wore a short-sleeved yellow sweatshirt, brown capri-length leggings, and white flip-flops. She was fifty-seven years old and dressed as if she were thirty years younger. Charlie wasn’t sure what he felt when he looked at her. Love, certainly, and equal amounts of sympathy and confusion.

  “You set her off, you can calm her down,” his mother said, her words slightly slurred.

  “She’s calm, Mom, she’s fine,” he said softly, Jilly’s head still resting on his shoulder.

  “Fine?” His mother rolled her eyes. “Right. Fine.”

  “Jilly, will you draw another bird for me?” Charlie helped his sister to her feet. “Will you draw one more with blue feathers for me?”

  “Blue.” Jilly repeated the word. Blue was Jilly’s favorite color. “Blue. Blue.”

  He guided her to her table and pulled out the chair for her. She sat and searched her crayon box for just the right shade.

  “Blue. Blue. Blue.”

  Charlie turned to his mother. “I think we need to talk, Mom.”

  “Not tonight, Charlie.” His mother left the room. “I’m going down to Everett’s with Gail. They’ve got a band on Thursday night and…”

  “Not tonight.” He repeated her words back to her. “Tonight, we are going to talk.”

  “But Gail…,” she protested.

  “Gail can find someone else to warm that bar stool next to hers.”

  He took his mother gently by the arm and steered her in the direction of the kitchen. He’d find something to fix for dinner, put on a pot of coffee, and then he and his mother would have a long-overdue conversation about Jilly’s future, as well as her own. It was time she understood she had few options as far as her daughter’s well-being was concerned, and it would be up to Charlie to explain to her exactly what those options were.

  NINE

  What?” Robert stood in the doorway of Susanna’s office. “You’ve got that look on your face.”

  “Which look is that?” Susanna’s hand was still on the receiver, even though she’d already hung up the phone.

  “The one that says, Huh?”

  She waved her hand dismissively. “I just finished talking to Mallory.”

  “Who?” Robert pulled an armchair closer to her desk and plunked into it.

  “Mallory Russo? The PI that Kevin…” She sighed. She’d thought he hadn’t been paying the least bit attention when Mallory was in the office the other day; now he’d confirmed it.

  “Oh, right. Right.” He nodded and, obviously disinterested, got up and went over to the fish tank. “So what about her?”

  “I told her to drop off her hours on Fridays before two. So today, being Friday, I expected to see her well before now, even though she only had a few days to bill. When she didn’t show up, I called her.” Susanna frowned.

  “And…?” He shook food into the top of the tank, something he did every week at this time. Every other day, Susanna looked after the fish. But for some reason, on Friday it occurred to him to feed them.

  “And she said she wasn’t billing any hours this week.”

  “Not billing?” Robert snorted. “A PI that misses an opportunity to bill? What’s up with that?”

  “Well, see, that’s just it. She isn’t licensed to work as a PI….”

  “Oh, swell. You’re just finding this out?”

  “Well, no, she did tell me that when she was here the other day, but…”

  “Why’d you hire her, then? I thought that was the point. Kevin wanted a PI.” He put the container of food back on the shelf and returned to the chair, sitting on the arm this time rather than the seat.

  “She did tell me that she’d applied for a license, but it hasn’t come through yet. She doesn’t expect any problems in obtaining it; she was a cop for nine years. And she did tell me that technically, she couldn’t charge for her services until she was licensed.”

  “So if she told you this the other day, why are you surprised now?”

  “I guess I didn’t think she was serious. As you just said, when was the last time someone declined to bill us for anything?” Susanna leaned back in her chair. “I mean, I figured she’d bill me anyway. I even told her she could call it something else. You know, consulting on the landscaping or flower arranging, whatever. But she said no. She said when she could go o
n the clock, she’d let me know.”

  Robert made a face. “So she’ll pad her bills and slip the hours from this week in somewhere else.”

  “I don’t think she will.”

  “Oh, come on.” He laughed. “What are the odds of that happening?”

  “I’m betting she doesn’t.”

  “You’re too trusting.”

  “You’re too cynical.”

  “So what do you want to bet?”

  “I don’t know. Something I can afford to lose.”

  “Dinner at the top of the Eiffel Tower.”

  Surprised, Susanna laughed. “I said something I could afford to lose. That eliminates fuel for that bird of yours. Try again.”

  “The flight will be on me, but if you lose, you pick up the tab for dinner.”

  She studied his face for a moment, then looked away. Sometimes it was just too hard to look for too long.

  “All right,” she said. “You’re on.”

  “Great.” He stood. “I haven’t been to Paris in a long time. Beth and I always talked about going.” His demeanor changed in the blink of an eye. “I always thought there’d be time.”

  “I’ve never been,” she said, disappointed that his mood had changed so suddenly. She was pretty sure he hadn’t heard her.

  Robert started toward the door as Susanna logged off her computer and pushed back from her desk. The clock chimed three.

  “Well, I guess I’ll be heading out.” She slipped her bag off the back of her chair, then pushed the chair under the desk.

  “So what are your plans for the weekend?” he asked from the doorway.

  “Oh, you know.” She shrugged, sensing that the question had been an afterthought, the type of thing you figured you should ask a coworker when they were leaving the office for the weekend. “The usual. You?”

  Robert shrugged. “No plans.”

  “I thought Doug and Karen were in town this weekend?” Old friends of his from college.

  “I don’t really feel like company.” He shrugged again. “I told them I wasn’t available.”

  “I hope you never give me the brush-off like that.” She turned off the lamp on her desk.

  “I never have to. You always understand. I never have to explain myself to you.” He patted her on the back when she reached the door. “You’re my best friend, Suse. One of my two best, anyway.”

  She forced a smile. “Well, if you change your mind about having company, give me a call,” she said, knowing he wouldn’t.

  “Will do.” He stepped aside to let her pass. “See you on Monday. Have fun.”

  Susanna smiled again and left the office. At the front door, she turned around to wave, but he’d already disappeared. She went through the kitchen to say good-bye to Trula, but she wasn’t there. Outside, Susanna got into her car and tossed her bag on the passenger seat.

  “Fun,” she muttered as she started the engine. “Yeah, I’m going to have a ball.”

  She drove out through the gates and pulled into her own drive less than five minutes later. While not palatial, her home on one of the side roads was situated on a nice piece of ground that had plenty of room for her gardens. It had been built from plans originally intended for an English cottage, but the architect who’d designed it had enlarged the room sizes and added modern amenities, making it the perfect house for her: a romantic cottage with all the comforts of contemporary life. She’d fallen in love with it the first time she laid eyes on it, driving around the area one day shortly after Robert had bought the estate. She’d been secretly thrilled when he asked her to stay on as his personal assistant after the sale of Magellan Express.

  “Don’t make me break in someone new,” he’d pleaded. “Not after all these years. Please, Suse—have a heart…”

  She often wondered whether she’d have taken the job if she’d known how things would work out. It was less than six months later that he’d met Beth and married her after a whirlwind courtship.

  Sometimes it was tough being his best friend.

  Over the years, she’d amassed a nice little stash of Magellan stock, and when Robert sold the company, it went sky-high. Susanna had sold her shares high—high enough to buy the house outright and still have plenty to invest. That, plus money she’d saved from a lifetime ago, meant she was as financially secure as she’d ever need to be. She could easily retire tomorrow and never have to worry about money. But money wasn’t what kept her returning to the Magellan home five mornings out of every week.

  She glanced at the clock and debated on the best time to leave. If she left now—right now—she’d miss the rush-hour surge of cars onto the highways around here, but would run into traffic later on her journey. Fridays were always bad anyway, she reminded herself as she flipped through the mail she’d gathered from the mailbox at the end of the driveway. All those people heading to their banks with their paychecks, all the singles on their way to meet their friends for a night out and a little time to put the stresses of the workweek behind them.

  She decided she’d leave now, while it was still light enough to admire the scenery on her way west. Her bag was already packed, her reservation at the small motel already made, so all she had to do was change her clothes. From casual office attire to jeans and a light sweater took less than five minutes. Another few minutes to set the timers on her lamps downstairs and the outside lights—not that this was a particularly high-crime neighborhood, but no place was crime-free these days, so there was no point in tempting fate by declaring NO ONE’S HOME over the weekend.

  She grabbed one of the magazines that had come in the mail that afternoon and checked her tote bag to make certain the maps she’d printed off the Internet the night before were there. Finding she did, in fact, have everything she’d need for the weekend, she headed off for her weekly trip to Gibson Springs.

  TEN

  Father Kevin Burch opened the door to the small conference room and leaned in.

  “How’s it going?” he asked before stepping inside.

  “Okay, I suppose.” Mallory frowned. “I’d hoped to hear something about one of these kids that I hadn’t heard before, but so far there haven’t been any surprises. Everything you told me has been reiterated by the teachers I spoke with. Four good kids, no discipline problems, great students. Just as you said.”

  “Trust me, if there’d been anything negative, I’d have told you up front.” He leaned over the back of the nearest chair. “It’s getting late. I was wondering if you’d rather come back on Monday to finish up.”

  Mallory glanced at the clock on the wall. It was almost six o’clock.

  “I didn’t realize how late it was.” She picked up the sheet of paper listing the names he’d given her earlier and waved it. “I only have two others to speak with. Ryan’s football coach and the guidance counselor.” She looked up at him. “I’d really rather finish this up now than have it go into next week.”

  “The football coach is also the golf coach, and they have their banquet tonight, so he had to leave at five. He told me to tell you he’d be happy to speak with you.” Burch took a card from his jacket pocket and walked over to where she sat. “Sorry. I almost forgot. He said to feel free to call him anytime.”

  “Thanks. I’ll try to catch up with him tomorrow.” Mallory put the card in her wallet. “So that just leaves the guidance counselor, Sister Rosalie Clark. I’m sorry to have made her wait so long.”

  “She said she’d be in her office working anyway,” he told her. “She’s the third door down from here on the left.”

  “I’ll walk down.” Mallory gathered her notes and tucked them into a leather folder. “Thanks for your help in organizing everyone for me.”

  “You’re welcome. Whatever we can do to help, of course we will.” He pulled back her chair for her, and she stood. “I had spoken with many of the teachers and some of the students a week or so ago myself, but nothing popped out at me. Still, I’m not trained to ask the right questions. I was hoping you’d b
e able to dig out something that would help.”

  “If there was something there—if one of the teachers knew something—I think they’d volunteer that information, don’t you, instead of waiting to be asked?”

  “One would hope.” He escorted her to the door, pausing to turn the light off. “No, actually, I’m sure if someone knew something that would lead us to understand what happened that night, I would have heard about it by now. Then again, sometimes you could probably know something that you aren’t aware you know, if that makes sense.”

  “Perfect sense.” Mallory nodded as they walked toward the guidance counselor’s office. At the door, they stopped. “Thank you again for all your help.”

  “Make sure you call me if you need anything else.” He knocked softly on the door.

  “Thanks. I will.”

  “Come in, Father Burch,” a voice from within called.

  “I’m just the escort, Rosalie,” he called back. “I’m sending Mallory Russo back to see you.”

  “Straight on down the hall,” the counselor told Mallory. “First door…”

  Mallory waved to the priest, then followed the voice to the first door.

  “I apologize for not getting up,” the woman behind the desk told Mallory before she’d reached the door. “Twisted my ankle in the parking lot on Monday and it still hurts like hell.”

  She smiled at Mallory and pointed to a hard plastic chair. “Sorry I don’t have something more comfortable to offer.”

  “That’s quite all right,” Mallory told her as she took the indicated seat. “Sorry about your accident.”

  “That pothole had my name all over it. And I knew the damned thing was there, too. Momentary lapse, stepped right into it. Talk about the flying nun. What can you do?” She shrugged. “So I understand you want to talk about the kids.”

  “I do. I’m sure as their counselor you got to know them fairly well over the past year, with college applications and such.” Mallory sat back in her chair, immediately comfortable with the slightly overweight, sixtyish woman behind the desk.