Mary Jo Wanamaker had buried her husband at too young an age and had lost the home she’d loved. She’d had five miscarriages, two between Charlie and Danny, three more before Jilly had been born. It wouldn’t have taken a genius to figure out that Danny’s death would be Mary Jo’s last straw. Intellectually, Charlie supposed he’d been aware, but emotionally, he’d been clueless, which in the long run had made things easier for him. But his last trip home had made it apparent that he could no longer ignore the situation in Conroy, that something needed to be done, that it was up to him to figure out what that something was and to make sure it happened.
It had taken him a while, but he’d finally come up with a plan to get the Wanamaker family back on its feet. He’d taken the necessary steps, made all the arrangements. By the end of the week, the only thing left to do was to break it to his mother, and he’d had that discussion with her the other night.
He’d steeled himself for her reaction, and as he’d anticipated, she hadn’t liked a bit of what he’d had to say.
“You don’t know how hard this has been for me since we had to leave Toby Falls, Charlie,” she’d said accusingly after he’d laid out his plan. “I loved my old life. My pretty house. My friends. I didn’t want to give it up, not any of it.”
Her eyes had misted, and her face had grown softer. “When you were little, we’d walk to the park—I don’t suppose you remember, you were so little then, but there was a lovely park across the street. We used to have picnics there, just the two of us—this was before Danny was born. I’d pack up our food and take a blanket and spread it out on the grass…Oh, it was just like a movie scene. Then when you started school, and Danny came along, I used to picnic with him.” She’d looked up at him with round sad eyes. “I had such a pretty life back then….”
“I know, Mom. I’m sorry that things turned out the way they did for you.”
She hadn’t seemed to have heard him.
“Then it was time for Danny to go to school and for a long time, I didn’t have anyone to picnic with. Until I had Jilly. My perfect baby girl.” She smiled wryly. “Well, perfect for a while, anyway.”
Charlie remembered Jilly’s birth, and how sweet she was, what a good baby she was, up until she was almost two and her symptoms became more and more pronounced. He’d been in high school then, and had been as confused as his parents and brother as gradually, Jilly began to change. Her increasing lack of responsiveness, her inconsolable crying, her singsong speech patterns, her increasing sensitivity to light and sound, her constant movement, and her zoning out of the present and retreating into a place that was hers alone—all classic symptoms of the disorder they would come to know well over the next few years.
Charlie had been getting set to leave home for college when Jilly was diagnosed. No one in the family really understood what autism was, and what it would mean for Jilly, what it would mean for the entire family, what her special needs would be. The private schooling they were able to afford while Charlie Senior was still employed as vice president of Conroy Mills went the way of their big house when the mill closed.
“Jilly did fine when she was in private school,” his mother had wept two nights ago.
“She did fine when she was in Riverside, too,” he’d reminded her. Riverside was the facility Jilly had attended after they’d moved to Conroy. “It wasn’t as fancy as her old school, but she did well there.”
“Structure.” His mother had nodded, sniffling and blowing her nose in a tissue she’d dug out from her pocket. “Structure and consistency. That’s what they told us she needed.”
“The two things she needs most, neither of which she’s getting now,” he’d said softly.
“You can’t imagine how hard it is.” His mother had started to cry again.
“Mom, we have a problem here.” He corrected himself. “Two problems. Your drinking and Jilly’s total lack of structure, and there’s a definite connection between the two. When you drink, no one’s there to take care of Jilly.”
“I can’t stay in this house twenty-four hours a day, Charlie. I’d go insane. And I can’t bring anyone in to stay with her because she gets upset when strangers are around and I—”
“Mom,” he said firmly, “you can’t keep on going out at night and leaving Jilly home alone. Really bad things could happen to her.”
“But now you’re here, and you could stay with her.”
“No, I can’t. There will be a lot of nights when I will have to work, or times I get called out in the middle of the night.” He hadn’t told her yet that his plan for their living arrangements did not include his staying with them. “Lena told me she found Jilly walking through the backyards, eleven thirty at night, dressed only in her nightgown. You know what could have happened to her, don’t you, Mom, a pretty young girl like Jilly roaming around in the dark alone at night?”
“I don’t want anything bad to happen to her,” his mother had sobbed, “but I can’t do it all for her anymore.”
“I know you can’t, Mom. And that’s why we have an appointment at ten on Saturday morning with the doctors at Riverside.”
“For God’s sake, Charlie, that place is for kids. She’s not a child.” The sobbing stopped abruptly.
“They’ve expanded their facilities, Mom. They’re taking a few select adults. They’re willing to evaluate Jilly.”
“She’s not going to want to go.” His mother got up and began pacing nervously. “And I can’t afford it anyway, even if she agreed to go, which she wouldn’t do.”
“She’s not going to be given a choice, and I’m going to pay for it.”
“You are?” She’d stopped pacing.
He nodded. “But only if you agree to stop drinking.”
“Sure, Charlie.”
He’d almost smiled, she’d acquiesced so quickly.
“No, Mom. This is serious. If you don’t kill yourself, you’re sure as hell going to kill Jilly. I can’t let that happen.” He took her hand gently. “So here’s the deal. Jilly is going to Riverside, and you go to Sharon Heights.”
“Don’t be ridiculous.” She pulled her hand away angrily. “To hear you talk, you’d think I was an alcoholic.”
“You are, Mom.” There. He’d said it, said it as gently as he could, but the words were still out there. She reacted exactly as he’d known she would.
“That’s a terrible, horrible thing to say to your mother.” Her voice rose in righteous indignation. “I can stop drinking whenever I want to.”
“Then why haven’t you?”
“Because…because…,” she sputtered. “Because I’m not an alcoholic, Charlie. Because it’s not a problem.”
“Mom, just stop. Riverside for Jilly, Sharon Heights for you.”
“I won’t do it.” She drew up archly. “I won’t go to a place like that.”
“That’s the deal, Mom. Jilly gets the best care possible if you admit yourself to Sharon Heights and complete the program.”
It had taken another hour and a half of denials and pleading and crying, but she’d finally agreed to go with him on Saturday to take Jilly to Riverside for an evaluation, and to admit herself to Sharon Heights as soon as Jilly was admitted to the residential facility. Both Charlie and his mother were exhausted when they’d said good night, but he wondered how much sleep either of them had gotten that night, or the next.
Getting an uncooperative Jilly ready to go to meet with the doctors earlier that morning, and leaving her there where she’d remain for the next forty-eight hours for observation and evaluation, was more of an ordeal than he’d imagined. Jilly was crying and shaking and pleading with him not to leave her there. He knew in the long run it was the best thing for her, but at that moment he felt like the worst person in the world. He was saved at the last minute from breaking down and taking her home when the therapist appeared and miraculously managed to calm his sister and talk her into the next room.
He left then, ushering his mother out through the front door
before either of them lost their nerve. They barely spoke in the car, and as soon as he dropped her off at the house, he found Mallory’s card and dialed her number.
“I’ll be at the Conroy Diner by around one,” he said on her voice mail, “so if you want to join me, that’s where I’ll be…”
When he arrived at the diner, he took a booth at the end of the row. He ordered a cup of coffee and tried to work past the guilt he felt for putting his sister in a live-in school and forcing his mother into rehab. Making decisions for other people’s lives and hoping he’d made the right ones. Guilty for doing it now, guilty for not having done it sooner. Either way he looked at it, he hadn’t taken very good care of his family, and right now they were all paying the price for his neglect. He was going to have one hell of a time making it all right.
Mallory parked her car across the street from the two-story clapboard twin house that looked identical to every other one on either side of the street. She had decided not to wait to hear from Charlie, who apparently had better things to do, judging from last night’s phone conversation. She needed to get on with her investigation, and if he wanted to be part of it, fine. If not, she didn’t mind going it alone. This morning she had two people to talk to, with or without him, and she needed to get to them early. People often made plans for Saturdays. She wanted to hit the Bauer home before anyone had a chance to get on with theirs.
She rang the doorbell and waited. On the porch sat two dark green plastic lawn chairs that were identical to the ones Mallory had on her patio, and a pot of struggling red geraniums. She rang the bell again just as the door opened by a crack.
“Yes?” The woman stood behind the door.
“Linda Bauer?”
“Yes?”
“My name is Mallory Russo. I’m…”
“Father Kevin’s detective.” The door opened, and on the other side stood a stocky woman in her early forties with blond hair cut short. “He told me you’d be stopping by to talk about Courtney. Please, come in.”
Mallory stepped inside the dark living room. The shades were drawn, giving the place a claustrophobic feel.
“Come into the kitchen and have some coffee.” Linda Bauer led the way. “I have to be at work by noon, so we can talk while I get myself together.”
“I apologize for coming by, unannounced—,” Mallory started, but the woman cut her off.
“We’re talking about my daughter here, right? You’re trying to find her? I don’t care if you show up at three in the morning, if you can help find Courtney.” She turned on the kitchen light and pointed to a chair at the kitchen table. “Have a seat. We can talk while I get the coffee on.”
“Mrs. Bauer, let me start by saying that I cannot guarantee that I will find your daughter, but I can promise I’ll do my best.”
Linda nodded and turned her back. She stood at the sink, filling the coffeepot with water.
“I may ask you questions that you don’t like, but I want you to understand that I’m only asking because—”
“I know, I know. There are things you have to ask. It’s okay. Whatever you need. Just…go ahead. Start.” The woman’s voice was shaky.
“Is there any way Courtney could have gotten her hands on a gun? Do you keep guns in the house?”
“No. Not ever. I’m scared to death of them and so are both my kids. And even if she wasn’t afraid, even if she had one, she’d never use it on a friend. She just isn’t capable of that. Next question.”
“Was Courtney having any problems that you know of?”
“Only that she didn’t get into Penn State. Crazy.” She shook her head. “She had an offer for a partial scholarship at Bloomsburg. She could play lacrosse there, they have a good program. All of a sudden, she has to go to Penn State. Sister Rosalie told her it was too late to apply and expect to get in, but Courtney had to try anyway.” She turned to face Mallory. “So other than the fact that she didn’t get into the number-one college on her list, I can’t think of a damned thing that was bothering her.”
“When did you last see her?”
“Friday morning, before school.”
“How did she seem to you?”
Linda shrugged. “Normal. Cranky because she is not a morning person. Never wants breakfast so we have that argument. Perfectly normal. If anything, she seemed like she was in a better-than-normal mood.”
“How about a boyfriend? Was she seeing anyone?”
“Not recently. Over the winter she had been dating a boy, Joe Slivinsky, but that wasn’t a serious thing, on either of their parts. They really were just friends. She wasn’t interested in him as anything more than a friend.”
“She told you that?”
“Oh, no. She wouldn’t have.” Linda smiled. “She told her sister. A most reliable source. She confided a lot in Misty.”
“Her younger sister.”
“Right.”
“So as far as you know, there was nothing bothering Courtney? Nothing upsetting her.”
“Just Penn State.”
“Sister Rosalie mentioned that Courtney had been working at Hazel’s the night of the robbery—”
“—when Chris Jackson was killed right there at the register.” Linda visibly shuddered. “Good God, that was a nightmare.”
“What did she tell you about that night?”
“Just that she was on break, in the back of the building. She had a soda and some chips or something, she’d called one of her friends on the phone and stepped out back, so she hadn’t heard anything or seen anything. She said when she went back to work out in the front of the store, she found all this commotion—the police were coming through the front door and Chris was on the floor behind the counter and there was just chaos.”
“But she hadn’t seen or heard a thing?”
“Nothing. Scary, isn’t it? That a kid could be gunned down like that? Even scarier when you think that it could have been your kid.”
“Sister said that Courtney had a rough time after that.” Mallory’s ears picked up the barely perceptible sound from directly overhead. That would be Misty, she guessed.
“Nightmares like you wouldn’t believe.” Linda nodded as she opened the refrigerator door. “You take milk in your coffee?”
“Yes, thank you. Linda, what else can you tell me about that time? Did Courtney’s behavior change?”
“Yeah, some. For a while, she didn’t like going out at night, and she had a hard time sleeping. Hazel had given her a few weeks off after that, but when it was time to go back, she really didn’t want to go. Of course, she did, but she didn’t want to. I told her she could quit, but she wouldn’t because the prom was coming up and she’d bought a dress that she was still paying for, so she needed the job. After a while, she seemed okay.”
“Were you present when the police questioned her?”
“Oh, sure.”
“And they asked her just what I’ve asked you?”
“Yes, and she answered just like I’ve said.”
“Did they ask her anything else?”
“No. Should they have?”
Mallory smiled. “Did she say who she was talking to on the phone while she was on break?”
Linda nodded. “Callie Henderson.”
“Do you know if the police spoke with Callie to verify that?”
“I don’t think they did. I’m pretty sure I would have heard. Callie’s mom is a good friend, and she didn’t mention it.” Linda had filled two cups and set them on the table. “What are you getting at?”
“I’m not getting at anything. I’m just asking the questions I would have asked if I’d handled the investigation in the first place.” Mallory opened her bag and took out a small pad of paper. “I think I’d like to write down her name, though. I might want to talk to her.” She continued to rummage through her bag. “Well, I would write it down, if I could find a pen. You wouldn’t happen to have one I could borrow…?”
“Sure.” Linda opened a drawer near the refrigerator, took o
ut a ballpoint pen, and handed it to Mallory.
“Thanks,” Mallory said as she began to make a note on the paper. “You said the girl’s name was Callie…?”
“Henderson.”
“Right. Henderson. You wouldn’t happen to know where she lives?”
“Over on Crawford, I forget the number. She goes to Our Lady of Angels, though, so Father Kevin can probably help you there.”
“Thanks.” Mallory slipped the paper and the pen into her pocket.
“You used to be a detective here in town.” Linda sat opposite from Mallory and pushed the milk carton across the table. “Why’d you leave?”
“It was time to move on.” Mallory added a few drops of milk to the cup before taking a sip. “Mrs. Bauer, had there been any suggestion that Courtney testify at the killer’s trial?”
“Only in the beginning, but then she got so upset, I went to the detective who’d questioned her…I can’t think of his name, tall man, dark hair, a little extra around the middle…”
Mallory smiled at the description. “Detective Toricelli.”
“Yes, that’s the name. I spoke with him, and told him how upset she was, and since she hadn’t even been there when the shooting happened, she hadn’t seen anything or heard anything, I asked him if they had to call her to testify.”
“And he agreed not to?”
“He was so sweet about it,” Linda said. “He told me that since she couldn’t testify to anything that would help them make their case, he’d recommend to the DA that they not make her come to court.”
“That must have made her happy.”
“Made all the difference in the world.” Linda nodded. “She was better after that. I think the trauma of what had happened, and having to go into court and talk about it, had scared her half to death.”
“So the police spoke with her just that one time?”
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