Sleuthing Women

by Lois Winston

  “They’re not afraid of what? I think they’re afraid of what we might find out, and that’s making them desperate. It makes me all the more anxious to find out what’s going on so this will be over. I want that skeleton identified and given a proper burial…and I want to finish that house and sell it.”

  “I know you care about the skeleton, Kelly, but you’ve got to detach yourself. And the sooner you let us handle it, the sooner you can sell that house. I don’t know why a forty-year-old murder means so much to someone today, but since it does, you’ve got to let professionals handle it. Believe me; it’s dangerous—for you and the girls.”

  I thought about the door, and the girls, and Tim swearing to keep them safe. “I don’t want any part of danger,” I said, as though that concluded it. But I didn’t tell him about my request for tax records. What if homicide requests the same rolls and finds out there’s a prior request? I’d cross that bridge when I came to it, but I made a mental note to check the next day and see if the microfiche records were in the office.

  Mike finished his coffee and took the cup to the kitchen. “I best be going. I’ve got patrol tonight. Anything else, Kelly?”

  I shook my head.

  “Why do I think something’s bothering you that you should tell me about?” He smiled at me, and for an instant I thought the smile was almost paternal, as though he knew more about me than I wanted him to. Then again, a big something was bothering me—a something named Tim.

  “It’s not your problem. My ex-husband is flying in from California tonight. He wants to take the girls and protect them. Said he’s coming straight here from the airport.”

  He moved back into the room but not too near where I sat on the couch. “And you don’t want him to?”

  “Of course I don’t. He hasn’t seen them in over a year, hasn’t paid child support….” My voice was sharp and ugly in my ears, and I hated myself.

  “Will he take no for an answer in a polite way? In other words, do I need to alert whoever’s on guard?”

  “No,” I sighed. “I don’t think he’s violent. Just angry and manipulative. Trying to scare me with words will be his tactic.”

  “You get that alarm working again?”

  “I reactivated it right after you told me and got that little hand-held thing. Let me go see if I can find it.”

  His voice was exasperated. “If you don’t keep it near you, it does no good. Let me see the control panel.” I led him to the kitchen, where the panel was on a wall, at a point midway between the front and back doors.

  “You know how to call the police on this thing?”

  I nodded. “The technician showed me.” I pawed around in the drawer under the counter and held up the panic button.

  “Good. Keep that with you all the time, and don’t hesitate to use it. This is the last night of the patrol—we don’t have the manpower to guard you for long. But I’ll come immediately if you call for help. And I’ll tell the guy on watch tonight to be a little more obvious—like right in front of the house. Okay?”

  “Yeah, thanks,” I said. I was grateful that the girls and I were safe, but I felt dependent on other people, in a way I hadn’t felt even when I was married. I wanted to take care of the girls by myself. It made me angry to have to deal with police and alarms and all. Life had once been simpler.

  As he turned to leave, Mike said, “Oh, another good thing to do. Sleep with your car keys beside your bed. Where do you park your car? Garage?”

  I laughed. “The garage is too full of Tim’s stuff. I couldn’t get the car in there. It’s in the driveway.”

  “Good. Your keys should have a panic button. You get scared, you can always hit that and it will alert someone, even if it’s just the neighbors, and it’ll scare whoever’s around. Lights flashing, horn honking, all that.”

  Mike left, giving me a smile and a salute. “Cheer up, Kelly. We’ll find out who your pregnant lady was.”

  “I hope so,” I said as I closed the door.

  It was nine o’clock. Tim’s plane would be landing. He would be here in an hour. I went upstairs and found that both girls were asleep, Em next to Maggie in her bed, the video still playing in the next room, Maggie’s book thrown on the covers next to her. I leaned down and kissed each of them, praying to God to keep them safe. They are so precious.

  A glass of wine in hand, I was watching out my bedroom window when a taxi deposited Tim in front of the house shortly after ten. Almost disconnected from the scene, I watched him come up the walk, key in hand. Does he think his key will work? Incredible. When I heard loud, angry knocking, I went downstairs. Tim stood outside the door, gesturing.

  “What the hell? You changed the front door and my key doesn’t work.” he stormed as he came inside.

  “Well, you knew the door was shot up. Why’d you think the key would work?”

  “The color of that door is all wrong for the house,” he said, not answering the question. He was wrinkled and disheveled, as people are after a long flight. But he was also tanned and trim, in much better shape than the last time I’d seen him. I’d thought he was going to fat just a bit. His attitude, though, got to me. He was self assured, confident …and condescending. I felt like the wife who’d been left behind, and without asking I knew there was another woman, had been all along. I looked out the door—the taxi was waiting.

  Pulling my thoughts back to the door, I said, “I like it. And I live here.”

  He shrugged as though it didn’t matter to him. “You’ve moved the furniture around. Doesn’t look as good. Why is there a man parked outside just sitting there?”

  “He’s a policeman, guarding us.”

  “I knew you couldn’t take care of the girls by yourself.”

  “Tim, let’s not play games.” I was direct. “You came to get the girls, and you’re not getting them, so go away and call your lawyer.”

  He put his hands up, palms out, in an appeasing gesture. “I want to at least see them. I mean, I’ve come all the way across the country….”

  “Tim, it’s past ten o’clock. They’re both asleep, and tomorrow is a school day. Go away. I’ll see that you get some time with them tomorrow.”

  “Hi, Daddy.” The voice, timid and small, came from the stair landing, where Maggie stood. Em hovered behind her.

  “Maggie, my darling. Come to Daddy.”

  She came but as though she wasn’t sure. Em made a beeline for me, grabbed one leg, and held on fiercely. Maggie was embraced in a hug, but she didn’t hug back. She just stood there. After a minute, Tim straightened and looked at her.

  “Did you miss me?”

  Fair enough. “Yes, I did. But you didn’t call or write.”

  He waved his hand, as though to brush away that small matter. “I’ve been busy, baby, but I’ve missed you a lot. Now run upstairs and pack your things so you can come with me.”

  “Where?”

  “Oh, probably to California.”

  I clutched the panic button. Maggie came to stand by me. “I don’t want to go to California. I like it here. We’re going to get a new house and….”

  “A new house,” Tim exploded. “What the hell is wrong with the house I bought you?”

  “You don’t own it now, Tim. I bought you out, and I’m making huge mortgage payments. That’s part of what’s wrong with it. But the girls don’t need to hear this. They need sleep.”

  “They’re coming with me,” he said and took a step toward me.

  “Not tonight, they’re not. Not ever, unless you get a court order.” Em was squeezing my leg so tight that I thought I’d lose circulation. Maggie grabbed my hand, not the one with the panic button, thank goodness.

  Tim took another step toward us.

  I held up my hand. “See this? It’s a panic button. I push it and that cop outside will be in here in seconds. You better just go.” I bent to the girls, “You run upstairs, right now. Both of you. Get in my bed.”

  Tim looked confused and angry, but he turne
d toward the door. “I’ll be back with a court order,” he threatened.

  With the girls safely out of earshot, I said, “Tim, I’m getting a restraining order first thing tomorrow. You may see the girls, but only in my presence.”

  He slammed the door, and I was thankful for the heavy beveled glass.

  The girls slept in my bed again that night; each curled tight on one side of me, and it was hard to quiet them. Maggie sobbed, her heart broken by the father she’d once adored, and Em was afraid. “He’s a bad man,” she said.

  “No,” I said, “he’s not a bad man. He just has some bad ideas. I think he loves you and wants to protect you.” How do you let a child think her father is a bad man, tempted though you are?

  “I don’t want to go to California,” Maggie whimpered.

  “You won’t have to. Ever. I promise you that.”

  I lay awake between them all night, but the girls slept soundly. I didn’t wake them the next morning—school be darned. I was keeping them with me all day.

  ~*~

  We went to Ol’ South Pancake House for breakfast—pigs in a blanket for Maggie, a waffle—mostly untouched—for Em, and eggs and bacon for me. Ol’ South is a Fort Worth tradition, offering everything from standard eggs and bacon to elaborate Dutch babies (pancakes rolled with sugar and lemon) and blintzes. Well after ten o’clock, I dragged the girls into the office, situated Maggie with a book—thank heavens she’d decided that reading was fun—and gave Em colors and blank paper. Em sat close to Keisha, who talked to her, loved on her, and promised her ice cream.

  I called my lawyer. Karen explained the procedure for filing a request for a restraining order, said it would take at least a week for a judge to issue even a temporary order—and that wasn’t good until it was delivered to the person named. “I can fax the form to you, you fill it out, send it back to me by courier,” —I wondered why I couldn’t just deliver it to the office, about a mile away; lawyers, I decided, made things complicated— “and I’ll file it this afternoon.”

  The form, when it came, was intimidating, asking for evidence of abuse, photos, and all that sort of stuff. I had none. I had only my word that Tim threatened me, never paid child support, and hadn’t seen the girls for over a year. I filled it out with a sinking heart—I wasn’t going to get a restraining order in time to prevent Tim from taking the children. I was sure if I let him take them even to lunch, I’d never see them again. I called Karen back.

  “I think you may be dramatizing, Kelly,” the lawyer said bluntly. “The chances of him getting away with them are slim. The divorce decreed that he had visitation two weekends a month and we can’t get that changed in the blink of an eye. I’d say try to work with him right now.”

  That is easier said than done. I considered a new lawyer, but I knew that would be shooting the messenger.

  There was no way I could concentrate on work. I managed to call Alan, a colleague with his own realty firm. He knew the Fairmount area and whistled softly when I told him about the house I wanted to buy. “You’ll steal it at any price,” he said. I told him I wanted to pay fair market value, and he promised to contact Mrs. Hunt right away, get an appraisal, and move things ahead.

  I collected the girls and went to the Fairmount house, where Anthony was supervising the work of Black Brothers. Workers were spraying something on the walls and then wiping them down. It looked to me like a lot of the soot was coming off, but the burnt smell was still overpowering. Anthony opened all the windows, and the October air blew in, but I thought it would have to blow a lot to get rid of the smell. I gave the girls chalk to make a hopscotch, and they skittered off to the front sidewalk, Maggie saying, “It stinks in there, Mom.”

  Anthony looked at me as we stood on the front porch watching the girls. “Miss Kelly, something’s very wrong. What?”

  Anthony was one of the people I trusted. I told him about Tim’s visit and my inability to get an instant restraining order. “I’m afraid he’ll take them to lunch and they’ll end up in California,” I said.

  “Miss Kelly, I have a solution for both of us. I talk to Theresa last night. She’s lonely, she misses her momma, and, yes, she’s running with a bad crowd. She admits it, but they pay attention to her and that’s what she needs now. I want to take a strap to her, but I remember what you said. So I talk, I talk about how I love her, how you think she’s a good girl, how whatever she does now can make a big difference in the rest of her life. For right now, she listens. But,” he shrugged, “who knows? Why don’t I send her to you as a nanny? We give her responsibility for the girls, and they don’t go nowhere without her. I’ll pick her up in the mornings for school and bring her back in the afternoons.”

  I was surprised he knew about such an idea. “And she’d be glued to the girls, every minute?”

  “Yeah. She’s not scary, but Mr. Spencer might not want to have to deal with taking a seventeen-year-old or beating her to get the girls away or something like that. She change the balance. And she be away from those friends.”

  I hugged him. “Anthony, I think it’s the best choice we have. Is she at school today?”

  He shook his head. “No. I left her at home. I pray to God she’s still there.”

  “I’ll go get her. Do you want to come too?”

  “No. I stay here and watch. I don’t trust these people. They take shortcuts when I’m not watching. And I’m looking—who knows, we may find another locket.”

  It was lunchtime when I collected a sullen Theresa. “Your dad will bring you some things,” she said. “I need you to stay with the girls.”

  “What about school?”

  “You can go to school while the girls are in school. Otherwise I want you with them like glue. I’ll explain later.”

  When Theresa and the girls were back in the car, I said, “How about lunch?” I named one of those pizza places with various rides and games and puzzles but not very good pizza, groaning inwardly even as I said it.

  Theresa just shrugged, but the girls both shrilled in excitement. Theresa seemed to brighten and went off with the girls to try out the entertainment. The girls loved the video games and simulation things—cars they could drive in place, etc. They had a sea of plastic balls that kids could dive into, and I shuddered every time the girls did, thinking how dirty those balls were. The only food they served was pizza and what was supposed to pass as a salad. While the girls played, I chewed on pizza that tasted like cardboard. On the way home, Em fell asleep in the car, and Maggie looked drowsy. Once home, I carried Em upstairs and urged Maggie to climb in her bed with her book. Not twenty minutes later, both were sound asleep.

  Maggie came downstairs about four. “Mom, you said you’d take us to see that new house today.”

  I’d forgotten. “Mag, we went to lunch instead.”

  “I want to see the house,” the child repeated.

  “Okay, I’ll call Mrs. Hunt and ask if we could maybe come in an hour. Em ought to wake up by then. Where’s Theresa?”

  “Upstairs watching TV.”

  Probably something I don’t want the girls to see. I’ll have to see if I can get her interested in reading.

  Mrs. Hunt was cordial and said anytime at all, but I didn’t want to land at the house at dinnertime. “My youngest daughter is asleep, and as soon as she wakes up….”

  “I’m awake, Mommy,” Em said, coming downstairs.

  “Oh, she’s awake. Okay if we’re there in about twenty minutes? We won’t be in your way long.”

  “That’s fine, dear,” Mrs. Hunt said. “You stay as long as those girls want to.”

  Inside the Hunt house, Theresa stood, unsure of herself and her role. Em walked right in as though she lived there, testing the overstuffed leather chair, feeling the wood paneling, peering out the paned windows. Maggie was silent as we walked through the rooms, until we got to the bedrooms.

  “Which one will be mine?”

  “You and Em will share that big one,” I said as lightly as I could
.

  “Share a room with Em? No way.”

  “Maggie, you practically share a room with her now. It won’t be that different…and it’s a big room. We’ll figure out a way to make it work.”

  Maggie crossed her arms in front of her, frowned, and said, “You get two rooms.”

  “Well, I need an office….” I began to rearrange in my mind. I didn’t need much of an office. Maybe I could have a desk in a corner of the living room—a wonderful old roll top, as though I could find one and afford it when I did. I resorted to that age-old phrase, “We’ll work it out, Maggie.”

  I thanked Mrs. Hunt, who looked a little uncertain, and we left. In the car, Em said, “I love it, I love it. Mommy, it’s the perfect house for you.”

  “Yeah,” I admitted. “It is for me. But what if it isn’t perfect for you girls?”

  Quietly Theresa said, “It’s a good thing I won’t be with you too long. Only until you don’t need a nanny any more. There’s no place for me.”

  Stunned, I said, “Theresa, there’s always a place for you. Don’t even think that.” If I hadn’t been driving, I’d have grabbed the girl and hugged her.

  I wanted a glass of wine as soon as I got home, but the phone was ringing.

  “Kelly,” Tim said, “I want to take the girls to dinner. Nothing fancy, and I’ll have them home whenever you say.”

  Here it is—the test. Keeping my voice as natural as I could, I said, “Sure, Tim. They’ll be ready in half an hour. I’d like to have them home by eight—they missed school today and can’t do it again tomorrow.”

  “No problem,” he said.

  “Oh, and Tim? They have a nanny who goes with them. That’s the deal.”

  “A nanny? How the hell can you afford a nanny?”

  “It’s Anthony’s teenage daughter, and it’s too long a story to go into now. But Theresa will be going to dinner with you too.”

  “Anthony,” he fumed. “Never did like that old man. I suppose he can’t control his daughter, so he’s given her to you.”

  “Tim, do you want to take the girls to dinner or not?”

  “Yeah, I’ll be there.”