Rosalind

by Stephen Paden

  As soon as she stepped inside, the phone rang.

  "Rosalind, can you get that?" Susan said.

  "Okay."

  Rosalind answered the phone. She said hello, but the man on the other end was talking to someone else. She waited. A voice in the background started laughing and so did the man on the other end. It was muffled at first, but when the line became clearer, she heard the man on the other end say, "I'll kill you, now get back to work." and then he laughed.

  Kill, she thought. She had heard the word before. Her father had threatened her mother with it many times, but it had became a household word that lost its bite after a while. She held the phone a few inches from her head and stared at it. Her hands began to tremble. It wasn't the word that frightened her at all. It was the voice. She recognized the inflection in the voice.

  Nancy, she thought.

  Why was she thinking about Nancy? Nancy had never said the word before that she could recall.

  The voice on the other end of the phone spoke again, saying, "Hello?" It startled Rosalind and she dropped the receiver on the ground. Susan, hearing the noise, came out of the kitchen.

  "What the hell, Rosalind?" she said. She stomped her way over the phone, picked it up.

  "Hello?" she said.

  "Honey, is everything okay over there?" John said.

  "Yes, Rosalind can't seem to hold a phone anymore. And she looks like she's just seen a ghost." Susan went to grab her purse to pull out the warrant.

  "I took the truck to the junkyard this morning before you woke up, but it broke down on the way. Can you bring me one of my gray suits?"

  "Uh, sure, I guess. Just put your other suit in a bag and I'll take it to the dry cleaners. I don't know how bad it is but then Gene's pretty good at getting out just about anything," she said.

  "Already squared away, sweetheart," he replied.

  "Peaches," she said absently. She unfolded the warrant and was about to speak when John spoke again.

  "I'm sorry, I'm needed in the warehouse. If you could just drop it off here within the hour that'd be great," he said, and then hung up.

  Susan slowly put the phone down. She had had weird days in the past, but nothing like this one was turning out to be. She looked at the her watch.

  11:48.

  Rosalind was sitting on the couch, staring at nothing in particular.

  Susan came down the stairs, holding the gray suit John had requested. She draped it over a chair and went into the living room.

  "Rosalind?" she said. She didn't reply, only stared at the television set that wasn't on. "What happened? You look pale as a ghost." She still didn't reply. "I don't have time for this nonsense."

  Susan only looked at her curiously. She grabbed the suit from the back of the chair and left.

  Chapter 45

  Susan only had time to run into Regional Tire and set the suit on John's desk. She would have stayed longer if Sheriff Wilkes wasn't going to come by the office at noon. She left the car parked outside of the business and walked down the street to the station.

  Sheriff Wilkes had not yet arrived, but it was two minutes to 12:00 P.M. She opened the office and went in.

  Sheriff Hanes had still not been there. His desk was still in the state it was in that morning when she had grabbed the warrant and stashed it in her purse.

  Susan sat down at her desk and put a piece of typing paper into the Oliver and began to type. Her mind was still filled with questions, all of them unanswered and all of them disturbing. She was not a detective, it was true, but she had seen her share of detective shows on the television and in most of them, there were always clues that while they weren't linked together in the middle of the show, at the end they all usually formed a guilty verdict as they wove together like a knot. She was in the middle of the show now, and she had bits of clues, that was all.

  She looked down at what she had typed and saw:

  i hate her why won't she just have the baby and go away…

  "What?" she asked herself, looking at the paper. "I didn't write this."

  "Write what?" a voice said.

  Susan whirled around and saw Sheriff Wilkes standing in the doorway.

  "I'm sorry, I didn't hear you come in," she replied, folding the cryptic message.

  Sheriff Wilkes took his hat off and held it in both hands. He raised his eyebrows at Susan.

  "Sheriff Wilkes, I'm terribly sorry but he isn't back yet."

  He shook his head and looked around the office, stopping at Hanes' small office to the right. "I guess I can leave a message," he said, coming around the gate and to Susan's desk. He sat in the chair across from Susan. "He contacted me the other day." Wilkes wiped the sweat from his forehead and continued. "We have a missing persons in Hampton; a young girl named Jessica Peterson. He seemed to think it was connected to a case he had here, but he wouldn't tell me too much about it. That's why I'm here today."

  "I'm sorry Sheriff, to the best of my knowledge we don't have a missing persons in Lincoln county."

  "Oh no, nothing like that. But there was a break-in. We found similar evidence at or around the scene in Hampton that he found here," he said.

  "Evidence? I wasn't—" Susan thought hard. Sheriff Hanes had found something, but it wasn't enough to go on. "He might have a folder in his office." Susan went to Hanes' office and searched the desk. She didn't see a file or folder. She bent down and ran her fingers over the files in the cabinet, but didn't find anything. Whether out of instinct or frustration, she went to dial his home phone number and saw a folder sitting underneath the phone. She hung up the receiver and pulled the file out from under. She carried it back into the main office.

  "This is the only thing I could find," she said. When she opened the file, the stench of stale tobacco filled her nose. She looked in but didn't see anything except cigarette butts. She dumped them onto her desk. Sheriff Wilkes looked at them and nodded.

  "Yep, that's what we found. A pile of 'em. May I see one?"

  Susan, confused, took one and handed it to him. The sheriff inspected it closely. It was a Marlboro; the same brand he found at his scene.

  "Joe never told me what brand. I guess he wanted to make sure he wasn't leading my investigation. We found the same brand between what we think is the path Jessica took to get home."

  It was another clue that didn't make sense. But the more she thought about it, the more it did make sense. John used to smoke Marlboros, but he quit. He smoked pipes now. She was sure of it.

  No. She didn't want to think about it. She needed more information.

  Susan cleared her throat and said, "How old was the girl? Jessica?"

  "Thirteen. I know, it's almost unthinkable. It' still possible we're dealing with a runaway, but my gut tells me it was an abduction. It also tells me that she is more than likely already dead. It's days like this where I thank God I don't have any children."

  Thirteen, she thought. Rosalind's age. John used to smoke Marlboros.

  No.

  "Not much to go on, is it?" he asked her. Susan shook her head. "Well, I thank you for your time. Startin' to worry about Joe. I've known him for years and it ain't like him to be late for nothin'."

  "I'll have him call you the minute he comes in, Sheriff Wilkes."

  He put on his hat and left, scanning the office one more time.

  Thirteen… Marlboros… Sheriff Hanes missing… Belvedere… Jessica is thirteen (was thirteen?)…Rosalind is thirteen…why am I thinking about Rosalind? Marlboros… red puddle in the garage… John needed a new suit, where was his old one? Oh! at the dry cleaners… Rosalind is pregnant, due any day… warrant… Hanes… Jessica was abducted… thirteen… Joe is never late… Where is Joe? Why did I type that I hated Rosalind… she annoys the fuck outta me… Marlboros… Belvedere… Dry cleaning…

  That was it. This could all be solved by a trip to the dry cleaners. She could go and look at the suit before they cleaned it. If John was connected with any of this, maybe there would be something
on the suit. Besides, never in the course of their marriage had John taken in his own cleaning. Was he hiding something?

  Chapter 46

  John finished looping his tie and pulled the drapes back and looked down the street. A man in uniform had come in and gone in less than thirty minutes. Susan's car was still there. Why was he there? Was it the truck?

  They found the truck! It didn't sink to the bottom. Shit, why didn't I bring a flashlight to make sure? The sheriff!

  If they found the sheriff, there would undoubtedly be more than just a visit from one policeman. Would he float? He hadn't thought to weight down the body. He was new at this. But his mistakes were unforgivable. This was not the way leaders acted. Leaders made decisions and saw those decisions through. He half-assed the entire thing. He knew damn well that bodies floated; mistake number one. He knew damn well to take his suit out of the cab before dumping the truck into the quarry; mistake number two.

  Just a setback, he thought. He'd casually ask Susan why the policeman was there. No big deal.

  But he had made mistakes. Unforgivable. Leaders don't make mistakes; followers do. And when they do, a leader steps up and either admonishes them or grants them forgiveness—just another lesson learned. But there was no one to grant him that forgiveness, at least not in this room. No, his better angels were up there, behind the blue sky and the clouds. They slept in black space, and he knew there would be no forgiveness.

  To be great, one must lead, and if he couldn't lead others he must at least be able to lead himself. He had led himself to two mistakes. The stars wouldn’t be forgiving anyone today; they'd be too busy laughing.

  He peeked out of the window and saw Susan get into her car. If the truck or the sheriff had been found, Susan would stop at Regional Tire to question him. If not, she would drive home and do whatever the hell it was she did every day while he was here, building empires one tire at a time.

  Her mind raced, but she did her best to put the pieces into a box in the back of her brain and take care of this one task. John had never done anything to lose her trust or her love. She was simply in the middle of the show, and the clues just didn't add up. But she didn't have to succumb to paranoia. No, she was a strong and vibrant woman with status and her husband was a respected businessman. Just go to the dry cleaners, Susan. Get your answers and then get home.

  But what was she looking for? Oil? That would be expected if John broke down. But if his suit was ruined, and he took it to the cleaners, what was he wearing? Did he walk naked all the way back from the junkyard? Blood? Why would she look for blood? John had sliced his hand open the night before. He was also wearing different clothes. If she found blood, who's blood would it be?

  Susan locked the office and got in the car. She looked through the windshield but she didn't see anything in front of her. Should she have just walked down and ask John? What would she ask him?

  She drove to the dry cleaners and went inside. Gene Beck stood behind the counter, writing something on a piece of paper and pulling the strands of greasy hair from one side of his scalp across the shiny dome to the other side. He looked up and greeted Susan with a silent smile.

  "Afternoon, Mrs. Byrd," he said.

  "Hi Gene," she replied.

  "I never get tired of that," Gene said and smiled.

  She looked at him blankly.

  "Never mind. What can I do for ya?"

  "Oh, I just needed to look through the pockets of my husband's suit before you clean it. He thinks he left his wallet in there."

  "Suit, huh? I wasn't here this morning until eleven. Maybe Beatrice checked it in for him. Back is really acting up these days. Not sure what's wrong with me. In the winter it does fine but in the warmer months, it's on fire. I always thought it would be the reverse." His voice trailed off as he disappeared behind the racks and racks of hanging clothes. A few minutes later he emerged with empty hands.

  "Nothing checked in under Mr. Byrd," he said.

  "Well, he might have been running late. He took the truck to the junkyard this morning pretty early. It broke down and he had to walk back to town. Would Beatrice remember?"

  "She would, but she isn't here. Went to see her sister in Hampton. You say it was this morning?"

  "Yes."

  "I see. We have a rack that's separated by the days of the week. There's nothing even checked in for today," he said.

  "Could she have put it in the wrong day?"

  "She's done it before, but I checked on both sides of today's. We didn't have anything come in yesterday either. Oh I tell ya, it's a temperamental business, dry cleaning. One day you get a slew of every kind of clothing and some days you sit at the counter doing crossword puzzles. I guess it averages out."

  "Thank you."

  She left the cleaners and got back in the car. She stared out the windshield. She wanted to cry but she didn't. She slammed the car into drive and went home.

  Chapter 47

  Rosalind was sleeping when Susan got home. When the door slammed open, she jerked and sat up. The muscles in her back cramped and a bolt of pain shot through her feet up to her belly. She was having a dream. It was about—

  Susan slammed her purse onto the table. It spilled onto the floor but she ignored it and went into the kitchen. Rosalind crept across the living room floor to the purse and started putting the contents back in it. She came to a folded piece of paper and stopped. The clinking sounds of glass and a few grunts from Susan came from the kitchen. She knew that reading someone else's mail or papers was wrong, but looking at it she only saw a few lines through the back of it.

  She opened it and read it.

  i hate her why won't she just have the baby and go away…

  Hated who? she thought. Baby?

  She was having a baby. Maybe she meant—

  But why would Susan hate her? The dream—

  She remembered the dream. She was staying at Nancy's house. It was the night the man broke in. She had let him do his business. But he whispered something to her. He said he would kill her if he told. She did tell. And then there was a voice on the phone—

  It was him. He had found out that she told? She wadded the paper up and put it in the purse along with the last of its contents. She set it on the table.

  Susan came out of the kitchen with a copper colored drink in a glass of ice. It looked like tea to Rosalind, but she had never seen Susan sip at tea like that. Almost as if it were too hot.

  "What were you doing in my purse?" asked Susan. she glared at Rosalind.

  "It fell on the ground. I put everything back in it," she replied.

  "Oh, well aren't you just Darla Do-Right?" she snapped. Susan brushed by Rosalind as she made her way to the living room.

  "I'm sorry," Rosalind said.

  "You're always sorry, Rosalind. Just—" she started but then stopped. Susan sat down on the couch and sighed then spoke again, "stop being sorry all the time."

  Rosalind went into the living room and sat in the chair next to the couch. She looked down at the floor then said softly, "I don't want to die. I don't want Maggie to die."

  "What the hell are you talking about?" Susan asked, already feeling the effects of the drink.

  "The man who broke in at Nancy's house…I recognized his voice. He called before you left. I heard him say I'm gonna kill you. It's 'cause I told you about the time he climbed on me. I shouldn't have told no one. He said if I told someone, he'd kill me."

  "Called before I left? Was I in the house? Did I hear it? And why didn't you say anything?"

  "You was here. I handed you the phone."

  "Rosalind, you're being foolish. That was Mr. Byrd on the phone. Maybe this wasn't a good idea, bringing you here. I just have all these questions now and people aren't acting the way they usually do. Everyone's on eggshells when it comes to Rosalind. I go to the doctor to find out I can't have any more children, and what does he do? He asks about Rosalind. Joe goes missing, and it's probably because of you. I can't take this anymore."r />
  Susan downed the drink and went back into the kitchen to get another. Rosalind just sat in the chair and waited for her to return. She had had worse tongue lashings, but never from someone who, on the surface, acted like they cared about her.

  Susan sat back down on the couch, downing half of the new drink in one swallow.

  "Why the hell would you think Mr. Byrd was gonna kill you? After all he's done for you?"

  Rosalind shook her head and looked at the floor.

  "Let me guess, you're sorry." Rosalind had never seen Susan like this and she was becoming frightened, but the thought of being killed by the man that raped her was even more frightening.

  "He sounded the same as the man who did this to me."

  "Now wait just a second, you little whore. My husband would never ever conceive of doing something like that. You have the nerve to sit on my couch, eat my food, and then tell me my husband raped you? Is that what you're saying to me? Right now? In my own house? Is that what you're saying?" yelled Susan. Rosalind stood up to go to her room, but Susan jumped up and pushed her back down in the chair. "After all we've done for you, you accuse my husband of—"

  Susan fell to the ground and started crying. It turned into a heavy sob. Rosalind, not knowing what to do, reached down and put her hand on Susan's head expecting it to be swatted away. But Susan didn't reject her affection. Instead, she reached up and took Rosalind's hand in her own and pulled her down to the floor. Rosalind eased herself to her knees. "I'm sorry," she said.

  Through sobs and tears, Susan replied, "Stop being sorry. My life is ruined. I'm at the end of the show. John smoked Marlboros. There's blood in the barn. Sheriff Hanes is missing. Jessica Peterson is missing and she's your age. Where's his suit? Where is it, Rosalind? How does a man lose a suit?" Rosalind just looked at her. She didn't know the answers to any of Susan's questions. Susan pushed herself to her knees and looked at Rosalind's stomach. She reached her hand out and rubbed it. "It's his, isn't it? Oh my God, I'm blind as a bat."