“Stephanie’s house. I promise I won’t be having as much fun as you are, doing your homework.”
I headed out. It was all I could do to keep under the speed limit. I checked for external signs of trouble when I reached her upscale home and found none, although, really, what was I expecting—the grim reaper as a lawn ornament?
Tiffany opened the door, her little brother beside her. “Hey, Molly, What’s up?” Tiffany asked.
“I got a new truck!” Mikey, her delightful, curly haired little brother announced, holding out a plastic fire truck for my appraisal.
I opted for the easier response and bent down for a closer look. “Hey, that’s really neat, Mike. Does it have a siren?”
“Sure it does!” He took a deep breath and then cried, “Wee-ohh, wee-ohh, wee-ooh.”
“Good siren.” I straightened and met Tiffany’s eyes. “Is your mom here?”
“She’s washing her hair. I can, like, tell her you’re here, but you can forget seeing her for the next hour. You know how she is.”
“Yes, I do know how she is.” My ire had been instantly raised, but I quickly realized that this was the wrong reaction. Stephanie had not summoned me only to disappear in order to spite me, but because she felt that removing herself from the immediate scene was the best way to ease me into a conversation with Jenny. Whom I now needed to locate. “Please tell your mom I’m here and that I’ll wait for her. Is Jenny around?”
“Um, yeah. Come on upstairs.” She glanced at her brother, who was zooming around with his truck, making siren noises throughout the living room. “C’mon, little bro, let’s get your toys put back in your room.”
“You got your toys out,” he retorted, and lifted a porcelain doll from a table in the corner.
“Be careful with that!” she snapped as she rushed to retrieve it. At her reaction, Mike immediately put the doll back down and grabbed his truck as if he intended to run over the doll. Tiffany got there first. “Play with your truck for fifteen minutes in the kitchen, then we’ll put it away.”
He charged off in the direction of the kitchen, making a siren noise all the way. “Where did you get the doll?” I asked Tiffany.
“Jenny gave it to me. I was going to see if she wanted it back, since her mom gave it to her. I guess it’s supposed to be a pretty valuable antique.”
“Really? Did Olivia get it from Nadine?”
“Actually, she got it from Corinne Buldock. A couple years back, she and Nadine had a big blowup while I was in the room. Nadine said it was hers, or something like that, but Corinne told me afterward that Nadine was confused. That this one was hers that she’d bought at some doll show.”
I remember Nadine telling me about some disagreement they’d had, which had caused the end of their partnership and, I assumed, their friendship as well.
“If Jenny gave it to you, she probably wouldn’t want you to give it back.”
“Yeah, but I’m not sure why she gave it to me yesterday. She knows I’m not into dolls.”
Alarm bells were ringing in my head. “How’s she taking her mom’s death?”
“Fine. You know, She’s upset, but, like, she and her mom had so many problems. It’s not like they were close or anything.”
“Sometimes that makes. it worse, Tiffany.”
Tiffany shook her head and said with confidence, “You don’t know Jenny. She’s great at everything.”
“Nobody is great at everything. And having others always think that you are makes it even harder.”
“Jeez.” Tiffany rolled her eyes. “Enough with the know-it-all-adult routine.”
“Sorry. Good point. I was aiming at my usual know-nothing-of-any-value-adult routine, but forgot my lines. Do you think I could talk to Jenny for a bit, while I’m waiting for your mom?”
“Yeah, actually, that’ll be good, since I’ve got to jam.”
She gave me a conspiratorial smile. “Jasper’s picking me up any minute and we’re getting a cone at Stewart’s.” Not wanting to lose my temporary but hard-won standing as cool for a forty-year-old, I bit back my instantaneous you’re-dating-on-a-school-night? reaction. : She escorted me to jenny’s room and knocked softly on the door. “Jen? Molly Masters is here to see Mom. Can you play hostess for a bit till Mom’s free?”
“Uh…just a minute.”
Tiffany turned, pounded on a second door, and yelled at the top of her lungs, “Hey, Mom! Molly’s here, and I got stuff to do! Be back in an hour!”
A moment later the sounds of running water stopped and Stephanie called back, “Tiffany? Tiff? What did you say?”
“See ya, Molly,” Tiffany said, placing the doll just inside the door of what I assumed was her bedroom, then raced down the stairs.
I turned and was about to suggest that Tiffany answer her mother and inform her that her little brother was currently unsupervised in the kitchen. But Jenny opened her door just then, and her altered appearance distracted me. She had lost weight, her hair was dirty, her face callow and pale. As the sounds of Tiffany shutting the front door behind her emanated from below, Jenny said quietly, “I’m kind of busy with homework and stuff.”
“Can you take a five-minute break? Show me where Stephanie keeps her tea?”
“I guess.”
She lingered behind me as we descended the stairs. “I know I already told you this, Jenny, but I’m so terribly sorry about your mother.”
“That’s all I hear anymore. ‘Sorry about your mother.’ Thing is, though, she was a lousy mother.”
“I didn’t know her well, but I do know that no one wants to be a bad parent. And that it’s never a reflection on the child. Children from even the worst of parents can grow up to be wonderful human beings.”
Jenny was clearly letting my words sail past her, which was understandable. The last thing she needed now was a sermon from me. I hoped to turn the conversation to her college plans and the like as we shared a cup of tea. All thought of that was lost the moment we reached the kitchen. I managed an “Uh-oh,” and Jenny sighed, “Oh, Mikey. What did you do?”
The answer was obvious. He had emptied the entire five-pound contents of a flour bag over himself and the fire truck.
“The firemen got a big mess!” he said proudly.
Jenny and I looked at each other. “A new meaning for the term ‘flour arrangement,’ hey?” I said.
“Yep,” she said with a frown.
She and I cleaned the kitchen and kept the big mess contained by not allowing Mike to wander, spreading flour with each step. Stephanie, wearing a bathrobe and a towel around her head, entered the kitchen a minute later. She looked at her son, still caked with flour, then at me. “Baking something, are we?”
“The firemen made a mess, Mommy,” Mike said.
“And so did you,” she replied with a smile. Again she looked at me. “Did Tiffany leave the house?”
“She had a date,” Jenny answered, “but she’ll be back soon.” She picked up Mike, who left a slight cloud of flour in his wake. “Come, white boy. Time to wash and change clothes.”
“Thank you, Jenny,” Stephanie said pleasantly. “And if you happen to see Tiffany before I do, could you please tell her that she’s earned herself dishwashing duty for the rest of the week?”
“Okay.”
Stephanie watched them leave, then smiled sadly. “That’s encouraging, right? She joked about his having covered himself in white powder.”
Our eyes met, and I knew I didn’t have to mention that the flip side of this was that Jenny looked dreadfully withdrawn and depressed. I said quietly, “We only had the time to exchange a few words, and I’m no expert, but I’d get her in to see someone who is, as quickly as possible. Why take chances?”
She pursed her lips and nodded. “You’re right. I’ll get her into grief-counseling as soon as I can locate someone.” She touched my shoulder. “Thanks for coming over, Molly. I’ll finish cleaning up.”
Though startled by her unexpected warmth, I said, “You’re welcome. Plea
se let me know if there’s anything I can do for Jenny.”
“Drive carefully,” she said, as if completely distracted.
I let myself out and drove home, trying to assure myself that Jenny could have given Tiffany a cherished possession for numerous reasons. Other than the one possibility that scared me to the core.
Late the next morning the phone rang and my worst fears were realized. Before I could even finish saying hello, the frantic, young voice on the line said, “It’s Tiffany. You’ve got to help. Jenny’s….She says she’s….I don’t know what to do!”
“She’s threatening to kill herself?” I asked, dreading the answer.
“Yes,” Tiffany sobbed. “I can’t find anyone to help! Our friends all left school for lunch.”
“Where are you now? Can you get a teacher?”
“No! I can’t do that! She’d flip! Besides, I’m on my cellphone. I don’t want to leave her out of my sight long enough to go get someone. We’re at this place behind school they call the Farmer’s…uh…never mind. You won’t know where I mean.”
“Farmer’s Make-out Grove?”
“Yeah. How’d you know?”
“I’ll be right there. But if you can call the office, Lauren should be there and—”
“I’m not calling the school! Like I said, if a teacher or police officer comes—” She started crying, too hard to continue, then said, “She told me if I told anyone what she was about to do, it would mean her last friend in the world will have betrayed her. I can see her from here, at least, but she goes all nuts when I come any closer.”
“I’m on my way.”
I dropped the phone, swept up my keys, and ran to the car. I could be at the school and the nearest parking lot in five minutes. Would that be fast enough? Should I have told Tiffany to call nine-one-one? Was she right that that would only have made things worse?
The elementary school was the nearest building to Farmer’s Make-out Grove. The school staff had been trying to keep lustful teenagers out of there ever since the first of the Carlton Central School buildings went in forty years ago. To my great annoyance, the moment I pulled into the lot, I realized that I should have asked which side of the grove they were on. I had entered one of the back parking lots for the elementary school, which was fenced off from the other lot, and I could see Tiffany in the distance of the second parking lot, standing alone and staring into the field.
Too harried to drive all the way around to the closer parking area, I deserted my car, stepped over the chain fence, and raced to Tiffany.
“Where is she?”
Tiffany’s makeup was smeared from her tears and she was pacing in tight circles. She gestured with her chin, her arms wrapped tightly around her chest. “Up there. She told me she wants to be alone when she does it. You’ve got to stop her, Molly. She won’t listen to anything I say.”
“What happened, Tiffany?” I asked. I could see Jenny sitting in the distance, and much as I hated to risk leaving her alone in this condition for any longer than necessary, I had to know what I was about to face.
“Brian Underwood broke up with her this morning. She says she doesn’t even care about that. I don’t know what all else happened. Something about how she just found out her mom had been trying to block her admission to Harvard just ‘cuz she wanted the money for herself.”
I cursed under my breath. Someone might have told her this last bit. More likely she’d known all along but, in spite of everything, hadn’t fully admitted the extent of her mother’s betrayals to herself. And now her mother was dead, and there was no hope of reconciliation. What could I say in the face of so much pain—time heals all wounds? If I offered such a patronizing bromide to Jenny now, my presence would only make matters worse.
Tiffany went on, “She just asked to borrow my car after lunch and then she, like, was too upset to drive so, like, I did. You know? Then she had me take her into Albany to this pawnshop, and she tried to buy this gun, but, you know, the guy wouldn’t sell it to her on the spot.”
“Thank God,” I murmured.
“I can’t get through to her. I’m afraid what would happen if the police came, that she might lash out.”
“She had you bring her here?”
“Yeah, only, like, she bought this incredibly sharp knife instead, from this knife shop, and said she’s going to slit her wrists.”
“She hasn’t, though, right? Have you been able to see her well enough to know for certain?”
“Not for one-hundred-percent certain.” She started to cry again. “I wanted to get the knife away from her. I just didn’t know how.”
“You did the right thing by calling an adult, Tiffany.” Much as I wished it had been an adult with some background in counseling, or one that Jenny knew better arid trusted. I glanced back up at Jenny, still rocking herself slightly. “Is she on anything? Drugs or alcohol?”
“I don’t think so. Jenny won’t touch the stuff. Says she doesn’t like herself when—”
Tiffany’s cell phone rang. She immediately answered with, “Mom?” After a pause she said, “Yeah. Molly’s already here.” Then Tiffany said, “Okay,” and held out the phone to me. “She wants to talk to you.”
I grabbed the phone. “It’s me.”
“How bad is it?” Stephanie asked, her voice as somber as I’d ever heard it.
“I just got here myself and I’m about to go try to talk to her. So far as I can tell, she’s just sitting out there in the middle of the grove.”
“Molly, I was clear across town when Tiffany first called me. I’m in my car and I’m almost there. You stop her from harming herself before I can arrive.”
“Right.” I returned the phone to Tiffany and started up the path. The moment she heard my footsteps, Jenny gasped and turned around to look at me. She had been sobbing. She got to her feet and held the knife out as if she intended to use it as a weapon.
“Stay away from me.”
I stopped. “Jenny, don’t do this.”
“Who the hell are you, anyway? You’ve met me all of, what, two, three times? You don’t care what happens to me any more than I care what happens to you.”
Struggling to keep the urgency from playing itself out in my voice, I said, “You’re right that we barely know each other, Jenny, though as an adult I care more about you than you do about me. Someday you’ll understand why. But there’s one thing that I do know about you. It’s that you can’t hold yourself accountable for your mother’s failings. You’ve done a great job with your life so far, Jenny. Don’t give up. Please.”
She dropped back down onto the ground, but kept a firm grip on the knife. “You don’t know how I feel! Nobody does!” She spat out the words with such venom and rage that what I really felt like doing was dropping to the ground as well and weeping on her behalf.
“True. I can’t even imagine how much pain you’re in now. My guess is that you’ve convinced yourself that the world would be better off without you. Only that isn’t true, Jenny. You’re eighteen. Give yourself a chance.”
I hesitated. Should I tell her that my sense of humor had been born from my own need to keep my sadness and depression at bay? The risk was that she might think I was merely patronizing her and lose all willingness to talk with me.
“I’ve given myself plenty of chances,” she shouted. “I screw up, every time. My own mother didn’t love me.”
“Even if that’s true, it’s not a reflection on you, Jenny. Maybe she was incapable of letting herself be that vulnerable. I am certain that she loved you as much as she was capable of loving anyone.”
Beyond Jenny, I could see that Stephanie had arrived from the opposite side of the parking lot. She strode purposefully toward Jenny.
Jenny, too, saw Stephanie coming toward us. She broke into racking sobs.
Stephanie stopped in front of Jenny and said, “I hear you’ve had a really shitty day.” Still sobbing, Jenny nodded.
Stephanie bent down and took the knife from Jenny. Then, w
ith her free hand, she helped her to her feet, put her arm around the girl’s shoulders and said, “Let’s go home.”
The two of them walked off, Jenny struggling to regain her composure. After taking a couple of steps, Stephanie tossed the knife to the ground without breaking stride. Tiffany, still waiting from a respectful distance, joined them when they reached her, falling into step beside Jenny.
As I watched them leave, I knew that Jenny was in good hands.
Then I picked up the knife, which is what I knew Stephanie had intended for me to do. My hands were so sweaty now and I was shaking so badly that I wasn’t sure I could carry the knife clear across the field and parking lot without dropping it. I set the knife back down and leaned against a tree and breathed deeply, trying to calm myself.
Past the newly budding tree branches, I could see several cars driving on the campus road toward the high school. Students and teachers returning from lunch, no doubt. The bell in the distance signaled that lunch period was ending for the high school.
I studied the knife, respectful of how close we might have come to a very different outcome. The blade really was razor sharp, as Tiffany had described it.
I wondered about the wisdom of carrying a big, sharp knife back onto school property with classes still in session. Someone spotting me could easily get the wrong impression. I carried it carefully as I made my way back down the path to the car, with terrible visions of tripping on a rock and impaling myself.
My car was where I’d left it in the parking lot. It was strange, really, this drama playing out so close to the school and its hubbub of activity.
I took my keys from my pocket, but then remembered that I hadn’t taken the time to lock the doors. I still needed to decide what to do with the knife, not wanting to put it anywhere my own kids could grab it. I could lock it in the glove box.
Resolved, I opened my car door and froze, though the muscles in my hand involuntarily tightened, so that I was now gripping the knife hilt as if for dear life.
Nadine’s clown doll, the one that I’d tossed into my backseat and forgotten, had been moved. It was now propped upright in the front seat, its hands resting on the bottom of the steering wheel.
Death at a Talent Show (Book 6 Molly Masters Mysteries) Page 19