Ready, Scrap, Shoot

by Joanna Campbell Slan

  “Great! So am I. We can bring food home for Claudia. Won’t she be pleased? It will be so nice for her. I bet she loves surprises.”

  “She does.”

  Good, because we’ve got a doozy planned for her. I smiled to myself as I thought about the text-message I’d received from Robbie Holmes right as I swung into Sheila’s drive.

  “Beverly Glenn” had a warrant outstanding for her arrest. She’d skipped bail in Mesa, where she’d been arrested for theft. Robbie was processing the paperwork. Using a dirty water glass from the house, he’d managed to match “Claudia’s” fingerprints with those on file for “Beverly Glenn.” With any luck, “Claudia Turrow” would soon be out of our lives forever.

  Eighty-eight

  “Your mother is absolutely amazing!” Dr. Terra’s gap-tooth grin reminded me of a jack-o-lantern. With his carrot-top mop of hair, he looked a bit freaky-deaky, but there was a sincerity about him that immediately put a person at ease. “I’ve never met anyone like her. In fact, I hope you’ll give me permission to use her as a case study. I’ll obscure her identity, of course.”

  Crud. She pulled the wool over his eyes, I thought to myself. I bit back a sigh. So I’d been wrong about her. She was normal and I was the one with a problem.

  “She maxed out the test. That’s … that’s just astonishing.”

  “What test?”

  “Actually there are several, but that doesn’t matter. What matters is the diagnosis, and I didn’t even need the testing to see that your mother is a craving narcissistic personality to the nth degree. Hey, how much therapy have you had?”

  “Not enough.”

  “My hat’s off to you. Growing up with a narcissistic mother, well, it must have been horrible. No empathy. No concern for your feelings or emotions. Always living in her shadow. People telling you how terrific she is, but she’s so different at home. The backhanded compliments that were really slaps. I bet she pitted you against your siblings, right?”

  My mouth was so dry all I could do was nod.

  “Was she always like this? Narcissism tends to get worse with age, so I’m thinking it wasn’t always this bad.” He grinned at me.

  “It’s always been this bad. Always.” I stopped and reflected. “Maybe it’s worse.”

  “Boy, that must have been rough. And with the infection, she’s been even more moody and confused, right?”

  “What infection?”

  He seemed surprised. “I thought you knew. She has a raging urinary tract infection, a UTI. Any sort of UTI in an elderly person can affect their cognitive abilities.”

  “You’re kidding. You found that out already?”

  He gave a self-deprecating shrug. “She came in with a mild temp. I examined her, and she squealed when I pressed on her belly. We took a urine sample. It was foul smelling and cloudy with a little blood in it, so we sent it out for a test, but I’m positive she should be on antibiotics.”

  “Oh.” She must have been hurting and I didn’t know.

  “We should have the results in an hour or so. I’ll write you a script now because that’ll give you time to get it over to a pharmacy. You’ll want to get her on the antibiotics right away.”

  All of this came at me so fast that I had trouble processing what he was saying. But after he handed over the prescription, I found my voice. “You are telling me that my mother is mentally ill? And she always has been?”

  “Yes, ma’am. Growing up in a house with her must have been an absolute nightmare. Let me guess: You were dead last, you never got any credit for anything you did, your mother one-upped you at every turn, and anything that you needed or wanted was labeled selfish.”

  My head was reeling. He’d recapped my entire childhood in less than fifteen seconds. “So, it really was hard, wasn’t it? I wasn’t just imagining it or being a whiner.”

  “Let’s put it this way, I wouldn’t wish your childhood on my worst enemy. Do you have siblings? Your mother never mentioned any of her children, and she talked non-stop for more than an hour.”

  “Yes, two sisters.”

  “Are they functioning? I mean, do they have successful lives?”

  I thought about that. Amanda never married. She shied away from relationships, avoided getting close. Catherine? She ran away years ago. I hadn’t heard from her in years.

  I told Dr. Terra this.

  He nodded. “Not surprising. The child of a narcissist never learns to stand up for himself. Or herself. Never learns to ask for what they need so they have problems getting their needs met. Your mother taught you that you were not important. Unfortunately, you might even perpetuate the cycle by teaching your own child—if you have one—that she’s too important. It’s a difficult foundation on which to build a successful, fulfilling life.”

  “What can we do about it? Now?”

  He gave a bitter chuckle. “Not one thing. She’s too old to change. She doesn’t want to change. She has no reason to change, and even if she did, we have very little success with problems like this. The best advice I can give you is take care of yourself. More and more you’ll be called upon to be her caregiver. Think about what they tell you on the plane before you take off.”

  “Buckle your seat belt?”

  “Put your own oxygen mask on first.”

  Eighty-nine

  On our way to the pharmacy, we ran through the driveup at Wendy’s. Thinking ruefully about “Claudia,” I bought an extra salad and put it in the cooler I keep in my trunk. If I’d had the courage to let it sit in the heat, maybe our problem with Beverly Glenn would get solved … fast.

  Dr. Terra’s nurse phoned to confirm that my mother did, indeed, have a UTI. The prescriptions would be ready for pick up when we arrived at Walgreens. One was for pain and the other was an antibiotic.

  “Poor thing. Don’t be surprised if your mother sleeps a lot after she takes her medicine. I bet she’s been up and down all night with the urge to go. Not to mention the discomfort,” said the nurse. “And her fever.”

  I felt like the world’s biggest jerk. Here I’d been so angry with her, so put out—as had we all—and Mom had been feeling punk the entire time. Punk and tired.

  But had I thought to get her a thorough checkup?

  No, I hadn’t. I made a mental note to remind Amanda once again to send me all Mom’s medical papers. The nurse suggested, “Go buy a plastic folder for each member of your family. Keep all their medical papers inside. List prescriptions, procedures, doctors’ names, and insurance policy information. It’s much easier than trying to reconstruct stuff when there’s a problem.”

  Here I called myself a scrapbooker, and I had never thought of that. What a simple and smart way to have all that information at the ready. Gosh, if Anya was taken to the hospital, I’d have to scrounge around for all her paperwork, like what she was allergic to, when her last doctor visit was, and so on.

  I vowed to make amends and to rectify the situation.

  I picked up Mom’s medicine and a bottle of water for her to wash down the pills. Racing up and down the aisles, I also bought her a couple of magazines, a pint of Häagen-Dazs Chocolate Chip Cookie Dough ice cream, and a bag of those chocolate-covered pretzels she loved so much. On my way up to the checkout counter, I grabbed two paperbacks for her as well. All in all, I collected quite a haul.

  Good thing I’d be getting back my investment in the store. At this rate, I would need it to cover my bills.

  “I’m sleepy,” Mom said, clutching the plastic bags with the Walgreens name on them. I helped her crank back the passenger seat so she could snooze. As I leaned over, the gun poked me in the ribs. Even so, the pang of pain comforted me. Reaching down, I patted the six-round magazine I’d slipped into my back pocket.

  Still there. Six little bullets ready to do battle.

/>   We were only six blocks away from Deanna and Peter Fitzgeralds’ house when Mom started snoring. Because we were so close, I decided to return their old albums, the ones I had borrowed to make the enlarged portraits of Edwina and to complete the memorial album CALA had commissioned. Returning this stuff would be one more item to cross off my “to do” list. After losing the May Day album, I was a bit paranoid—holding onto the Fitzgeralds’ original materials made me nervous.

  Now was the perfect time to drop these off. I had everything I needed to complete their album and hand it in to Lane Carlée this afternoon. Then I could tell Margit to submit the bill for my services and the materials.

  There was a broad patch of shade at the far end of the Fitzgeralds’ long circular driveway. I pulled in and parked my car under a generous maple tree. Since Mom snored loudly and looked so comfortable, I decided not to wake her. Instead, I rolled down all the windows on the BMW. I ran up to the imposing double front doors and pressed the doorbell.

  Derrick, his face set in a weather-beaten scowl, answered the door. “Yes?”

  You’d have thought we’d never been introduced. He stared at me like I was a door-to-door salesperson trying to peddle my wares.

  “Look, Sissy wants to be left alone,” he said as he moved to block the doorway. “You and all your pals at that fancy school should respect that.”

  “I understand, but I needed to return these albums. Remember? You loaned them to me. I wanted to thank Deanna.”

  “She can’t come to the door right now. She needs her rest. Folks have been pestering her.” Noticing the package in my hands, he reached out and took the albums from me, but fumbling and dropping them on the porch.

  “Oh, no,” I said as I bent down to retrieve them. Wincing from the way the Kel-Tec jabbed me in the side, I picked up the stack. On top was the photo of Derrick and Deanna with the dead buck.

  I passed them to Derrick, and his eyes caught mine. The hairs stood up on the back of my neck and my heart pounded so hard I thought that surely he’d notice.

  I knew.

  I understood everything. The pieces fell into place. I managed to say, “Thanks so much. I’m sorry for your loss. I bet your sister is really torn up about losing her mother-in-law. Anybody would be.”

  “Right.” Derrick glowered at me.

  “Have a nice day,” I said in the cheeriest voice I could muster. Using all my willpower, I turned toward my car, and walked to it slowly, trying not to break into a run.

  I hadn’t seen Derrick at the May Day ceremony. If he’d attended, he would have been sitting next to Deanna and Peter, because that’s what families did. But Derrick hadn’t been there—although he had been here in town. He said he’d arrived a few days before the ceremony.

  I remembered Deanna screaming for help. If her brother had been standing beside her, she wouldn’t have called out to strangers, would she?

  Ninety

  So her brother hadn’t been with them.

  I phoned Lane Carlée.

  “Hi, Lane,” I chirped. “I thought maybe we could go to lunch tomorrow, and I’ll bring both the Fitzgerald albums. My treat.”

  “You don’t have to do that. Let me treat you. Or more to the point, let CALA buy us both lunch. Tomorrow will be fine.”

  Exactly what I hoped she would say. “All right, if you insist. I hope Deanna likes what I’ve done. I returned her old albums to her.”

  “She didn’t say anything to you? I feel awful that I missed the funeral.” Lane sounded concerned.

  “She wasn’t available so I gave the materials to her brother, Derrick. Have you met him?”

  “Yes, he’s a very nice-looking man, isn’t he?”

  “He sure is. I wonder why he didn’t come to the May Day ceremony. I would think Deanna would want to show him off.”

  “I sure would!” Lane laughed. “Unfortunately he had other plans. Deanna told me he was meeting with an old friend who was going through a rough patch. Under the circumstances, it’s probably for the best. That’s one less person in the family who was traumatized by the tragedy.”

  I bid her goodbye after she promised to email the particulars for our lunch date. I pushed the “end call” button, then phoned Detweiler.

  “Hey, sweetheart,” he said, “How are you? Ready to have this hassle with Bill behind us?”

  “Um, yes, but that’s not why I called. Do you have a minute to talk?”

  “Only a minute. Guess what? Good news! Brenda is coming over to sign the divorce papers.”

  At last we were catching a break. I felt my shoulders relax although I hadn’t realized how much tension I held there. “That’s …

  that’s wonderful. What a relief.”

  For a second, I thought about telling him that I was pregnant. Or at least that I thought I was. But I decided against it. I hadn’t taken a pregnancy test. Considering what we planned for this evening, maybe it was best to keep my personal news to myself. I didn’t want Detweiler to call off our plan. Not when Johnny had put himself in such a precarious position for me.

  So instead of saying, “I’m pregnant,” I said, “I want to share a theory with you. I think Derrick Roper killed Edwina Fitzgerald.”

  “Okay, I give. Who is Derrick Roper?”

  “Deanna Fitzgerald’s brother. See, Peter Fitzgerald was totally ineffective in his job, but he hung in there because he was making so much money.”

  “And you know this how?”

  “I have my sources,” I said.

  He chuckled. “I’m well aware that you do. So why would Mrs. Fitzgerald’s brother shoot her husband in the leg? Was he cheating on her? And why take out the older Mrs. Fitzgerald? Or was she collateral damage?”

  “Edwina Fitzgerald ruined her son’s life in order to keep him as part of the family business. But lately, the board of directors has been getting nervous. The board knew that the business couldn’t survive with Peter at the helm. At least it couldn’t survive now, given the economic climate. But if they got rid of him, Peter could never get another job at this level. He and Deanna wouldn’t be able to keep up their standard of living. I bet if you check, there was a board meeting coming up, a meeting when they would be discussing the issue of succession.”

  Detweiler made a “hmm” sound, a noise that showed he was following. He asked, “So Mrs. Deanna Fitzgerald’s brother climbs a tree, shoots Mrs. Edwina Fitzgerald, kills her, and shoots Peter Fitzgerald in the leg … why?”

  “It drew suspicion away from the family. See? Derrick Roper is an excellent marksman. He grew up hunting and shooting to feed the family. That’s why he hit Edwina first with a killing shot. He didn’t miss and hit Peter by accident. That shot to the upper thigh was done on purpose. Get this for irony—the killing occurred during the celebration Edwina adored. In fact, I’d venture to say she loved it more than she loved her family.”

  “I see,” said Detweiler in a thoughtful voice. “Let me check into this, Kiki. But I think you’re onto something. Got to go.”

  Really, as crimes went, it was very nearly perfect.

  Ninety-one

  My mother snored loudly as I pulled into Sheila’s driveway. I decided I’d carry in the food for “Claudia” and Mom’s extra clothes before waking her up. That would give her a little more time to sleep. I’d given her the first pill immediately after I left the drugstore. She wouldn’t need another for six hours.

  I felt an unexpected surge of love for my mother. Curled up, she looked childlike and vulnerable. She hadn’t wanted me, had gotten pregnant with me before her marriage. My presence was a constant reminder of her shame. Once in a fit of anger, she told me how humiliated she’d been by the whole ordeal.

  Something similar had happened to me. But I had wanted Anya. I’d fallen in love with my child even before they settle
d her in my arms. Everything about her thrilled me, from the tiny curled toes, to the translucent fingernails, to the pulsating top of her head, to the pucker of her sweet pink lips. Anya was perfection.

  Whereas, I had been a painful scarlet letter on my mother’s forehead.

  Still, my mother had done her best. She wasn’t a bad person. She was confused, and she was unhappy, but that said much more about her than it could ever say about me.

  I vowed to redouble my efforts to be a good daughter. I knew I couldn’t please her, but I also knew I didn’t want to look back and regret my behavior. I wanted to be able to live with myself after she was gone.

  That reminded me of what was ahead.

  Robbie Holmes told me that I would be safe during their planned escapade. Detweiler seemed to think so, too. But it was my life, and I would be stupid to cede all responsibility to them. Odd as it seemed, feeling the Kel-Tec at my waist gave me a sense of confidence. I couldn’t imagine using a gun on anyone. Waving it around would have to suffice.

  However, I could wield a mean pair of scissors. That was more my style. I pulled a small pair of orange-handled Fiskar scissors out of my purse. At five inches long and two inches wide, I could palm them and no one would ever know. They weren’t long enough to be lethal, but they were sharp and strong enough to be dangerous. I stuck them in my back pocket.

  Mom snorted in her sleep. A vein pulsed on her hand as the blood moved through her thin skin. I noticed how scarce her hair had gotten and how her shoulders protruded through the fabric of her blouse.

  Her fragility moved me. All I’d ever wanted was her love, and now she was slipping away from me, moving on without me. If she didn’t notice me soon, see the hunger for love in my eyes, it would be too late.

  But Dr. Terra’s warning came back to me. “For whatever reason, she’s limited in her ability to care about others. Especially if you don’t make her the center of your universe. Love her for herself. Realize she’s limited in what she can give. Try to be content with it.”