“Hey, you!” she heard a voice call.
But she did not stop running or look back until she was long out of sight.
Chapter Twenty-One
Zoe removed her clothes and dropped them in a heap on the bathroom floor. The damp smell of the garage—and of death—clung to her hands and clothing. She shuddered. Even though it was warm in the bathroom, she felt chilled to the bone.
Leaning over the tub, she turned on the tap. Her aunt’s bottle of Herbaflor bubble bath sat on the far edge of the tub. Reaching across, she added a capful of the lavender scented bubble bath. Stepping into the steamy, fragrant water she sat down and scrubbed herself thoroughly.
As she lay there soaking, unwelcome images flooded her mind—the skeleton of Precious in its hidden grave…
The phone rang, startling her.
From downstairs she could hear Dad talking to someone.
She huddled in the tub. The police had probably found the journal buried in the garage next door and were on their way over to pick her up right this moment in one of those police cruisers with the cages in the back. Then they would come upstairs and tell her to get dressed and take her away in handcuffs while Dad glared at her like he was so ashamed he wished she’d never been born.
Zoe closed her eyes. She felt as if there was a dark weight, like the lid of a coffin, pressing down on her, suffocating her.
“Aunt Grace,” she whispered. “If you are there, please tell me what to do.”
But the only reply was the soft fizzle of the bubbles.
Tears welled up in her eyes as she sank deeper into a mood of despair. Maybe she should just end it all now, like the Indian princess in The Lady of the Lake who had walked into the lake and drowned herself. Her lower lip quivered as she slowly slid her body toward the front of the tub until the water almost covered her ears.
The bathroom door squeaked.
Zoe jerked to a sitting position, sending soapy water sloshing over the edge of the tub onto the tiled floor.
Yoda nudged the door open and peered inside.
“Yoda, you almost scared me to death,” Zoe said, clasping her hands to her chest.
Yoda padded into the room and, after turning around a few times, settled down, his nose resting on Zoe’s pile of clothes, his brown eyes fixed on her.
Zoe pushed herself to a standing position. She grabbed a towel and stepped out of the tub. Gathering up her dirty clothes, she stuffed them into the hamper, and headed for her bedroom.
She paused in the doorway and glanced around the familiar room—at her bed with the pink quilt. She wondered what the beds were like at the training school—probably icky mattresses filled with straw and bed bugs.
Stumbling into the room she threw herself down on her bed and buried her face in the pillow and cried. After several minutes, she sat up and wiped her eyes with the back of her hand. No sense in putting off the inevitable—as Aunt Grace used to be fond of saying. She may as well go downstairs and face the music.
The blue dress and the matching sweater for the wake were spread out on the armchair. A tuft of pink fur poked out from under the outfit. After getting dressed, Zoe combed out her wet hair, pulled it back, and secured it with a barrette. As she did, she caught her reflection in the mirror. Her eyes were puffy from crying and her face drawn and pale. She pinched her cheeks, trying to get some color back into them.
Behind her in the reflection she could see Yoda, his white paws on the edge of the armchair, head stretched forward sniffing Horton’s pink fur. She let out a heavy sigh. What was that dog into now?
“Yoda,” she said, trying to sound stern. “Leave Horton alone.”
Yoda whimpered and looked at her, then at the stuffed elephant, and back at Zoe again.
Zoe sighed.
“I know, you miss Aunt Grace too,” she said, rubbing Yoda’s head.
Picking up Horton, she sat down in the chair. She thought she had known her aunt—known her well. But now—she bit her lower lip. She didn’t know what to think anymore. She hugged the elephant to her chest. “At least I still have you,” she whispered. Good old dependable Horton.
Yoda’s ears perked up and he let out a low woof.
From downstairs, Zoe heard a knock at the door, then voices talking softly, followed by footsteps coming up the stairs.
Her heart skipped a beat. She held her breath and listened.
“Zoe?” It was Mom. She was wearing an attractive black suit. “It’s time to go,” she said.
Zoe closed her eyes and nodded, ready to accept her fate. She started to put Horton back on the chair but hesitated. Tears welled up in her eyes.
“Oh, sweetie,” Mom said, putting an arm around her. “You can bring Horton with you if you want.”
Zoe blinked back a tear. “I can? You mean they allow…”
“Of course you can. Other people bring mementos with them—photographs, news clippings—that sort of thing.”
Zoe’s lower lip trembled. So it was true. She was going to the police station where they would drill her with questions about Grace. How would she ever be able to convince them the journal was just a novel her aunt was writing? It had to be. She gazed down with moist eyes at Horton.
Mom pulled her closer and gave her a hug. “Oh, you poor thing,” she said. “Are you worried about the bad man you saw in the cemetery? Is that what’s bothering you?”
Zoe stared at her blankly. She had forgotten all about him.
“Well, you’ll be glad to know we just got a call from Detective Tasca, and it turns out the man who pushed Aunt Grace in the alley—the one who you thought you might have seen at the cemetery yesterday—was picked up two days ago in Atlantic City and he’s now in custody.ˮ Mom stepped back and patted Zoe’s arm. “So you see, there’s nothing to worry about.”
Zoe frowned. If only Mom knew. She would hardly call her going to that horrible prison for bad kids “nothing to worry about.”
She was about to say so when Mom said, “I know this is a lot for a young girl to take in—Aunt Grace’s funeral and everything. Just so you know, Dad and your Uncle Patrick went on ahead. I’m bringing my car. There’s no need for us to be at the funeral home for the whole time.”
Zoe felt a rush of relief. “You…you mean, I’m not going to prison?” she blurted out.
Mom laughed. “Of course not. Honestly, Zoe, I don’t know where you get such ideas. There is no need for you to go there to identify the man who hurt Grace. The police have it all under control.”
Zoe swallowed and stared outside. The sun had gone behind a cloud. Dying oak leaves floated down past her window.
****
The sickly sweet scent of cut flowers filled the large room in the funeral parlor. Music from “Pachelbel’s Canon”—one of Grace’s favorites—drifted out of speakers set into the ceiling. A dozen or more people, most of whom Zoe did not recognize, were scattered throughout the room, some whispering quietly with each other.
Rows of wooden folding chairs with blue-vinyl cushioned seats were set up in the middle of the room, as though for a piano recital. Except instead of a piano up front, a shiny wooden casket sat perched on a bronze-colored stand, the lid open. Stands of flowers formed a thicket around the coffin like an English garden. Dad and Uncle Patrick stood to one side of the coffin—hands folded and faces somber.
Zoe’s eyes teared up. Dad was wearing the pale blue Rhode Island tie with the little anchors Aunt Grace had given to him last Christmas.
“You don’t have to go up, Zoe, if you don’t want to,” Mom whispered.
Zoe swallowed hard and hugged Horton to her chest, trying to be brave and keep from crying.
Mom motioned toward the chairs. “Why don’t we go sit down for a while?”
An elderly woman, gray and stooped over from age, sat in the row in front of them fingering her rosary beads and muttering, “Thy most precious blood. Oh, Jesus, forgive us our sins, save us from the fires of hell.”
Zoe grimaced and forced h
er gaze back to the front of the room. Scattered among the vases of flowers were photos of the family, including a wedding picture of Aunt Grace and Luke looking blissfully happy, and a photo of Grace and Zoe together taken two years ago at the Roger Williams Park Zoo.
A thin man with a clipped, gray beard stepped up to the coffin. After a moment of silence, he crossed himself, then placed a glass apple next to a vase of her aunt’s favorite flowers—blue delphiniums, daisies, sage, and lily of the valley. Propped up against the vase was the small brass Corgi which Grace had kept on her key chain.
Zoe closed her eyes trying to shut out thoughts of the skeleton of Precious that Yoda had dug up in the garage, and the journal she had hastily buried with the bones. She squirmed. The smell of the lilies of the valley was starting to make her feel slightly nauseous.
A young man and woman took seats in the row behind them. The woman leaned forward and put her hand on Mom’s shoulder. “Are you a relative?” the woman asked.
“Yes, I’m her sister-in-law,” Mom replied.
“She was a saint,” the woman said.
Mom smiled. “Thank you. She was a wonderful person.”
“Her ethics class was the best class I ever took,” the young man added.
After a few moments of small talk, they fell silent.
Zoe mulled over what they had said about Grace being a saint and all. She felt a surge of righteous indignation wash over her. How could the police even think her aunt could be involved in any sort of evil doing—let alone murder? No doubt that horrible Detective Tasca would twist any evidence to make it look like Grace was guilty of something just to get back at her for stealing Luke.
At that moment, the sound of a familiar voice behind her caught Zoe’s attention. Turning, she spotted Detective Tasca sitting on a small sofa at the back of the room, talking to Alejandra. Zoe quickly turned back and scrunched down in her seat. Her heart pounded. Was Detective Tasca here to arrest her for hiding evidence?
A tap on her shoulder. Zoe almost jumped out of her skin.
“Hey, Zoe,” Jen whispered.
Zoe threw her arms around her best friend. “Jen,” she cried. “You made it!”
“Your mom told us you’d be coming late,” Jen said. She gestured toward her mother who was carrying what looked like a small stick in one hand. Jen’s mother paused for a few seconds in front of the coffin and placed the stick inside of it.
Zoe’s eyes widened. She looked around to see if anyone else had noticed. “What’s she doing?” she asked Jen in a low voice.
“It’s incense.”
“What’s it for?”
“To help your aunt make a safe passage to the next life.”
Jen’s mother came back and, after saying something about impermanence and oneness and other things Zoe guessed were meant to be reassuring, but made no sense to her, she took a seat on the other side of Jen.
Zoe sighed. She wished she understood all that gobbledygook. She sat back and fidgeted with Horton. As she did, she noticed the stitching coming loose at the back. She poked her finger between the open seams and felt something hard and flat. Thrusting her finger farther inside the hole, she wiggled it around. This time it struck something metal—like a chain from a necklace. She drew back her finger as though she had touched a hot stove.
“Are you okay?” Mom asked.
Zoe clasped her hand over the back of Horton. “Uh…I have to go to the bathroom, that’s all,” she said.
Mom pointed toward the doors at the back of the room. “It’s just down the hall.”
“Do you want me to come with you?” Jen asked.
Zoe shook her head. She stood and looked around the room. There were only a few people left. Detective Tasca was standing now and talking to someone who was on his way out. Zoe sucked in a deep breath. Would she be able to get past her without being noticed?
“We’ll be leaving in about fifteen or twenty minutes,” Mom said.
“I’ll wait until you come back,” Jen said.
Shoving Horton under her cardigan, Zoe made her way up the aisle toward the bathroom.
The bathroom was a small well-lit room with floral wallpaper and a scallop-shell sink. After locking the door, Zoe sat down on the closed toilet seat.
Laying Horton on her lap, she pulled the seam open a bit wider. A small clear stone fell out and bounced across the white-tiled floor with a ping, ping, ping. Leaning over, Zoe picked it up and cradled it in her hand. The stone had the same pale pink color as the rhinestones in Precious’s collar. Zoe stared at it. Maybe her aunt had found it in the woods behind their house where that coyote had killed poor Precious. And maybe Grace had put the rhinestone inside of Horton as a sort of heart, like they did at the Build-A-Bear place.
Zoe shoved the rhinestone into her pocket then turned Horton upside down and gave him a shake. A few more rhinestones tumbled out onto her lap along with a locket on a gold chain, a man’s Harvard class ring, a St. Jude’s medallion, and a dog tag. Her heart sank as she saw the word “Precious” engraved on the dog tag. Had Aunt Grace found that in the woods too? She carefully picked up the locket and examined it. The letters KVZ were carved into the gold in fancy script. KVZ—Kitty Van Zandt—wasn’t she the old lady in Grace’s journal who had died in that awful fire?
“Oh, God, no,” Zoe whispered. She felt like the life had just been sucked out of her—like she had been struck with a sledgehammer. She reached out and grabbed the wall to steady herself.
She shook her head as though trying to wake up from a terrible nightmare. No, not her beloved aunt—Aunt Grace would never do anything to hurt anyone. Never. Zoe closed her eyes and thought back to the picture in her aunt’s textbook of Phineas Gage, the railroad worker who couldn’t make even the simplest moral decision after that iron rod went through his head. Did something like that happen when Grace hit her head in the alleyway? After all, that ER doctor had told Grace to let him know if there were any changes in her personality.
Zoe opened her eyes. That was it. It had to be the bump on her head—it wasn’t Aunt Grace who did those horrible things. It was that other person—the uberwhatever it was—who took over her mind that day in the old lady’s house. She squirmed. Still… That didn’t make it right.
A tap at the bathroom door startled her.
“Is anyone in there?” a muffled voice called.
“Just a minute,” Zoe said. Her hands shaking, she gathered up the items on her lap. What should she do? She could not risk flushing the items down the toilet. What if they did not go down all the way and clogged the toilet? Think, Zoe, think. Maybe she could give Horton to Jen, and she could sneak the stuffed elephant out of the funeral home. Except…what if Detective Tasca stopped Jen and searched her? No, Zoe could not take that chance.
Another knock on the door—this time louder, more urgent.
Zoe shoved the rhinestones and locket and other items back into the stuffed elephant. Jumping up she flushed the toilet for effect.
Once out in the hall, she peered around the corner. Detective Tasca was at the front door watching as the last of the visitors left. Waiting until her back was turned, Zoe slipped into the main room. The funeral director, a tall man with graying hair and an immaculate dark gray suit, stood next to the coffin, one hand on the lid of the coffin, talking quietly to her parents and Uncle Patrick.
The only other people in the room were Jen and her mother, standing at the back of the room.
“We have to go now,” Jen’s mother said, giving Zoe a hug. “Remember what I told you.”
“I can’t come to the funeral tomorrow,” Jen said. “I wish I could, but my father won’t let me because I have an algebra test tomorrow.”
Zoe nodded. “That’s okay. Thanks for coming today.ˮ She turned and walked slowly down the aisle with Horton pressed to her body under her cardigan as if it was some sort of hidden weapon.
“There you are,” Dad said.
“Zoe,” Mom said, putting her hand to her forehead. �
��You look as pale as a ghost. Is something wrong?”
Zoe looked down. It was like guilt was written all over her face. She was doomed.
From behind her, she could hear Detective Tasca still talking to someone out in the hallway. Zoe looked around the room hoping to find an escape route—another door leading outside. But the only way out of the room was through those double doors leading to the hall—or out one of the windows, which would call attention to her for sure.
She took a deep breath. She knew the right thing to do would be to come clean and confess and take the consequences—whatever they might be. She considered this for a moment but dismissed it. If she turned Horton over to Detective Tasca people would know she had broken the law and hidden evidence and her parents would be so ashamed of her. And what about Aunt Grace? Besides, the police would surely give her a lie detector test. Even if they had not found the journal by now, Zoe was no good at lying and that would be the end of Aunt Grace’s good reputation. And that wouldn’t be fair because it wasn’t Grace—not the real Grace—who had done all those horrible things.
Words drifted out of the speakers overhead.
Amazing grace!
How sweet the sound, that saved a wretch like me!
I once was lost, but now am found,
Was blind, but now I see.
~*~
ʼTwas grace that taught my heart to fear,
And grace, my fears relieved;
How precious did that grace appear,
The hour I first believed.
~*~
Through many dangers, toils, and snares,
I have already come;
ʼTis grace that brought me safe thus far
And grace will lead me home.
Zoe straightened. Yes, there was her answer—as clear as though one of God’s angels was saying it himself. She took a few steps forward.
“Sweetie,” Mom said, softly. “We’re closing up the coffin now if you want to say goodbye.”
Zoe stopped in front of the coffin. She took a deep breath, braced herself, and peered inside. It was not at all what she had expected. Aunt Grace looked so beautiful, lying there on the pink satin pillow holding a beaded rosary in her hands, as if she were just asleep and would awaken at any moment.
Fall From Grace Page 14