Fall From Grace

by Judith A. Boss

  “Aunt Grace, I love you so much,” Zoe whispered. Pulling the stuffed elephant out from under her cardigan, she placed it in the coffin beside Grace before anyone could stop her. As she did, the locket tumbled out onto the pink satin pillow. Eyes awash with tears, she buried her face in her hands, then turned and ran back to her seat.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Luke’s kids—Anthony and Andrea—were already at St. Matthew’s Church, sitting in the front row when Zoe and Mom arrived for the funeral service. Andrea held a rosary of shiny brown beads and silently mouthed words with an expression that seemed more to Zoe like she was reciting a curse than a prayer.

  Anthony looked up as Zoe and her mom sat down beside Alejandra in the front row on the other side of the aisle. Zoe flushed as Anthony’s dark eyes briefly met hers, piercing her like knives as though he could see into her soul—her blackened soul.

  She quickly turned away as the full force of what Aunt Grace had done struck her. She closed her eyes and shook her head. No, it wasn’t—it couldn’t have been Grace who had done those terrible things—not the real Aunt Grace. It was that evil spirit that had taken possession of her poor injured brain. What was it called? The UberFrau.

  She looked around—no sign of Detective Tasca. Strange that she wasn’t at the funeral. Zoe glanced over at Anthony and Andrea who were both staring straight ahead. She wanted to tell them the truth about Grace, and how sorry she was for what happened. But what good would it do now? She could not even be sure they would understand.

  She slouched back on the cold wooden pew and shut her eyes. The spicy scent of the candles and the smell of old wood brought up images in her mind of the gruesome murder of that old woman—Kitty Van Zandt. She shuddered, picked up a hymnal, and leafed through it, trying to hide her face—her guilt.

  The organ began to play—an annoying wailing sound. As if on cue, everyone stood up, craning their necks toward the back of the church. Zoe followed their gazes.

  Dad and Uncle Patrick, along with the other pallbearers, came into view at the back of the church, three on each side of the coffin draped with what looked like a white tablecloth. Slowly they began wheeling the coffin down the red worn carpet of the center aisle. Dad looked upset, like he was about to cry.

  Zoe’s eyes filled with tears as she thought of Aunt Grace forever trapped in a dark, airless box. And Horton lying there beside her, pink and fluffy and cute as could be on the outside, but inside rotten to the core—like Zoe.

  The coffin stopped in front of the steps leading up to the altar. Dad and Uncle Patrick came over and joined the rest of the family in the pew. Father Ryan came down and stood at the foot of the coffin. Zoe barely managed to stifle a cry as he stretched one arm forward as though he was about to open the coffin. She thought she would surely die right there on the spot. But instead of opening it, the priest sprinkled the coffin with holy water and, after reciting a short prayer, lumbered back up the steps to the pulpit.

  “Please be seated,” he said in a deep voice.

  A whoosh of clothing as everyone sat down.

  After expressing his condolences to the family and friends, he opened the prayer book and began to speak.

  Zoe listened intently to his every word. She desperately needed answers for why God, who was supposed to be so loving, would have allowed such a horrible and unfair thing to happen to such a saintly person as her Aunt Grace.

  But there were no answers.

  After some brief words of remembrance from her Dad and Uncle Patrick and Professor Hardwig, the head of the philosophy department at Rhode Island College, about what a wonderful person Grace had been and how they’d miss her, the organ began playing as the coffin was wheeled back up the aisle.

  ****

  As Zoe stood outside the church watching her aunt’s coffin being carried down the granite steps, she mulled over Father Ryan’s words. She wiped away a tear as Dad and Uncle Patrick, along with the other pallbearers, slid the mahogany coffin into the hearse parked in front of the church. She thought back to the evening before at the funeral home. The funeral director had shut the coffin right after she had slipped Horton inside. As far as she knew, nobody had noticed the gold locket lying on the satin pillow. But that didn’t mean she wasn’t still in trouble. When they had left for the funeral home this morning she had seen that same pick-up truck next door and two men with rakes—probably undercover cops—combing the floor of the garage.

  She looked up at the sky. The rain had stopped, and the sun peeked through the thinning clouds. What was it Father Ryan had said—something about granting absolution of sins and taking pity on the soul of the departed? Something like that. Then he had asked for the angels to accompany the departed—meaning Grace—to paradise and everlasting rest. Zoe was so relieved to learn Grace would not be going to Hell with all the bad people, and that she was in heaven with the angels where she rightly belonged.

  As for herself, Zoe pondered, surely she had done the right thing in God’s eyes in “taking pity” on Grace. For weren’t God’s eyes more important than the stupid law? And how could she, Zoe, be blamed for trying to save her Aunt Grace from eternal disgrace for those sinful things she never would have done had she been in her true and right mind?

  Dad and the other pallbearers stepped back onto the curb as the funeral director closed the tailgate of the hearse. Zoe rubbed her arms and thought about the men she had seen in the garage next door that morning. She knew she would have to face the music when she got home. She sighed. There would be no eternal rest for her.

  The funeral director gestured for Dad and Uncle Patrick to get into the black limousine behind the hearse.

  Mom took Zoe’s arm. “Time to go,” she said in a quiet voice. They slowly descended the steps to Momʼs car, which was parked at the curb behind the limousine.

  The line of cars, each with a magnetic FUNERAL flag on the roof, snaked down Old Post Road past Dave’s Marketplace, past the turnoff to the town beach, and past Brickley’s homemade ice cream parlor where Zoe and Aunt Grace used to go for ice cream.

  Zoe slumped back in her seat. She felt empty, like she had been swallowed up into a vast void. Exhaustion set into her bones.

  The hearse turned left through a wrought iron gate leading into the cemetery. The hum of traffic faded as the procession turned onto a dirt lane. Granite headstones, set among neatly trimmed bushes, overgrown rhododendrons, and ornamental trees, stood facing the road as though watching a parade. The hearse pulled up in front of a grassy area and parked.

  Zoe got out and watched as the other cars lined up behind them on the side of the narrow road. The warm, humid air smelled of fresh dirt and pine needles. From a far corner of the cemetery, she could hear the rumble of a backhoe, as men and women in black suits and dresses began slowly making their way toward an arched green canopy with a scalloped edge. The coffin was placed on a bronze stand atop a large square of green indoor/outdoor carpeting, creating the impression that the coffin was sitting on an undisturbed lawn instead of about to be lowered into a hole and covered forever with dirt. It seemed unreal—almost like pretend—like her Aunt Grace had not really died, and none of this had happened.

  People gathered in small groups around the gravesite as the funeral director and his assistant carried the last of the flowers from the funeral parlor and placed them on two green racks beside the coffin. Once everyone was settled, Father Ryan stepped forward and, sprinkling holy water on the gravesite, said, “Lord, bless this grave and appoint your holy angels to guard it and set free from all the chains of sin the soul of her whose body is buried here. Eternal rest grant unto her, O Lord. And let perpetual light shine upon her. May she rest in peace. Amen.”

  “Amen,” Zoe whispered.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Mom and Zoe hardly spoke a word on the ride home from the cemetery—which wasn’t at all like Mom—except for her tight-lipped and somewhat unconvincing reassurances that everything would be okay. By the time they arrived
home, the sky was a clear blue, and the temperature had climbed into the seventies.

  Zoe got out of the car and peered anxiously through an opening in the trees toward the garage next door. It was just a little over a week ago she and her Aunt Grace had gone to the movies together followed by dinner at Outback Steakhouse. Zoe sighed. Now her whole world had been turned upside down.

  As she walked toward the end of the driveway to get the mail she noticed a police cruiser parked in front of the unfinished house next door. Dad was standing next to the car talking to someone inside. Zoe moved closer to get a better look. She gasped as Detective Tasca stepped out of the cruiser.

  As they started walking toward her, Zoe noticed Detective Tasca holding something like a book. Her mouth went dry as she realized it was Grace’s journal. It was wrapped in a clear plastic bag. In her other hand Detective Tasca held several other plastic evidence bags. A wave of panic washed over Zoe. She wanted to run, but her legs were like rubber. She thought for sure she was going to throw up.

  Dad approached Zoe and placed a hand on her shoulder. She noticed he was frowning and had dark circles under his eyes. “Let’s go inside,” he said, directing her toward her the house. “We need to talk.”

  Detective Tasca followed them into the house.

  Mom was in the kitchen pouring coffee.

  “Please, Zoe, have a seat,” Detective Tasca said, directing her to a chair at the kitchen table. She set down her cup of coffee and the journal and took a seat across from Zoe. Then she spread out the evidence bags containing what looked like Precious’s dog collar, several rhinestones, an envelope with a letter poking out, and—Oh, God—the locket, along with the other items Zoe had found inside of Horton the elephant.

  Stomach heaving, Zoe sank into the chair. It might as well have been an electric chair. From where she sat she could see the driveway and woods through the archway leading into the dining room. Her eyes filled with tears. She was going to spend the rest of her life locked up in that horrible prison for girls, never go outside again.

  Mom came over and set a box of tissues on the table in front of her. “It’s okay, Zoe,” Mom said softly, placing her hands on Zoe’s shoulders. “Just tell the police the truth.”

  Zoe shut her eyes, trying to keep the nausea from overwhelming her.

  Detective Tasca cleared her throat then said, “Zoe, you’re not in trouble. But we think you know something. We just want to find out what happened.”

  Zoe slumped back in her chair. The police always say they’re not going to arrest you just to get you to confess, then they throw you in jail anyway.

  “We found this journal and a small dog collar and some bones under a piece of plywood in the garage next door,” Detective Tasca said. She gestured toward Dad. “Rather, your father found them.”

  Dad took a deep breath and rubbed his temples. “I thought you might be hiding something, Zoe,” he said. “The way you acted when Mrs. Worthen found Luke’s passport in your room—especially since Grace had told the police Luke’s passport had been stolen while they were on their honeymoon in Spain.”

  “I’m sorry,” Zoe whispered. “I didn’t mean to…” She broke off and began to cry. Yoda padded over and lay down next to her feet. Zoe blew her nose then leaned over and scratched Yoda’s head, glad for the support.

  “Tell us what happened next, Mr. Delaney,” Detective Tasca said, jotting down something in a spiral notepad.

  “Yesterday morning,” Dad replied, “I saw Zoe hide something under her coat when she went out to take Yoda for a walk. A few hours later I saw Zoe coming back from the garage next door. That’s when I became really suspicious that she was up to something.ˮ He paused.

  “Go on,” Detective Tasca said gently.

  Dad took another deep breath. “The visiting hours at the funeral home were that afternoon, so I waited until I got home to check it out. That’s when I found fresh dog prints and what looked like a child’s footprints next to a piece of plywood. I looked under the plywood and discovered this journal—with Grace’s name in it—among other things.ˮ He gestured toward the journal. “I read parts and it was…it was…horrible.ˮ He shuddered and pinched the bridge of his nose. “That’s when I called you—the police.”

  Zoe winced and looked over at her dad. But instead of anger she saw deep sadness etched on his face. It upset her to know she had put that sadness there, as if losing Aunt Grace wasn’t sad enough.

  Detective Tasca turned to Zoe. “Zoe, it was you who found your aunt’s journal, right?”

  Zoe said nothing.

  “Please answer her questions, Zoe,” Dad said wearily.

  Zoe looked down at her hands. She felt so ashamed of herself for having deceived her parents.

  “Did you go into your aunt’s bedroom and take some things after the ambulance left?” Detective Tasca asked.

  Zoe nodded reluctantly. Then she told them how she had found the journal under Aunt Grace’s bed the day the police came, and how she’d tried to put it back, but it was too late because the police had already checked over the whole room. She paused and blew her nose then continued in a shaky voice. “I was afraid I’d get sent to the training school if you found out I took the journal. I didn’t mean to keep it or hide it from the police, honest!” She glanced up at Detective Tasca.

  “Go on,” Detective Tasca urged.

  Zoe took a deep breath. “But then Mom and Dad came home from the hospital before I could return it—so I hid Aunt Grace’s journal in my bedroom.ˮ She slumped back in her chair. There, she had done it. She had confessed the bad thing she had done. She glanced up at Detective Tasca, expecting the worst.

  But instead of pulling out the handcuffs and arresting her, Detective Tasca said, “Go on, Zoe, I’m curious—why did you take the journal over to the garage next door?”

  Zoe wiped her eyes. “Because I couldn’t put it back, and I couldn’t hide it in the house or my book bag ’cause I was afraid someone would find it.ˮ She stopped talking and blew her nose.

  “What happened next?”

  Zoe rubbed her arms and stared out the window. Through it she could see her driveway and the wooded path leading to the house next door. “I was afraid someone might find it, so I hid the journal over there.ˮ She motioned toward the garage next door with her chin, paused, then said, “That’s where I read most of it—all the parts about Uncle Luke getting pushed over that cliff and that poor old lady and her son…” She bit her lower lip, trying to keep from crying. “I wanted to turn the journal over to the police, but I didn’t know how.” She began crying. She could just see the headlines. Beloved Ethics Professor a Mass Murderer. Niece Arrested as Accomplice. Zoe buried her face in her hands and sobbed.

  “I believe you, Zoe,” Detective Tasca said gently, placing her hand on Zoe’s shoulder.

  Zoe looked up. “You do?”

  “We found the envelope in the garage with the address of the police on it.ˮ She pushed the envelope toward Zoe. “It’s your handwriting, isn’t it?”

  Zoe nodded reluctantly. She knew there was no point in denying it with all those handwriting experts that worked for the police. You couldn’t put anything over on them.

  “Why didn’t you say something to us, Zoe?” Mom asked.

  Zoe wiped her eyes with the back of her hand. “Because I thought Detective Tasca was trying to frame Aunt Grace because she was…she was sweet on Uncle Luke—Aunt Grace even said so in the journal.”

  Detective Tasca looked surprised, then laughed and said, “Oh, Zoe. It’s true I knew Luke—he was on the police force with me. And he was a delightful person, but I’m happily married to the most wonderful man in the world and we have two lovely daughters.”

  Zoe flushed.

  Mom patted Zoe’s arm reassuringly.

  “Getting back to the journal, Zoe, you said you read it, or at least parts of it,” Detective Tasca continued. “Is that right?”

  Zoe nodded.

  Detective Tasca turned to Mom an
d Dad. “I had a chance to read through the journal while you and your family were at the church and cemetery,” she said. “And we’re trying to piece together exactly what happened based on it. But some of the entries are a bit hard to make sense of. Maybe we can sort it out together.”

  Zoe shuddered. Just the thought of all those horrible things written in the journal gave her the heebie-jeebies. She felt like she was going to start crying again.

  “Zoe, do you remember the entry in the journal where your Aunt Grace wrote about pushing your uncle Luke over the wall on their honeymoon in Spain?”

  Zoe began to cry again. “But Aunt Grace wasn’t in her right mind!!” she sobbed. “It was the uber who did it!!”

  Detective Tasca smiled gently. “Let’s put the journal aside for a moment and talk about these other items. Is that okay with you, Zoe?”

  Zoe blew her nose but said nothing.

  Turning to Dad, Detective Tasca gestured toward the plastic evidence bags laid out on the table. “Mr. Delaney, you said you found these items in your sister Grace’s casket at the funeral home.”

  Dad nodded. “That’s right—they fell out when Zoe put the elephant in the casket just as we were about to close it.”

  “And Mrs. Delaney, you were there when your husband found them, is that correct?”

  “Yes,” Mom replied reluctantly.

  “And you both saw your daughter Zoe place this stuffed elephant in the casket at the funeral home?”

  “That’s right,ˮ Dad said.

  “Zoe, did you put this elephant inside your aunt’s casket?” Detective Tasca asked.

  Zoe rubbed her arms and stared at the items on the kitchen table. “Yes,” she whispered.

  “And Mr. and Mrs. Delaney, do you both recognize this toy elephant?”

  “Yes, it belongs to Zoe,ˮ Mom said.