by Paula Matter
Michael and I sat in the car for a few minutes outside Sam’s house. We couldn’t get any more out of him, and before leaving I suggested that maybe a nap was in order. I heard the sound of the TV as we closed the front door behind us. Thank goodness he didn’t smoke. One less thing to worry about.
“Wow, I’ve never seen him like that before. It’s weird. And sad.” I felt like crying, but didn’t. “Jack’s notebooks. What did he mean by that?”
“How old is Sam, do you know?”
“Actually, I do. His wife throws a birthday party every year. He’ll be seventy-four this year.”
“Army? Navy? Marines?”
“Navy. He signed up when he graduated high school, wanted to go to college on the GI Bill. He joined the Navy … oh my God, Sam joined in 1961. Cuban Missile crisis in October 1962. He was only seventeen years old.” I pictured the dozen or more colored Post-it notes plastered on Sam’s bulletin board above his desk. “Sam’s the guy Jack wrote about becoming buddies with when he joined the VFW in 1962. The guy who suggested he write stuff down. That’s why Sam’s blaming himself.”
“Sam’ll be all right,” Michael said. “He’ll sleep it off, most likely. But he’ll be okay. Now, we’d better get going or we’ll be late to pick up Chris.” He pulled out of Sam’s driveway and we headed over to Terri’s. “You look exhausted.”
I turned my head and saw him looking at me. I smiled. “It’s been a hell of a day. After everything that’s happened, I’m not sure what to make of it all. Y’know, thinking of what to say to people is easy. Coming up with questions to ask is easy. What’s hard is actually talking to them, asking those questions, then listening to them.”
“Yeah. You know these people. In a way, you don’t want to know the truth. You’re afraid of the answers, what you’re going to find out.”
I couldn’t disagree with him. “Maybe tomorrow will be a better day.”
Thirty-Four
On Monday morning I woke to the sound of roaring and at first I thought it was the Gulf, and we were still in Ft. Walton Beach. I lay there thinking about last night when Michael and I went to pick up Chris. We ended up being a few minutes late, and Terri was not happy. Man, oh, man. The girls—Chris and her BFF Heather—had gotten into a huge argument and Terri was pulling her hair out trying to keep the peace. She demanded Michael remove his spoiled, bratty daughter from her home and to never set foot on their property again. I got to watch the whole scene from inside Michael’s car.
Outside my bedroom window, I heard a horn and jumped out of bed. My car was home. Whoa. That stopped me dead. My car was home. Whatever. I threw on jeans and a clean T-shirt and rushed downstairs. Michael stood next to the tow-truck guy, signing papers on a clipboard.
“Good morning, Maggie,” Michael said. “Or is it too early to wish you that yet? Should I wait until you’ve had your coffee?”
I slugged him right before hugging him. My beautiful car. New tires. New windshield wipers. Oh. No more ugly scratch.
“Thanks again, call us anytime,” the guy said and climbed into his truck. As he drove by me, he shouted, “Glad to have a happy customer, Mrs. Bradley. Have a good day!”
Almost afraid to look at him, I turned toward Michael. We both blushed, then burst out laughing at the same time.
“How much do I owe you, Michael?”
“Breakfast at Sally’s.”
“Oh, c’mon, really.”
“Okay.” He cupped his chin, acted like he was considering it. “What about breakfast and you don’t raise my rent?”
“You can’t keep bailing me out like this.”
“How about you don’t use the word bail?” The laugh lines around his eyes crinkled.
I slugged him again. Yes, today was turning out to be a much better day.
A half hour later we pulled up and parked in front of Sally’s. The early-morning crowd had apparently dispersed by the time we got there, so there were a few empty tables and booths. I headed for the counter.
“Your booth’s open,” Michael said and started walking toward it.
“No,” I said. “Let’s sit at the counter. I like it up there.”
He shrugged and followed me.
“G’morning, Yankee, Maggie. What’ll y’all have?” Sally rattled off the specials. We ordered. Sally came back with our coffee, and Michael’s juice. In front of me she put a full sugar shaker and large glass of milk. “I seen what you do to your coffee. Reckon that’ll hold you for a while.”
I didn’t argue with her. Michael cringed as I poured the sugar and milk in. I made a big show of taking a big gulp. “Ahhhh. Perfect.” Inside I was doing my best to not spit it out. There was such a thing as too much sugar.
Sally set our plates in front of us, plopped more coffee in our cups, and left us alone to eat. I scraped the grits away from the scrambled eggs and home fries. “I will never acquire a taste for these. There’s not enough butter and sugar in the world to make them appealing. I know I’m southern, but yuck.”
“What I miss is scrapple. Haven’t had that since we left Pennsylvania. Talk about huge differences between here and there. I can’t even get a Genesee beer anywhere. Or pierogies. Or stromboli.” After coating his food with pepper, he dug in.
I grabbed the ketchup bottle and poured some onto my scrambled eggs. I scooped up a mouthful and looked at Michael after he grunted. “What?” I asked.
“Ketchup on eggs? That’s disgusting.”
“It is not. I think putting pepper on everything is gross. Just because I don’t like it doesn’t mean I’m going to knock you for using it.” I poured more ketchup on my eggs. “So there.”
He laughed. “I learn something new about you every day.”
“Well, hey, I didn’t know you were from Pennsylvania. You told me you were from Orlando.”
“True. I guess there’s a lot we don’t know about each other.”
“You know, this is weird. We’re just finding out things about each other now, after spending the last week digging up secrets about people I’ve known for five years. Lies they told for whatever reason.”
“Yeah, we have.” Michael nodded. “We’ve learned a lot.”
“What I’m wondering now is, what’s the difference between a lie or a secret, and simply not knowing everything about the person? I mean, I could call you a liar because you told me you were from Orlando.”
He pushed his empty plate away and picked up his coffee mug. “Okay, I see what you’re saying. I withheld information from you, but that doesn’t make me a liar. It just means I didn’t reveal everything about myself to you. I wasn’t keeping anything a secret.”
“If I had asked where you were from originally, you would’ve said Pennsylvania. So, it all depends on asking the right questions.” I finished my breakfast and stacked my plate on his.
“I think you’ve done a very good job at asking the right questions.” He clinked his coffee cup with mine.
Our cups were still in the air when Sally refilled them. “Hey, Maggie, you sure you don’t want the job? You’re out of work, I need a cook. I can teach you if you’re willing to learn. Not like I’d let you poison any of my customers.” She leaned forward, resting her chubby elbows on the counter. “Help me talk her into it, Yankee.”
“Well, ma’am, it’s up to her. I can’t—”
“Shoot,” she said. Sally straightened up, scowled at both me and Michael. “I’m an old woman. I can’t be doing this like I been. All the ordering, the books, the cooking, the cleaning on top of taking care of this counter every day. I need help, and I think Maggie here will do just fine.” And she walked off in a huff, muttering to herself.
I sat rooted to my stool, afraid to speak, move, or even breathe. Michael leaned over and said, “I think you ought to consider it.”
“Really?” I tried to picture myself standing in fron
t of a grill flipping pancakes and hamburgers. All I could see was fire and smoke. Something to think about though.
He wiped his mouth and tossed the napkin on our plates. “You ready to go home?”
There was that word again. “Yeah, let’s go back to the house. I need to catch up on laundry, and a few other things. Do detectives get days off?”
“Yes, we do. Life continues to happen while we’re working, and we have to make sure to take time for other stuff.”
When we got back to the house, and after waving at Bobby Lee sitting in his cruiser across from my house again, I thought about what Michael had said about taking care of other stuff. After loading the washer, I headed toward one of the bedrooms. I had put this off long enough.
The day I moved to the upstairs level of the house, I had put the boxes of Rob’s belongings in this room because it was the closest to the stairs. Smallest of the bedrooms, Rob and I had considered turning it into a huge walk-in closet.
I wasn’t sure where to get started. Dozens of cardboard boxes were stacked against three of the walls. I grabbed the closest one and sat down in the middle of the room. Rob’s yearbooks, trophies, awards, certificates from sports he’d received during high school. I set the box aside to decide on later. Hard to know just what to do with stuff like that. Clothing. I’d go through his clothes and pick out anything that I could donate or toss. I’d keep the few T-shirts I had in my dresser.
Several hours later, I had sorted through all of the boxes. Rob’s clothes had been separated into boxes or garbage bags. I’d haul them all downstairs later. I’d have to find out if there was a Salvation Army or Goodwill nearby. Standing and stretching my tired muscles, I looked at what I’d accomplished. The one box of his high school stuff sat by itself, separated from the boxes I was tossing or donating. I took that box and put it in the closet, then left the room, closing the door behind me. A job well done.
While I loaded my damp clothes into the dryer, I realized two things. I hadn’t cried once during the ordeal of going through Rob’s things, and I hadn’t gone to the cemetery to visit him since Friday. And that had been only to rant after getting pissed off at Phil. Before I could chastise myself, I realized I’d been talking to Rob the entire time I was in that bedroom. I didn’t need to go to his grave to talk to him.
Thirty-Five
The grandfather clock chimed nine times. Wow. Six o’clock already. Time to decide what I’d have for dinner. I had a few frozen dinners, a new box of wine, and I’d treat myself to something fabulously fattening. Maybe even three glasses of wine. I had certainly earned a reward for the job I’d accomplished today. Maybe a fourth glass of wine with a frozen Snickers candy bar for dessert. I popped a fried chicken and mashed potatoes dinner in the microwave just as the phone rang. I answered it.
“Maggie?”
Pam Nelson? Oh, no. I figured the next words out of her mouth would be Dick’s dead. I braced myself for the news.
“Hi, Maggie, it’s Pam,” she said. “How are you?”
Okay, this was different, but I went along. Pam was going through a rough time. I told her I was fine. Now, just give me the news about Dick, lady.
“Good. Me too. I’m calling to let you know I found another article about your house. Has some great photographs. You should come over now and check it out.”
“Um, Pam, I’d love to, but I’m just sitting down to dinner. Maybe tomorrow?”
“I’m afraid I have appointments all day tomorrow Diane’s here and tonight would be better.”
Did she just whisper Diane’s here in the middle of that? Not sure, I asked her.
“Yes, yes, tonight works better for me. And I know you’ll love these photos I found. They’re fabulous. Can you come now?”
“Okay, Pam, I’m on my way. Give me ten minutes.”
I knew if I tore out of the driveway, Bobby Lee would be on my tail in a heartbeat. I wanted him to follow me to Pam’s to see or hear anything that was about to go down. Sure enough, I looked in my rearview mirror and there he was, right behind me. I could’ve kissed his bald little head. I flew through the first yellow traffic light, hoping he would stay with me. Not the time to drive like Michael. God love Bobby Lee, he stayed on my ass.
The next light screwed me up. I got through it, but Bobby Lee got stuck. Watching for him in my mirror, I expected to hear his siren or see his flashing lights. Instead I saw a funeral procession. Damn. Who in the world has a funeral on a Monday evening? I was several hundred yards away and the line of cars was still going through the intersection. Only a few blocks from Pam’s house, maybe he’d figure out where I was headed. I sent up a silent prayer.
Pam’s front porch light came on when I pulled up in her driveway. I walked slowly up to the front door, giving Bobby Lee time to get there. I didn’t want to go inside until he showed up. I rang the doorbell. Pam answered right away.
“C’mon in, Maggie. Thanks for coming. I really appreciate it.”
I looked over my shoulder, and thank God, saw headlights cut through the darkening street. Pam closed the door behind me.
“The article is in the family room,” Pam said. She shifted her eyes toward the opposite end of the house, toward the bedrooms and her office. “You’ll love these photos, Maggie. Let’s go in the family room.”
I mouthed, “Diane’s back there?” She gave me a brief nod. I wanted to let Pam know the police were on their way, but there was no safe way to get the message across. I followed her through the kitchen into the family room. She led me over to the low square coffee table sitting between the couch and the fireplace. On top of it sat a high tower of Pam’s library books.
Books. Sally’s books. Diane’s books. JC’s books. Jack’s notebooks. That’s when it clicked.
“Here it is, Maggie.”
And that’s when the lights went out.
I moved, as far away from Pam as possible. C’mon, Bobby Lee, this would be a great time to show up and save my ass. I edged up against the fireplace right into the damn brass tools, clanging them together. Quiet, I told myself. I couldn’t see Pam, so I knew she couldn’t see me. I had to be quiet as a mouse. I thought of mousey little Diane. Where was she? Was she really here? Was she in on this or was it all Pam’s doing?
I remembered Gussie saying she’d seen two people visit the club around three thirty that morning. One went in the building and the other went to Jack’s truck. Diane and Pam? Pam and JC?
Where the hell was Bobby Lee? Too much time had passed and I figured those headlights hadn’t belonged to his cruiser after all.
“What’s wrong, Maggie? Where are you? It’s just a little power outage. I’m sure the lights will come back on soon.”
I so wanted to believe her, I really did. But the glowing red lights on Pam’s microwave and coffeemaker visible thanks to the open layout told me otherwise. Someone had turned off the lights deliberately. I had to be prepared for either Diane or JC. Given Dick’s current condition, even weak little Diane could be dangerous with a knife, and JC had at least forty pounds on me. Or Scott; he was big too. Oh God, I hoped it wasn’t all of them.
I reached behind me and as quietly as possible lifted one of the fireplace tools out of the holder. Good. The fireplace poker. With a weapon in my hand, I felt more confident, stronger. I had to find out who else was in the house.
“So, Pam, who all is in on this with you? Should I expect to have JC jump out at me? Or Diane? Or have you done something to her? To him?”
“Nice try, Maggie. Now, this is the way we’re going to do this. Listen carefully.”
At least I knew where she was. Unfortunately, she also knew I was standing next to the fireplace. I had to move. I slowly brought the poker up and laid it against my shoulder like a baseball bat.
“And what’s that, Pam?” When she answered, I’d move in the opposite direction.
“We’re going t
o go out to your car. You’ll get in the passenger side, put the keys in the ignition, Diane will get in the driver’s seat.” Pam snorted. “What a joke. Diane in the driver’s seat. But, as long as she follows my instructions this time, we won’t have any problems.”
Pam’s voice was coming from my left, and it sounded like she was moving in my direction while she spoke. I inched slowly to my right, toward the kitchen. Closer to the front door. Damn, the room was dark, and I had to keep her talking so I’d know how close she was. I was behind the couch, just feet from the kitchen, when the microwave clock blinked out.
Someone was blocking it.
Where the hell was Bobby Lee? He had to know where I was. The poker weighed heavy on my shoulder. I stood between Pam and someone else in the middle of the family room. If I could get the someone else to move toward me on my right, and Pam to stay where she was, I had a chance. I’d make a run for the front door.
“Behind the couch, Pam. She’s holding something in her hand.”
Diane. Somehow she’d seen my weapon. Damn. I had moved right under the friggin’ skylight, and the moon must’ve flashed on the brass poker. I lurched forward away from the light, and immediately felt rather than saw someone go by me. I swung the poker with all of my might. Made contact that reverberated up my arms. Something grabbed my ankle. I kicked out and brought down the poker at the same time. Made contact again. Then my feet were free and I ran like hell.
And slammed smack dab into somebody else. Somebody short and round and fat. Please don’t be JC. Lights flashed on, and I was face to face with Chief of Police Bobby Lee. Diane Reid was stretched out on the floor, not moving. Pam must be behind me. The poker clanged and bounced when it hit the tile floor.
“Drop it, Pam.” Bobby Lee shoved me aside and stepped forward, his raised gun never wavering. I crouched behind the gathering island. He’d told her to drop it. Drop what? A gun? God, I hoped not. With any luck, she’d brought a knife to a gunfight.