Design on a Crime

by Ginny Aiken

  "Not at all. I'm suggesting that you quit fighting so hard. Don't fight God, and don't fight the reality of what happened. Let God redeem what that locust stole from you. Use it to benefit the kingdom. You'll never be at peace until you do."

  I felt need. I wanted that peace more than I'd ever wanted anything in my life. I wanted it even more than I'd wanted to escape Paul's hands, his attack, his violation.

  "You want me to accept God's betrayal-"

  "I'm telling you to stop seeing that man's criminal decision as God's action in your life. Sin is sin, Haley. God didn't make Paul rape you. He chose to do that by himself. Until you put the blame where it belongs, you'll never reach a place where God can heal you."

  Tears filled my eyes. "So what's the prescription, Doc?"

  "I don't have the answer. Only God does, and you're going to have to work out your salvation from the hell you're in through the power of his love." She reached out and hugged a worn leather Bible. "God calls us to recognize the evil around us, forgive those who hurt us, and move on to fight the good fight for him. You have to face your past to resolve your feelings about it. Then you'll be able to deal with the present, and someday face your future."

  "Did you go to the same seminary where Dad went?" My voice was shaky, but at least I spoke. Her words had hit me with a rush of uncertainty, not about what she said, but about the thoughts I'd clung to for the last four years.

  Tedd gave me another brilliant smile. "I went to shrink school. But I do go to church, read my Bible, and check in with God about everything. I bet your dad does the same."

  "I wish ..." My watch said I didn't have to finish my thought. The session was over. "Look at the time! Your next client must be ready to skin me alive, I've made you so late."

  In my hurry to leave the aching wish behind, I snagged my backpack purse and practically ran to the door.

  "Haley."

  I screeched to a stop.

  "Don't leave until you finish your wish."

  How had I known she was going to do that? I sighed but didn't face her. "I wish I had your faith."

  I closed the door and left before Tedd could see my tears.

  Two days later I'd finished making the Stokers' living-room window treatments. I packed my super-duper steamer into the car, then spread the silks across the backseat. I did what I could to minimize creases, but the steamer would make the fabric look wonderful when I hung it up.

  I couldn't wait to put the curtains in place. The case goods had been delivered, and I'd had the rest of the furniture moved to the new floor plan. Already the room looked much bet ter. Today I was going to add that touch of elegance Gussie wanted.

  I'd thought the sessions with Tedd would make me less able to cope, that the memories would keep me from normal function, but the opposite turned out to be the case. It seemed that the more garbage I dumped in her office, the stronger I grew. Go figure.

  The drive was short and pleasant, but the arrival left a lot to be desired.

  I gave the steering wheel a couple of light whacks with my forehead. When I looked up again, the mirage was no mirage.

  Dutch stood on the sidewalk outside Gussie's home, grim faced, arms crossed. Was he trouble or what?

  Then I remembered the threat I'd made. No way was he going to ruin my mood. I reached into my backpack purse and grabbed my trusty can of mace ... or maybe it was the pepper spray. It didn't matter. Either would do the job.

  I got out of the car. "Hey there, sunshine. Does a body good to see your smiling mug."

  "Stuff the sarcasm. I have a couple of questions for you."

  "Uh-uh. You don't get to ask any. That's the cops' job."

  "I can ask anything I want, and if you're smart, you'll answer. Even though I know you're guilty as sin, we both want the same outcome."

  "First of all, I'm not guilty as sin. And second, there's no way you know what I want, so you're off base on that one too."

  "You want Noreen to buy the Gerrity, don't you?"

  It had been so long since I'd thought of the mansion as a potential job, that I shrugged. "I'd much rather find Marge's killer, if you want to know the truth."

  "You don't want the job?"

  "There are bigger things in life."

  "That is my life."

  "Then, buddy boy, you better get a life." I started up the walk, ready to end the inane exchange.

  "What's this about you planting a so-called clue in these people's home?" he asked.

  "Where'd you hear that? Who'd you harass into saying that?"

  Could he make a woman mad or what? "Either you're stupid or you're deaf, dumb, and blind. And the dumb part has more than one meaning. I didn't plant anything."

  "I know what I heard."

  "Then you need to Q-Tip your ears more often. You heard wrong, wrong, wrong."

  "So tell me what's right, right, right."

  I took comfort in my can of mace. "The last time I was here, I found a sculpture I recognized from the auction catalog. I went to the warehouse, checked the catalog and computer, and verified that the piece never went up for sale. Yes, it is the same sculpture. There's only one in the world."

  "So how did it get from there to here?"

  "That's what I want to find out."

  "More dumpster diving?"

  "Wanna check out how well mace works?"

  One long step back later, he said, "You're nuts, you know? Wacko, loony tunes, and stark raving mad."

  "Yeah, I'm mad. I'm mad because you and a bunch of oth ers can't see what's dangling off the tips of your noses. A sculpture wandered off the grounds of the Gerrity estate, and because it's worth so much, I'd be willing to bet someone stole the thing. They're probably just waiting for the right moment to pop in and get it back."

  "Good try."

  "It is good. Ever hear of a botched robbery? People can wind up dead during those."

  That brought him up short. For a moment, he looked like he was about to lob another zinger my way. Then, to my surprise, he nodded slowly. "It's nuts, but I see where you might be right."

  "All righty, then. Give the man a cigar! He sees the light."

  "Forget the cigar. Just give me a contract and a chance to vindicate myself. And don't interfere with my efforts to get my career back on its feet."

  "I won't interfere. So long as you don't try to convince me I'm guilty of a murder I didn't commit."

  His nod was sweet victory. And I hadn't had to use the mace.

  Yet.

  He took a step closer. "So what's the verdict on the statue?"

  "Right now it's a matter of wait and see. I couldn't talk Karate Chop Cop into following up on the lead."

  "Karate ... Chop . . ." He sputtered with laughter. "I gather Ms. Tsu is into martial arts."

  "She studies at the same dojo where I do."

  "You're into that stuff too?"

  My smile was wide and mischievous. "Better watch it, buddy boy. You tick me off again, and it's mace or kickboxing for you."

  "And you're into floor plans, froufrou, and paint too?"

  "They call it multifaceted, don't ya know?"

  He chuckled again. "So you'll let me know if you learn anything else about the sculpture?"

  "I have nothing to lose by telling you. Unless you killed Marge."

  "Don't start that again."

  I raised my arms. "Truce."

  He went for my mace.

  I moved faster.

  A moment later, Dutch lay flat on his back in the Stokers' front yard. I could almost see little yellow canaries circling his head.

  Uh-oh. I'd gone too far. Would he press charges?

  But instead of crying foul, Dutch sat up and laughed. "That'll teach me to mess with Karate Chop Suspect."

  "Watch it, buster." I held out a hand.

  A hungry rattler would've been a worthier recipient of his look. He hauled himself up. "We'd be farther ahead if instead of sniping at each other, we decided to cooperate."

  I looked him ov
er. "Sounds good to me."

  He held out a hand. Instead of shaking, I turned it palm up and gave him the mace. "You have yourself a deal."

  "I'll wait for your call."

  "You call me if you hear anything new."

  We said good-bye, and as he went to his truck, he detoured past the driver's side of mine. "Take note, Haley." He tossed the mace inside. "In the spirit of cooperation."

  I chuckled, ran up the steps, and rang the doorbell. The whir of the wheelchair's motor announced Gussie.

  We wasted no time hanging the curtains. They looked even better than I'd hoped. Gussie loved them.

  "You're brilliant," she said about a dozen times. 'And I have no doubt about your innocence. You did not kill Marge Norwalk."

  We hadn't mentioned the murder, but her vote of confidence warmed my heart. "Thanks, Gussie. Your opinion means a lot."

  "I've said it before, and I'll tell you again. You're a wonderful young woman, Haley. You hold a special place in my heart. It's almost as if God's given me you at this time almost to make up for the son I lost."

  "Gussie ... I'm so sorry. I didn't know you'd had a child."

  Her bottom lip quivered. "I went into labor prematurely. It was a difficult pregnancy, and by the time he was born, he was dead."

  Her grief brought tears to my eyes. "I didn't know ..."

  "We don't talk about it much. It's still hard."

  "I can imagine." Acting on impulse, I wrapped my arms around her. Gussie clung to me, her sobs silent, her pain only too real.

  When her tears were spent, I gave her the box of tissues she kept by the overstuffed armchair near the fireplace. "It's your turn today. I'm glad I was here just as you were there for me."

  "Thank you, honey. You don't know how much it means to me."

  When I left a short while later, I thought about Gussie's loss. What could it be like for your child to die? Did that hurt as much as what Paul did to me? I saw where it might.

  And that's when I understood some of what Tedd had tried to make me see. Even though I hadn't experienced the death of a child, my loss helped me understand Gussie's grief.

  For the first time, the memory of the rape didn't bring me down. Maybe that redeeming thing Tedd had talked about had begun.

  When I got home, I was so deep in thought that I paid no attention to what I was doing. I stabbed myself with my sewing scissors. Blood poured from the gash, and I realized how deep and long the cut was.

  It hurt.

  I needed medical attention, but I hated hospitals with a passion. I'd spent a miserable week in one after the rape, and the memories were bleak and haunting.

  No matter how I felt, I had to get to a doctor soon. And no way could I drive like this. Dad's car wasn't in the driveway. He wasn't at the church either.

  I looked up and down the street. Pavarotti's distinctive tenor soared from Bella's open windows. On my way over, I wondered where her monster cat was.

  She answered the doorbell on the second bong. "Haley! What'd you do to yourself?"

  "My scissors got me. I need a favor. Could you drive me-"

  "Awwwright! Always wanted to drive an ambulance. Get in my car, and I'll get you there in a flash."

  She wanted the hospital, but it was my hand, after all. I won that battle, but she won the other one-as we burned rubber out of her driveway, she clamped a magnetic cherry light to the top of her 1965 vintage pink Caddy.

  I clung to the door handle for dear life. When we hit a straight stretch, I called old Doc Cowan, the man who had delivered me. "Can you sew me up in the office?"

  "How soon can you get here?"

  "I'm a block away."

  "I'll be waiting."

  Bella pouted about the doctor's office. I knew she cared about my hand, but I knew her too well. She wanted the drama of the emergency room, the nurses and aides running to my rescue, the rush of flying down the hall to a curtaindraped cubicle. Never mind that I wasn't anywhere near death.

  Doc Cowan shook his head when he saw my hand. "What have you been up to, Haley girl?"

  I told him about my day. But only the good parts. It helped pass the time until the local anesthetic took hold. Then as he embroidered my hand, I mentioned Gussie's miscarriage.

  "That was sad," he said. "She was distraught. What's worse is that she tore inside and nearly bled to death. Then she didn't heal right. That's why she never had another child. It's common knowledge. Has been since it happened."

  Another loss for Gussie, this one of a dream.

  Doc shook his head. "I've wondered a time or two what kind of results we might have had if today's technology had been available."

  "Do you think you could have saved the baby?"

  "Maybe not the infant, but we might have preserved her fertility. It affected her entire life, changed her completely. She reacted with strange, unacceptable behavior for a while. It nearly ruined her marriage too."

  "But Tom's devoted to her!"

  "True. But a man can only take so much trouble at one time. He blamed himself for the miscarriage. Then too, Gussie's antics reached the point where she had to come to her senses or one of them was going to land in jail."

  "Gussie took up a life of crime?"

  'Ah ... listen to me. I'm running off at the mouth like some old biddy who's got nothing better to do than gossip her time away."

  "No, really, Doc. Did Gussie break the law?"

  "Why do you ask?"

  "Because it might explain how she understands my fears." And more. "You know the police think I killed Marge, don't you?"

  "What a load of manure! I couldn't believe it when I read the paper." Doc snipped the suture thread, tossed the needle into a hazardous waste can, then stripped his gloves and did the same. "Don't cops have more sense than that?"

  "That's what I've said from the start." But the last few days and two wily brunettes had taught me much. "Don't change the subject, Doc. Did Gussie get in trouble with the law?"

  "It was minor stuff, but yes. She had a brush with the law at the time-you can go check old police records."

  "Poor Gussie. But you know? She's done pretty well over time."

  Doc smiled. "You're right. And after the rheumatoid arthri tis hit, we've seen what she's really made of. She's become an admirable woman."

  At least I'd given her some measure of comfort. "Thanks, Doc. I appreciate all you've done for me."

  "No problem, Haley girl. Just be careful you don't soak that hand for a couple of days. I want to see it again next Thursday. And if it gets hot or-"

  "If the skin around the wound turns red or gets hot, I need to call you right away. You'll check it out, decide if it's infected or not, and prescribe an antibiotic if it is. I know the drill. Remember, Mom was a nurse."

  "One of the best too." He handed me a prescription for a painkiller, even though we both knew I wouldn't fill it. "Just in case."

  "See ya."

  "Take better care of yourself, will you?"

  "I'll try, Doc. I'll give it my best."

  On the way home, I let Bella chatter. I offered an occasional "Uh-huh" and a couple of "No way!"s and that did the job. She was happy, and I got a chance to sift through the sludge in my head.

  I wasn't the only one with tragedy in my past. And I had no more right to my pent-up rage than the next person did.

  I was glad they'd made me see Tedd.

  I don't do invalid. So while I channel surfed and found nothing to watch, my mind did overtime on what I'd learned so far. For the first time since the murder, something rivaled it for first place in my thoughts.

  What had Gussie done? I couldn't see her as a bank rob ber, cat burglar, or jaywalker, for goodness' sake. What law had she broken?

  No matter what loony scenario I cooked up, I couldn't fit her in the starring role. Except for one. One I didn't like.

  I'd have to ask Dad about it, and even though he'd balk at discussing a parishioner's past, this could affect my future.

  I've never b
een a patient woman, and today that failure made me nuts. What was keeping Dad so late at church? Well, he was actually five minutes late. I am impatient. When his steps finally sounded on the porch, I rushed to open the door.

  "Haley!" He saw the massive gauze mitt Doc had lashed on me. "What happened?"

  I'd almost forgotten my accident. "Oh, it's nothing. I cut myself with some scissors, and you know Doc. He went to town on the bandage thing."

  Dad's eyes narrowed. "Yes, dear, I do know Doc. That looks a lot like something to me. How many stitches?"

  Since I hadn't asked, I couldn't answer. "Dunno. Some, but it doesn't hurt." Much.

  My father shook his head. "Is this why you felt the need to greet me like that?"

  I blushed. "Ah ... no."

  How was I going to lead up to my questions without upsetting him again? After all, I'd done so spectacularly well with the stolen statue bit.

  "I have to talk to you, and it's important. I've learned some things that might help clear me."

  A frown lined his brow. "I don't like the sound of this."

  'And you won't like my questions either, but I need the answers, Dad. I'm not kidding around."

  "Okay, Haley. At least let me sit down." He took his favorite armchair, and I took Mom's rocker. "What's it about?"

  "It's about Gussie, Dad." At his incredulous look, I hurried to add, "It's not some crazy idea. Gussie said something today, and then Doc added to it. They got me thinking."

  "A dangerous proposition with you."

  "Just tell me this. Did Gussie turn into a kleptomaniac after she miscarried?"

  My father looked as though I'd punched him. "You know I can't break a parishioner's confidence. I'm Gussie's pastor."

  "But you're my father, and I've a lot at stake."

  "You think Gussie stole the statue."

  "I don't know, but she could have."

  "And if she did, what does it mean?"

  "I don't know, Dad, but that statue gives me the willies. I can't tell you more, because that's all I know. I just have a strong feeling that Marge's murder and the statue are connected. I just don't know how."

  "I've never done this, Haley. I'm only doing it because I'm afraid of what you might do to get your answer."