The Common Thread

by Jaime Maddox

  “No!” Katie sobbed, bringing her hands to her face to wipe away tears, then to her side, to steady herself against the table. Bad news wouldn’t be any easier to bear in the living room. “Tell me,” she commanded through her sobs.

  “He’s dead. Billy’s dead.”

  Another sob wracked her body and she sucked in a breath. “Chloe? Andre?” she whispered, barely able to get their names past her lips.

  “Slept through the whole thing.”

  Nan shuffled toward the living room and Katie somehow managed to follow. Collapsing into a chair, she suddenly appreciated the wisdom of Nan’s advice to sit down. Relief and grief, both in large doses, overwhelmed her. Nan sat on the couch beside her and stroked her arm.

  She cried and cried, the tears springing from wells of grief over Billy, relief about her children, and a bit of fear that Simon was still out there in the darkness, looking for her. “Thank you,” Katie managed after a few minutes.

  All the while Katie cried, Nan remained silent. Finally, when Katie seemed calmed, she spoke. “I know this isn’t what you want to hear—and Lord forgive me for speakin’ ill of the dead—but he was trouble. You’re much too good a woman to be with a man like him. You’ll get through this. You take those kids and find a decent place to raise them, and you find a decent man to love you, and you’ll be fine.”

  Whether Nan’s words were true didn’t matter to Katie at the moment. Chloe and Andre did.

  “My kids? What will they do with them?”

  “I asked if I could bring them over here, told the police I’m the babysitter, but they wouldn’t let me have ’em. They told me they’re taking them to the ER for an evaluation, and then the social worker’s going to find a place for them.”

  Katie jumped to her feet. “No! I can’t believe this! We have to get to them, Nan! They’ll be scared without me. And what if Simon finds them? He’s already killed once. What would stop him from murdering them to hurt me? Or kidnapping them to flush me out?”

  “Calm down, now. A fit of hysterics won’t solve nothin’.”

  “Where are they? Did they see Billy’s body?” The thought horrified Katie. She paced Nan’s living room, massaging away the pain that had taken root between her eyes.

  “That carpet is very expensive, Katie, and I’m going to hold you accountable if you wear a hole in it.” Nan stared at her until she stopped, then continued speaking. “They’re fine. They’re right there in the kitchen, having juice and cookies with the police. They seemed happy as could be, so I think—no—they didn’t see him.”

  “Did they ask for me?”

  “Yep. I told them you got called into the clinic to work and you’d see them soon.”

  Katie nodded. That was good. She sometimes did get called in—though never in the middle of the night—and her kids would believe that story. They’d stay calm for a while, at least, placated with cookies and the hope she’d soon be with them.

  “You didn’t happen to find out which ER they’re going to, did you?”

  Nan’s eyes were twinkling. “Well, of course I did!”

  Katie marveled at this grandmother who, despite the half-century age gap, really was her friend. They came from different backgrounds, different generations, were of different races, and had lived vastly different lives, but somehow they’d found each other and connected in a wonderful way. They needed each other. Nan helped Katie care for her kids, and Katie did things Nan could no longer manage, like change storm windows and run the lawnmower in the warm months, and shovel snow in the winter.

  A smile formed as she remembered how much Nan had annoyed her when she first moved into her apartment. Somehow, she’d come to enjoy Nan’s stories and her company, and it felt good to spend time with her. Katie knew that what Nan had told her about Billy were the tough words of a true friend. While Billy’s death would make them all a bit sad, it wouldn’t change their lives much.

  “I have to get them, Nan.”

  “Well, then, let’s get going.”

  Chapter Five

  Plotting

  They needed a plan, and while Katie showered away the sweat from her body and dirt from her feet, one came to her. She could find everything she needed at the clinic, with the exception of something to wear. Maybe Nan could help with that.

  “Of course,” Nan said, a twinkle in her eye. “I’ve saved some nice things for special occasions.”

  The stairs at the center of Nan’s front hall marked a century of footsteps, the finish worn down to the bare wood. Like everything in Nan’s home, and the neighborhood for that matter, the appointments were well done. The ends of each plank still hinted at an oak varnish that must have made them a beautiful sight. Each groaned as it bore their weight. Babbling as she slowly made her way to the top, Nan was winded when they reached the landing. Katie tried to hide her impatience. She took some deep breaths and closed her eyes, letting calmness seep into her pores. She’d need it if this octogenarian was going to serve as her partner in crime. She’d need it no matter what.

  The closet in the front spare bedroom (which would be known as Gerald’s room as long as his mother lived in the house) proved to be a proverbial pot of gold. Nan had worn a petite size six in the days she’d amassed her wardrobe, which by the styles on display seemed to be the 1950s. Katie could fit easily into that size with a little room to spare. She pushed hanger after hanger, discarding bold flowery prints and pulling out a few more somber suits and dresses.

  “This is unbelievable,” Katie said as she looked at all the clothing Nan had stored in clear plastic garment bags. She chose a conservative black funeral dress.

  “And I have hats to match.” Nan indicated neatly stacked hatboxes on the upper shelf of the closet.

  “I think I’ll pass on the hats.”

  “I’d think again,” Nan said, and Katie searched her face, confused.

  She sat on the edge of her son’s bed, looking quite sure of herself, and Katie wished she could borrow some of Nan’s confidence. How brave she’d been to go out onto that porch and ward off Katie’s would-be assassin, to confront the police. How brave she was to embark on this mission. Katie realized she might do well to listen to her.

  “Tell me your idea,” Katie suggested. Nan did, and Katie smiled as she listened. Suddenly another piece fit into the puzzle. “That just might work.” And with Nan’s suggestion in mind, Katie returned the wardrobe selections to the closet, including the dress she’d chosen, and pulled out a totally different style. It was something she’d never wear under normal circumstances, and that made it a perfect costume for the scheme they’d concocted.

  Turning her attention to the hat boxes, she climbed onto a bench and handed them down to Nan. With so many options, choosing the perfect one proved to be a bigger challenge than the dress had, but after she tried them all, Katie selected the smallest of the lot. She chose it not because it was her favorite but because it would be easiest to pack in the small, light-blue suitcase Nan had pulled out of Georgia’s room. Like her brother Gerald, Georgia had left home fifty years earlier, but her childhood bedroom was still waiting for her in case she decided to move back in with her mother.

  With the suitcase in hand, Katie descended the stairs just behind Nan. At the bottom, Nan turned and offered her a smile. “Are you ready?”

  Katie was terrified. If this mission failed she’d end in a cold jail cell and her kids in a foster home. After not having slept for several nights, she was exhausted, her body burning adrenaline to keep the engine running. And she had a headache, a migraine that had started sometime after she was shot at earlier in the evening. But she was as ready as she was going to get, and the more time she wasted, the more likely her plan would fail. They had to move quickly. As quickly as Nan could move, anyway. “I am. Are you sure you want to do this? You might get arrested, you know.”

  “As far as I know, Katie, you’re just a law-abiding citizen who’s picking up her kids from the hospital. What are the police going to ch
arge me with? Aiding and abetting a mother?”

  “Okay, then. Let’s do this.”

  “First, I need a potty break.”

  Placing the suitcase beside her, Katie stood next to the piano in Nan’s living room and studied the keys, waiting. How many times had her fingers danced across all eighty-eight of them? Without thinking, she stood before the bench, and her fingers formed the chord of C. The first few notes of Beethoven’s Ode to Joy filled the room before she thought to quiet her hands. It was one of the earliest songs she’d mastered as a young student, and if she closed her eyes, she could still see the delight on her mother’s face as she stood beside the piano in the living room in their home on Rhawn Avenue.

  She’d spent her childhood there, and her mother had given piano lessons to neighborhood children after school. Katie had often heard words of praise in her mother’s voice as she encouraged her students and motivated them to practice. But only Katie could put that expression of true joy on her mother’s face. And that had motivated Katie more than anything else.

  Katie had been shocked when she first came into Nan’s home years before and realized she could still play. Apparently, the endless hours of practice had effectively chiseled the finger patterns into memory, because much of what she’d learned for recitals and Christmas pageants easily came back to her.

  She didn’t have much time to play now, but both her children were taking piano lessons, and she always sat beside them on the bench as they practiced, showing them the fingering and correcting their mistakes. At eight, Chloe was already very good, but Andre seemed to have inherited Katie’s mom’s extraordinary musical skills. Marge could play at the master level, and Andre shared her passion and ability. Katie had to pull him away from the piano just to allow Chloe equal practice time. And every once in a while, she’d play something herself.

  Another memory came back to her, and Katie shuddered.

  What are they doing with your piano?” Hope Bevan, her best friend, asked as they walked home from the school-bus stop one sunny fall afternoon. Katie was thirteen. A long, hard year had passed since her mother was killed in a car accident, and so much had changed in that time that Katie’s head was spinning.

  Katie had gotten her first period, an utterly terrifying and mortifying experience. She was humiliated as she asked her father for money to buy the necessary products, reduced to tears when he made a big deal out of the expense. As if it were her fault. Her father was angry because the judge had awarded most of the money in their lawsuit to Katie and not him. Katie would have gladly given him every penny, though, just to make him happy. She’d even visited her lawyer to discuss that option. Unfortunately, the judge had issued strict instructions, and Katie could have only a modest amount for monthly living expenses until she turned eighteen. That wouldn’t buy her dad the new car he wanted, though, and he was taking his frustrations out on her.

  She’d had to change schools, because her father didn’t want to pay the tuition at Christ the King, the Catholic school she’d attended from kindergarten through sixth grade. She wouldn’t be attending Archbishop Ryan High School as planned, either. She missed her friends and her teachers at CTK. They were like family to her. She still waited at the bus stop every day, though, and walked the half mile home with Hope, who was still her best friend.

  The worst thing Katie had to deal with was the unexpected change in her household. It had increased by one when her father’s new girlfriend, April, moved in. Although they hadn’t officially made an announcement yet, from the look of April’s ever-growing abdomen, there would soon be four of them living in the modest-sized duplex in the quiet residential area of Northeast Philly. Her father was fifty-four years old that year, and his new girlfriend hadn’t even reached thirty.

  Since she’d moved in, April had made it clear that she was now running their house. The thermostat was set at a temperature way too cold for Katie’s taste. The refrigerator was filled with take-out food and diet soda. The interior of the house had been repainted, from the calm pastels that matched her mother’s personality to vivid, screaming bright colors that were all April. She’d changed and rearranged so much that it hardly seemed like the same house. Katie was homesick in her own home.

  She lifted her eyes, looking ahead to the end of her block, where April and three men were gathered on her front lawn. Her mother’s piano was sitting on the small porch, and several men were positioning planks on the steps, preparing to roll the piano down and into the moving van that had backed into the driveway.

  Katie broke into a run, dropping her backpack in the grass of a neighbor’s yard, screaming as she approached the group of men set at their task. “Stop! Stop! You can’t take my mother’s piano! It’s mine! Stop it!” Tears were running down her face, and she was sobbing so hysterically her words were barely intelligible.

  April met her on the edge of the lawn and promptly slapped her. “Since you stole all of your mother’s money, your father and I can’t afford piano lessons any more. The money we got for the piano won’t even keep you in Tastykakes for a month, so shut your trap, you little spoiled brat.”

  What was she talking about? Katie had never taken piano lessons; she’d learned from her mother. And her father sold Tastykakes. They got them free.

  What are you talking about? I don’t need lessons!”

  Another slap knocked Katie off balance, and she landed on her butt. She sat there in the grass, pleading, as April looked down at her with an inexplicable hatred in her eyes. “Shut your trap.”

  But it’s my piano! It was my mother’s and she left it to me! You can’t sell it. It’s not fair!”

  There’s a lot that ain’t fair in this world, and the sooner you learn that, the better.”

  “Okey dokey, I’m all ready now!” Nan announced, bringing Katie back to the present. She squeezed Katie’s shoulder and marched right past her to the front door, as calmly as if they were headed to church.

  Katie looked down at the keys once more, going back in time again, hearing April’s voice in her mind. There’s a lot that ain’t fair in this world. In the years since that confrontation on her front lawn, Katie had come to know that no truer words were ever spoken.

  Chapter Six

  Simon Says

  “Simon says turn on the television!” Simon instructed Angelica as he hurried through the front door and began stripping off his clothing. This modest, single-family home in the Andorra section of Northwest Philly was the perfect hiding place for him. This was a quiet, residential area with no violence or drug trafficking, and his neighbors here had other things, like careers and children to think about. They’d pay no attention to the shooting in the Northeast, and never link their quiet neighbor to the crime.

  More than an hour had passed since he’d fired two bullets into Billy Wallace, and Simon Simms was hopeful for some news about the shooting. He wanted to be sure Billy was dead. He also wanted to know if his name had been brought to the attention of the police and if the police had caught up with Katie.

  Simon had never liked Katie, and on more than one occasion he’d tried to derail her relationship with Billy by leading Billy astray. Simon fixed Billy up with women and made sure Katie knew about it. He arranged for Katie’s car to be stolen while Billy was driving it. He planted drugs in her apartment before his last arrest and then tipped off the police. Somehow, though, the drugs were never found and Simon was out five thousand dollars. And it was all because of that bitch. She was too smart, and he couldn’t manipulate her the way he could the other girls in their circle, and she was too feisty to control. She’d always been a threat to Billy, he’d just been too blind to see it, and now she’d become a threat to Simon, too.

  What if she decided to ignore his warning and talk to the police? She might not have seen him shoot Billy, but she could certainly testify that he’d shot at her. The bullets from the gun he’d used in the attack on her were scattered all over, and it would be a pretty strong case that he’d shot Billy once
the ballistics experts examined all of the evidence. And while Simon could always disappear if the police got too close to him, he wasn’t quite ready to go yet.

  He’d already ditched the gun in the Delaware River and returned the SUV to the parking garage where he’d borrowed it. The guy working the lot was one of his dealers and had given him a vehicle that was parked for the night. Unless the owner was highly observant and checked the mileage, he’d never know Simon had used it as transportation to and from a crime scene. The vehicle wasn’t damaged in any way—there were no dents and no bloodstains. He’d need to shower and toss his clothing, but since no one knew where he was staying he wasn’t in a hurry. Even the car he was now driving was a difficult trace. Angelica had purchased it in her name, using his money, and it wasn’t on the police radar.

  Angelica, who often sheltered him, looked up from the laptop she’d been working on, then stood and closed the sliding-glass door behind her. During the daylight hours, the backyard of their property overlooking Fairmont Park would have been deserted, but at this time of night, someone with sharp hearing was bound to be sitting out on their deck enjoying the warm night. Reaching for the remote, she asked, “What channel would you like to watch?”

  “Any fuckin’ channel. I just want to see the news.”

  “What’s going on?” She crossed her arms across her chest and stared at him.

  “I blew away Billy Wallace. I wanna see if he’s dead and if they know it was me.”

  Showing no reaction to his confession, she calmly pointed the remote toward the television. Her cable service offered access to local channels, and she began searching them, working her way up from the low numbers. There was no report of the shooting in North Philly. “Why don’t you try the computer? Or call the hospitals?”

  Simon smiled. Angelica was smart, and he couldn’t help admiring her beauty. She was tall and slim, with wavy brown hair and eyes to match, and he loved how she looked at him. Even during a stressful time like this, she could bring his blood to a boil in seconds. Those were just two of the reasons he’d fallen for her. She was also cunning and ruthless and blindly ambitious, traits he greatly admired. “Great idea! Get me some phone numbers.”