by Lorena May
“Have they found Kristin Harmer from the golf course? The people that were with Erin at the restaurant? Are the women the same person? Tall, beautiful, blondes with blue eyes . . .” Darby frowns, her head in her hand. “Jen says she doesn’t know anyone fitting that description.”
Mel continues reading from his computer. “Marnie’s known to the Seattle Police, but they haven’t seen her recently. Either she’s left town or is laying low.”
“Could she be . . . . Let’s talk to Sean. See if she’s here . . .” Darby narrows her eyes.
Mel rubs his chin. “Would a junkie have the where-with-all to set things up like this? Maybe . . .”
Darby tightens her hands into fists. She speaks through gritted teeth. “Aaaaccchhh! I just want to find this fucker! NOW!”
Chapter 22 ~ Jen
Monday, May 21
I get these whiney bouts; spells of self-pity. Why me? I was just going along with my popular friends. I just wanted to fit in. And then I give my head a shake. I did all the horrible things. I furthered the cause; the destruction of lives! I’m guilty. A coward. And I might pay with my life.
Thank God Lillia – albeit forcibly – took a different route. And I can’t help but feel an enormous satisfaction in knowing that I did the right thing this time. Even if it’s causing her to be ostracized. Even if she’s consumed with grief. I just hope she’ll open up to me soon.
I’m surprisingly resigned to the fact that my life is in danger. I guess I’ve realized it for a while now, even before the butterfly in my mailbox. I find myself constantly looking over my shoulder. I avoid going anywhere alone. Unless they shoot me in my car, they can’t get me. Darren makes a point, now, of coming home early each night. We watch for strangers approaching. Other than that I’m at school, the gym, shopping centres . . . And I won’t go for dinner with a tall blonde!
As I ride, bumpity-bumpity-bump through the country on the school bus my mind spins with depressing thoughts. But time for self-pity is short. Today our kindergarten class is on a field trip to Sean’s farm. He’s standing waiting for us as we clamour off the bus, a big, welcoming smile on his face. I glance at him, then get to work calming the class so that we can set some ground rules. We’ll look at the cows and their babies in the barnyard and Corrie will explain how the milking is done. One group at a time, led by a parent volunteer, we’ll see new piglets in the barn, the kittens in their little corner, the new chicks in the hen-house, and a field where Sean will explain the equipment and show us the crops he grows. We’ve organized a scavenger hunt. Each group will take pictures with an i-pad.
It’s a warm, sunshiny day with a clear blue sky, and a slight breeze that rustles the flickering aspens above us, making them twinkle and glitter. The fragrant smell of lilacs fills the air, and we walk across the yard on a carpet of lush, green grass. The place soothes my troubled mind; as if gentle hands are caressing my insides, clearing away all the fear and toxicity.
Since a number of parents have volunteered to help out today, I’m free to roam from group to group. It’s birthing season and the children squeal with glee as they look around the yard and see new calves, piglets and three kittens frolicking near their mother. I amble out toward the field where Sean has lined up equipment to show the class. He’s dressed in dark jeans and a crisp new shirt, clean and conservative looking; an effort to appear appropriate for teaching children, I imagine. I giggle to myself. But he appears so natural with them; entranced by their energy and their questions. His eyes sparkle and he speaks with gusto, explaining how the tractor plows the earth and the seeding machine plants the seeds. He shows them wheat and canola seed. I’m amazed that he can hold their interest as he demonstrates how he sprays for insects and disease, and explains the combine and harvesting. He lifts them to sit in the seat and pretend-drive the tractor, and he laughs heartily when they ask questions like, “Do you know Old McDonald who had a farm?”
At noon we all gather and sit in clusters on the lawn to eat the lunches we brought. Sean, some of the mothers and I sit back, leaning against the deck, watching the children’s banter. I close my eyes and take a deep breath. I feel safe and warm and relaxed. Oh, how I needed this! Leaning my head against the warm wood, I feel the sun on my face, and inhale the earthy scent.
“I love that smell,” I sigh.
Sean laughs. “The smell of manure!” he says. Poking me in the ribs he hoots, “You love the smell of cow shit!” and we all laugh and laugh. It’s not that funny, but for some reason all five of us are practically doubled over. Mirth is in the air.
BUT WHEN I WALK IN the door of my house later this afternoon it’s as if darkness closes in on me. Logan is at a friend’s house. Lillia sits on her bed in her room, glowering at a book she pretends to read when I open the door. Darren has texted that he’ll be home soon. I appreciate his protectiveness, but my insides prickle when he’s near. Questions and doubts fester in my mind, and I haven’t mustered the courage to confront him.
When he walks through the door Logan enters behind him. I stand by the kitchen counter cutting vegetables for salad. A roast, potatoes, carrots and onions simmer in the slow cooker, and Darren sniffs. “Smells good,” he says. I call Lillia to set the table, and when we all sit down to dinner I can almost pretend that everything is normal; as it should be.
Until Darren, fixing Lillia with a glare says, “What’s the matter with you lately? You don’t talk. You don’t look at us. You never smile . . .” He’s noticed!
Lillia looks down at her plate; the one she’s been pushing food around on. “Nothing’s the matter.”
A stream of frustration from Darren, denials and hysterics from Lillia, and a sullen attempt to ignore it from Logan and I follow. Finally, Lillia jumps up, tears streaming down her face, and rushes to her room, slamming the door.
Okay. We’re in turmoil anyway. It’s time I asked Darren some questions. I suggest to Logan that he leave his dad and I to talk. He can play his video game for half an hour. Anything to distract him.
When he’s gone I ask the question that’s been burning in my mind all this time. “Darren, a few days ago when I was washing clothes I found a receipt for one rose in your shirt pocket. Who were you buying a rose for?”
He stares at me, dumbfounded. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“It was from Flowers by Fae. A receipt for one rose,” I say.
His brow furrows. “I didn’t buy any flowers from anyone,” he says.
I plough on. “I have the receipt in my drawer.”
He shrugs his shoulders, frowns and shakes his head. Like he thinks I’m demented.
“I’ll show you.” I march into the bedroom and grab it from under my panties. Returning, I shove it towards him. “The police say that Erin and Mia were found holding one yellow rose.”
“What?” his voice has become sharp. He’s clearly offended.
“When they were shot. The killer wrapped their hands around a yellow rose.” Now I’m almost shrieking.
He curls his lip and his eyes become cold and hard. “You found this receipt days ago. The police told you they’d found a rose with those dead bodies and you couldn’t be bothered to tell me until now?”
I feel like I’ve been punched in the stomach. He’s right. I stand there gaping. He whirls around, storms out of the kitchen and through the back door. Two slammed doors within the hour.
Chapter 23 ~ Darby
Monday, May 21
Darby stands staring at the white-board covered in photographs, lines, and phrases. “We have three so-called butterflies, two dead and one who’s received a butterfly. Just like the first two did. No prints, no DNA on them. The people they terrorized most: Andy, Marnie and this Adrian. Marnie’s brother, Sean, threatened them, but doesn’t appear to be our perp. Is he just a great scammer? Did Andy have close friends or family that could be seeking revenge? Did they bully someone else that we’re missing? Is Adrian still alive? How about her protective brother, Jim- John- Ja
mes? FUCK, Mel! What are we missing?”
Mel continues, “Is Marnie in Rockydale hiding somewhere? Who is the blue-eyed blonde, that’s not Jen? Why did Graham Braun suddenly leave town? We’ve got more questions than answers, for sure.”
“Okay.” Darby turns to look him in the eye. “The blonde is around somewhere. Let’s talk to everyone at the golf course. Someone must know where we can find her.”
“I’ll ask again at the hospital. Talk to any staff that frequent the main lobby and see if anyone has noticed a tall blonde using the phone there,” Mel adds. “Tell them to be on the look-out.”
“Let’s talk to Sean and and see if he’s heard from Marnie recently.” Darby says.
“And check with the Morgan’s and Buckingham’s to see if they can remember a friend that Erin and Mia had fitting the blonde’s description. Let’s get a list of all the friends they can think of that live in town.” Mel suggests.
“See if we can find anything about Adrian’s older brother.” Darby adds.
Jill raps on the door, and enters. “The lab just sent the results after matching DNA,” she says, depositing the papers on Darby’s desk. “Any guesses as to who’s hair was found in Mia’s car?”
Darby tilts her head, eyes narrowed. “That’s another baffling shit-show,” she mutters. “No!”
“Baffling it is.” Jill points to the report she’s set on the desktop. “The hair found in Mia’s car was Darren Cox’s.”
Chapter 24 ~ Jen
Monday evening, May 21
This only happens in movies - doesn’t it? The police are here with a search warrant. And I respond like the women I see on TV. I feel as if I’m looking down on myself screaming, “What for? What are you looking for? We haven’t done anything!” It’s not like they’re pounding on the door, forcing their way in or anything. But - a search warrant? I’m relieved to see Darby ride up and park her bike on the curb in front of our house. She strides up the sidewalk. I’m standing at the door, and she puts her arm around my shoulder.
“Jen,” she says softly in my ear. “Come with me.” She pulls me out onto the step, her eyes anxious as they look into mine. “They’ve found Darren’s DNA in Mia’s car.”
I just stare at her, open-mouthed.
“A tiny hair sample,” she says. “Can you round up your kids and take them somewhere so they won’t be exposed to all this?”
My mind races. Where to? I nod, unsure. “I’ll go get them.”
“Is Darren home?” she asks.
“No, but he will be soon. He’s been coming home early ever since I received that butterfly.”
“Do you trust him?”
I feel my heart pound. I don’t know. “I’ll get the kids,” I say as I go back into the house, ignoring the officers sifting through my home. Lillia ad Logan are stunned, but they follow me out of the house to the car. I find myself driving toward the country; out of town. We’ll go to Sean’s farm. He knows about the craziness that’s happening in our lives. I don’t want to bring anyone else into it.
“Where are we going?” Logan asks.
“One of my students lives here on a farm,” I tell him. “Let’s see if they’ll let us take a look at all the new baby animals.”
“Mom, what’s going on?” Lillia’s voice is sharp. “What are the police doing at our house?”
I stop the car at the end of Sean’s driveway, and look at their terrified faces. “I don’t know. The police have found evidence with your dad’s DNA, so they have to search our house. But Sergeant Greer will get it all straightened out soon.”
“Dad?”
“What happened?”
“What did he do?” Their questions fire at me like a volley of arrows, and I can’t answer them.
“I don’t know. I’ll call your dad soon and tell him where we are. For now, let’s just see if Mr. James will let us stay here for a bit.”
They follow me reluctantly to the back door. Through the screen I hear Sean and Corrie laughing. I ring the door-bell, tentatively. Corrie rushes to the door. “Mrs. Cox!” she cries happily. “Hi, Mrs. Cox! Come in our house!” and she opens the door wide.
Sean stands by the sink with a towel in his hands. He grins when he sees us. “Well, this is a pleasant surprise,” he says. “This must be Lillia and Logan.” He pretends not to notice the stricken expressions on their faces.
I introduce them, and ask if we can go out and look at the calves, piglets, chicks and kittens.
“Sure can. Corrie will want to follow along. Is that okay?”
“Of course it is,” I say, touching her little freckled nose with my finger. “We’d love to have Corrie show us around.”
She skips ahead of us, excited to have company, and Lillia and Logan are charmed by her, I can tell. I follow behind, my brain buzzing. Darren’s hair in Mia’s car! What was he doing there? I remember the receipt for one rose. My stomach lurches. Was Darren involved with Mia? With Erin? It doesn’t make sense.
I MET DARREN IN MY third year of University. I’d noticed him eyeing me in the Student’s Union Building when I studied there and hung out with friends. He was good-looking with short brown hair, intense brown eyes; a rather small guy with an athletic build. Clean-cut and self-possessed, he had the manner of someone who would succeed in life; a confident air. One day he walked over to where I sat ‘studying’ with a friend, carrying two lattes. My favorite. “Hi, my name’s Darren.” He handed us the lattes and sat down to chat. He was in his fourth year of Business, he told us. He’d lived in Edmonton all his life, and was looking forward to leaving his ‘crazy mother’s’ home and living on his own. He already had a job lined up running a prestigious real estate company in Rockydale, of all places. My home-town! What a small world.
He was brilliant and sophisticated. I was swept off my feet, and as soon as I graduated a year later, we were married. As far as I know he hasn’t met Erin or Mia. What possible motive could he have to kill them?
We’ve been married sixteen years now. He’s a good husband and father. Anxious to raise his kids in a well-functioning home, he’s always maintained control. We are a family that (until recently) eats dinner together, attends church on Sundays, studies and does homework upon arriving home, works at chores on Saturdays and never ever question his authority. He keeps a tight rein on our finances and we have a nice family holiday every summer. None of us can ever quite measure up, but we try. Darren is determined we will not have a dysfunctional home like the one his single mother ran. He calls her ‘ditzy’, and I gather she had a mental illness. I’ve never met her. He’s cut off all contact.
The past few months have been busy ones for Darren. He’s had several conferences, and worked late into the night. Until I received that butterfly, that is. Protective and concerned, he has been coming home early since then. I’m grateful, but the strain in our home is suffocating.
NOW, AS WE FOLLOW CORRIE across the farm-yard, listening to the squawking of chickens and lowing of cows, I feel lighter. The sun is beginning to set, casting a golden glow across the yard, and the peacefulness of the place swathes us in a temporary feeling of tranquility. I see it in the faces of my children. I feel it.
The screen door bangs, and I look back. Sean follows us out to the barn, and stands behind me as Corrie tells us about the night the kittens were born, pointing out the different characteristics of each one. “See? That one is Tip-toes. He has white tips on his ears and his toes. And that is Nibbles. He looks all black, but he has a little bit of white on the tip of his tail.”
Sean doesn’t touch me, but his nearness is intoxicating, and I sense that he is looking at me. I can feel my heart skittering, and I’m tongue-tied. Thank goodness for Corrie who chirrups happily, claiming all our attention.
I feel my phone buzz, and pull it from my pocket to see a text from Darren. ‘WTF? Get home!’
We hurry to see the other animals, and laugh at Corrie’s excited chatter. My laughter is strained, though, and I’m anxious to leave. Darre
n does not sound happy.
When we walk in the door he is standing in the hallway, his face a mask of anger, his eyes boring into me. “The police were interested in a receipt you had in a drawer.” His voice is cold; brittle.
Chapter 25 ~ Darby
Tuesday, May 22, Wednesday, May 23
Darby throws her keys onto her desk and grabs a marker by the whiteboard. Mel follows, and folds his large body into a chair across from her. “We just heard back from a colleague of Graham Brahn’s,” he says. “They talked to him this morning. He’s in Costa Rica. Went there to lie in the sun and nurse his pain, the guy said. He’ll be back this week.”
“So he hasn’t skipped the country to escape his guilt.”
“Apparently not. “
“No surprise there,” Darby shakes her head. “It’s a butterfly thing. Now, Jen, on the other hand . . .” She draws a sharp line from Jen’s picture to the word ‘flower’, and from Darren’s to ‘hair’. “What the fuck?” she twirls to look Mel in the eye. “She had a receipt in her drawer for one rose.” Darby shrugs and throws her hands up. “What the hell’s going on? She shoots her friends? She sends herself butterflies? He’s in the car with a victim and she shoots them? I’m fuckin’ flummoxed!”
Mel chuckles at her dramatics and shakes his head. “You’re right. We’re not having much luck. Kristin Harmer is blonde and blue-eyed, but the club has no photo or any other information on her. Neither the Morgan’s or the Buckingham’s knew of any friend fitting that description, and no one at the hospital has noticed a blonde or anyone else making regular calls on the pay phone in the lobby. Nothing makes sense right now. What did Mr. Cox say?”
“He acted surprised about the receipt. Said he’d never been in Mia’s car. He was at a conference in Calgary when Erin was killed – so he says - and at work when Mia was killed. We’ll check that out.”