Never Tomorrow

by Judith Rolfs

  “You can trust me.”

  “I saw your mom again the day she died. I read in the paper she was alone in Ballybunion, and no one had seen her since the night before.” Carla brushed a strand of hair off her face. “I saw her with a woman from Cortland City I knew. I don’t think they saw me. I never told anyone, but I wondered why this person never came forward after the accident to say they were together.”

  “Why didn’t you tell the local police?”

  “With my history? I couldn’t draw attention to myself. Besides, I needed to be discreet in case the lady was there to meet with a man. She was a wealthy client. Now Jillian and Blaine have died too. I know this woman knew them all. It frightens me some.”

  Whitney’s heart froze. “Who is it?”

  A nurse the size of a football player barged in carrying a tiny paper cup with two pills inside. “Time for your meds, Ms. Madsen.” She looked pointedly at Whitney as Carla dutifully swallowed. “Visiting time is up. The patient needs to rest now.”

  “One more minute, please, to say goodbye.” Whitney stood. “Who, Carla?”

  Beads of sweat formed on Carla’s upper lip. “No way do I believe this woman wanted to harm Kendra, but it never made sense to me. I wondered—why didn’t she ever say she was in Ballybunion walking the Cliff Walk with your mom?”

  “Who? Tell me.” Whitney shuddered.

  Carla beckoned Whitney close and whispered a name in her ear. Whitney’s stomach churned. She dropped onto an orange vinyl chair. How preposterous.

  “I can’t imagine why she never came forward. I’m sure there’s a good reason. She’s a very fine person. I hope there’s no problem with me telling you now. Maybe she can tell you more nice stuff about your mom’s new faith.”

  A dark cloud dropped over Carla’s face. “You coming and all. Remembering my trip. I made up my mind. I’m going to counseling. I did take the pills to die. I’m thinking maybe living is a better idea.”

  Whitney hugged Carla again. “I’ll do all I can to help. You’ve given me the best gift in the world. I must let you get some rest. I’ll call tomorrow to see how you’re doing.”

  Carla leaned back and closed her eyes.

  Whitney stammered under her breath when she reached the hall. “How far-fetched is that? Imagine incriminating this woman. Might as well have said Santa Claus.”

  All the same, Whitney determined to find out why she never told her she was in Ballybunion the day of her mom’s death.

  What a shocker. Her skin crawled with tension. She needed an answer.

  FIFTY-NINE

  Whitney slapped her briefcase onto her office desk and reached for the phone.

  Her assistant, Don Hawk, ran in behind her with messages. She signaled him to hold on. Dr. Karen Trindle’s answering service came on the line.

  “I need to speak with Dr. Trindle.”

  “She’s out of town for the weekend.”

  “Is she at her lake home?”

  “I beg your pardon?”

  “I’ve been a guest there, and I need to get in touch with her immediately. May I have that number please?”

  “Dr. Trindle doesn’t tell us where she goes when she leaves the office.”

  Whitney assured the answering service her call was urgent.

  “Are you a client?”

  “Former client.”

  “That’s why we have our crisis line. I assure you there’s no way to contact Dr. Trindle this evening. I’m sorry.” Her voice was gentle but firm.

  “Not as sorry as I am.”

  Whitney hung up and turned to Don. “What’s up?”

  He gave a brief summary and rattled off her list of callbacks. One was Jordan.

  “Thanks. Editorial meeting in 15 minutes?”

  “We’re ready.”

  “I need to make one more call first.”

  Whitney punched in Jordan’s number. “Thanks for returning my call, Whitney. I hope there’s no hard feelings about our recent, err, incident. I haven’t had a drink since. I’d like to see you again to show you what a gentleman I can be. How about dinner tomorrow night?”

  His smooth voice sent a thrill through her. This man certainly registers on my masculine appeal meter.

  “I’m behind. I can scarcely take time to breathe. I’ll be working through the weekend. Maybe next week. I’ll call you.” Chances of that happening aren’t good.

  “Okay, I guess I’ll run up to the lake tonight then.”

  “Do me a favor and give me that phone number. I need to talk to your aunt.”

  He rattled it off. “I warn you. She rarely picks up the phone there. You’ll get a machine, and she doesn’t make callbacks.”

  “In case that happens find out something for me, please. I just learned your aunt was in the same town as my mom the day she died. Ask your aunt what contact they had on the Cliff Walk. I’m sure there’s a plausible explanation. Call me later, please. I’ll be home all night.”

  “Alright, if this puts me on your good side again. Even in baseball it’s not one strike and you’re out. Another chance, please?”

  “I’ll pray about it.” She expected those words would be a turn-off for him.

  “Swell.”

  The muscles in her face tightened. He was serious now. Was this the response she wanted?

  * * *

  Aunt Karen met Jordan at the door of the lake house.

  “What a pleasant surprise. We didn’t expect you two weekends in a row.”

  “The sun was shining, and I couldn’t think of anywhere better to be. You know I need my lake fix regularly.” He pecked her cheek and brushed past her. “Where’s Uncle Charles?”

  “He’ll be disappointed he missed you. Our neighbor Gus invited him on a weekend fishing trip in the Northwoods, Minocqua area. At the last minute someone couldn’t go and he filled in.”

  “Bummer. He usually lets me know about his trips. I come half to see you and half to savor his culinary creations.” Jordan laughed. “It’s chicken noodle soup from a can for us, huh?” Aunt Karen rarely cooked.

  “You’re in luck. I’m baking a pan of vegetable lasagna, a la Stouffer’s. I’ll stick another sweet potato in the microwave. I also have a fresh loaf of French bread and butter pecan ice cream in the freezer.”

  “A feast.”

  She and Jordan made small talk through dinner. He rarely struggled for subjects of conversation with his aunt. She followed politics and could talk about any topic other than her work. He rattled on about the current real estate market.

  During dessert Jordan remembered to bring up Whitney’s question. He phrased it as tactfully as he knew how. Certainly Aunt Karen would have a good reason for not telling Whitney. He didn’t want to embarrass her by his probing. In the past he’d sensed tension in his aunt whenever Whitney’s name came up. He chalked it off to some female thing.

  He wished he hadn’t agreed to Whitney’s request to ask. His gaze took in his favorite family pictures on the wall—graduation from kindergarten with his parents smiling down at him, high school and college graduations with Aunt Karen and Uncle Charles on his left and right. He was lucky to have them in his life.

  “Aunt Karen, Whitney tracked down some information that you were in Ballybunion the day her mother died. She wants to know why you never told her.” He brushed breadcrumbs off the tablecloth.

  His aunt’s face turned gray. She set down her coffee cup with a thud. A guttural sound escaped her.

  “What is it?” Jordan tensed.

  “I’m fine. I simply swallowed wrong.” She pushed her chair away from the table. “It’s ridiculous for her to be questioning me. This Whitney woman isn’t well. This is just another indication she’s not right for you, Jordan. Stay away from her for your own good.” The vehemence in his aunt’s voice startled him.

  He drew back as if he’d been hit.

  “She’s a troublemaker. That’s all there is to it.”

  Jordan’s blood began to boil. “I notice you’v
e made no effort to answer. Were you there?”

  “Nor will I. There’s just something about that woman that grates on me.”

  Jordan forced a laugh. “She seems to have a problem with you, too.” He wiped his mouth then leaned forward. “What shall I tell her?”

  Karen’s face turned to granite but her fingers trembled.

  “Aunt Karen, you do know something. Tell me.”

  She made an effort to recover her composure.

  Jordan pressed her. “Let’s start at the beginning. You must have read about Whitney’s mother’s accident in the paper.”

  “Of course. I read about Blaine Cartier’s as well.”

  “If you were in Ballybunion with Kendra the day she died, you were one of the last people to see her alive. This may make Whitney less crazy about what happened. At least her mom wasn’t totally alone. Why didn’t you tell her or tell the police at the time?”

  Karen looked away. “Why involve myself in a murder?”

  “I thought her death was an accident.” Jordan eyed her closely. “If you thought so, why didn’t you come forward?”

  “Of course it was an accident. I picked up on Whitney’s persistent use of the word murder, that’s all.”

  “And Blaine?”

  Karen twisted the bracelet on her wrist until the stones seemed to dance in the light.

  Jordan arose and put his arm on her shoulder. “You have incredible compassion. This is simply coincidence, and there’s no reason not to tell the police.”

  “If it makes you happy, I will, but I wish you had more trust in my discretion about matters like this. You have no idea how much I cared about these women.”

  Women, menopause, PMS, whatever they had was more than Jordan could understand or wanted to cope with. “Okay, do whatever you think best. I’m going for a lake walk. Want to join me?”

  “Thanks, dear.” Karen’s tone softened. “But I must be off.”

  “Where to?”

  “I have bridge club tonight, unless you prefer I cancel to be with you?”

  “No, go ahead. I’ll catch up on some business reading.”

  Jordan sighed, disgusted with himself. He didn’t like making waves. Why had what he said upset her so?

  SIXTY

  Kill Whitney Barnes. The words ran over and over in Karen’s mind like a ballad. She began to hum them.

  This killing was for self-preservation. A shame. If only that newspaperwoman hadn’t been so persistent, it wouldn’t have come to this. But Karen had to keep the truth from coming out. Whitney would join her mother in heaven. Wasn’t that what this woman believed happened at death?

  Karen took a deep breath, walked into the kitchen, and reached for the phone directory. Fortunately, the city still published them. “B” for Barnes. She trailed her finger through the fine print.

  Karen jotted Whitney’s street address on a yellow 3 x 5 card by her phone, opened the cupboard, and grabbed a bag of low-fat potato chips and packaged apple juice. She might have to wait a while.

  On the drive to downtown Cortland City, a light snow sprinkled the streets just enough to make them slippery. Karen disliked winter. She hated having cold skin. It reminded her of her mother’s body when she ran in from school and found her dead on the kitchen floor. “You can’t be so cold, Mama,” she’d said over and over through the long evening, until the next morning when a neighbor found her sitting in shock beside her mom.

  Karen parked half a block down from Whitney’s house after locating a good spot for viewing the drive. The inside of the house was dark. An hour passed. She nibbled at the chips and sipped the juice. Eating the snack and sitting so long made her drowsy. Rummaging in her glove compartment, she found peppermints to help her stay awake.

  Finally, a Honda pulled past Karen. A glint from a streetlight revealed Whitney gazing straight ahead, apparently deep in thought. At the end of her driveway, Whitney must have touched a remote opener. The garage door lifted. The Honda rolled out of sight and the garage door slid down, hiding any evidence of Whitney.

  Lights flicked on inside the house. She’d give Whitney a minute to get settled.

  * * *

  It was late, and Whitney was starving. She sauntered into the kitchen where she dragged cauliflower, broccoli, and onions from the refrigerator. Reaching into a drawer, she pulled out a sharp knife, turned the oven to 400, and began to chop vegetables into bite-size pieces. She hadn’t eaten since noon. Fresh food at home would be a treat. No more hospital cafeteria food. A simple, nutritious dinner. After dinner she’d tackle the work waiting in her briefcase.

  Whitney put the baking pan in the oven and set the timer. The doorbell rang. The two teens living next door must have seen me pull in. She often welcomed the neighborhood kids for a chat, but tonight she’d have to send them on their way.

  She opened the door wide to the last person she expected to see. “Karen? I thought you were at the lake with Jordan.”

  “I hope you don’t mind my stopping by. I don’t normally make visits uninvited, but I had to talk with you.”

  “No, this is fine. I have some questions for you also. C’mon in.”

  Whitney glanced outside before shutting the door and automatically pressed the button on the lock. “I don’t see your car?”

  “Silly me, I parked in front of the wrong house and didn’t bother to move it.”

  Whitney walked over to the window and glanced out. A black Lexus, not a BMW, sat across the street a few houses down. She breathed more comfortably. Don’t get silly with your imagination, she chided herself.

  “Please sit down.” Whitney gestured toward the sofa. “You first. What brought you to see me?”

  “Jordan told me you had new information about your mother that you wanted to discuss right away, and some questions. I hope I’m not interrupting anything?”

  “Not if you don’t mind watching me eat dinner. Sit tight a minute while I get a tray table. May I get you a drink?”

  “No thanks.”

  Whitney returned and dropped into the chair across from Karen. “Wouldn’t you like to take off your coat and gloves?”

  “I’ll only be a few minutes. Now, tell me what you found out.”

  “Actually it’s more of a question. I understand you were in Ballybunion the day Mom died and saw her. I can’t help but wonder why you didn’t tell me. Surely that wasn’t confidential.” Whitney drilled her eyes into Karen, waiting for an answer. Had her mom been suicidal in Ireland, run into Karen, and sought her counsel?

  “It’s not true that I was with her. I’d like to know who’s spreading such a lie. Where did you hear this?”

  “I can’t divulge the source, but I believe it’s accurate. Why are you denying it?”

  Karen’s facial expression hardened. Whitney observed the change in her demeanor.

  “I hoped we could be open with one another. If you won’t confide in me, I won’t continue to discuss this. I don’t play games.” Karen drew her coat closer as if preparing to leave.

  “Wait! I can tell you a gal I happened to meet while doing my research had also been in Ireland. The person she described seeing with Mom fit your description.” All true, Whitney thought.

  Her attention went to Dr. Karen’s wrist. She noticed the sapphire-studded bracelet Karen kept pulling up and down over the cuff of her glove. Karen dipped her right hand into her handbag. With one swift motion she pulled out a revolver.

  Fear flooded Whitney. She held back a scream.

  Karen aimed the gun directly at Whitney’s head. Her eyes narrowed to slits. Her voice spoke mechanically, as if reading a list of numbers. “You’re right. Your mother didn’t die in an accident.”

  Could this be really happening? Whitney’s mind raced, even as her body froze. She forced aside the terror surging through her.

  Karen thrust her chin up in the air. “Kendra Starin died for her own good.”

  Whitney sensed blood rushing to her face. “You killed my mother? Why? Tell me!”
Her fingers curled into fists.

  Karen spoke maddeningly slow. “Kendra and Ellie’s mom and Blaine and Jillian too.”

  Whitney gaped at her. “Dear God...you’re the one.” The thought sickened her.

  Karen waved the gun at Whitney. “Now I’m going to kill you.”

  Her metallic-sounding voice drew her words out meticulously. “Every decision ultimately is relative. When I weigh the value of your life against the good I do, I have no choice.”

  “Good! What are you saying?” Whitney struggled to remain coherent. Her body trembled all over. She had to get the gun away from Karen.

  “I helped these women end their misery and kept them from hurting others as they were hurt.”

  Whitney exhaled. Help me Lord. Stop my body from shaking. I’ve got to think. Keep her talking. “Tell me how you killed them.”

  Karen actually smiled. “If you like.” She followed Whitney, waving the gun.

  The buzzer on the stove sounded.

  “My dinner’s ready. Let me pull the tray out.”

  “Leave it,” Karen hissed.

  “It’ll burn up. I need hot pads. I have to open the drawer.”

  “Okay. I suppose a fire won’t do.”

  Whitney’s eyes swiftly searched inside the drawer for a weapon. The large knives must be in the dishwasher.

  “Now sit. The kitchen is a good place to die. Just like Blaine.”

  Whitney slumped onto a chair. Her hope was plummeting. If she tried to tackle Karen, she’d be shot in an instant. “Tell me more—you didn’t finish.”

  “In your mom’s case, it was simple. I flew to Dublin after her initial tour and then drove to Shannon. It’s not hard to get a fake passport nowadays.”

  How can she sound so relaxed? “But what if you were recognized?”

  “If anyone saw me, I had an alibi. I was doing genealogy research at the University of Dublin.”

  “However did you find my mother?” Whitney’s gaze darted right and left looking for anything she could use to disarm Karen.

  “I found her tour itinerary online and met up with the group on the last night while they had dinner at Bunratty Castle. Your mother was surprised to see me, and pleased, I might add. She thought I was going to Kerry the next day, but I drove to Ballybunion to locate her instead.”