Aurora 08 - Poppy Done To Death (20 page)

“Dad and Betty Jo want him to come back after Thanksgiving,” I said, suddenly aware that I hadn’t talked to them in two days—or had it been longer? Surely they ought to have made some travel plans for Phillip by now. But how on earth would they get airline reservations this late?

Weren’t the airports full on the weekend after Thanksgiving? “Maybe he can stay longer,” I added hastily, so Mother would never think I was tired of Phillip. I didn’t exactly want to get rid of him. I loved my brother, though I realized I didn’t know him that well. My problem was the extent of my responsibility. If Phillip were to stay for a while, I would have to be a little stricter; I couldn’t be an indulgent big sister if he was going to be with me for weeks.

Right after my mother and John gathered their coats and left (after drinking two cups of coffee apiece, instead of wine, and each having a piece of pumpkin pie), Phillip called and asked if he could spend the night at Josh’s.

What I wanted to say was, Yes, if you can keep your hands off Joss! Don’t even
think
about laying a finger on her in her own house! What I actually said was, “Why don’t you let me talk to Josh’s mom, Phillip? Staying would probably be okay.”

Beth Finstermeyer put my mind at ease by letting me know casually that her daughter was off spending the night with her best friend, so the boys could have the run of the house. And she laughed after she said that, so I knew the boys would no more “have the run of the house” than I would swallow a goldfish.

After I hung up, I could tell that Corinne was ready to go back to Robin’s apartment and put her feet up. I urged them to take some pie with them, told them my brother was going to be away for the night but that he had surely enjoyed meeting Corinne, and fetched their jackets from the guest bedroom.

Robin’s eyes had lighted up when he’d heard Phillip was going to be gone, and he dropped a chaste kiss on my cheek when he was saying good-bye, even as he was whispering, “See you later.”

When the door closed behind them and I was finally alone, the relief was enormous. It was five o’clock, and no one wanted anything of me. The dusk was closing in outside, and I wandered around my house, pulling curtains to and picking up the odd crumpled napkin or used glass. I got out the carpet sweeper and ran it over the area rug, then swept the tiled floor that ran down the hall and into the kitchen and den.

There, that was it. All I was going to do today.

Thanksgiving was over.

I had a turkey sandwich while I watched reruns from a million years ago of a show I’d been too young to catch the first time around. I read a little, having a hard time truly engaging my mind in the convolutions of the book, a complicated psychological mystery. In another hour, I was yawning.

A discreet knock at the front door came just in time. It was followed by the sound of a key turning. I’d originally given Robin a key in case he wanted to work in my office while I was gone. A lot of his reference books were on the shelves that lined the office walls, because his apartment just didn’t have room for all his books.

“Are you sleepy?” Robin asked, kneeling by my chair.

“I could probably be roused.”

“Your brother really at the Fin-whatevers for the night?”

“Uh-huh.”

“Oh . . . goody.”

It was one of those encounters where each person seemed to want something different. I was looking for a slow, sweet session, undemanding but satisfying. Robin was feeling more fiery and acrobatic. It took a while to get in sync, but when we did, the climax was the most intense I’d ever experienced. I lay in the dark of my bedroom with Robin’s long arms wrapped around me, and I felt content and safe and loved. Though I’d been drowsy before, when I felt Robin relax into sleep, my eyes were open to the darkness.

I thought about Robin and how I felt about him. I thought about how Bryan Pascoe’s interest in me didn’t spark any feeling in me at all, except mild discomfort. I thought of how amazing it was that I was alive and well, able to experience lying here in the arms of a tall, thin man named Robin Crusoe, whose wild red hair was even now tangling with mine on the pillow. I had this, this wonderful moment, while Poppy, a woman vibrating with life, had had it all taken away.

What had happened to Poppy along her way? What had made her so two-faced? The loving, besotted mother, the well-dressed matron and dutiful wife had also been a promiscuous and sly female. The intelligent college graduate had deliberately wed a man she knew would not be faithful to her—probably in the sure expectation that she would not be faithful to him, either.

Or had John David and Poppy married in the belief they’d cleave only to each other? They must have known, even then, that faithfulness was an ideal rather than a reality, given their natures.

Maybe blind optimism could carry you further than you ever meant to go.

I turned to look at Robin’s sleeping face. I lay on my side, propped up on one elbow. The night-light in the bathroom provided a faint glow, just enough to see the disheveled head and beaky nose. When I tried to imagine his head lying on someone else’s pillow, it hurt deep inside me. And then I felt the surge of anger, the backlash of that pain, just at his
imagined
infidelity.

Had it been that kind of anger that had motivated the hand that had stabbed Poppy over and over? But the evidence of the search through Poppy’s closet and the odd activities of her parents added another layer of complexity to the question of Poppy’s death.

“Robin, wake up,” I said. I folded his hand in mine.

“What? You okay?”

“Promise me something.”

“What?”

“Promise me you’ll never cheat on me while we’re together. If we break up, okay, anything then. But while we’re ... a couple ... no one else.”

I sounded more like seventeen than thirty-six, but I was dead serious.

“Had you thought I might?” he asked with some difficulty. “I mean, have you seen me looking at anyone? You know Janie isn’t anyone I’d ever really date. She’s just a goofy girl.”

He clearly didn’t want to have to go over the Janie Spellman ground again.

“I know,” I said hastily. “That was just a ... momentary craziness. I’m not saying I’ve seen you look at anyone specific. No. But I just want to hear you say it.”

“I have no intention of going to bed with anyone but you,” Robin said clearly. “I think it’s completely obvious that I love you.”

Well. I should wake Robin up more often.

I bent and nuzzled his neck. “I love you, too,” I said, the words coming more easily than I had thought they would.

“I was hoping,” he mumbled. “Now, can I go back to sleep? Talk tomorrow?”

“Sure,” I said, reversing again so my back was snuggled up to his front. “Sure.”

I called Melinda after I got up the next morning. It was late. Robin had gotten dressed and left about 1:00 a.m., giving me a kiss and a pat. He’d left a note on my coffeepot to tell me that he’d talk to me later. He’d signed it, “Love, your Robin.”

I had to wait awhile before I had my coffee that morning. Something I’d eaten the day before, or maybe just the volume of the food, had made me a little queasy. When I had a piece of toast, I felt much better, and by the time nine o’clock rolled around, I figured Melinda would be up and dressed and safely into her morning. I poured some kibble into Madeleine’s bowl while I waited for Melinda to pick up the phone. I wondered why Madeleine didn’t come in, and realized I hadn’t seen her the evening before, either. But that wasn’t especially significant. I often missed her little visits to her food bowl.

Melinda had had a good time at her parents’ home, she reported. She’d seen her brother and her sister, and their children had played with her children. She sounded as though she hadn’t been ready for that little reunion to end.

“We’d been thinking of staying until Sunday, but with everything happening, Avery thought we’d better come back last night,” she said drearily. “So, here we are. At least the kids slept most of the way back, and they went right to bed when we got home. But this morning, I think Marcy is coming down with a cold, damn it. Did anything happen while we were gone? Have you heard anything else about the funeral?”

“Not a word. So it looks like Poppy’s body isn’t going to be released until Monday, if then,” I said. “In the meantime, in addition to someone searching Poppy’s closet and making a big mess in there and in her bedroom, the Wynns were looking for something all over the house and tossed it around worse than the first burglar.”

Melinda was stunned. I could hear her choking on whatever she was drinking. “Poppy’s dad, the minister?” she asked incredulously. “Poppy’s
mom
? Trashed her place? I can’t believe it!”

She went on like that for a few more minutes, though I knew she did believe me. It was a way to handle the unpleasant shock.

Melinda got to the bottom line quickly, as I knew she would. “So, we need to clean it up,” she said. She sounded gloomy at the prospect. “Well, let me call around and see if I can get a teenager to baby-sit. They’re all out of school, and maybe one of them wants to do something as boring as watching kids. Speaking of babies, where has John David stashed Chase?”

“I hope you’re sitting down. John David’s still in the motel with Chase, and there he stays, taking care of the little fellow.”

That was just as shocking to Melinda as the vandalism of Poppy’s house.

“I’ll call him,” she said when she had recovered. “I’ll just check on them. This is a good thing, but I’m just not confident of his ability to take care of that child.”

“Wasn’t he a help before?”

“Not as much as /would’ve liked, though I can’t say Poppy complained. As I told you, Avery has been great with both of ours. Of course, everyone takes it for granted that the mom will do everything for the kids, but if a dad does a lot for them, it’s a big deal.” I could picture Melinda’s shrug.

“I’m proud of John David,” I said. “I thought he’d fold.”

“Me, too. Goes to show.”

I wasn’t sure what it went to show, but I grunted agreeably and we fixed a time to meet at the house on Swanson, if Melinda was lucky enough to get a sitter.

As I brushed my teeth, I found myself thinking of Sally. I felt a strong impulse to call her, just to check up on her. But what would I say? “Forgotten anything important lately, Sally?”

“Do you remember who I am, Sally?” I wondered if perhaps a complete physical could turn up some problem that was solvable, and not just expose the explanation Perry dreaded—that Sally was in the early stages of Alzheimer’s. I made a note to myself to call Perry or take him out to lunch so we could talk about it without being interrupted, which we would be at the library.

Melinda called back to tell me she’d gotten a sitter, and she sounded much more cheerful. I got the impression Marcy’s cold was making her daughter a little difficult and that Melinda definitely wouldn’t mind a break. We agreed to meet at the house on Swanson at 10:00 a.m.

I wrote Phillip a note about my plans, including the number for my cell phone and the number at John David’s. After I got dressed in grubby old jeans and a faded Christmas sweatshirt, both a little loose to allow me some comfort, I started out on my morning errands.

Somewhere along the way, I yielded to an irresistible impulse and drove over to the Best Western. John David was on the first floor, and I could hear Chase shrieking from outside the door.

John David looked bleary-eyed when he opened it, but he was dressed, and not surprised to have company. “Melinda already called this morning,” he said, moving aside to let me in.

“Listen, help me think of something to get him calmed down.”

“I have almost no experience,” I warned him.

“I’ve tried feeding him, burping him, changing him, and singing to him.”

The idea of John David singing to that baby just did something to me. I’m a sucker for man who can take care of a baby, or a man who’s at least trying to take care of a baby. To cover up the fact that my eyes were full of tears, I held out my arms and he put Chase in them. Chase was a wriggling bundle of misery, and he was making such a whirlwind of his little arms and legs that I was scared I wouldn’t be able to hold him. I sat down in the room’s one comfortable chair and held Chase so his chest was against mine, his head resting against my shoulder. The chair wouldn’t rock, so I rocked for it, back and forth, back and forth, murmuring to the baby.

Chase began to relax some, and the shrieks died down to whimpers. Suddenly, there was silence. He was sound asleep, but I kept up with my movement.

“He’s all I’ve got left to love,” John David said in a near whisper. He looked thinner after only a few days of being a widower. He had shaved, and he had tucked in his shirt and combed his hair, but the spark was not in his eyes anymore.

“How can you say you loved her?” I asked. My voice was strained with the effort of containing my anger and speaking in a low, calm voice. “I found you at Romney’s, and it wasn’t the first place I looked.”

“I always loved Poppy. I got mad at her a lot. She was a woman with a lot of secrets,” he said, his voice just as low and controlled. “But I loved her. Just not the way
you
think people ought to love. You’re such a straight arrow. Life has no spice unless you have adventures.” He even smiled, just a faint one, but a smile nonetheless.

If my hands had been free at that moment, I might have tried to throttle him. “You’re right,” I said, so furiously that Chase whimpered. “I don’t understand. I’ll never understand.” I fought to keep my voice under control. “I am really glad you’re taking care of Chase. But it is beyond my comprehension, how you and Poppy could live like you did.”

“She was a complicated woman. She had some bad breaks when she was in her early teens,”

John David said. “I would have liked it if we’d been different, I swear I would. I didn’t set out to be ... like I am. But we made a pattern, and it was one that let us live together, and I thought it would be okay.”

It was like we had both taken a little truth serum. I had never imagined having such a conversation. But it was actually kind of refreshing to openly acknowledge their fractured marriage.