Death Comes eCalling (11 page)

He let that sink in much longer than necessary, considering that, whatever memory loss he might have anticipated, this was not news to me.

Then he said, “I think it would be best if we keep you overnight for observation.”

“I can’t stay here.” My chest again started to tighten. Another anxiety attack. “I’ve got two young children. I’ve got no one to watch them. My husband is in Manila.”

“He makes envelopes,” Tommy interjected with a wry smile.

The doctor raised an eyebrow, but said nothing. “Just the same, it—”

“A nurse lives across the street from me. Carolee Richards.”

“Carolee?”

“She works here. I think she said in the…cancer ward.” The correct term had slipped my mind. Was it ornithology? No, that had something to do with birds. Medicine had so many multisyllabic words that made everyone in that field sound so much more intelligent than, say, someone who wrote greeting cards. “Maybe she can check in on me a couple of times tonight.”

“I’ll have someone track her down for you, and we’ll see what we can work out.”

He left, and only then was I aware that Tommy was still watching my every move. I dearly hoped he wasn’t going to arrest me.

“Whatever happened to Howie?” I asked. “Do you ever hear from him?”

“He died. Eleven years ago. Single-car accident. Hit the tree at Kino’s Corner. His blood-alcohol was point-one-six. I, uh, was a patrolman then. Took the call.”

The door swung open, and Tommy’s face lit up so quickly I didn’t have to look to know it was Carolee. They stood staring at each other, eyes locked. I could be wrong, but I got the impression she’d given him more than ice cream last night.

The pager on his belt beeped, and he immediately said, “‘Scuse me,” and left the room.

Carolee turned to me and gripped my hand. “Hi. How are you feeling?”

Her words were spoken with such empathy, I had to look away for fear I’d start whimpering. “Fine. It’s nothing.”

“How did this happen?”

“I fainted. You did hear about Steve, didn’t you?”

“Steve Wilkins?”

“Somebody stabbed him to death in his office. I fainted when I saw him.”

She gasped. Her face paled. “Oh, dear Lord. Poor Lauren. And Rachel. I’ve been on shift all day. Dr. Mitchell just told me you had a concussion. He didn’t say anything at all about anyone…getting killed. How’s Lauren taking this?”

Tommy poked his head into the room. “Gotta go. Lauren and Rachel just got home.”

“Could I go with you?” I asked. “I want to be with Lauren.”

Tommy shook his head. “Sorry. Police procedures.”

I stood up, feeling as wobbly as the last time I’d given birth. “Can I leave?”

“Officer Redding will take you down to the stationhouse for fingerprints, then he’ll drive you home.”

“But Lauren’s going to need someone to help her. She might need someone to watch Rachel.”

“Have to insist, Sorry. Police procedures. I’ll give her your condolences.”

I glared at him and he added, “We’ll be contacting other immediate family members. She won’t be alone.”

Carolee agreed she’d check in on me once or twice in the next twenty-four hours, then said she had to get back to work. In the lobby, Preston now sat with Tiffany. I had to stifle a gasp at the sight of my children. Nathan’s hair was plastered down with something that made it look as fake and shiny as a Ken doll’s. Karen was wearing so much makeup, she looked—I didn’t want to think about what she looked like.

Tiffany glanced up at me unsmiling, snapped her gum, gestured at the children, and said, “Check it out. I got a real knack for this. When I get out of school, I want to be a cosmologist.”

“Cosmetologist,” I corrected. Though, judging by my children’s appearance, perhaps she did mean she wanted to be a star gazer.

Preston gave me a somber nod. “I can’t believe all of this. My God. We were eating dinner with him just last night.”

“Did Stephanie leave?”

“She had some errands to run. I came to take Tiffany home.”

“Look what Tiffany bought me.” Nathan held up a black comb.

“There was a machine in the lobby,” Karen explained. “She says you owe her a dollar.”

“You owe me twelve-fifty for lunch, too,” Tiffany said.

“You should rethink your career choice. You might make a successful lawyer.” I handed her two twenties. “Keep the change.”

Now I’d be forced to bring my children to the police station. With our makeup and hairstyles, we’d make quite a trio.

By the time we got home from the police station, it was late afternoon. Two police vehicles were parked in Lauren’s driveway and the house was circled by police tape. There was a message from Jim on my answering machine. He was going to visit a manufacturing plant on another Philippine island, where he’d be until Thursday. He told me the city and hotel name, but though I played it back twice, a blip on the line rendered Jim’s voice unintelligible.

I supervised the children’s baths, necessary to get their faces and hair restored to their natural state. At some point last year Karen had decided she hated bathing. She often came up with excuses for why she shouldn’t have to get into the tub. This time she told me she didn’t need baths because she sweated water, which washed her. Even in my emotionally drained state, I recognized a good try when I heard one and told her so.

As the children were drying off, I called Lauren. No one answered, but I left a message that I was here for her and wanted to help in any way I could.

Not only did I wish Jim were here to help me and Lauren through all of this trauma and tragedy, I wished my mother were here. To cheer myself up, I sketched myself in a kitchen. In my drawing, the phone rings off the hook, pots boil over on the stove, toys are scattered across the floor, and Karen and Nathan are running in circles around me as I cry in frustration: “I WANT MY MOMMY!”

After completing my doodle, I stared out the window at Lauren’s house, trying to fathom what she must be going through, and realizing how unimaginable that really was. My mother once told me she would rather die herself than have anyone else in the family die. A teenager at the time, I’d thought she was nuts. Now I suspect motherhood naturally turns the sanest of us into martyrs. Though I could not begin to fathom the emotional agony that Lauren was currently experiencing, I knew that much of her pain was not derived from her own terrible loss, but from that of her daughter.

To my surprise, I saw her and Rachel leaving the house with an officer. Even from this distance, I could see her shoulders shaking with sobs as she and Rachel got into the back seat of the squad car. The sight was heartbreaking, and I started to cry as well.

Karen skipped into the room. “I’ve got to help Nathan,” she said, giggling. She grabbed the blunt-tip scissors.

“Wait,” I said. “Why do you need scissors?”

She charged back up the stairs and called behind her, “His new comb is stuck in his hair.”

Chapter 9

Welcome Home

Mrs. Kravett used to read us poetry. Almost all those poems I’ve long since forgotten, along with the poets’ names, but one line that stayed with me was Carl Sandburg’s allusion that fog comes on little cat feet. This night plodded by on elephant’s feet.

Carolee had checked in on me at my home twice. I told her I felt physically exhausted but doubted I would be able to sleep. She told me, as I’d already assumed, that it wouldn’t be wise to take sleeping pills on top of my concussion. So I’d suffered, listening to a distant thunderstorm, counting the car lights that passed my window throughout the night.

Earlier I’d managed to get the comb out of Nathan’s hair. The result had been wild, unmanageable curls on the top of his head, which made him miserable. So in the morning, Sunday, we went to get his hair cut. Afterward he seemed satisfied with his close-cropped hair, though he still spent a good half hour in front of the mirror trying to decide if one ear or the other needed to be lowered.

When we returned, the police tape around Lauren’s house was gone. I spotted her through her kitchen window. After phoning a few times and getting no answer, I needed to go over there and speak to her, if only for my own peace of mind. That meant hiring a babysitter, and Carolee had already mentioned she was working today. I got hold of Tiffany and she gleefully agreed to babysit once again. Her mother was going to drive her to my house. I successfully battled the urge to spruce up in her honor.

Stephanie accompanied her daughter to the door. They wore matching mother/daughter reflective Ray-Ban sunglasses. “Knock knock,” she said, after I’d already answered the bell. “Just had to tell you what a delightful time I had yesterday talking to Karen at the hospital. God sure smiled on you the day she was born.”

He also had a belly laugh the day Nathan was born. I kept my thoughts to myself, suspecting that Stephanie wouldn’t understand that I loved my children equally, despite Nathan’s more challenging personality. We made arrangements for me to drive Tiffany home later, then she gave me one of those wiggly-finger waves I so hated and left.

After muttering a few instructions to Tiffany, mostly about not altering my children’s appearances, I walked next door.

Lauren was home, but didn’t answer the door. I rang the doorbell incessantly, figuring sooner or later she’d look through the window and see it was me. Cracks and dents along the jamb were plainly visible, as if the door had been hastily repaired after the police kicked it in yesterday. It could probably now be opened with one good push.

Finally I heard the metallic click of the deadbolt, and the door creaked partway open. It was Rachel. Her hair was uncombed. The hollowness in her eyes and sallow expression reminded me of how Karen looks when she’s got a fever. One hand tugged on her plain pink turtleneck as if searching for a blankie. She sucked on three fingers of her other hand. Her magenta stretch pants were wrinkled and rode up one calf. She stared at me.

I instinctively bent down to her eye level. “Hi, sweetie. I’m so—”

“Rachel,” Lauren yelled, “don’t open it.”

“It’s me.”

Lauren rounded the corner. She looked like Bette Davis in
What Ever Happened to Baby Jane?
I had to bite back a gasp.

“I don’t want company. Not even you. I’m sorry.”

She gripped the edge of the door with both hands as if fully intending to slam it in my face. Rachel disappeared inside.

“I just wanted to tell you how sorry I am. Can I bring over dinner for you tonight or—”

“I can still cook and take care of myself.”

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean…” My throat ached as I battled my emotions. Why was she treating me like this? What could I say? “Is there anything I can do? Can I watch Rachel for you, or—”

“No. Thanks. Goodbye.” She shut the door.

I went back to my house, utterly dismayed and hurt. I tried to tell myself I shouldn’t take it personally; who was to say how I would treat Lauren had our positions been reversed? Yet this was so unlike the Lauren I thought I knew so well. Something was very wrong.

A question tormented me. Did Lauren think I killed Steve?

As soon as I opened the door, Tiffany said, “Hey, you’re, like, back early. You’ve only been gone five minutes. That’ll still be five dollars, you know.”

“All right, then. Since I’ve hired you for an hour, I may as well use it. I’ll be back in fifty-five minutes.” I grabbed the phone book, planning to use the map inside.

With nearly an hour of free time, I decided to locate Mrs. Kravett’s house. With luck, I might be able to talk to one of her family members, give my condolences, and confess how badly I’d behaved as her student.

Her house was located in an adjacent county, east of Carlton. I found the address listed in the phone book, and was stunned to discover that it was a gated mansion. I parked at the top of the driveway and got out of my car. Gaping at the picturesque manor, complete with manicured lawns, flower gardens, and hedges, I considered my options. I was going to have to leave; I was not well-dressed enough to walk into a house like this. It was impossible to fathom that Mrs. Kravett had been living like British royalty by night and working in Carlton High by day.

An electronic click startled me. “Can I help you?” a disembodied voice asked.

I looked around, deciding that the nearest of the two stone lions that, atop their tall brick pedestals, flanked the driveway was the source of the voice.

“Not really. I’m Molly Masters. Molly Peterson when Mrs. Kravett knew me. I’m one of her former student’s and—”

“I’m Phoebe’s sister. I’m glad you came, Molly. I assume you are here about the will?”

“Will? What will?”

“Didn’t you get the notice? It was sent three days ago.”

Frankly, I felt stupid talking to a lion statue, but I didn’t know where else to look, so I stared at his old, chiseled features and said honestly, “I’m sorry, but I have no idea what you’re talking about. I didn’t get any notices about a will.”

“Hang on a minute, dearie.”

The lion stopped hissing. I glanced at my lowly maroon Corolla and played with the idea of getting into it and driving away.

At length, I could see a short, squat, white-haired lady make her way down the driveway toward me. At this distance she looked just like a living version of the body I’d recently viewed. I didn’t know the proper protocol, but decided to walk toward her to spare her the footsteps.

We met a third of the way down the driveway. She studied me at length, then said, “Hello. I’m Ellen Steinway, Phoebe’s sister. I must say I’m confused. The lawyer won’t be here for another two hours. Yet you say you haven’t been notified. So my questions are, why not, and what are you doing here?”

This was spooky. She not only looked and sounded like my former teacher, she talked like her. Just as I had in class, I found myself befuddled and apologetic. “My notice about the will must have been delayed in the mail. I was just driving by, realized it was her house, and stopped. I’ve been out of town for a number of years.”

“So I’ve heard. Since you’re here now, come on in.”