Identity Issues (16 page)

I reached his room with time to spare and discovered him at his desk, stacking papers in prescribed piles. My predictable Jack. His solid, straight thinking would serve to be my cure.

"Hey, Stitsill, how’s it going?" He passed me a glance but stayed focused on his mission.

"Can we talk?" I swung my backpack off my shoulders and planted myself on the edge of his desk. He stopped his paper stacking to lean back in his desk chair. I thought about how cute he looked for a second, then I mentally slapped myself back to reality.

"What’s up?"

"Well, you know the Stitsill thing?" I recapped the letter, phone calls, and conference night. Jack nodded as I spoke, but he looked a little bored.

"I’m with you."

"I’ve also done a few other things that I’m not exactly proud of, but they seemed necessary." I paused. "You know, to the case."

"What the hell do you mean, ‘the case’?"

I had his attention now. "I’ve been doing a little detective work. I’ve seen the dead guy a few times outside the Stitsill house." I looked down. His silence conveyed his unhappiness.

"What dead guy? Shit, Sam, what are you into?" he demanded in a hushed voice. Then, he crossed the room and closed his classroom door.

"I went there after dark, once with Di and once by myself. That equals two sightings of a supposedly dead man, the one known as Jon Stitsill." I expected Jack to be furious with me.

"Are you sure it was him?" He shook his head. "You took Di with you? What are you, nuts?"

"Yes, but only once. Hell, I’m tutoring Joey now, and I haven’t said a word to her about this in weeks. She’s dating Chris, Maria’s brother, so she’s no longer involved. The thing is, I am involved, and I don’t seem to be able to turn it off."

"Have you talked to Jon about this?"

"No," I admitted.

"You and Jon talk about everything!"

"I’m not sure he’d understand." Then, I admitted, "Jon’s not around much."

"Yeah, but you guys are tight, right? You’ve always been tight, the model married couple. You can’t go changing that on me, Stitsill. I mean, you and Jon are the poster couple for the happily marrieds."

"No, no, it’s not like that. Jon and I are just having some trouble managing the amount of time he has to be away. We’ll figure it out. He’s going to be gone again before the end of the school year. It’s a pain in the ass, and I’m not dealing with it well. I can’t spring all of this on him right now, and I feel split down the middle. I should be focusing on work and home, but I can’t seem to turn off my inner detective."

"Sure you can. Stay home at night, for God’s sake. Concentrate on the last few weeks of school. Then, you can relax and enjoy the summer with your kids."

"I can’t, Jack." I paused, but just briefly. "I think this other Stitsill guy is killing Rosie. She told me that he tried to kill her once. He’s definitely not dead. What if he’s the reason she’s dying? And what about her kids? What if he goes after them?"

"Stitsill, call the cops. That’s the logical step right now. Stop this amateur spy bullshit and let them handle it. Stop now, tell Jon what’s going on, and let the authorities protect Mrs. Stitsill and her children. It’s the right thing to do."

"I can’t always do the right thing, Jack. You know me. This is
my
mystery to solve. If the cops get involved, they could totally screw it up. Hell, they didn’t even believe me when I told them about all the creepy shit going on with the passport and all of those international phone calls. You think they’re going to believe me when I tell them Stitsill is alive, and that I just happened to be sitting out front of his home when I witnessed his comings and goings?"

"Probably gonna think you’re crazy."

"And there’s something else," I said. "Rosie said that some attorney contacted her a while back and claimed to have witnessed her husband’s so–called suicide. Except it wasn’t a suicide. There was someone else there."

"Do you believe her?"

"I don’t have a reason not to, but then again, who knows?"

"So why didn’t the guy come forward sooner? And why didn’t he go to the cops then? It’s not like this happened yesterday. He’s waited eight years to come forward? Do you even know who he is?"

"No," I answered.

"Drop it, Sam," he ordered.

I agreed with Jack. The story was preposterous. Nothing was as it seemed. Nothing but trouble would come from this. Nothing.

"You need to get yourself out of this before bad shit starts to happen. What the hell? Do you want to get yourself killed?"

Jack looked at me like I had cracked. I began to think he might have a point. "Alright, alright."

"Tell you what," he said. "Let’s make a pact. You back off, but if something comes up that you can’t resist or means possible trouble, you’ll let me know so I can call the cops if you’re threatened or injured."

I slowly nodded. "It’s a deal. Thanks, Jack."

He was right. I should heed his advice. Maybe tomorrow.

I
DIDN’T NEED much of an excuse to stop by Rosie’s house. With exams right around the corner, I decided to drop off an extra study guide for Joey. No one would be the wiser. Luckily, I found Rosie holding her own and at home rather than strapped to a hospital bed. Although she didn’t answer my knock on the door, she called for me to come inside. Her voice sounded strong and pleasant.

"Hi, Rosie," I said. "It’s Samantha Stitsill. Sorry to bother you, but I thought Joey could use this extra study guide for his Social Studies final."

"Come in, come in. How nice of you to bring it by. Joey went to Bradley’s house for a while after school so he won’t be right home today." Rosie smiled as she pulled herself upright on the family room sofa and clicked off the television.

"How are you feeling?" I handed her the study sheet, then sat on the edge of the wing chair adjacent to the couch. I squirmed a little, since I was in her home under false pretenses.

"Today is a good day," Rosie said. "I never have much energy, but as long as I don’t have pain, it’s a good day."

Rosie’s direct gaze convinced me that she’d become a straight shooter. Today, as she looked into my eyes, I saw honesty. No evasion. No pretense.

"Good, I’m glad. You’re entitled to some good days." I paused, mentally double–checked my approach, and then moved ahead. "Rosie, I know it’s probably none of my business, but I’ve been thinking a lot about our last conversation. After you talked about your husband and his attempt to poison you, I couldn’t help but wonder if there’s a chance he’s poisoning you now. Could he have caused your cancer? I know it’s unlikely, but…"

I found myself leaning forward, wanting to reach out to her.

"I’ve asked myself the same question," she admitted. "I’m not 100% certain he’s dead. He’s been gone for a long time, so there are long periods when I feel safe, but I’m not even forty years old and I’m dying. There’s no history of cancer in my family, so if Jon is still alive, he may still want me out of the picture. But, why?"

As we looked at each other, it was apparent she had faced the fact that her fate was sealed.

"Shall we problem–solve a little?"

"What do you mean?" she asked.

"If he’s alive, could he be poisoning you? Since the boys are well, he would have to be doing something that specifically targets you."

She shook her head. "The boys and I do everything together, especially since my diagnosis. When I’m not at the hospital, I’m at home."

"Let’s think back in time. Once you became ill and were diagnosed, he wouldn’t need to be around, would he?"

"If he’s alive, do you think he knows that I’m sick?"

"Good question," I said. "Have you ever thought you’ve seen him? I know that after I lost someone close, I’d occasionally spot someone who looked like them, or just catch a glimpse and be reminded of them. Have you ever had that happen?"

"I’ve been looking over my shoulder for a long time, but I’ve never specifically felt his presence or seen any signs of him."

"What about the garage door that leads outside? Is it locked at night?"

"What makes you ask that?"

Double–clutch. I didn’t want Rosie to know what I knew about Jon. Think fast.

"This is a puzzle, Rosie, and it’s got a million pieces."

"I know you must think I am an idiot, marrying such an awful man and then not taking my boys and running when he tried to hurt us." Tears brimmed in her eyes.

"Rosie, I would never judge you. You did the best you could under the circumstances. Fortunately, the boys are alright."

She nodded. "I blame myself. Now, my boys will have no mother or father. I won’t ever get well." She began to sob.

I wrapped my arms around her and held her tiny frame. "You’ve been a great mother. The boys are amazing. You formed their core. They have a solid foundation. They’ll miss you and yes, they’ll struggle, but they will be okay. In my heart of hearts, I know that."

She gazed at me through tear–filled eyes. "Would you keep an eye on them?"

"Of course, I will." My words seemed to soothe her, and her sobs eased.

"You asked me about the garage door that goes to the outside. I don’t keep it locked. I leave it open for the boys so they can get into the garage if they come home in bad weather. I don’t want them standing outside."

"Could someone get into the garage without you knowing about it?"

"Of course," Rosie said.

Weighing the knowledge that Rosie’s dead husband still lived and the fact that she would soon be dead, I decided not to tell her that I’d seen him lurking around her place. What purpose would it serve?

"What about the money? How much did you find when he died? Is it all there, except for what you’ve used?"

"It’s all there."

"It’s not my business, but how much did you find?"

"Over a million dollars," she whispered.

"Wow." What else could I say?

She smiled faintly. "I’ve never told anyone, and I spend only what I need. I didn’t want anyone to become suspicious. It’s no longer in the house, but in a secure location."

"Do you think anyone knows about the money besides you?" I asked.

Rosie nodded. "Perhaps the men who showed up that time looking for Jon."

"You mean the goons?" I asked her.

"Goons?" She looked confused by the term.

I translated. "Guys with thick necks, tattoos, oily, slicked back hair, and a perpetual five o’clock shadow."

"I know the kind of men you mean. Yes, they were goons. They scared me just to look at them. They seemed like men who would hurt people."

"You were smart to send them away and not draw attention to yourself or the boys," I said.

"They have not been back in a long time," Rosie said, "which makes me feel like Jon is really dead. If he were alive, they would have returned. Jon would have come back for the money or to hurt me."

"Rosie, you are hurt, if you get my meaning."

"You believe my illness is Jon’s doing?"

"I honestly don’t know, Rosie. It just seems odd that a woman in otherwise good health could have cancer at such a young age."

"No one can give another person cancer, can they? And Jon is really dead, isn’t he? That lawyer… if he’s right, said there were two men at the scene. Did Jon kill someone? Could he have made it look like a suicide by planting his personal effects on the body? Besides, the attorney claimed he was an alcoholic back then."

"An alcoholic is not a reliable witness," I reassured her. "According to the police, Jon’s dead." The wheels spun in my head.
Could Jon have caused Rosie’s cancer?

After a long moment, I urged, "Think, Rosie. Jon tried to poison you once. If he’s alive, could he be doing it again? Maybe someone else is looking for the money, and they could be poisoning you."

"I don’t know. I need to think."

"I’m sorry."

"Don’t apologize. You are just trying to help me and my boys. If someone is hurting me, what’s to say they won’t hurt my sons?"

"My number is on the study guide. Call me anytime, day or night."

Rosie reached out and touched my arm. She turned over my hand and placed something small, cold, and hard in my palm. A house key.

"Why, Rosie?"

"I want you to have this in case you need to get inside when I can’t answer the door, or if the boys need something and I’m not around."

I nodded, slipping the key into my pants pocket.

"It’s too late for me now, but I would never forgive myself if anything happened to my boys."

"I’ll see myself out." I walked to the door. As I reached for the knob, I turned to see Rosie staring out the back window. I left, despite a profound desire to remain at her side.

I
PULLED MYSELF together, slid the key into the ignition, and started the van. I yanked the gearshift into drive and pulled away from the curb.

I used the forty minute drive to calm down and regain my composure. I flipped on the radio and settled on an Adele song. Somehow, singing along to
Chasing Pavements
seemed like just what the doctor ordered.

The gods continued to shine on me. I made it home without hitting any major construction slowdowns. A miracle. By the time I pulled in my driveway, I’d refocused on things like kids and dinner. The kids tumbled off the school bus a few minutes after I arrived.

I set out some nutritious snacks—Chips, Twinkies and Brownie Bite’s—then poured myself a glass of wine, told the gang I’d be on the front porch if they needed me, and turned on the sprinkler. I found the rhythmic swooshing sound very restful.

Lizzie and the neighbor girl joined me outside, drawing their four–square game on the driveway with the sidewalk chalk I kept in a bucket in the garage. I had lost myself in their innocence when Nick popped out of the front door with the phone in his hand.

"Mom, there’s some lady on the phone for you," he said as he smacked the portable into my hand. He vanished before I could put the receiver up to my ear.

"Hello?" I smiled as I watched him disappear.

"It’s the water," Rosie said.

"What?"