Little Death by the Sea (13 page)

“Looks like he killed her in the hallway,”
Kazmaroff continued. The way I see it, she lets him in, they talk,
he makes his move, she bolts and makes it as far as the stairway.
Maybe they even struggled a bit in the living room, you know? Any
sign she was raped?”

“Keep your voice down, for Chrissake. The
sister’s right in the other room.” Burton straightened his
shoulders and shoved past his lieutenant. “Let’s get this over
with. I’ll ask the questions.”

Maggie sat quietly in her living room, her
hands folded in her lap. The small travel alarm clock she kept
perched on a shelf in the living room bookcase blinked out the
digitized time: 11:47. Brownie had shown up thirty minutes earlier
and the police had immediately tucked him away in the bedroom where
they were questioning him. Maggie looked up and watched the two
police detectives approach. She thought of Laurent. The one
detective was big, like Laurent, a little stoop-shouldered, and she
thought he had a kind face. Or did he just look tired?

“Miss Newberry?” Burton hovered in front of
her. His companion whipped out a battered notebook and sat down in
a tub chair facing them. “We need to ask you a few questions.”

Maggie looked up and felt her eyes must look
like two ragged, red holes.

“Miss Newberry?”

“Yes.” Maggie nodded. She could hear the
murmur of voices from her bedroom and wondered if Brownie was being
considered a suspect.

“You know I need to ask you these questions
now while everything’s still fresh, and I know it’s hard.”

Maggie heard the squeaking sound of the
gurney as it began its heavy journey across the worn hall carpet to
the front door. The coroner had finished his preliminary, on-site
inspection. The rest of his invasions of Elise would be done in the
privacy of a sterile laboratory. Maggie braced her back at the
sound of the stretcher as it passed her open apartment door. She
refused to look. She could hear the sounds of her neighbors
clustered in the hallway. She wanted to run out and chase them all
off. She found herself resenting every one of them out there taking
a sensationalist peek at her poor, broken sister.

“....what time, exactly, would that be?”

She shook her head, bringing her fist to her
mouth.

“It’s all right, Miss Newberry. I know how
hard this is. Take your time.”

“Could you...could you repeat the question?”
she managed.

“The first time you called your sister. When
was that?”

“Eleven, or so. Maybe a little earlier. I had
a late morning meeting,” a million years ago, a late morning
meeting where we all sat around laughing and joking...

“And she was home?”

“She answered the phone.” Maggie looked up at
the detective. “I assumed she was home the other times I called
too. She just didn’t answer the phone. She was...resting. She’d
been sick.”

“I see. She’d not been in town very
long?”

“Just arrived.”

“And she was staying with you until...?” He
left the sentence unfinished.

“Until...” Maggie searched for an answer.
“Why does it matter why she was staying with me? She was my sister.
Is that so weird? Who is she supposed to stay with?”

“Miss Newberry, the point of my question is
to ascertain whether this was going to be a long visit or just a
passing-through visit.”

“Well, a long visit. She was back to stay...”
How was she going to tell her parents? “But she was just passing
through my apartment. I mean, she’d have gotten her own place
eventually.”

“Where had she come from?” Again, the kind
face, the gentle voice. Maggie noticed a slight tic in his lip as
he spoke.

“From France. She’d been living in France for
the last several years. She was returning home.”

“And you returned home when, Miss
Newberry?”

“Returned home? I live here.” Maggie stared
stupidly at the man.

“Yes, yes, I’m sorry. I meant when tonight
did you return home?”

“I...I...” She gestured uselessly at the
Macy’s shopping bag at her feet, not trusting her voice to respond.
Oh, Elise, how could you be gone? We were going to be a family
again.

“That’s all right, just take your time.”

She noticed that the man’s partner, or
whatever he was, had stopped writing. She found herself thinking:
He’s seen this sort of thing a thousand times before. Seen someone,
just like me, feel and act just like this. A thousand times
over.

She took a deep breath.

“I got back to the apartment a few minutes
before nine.”

“Did you notice anything different or strange
at any time? In the parking lot, walking up to your door? Once
inside your apartment?”

Maggie shook her head as he spoke.

“I noticed nobody was here,” she said
miserably. “I played back my messages first, thinking Elise,
thinking she...” She looked away.

“That’s all right, Miss Newberry. Anything
else?”

“You’re taking my answering machine?”

“We’ll need to examine it, yes. Anything
else?”

“No...not...I mean, what am I going to tell
my mother and father?”

Burton grimaced in a gesture of sympathy.

“I’m sorry, Miss Newberry.”

Maggie smoothed her damp palms against the
cotton fabric of her skirt.

“The coroner will give his report after the
autopsy. There’ll be an inquest, of course. Probably next week.
Once all the evidence is in.”

“Is the little charm...is it important?”

“Perhaps.”

“She used to have a charm bracelet. When we
were kids.”

“Yes?” Burton said. “Was she wearing it
tonight, do you know?”

“Wearing it?” Maggie looked around the room
as if she were suddenly disoriented. “I can’t imagine she even
still has it. That was a long time ago.” She looked at him, her
face flushed with suppressed agony. “Maybe?”

Burton signaled to his partner to check on
Brownie in the back room. He turned back to Maggie. “We’ll need to
ask you to vacate your apartment, I’m afraid, for the next three or
four days while we take fiber and hair samples. Where will we be
able to reach you?”

Maggie turned away from him. She needed to
cry very hard for a very long time.

2

An hour later, sitting in the police cruiser
as it rushed along the immaculate, sycamore-lined road to her
parents’ home, Maggie held Brownie’s hand tightly, her lips pressed
together in a grim line. She tried to tell herself that for her
parents to have seen Elise in the state she had been in would have
been tantamount to a revisitation of the horror tale The Monkey’s
Paw, where a grief-stricken mother wished her recently dead son
back with her again and got her wish only to have something awful
and repulsive return to her from the grave. That would have been
Elise. With her ruined face and arms, pocked by blunt, used
needles, her clothes and skin smelling of sweat and urine, her hair
a matted mess of gnarly dread locks. This was the thing her mother
would’ve swept to her bosom? Would’ve embraced tenderly?... And
still kept the look of horror and revulsion from her face
throughout?

Maggie’s vision blurred as she watched the
passing neighborhoods. Nothing less than two million dollars.
Mostly a lot more.
La creme de la creme
of Atlanta real
estate. And her throat closed and ached because she knew that if
Elise had been presented to them mad as a hatter, screaming and
naked, filthy and profane, both her parents would have wept tears
of gratitude to have her back.

She looked at Brownie and tried to take
strength from his solid grip on her hand. Tried to tap into his
stoic front, his resiliency. And all she could think as the police
car brought her closer and closer to Brymsley and her mother and
father was: if by some miracle, some fantastic cosmic magic, you
got the chance to have five minutes with a departed loved one, just
five minutes to say how are you? I love you, I miss you…

And Maggie knew she had cheated them out of
that forever.

3

Darla Parker picked up the teapot with its
imprint of faded roses and held it over her husband’s tea cup. Her
eyes watched him, not her aim, as he sat across from her, face
buried in the newspaper. She spilled a little hot tea onto his
sleeve.

“Damn it, Darla!” Gerry snatched his soiled
cuff away and looked at his wife angrily. “What is your problem
this morning? Thanks a lot, okay?”

Darla carefully replaced the teapot and
sighed. She folded her hands in her lap, her eyes still on her
husband.

“I mean, first you practically kill me with
that stupid whatever it is you left on the stairs...”

“Vacuum cleaner.”

“Look, Darla, don’t start with me today,
okay? I mean it. I’m serious. I’ve got this one day in the week to
relax and forget the office and I don’t mean to spend it at war
with you, understand?” Gerry flapped the newspaper out straight and
returned to the article he was reading.

Darla reached over and took a small sip from
her own cup. She replaced the china gently in its saucer and then
cleared her throat.

Gerry threw the newspaper down onto the table
and covered his face with his hands.

“God, am I having a nervous breakdown, or
what?” His voice sounded tired and strained.

“Quit your job, sweetheart.”

“Oh, thank you so much.” He pushed away from
the breakfast table and glared at her. “Thanks a million for that
bit of advice, Darl.”

“It’s a bad job,” Darla said, reaching for
her cup again.

“I own the job, remember? Who am I gonna quit
to? Myself? I’m the boss, remember?”

“It’s making you miserable, Gerry. It’s bad
for all of us. I can see it if you can’t.”

“Darla, we’re not speaking the same language,
okay? I mean, I’m speaking English but you’re obviously not
familiar with my particular dialect or something...”

“Quit the job, Gerry.”

“Stop saying that! Stop saying ‘quit the damn
job’, will you?” Gerry stood up, scooped up the newspaper and
slapped it back down on the breakfast table. “I can’t quit the damn
job! Why not just say move to Alaska? Or get a lobotomy? Or become
a priest? I can’t! I can’t do it! Jesus! Am I alone in the world?
Is nobody listening to me?” He turned to leave the room when the
kitchen wall phone rang. Enjoying the dramatic punctuation of its
timing, he snatched it up and barked into it:

“Yes?”

He watched Darla get up slowly from the table
and begin to clear the dishes.

“Ger, it’s me.” It was Maggie.

Darla gave Gerry a questioning look which he
ignored.

“Hey, ‘me’, what’s up for you? Wanna grab a
matinee or something? I could stand to get out of the house for a
bit.” He felt angry with himself for trying to hurt Darla, but he
also felt angry at Darla. He turned to catch a glimpse of her but
she stood at the sink with her back to him, rinsing cereal bowls
and listening.

“No, I can’t, Ger. Listen, something’s
happened. I....” Gerry could hear Maggie’s voice catch and he
instantly stiffened. God, now what? he thought.

“Maggie, what is it? What’s happened?” He
could sense, rather than see, Darla turn and face him.

“It’s...I...the police think Elise was
murdered,” Maggie continued. “...in my apartment building last
night.”

“Good God!”

“Gerry, what is it?” Darla was at his side
now, tugging on his sleeve. “What’s happened to Maggie? Is she
okay?”

“Her sister was killed last night in Maggie’s
apartment.”

“Oh, my God.” Her hand flew to her mouth, her
eyes wide with horror. She watched Gerry’s own shocked face, as if
to watch him closely might reveal the whole gruesome story or,
perhaps, even belie it.

“Maggie, where are you?” Gerry asked, his
voice tense.

“I’m at home, at Brymsley. Brownie’s with me.
The cops took us here last night.”

“Jesus, Maggie, what happened?” Gerry slumped
back into his seat and Darla stood near him.

“I...she just...I really don’t know. The
police think she let the guy in...”

“She let him in?” Gerry’s eyes flicked over
to Darla and she shook her head in horror.

“Yeah, well, the cops didn’t see that the
door was hurt or anything so they think he knocked and she just let
him in. I don’t know. I guess living in France all those years, she
just didn’t have the same natural distrust or suspicions that we do
over here about letting people in, you know, locking your car doors
and stuff—“

“Maggie, it could’ve been you. He could’ve
gotten you.”

“The cops think...look, I can’t talk a whole
lot now, my mom and dad are right in the next room, you know?”

“God, your poor parents. How are they?”

“Not great. You can imagine. God, Gerry, if
only I’d told them when I first found Elise, you know? I keep
thinking—“

“Well, don’t. It doesn’t do anybody any good
and your first instincts were probably best anyway.”

“Even when I can hear my Mother in there
crying all over again for my sister? I mean, like grieving for her
twice in six months?”

“It doesn’t do any good beating yourself up
for it, Maggie.”

“That’s what Brownie’s been saying.”

“He’s right. Do you want some company? Do you
want me and Darla to come by?”

Darla nodded vigorously at him.

“No, thanks. I think we’ll just burrow in
here, you know, just the family. But thanks, Ger, I appreciate the
offer. I just wanted you to know.”

“I’m glad you did. I’m so sorry, Maggie. So
sorry for you and your parents.”

“I know, Ger,” she whispered in an effort to
hide the tears in her voice. “Thanks again. Love to Darla.”

“I will. Bye.”

“Bye.”

He returned the receiver to its cradle and
stood staring out the breakfast room’s large bay window. From it he
could see their eight year old daughter, Haley, playing with some
neighbor children.