One We Love, The (11 page)

CHAPTER TWENTY THREE

O
ver the course
of the next few hours, most of the cops trickled off, back to work or home or
wherever, leaving a trio of older men, each looking as close to retirement as
Blodgett, who sat stoically waiting for news. Blodgett’s oldest son and his
wife made it to the hospital just before the doctor came to talk with Diana, so
I hung back and let them be. As soon as the doctor left they informed the rest
of us that Blodgett had come through the surgery well and was in recovery. No
visitors allowed, of course, except for immediate family.

One of the three men approached Diana. As they murmured
quietly together, she nodded several times, her face tired and grayed out under
the flourescent lighting. Knowing how anxious his colleagues would be to
question him, I imagined Blodgett had just acquired a “long-lost brother” who
would take his turn with the family. There would be no time wasted in tracking
down the person responsible for attacking their fellow officer.

I hesitated, trying to decide if I should talk with
Blodgett’s buddy. Despite my quasi-friendship with Blodgett I had a long family
history of learned cop avoidance. My mother, in particular, would have crapped
kittens if she’d known my cell phone had a cop’s personal phone number residing
in close proximity to her own. Called him more often, too.

Besides, all Blodgett had been doing for me was looking up
records. Although I couldn’t imagine his attack was connected with Regina’s
death, my stomach felt queasy. Maybe it was all the coffee I’d been chugging.

Undecided, I gave Diana a kiss on the cheek, told her I’d
call, and left.

My body craved sleep, but my brain was buzzing like a frenetic
mosquito. I briefly debated going to the Sunday morning AA meeting. I’d have to
wait a couple of hours, but I could curl up on the couch in the lobby and maybe
nap. The thought of dumping my problems and wallowing in my safe place was
almost as intoxicating as the booze I used to drink, but the couch had seen
more asses than a county fair judge and I rethought the nap plan, which left
two hours of even more stale coffee and brooding.

Instead, I stopped home to explain my absence to Siggy (who
was sound asleep and oblivious to the fact that I’d been gone all night), fed
him (this, he cared about), and grabbed Mikey Dillard’s stuffed toy.

I hoped Mo-Mo would get me past Karissa’s elderly bodyguard,
maybe even earn me some goodwill.

The Jeep was gone from the parking slot. I again braved the
precariously leaning set of stairs and knocked on the trailer’s metal screen
door until my knuckles screamed in protest. No one answered; I sensed emptiness
beyond the flimsy door. The windows were too grimy to see very much so I didn’t
try. Besides, I didn’t want any neighbors calling the cops, although it was so
early in the morning I doubted many would be awake.

After following the PARK MANAGER signs, I found myself,
despite the early hour, knocking on yet another door. This one had the name Tallie
Brandess, Manager stenciled across the front. I heard movement within as
someone, presumably Tallie, shuffled up to answer my summons.

The woman who answered was a tiny bird of a woman with a
smile that captured the joy of a new morning. It was impossible not to smile
back.

“Yes?” she asked.

I introduced myself. “I’m sorry to bother you so early, but
I’m looking for the family from Lot 7. The woman’s name is Bernadette Stanhope,
but it’s actually her daughter Karissa that I’m looking for.”

“Oh, dear,” Tallie said. “You just missed them. I talked to
Bernie yesterday morning and everything seemed fine. Next thing I knew they
were loading up and long gone just before midnight. One of our neighbors ran
over to tell me they were packing up ’cause it looked like they were sneaking
out. Thing is, though, Bernie had already paid up her October rent and, of
course, I have her deposit. Not much I can do if she’s paid up.”

“Was there an emergency, do you think?”

“I don’t know what the problem was. Bernie is very private,
and I never really met her daughter. Bernie was renting that trailer, and she
wasn’t supposed to have anyone staying with her long term. I was willing to
ignore it as long as no one complained. Times are so bad we all have to look
the other way on some things. But I don’t think it was that. Nobody had complained,
and if Bernie just wanted a bigger place, I would think they would have stuck
out the last month or asked for part of the rent back.”

“Did she leave a forwarding address?”

The manager was shaking her head before I finished my
question. “No, she said she’d contact me. If you ask me, they were more focused
on leaving than on where they might be going.”

Another thought occurred to me. Could they have even fit
everything in the old Jeep that I’d seen? A Wrangler isn’t the roomiest
vehicle. I asked Tallie.

“No, just the Jeep.”

“Was anybody helping them? Did you see anyone else?”

“Nope. Not then, anyway.”

“I guess it’s possible that they’ll come back before their
rent runs out? Maybe they aren’t gone for good.”

“Maybe so,” Tallie agreed, but her little bird face
scrunched up with doubt. I could tell she didn’t expect to see Bernie back at
Lot 7 in the near future. I stood there pensively, trying to come up with some
more questions.

“You said, ‘not then,’” I repeated. “Was there somebody here
earlier? A man?” If Karissa’s ex had shown up, it would make sense that they
were on the run. It would be a hassle for me to try to find them, but at least
it would mean that it didn’t have anything to do with the shelter. And if
I
couldn’t find them . . .

Tallie’s face closed like a cloud covering the sun.

I held still. It looked like she wasn’t sure if she should
mention whatever it was that she’d started to say. I didn’t push for it.
Sometimes it was better to just wait patiently.

“They had a visitor,” she finally said. “Not a man, though.”

“I see,” I murmured. It’s a therapist thing. Works, too.

“I only caught a glimpse,” she continued. “But I’ve been
half expecting a social worker to show up there, so I wasn’t surprised. Anyone
could see that Karissa was having some troubles, and when there’s kids involved,
well, quite often someone official comes by eventually. I used to teach. We
could usually tell.”

“So, you think it was a social worker?”

“I don’t know, really. It could have been. She was tall, you
know, but professional looking. Real short hair like those women who don’t want
to bother with curlers. I just don’t know. Really, you know, I shouldn’t have
said anything. I hate spreading gossip, especially when I don’t know if there’s
anything to it. She could have just been a friend of the family.”

She did look distressed, so I reassured her as best I could.
I gave her one of my business cards and asked her to call me if she saw Bernie
or Karissa, but I could tell that she was regretting her openness. She mumbled
good-bye and retreated into her trailer looking far less happy with her day
than she had before she’d met me.

I hated having that effect on people.

CHAPTER TWENTY FOUR

B
ack at home, I
settled in on the couch with Siggy and called the hospital. Diana answered in
Blodgett’s room, sounding tired but happy. She told me the doctors were pleased
with his response to surgery. Diana was waiting for her son to get back from
the cafeteria, and then she planned on going home to rest for a few hours.

“They have an armchair here next to Del’s bed that I’ve been
cat-napping in, but I need a shower and their soap here smells like cleaning
fluid. Well, I guess it is at that, but I don’t want to smell like sanitizer all
day. Besides, I need to feed Whiskers. He must have been scared to death with
all the ruckus.”

“If you need me to run over to the house, I’d be happy to
feed Whiskers, or stay with him, whatever you need.”

Siggy turned his emerald-green eyes to me and glared.
Stopped purring, too.

Diana declined my offer. She had plenty of family in the
area, not to mention their extended police “family.” I had to forcibly stifle
my need-to-be-needed gene, but Diana promised she’d let me know if anything
came up. She also promised to call as soon as Blodgett could have visitors.

That left me with nothing to do but suffer under Siggy’s jealous
stare and nap.

Lachlyn had agreed to meet me at 8:30 the next morning, but
I got there a wee bit earlier. Forty-five minutes early, actually, but I wanted
to have some wiggle room to get up to the second floor if I could.
Unfortunately, Astrid was fluttering around the kitchen while the residents yakked
and finished breakfast. I couldn’t manage it without a half-dozen witnesses.

I also wanted the opportunity to study Lachlyn’s face when I
asked her point-blank why she’d gone to Bernie’s trailer. Of course, it was
possible that it had been Clotilde, but, if so, I was certain Lachlyn would be
well aware of it. After waking up from my nap, I’d spent the previous evening
brooding over the mystery woman who had shown up at the trailer so conveniently
just hours before the family fled. What I couldn’t decide was how they’d
tracked Karissa to her grandmother’s home, unless they’d withheld information
from the file they’d allowed me to see. Wouldn’t put it past them.

I also didn’t know whether the mysterious visitor had been initiated
at my discovery of Bluebeard’s closet or if that too was just a coincidence.

I didn’t much believe in coincidences.

When Lachlyn finally arrived, twenty minutes late, she
looked like she’d been sprinkled with an extra dusting of pissy powder. After
saying good morning to the women—and pointedly ignoring me—she turned to me and
snapped, “I have an emergency. I won’t be able to monitor you this morning. You’ll
have to reschedule.”

Without bothering to wait for a reply, she spun on her heel
and made for the door.

“Lachlyn, wait!” For once, my voice tone—with a
fine
,
commanding ring to it—matched my intentions. The women at the table hushed,
eyebrows raised in astonishment. Astrid froze like a field mouse under a hawk’s
shadow as Lachlyn slowly turned back. “We need to talk. Here or in your office
is fine with me. You choose.”

For a moment, the air crackled around us. Lachlyn’s eyes
narrowed at the challenge, then slid toward the table full of watching women. Taking
a deep breath, she forced a syrupy smile across her face. “Of course, Letty.
The office will be fine.”

She held the door open for me. Unless we were to enter into
one of those “after you” games, I’d have to walk with her at my back. Reasoning
that she wasn’t likely to bludgeon me to death in front of witnesses, I proceeded
forward, but my back itched where I could feel her laser eyes scorching a path
up my spine. By the time we made it to her barren office, much of the delicious
bravado had leached out of my skin, and I was back to my usual
passive-aggressive, sarcastic self.

Lachlyn closed the office door with a snap.“What is it
that’s so important it can’t wait?” she asked. “I have things to do.”

“I’m sure you do. In fact, I understand you were pretty busy
Saturday, too.

Her eyes flickered from disdain to doubt, then to something
else that I couldn’t quite place. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” She
managed to pack a lot of scorn into one sentence.

“Sure, you do. How did you know where to find her? Couldn’t
have been from the file . . . unless there was something missing from it. Maybe
something you held back? A contact person? An address? That, if you removed it
from the file, would be illegal, by the way.”

“This is ridic—”

“But that’s not the biggest question, is it? No, what I want
to know is what you said to her. What is she so afraid of that the whole family
had to pick up and take off again right after you went to see them? Every one
of them—back into hiding. Isn’t this supposed to be a safe place? Aren’t you
supposed to be the one they run
to,
not away from?”

Her face had run a whole gamut of emotions during my
speech—irritation, shock, guilt maybe—but not confusion. And last, not surprisingly,
was rage.

Don’t know what I’d hoped to accomplish, but it felt damn
good.

“You have no idea,” Lachlyn sputtered. “You just have no
...” She bit her lip, visibly willing herself under control.

I wanted to keep her off balance without bringing Mikey into
it, so I kept the focus on his mother. “Did Karissa see something that night?
Maybe hear something? Was Regina sticking her nose into something?”

It didn’t matter. However off balance my first accusations
had made Lachlyn, she recovered quickly.

“I don’t have time to waste on your theatrics. Now please
remove yourself from my office. Immediately.”

I left. Wasn’t much more I could achieve anyway. But I’d
gained more than just the fleeting look of complicity that I’d seen flash
across her face.

Lying with military precision in the upper right hand side
of the desk, I’d also seen the work order request for a local locksmith. A solitary
red and white cardboard box perched like a paperweight on top, so it didn’t
look like they were changing all of the locks. Just one. The door leading to
the stairway maybe? Or the upstairs storage room? Either one would be effective
at preventing accidental visitors to the Bluebeard closet.

CHAPTER TWENTY FIVE

I
’d parked out
back, so I went through to the kitchen. Astrid was up to her elbows in dish
water. She jumped and peered over her shoulder when I came in.

“Oh, it’s you! I thought you’d gone already.” She smiled
sheepishly. “Don’t tell the others that I’m doing the dishes. The residents are
supposed to take care of all their household chores, but every now and then I
give them a break. They’re going through so much.”

“It’ll be our secret,” I said. “Besides, they’re not exactly
my best friends.”

“There’s just so much you don’t understand. I know it must
be hard for you, coming in like this. It even took a while for them to warm up
to Regina, and that was early on. It’s just ...” She struggled to find the
words as she dried her hands on a towel. “They’ve both been at this so long. We
see so many women, so many children—they’re all hurting. As soon as one gets
out, two more show up needing our help. Or, worse, they go back to their
abuser. It’s like it never ends.

 “Lachlyn’s own daughter . . .” she continued, “Well, I
won’t get into that, but I’ll just say this: it’s not just a theory with us.
It’s not just a political stance or whatever. We’ve
lived
it. All of us.
Most women have, as far as that goes.”

“Lachlyn has a daughter? Really?” My mind almost fritzed out
trying to mentally reconcile Lachlyn as a mother. “I thought she was a nun.”

“She
had
a daughter and she
used
to be a nun.
She was discharged or whatever they call it. It was her choice. I guess she
decided it wasn’t her calling.”

“Was she pregnant?”

“That is none of your business, now is it?”

“I’m sorry. You’re right. I just can’t picture Lachlyn in
either role.”

“She was a wonderful mother. Kaitlyn was practically raised
here at the shelter. Lachlyn used to bring her in. Not to the groups, of
course, but Kaitlyn played with the children here. She was such a happy, little
girl. Very loving. And she didn’t have just one role model—she was surrounded
by strong, intelligent women. Courageous women—especially her mother.

“You should have seen Lachlyn when she was younger. She’s
grown bitter over the years, but who could blame her?”

“What happened?” I murmured.

“A man, of course. Isn’t it always? Kaitlyn grew up, met a
man—an absolute jerk, I might add—and decided she could save him.”

“He was abusive?” I asked.

Astrid ran more hot water, added dish soap, and set the
frying pan to soak. “We couldn’t prove it. Not at first. But he was never good
for Kaitlyn. Drugs. Drinking. He completely destroyed that girl. When Lachlyn
tried to get her to see what was happening, Kaitlyn turned her back on her. Clotilde
and I tried to intervene, too. We were like aunts to her, after all. But she
wouldn’t listen to us either. I know Lachlyn felt helpless. We could see what
was going to happen. And then . . . it was too late. She was gone.”

I waited several moments before saying, “That must have been
Lachlyn’s worst nightmare.”

Astrid turned back to the pan with an air of finality,
scrubbing vigorously. “That was a long time ago. But you can see why I don’t
blame her for being cranky. She’s earned it. And she does such good.”

“What about you?” I kept the conversation going. “How come
you haven’t grown . . . cranky?”

“I have my days, believe me. But I don’t know. Their jobs
are a lot more stressful. I think I’d go crazy if I had to deal with all the
funding issues or the people in the community who
say
they want to help
abused women, but then protest the shelter or a group home in their own
neighborhood.”     

“Is that an issue here?” I asked. “This shelter’s been here
forever. I would think that any protests would have long since died out.”

“Don’t you believe it. Every time somebody new moves in, it
all gets stirred up again. Strange as this may sound, it was a lot easier when
this was a low-income neighborhood. When folks with money started buying up
property and remodeling, well, it all started up again. They don’t want
‘transients’ in their neighborhood. What if some crazy husband goes on a
shooting spree and takes hostages or something? It’s just ridiculous. Every six
months we have to spend good money on yet another community open house so we
can answer questions, show off the security system, and just reassure so-called
educated people that the boogy man isn’t going to eat their children. A new
family moves in and back to ground zero we go.”

“I can see where that would be frustrating, especially when
the money can be used in so many different ways. But in this case, the boogy
man is real, isn’t he? I mean, you don’t keep this place secret, right? One of
the abusers could show up at any time.”

“Yes, but that’s not as common as you might think.”

“But it
could
happen,” I insisted. I’d had my own
experience—very recently—with an abuser who was happy to use me as a substitute
when he couldn’t torment his girlfriend.

“True.” Her turn to smile softly. She knew my history.
“Well, don’t tell the neighbors—I’ve got enough to do without planning another open
house.”

Just as I was about to risk delving deeper into Lachlyn’s
history, Clotilde walked in. Her glance flicked back and forth between us trying
to get a read on the conversation. God forbid Astrid wasn’t being suitably
nasty to me.

“Letty, I’m glad I caught you,” she said. What was it with
people refusing to say good morning to me? “I’ve had several discussions with board
members, and there are some points we need to clarify. We can’t allow the
disruption to our program to go on indefinitely. It’s unreasonable to pull
Lachlyn from her duties in this fashion. In light of that, we’ll need you to be
finished with your task by the end of the week. After that, I suppose we could
consider you to be on-call if one of Regina’s former clients re-contacts the
shelter in an emergency. If that should be necessary.” From her tone, it was
obvious that it would never “be necessary.”

“That’s going to be rather difficult since Lachlyn keeps
canceling appointments with me.”

Okay, that only happened once, but I didn’t appreciate the
bum’s rush I was getting. I needed more than a week, especially if I was going
to maneuver my way back to the archives. And I needed to get Lachlyn off my
back.

“Since we’re only looking at a few days,” Clotilde said, “I
can ask her to be more flexible. I feel certain she’ll agree when she
understands the parameters.”

Perhaps she would have more time if she weren’t running
around trailer parks scaring off witnesses.
Thought it. Didn’t say it. “I’d
be happy to be finished by Friday as long as I can do the job ethically. I’m
sure you wouldn’t want anything less for your clients, would you?”

She didn’t allow herself to be baited. “Astrid, if you’ve
finished with the dishes”—she gave Astrid the evil eye—“perhaps you could get
started on the board meeting notes.” To me, she said, “Have a good day.”

And then I was alone in the kitchen with the lemony-soft
smell of dish soap masking the taste of bitterness left in my mouth.