Slow Dancing (24 page)

“Knock, knock,” Frank said, standing outside of her bedroom, looking in the crack of the open door.

“I’m awake,” she said, sitting up. “What do I smell?” Frank came through the door with a tray, holding her breakfast.

Bouncing up and down, Ellen started to laugh. “My breakfast? In bed? I feel like a princess.”

“Pancakes, strawberries, and tea.” He put the tray on the table where she did her homework during the school year but which lay fallow for the past week, and helped pull pillows into place behind her back. “Here you go. Today is gonna be a day of peace if I have to kill someone. We have to save our strength for tonight!”

“Don’t answer the door or the phone. Isn’t that what momma used to say? If they come unannounced they can be ignored.” Placing the tray across her knees, he left the room to get his coffee.

“Here’s what I’d like to do,” he said, coming back in and sitting on her desk chair while she ate. “I’ll get the grill out of the garage. Let’s drag those old chairs out, too and hose them down. And the picnic table; the benches need to be sanded.”

“I can sand,” Ellen said.

“Okay, sister, that’s your task. We can cook chicken on the grill and I’ll make potato salad,” Frank said. “That just feels like summer to me. If you want, we can get your old wading pool out, too and fill that thing up.”

“The rings have air leaks,” she replied laughing. “That thing is as old as I am.”

“I gotta tire repair kit around here somewhere. Sittin’ in four inches of water cold from the well on a hundred degree day just sounds refreshing.” They looked up when loud knocking at the front door disturbed their morning.

“Bother,” Frank grumbled, standing up.

“Don’t go,” Ellen said. “Remember we said we wouldn’t answer the door.” He walked to the window and pulled aside the curtain.

“It’s Boyd Dalton.”

“Again?” she said, annoyed. He left the room to answer, a sick feeling in the pit of his stomach hit him out of nowhere.

“This is beginning to feel like harassment,” he said, opening the door.

“I know,” the sheriff said. “Can I come in? I need to talk to both you.”

“Ellen’s still in bed having breakfast. Come on back.”

“But this is bad, Frank. You might want her to come out here, no bad associations in her bedroom.”

“What is it?” Frank scratched his head.
Did the garage burn down? Margaret was gone, there wasn’t anything else they cared about that could be upsetting.

“Well, maybe it’s better if I tell you first. You can tell her when the time is right. Alan Johnson was murdered last night.” He watched Frank’s face, and the man truly looked shocked. Confused, and then shocked.

“How?” Nervous stumbling over his words, “Why? The man just came to town. What enemies could he have?” Sheriff Dalton looked intently at Frank, although his name hadn’t come up yet, the truth was Frank was probably the only person who had anything to lose by Alan’s presence.

“You don’t think I had anything to do with it now, do you?” he asked, shocked. “When did it happen? I’ve been here all mornin’.”

“Last night, after dinner,” the sheriff said. “Down in Beauregard.”

“Well there you go, no one’s safe on those streets, the town has risin’ crime,” Frank said, breathlessly. “Besides, you was here, remember? I ain’t been away from home since we got here after work yesterday.”

“He was staying at Towering Pines,” the sheriff replied, pointing over his shoulder, south. “It happened in his room. His body was discovered this morning.”

“Towering Pines? I thought he was stayin’ over with Mary. The women was talkin’ about it so loud at Miss Logan’s I could hear it over the compressor.” It was the sheriff’s turn to snicker.

“Anyway, I needed to tell you because of, well, the paternity thing. How you think it’s going to affect Ellen?”

“She’s gonna be upset, what else?” Frank said. “The girl just met the man, thinkin’ here’s a real family member. I hate to be the one have to tell her, truth be told.”

“Do you want me to say something?” Frank shook his head.

“Naw, that’s my job. But the other, you can’t think I had anything to do with it.”

“Don’t worry about it now,” the sheriff said. “Not yet. You might be asked to come into the station for questioning.” He stepped over to the door. “Sorry to upset your morning. What’s the occasion?”

“For what?” Frank asked, confused.

“Breakfast in bed,” the sheriff asked, turning to look at Frank again.

“Somethin’ special. We’re still gettin’ used to not going to Hallowsbrook Saturday morning. Today was our visitin’ day. And we got a dance contest tonight.”

“Oh, right,” the sheriff said, extending his hand. “I’m sorry Frank. I keep forgetting about your loss. Forgive me,” he said, nodding his head. Frank shut and locked the door after the sheriff and turned to go to Ellen’s room when he saw her standing in the hallway.

“Did you hear?” he asked, seeing the look of shock on her face.

“I don’t get it,” she answered. “Both my parents, dead within three months of each other. You’ll always be my dad, Frank, but this seems almost planned, don’t it?”

“Don’t get paranoid,” he said, putting his hand on the back of her head and pulling her to his chest. “It’s just an ungodly coincidence.”

“Does he suspect you’re involved in some way?”

“I hope to hell not, excuse my language, sister. I hope to hell not.”

However, the assistant district attorney, Faye Baker was chomping at the bit to get Sheriff Dalton to talk to Frank. “It’s time to bring him in for a chat at the very least, regarding these child abuse allegations. It’s been two days now and I don’t want to wait until Monday.”

“I’ll call him,” Frank said. “I’ve been out there daily and already once today. It’ll look like harassment if I go again. He’s already used the word.”

“Ha! I doubt the man knows what it means,” the attorney said.

“Don’t let Frank’s simple talk fool you, Faye. Still water runs deep over there at the garage.”

“Whatever, Boyd. Talk to him, please.” So after hanging up, he closed the door to his office and picked up the phone again, dialing Frank McPherson’s number yet again.

“Come on down to the station, Frank,” he said, friendly and unthreatening. “I just want to talk to you about the allegations.”

“When do you want me? I was spendin’ the day with my child, trying to make it special for her. You already ruined her breakfast.”

“I’m truly sorry, Frank, but I felt you needed to know about Alan.”

“I don’t feel safe leavin’ her here.”

“Drop her off at Margo’s, Frank. Margo would love the company and Ellen knows her.” He’d have to call Margo quickly to let her know he’d volunteered her to babysit a fifteen year old. There was silence over the line for a moment, but Frank finally spoke.

“Okay, I can do that. She might object, being fifteen and all, but I don’t feel right leavin’ her here alone.”

“I gotcha, Frank. I don’t know I would, either.” After they hung up, Frank went back to Ellen’s room where they were trying to finish breakfast. She frowned seeing the expression on his face.

“Who was that? I heard the phone ring,” she asked, concerned.

“It was the sheriff again. He asked me to come down and talk about the
allegations
.” He was embarrassed talking about it with her, insinuating their relationship was dirty tainted the goodness of it. “I’m going to drop you off at Margo Portland’s place.”

“Do I have to go?”

“I wish I could let you stay here at home, but after everything with the garden, its better this way. The station is just a few blocks away from Margo’s house and you know her.” She didn’t argue, but he could tell she wasn’t happy, it added to the news about Alan Johnson. Still not sure of the impact it was going to have on her, Frank was silent about the murder. There didn’t seem to be much left to say.

They drove into town, pulling up to Margo’s place. “This house looks like it’s made of gingerbread,” he said, walking up to the door with Ellen. It was a tiny Victorian cottage painted pale peach and the wooden curly-cues and ornamentation were turquoise and lavender. Ellen looked at the house as if seeing it for the first time.

“Why can’t I go with you?” she asked.

“It just wouldn’t be good, sittin’ there alone while I’m bein’ asked questions. And I don’t know how long I’ll be. You got yer book and all, you’ll be fine with Margo.” He knocked and Margo opened the door right away, smiling, sincerely happy to see them.

“Come in!” she stood aside so they could pass, but Frank stayed on the porch.

“Thank you for havin’ her,” he said. “I guess I can call you when I know what’s what.” He felt foolish having no answers, but he didn’t know what was in store for him.

“That’ll be fine. We’ll be staying here unless Ellen has something she’d like to do.” Margo smiled at her, but Ellen was upset and looked away. Frank said goodbye and Ellen went to hug him. Margo thought he seemed surprised, like they weren’t used to hugging, but he hugged Ellen back, then took her by the upper arms.

“Everything will be okay, I’m sure of it,” he said. “You take care now. Read your book and try to have some fun.” He’d never seen her look like this, fragile almost, near tears. Ellen was not a crier. He released her and walked to the truck while she watched, waving to her before he got in and drove off.

Ellen felt like a big hole had swallowed him up.

“Are you okay?” Margo asked gently. But Ellen was afraid to speak, so she shook her head. “Well come over here and sit down. You can read your book or watch TV. Here’s a bowl of candy. I can’t eat sugar, so help yourself, less temptation for me. I can make you a snack or some tea. Anything you want.” The room was a woman’s room, thoughtfully decorated with feminine touches, but one a man would be comfortable in. Margo pointed to an overstuffed couch covered in off white cotton canvas. There was a fat calico cat sleeping on the arm, and Ellen reached out to pet it.

“Why are they doin’ this to us?” Ellen said, finally speaking. “Frank did nothin’ wrong. He’s the best father to me.” Margo waited for Ellen to say something about Alan Johnson, but her mind seemed far from it, the focus all on Frank.

“It’s just to protect you, honey. The authorities need to follow up on accusations they hear.”

“But why would anyone accuse Frank of messin’ with me?” The cat stepped down from the arm of the couch and onto Ellen’s lap, rubbing its head against her chin, purring. The gentleness of the cat touched Ellen and she lost her control and started to cry. “He has never,
ever
made me feel uncomfortable.
You
know what he’s like with me better than anyone else does. He was so concerned to keep everything right between us he wouldn’t even talk to me about my body when I was growin’ up.” Margo remembered five years ago that Frank asked her to talk to Ellen about menstruation. It was during that time that fantasies of Ellen being her daughter and Frank being her husband began, ripening her for Boyd when he made
his
move and things with Frank seemed hopeless.

“Yes, he was so sweet calling to set up the appointment. I do remember Ellen. And if I’m asked in his defense, I will definitely bring it up. I’ve been seeing you since you were a toddler, I would have noticed if anything were amiss. But we’ll wait for someone to ask me. They haven’t formally accused him of anything yet. There’s no proof. You shouldn’t worry, okay?” She took a step of faith that Ellen would submit to a hug, so she scooted closer to her on the couch and put her arm around her. “You’ve had a tough year.”

Ellen didn’t respond, but she knew Margo was referring to her mother dying. It had to have affected her, but she was in denial about its impact. Seeing the garden ruined was more devastating then the day Margaret died. She’d never forget the sequence of events. They’d gone to see her the previous Saturday and she was fine, had taken the trouble to prepare for the visit by dressing, putting lipstick on and combing her hair, surprising Ellen who’d then allowed hope to sneak in since Margaret seemed so much better.

“Look how nice Mrs. McPherson looks today!” The nurses said, crowding around the door to her room. Margaret was warm and talkative, almost animated that day. It was the last time they would see her alive.

The following Wednesday, Mary visited Hallowsbrook, and reported to Frank that evening that Margaret had gotten worse. “Frank, you better prepare yourself that Margaret’s not comin’ home. You and the girl need to face reality so it’s not so hard when it finally happens.”

He took to heart what Mary said, and when he got home from the garage that evening, he repeated her words to Ellen “Mary was by the hospital today and said your momma didn’t look too good.”

“What does that mean, Frank? It doesn’t make any sense. She’s been doing so much better. Did Mary say she looked sick? Maybe we should call the hospital.” But Frank hadn’t thought to ask and sure enough, Margaret died that night. Frank felt awful and if Ellen blamed him for not making the call, she never said.

A memory as a transparent as a dragonfly wing fluttered through her mind, of her mother, dressed in a gingham blouse and a pair of denim capris, canvas shoes and her hair pulled back in a rubber band, standing in the bathroom putting bright red lipstick on.

“Whatcha doin’ momma?” Five-year-old Ellen asked.

“Why, I’m makin’ up my
face
so we can go to the garden for a bit to pull weeds.”

“But why are you puttin’ on lipstick for that?”

“Your daddy might come home for lunch and I don’t want him to catch me without my face on.” Those few words resonated every time she visited her mother in the hospital, especially those last months when Margaret started to recover.

Ellen was blossoming into womanhood at the same time Margaret came out of her fog. “Ellen, you’re growing up. You’re beautiful and it scares me. Frank, promise me you won’t let Mary near the girl. Promise me!”

“No worries, dear, none. Neither of us want her around, now do we?” Frank was appalled the conversation had taken place in front of Ellen.

“No momma, you don’t have to worry about it, okay? Ever.” While Margo held her, she thought of those unconnected things, of her mother’s concern for her wellbeing, and then that her real father had lived with Mary for a few days. She shook her head.