The Listener (2 page)

As usual, while she was gone Rainbow had cleaned it off except for the milk.

Cornelia found it disturbing when Rainbow got busy and couldn’t wipe off the table in time. Then she had to stand there and wait until Rainbow had a free moment and could do her job. Only then could Cornelia sit back down for the second part of her workday.

Routine was important to Cornelia.

But she hadn’t used up her self-allotted break time, and that made her happy. She could see what was going on this afternoon in Virtue Falls. She pulled out her tablet—it wouldn’t do to use the government’s laptop for leisure entertainment—and slid (metaphorically) into the local cell-phone tower. Once there, she hopped into the system and randomly chose one of the channels.

The first text conversation popped up.

Darling, will you be able to meet me tonight?

You know I will. I wish I had the strength of will to resist you … this isn’t right, but you’re all I think about.

Where shall we meet?

Cornelia yawned. High school kids were so dramatic. A couple more texts, and if things didn’t improve, she would move on to the next conversation.

Our usual place. It’s dark, it’s quiet … no one can hear when I make you scream. ;)

Well, that was more interesting.

I ought to handcuff you to the fence and leave you. Then *you’ll* scream. LOL

Much, much better.

I have to get home. You know that. If I don’t, she’ll miss me.

Cornelia’s eyebrows went up. A kid who lived alone with his mother?

Or an affair?

For a town the size of Virtue Falls, the place was rife with infidelity. Cornelia didn’t really understand the why of it; she supposed it must be the long, dark, stormy winters that made everyone grow impatient with his or her marital partner. Spring arrived, and boom! The cheaters were in full bloom, trolling for the chance to pollinate or be pollinated.

Cornelia giggled at her own whimsy.

In her experience, lovers were boring, so she changed channels and landed in the middle of a discussion about which rifle was the best to carry hunting for elk. It was like listening to her father.

Cornelia glanced around, looking for a challenge.

At the far table her old classmate, Erica Copeland, was furiously texting and frowning, texting and frowning.

Something was up.

Cornelia dug through the texts until she found:

I can’t tell another soul about this. Promise me you won’t tell. Although sooner or later everyone will know.

My God, Erica, what’s wrong?

Cornelia smiled the slightest bit. She had nailed this conversation quickly.

Erica typed furiously.
My mother —my forty-five-year-old! mother is pregnant!!!

Erica had always been an exclamation-point abuser.

Oh. My. God. Dare I ask … by who?

Cornelia rolled her eyes. Now she knew who Erica was talking to. Only Meghan Moen was that catty.

By my father, of all people!!!

Okay, Cornelia was wrong. That was pretty catty of Erica, too.

I am so humiliated. I’m twenty-six years old, long past the time when I wanted a baby brother or sister. What were they *thinking*?

Maybe it just happened. Maybe they weren’t thinking of
you
.

At their ages? What are they doing having sex, anyway? Daddy had that spinal fusion last year. They were worried he’d be paralyzed. Now they’re having sex?

Cornelia’s fingers itched to type,
Grow up.

But she’d hopped into a conversation a couple of times, and discovered that while the people involved didn’t know who interrupted them—she didn’t tell them—some of them speculated about her, and skittered away whenever Cornelia walked by.

Erica typed:
What will the people in our church say?

Cornelia laughed drily. “Congratulations?” she said out loud.

Erica cast a startled look at her.

Cornelia kept her gaze on her screen.

When did you find out?
Meghan asked.

They told me a half hour ago.
Even though Meghan couldn’t see her, Erica dabbed at her eyes.
I wanted to run for the church board. But this is going to reflect so badly on me.

You poor thing!

Poor thing? Erica was a selfish idiot. The blessed event had nothing to do with her or her religious aspirations.

Poor Mr. and Mrs. Copeland for bringing another child into the world who could possibly turn out like Erica.

Cornelia made a mental note to send a baby gift to Mr. and Mrs. Copeland. They were old… . Babies were up the middle of the night … so she would send a coffeemaker.

She promptly ordered online and sent it anonymously. After all, she couldn’t sign the card; she wasn’t supposed to know about the baby.

When she got back to Erica’s conversation, she was confused, because Erica was saying,
I can’t tell another soul about this. Promise me you won’t tell. Although sooner or later everyone will know.

Had there been a shift in the time/space continuum?

Then Meghan said,
Huh? What’s up?

And Cornelia realized it wasn’t Meghan anymore. Erica had started over, confiding her top-secret news a different person.

That was Erica, all right. She would make the rounds of her pompous, self-absorbed friends until she’d racked up sufficient amounts of sympathy.

Cornelia looked up in time to see Kateri finish her latte and stand up.

“Gotta go back,” Kateri said. “I can’t wait to tell Landlubber about his new nickname.”

Rainbow bunched her fist and swung it at an imaginary target. “You’ll knock him into shape in no time.”

“You know, with some guys, there’s no win to be had.” Kateri turned, caught Cornelia’s gaze on her, and lifted a hand. “Hi, Cornelia, how’re things?”

“Things?” Cornelia didn’t know what she meant. “What things?”

Kateri strolled over. “How’s work? How’s the husband?”

“My work is fascinating. And my husband is pleasant.”

“He is,” Kateri agreed. “I always liked Mason, even when he was a little boy.”

“Did you babysit him?”

Kateri looked surprised. “I’m not that much older than he is. Or you, either.”

“I’m twenty-six.”

“I’m twenty-eight.”

“He’s twenty-six.”

“I know. I remember. You were in my class because you advanced two grades.”

“Yes. I should have done more, but the teachers said I was emotionally immature.”

“Imagine that.” Kateri patted Cornelia’s shoulder.

Cornelia didn’t know if Kateri was being comforting or patronizing. In fact, she didn’t know what she thought about Kateri. Kateri was tall, but no taller than Cornelia, and well-built, but not more than Cornelia. Yet unlike Cornelia, Kateri moved well. She wore her uniform with authority. She carried her Native American ancestry with pride, looking a little like Disney’s Pocahontas, but without the swirling leaves and the wild swishy hair. Kateri’s hair was black, gleaming black, but she wore it cut shoulder-length and, when she was in uniform, pinned up against her head.

Kateri was more than pretty. She was beautiful. She was stately. She was dignified. People liked her. Kateri was everything Cornelia was not.

Many times, as Cornelia was growing up, Cornelia’s mother had said that Cornelia could be pretty if she tried.

That didn’t make sense to Cornelia. Girls—all human beings—were either appealing, or they weren’t. Sexual appeal was nothing more than a few millimeters of bone and muscle in one place or the other, and while it seemed allure was unfairly distributed among the population, Cornelia didn’t see how
trying
was going to help her achieve that state.

But her mother had Cornelia taking ballet to help her with her regrettable clumsiness. The ballet teacher had been in despair, and once Mama had disappeared, Miss Stimpson avoided Cornelia as if her awkwardness was a communicable disease.

Cornelia still hurt herself walking down the stairs or burned herself when cooking, which was why Mason prepared their dinners. Yet, in the end, grace and prettiness had made no difference; she had a good job digging around in the bowels of the government computers, she had the handsomest husband in Virtue Falls, a man who treated her kindly and with awe, and no one in town spoke to her if they could avoid it. Yet she listened to them whether they wished it or not.

It was a good life.

Cornelia changed channels again.

She’s not happy. Killing her would be a kindness.

Oh, no. Someone had to put their pet down. Cornelia couldn’t stand it when someone had to put their pet down. She suffered in tandem. She liked dogs and cats, really liked them, but Mason was allergic, so she couldn’t have one.

She’s not unhappy. She’s just … different.

That’s for sure. Dear, your loyalty does you credit, but she can’t remember anything. She has a lot of things wrong with her. Really. You just need to think of this as a kindness.

I can’t. I just can’t.

Think of the money we’ll inherit. The life insurance alone is sizeable.

Cornelia sat back in her chair.

This wasn’t a pet. Someone was going to kill his —or her—mother. And that someone’s wife—or husband—was urging the deed be done.

It’s not about the money!

I know. I know. You’re right. In the end, it’s about us. Being free to do what we want. At last! Don’t you want that?

I do. I just …

We’ve got to stop talking about it, and just do it.

But how?

I’ve been looking up poisons. There are some good ones, organic poisons from mushrooms.

This was serious. Somebody’s mate really wanted the mother-in-law gone.

You’re way ahead of me on this.

In all her years of eavesdropping on e-mails and texts, Cornelia had never come across a murder plot. She wasn’t equipped to deal with this kind of reality. What should she do?

She looked around, seeking help.

She didn’t find help. She found guilt.

Mrs. Branyon was sitting with her daughter, Frances, complaining about the lousy job Frances’s brother had done fixing her sink.

Frances was sitting there, nodding and texting.

Cornelia glanced at her tablet.

The conversation continued to flow.

Mrs. Branyon was one of the two meanest old biddies in Virtue Falls, and Cornelia wouldn’t be at all surprised to know Frances wanted to kill her. Cornelia wanted to kill her, and the only contact she ever had with her was to walk into Branyon’s Bakery with Mason to buy cinnamon rolls.

Yet for all that Mrs. Branyon’s voice squawked up and down like an old-time radio being tuned, killing her seemed a large step. Cornelia’s observations of Frances suggested she was the polar opposite of her mother, a truly kind and patient person who faithfully cared for the cranky old woman.

But as Cornelia had previously noted, a person could lie with their voice and their expressions, yet sooner or later, in texts and e-mails, the truth came out. And there were two people involved in the texting: Frances … and her brother? Yes, those texts could be between brother and sister.

Frances looked up, caught Cornelia’s gaze, and widened her eyes as if asking for sympathy.

Cornelia didn’t know how to respond.

“What are you looking at?” Mrs. Branyon shrieked. She turned and saw Cornelia. “Why are you looking at her? That girl is odd.”

In a mild, patient tone, Frances said, “Mother, she can hear you.”

“What?”
Mrs. Branyon shouted.

“Put in your hearing aide,” Frances shouted back.

Offended, Mrs. Branyon said, “Don’t you talk to me that way, young lady.”

Frances sighed and started texting again.

“Why do you take me out to coffee when you never pay any attention to me?” Mrs. Branyon shrieked.

Frances tapped her ears.

“I’m too young to be wearing those things.” But Mrs. Branyon opened her purse, took out the hearing aids, and put them in.

Rainbow walked past. “That’ll lower the noise level,” she muttered to Cornelia.

Cornelia stared at Rainbow. Was Rainbow trying to make
conversation
? With
Cornelia
? Ever since Cornelia could remember, Rainbow had been in Virtue Falls working at the Oceanview Café as a waitress.
The
waitress, actually. Rainbow was big-boned and tall, with broad shoulders and salt-and-pepper gray hair. She was hearty, cheerful, and she chatted up her customers, tourist or local. She asked questions and gave unwanted advice. People liked her anyway.

And Mrs. Branyon called Cornelia odd.

Cornelia looked back at the texting.

At least she goes to bed early.

Cornelia took a sip of milk.

Yes, but I’m tired of meeting you like we’re two furtive lovers. That was fun for a while, but I want to live together in public!

Cornelia choked and coughed.

Rainbow came by and slapped her on the back. “Are you okay, hon?”

Cornelia nodded.

So not Frances and her brother. At least Cornelia hoped not.

Rainbow placed a glass of water on the table.

Cornelia drank the water, dabbed at her damp eyes, and read.

Is the poison fast?

Not fast, but irreversible. Wait a minute, I have to take care of one of the kids.

Cornelia looked around again. This person took care of children. So probably a woman, a teacher or a child care provider.

That just wasn’t right. Yet who could Cornelia tell?

The lady came back and texted,
That kid is so cute, six years old and lost both her front teeth, just like in the song.

Ahhhh.

A sentimental response to losing teeth, a common childhood occurrence. That seemed also feminine. So perhaps a lesbian couple?

What does she like to eat?

The kid?

No. Don’t be deliberately stupid.

Oh. You mean … Just about anything. She’s has a good appetite.