The Whole Enchilada (5 page)

Before I could stop him, Bob Rushwood, holding one of the red Pails for Trails, made the rounds of the parents, asking for donations. He'd given one to Ophelia, who stood resolutely beside Marla's fireplace. Well, I didn't blame her for refusing to be so rude. Several of the parents, including Holly, crossed the room to avoid being hit up for cash. I started across the room toward Bob, to ask him to stop trying to raise money at a birthday party for someone else. But Marla beat me to it, snatching the pail from him and taking the one Ophelia gladly handed her.

Holly giggled with friends and said
no thanks
to cake topped with ice cream. Then I realized I hadn't seen her eat any dinner. Maybe this was how she kept her svelte figure. When the boys tore into their last gifts, twin boxed sets of masculine soap and cologne, I noticed Holly spoon up a minuscule amount of Mexican food. Well, at least she wouldn't go home hungry. I still hadn't heard what the source of her financial problems was, or the nature of the relationship mess.

Summer nights in the mountains can be quite cool. Perhaps it was the chilling of the air that made the party break up early. Arch put on a mask of happiness, but I knew he was disappointed that it hadn't been more fun. Bob and Ophelia's presentation and panhandling, the bizarre appearance of the balding stranger, and the arrival of George and Lena had made the party develop a layer of unease. Even I had been unable to relax completely.

Holly and Drew were the first to leave. Holly looked a little green around the gills, but I put it down to the effort she'd had to put into avoiding the manipulator, George and Lena, Bob and Ophelia, and finally, Warren Broome.

“Goldy,” she said, “I'm sorry. Maybe I should have invited George and Lena. I just . . . Let's . . . We'll get together soon, and talk.”

“Sure,” I said. I hugged her. She clung to me, just like in the old days. Then she turned away.

Sometimes parties go well, sometimes they don't, I reminded myself, as I helped people into their jackets. And then I and everyone at the party, everyone who lived on or near Marla's street, heard Drew screaming.

5

M
om!” Drew yelled. “Mom, what's wrong? Wake up! Somebody help me! Mom!”

A human wave erupted down the driveway. Some of us trotted, some walked. The kids, worried about Drew, raced. But everyone suddenly stopped by Marla's mailbox. It was there that Julian, who'd arrived first, put out his arms. He ordered everyone to stay where they were, then called for Tom.

When I saw Holly sprawled on the street, I stopped breathing. I was close enough to know something was very wrong. The logical part of my brain was asking,
What?
But my emotions were way ahead of that, and I found myself gasping for breath.

Drew was screaming, “Mom! What's wrong?
Mom! Talk to me!
”

My knees buckled and I pitched forward. Tom grabbed me.

“Miss G.,” he said softly. “Sit down. Don't move.” He called to one of the parents to stay beside me. I barely registered Patsie Boatfield putting her arms around my shoulders.

Bob Rushwood was hollering something about knowing CPR. Tom called for him to help, and they dashed past us, as did Marla. I was having trouble getting oxygen into my lungs. Someone handed Patsie a paper lunch bag, and she ordered me to breathe into it.

I did so, then shakily stood. “I have to be with Holly,” my voice squeakily announced.

“I'm coming with you,” Patsie said. She felt my wrist, and I finally looked at her. She had curly red hair that she had allowed to grow into a long, attractive mop. Her clear blue eyes matched the sleeveless dress she wore. “Your pulse is thready,” she added. “Goldy? Do you remember I'm a nurse?”

“Yes,” I mumbled, mentally adding,
I think so
.

Patsie held me up until we got to the bottom of the driveway, where Julian let us through. Drew was kneeling next to his mother's prone body. Marla sat on the curb, stunned. Tom's presence gave me a chill of relief. Tears spilled down my cheeks. Bob Rushwood was performing CPR on Holly.
This isn't happening,
my logical mind said.

Tom took Drew's cell phone from him and began speaking to someone I assumed was the emergency operator. Drew, his hands empty, leaned in close to his mother and sobbed.

“Patsie, help me,” I finally said. I choked up and couldn't speak for a moment. “We have to get Drew away from this. Holly needs air.”

“I'll do it,” she said authoritatively. “You go be with Marla.”

This I did. Marla and I sat next to each other, shivering.

Despite Patsie's pleas, Drew would not move. Big-boned and strong, he barely registered Patsie, who finally gently pulled on his forearm. He wouldn't budge, even shoved her away with such force she almost toppled over. She righted herself, pressed her lips together, and came over next to Marla and me on the curb.

Arch, whom Julian had allowed through, tugged my sleeve. “What happened?” he said. “Is Drew's mom okay?”

“I don't know,” I told him. We were about ten feet away from where Bob, his dreads incongruously hanging over Holly's shoulders, was still working on her.

Patsie spoke again, the voice of authority. “Arch? You need to help Julian keep everyone away from this. Tom and Bob have to work on Holly. The ambulance will be here soon.”

“Father Pete,” I said, my voice disembodied. “He's here. Let him through, if you can.”

“Sure, I'll go get him,” Arch said. “But . . . what happened to Drew's mom? Did she lose her balance on the driveway?”

When I didn't reply, Patsie shook her head grimly. “Please go get the priest, Arch. He needs to be with Drew.”

I stood and motioned for Arch to follow me. The parents and kids were rubbernecking to see what was going on. “Something else?” Patsie called after us. “Make sure no one films this with a cell phone.”

But Julian was already telling the guests to put their phones away
now,
or he would confiscate them. Arch walked to the driveway and added, “Can somebody please send Father Pete over to where Drew is?”

When I turned back, Drew had finally moved to the curb. He sat huddled next to Marla and Patsie. Patsie had a hand on his shoulder and was talking in a low tone. Paying her no heed, he was staring openmouthed at his mother. When he stood, he immediately leaned against a pine tree whose roots snarled the ground. When he teetered, Patsie snagged him, then steered him away.

“Everybody better sit a little ways off so the ambo can get through.” She corralled us to a small spew of stones. When I sat down, the gravel bit through my slacks. Drew watched Bob working expertly on Holly. I knew CPR, but I don't know if I could have been that good at it. I wondered vaguely if anyone had collapsed on the treadmill at Aspen Meadow Country Club, and Bob had had to bring the would-be athlete back to life.

Tom was holding Holly's wrist while he barked commands into the cell phone. Holly still had not moved on her own. Like everybody else, I wanted to ask Drew what, exactly, had happened. Was it possible Holly had lost her balance, fallen on the driveway, and been knocked unconscious?

Sirens sounded from far away. This sent Drew into a fresh torrent of sobs. “God! Oh, God!”

Father Pete, his olive skin glistening with sweat, trundled over and lowered himself to the gravel beside us. He shook perspiration off his black curls and put one of his large arms around Drew.

“We were walking,” Drew explained, without any of us asking. “She usually goes faster than me. But she didn't this time. She was going so slowly that I asked her what was wrong. She said she was just so tired all of a sudden—” He dissolved in tears again, then wrenched himself away from us and lunged toward his mother. “Oh, what is the matter with her?”

“Come here.” Father Pete caught the back of Drew's jeans. Despite being overweight, Father Pete, a former prizefighter, was still nimble. “Drew? Stay with me. Julian!” he called. “Please walk over to us.”

Julian sternly ordered the parents to stay put, then traversed the short distance to us.

“Sit down next to Drew, please,” Father Pete commanded. Julian did so, but his face, so animated when he'd talked about cooking for Holly, was completely drained of color and expression.

I swallowed my panic and swiveled my head in all directions.

Marla's neighbors' houses were set far back from the road, not chockablock the way they were on our street. Still, there had been kids who'd been playing out front when I set up. Had anyone besides Drew seen what had happened to Holly? Squinting, I could make out a couple of neighbors standing in their doorways, curious about the ruckus. But no one was approaching us, as they would, or at least as I hoped they would, if they'd witnessed something Tom should know about.

A sudden wind lashed the aspens and ponderosa pines lining Marla's driveway. The party guests, who'd edged nearer despite Julian's warnings, talked in hushed tones. The sirens became louder. Drew suddenly grabbed Father Pete's shirt.

“Father Pete! She trusts you. She trusts you!” he cried. “If she's dying, give her the last rites. You know, extreme unction. Or whatever it's called. Quickly! I know she'd want you . . . hurry!”

Without questioning this, Father Pete got to his feet. He asked Drew to accompany him. The two of them quickstepped over to where Bob Rushwood was still working on Holly. Bob's expression when he looked up at the priest was stricken. Tom, Bob, and Father Pete exchanged a few low words. Tom pressed his lips together and looked stoic as he pulled Bob up and away.

The ambulance careened onto Marla's street. Father Pete motioned for Drew to join him, and they crouched next to Holly. Father Pete said words over Holly, made the sign of the cross on her forehead, and said more words. She still did not move.

The paramedics jumped from the ambo and moved everyone away from Holly. They put up screens to shield the scene from inquisitive eyes. After a few minutes, one of them came out and confirmed what Tom, Bob, Father Pete, Marla, Julian, and I already knew, although I couldn't face it. None of us could.

Holly was dead.

Tom walked over, exhaled, and asked if I was all right. I said no, not really. His face creased with concern as he murmured that the ambulance was going to leave, but he needed to wait for the coroner's van. He turned to Marla and told her to ask the guests to go home. When Marla appeared dumbfounded, he asked Patsie to do it. Also, Tom said, he didn't want Drew to be around when the coroner's van arrived. So . . . a patrol car was on its way. If I felt up to it, could I drive into town with Drew, wait for someone from the sheriff's department, then take Drew back to Holly's house? Tom added that Father Pete and Julian could come with us. Father Pete had already told Tom he knew how to get to Holly's rental. I looked quizzically at our priest. How did he know how to get to Holly's house, when I had no idea?

“Goldy?” Tom asked, his voice still low. “Do you feel okay?”

“I suppose.”

“Any stomach upset?” When I shook my head, he said, “How about the other guests? Anybody feeling sick? I'm just trying to cover the bases here.”

“No, Tom. Except for this, this . . . I'm all right.” I turned back to the driveway, where Patsie was dispersing the glut of people. “Nobody has reported anything.”

Tom said, “All right, then. I have to call social services.”

“Why?”

“Drew is a minor,” he explained. “He has to be in foster care until we know what's what.”

“What are you
talking
about?”

Tom's voice was barely above a murmur. “Keep it down, all right? After that fight between George and Holly, I can't let Drew go to George's house. We both know there was no love lost between Edith and Holly. Probably Lena hated Holly, too, so it's not a good environment for the kid. I don't know what's going on here. Neither do you. But unless Holly was under the care of a doctor, there has to be an autopsy.” I closed my eyes and fought the urge to be sick. Tom said, “Miss G.? You with me?”

I opened my eyes and nodded. “Yes.”

“Drew is a minor, so what I'm
talking
about is the
law
. I've already asked Drew if he has relatives in the area, even in the state, besides his father. He does not. So, listen. He has to be with an approved foster family for the time being. He'll be okay. We have families who help when kids' parents die suddenly. I can give the deputy directions as to where Drew should be taken after he's ready to go. But . . . can you take him home to pack? I thought it would be better if he had some people around who know him, instead of just a department deputy.”

I swallowed. “I can do it.”

Tom still kept his voice very low. “Somebody said something about Drew taking off for Alaska?”

I nodded. “Lena did. But I'm sure he won't . . . I don't know when—” I choked up again, and worked to get control of myself. “Do you know what, what”—I couldn't bring myself to say
what killed Holly
—“what happened?”

Tom said, “No, I don't.” He took a call on his cell, then said, “The cop will meet you outside the Grizzly.” He pressed his lips together, then asked, “What did Drew say Holly said? Right before she collapsed, how did she act?”

“He didn't elaborate,” I said, “but apparently Holly said she was suddenly very tired—and then she fell.”

“Overwhelming fatigue. For a woman, that's classic for a heart attack,” Tom said. “We'll know more later. Goldy? Are you all right?” I must have looked awful, and there was a sudden roaring in my ears. But I nodded. Tom made a quick call on his cell, disconnected, then turned to me. “Do you suppose Julian will be able to help Drew get ready?”

“Of course,” I whispered. I would have to summon strength. If something had happened to me, Holly would be here, bustling around energetically, offering to take care of Arch.

Tom went on, “I'll ask him about this trip to Alaska, when he's supposed to go. If it's soon, he should go. It'll be a few days before we know anything.” He seemed to think of something, then reached into his pocket and gave me a set of keys. “These go to Holly's car. She had them in her hand when she collapsed. She also had a small purse, but I'm taking that down to the sheriff's department.”

“What about her cell phone?”

He shook his head. “We don't have it. I just have a prepaid cell of Drew's. He used it to call emergency services. Goldy, please tell me if you are all right to do this.”

“Yes,” I said, trying to sound stronger than I felt. “I'm okay.”

The crowd parted as Tom walked quickly to Father Pete and Drew. The three of them made their way back up Marla's driveway. I motioned for Julian to accompany me. Arch hurried over.

“Mom. Where are you all going?”

“To Drew's house, so he can pack. He . . . has to . . . well, he has to stay someplace safe. Do you know when this Alaska trip is?”

“No, sorry. But, please. Let me come with you. I want to be there for Drew.” His pale forehead, a pasty gray in the early evening light, furrowed. “Drew will want a friend with him. You know, somebody his own age.”

I took a deep breath. “For sure. Thanks, hon.”

When asked, Drew told Tom that he was due to leave the following evening for a fishing trip with Holly's sister and her husband, who lived in a remote part of Alaska. He seemed confused. Should he still go to Alaska? Shouldn't Holly's sister stay here in Aspen Meadow, to . . . make arrangements? No, Tom said. If Drew felt up to it, he should stick with his plan. It would be good for him to be with Holly's sister. Drew gave Tom the number of the sister. Yes, he was sure she would fly to Denver to get him. No, Tom reiterated that he would be staying somewhere safe until his aunt arrived. Drew nodded, then pressed his palms into his eyes.