Death of an Irish Diva (11 page)

Beatrice and Jon had just finished an early breakfast and cleaned up. Oh, it was so easy and quick to clean the kitchen when there were two of you. Beatrice kissed Jon on the cheek.

He smiled. “What was that for?”

“I just love you,” she said, feeling her old, somewhat bitter heart cracking open just a little more this morning. It was going to be a wonderful Sunday. She and Jon were going to look over the memory book this morning, and then she would get ready for a big Sunday dinner. The new couple in town was joining them again, and Beatrice planned to share her old music with the professor. Not too many people were around that appreciated it any more. A shock of excitement moved through her.

“Let's get the book out,” Jon said, his dark eyebrows lifting and his hands rubbing together.

They had been entirely too busy to look over their treasured book. It was delicate and fragile, and they certainly didn't want Elizabeth to get ahold of it. And they weren't ready to share it with anybody yet.

Beatrice sat the book down gingerly on her dining room table. They used this room only on Sundays. Even though she had stopped going to church years ago, she still liked to maintain some of the Sunday traditions she held dear, like big Sunday dinners.

Jon wrinkled his nose as she cracked the book open to the picture. “Musty,” he said. “Willa.”

Beatrice smiled. Lawd, this man loved intrigue almost as much as she did. The old book looked splendidly shabby against her lacy red crocheted tablecloth. Oh, that Mrs. Lokomski was a talented woman with the crochet hook.

She turned the page to find what were probably pressed flowers, too crumpled and old for identification. The next page held nothing but a lock of the brightest red hair she'd ever seen, including her own from when she was a child. A weird sense of foreboding came over her: The last time she'd seen a clipping of red hair like this was in Cookie Crandall's scrapbook of shadows, as she called it. And the young women who were murdered last year each had beautiful red hair.

She had never understood the Victorian fascination with things like clipping hair and fingernails and saving them, for she was not much of a sentimental person. But this lock of hair sent senseless ripples of fear through her, but then a feeling of awe came over her, as well. This hair belonged either to Willa or to someone she loved. It was tied with a lacy ribbon. A girl. Sometimes the passage of time, or the acknowledgment of it, sent Beatrice's head spinning. Was it the old lady in her? Or the quantum physicist? She felt her eyes stinging.

Her moment was interrupted by a phone call. Jon jumped to answer it.

“Yes, I see,” he said into the phone in a voice an octave higher than usual. His French accent was more pronounced, the way it was when he was upset. Beatrice turned to look at him. His face showed it. There was something wrong.

“Yes, yes, yes,” he said. “We'll be there just as soon as we can.” He hung up the phone, frowning.

“What is it?” she said, standing.

“Now, Bea, everything is okay. Vera rushed Elizabeth to the hospital earlier this morning. She is there now. She had a horrible fever and is with the doctors now,” he said.

“Elizabeth? Fever? She was fine when she was here. What on earth?” Beatrice felt her heart race. As she shut the book in front of her, she said, “We better get dressed and go to the hospital. How is Vera?”

“She sounds exhausted,” he said, already climbing the stairs.

“Of course,” she said, almost to herself. “Of course, she's exhausted.”

Beatrice and Jon dressed quickly and quietly in their own rooms.

“Did they say anything at all about what they think is wrong?” Beatrice asked him on the way to the hospital.

He shook his head. “Just that they are testing her.”

“I'm trying to rack my brain and remember if she ate anything at our place or if she acted strangely at all,” she said.

“Me, too, but I don't think so,” Jon said, pulling into the parking lot at the hospital. “She was her normal vivacious self.”

“Yes, you're right. And with children, things come over them quickly. She could have been exposed to something days ago. Who knows?” Beatrice said. “I'm sure Vera is trying to figure it all out, as well.”

“And Elizabeth is in good hands,” he said, shutting off the engine.

“Yes, of course, and Vera did the best thing bringing her here,” Beatrice said, getting out of the car.

But with each step toward the hospital, Beatrice remembered losing Ed here. She hated the place, the memories, the loss. She gathered her strength. “Oh, God, Goddess, ruler of the universe, if there is anybody out there, please watch over our Lizzie,” she whispered as she opened the door. Jon's arm went around her and squeezed her shoulder.

The first person Beatrice saw was Sheila in a mismatched sweat suit, looking very much as if she had just rolled out of bed. Paige was sitting in a chair with her legs crossed, knitting. She looked up at Beatrice and nodded.

“Where's Vera?” Beatrice asked.

“Behind you,” came her daughter's voice. Beatrice turned, and Vera sank into her mother's arms. “Oh, Mama, I've never been so scared in all my life.”

“There, there,” Beatrice said to her armful of daughter, who was sobbing as if she were two years old. “Come on, now. Sit down.”

Jon slipped onto the seat next to Paige. After Vera settled into a chair, Sheila handed her a coffee. “Can I get you some coffee, Bea?”

Beatrice shook her head. “No. I want to see Lizzie. What's going on? Where is she?”

“She's sleeping,” Vera said. “Finally.”

“Where's her father?”

“I've left messages on his cell and at his office,” Vera said and shrugged.

Just then a ruckus erupted in the hall around the corner and a bedraggled Bill came bounding over to them.

“God, what has happened to Elizabeth?” he said, panting.

“She's sleeping now,” Vera said.

“Where've you been, Bill?” Beatrice asked.

He flailed his arms around. “I just got the message. My cell was turned off.”

“I'm so sorry, Bill. I just thought you needed some sleep,” came a voice from behind him.

Vera stood up and looked around Bill's bulk.

Good God, Bill had brought his girlfriend with him. And as she stepped around Bill, Beatrice almost gasped. She looked like a child. She also looked almost exactly like their new neighbor, Leola. How odd.

“Hey, what's going on?” Annie walked into the scene at the hospital. Vera was pale, standing with her arms crossed; Beatrice looked confused; Jon and Paige were in the corner, Paige engrossed in her knitting project; and Sheila had her finger in Bill's face.

“What's wrong with you, Bill Ledford?”

“What? Wait.” said the young woman, butting in. “He does have a life.”

“This is his child we're talking about, young lady. Bill is a father. I don't expect you to understand. What are you? Sixteen? When there is an emergency, Vera needs to reach him. You need to realize that Bill has responsibilities,” Sheila spat.

The young woman rolled her eyes and crossed her arms. “Who is this witch, Bill?”

“Whoa!” Annie stepped into the circle. “Bill? You better take your friend somewhere where she can cool off.” The next thing she knew, Jon was at the young woman's elbow.

“Let's you and I get a cup of coffee,” he said.

“Wait, who are you?” she said as she was being dragged off.

That Jon, you couldn't help but like him.

Annie turned to face a fragile-looking and pale Vera, who sat in a slump next to Beatrice on a small couch.

“Why would he bring her here?” Vera said to Annie. Never mind that he was standing right next to her.

“That's my daughter in there,” he said.

“Well, well, well,” Beatrice said. “Maybe you should start acting like it. Get your house in order, Bill, or I'll see to it that you never see Lizzie again.”

“Now, Mom—” Vera began.

“Listen,” Beatrice said, “someone's got to say it. You're acting like an ass, Bill. You're living with a woman who's nothing more than a child, you rarely see your daughter, and you bring the woman you're living with to the hospital where your ex-wife and her family and friends are gathered? What is wrong with you?”

Annie wanted to shrink away into the corner. This was a moment that best happened behind closed doors, with just their family. She made eye contact with Paige and Sheila, who nodded. The three of them slipped off together into another lobby of the hospital.

“They think it's meningitis,” Paige said after they were situated.

“Where would she have been exposed to that?” Annie wondered out loud.

“Who knows? As I tried to tell Vera, kids just get sick. I know. I've had four of them. Dusty had meningitis when he was fourteen and is fine, but for a three-year-old, it's scary,” Sheila said.

“But they aren't sure?” Annie asked.

Sheila nodded. “No. Big ole fancy-ass hospital and they still aren't sure.”

The three of them sat there, each in her own thoughts. Paige knit furiously. Sheila's foot shook impatiently. Annie noted the man passing by in a wheelchair, then a woman with a cane. A voice paging a doctor came over the intercom.

New modern art hung on the walls, which used to be filled with paintings of barns and flowers. Now Annie found the modern art a bit more comforting.

She had been in Cumberland Creek for only three years and in this hospital way too many times. When she was shot and stuck in the hospital, she suffered a real turning point. For a while, she mostly focused on her family and the book, and things were doing well. But now, once again, she found herself sucked into a murder investigation.

Strange that she had left D.C. for a simpler, more peaceful life. She sometimes marveled at its twists and turns, which always led her back to murder.

 

 

Later that day, after dinner, Annie left to go and help Bryant out at the station. She had told him she would, so she felt it was the right thing to do. When she showed up, the officer at the desk said he wasn't there.

“Where are you?” Annie said into her cell.

“I'm on my way. Make yourself comfortable in my office.”

Several boxes were piled on Bryant's desk. Annie looked in one of them. It was stuff from Emily's apartment. She gathered that the laptop on the corner of his desk was Emily's. She pressed the space bar, and the screen popped up. Hmmm. Interesting. They'd been able to figure out the password for at least one of Emily's e-mail accounts. It looked like Bryant was systematically going through each one. Well, since she was here, she could continue to do that.

Should she?

Hmm. Of course she should.

She clicked on the first one.
Junk mail. Delete.

But the next one was from a familiar name. Leo Shirley. He was just plain bad news. He'd been a menace to the town since he was a kid. As an adult, he'd gotten away with everything as they were unable to make any charges stick. He was squirrelly. Always skirting the line between legal and illegal.

Wow, there it was. So Emily McGlashen had been seeing Leo Shirley? That blew her mind. Emily had seemed to have her act together. Why would she bother with the likes of Leo Shirley?

The office door flew open. He stood there, looking at Annie. His hands were on his hips, and he was frowning. For some reason, his shoulders looked particularly broad; and his pants, a little too tight. Annie almost blushed and looked away.

“So, did you see the e-mail?” he asked.

“The one from Leo? Yes,” she said.

He came over and leaned over her.

God. She could smell him. What was worse, she could feel the heat just pulsing off of him. He was so close, so close to her.

“The bastard has an alibi,” he said, reaching over and almost slamming the laptop lid down. “And he claims the e-mail was not about them seeing each other. Damn!” He was seething. “I thought this was it. And I thought we finally got Leo, ya know?”

Annie rose from the chair. “Oh, that's too bad,” she said, reaching for a box and then placing her hand on his shoulder. “We'll find out who killed her. Should I start here?”

His blue eyes met hers, and a bolt of something almost like electricity was exchanged between them. He moved toward her. Her hand found its place around his neck as he pushed her against the wall. He was lifting her off the floor with a brute strength, and her legs wrapped around him, as if she had no control over them. These legs, were they hers? This mouth, was it hers? His lips met hers again, and she found herself sliding into a deep, pulsing place, before she had the strength to pull away.

“Adam,” she breathed. “Stop.”

“Yeah,” he said with a deep guttural tone. “Just one more kiss.”

“No. This is . . . not right,” she said, stepping away from him.

As she left the office, she dared not look back at him. Her legs were shaking, and she could barely move. But she just had to find the will to keep moving forward to her house, where her husband and children were.

Vera was exhausted and hungry. Everything in the snack machines at the hospital looked too small. She could eat the ass end out of a bear right about now. She smiled to herself. She loved those old expressions from Beatrice's cousin, who Vera called Aunt Rose. Didn't make a lick of sense.

Vera lost track of time. She slipped a few quarters in the machine, opting for a package of crackers. It dropped down onto the shelf, and she reached in and pulled it out.

When she turned around, Bill's girlfriend was standing in the room. It was just Vera and the young woman in the little room that held snack machines. Vera took a deep breath and looked her in the eye. It was hard to believe that the woman who stood before her was twenty-four, for she looked even younger.

“I followed you in here, Vera,” she said, her manner softer than it was with the others in the waiting area. “We need to talk.”

There was something cold about the way she looked at Vera. Her skin was like fine porcelain, her eyes like blue glass, and she was so young looking that it made Vera ache.

Vera forced a polite smile. “We do?”

“You know I didn't break up your marriage,” she said matter-of-factly.

“Yes, of course,” Vera managed to say, wishing Kelsey would lower her voice. This was personal, not to be hashed out in a public place. Didn't she get that?

“I know we probably won't be friends, but I don't want to make things uncomfortable for Bill,” she said, looking away, lifting her chin.

Vera's heart sank. The childlike woman thought she was in love with Bill. “You are Bill's midlife crisis,” she wanted to say. “Nothing more. I am the mother of his child. The one who told him to leave and never come back.”
How odd to be standing in front of a woman who was now sleeping with the man you used to love.

“It's just going to take a while for us all to get used to . . . things,” Vera finally said, gathering herself. “My main concern is Elizabeth.”

“Oh, yeah, yeah, sure. I know. I'd love to get to know her,” she said, looking like she was not more than twelve years old herself in that moment, with enthusiasm sparking her eyes. She was wearing similar garb to Leola, a long, tight denim skirt and flats. Were they back in style and Vera had just missed it?

Vera's heart began to race. This woman with her baby? She didn't think so.

“We'll see,” Vera said, fiddling with her crackers, trying to open them. “Plenty of time.” Hopefully, this young woman would be out of Bill's life soon enough and this would be something she'd not have to think about. Not today. Not tomorrow. Not ever.

Vera's pulse continued to race. She wanted Kelsey to move out of her way. It was a tiny snack enclave, and she was feeling like a caged animal. It was difficult to keep composed. It seemed like no matter how she shifted, Kelsey shifted with her. She couldn't get around her gracefully.

“Um, so you are a law student, Kelsey?” Vera said, wishing once again that Kelsey would move out of the way.

“Last year,” she said, smiling. “It's pretty intense.”

“Yeah, I remember what it was like for Bill,” Vera said.

“He's actually a pretty good teacher,” she said and bit her lip. Nervous habit?

“I imagine,” Vera said, wanting to say, “Let's hope he's a better teacher than a lawyer.”

“My parents and my uncle and aunt, well, they really hate me being with Bill. They say he's too old for me,” she said, digging in her pocket and pulling out her wallet. She moved toward one of the snack machines, providing Vera with the perfect opportunity for escape.

“Well, good luck with everything,” Vera said and walked out of the snack enclave.
Because you are going to need it.

When Vera rounded the corner, she saw Bill sitting there and rolled her eyes at him. “Ass,” she said under her breath.

“What?” he said, following her into Elizabeth's room.

She ignored him and just kept walking by with her crackers, heading into Elizabeth's room, where Beatrice and Jon already were. Elizabeth slept soundly.

“What?” Bill asked again.

“Never mind, Bill,” Vera said.

“What's wrong with you? Why are you acting like this? Why are you treating me like an outsider?” he said.

Vera raised an eyebrow and glared at him.

“What makes you think you're in charge of her?” Bill said, Kelsey coming up behind him.

“I'm her mother, Bill. I am in charge of her,” Vera began.

“Well, you're going to need more than that to eat,” Beatrice said, looking at Vera's crackers and ignoring Bill. “Why don't you go to the cafeteria?”

“No, Mama, I'm not leaving her,” Vera said as something tightened in her throat. No. She wouldn't cry, not with Bill and Kelsey here. No, she wouldn't. She turned and looked out the window. Sometimes it was hard to look at a sick child. Elizabeth was so pale, so still, that she looked as if she were dead. Vera couldn't let her mind mull that over. She couldn't.

The other thing she couldn't really think about—not now—was that she didn't remember how she'd gotten into Elizabeth's room. She'd forgotten to take her pill. What woke her? Was it Elizabeth's cry? Her cold feet on the floor? The breeze coming through the window? Why was that window open? She never left windows open, but maybe she'd forgotten to close it, just like she'd forgotten to take her medicine.

She looked out past the hospital parking lot to the mountains, the same mountains she grew up looking at. When she was small, she often prayed when looking at the mountains, and in her mind she imagined God as a mountain. When Beatrice found out that she thought the mountains were God, she had smiled. “Well, it makes a kind of sense. And who's to say the mountains aren't God?” She was blessed to have a mother like Beatrice. Even with all her oddities and grouchiness, Beatrice was a good mother.

Vera turned around and looked at Beatrice, who was already looking at her. “Mama, have I told you . . . thanked you . . . for being such a good mother?”

Beatrice looked dumbfounded. Her eyes watered. “Vera,” she said softly after a minute. “You been praying to that mountain again?”