Fran Rizer - Callie Parrish 06 - A Corpse Under the Christmas Tree (16 page)

Howling woke me from a sound sleep. I’d finally stopped dreaming about bad men and had been dreaming about two good ones—Patel and Dean Robinson. No, I wasn’t dreaming they were fighting over me or that I was having a hard time choosing between them. In my dream, the two men had become one man with no name, a combination of the two. He was kissing me, and I was feeling warm all over. Don’t know what might have happened if it had been possible to sleep through the noise.

My first, half-asleep, thought was that Big Boy was howling, but this wasn’t a dog howl. Then my half-awake mind wondered if this was some Girl Scout yell. I never went to Girl Scout camp, never even belonged to the Girl Scouts. When the school sent home flyers about joining scouts and I asked Daddy to let me join, he said, “If you want to go camping, I’ll take you.” I protested that they did lots of other things, too, and that I could learn a lot about cooking and nature while earning badges. He told me, “There’s nothing they can teach you there that you can’t learn at school or from me and your brothers.”

All of that leads to the fact that when Naomi had said living at Safe Sister reminded her of going to Girl Scout camp, being around the other females and sharing the chores, I’d had no comparison in my mind, but I doubt crying babies are a part of Girl Scout camps. Betsy had pulled herself to a standing position holding on to the side of the portable crib and was screaming as though her heart were broken.

Now, I’ve been around a lot of children while I was a kindergarten teacher, but being the youngest in my family and not yet having any children of my own, my personal experience with babies was limited to when Megan and Johnny were little and holding that precious bundle last night. The problem was that the night before, Betsy wasn’t screaming. What did she need? Would picking her up quiet her? Did she need a bottle or her diaper changed? The only way to know was to check. I stood up and headed toward Betsy. Not sure exactly what I planned to do. Should I lift her out of the crib or pat her on the back like we do to soothe the bereaved at Middleton’s? Saved—not by the bell—but by Naomi rushing into the room with a plastic baby bottle. Betsy stopped crying the minute Naomi lifted her from the crib and popped the nipple in her mouth.

“I’m sorry. I know you probably needed to sleep late today. I’ll try to get up early tomorrow and have her bottle ready when she wakes up. She was sleeping when I went to the kitchen for it.”

“No problem. Do you mind if I shower now?”

“No, go right ahead. Do you need any help with that sling?”

I hadn’t thought of that. Guess I’d thought I would just slip it off behind the locked bathroom door. Problem was
the makeup.
What I’d used wasn’t water soluble, but it would probably need to be touched up. Another problem was
the wire.
I probably shouldn’t get it wet, and I didn’t know how to take it off and then put it back on.

“I’ll be fine,” I assured Naomi as she and Betsy went to the door.

“We’ll be in the common room, but pull that little help cord in the bathroom if you need us.” She looked down at her watch. “Breakfast will be ready in thirty minutes.”

I settled for what Daddy used to call, “a good wash-up,” without getting into the shower. I’d only brought one change of clothes, so there was no problem deciding what to wear. Clean jeans and a sweater with a snowman printed on it. I also checked all the makeup.

By the time I stepped out of the bedroom door, the women were headed toward the dining room. I followed.

Naomi put Betsy in a high chair beside her and put several Fruit Loops on the tray. Her chubby hands grasped the cereal and crammed it into her mouth.

When the others were all seated, Sylvia led the group in a prayer of thanks before they began serving plates and passing platters and bowls. A woman whose name I didn’t remember looked toward me and said, “Callie, I’ve made the chore schedule for the week and worked you into it. Since today’s your first real day, I didn’t put you down for anything today, but you’re on breakfast duty tomorrow morning.”

“Fine,” I answered though I had no idea how long I’d be there. The problem was that I didn’t know how to bring up Naomi’s husband to her and she’d told me point-blank that she didn’t want to talk about what had happened to her.

I wondered if the children at Safe Sister went out to school or if they were home-schooled, but it didn’t matter because as one of the little girls told me, “Guess what, Miss Callie? We have another whole week off from lessons because it’s Winter Holiday.”

“Then what will you do today?” I asked.

“Play with our new toys and watch television and my mommy is on supper duty, and she promised I can help her make a cake this afternoon.”

“Sounds like fun. What about the grown-ups? What will we do today?”

The child grinned. “Oh, grown-up stuff like reading and cleaning house and maybe some laundry.”

Naomi laughed at my surprised expression. “Don’t worry, Callie. There’s plenty to do here—all the chores that are necessary to run a home plus several of us are studying for our GEDs and Lacey is working on her thesis in psychology and will probably corner you sooner or later for an interview.”

The morning was busy, but after lunch, the children went back to the common room to play, and the adults stayed around the table drinking iced tea and talking. I hoped I’d finally hear something useful.

“Does everyone here know about Amber?” Sylvia asked, looking straight at me.

I didn’t say anything.

“Amber Buchanan worked for Safe Sister. She’d planned to come here Christmas morning dressed as Santa Claus,” Sylvia explained, looking around at everyone, though it was obvious she was talking to me. Did she suspect anything about me? “She didn’t show up and we learned yesterday that Amber was killed Wednesday morning at some girl’s apartment. She was wearing the Santa Claus suit. Those unopened gifts under the Christmas tree were for her.”

“I’m sorry for your loss,” my standard response to hearing of a death, didn’t seem appropriate under these circumstances. “That’s awful,” I said instead.

“The reason I brought this up is because I want to know if anyone here has any idea
why
somebody would murder Amber.” Tears filled her eyes and she looked straight at Naomi.

What was happening? Was Sylvia undercover also? Had two of us been put in here for the sheriff to try to learn about Naomi’s husband?

“You don’t have to tiptoe around to ask me,” Naomi said. “That policewoman who came to see me has already asked me point-blank if I think my husband Norman might have gone after Amber when he got out of jail. How should I know? I’ve neither seen nor talked to him since I came here. Evelyn told me about Norman demanding to see me and take Betsy home for the holidays. She said Norman and Amber got into a loud fuss and Norman shoved Amber. She pressed charges, and that would definitely have made Norman furious, but I don’t think he would
kill
anyone.”

“Bet you didn’t think Norman would ever cause a bruise like the one that was on your baby when you came here either,” another woman said.

Naomi burst into tears. “It was awful, just horrible. He grabbed her by the neck. He squeezed it!” She put her head on the table and sobbed.

“Was Betsy crying and wouldn’t stop?” Sylvia asked.

“No, she didn’t do anything. It was my fault, my fault. He did it because he was mad at me. Upset because I burned the baked chicken.” Naomi’s words were barely audible as she sobbed.

“And you came here?” Sylvia asked. “Did you go to the police?”

“No, I just brought Betsy here.” Tears filled Naomi’s eyes. “Well, actually we went to the office and they brought us here.”

“Why didn’t you go to the police?” Sylvia persisted.

“He didn’t mean to. It’s just how he is.”

“If he was my husband, he’d be dead,” Sylvia snapped.

“Then why are you here instead of in jail?” another woman asked.

“Because my husband never touched my kids, just me,” Sylvia said. “Naomi, all I want to know is do you know where your husband is now? Where he might have gone when he got bailed out of jail? I heard that policewoman asking you, and you refused to tell her anything. That’s not fair to the rest of us if you stay here.”

“Are you telling me to leave Safe Sister?” Naomi murmured.

“No, but if you won’t help the cops, maybe it would be better if they moved you to another safe house.”

Naomi jumped from her chair and ran to our bedroom. Betsy began to cry when her mother ran past her, so I picked up the baby, followed Naomi, and then closed the door behind us.

Reaching her arms out for Betsy, Naomi sat on her bed and sobbed. When I handed the infant to her, she cuddled Betsy to her shoulder.

“Thank you.” Naomi’s voice was soft, and she sniffled again to stop the tears.

I sat on my bed and asked her, “Do you want to talk about it? Last night you didn’t feel like it, but sometimes telling a person about things helps.”

“Maybe so. I love Norman. That’s why this is so hard. Sure, he’s hurt me before when he got mad, but I never thought he’d harm the baby. Norman brags that he’s ‘rude, crude, and socially unacceptable,’ but he’s good in some ways. My parents were both alcoholics, and my sister and I never knew if there would be food on the table or not. Norman’s a good provider. He’s not like the husbands of some of the other women here who won’t work and expect their wives to pay the bills.” She sniffled. “But the counselor here tells me that he’ll hurt me and Betsy again if I go back to him without Norman getting some treatment.”

Tears streamed down her face. She wiped them away with a tissue and continued, “Norman holds down a regular job and buys groceries every week. He doesn’t even want me to work, just stay home and be a housewife. He’s so good when life goes well. He whistles all the time. Then I’ll do something wrong, and he explodes.”

“Did he ever hurt you before you married him?”

“Only a couple of times and not too bad, but it was my fault every time. He’s never hurt me except when I do something wrong.”

I doubted that, and it sounded to me like Naomi was living in that surreal world I’d read that some abused women created for themselves. My mind flashed back to the man who tied his wife to the tree. Had his wife thought she’d caused the way he treated her?

“What made you come here this time?”

“Look at her.” Naomi held Betsy out toward me. “How can a tiny being like this deserve to be choked because her mama burned the chicken? Norman always expects his dinner to be ready as soon as he’s home from work. That day, Betsy was still napping, and he came home all frisky and wanting some loving. The chicken stayed in the oven too long, and it was too brown when I took it out. It was still okay to eat, but he said it wasn’t juicy enough. He screamed at me and threw me across the bed. Betsy was still asleep, but he yanked her up and squeezed her neck. He didn’t stop until she started turning blue. Then he let her go and stormed out of the house. I called a taxi and went to the church I attended before I married Norman. The pastor paid my cab fare and brought me to Safe Sister. I don’t know how Norman figured out where I was when he went to Safe Sister’s office and demanded to see me and get the baby.”

I almost said, “And you love this man?” but, for a wonder, I held my tongue.

“Do you know how Amber Buchanan died?” I asked instead.

“Nobody’s said.”

“She was strangled to death.”

Silence. Stone-dead silence.

“How do you know that?” Naomi asked.

“Somebody told my brother. Doesn’t what happened to Betsy and knowing that Norman was enraged at Amber make you stop and think about what Norman is capable of doing? If the police want to know where he is, and you have any idea, maybe you should tell them. It might keep him from hurting you or Betsy again, especially if he had anything to do with Amber Buchanan’s murder.”

“Maybe you’re right, but I don’t want Norman in jail. How would I pay the rent and buy Betsy’s diapers? He’s missing us or he wouldn’t have confronted Amber. I think this will teach him a lesson and he’ll change—not be so mean when he gets mad.” Betsy had gone to sleep, and Naomi placed her in the crib and covered her with a light blanket embroidered with A, B, C blocks on it.

“Have you thought about moving away from here and getting a job to support you and Betsy?” I pointed toward the sleeping infant. “That little girl needs her mother, and you can’t take the risk that he’ll wind up killing either of you.”

Naomi began weeping again. “Maybe you’re right, but I don’t want to talk to the police. If I tell you where I think Norman might be, will you ask your brother to tell them?”

“As soon as I see him.”

“Norman goes hunting a lot and there’s an old abandoned hunt club near Summerville. That’s where I think he would go if he ran away. There’s no electricity there, but he used to camp a lot before we got married. He might stay there like he was camping.”

“Do you know the directions to get there?”

“No, but it used to be the Porter Hunt Club. I’ll bet the police could find it from that.”

I felt like shouting “Hooray!” I’d found out exactly what Wayne wanted, and I wasn’t about to correct Naomi that who needed the information was the sheriff’s department, not the police. Wayne sometimes gets irritated at folks who call his branch the police, but I didn’t want to embarrass nor irritate Naomi.