Hotter than Helen (The "Bobby's Diner" Series) (11 page)

It had been a difficult decision to redeem the ring for cash. It felt cheap, but then she thought about how she might use the money—for employee bonuses, for new linens for the tables.

She tussled between giving the ring back which meant having to see Hawthorne or cashing it in. She decided cashing it in seemed right.

Yet, still, as she stood in the jewelry store, she vacillated. She cursed herself thinking that she’d already decided. But maybe not, not really as it turned out after all.

There she was not sure again if cashing in the ring was the right decision. Maybe it wasn’t. Maybe it was too soon. She didn’t want to keep his ring, or anything else that reminded her of him in the house. She certainly didn’t want to ever meet up with him again, to see him face to face and give the thing back. She supposed she could mail it to him. She didn’t know what to do, not really. And, just as she was thinking she of how she might mail it, of all the possibilities, Paul spoke.

“Georgette.” He extended the last syllable of her name far too long.

“Oh. Yes?” Jolted, she looked at him, surprised.

“This here pretty little ring is, um, I’m afraid to say, not worth very much.”

“What?”

“This here stone,” he didn’t even say gem, “is what we call a cubic zirconium.” He handed the ring back to her. She took it almost involuntarily, staring at it the whole time.

“But, he said it was worth…” She closed her eyes, realizing Hawthorne had played her again. She tried to regain some sense of decorum, her embarrassment flushing red over her face. “Oh. My goodness. Thank you, Paul.” A fake smile (one she assumed to match the ring) cracked the corners of her mouth. “Well, this is quite a shock. I’m so sorry to have wasted your time.” She wondered if the  freckles  over  her  cheeks had disappeared in the hot red mask she felt cover her face. “How embarrassing.” Her hand came up to cover her mouth.

“Not at all, Georgette.” He stood at the glass counter with both hands on top of it. He had seen plenty of this  she guessed, over the years. “It’s a beautiful setting, probably worth a good five hundred in metal. If you’d like, I can give you that. Like I said, it’s a beautiful setting.”

And it was that simple. The decision. Giving it back or keeping it.

“That would be wonderful, Paul. Thank you. He said it was worth...” Why bother finishing her sentence when it didn’t warrant repeating?

Paul side-stepped over to the cash register a foot or so from where they stood, pressed one key, the machine dinged and he counted out five, hundred-dollar bills. Pressure had built into her cheeks and it was beginning to consume her nose and threatening to spread into her eyes like a match on alcohol. She felt an urge to cry come up so quickly that she had to repeat in her head, “don’t cry” five times in quick succession. She pressed her fingers into her eye sockets and focused on her breathing, trying to assuage the potential onslaught of tears that was building.

Paul gave glanced from her to the register then walked nearer to her waving the money in his hand.

“Here you go.” He said.

Georgette wondered if he could tell she was going to crumble at any moment.

As he counted the money into her hand, he added, “Let me just write you up a receipt and you can be on yer way.” He bent down, taking his eyes off her for a second to pull out a packet of receipts. He wrote the appropriate information down, giving her time to collect herself.

He pulled off the carbon copy and handed it to her with a smile that widened over a set of tea-stained teeth.

“Thanks, Paul.”

“My pleasure. It’s always a pleasure doing business with you, Georgette, always. Come back anytime.”

“Thanks, Paul,” she repeated, not able to get any other phrase out that might come to mind. She folded the receipt into the stack of bills and pressed the whole thing into her jeans pocket. When she looked up, she gave Paul another short smile.

23

“I don’t know, Roberta. I didn’t go in there. I haven’t been in the garage for days.” Georgette fiddled with the cushion on the chair that sat in front of Roberta’s desk. The city hall buzzed today with people walking up and down the corridors. It felt like all of Sunnydale had shown up. Someone barked out the word, “Now!” Down a few offices from what Georgette could determine. Roberta got up, closed the door and then went back around her desk and sat.

They both paused after the interruption. “Well, um, how do you think he got…”

“Like I said, I don’t know.” She bit her thumb nail. “You know, Roberta…”

“Mayor?” Roberta’s administrative assistant called through the phone’s intercom. “Phone call, line one, for you.”

“Kelly. Can you take a message? I’m right in the middle of something.”

Roberta stared into Georgette’s eyes as she spoke and mouthed “sorry” to her after she finished speaking.

“Mayor, it’s the police department. Said it’s kinda urgent.”

“Okay, Kelly. Will you tell them to hold for just one second? I’ll be right with them.”

“Yes, ma’am.” The call beeped through. “Sorry, George, but I better take this.”

“Should I wait, or should I leave?”

“No, please wait. It shouldn’t take long.”

When Roberta picked up the call and began to talk, Georgette realized how long it had been since she’d been in her office. The building had been erected in the early 1930’s and still had the original red brick walls inside and out but the interior brick had been painted with several layers of white or light green or blue depending on the year and the color du jour. The latest color gleamed a glossy milk-colored paint and, depending on where you sat in the room, looked either eggy or chalky in color. The room stunk of brand new commercial-grade glued-down carpeting. The synthetic smell did battle with the scent of Roberta’s favorite perfume, Beautiful by Estee Lauder.

From inside Roberta’s office with the door closed, Georgette noted a muted thrumming. Outside, the day was churning up a mix of storm clouds. As Georgette looked around at the fake leather seats on rolled wooden chairs, Roberta’s conversation took on a more serious tone which took Georgette’s mind off the updated, contemporary look of her office.

“But, because there was no ID on the body, you’re not sure, are you, Willard?... Yes. I’ll let her know... She’s right here… Yeah… call you back.”

Georgette’s brow wrinkled and she tipped her head at Roberta. “What’s goin’ on?”

“Crap. Georgette.” She shook her head, delaying what she needed to say, what she needed to tell her. “It’s not good, George.”

“Yeah.”

“The police got a call this morning.” Roberta paused then added, “At the Extended Stay Lodge.”

Georgette cocked her head, frowning, not understanding. “Okay …” her voice drifted off to spur Roberta to finish explaining.

“It was a homicide call, George.”

“What? A homicide? In Sunnydale?” Georgette’s face seemed to pucker all at once when she asked.

Roberta’s face looked white, almost expressionless. If Georgette hadn’t detected the terror in her eyes, she might not have made the connection. Roberta’s gaze drifted to her desk, directed at nothing in particular, trying to find something, anything, then bounced back up her eyes reconnected with Georgette’s. Finally, Georgette got an inkling of what she might be alluding to.

“Wait.” She paused. “No.” She paused again. “Oh, man. Roberta. Why are you telling me this?”

“You need to come with me, George. We need to go right now.”

“To the lodge? No. Why?”

Her inflection swung her words into a high pitch . She couldn’t believe she had to go to a crime scene.

“We have to make the identification.”

“Oh, heavens. Roberta. No. I don’t think you need me to…” Georgette pushed against the back of the chair like a wild, cornered animal, shaking her head.

“We have to, George.” Roberta stood collecting her purse and her attaché. She pulled her suit jacket off the back of her chair and swung it around her shoulders, putting each arm through a sleeve. “We have to… now.”

A dull silence lay between them. Roberta stood strong in front of Georgette, who remained seated.

Then, as if avoiding the question might protect her, she finally spoke. “Identify who?”

Roberta picked up both her bags into one hand, then picked up Georgette’s and handed it to her. She grabbed Georgette by the arm, lifting her off the chair in the same movement. Roberta pulled Georgette close and held her around the shoulder and led her out of the office. Then, as she flicked off the light and pulled the door closed, she simply said, “Helen.”

24

The drive was only five minutes from Roberta’s office but their silence made it feel like hours. As the car approached the hotel parking lot, Georgette saw that the sun had dropped to the other side of noon, away from the coming storm. Shadows fell long on the side of the hotel where what seemed like a mile of yellow crime scene tape was strung.

Roberta parked about one hundred paces from the first police car—one intended to block nosy people from entering. Every local knew every other local in Sunnydale and they needed to keep the interlopers of their small town out. Still, the law was more lenient for a local than for someone who might be passing through. That’s why they wouldn’t flinch when they saw Georgette approaching to identify Helen’s body. People knew that Georgette was one of Helen’s closest relations since Mayor Pyle died.

After turning the engine off, she flicked open the locks on her attaché and pulled out a badge designating her official purpose for being there. Pinning it to her lapel, she instructed Georgette, “Okay. Look. This is going to be awful. There’s no way of saying it nicer than that.” Georgette didn’t expect less from Roberta who continued, “They will unzip the bag. You look once. Then, you turn your head as soon as you see the face. Hear me?”

Georgette stared blankly into her eyes.

“Georgette. You hear me?” She nodded. “Okay. So, tell me what you’re going to do.”

“Oh my, Roberta.”

“Tell me, George. If anything needs to be practiced, this does. Tell me.”

“They’ll unzip the bag. I’ll look once,” when Georgette said once, Roberta held one finger up, pressing it at her. “And as soon as I see the face, I’ll turn my head away.”

“Good.” They looked at each other. “Once.” Roberta’s face seemed unusually calm to Georgette who couldn’t seem to get her eyes to blink.

“Maybe it’s not her.”

Roberta sat back in her seat. Then grabbed the door handle and pulled. “Maybe.”

She looked back at Georgette but Roberta’s face made Georgette realize that the body belonged to no one other than Helen. She started to cry. “I can’t.”

“You have to. I can’t. I’m involved since the police work for the mayor. They need someone independent of the office.” She stood outside with the door open. “You have to quit crying.”

Georgette pushed open the heavy door and stepped in line after Roberta. She wiped her nose on her sleeve. “I’m sorry.” She was the unofficial party here yet everyone knew her.

Willard saw Roberta’s car and walked past the first police car in a half-trot. “Mayor.” He nodded to Roberta then turned his attention to Georgette, “Mrs. Carlisle.”

She’d forgotten how formal people were in circumstances like this.

“Willard.” When she said his name, he frowned. Roberta turned quickly. “It’s Police Chief, George.”

“Oh Willy. I’m sorry, Willard, uh, Police Chief. I’m so sorry.”

“It’s okay, Mrs. Carlisle. This way, ladies.” He led them closer to the body, letting them follow him. “Try not to walk outside of where I’m stepping,” he called back, making Georgette look down as she walked. Lights flashed. No one was speaking, not by the time they reached the ambulance anyway. Any talk had hushed when they recognized the person being brought in to identify the body.

A black bag lay up on a portable gurney. It seemed like there should be a siren blaring or a dirge, people praying… anything but the only thing Georgette heard was a soft breeze hitting the yellow tape as it flapped, as it snapped to and fro in the wind. The lack of noise gave sent a shiver that capped Georgette’s skull, that then snaked down her back.

Finally, Willard spoke. “Georgette. Will you be okay?” Her voice stalled and she wondered why he asked, if she was going pale, if she looked like she might faint but then, when she did answer, her voice nearly disappeared into her throat. “Yes… sir…” she coughed to clear her throat, “I’m okay.”

He gestured for her to step in closer, past Roberta and to stand next to him by the gurney.

Georgette looked back at Roberta, who tipped her head at the black bag and signaled to her with a single finger and mouthed the word “onece” as she gestured. Then Roberta pulled her finger down and placed the nail of it into her mouth. She was clearly rattled.

“Mrs. Carlisle?” Willard’s words barely registered in Georgette’s mind and he repeated, “Mrs. Carlisle? We’re going to lift the plastic now. Are you ready?” He looked at Georgette and then over to Roberta. She could see Roberta nodding from her peripheral vision. As he reached to pull up the plastic, Georgette placed her hand on his arm, stopping him. She placed the other hand on her chest and took in a few deep breaths.