Peony Street (5 page)

“What are they doing for him?”

“He’s on blood thinners, blood pressure medicine, and he has a medicinal patch for the dementia.”

“Dementia?” Claire said, wrinkling up her nose. “That’s an awful word.”

“It used to be called hardening of the arteries but now they call it vascular dementia. Every time he has a little stroke it deprives his brain of oxygen and more cells die. One of the side effects is loss of memory function. The patch is supposed to keep it from getting worse.”

“Is it working?”

“How can I tell?” Delia said. “His memory keeps getting worse, but maybe without the patch it would decline even faster.”

“What do you do when he has these little strokes?”

“The doctor said there’s no point in bringing him to the emergency room when they happen; they can’t really do anything to help him. It’s just poor circulation, age, genetics.”

“But people recover from strokes all the time. They get therapy and reverse the effects.”

“This is different,” Delia said. “I’m sorry, Claire, but he’s not going to get any better.”

“How long does he have?”

“Who knows?” Delia said. “It could be years or it could be tomorrow. We just have to make the best of what time he has left.”

“Does he realize what’s happening?”

“Oh, yes,” Delia said. “He got so down about it Doc put him on an antidepressant.”

“What can I do to help?”

“I got great advice from a social worker at the hospital. She said, ‘make his world as structured and drama-free as possible and try not to take anything he says personally.’ We keep to a schedule, we don’t worry him about anything, and we don’t argue with him when he insists something’s true when it’s not.”

“There has to be more we can do, better doctors somewhere.”

“I know it’s your instinct to jump in and fix this,” Delia said. “But do you really want what time he has left to be spent going to places he’s not familiar with and having people do things that scare him?”

“No,” Claire said, “of course not.”

“Spend a few days with us and see how it is.”

“I can’t just sit still and do nothing,” Claire said.

“I know,” Delia said.

“I can’t just accept there’s no hope.”

“I know,” Delia said.

“How can you?”

“Have a talk with Doc Machalvie,” Delia said. “He can explain it much better than I can.”

“I had planned to stay two weeks, but this thing with Tuppy may mean I’m here awhile.”

“We’ll love having you as long as you can stay,” Delia said. “Were you and Tuppy very close?”

“More like fellow hostages,” Claire said. “We had a common enemy.”

“It must have been a shock to find him. Why do you think he was here?”

“He knew I was coming here and I missed my plane. He must have planned to travel with me or meet me here for some reason, but I don’t know why. If I had my phone I could check my messages and then I would know.”

“Did they find a phone with his body?”

“No, which is weird. That man may have loved his phone even more than I do mine.”

“I’m sure Scott will figure it out,” Delia said.

“I always thought Scott and Maggie would get together. What happened there?”

“You know how contrary your cousin Maggie is. I think he just got tired of waiting for her to make up her mind.”

“Should I pretend to still be with Pip? If Dad’s hallucinating conversations with him how do I not upset him?”

“I don’t know. Let’s worry about that when it comes up again.”

“Will you bring Mackie Pea in before you go?”

“If I can pry her out of your father’s arms,” Delia said. “He’s taken a shine to her. He fed her some cheese while you were in the bathroom.”

“That dog’s gonna have a colon blow-out before the day is through,” Claire said.

“I’ll take her out before I go,” Delia said.

“I love you, Mom,” Claire said.

“I love you, Claire Bear,” Delia said, and she turned out the light and closed the door.

Claire’s last thought before she fell asleep was that the sheets, laundered in the same detergent and fabric softener that her mother had always used, smelled like home.

It was three in the morning before Scott got to talk to someone in authority at the airline. The difference in time zones had been an issue, but not as bad as the cultural barrier. As Scott was thinking the British were just as snotty as he expected them to be, he was sure the man on the other end of the line was thinking Scott was just as obnoxious as he expected an American to be. Scott was getting nowhere until he remembered Ian used to advise him that when he needed cooperation he should look for common ground.

“What do you think United’s chances are against
Liverpool?” he asked.

“You follow football?” the man asked, not bothering to hide his surprise.

The UN diplomatic corps would have applauded the improvement in international relations that ensued. By the time Scott terminated the most expensive long distance phone call he’d ever made, he had received a fax of the information needed to corroborate Claire’s alibi and a deeper appreciation of an Englishman’s devotion to soccer. All those late nights he’d spent watching soccer on satellite television had paid off in an unexpected way.

He scanned and emailed the documents to Sarah’s office and locked up the station. Rose Hill was quiet, cold, and drippy, which was not unusual for early spring. There were actually only three seasons: snow, rain, and eight weeks of what passed for summer.

As he crossed Peony Street he noticed a car with a Maryland license plate parked in front of the Rose and Thorn. He backtracked to the station and retrieved Tuppy’s keys from the safe. Sarah had tasked him with finding Tuppy’s car and in his single-minded devotion to clearing Claire he had neglected to look. Scott’s intention was to find the man’s phone, see whom he called, and listen to his messages.

The trunk was empty. The man’s suitcase and carry-on bag were on the back seat.  The driver’s side cup holder held an empty coffee cup from an expensive gourmet coffee retailer Scott had heard of but had never visited. There was a cell phone charging cord plugged into the cigarette lighter but no phone. Scott looked under and in between the seats, and cleaned out the glove box. He found nothing more exotic than the cellophane from a cigarette pack.

He locked the car, carried the luggage back to the station and put it on the break room table. He put on latex gloves and took out a form on which to catalog the contents. By the time he was through he knew what time the man’s plane had been scheduled to take off from Heathrow and land in DC, what time he rented his car, and the exorbitant price he paid for the famous coffee. He was also envious of the man’s wardrobe and baffled by his toiletry collection.

‘What is clarifying lotion?’ he asked himself after he read the label on one bottle.

Scott secured the evidence and locked up the station once again. This time he walked down Peony Street, which was no longer blocked off with saw horses and yellow tape at its junction with Iris Avenue. The lack of broken glass was a puzzle. The force with which Tuppy must have been hit would surely have broken the windshield. Scott imagined a wide circle with the spot where Tuppy had landed as the epicenter. Using a flashlight, he started at the center and spiraled his way out as he went, looking for something, anything that might be a clue as to what had happened. Sarah’s team had been thorough; he found nothing.

Scott walked down
Iris Avenue and noticed Ian was still up, either watching TV or more likely dozing in his recliner. He wouldn’t disturb him; it wouldn’t be kind to Delia and it wouldn’t help. He missed talking to Ian about cases, bouncing ideas off him and hearing his opinions. There was no one else who could see things from the chief’s perspective or give him advice based on thirty years of experience policing Rose Hill.

Ian knew the past history of every Rose Hillian, along with all their secrets, quirky or dark as they might be. He had been an invaluable resource, a great mentor, a trusted friend. Now he was just a sweet old man Scott took to breakfast every morning, someone who shocked Scott with what he said out loud. Ian Fitzpatrick had been the closest Scott had come to having a father after his own died, and Scott was determined to never let him know he pitied him or was embarrassed by him.

Scott thought about Claire. He had grown up with her, and had witnessed the pain it caused her parents when she left home and then rarely visited. He hoped she would stay even after she was free to leave. Her parents needed her. The thought ‘I need her’ followed and he shook his head. Where had that come from?

Many years ago, as a lowly deputy in nearby Pendleton, Scott had married a nice girl from that town, but it had not lasted. After Maggie Fitzpatrick’s live-in boyfriend Gabe disappeared Scott had become a very supportive friend. Their relationship had blossomed, maybe faster and more intently on his side, but he believed on hers as well. He tried not to pressure her but he couldn’t help himself. He was soon convinced they were meant to be together.

Maggie stayed stubbornly devoted to her missing lover until he returned several years after he disappeared. The truth about the kind of man he really was seemed to break the hold he had over Maggie’s heart. After Gabe disappeared again Scott made the fatal mistake of giving her an ultimatum: commit to being with him or let him go. She let him go.

Maggie Fitzpatrick did not respond well to being bossed around and had a quick temper. She owned a bookstore in town in which she kept a “dry erase board of shame,” where the names of people she had banned from her store were listed. Over the years she had to buy bigger boards to accommodate the growing list. Scott was nearly reconciled to the fact that although he was not on the banned list in the bookstore he was most definitely on the one in her heart.

It had been challenging to break up with her and still live within blocks of each other under the brutal scrutiny of a small town. In an effort to mend his broken heart, Scott had tried to convince himself that he was in love with Maggie’s beautiful widowed sister-in-law Ava. He quickly realized, however, that he couldn’t substitute his infatuation with one woman for the true love he felt for another. Since then he had been determined to only date women from other towns, and although there had been a few, he just didn’t feel that intense passion he felt for Maggie; anything less felt like settling.

He was currently single, and Claire was as well. He couldn’t help but wonder. He’d felt something and he thought she had, too; a strong attraction between them when they touched. It wasn’t that irresistible, magnetic force-field he had to contend with in Maggie’s presence, but it was something more than just a friendly feeling; it was a spark. Maybe this kind of attraction was a healthier thing than the heartbreaking longing he felt for Maggie. Maybe it would break that spell. He wished something would.

Claire woke up to bright sunlight shining through the gap between the white eyelet curtains of her childhood bedroom. For a long moment she was confused, and during that time some protective instinct told her not to be in such a hurry to rush headlong back into consciousness.

She rolled over, intending to go back to sleep, but instead found herself facing a small child standing next to her bed. Its head was covered in tangled blonde curls, its nose was encrusted with dried snot, and its mouth was smeared with what Claire hoped was chocolate. It didn’t appear to have any clothes on, at least from the waist up.

“I Sammy,” he said. “Who’s you?”

“Hi Sammy,” she responded, now understanding that this was her cousin Hannah’s son, whom Delia often babysat. “I’m Claire.”

He reached out with a grimy little hand and patted her cheek.

“You’s pretty,” he said.

“Thank you,” she said.

As soon as Claire moved he was off like a shot, and she could see from his small, retreating behind that he was indeed naked.

“Mom?” she called out, “Dad?”

There was no response. Looking around she realized that her dog was missing.

“Mackie Pea?” she called out.

Nothing.

She got out of bed and wrapped herself in the flannel robe her mother had left for her. As she left her bedroom she heard a noise outside the back door, a low growling, and another sound, like a small siren gaining and losing volume. She opened the back door to see Mackie Pea cornered against the house and porch railing by an immense black and white cat. Two big dogs stood out in the yard watching the standoff with what looked like delighted interest. They barked at Claire but came no closer to the porch.

“Shoo,
Chester!” she yelled at the cat. “Get out of here!”

The cat turned and hissed at Claire but showed no sign of being intimidated enough to retreat. Claire went back into the kitchen and got a broom out of the pantry. At the first sight of the broom the cat took off into the bushes; evidently, it had lost that battle before. Mackie Pea was trembling, sitting in a pool of her own urine. The two dogs in the yard came forward now that the cat was gone.

“You were a lot of help,” Claire told them.

They wagged their tails and panted happily. Claire scooped up Mackie Pea and took her inside.

“I’m so sorry,” Claire said to the whimpering dog, “you poor baby.”

She took the little dog to the bathroom and gave her a bath in the sink. Mackie loved a bath, especially the getting rubbed with the towel part afterward. After the bath and rubdown Claire plugged in her mother’s blow dryer to finish drying the little dog’s short fur. When she turned off the blow dryer and turned around she was startled to see Sammy sitting on the toilet, holding onto the front rim with both hands to keep from falling in.

“I pooping,” he said with a grimace.

Mackie Pea tried to wriggle free but Claire took her to the bedroom and shut her in. When she got back to the bathroom Sammy was swinging his legs and smiling.

“I done,” he said. “I need a wipe.”

Claire unrolled some toilet paper and wrapped it around her hand, completely prepared to do this small person’s bidding, but he frowned, said, “Wipes!” and pointed to the cabinet under the sink. There Claire found a package of wet wipes. Sammy jumped down and bent over so Claire could perform this service. She turned to flush the commode and throw away the wipe and when she turned back around he was gone again.

“Sammy,” she called out.

She heard a noise in her parents’ room and when she investigated she found Sammy in there, pulling on some thermal underwear with dinosaurs printed on them. She watched as he dressed himself in these, a sweatshirt with a cartoon car on it, and some cowboy boots.

“Don’t you have any pants?” she asked him.

He looked at her as if she was stupid.

“These is pants,” he said, pointing at what Claire now surmised were pajama bottoms.

“Of course,” Claire said. “Sorry.”

As he headed toward the door Claire quickly closed it and backed up to it, blocking his escape route.

“Where’s your mother?” she asked him.

He was frowning at her in as fierce a way as a toddler could. Despite his tiny stature Claire found she was a little intimidated.

“Move,” he said.

“Somebody should be looking after you,” Claire said. “Where are your parents?”

“I not telling,” he said, and she knew at once that he meant it.

Claire heard someone come through the front door calling out, “Yooohoooo!”

Sammy dove under her parents’ bed and Claire opened the door to the hallway. Her cousin Hannah came down the hall and hugged Claire. It surprised her how emotional she felt seeing Hannah. Instead of happiness and joy she felt a sense of melancholy and loss, which she quickly covered up.

“How dare you sneak into this town, murder someone, and not call me to help you hide the body?” Hannah said.

“There’s a little boy under the bed,” Claire said. “Is he yours?”

“No,” Hannah said. “I don’t have any children, especially not any stinky little boys. They’re so gross!”

Sammy giggled and Hannah said, “Let’s go have some cookies and milk in the kitchen. Luckily there aren’t any stinky little boys around here we’d have to share them with.”

“Rowr!” Sammy said.

“What was that?” Hannah asked.

“Sounds like a monster to me,” Claire said.

“Oh, no,” Hannah said. “Monsters love milk and cookies. I hope he doesn’t eat them all up and not share any with us.”

“Rowr!” Sammy said. “I triceratops rex.”

“Nice vocabulary,” Claire said.

“He knows all of them,” Hannah said as they went down the hall. “I can’t tell them apart but he knows all their names. Plus, some of the ones we learned in school have different names now. You wait. He’ll show you the book and then give you a quiz. He’s a very strict teacher.”

“It seemed like he was here all alone,” Claire said. “Is that usual?”

“There’s one thing you’ll quickly learn about Sammy,” Hannah said, as she got the milk out of the refrigerator and a package of cookies out of the cupboard. “He’s an escape artist. He’s supposed to be at my mother’s house. She called me a few minutes ago to say, ‘I just turned around for a second and he was gone.’”

Hannah did a spot-on imitation of her mother’s high, whiny voice.

“I believe her,” Claire said. “He seems to appear and disappear.”

“He’s fast,” Hannah said. “The trick with Sammy is to give him a reason to stay put. He gets bored at her house because she won’t play with him.”

“What about a daycare, where he can play with other kids?”

“He’s been kicked out of every daycare in the county. They don’t have enough staff to keep track of him, plus the fire department and police are tired of looking for him. Sam thinks we ought to put a GPS ankle bracelet on him, to save time.”

“Oh my gosh, Hannah,” Claire said. “Don’t you worry about what will happen to him?”

Hannah gave Claire the same look Sammy had given her in the bedroom, the one that indicated she must be mentally deficient.

“I’m doing the best I can,” she said. “After I got pregnant and Sam got his legs back under him we had an honest talk about what we both needed to be happy. I wanted to buy Lily Crawford’s farm so we’d be closer to town, for the baby. Sam wanted to dissolve his business and do contract work instead. He and Coach Riggenbottom started a physical therapy program for returning vets at the community center, but that doesn’t pay anything. We want to do what makes us both happy but the mortgage must be paid, we must have health insurance, and Sammy must be fed and clothed; so I must work. I’m still the county’s domestic animal control officer, plus I work at the vet’s office and waitress at the Thorn. If I’m not sleeping I’m working.”

“Did you sell the family farm?”

“We tried to but no one wanted to pay what it was worth. We’re renting it to Drew Rosen, the veterinarian. Have you met him?”

“No.”

“Seriously cute,” Hannah said. “I’ll set that up for you if you want.”

“No, thanks,” Claire said. “I’ve got enough trouble in my life right now.”

Hannah’s cell phone played “I Feel Good” by James Brown. After she saw who it was she answered and then listened.

“I’ll be right there,” she said, and ended the call. “There’s a doe in the IGA. Can you watch Sammy ‘til I get back?”

“Doe as in deer?”

“A female deer, ray, a drop of golden sun,” Hannah sang, terribly. “Me, a name I call myself …”

“Sure,” Claire interrupted. “I’ll do my best.”

“That’s all any of us can do,” Hannah said, and then she yelled down the hall, “Be good for Claire and I’ll bring you something.”

“What?” was the reply from under the bed.

“Something for your treasure chest,” she called out, and then winked at Claire. “Good luck.”

Two hours later Claire was sitting at the kitchen table, drinking the last dregs of a pot of coffee while watching Sammy feed Mackie Pea rings of oat cereal. The little dog sat at Sammy’s feet, waiting patiently as he pushed each circle to the edge of the table. As soon as it fell the dog would catch it with a loud snap of the jaws that made Sammy laugh. It looked as if the small boy was training the dog but Claire knew better.

“Where’s his tail go?” Sammy asked.

“Mackie Pea is a little girl dog,” Claire said. “Boston Terriers have their tails docked when they’re little.”

“Does it hurt?”

“Probably,” Claire said.

“When I steps on my dog’s tail he say YIPE!” Sammy said. “Why’s they’s cutting her tail off?”

“People do weird things to dogs,” Claire said. “To make them look a certain way.”

“They’s always trying to cut my hair,” Sammy said, “but I not.”

“Good for you,” Claire said. “You should grow it down to the ground.”

“Down to the ground?” Sammy asked. “Down to my feets?”

“We’ll have to braid it and wrap it around your head to keep you from tripping over it.”

“Hairs don’t grow down to the ground,” Sammy said. “That’s silly.”

“It will,” Claire said. “Unless you cut it before it gets down to your legs you’ll trip over it when you walk.”

“You have long hairs,” he said. “They’s pretty.”

“Thank you,” Claire said, surprised by how much the compliment meant to her, even though it came from a three-year-old.

“You growing your hairs down to the ground?” he asked her.

“No,” she said, “just this long.”

“I can cuts my own hair.”

“Not on my watch.”

“They’s never letting me have scissors.”

“That’s because scissors are sharp. You might cut yourself.”

“I not. I careful.”

“I’m not giving you scissors.”

“They’s never do,” he said with a sigh.

“It’s hard to be you, I guess,” Claire said.

“I mad about it,” Sammy said. “They’s never letting me do nothing.”

“Sorry about that.”

“That’s okay,” Sammy said. “I alright.”

“Did you like going to school?” Claire asked him.

“They’s have good toys at the white church school. They’s have trucks, and bulldozers, and trackhoes, and backhoes, and monster trucks. They’s have a big train you can ride on.”

“Do you like playing with other kids?”

“Uh huh,” Sammy said. “Where’s you find this little girl dog?”

“I got her from a lady I worked for.”

“What’s her’s name?”

“Mackie Pea.”

“Mappy Pete’s likes me,” Sammy said and then held up two fingers. “I gots two dogs. They’s names Jax and Wally.”

“I’ve met them,” Claire said, not bothering to correct him on Mackie’s name or his grammar. “They’re out back, asleep on the porch.”

Sammy shrugged.

“They’s likes me,” he said. “You’s want to see some treasure?”

“Sure,” Claire said.

Hannah opened the back door and entered the kitchen. Sammy slid out of his chair and ran down the hallway into Claire’s parents’ bedroom. Mackie Pea looked at Claire as if to say, “What was that about?”

“You can see how close we are,” Hannah said as she sat down. “He’s always so overjoyed to see me. I don’t know why I expected him to be more like the dogs.”

“He went to get his treasure.”

“Cute dog,” Hannah said. “Did Sammy give you any trouble?”

“Not a bit,” Claire said. “He’s going to grow his hairs down to his feets.”

“I’d cut it off while he’s asleep but it doesn’t seem sporting,” Hannah said. “He howls like a banshee if I even try to wash it, and honestly, I’m picking my battles with this one. Left to his own devices he’d turn feral within a week.”

“How did you get the deer out of the grocery store?”