Point No Point (19 page)

It was only a few minutes later that Colette stood in front of her desk. “They’re telling me I can’t bury my sister. They say that only Chet has the authority to do that. But where is he?”

Claire raised her unbroken hand and motioned for her to slow down. Her broken arm was starting to throb. “Sorry,

Colette, I don’t think I can do anything to help you there. Chet hasn’t turned up yet.”

“I have every right to bury my sister. What if he never shows up? What then? What if he killed her? I’d like to throttle him, leaving her in the lurch like this.” Colette seemed to realize for a moment where she was and who she was talking to. “Well, I just don’t know what I might do.”

Claire felt her arm throbbing faster, the tiny jolts of pain felt like torture. So did this woman’s voice. “Let’s step into the conference room where we can talk more privately.”

Claire led the way to the small conference room down the hall. One big round table, chairs, no windows. Colette sat down. Claire sat right next to her. Maybe that way she would talk more.

Colette launched right in. “I can’t stand the thought of Anne not being buried. It’s just not right. I want to take her back to the farm and bury her beside our parents. I tried to get the funeral home to let me take over the arrangements of her burial but they say I don’t have the authority. Can’t you help me?”

Claire felt an unexpected wave of compassion for the woman. She didn’t blame Colette for wanting to put her sister to rest.

“I’m sorry to say I don’t think so. We haven’t charged Chet with anything. He is still the legal guardian, the next of kin, for your sister and as such can make all the decisions.”

“Well, where the hell is he?”

Claire felt like hanging her head, but instead she looked right at Colette and said, “That’s my fault. I picked him up at

the hospital and he ran away.” Claire rubbed the slightly swollen fingers that were sticking out of her cast. “That’s when this happened.”

“Doesn’t that prove how dangerous he is?”

“Not really. My broken arm wasn’t exactly his fault.”

“But his running away?”

“Yes, that’s concerning us.”

“Why haven’t you found him? Why aren’t you doing more? You know, get out the troops?”

“We have deputies out looking for him, but this is a small county and we just don’t have the resources.”

Colette deflated. Her shoulders slumped, her face sagged. She leaned forward and collapsed on the table, her head resting on her hands. “She’s just lying there in the cold, waiting. This isn’t right.”

“I can promise nothing, but we hope to find Chet very soon and we will get this resolved.” Claire needed to ask her some questions. “I found out that Anne was taking some medication for depression and also discovered that she was seeing a therapist. Did you know this?”

Colette puffed up again, sitting up tall. “Yes, she had told me about that. But so what?”

“Well, can you tell me why? What she was depressed about and why she was seeing the therapist?”

“I don’t know everything. I mean, I didn’t push her that hard to find out what was bothering her, but she would have told me if I had.”

“What do you know?”

“I told you that things were difficult with her and Chet. She’s been talking about that for a while. Concerned about how they were getting along. As I told you it seemed to have something to do with their sex life. You know he had surgery on his prostate.”

“No, but I was wondering. He had some medication for prostate problems.”

Colette wrinkled her forehead. “You know, don’t all guys get that as they grow older?”

“Many of them do, but to varying degrees. How badly was it affecting Chet—do you know?”

“I don’t know about that. But I do know …” Colette’s voice broke and her shoulders shook. She clasped her hands together and looked like she was ready to plead with Claire. “I know that something bad had happened. Very bad. Anne wouldn’t tell me what it was. She called one night about a week ago and was hysterical. She said that she couldn’t stand herself. That she was a horrible person. That she didn’t deserve to live.”

Claire was stunned. Why hadn’t Colette told her this before? No sense asking her that now. “Did she tell you why?”

“No. I tried to get her to, but she just wasn’t talking straight. I thought she was drunk. Maybe it was those pills she started taking. I don’t know. I couldn’t get her to tell me what was wrong. When I asked her straight out, she hung up on me. I suppose I should have told you this before.”

“Did you talk to her after that?”

“Yes, sure. I called her right back but she wouldn’t answer the phone. When I called her the next day, she brushed it off.

She said she’d been having a hard day, no big deal. I couldn’t get her to tell me anything more. I asked her what was the matter, but she shut up. I should have …” This time Colette started sobbing, the cries pouring out of her throat, shuddering through her whole body.

Claire reached out and put a hand on Colette’s shaking shoulder. “You did all you could. You tried.”

* * *

Rich sat at the kitchen table in the Baldwin’s house and looked at the beer in his hand. Chet was a good friend. He wondered if they would ever drink a beer together again.

Rich knew he wasn’t supposed to be in the house—Claire would have his head if she knew—but he had gone in to get some more dog food for Bentley. This afternoon Bentley had acted a little more territorial when Rich had gotten out of the truck, but then warmed up to him again. The poor guy must be missing Anne and Chet. Hard to be all alone, responsible for the whole farm.

After Rich found another bag of dog chow in the pantry, he had looked in the fridge—just an automatic gesture—and seen the six-pack of beer. He grabbed a beer, thinking how much he deserved it.

It was late in the afternoon, the hottest part of the day, and Rich was exhausted. He had slept very poorly on the couch last night. No matter what position he had put his body in, he hadn’t been comfortable. Three nights of not sleeping in his own sweet bed were taking a toll on him.

The couch in the living room looked tempting, but he had work to do.

He took another cool swig of beer. He was mad at Claire and tired of being mad at her. Superwoman had to go to work. Certainly he wanted her to find out what had happened to Anne as much as anyone.

He was trying to figure out why he was so bothered lately. Yes, Claire had been difficult this summer, possibly because of sliding into menopause. Yes, he would have to be somewhat understanding of that. But somehow, he had never felt that she had fully committed to him, that she would trust him with her life.

It wasn’t just the fact that they had never married. Although that did irk him. It was more how separate she could keep herself, how self-contained. He also knew that her first husband’s death had damaged her and that the revenge she had taken had caused even more destruction in her soul. She deeply distrusted the world. She had looked evil in the eye and, unfortunately, saw it everywhere.

Rich had hoped she would get over that. He had hoped that years of being with a solid man who stood by her and fed her and loved her would make her believe in the basic goodness of people again. But he was losing faith that even all his love could change Claire.

Rich was no longer sure that Claire would ever give herself completely to him. He was afraid that she would always hold back a part of herself as protection.

He wasn’t sure he could live that way with her.

That scared the shit out of him.

Rich finished the beer. When he bent over to throw the bottle in the trash under the sink, he heard the front door open.

I
n the late afternoon, Jeremy drove Claire over to see Dr. Singh in Wabasha. The judge had come through with the court order, which was a piece of good luck. Court happened to be in session and the judge happened to be in a decent mood. Plus, Claire made a convincing argument—Anne’s state of mind might make all the difference in a murder investigation.

Jeremy pointed out some of his favorite fishing spots as they drove the long causeway over the delta formed by the Chippewa River flowing into the Mississippi. Claire spotted some mallards paddling in the reeds of the slough, then through the trunks of the alders she saw the tall, angular form of a Great Blue Heron.

For a moment, she wished she could be in a small fishing boat in those quiet backwaters, staring at a bobber. Nothing on her mind, the heat bearing down on her like a comforting hand, a fish a possibility, but not necessary.

Then Jeremy asked, “How’s your arm feel?”

She looked down at the fiberglass cast that covered her limb and said, “It’s okay if I sit really still.”

“That’s hard to do.”

“Impossible,” Claire said.

Five minutes later, they parked in front of the clinic where Dr. Singh worked. “Jeremy, why don’t you take a break? Go someplace cool, get a Coke, and come back in about a half an hour.” Claire thought Dr. Singh might be more open with just one deputy asking her questions.

From her thin voice on the phone and her name, Claire had thought Dr. Singh would be small and Asian, but she was a tall, thin woman, with straight brown hair. If Claire had to guess her nationality she would have said German. Her blue eyes shone behind silver-rimmed glasses.

Claire introduced herself, handed Dr. Singh the court order, and waited while the woman perused it.

“Please come in.” Dr. Singh opened a door to a very comfortably appointed room. A large oriental rug covered the floor, bookshelves rose floor to ceiling on one wall, and a large abstract painting in soft blues and greens filled most of another wall. Windows behind the desk looked out on a small garden.

Claire sat in a chair opposite the desk. Dr. Singh sat and folded her hands on top of her desk as if in prayer, or as if she was trying to keep them still. “I’m glad you’ve come. I thought about this all night and I’ve decided I needed to tell someone what I know.”

“I’m so sorry about Anne Baldwin,” Claire began. “I knew Anne fairly well, too.”

“Oh, that’s right. So you said.” Dr. Singh sounded surprised. “I’m not sure if that makes me feel better or worse.” Then, looking at Claire’s arm, she asked, “What happened to you?”

“Just a tumble.” Claire gave her a quick smile. “How long had Anne been seeing you?”

“Since early summer.” Dr. Singh looked at her folded hands. “She was having problems with her husband. She was somewhat depressed and a bit anxious. Not an unusual combination.”

“Can you be more specific?”

Dr. Singh shifted in her chair. “This is very uncomfortable for me. I’m usually the one asking the questions.”

Claire said nothing.

“Her husband was having severe sexual dysfunction, to the point where they could no longer have sex. This made Anne feel like she was failing him somehow. Also she couldn’t bear thinking that her sexual life was over.”

Even though Claire had suspected this, it was hard to hear. “Was she thinking of leaving Chet?”

“Oh, no. That wasn’t an issue at all. She loved him. But according to her, the sexual component of their life together had been very important to both of them and they were having a very hard time without it. Chet had even encouraged her to seek out other men, a suggestion that surprised her.”

“Did she?”

Dr. Singh looked over at the painting. “Yes.”

“With whom?”

“I don’t know.”

“Did Chet find out?”

Dr. Singh’s face tightened. “I’m afraid so.”

“What did he do?”

“This is so hard. I didn’t know what to do. Nothing like this had ever happened to me before.” Her hands pulled at each other in a worrying way.

“I have heard everything.”

“I suppose, but maybe I should have done something.” The therapist shook her head slowly and sadly. “I checked with a fellow therapist. The problem with reporting something like this is it’s hearsay.”

“It’s not too late.”

Dr. Singh spit out the words. “Yes, it is. It’s way too late.”

“What did Chet do?”

“I’m not sure. But I suspect the man died.”

Claire couldn’t believe what she was hearing. “Died? How?”

“I don’t know. She didn’t say.”

“Anne told you this?”

“Sort of. One session, a little more than a week ago, she was hysterical. She said there had been an accident. Something about a man stopping by who had done some work for them. She said that Chet came home early and found them together. She said they were not in the house, but in a cabin. All she would tell me was that it was awful. That they fought. She said the man got hurt, but she wouldn’t say anything else. I didn’t know what to do.”

This image of the scene stunned Claire. It must have happened in the cabin. They hadn’t tested the cabin for blood or prints or anything. No reason to. It looked like the condom had not been used by Chet but by this other man.

“So you don’t know what happened to the man? What they did?”

“She wouldn’t tell me anything more. She left before the end of our session. Just walked out. I was so worried when she didn’t show up this last week. I even tried to call her.”

“Do you know what kind of work this man did?” “She said he cut down a tree for them.”

* * *

Usually Meg loved babysitting Rachel, but today the toddler had been fussy. She didn’t want to take a nap, wouldn’t eat much lunch, then pitched a tantrum when Meg wouldn’t let her go for a walk. It was just too hot to be outside, and not much cooler in the house. Finally, Meg ran a cool bath and plopped Rachel in the tub. She filled the tub with toys and brought a chair in to the bathroom. Rachel had played in the water and Meg had read a book about a girl who has diabetes and thinks she’s a vampire. The girl’s situation made Meg feel better about her life.

Meg had just pulled Rachel out of the tub and toweled her off when she heard Bridget’s car pull into the gravel driveway.

Bridget trudged up the walk, looking like she had had a hard day too. She pushed open the door, set her purse down on a chair, took Rachel from Meg’s arms and said, “I think it’s an eat-out night tonight. It’s so hot in here. You should have taken her to your house.”