The Carson Springs Trilogy: Stranger in Paradise, Taste of Honey, and Wish Come True (140 page)

“A friend.”

“Prove it.”

“Listen.” The voice grew more urgent. “They’ve got it all wrong.” Anna rose as quietly as she could. She had one foot on the toilet seat, preparing to climb up and peek over the top of the stall, when the woman cried sharply, “Don’t! I swear, I’ll be outta here so fast you won’t even see my back.”

Anna sank back down. “Okay. I’m listening.”

It was like in Confession, just a thin wall between her and salvation. She stared at a square of toilet paper stuck to the dirty tiles at her feet, her heart pounding. Was it possible her fate hinged on a faceless stranger in a bathroom stall? Or was this some kind of cruel joke?

“I was there. I saw what happened.”

Realization went through Anna like an electric shock. “Krystal? Is that you?”

There was a long silence, then she said grudgingly, “Yeah, it’s me. But I’m only here to give you the four-one-one. That’s as far as it goes.”

“Can’t we talk about this face-to-face?”

“It’s better this way.”

“All right.” Anna let out a shaky breath.

“Look, I shouldn’t even be here. I could get in a lot of trouble.”

“What kind of trouble?” The longer she could keep her talking, the better her chances of convincing Krystal to come forward with whatever she knew.

Krystal sighed. “You know how it is. Every time you get a leg up, they drag you back down. I guess that’s why I’m here. You made me feel like I was somebody, like I had a chance. I mean, yeah, I was pissed off at first when I found out it wasn’t Monica giving me all that advice. But, hell, I wouldn’t have gotten my kids back if it hadn’t been for you. If only I’d quit while I was ahead.” She gave a harsh smoker’s laugh. “But, no, I had to fuck it all up. I had to see for myself if she was the real deal. All I wanted was a peek, I swear. I’m not one of those friggin’ crazies you see on TV.”

“Why didn’t you just ask to meet me—I mean her?”

Another harsh laugh. “That woulda been too easy. Us junkies, we do everything the hard way. Now I wish to God I’d stayed away. Then I wouldna seen—” She broke off.

“What?” Anna thought her heart would knock a hole through her chest.

“Your sister wasn’t murdered.” Anna went very still. “It wasn’t an accident, either.”

“Are you saying—?” Anna’s head spun, unable to grasp what Krystal was saying.

“I saw her by the pool. Looked like she was crying. She was talking to herself, too.” In the deserted restroom Krystal’s voice echoed as if in a cavern. “The next thing I know there’s a splash and she’s gone. I swear I couldn’t move. It was like in the Bible, that lady who turns into a pillar of salt.”

“Lot’s wife,” Anna said woodenly.

“By the time I got to her, it was too late. She … she was floating facedown. So I ran. Maybe I coulda saved her, I don’t know. But you see, don’t you? Why I couldn’t go to the cops? They woulda pinned it on
me.
”

Anna was too stunned to speak. If Krystal was making this up, she was a damn good liar. But if what she was saying was true, that it was suicide, wouldn’t Monica have left a note? And what about all the evidence pointing to
her
? Was it just a coincidence? Or …

She set you up one last time,
a small, still voice rang out amid the whirling maelstrom in her head
She wanted it to look as if you’d done it
—
the ultimate payback.

The graffiti scratched into the beige metal walls of her cubicle seemed to jump out at her: MARCY SUX COX. STELLA LUVS RICO, and in bold crooked letters that sent a chill up her spine,
YOU CAN’T FIGHT THE MAN
. She brought a fist to her mouth to muffle the cry that rose. What had she done to deserve such hatred? The only explanation that made sense was the one their mother had provided: In some strange, twisted way Monica had blamed her and Liz, and most of all Betty, for what she’d suffered at their father’s hands. A long simmering resentment that had come to a full boil when Anna shed her fat, thus disturbing the status quo.

A more immediate fear took shape. This information would be useless unless Krystal agreed to cooperate. “You have to tell them,” she pleaded. “Once you explain—”

“You don’t get it!” A fist thumped against the side of the stall, rattling the toilet paper holder and causing Anna to jump. “I could lose my kids, this time for good.”

“My lawyer will help. She—”

Krystal didn’t let her finish. “No fucking way. I know that game, and I always end up losing. Like I said, I shouldn’t have come at all.”

“Then why did you?”

“I don’t know. It was dumb, I guess. See, you were wrong about me. Some people are born with the deck stacked against them, and I’m one. Anyway, for what it’s worth, good luck. I hope you get off.” There was a rustle of movement on the other side, and Anna heard the click of the cubicle’s latch. If she didn’t act quickly it would be too late.

“I know why you came,” she said in a rush, “because you couldn’t live with yourself otherwise. Because I don’t deserve to go to prison for something I didn’t do. You know what prison is like, Krystal. Could you really do that to me, knowing I’m innocent?”

“I’m sorry.” The creak of a door opening. “Really, I am.” Krystal sounded close to tears.

“
Wait
—” Anna lurched to her feet, scrabbling with the bolt. Her clammy fingers slipped, found purchase, then slipped again. Anna hammered at it with the heel of her hand, then it slid open and she was stumbling out into the open. “Krystal!” she yelled, but there was only her own pale, stark reflection in the mirror over the sink by which she stood. She caught a flash of movement from the corner of her eye, and spun about in time to see someone disappear through the door.

Anna stumbled out into the corridor, spotting a skinny blonde in a too-short skirt and a denim blouse pushing her way through the crowd. As Anna started after her, Laura fell in behind her. They hadn’t gone more than a few yards when the reporters surged in around them. A microphone was shoved in Anna’s face, and she was momentarily blinded by a barrage of camera flashes. A woman’s voice, crisp and modulated, cut through the din, “Anna, can you comment on the hearing so far?”

Anna pushed past her, shrieking, “Out of my way!”

Voices roared in her ears. Bodies pressed in. Cameras and microphones were launched at her like heat-seeking missiles.

“Anna, have you ruled out a plea bargain?”

“Do you think it’ll go to trial?”

“This way, Anna! Over here!”

Over the sea of bobbing heads and Minicams, she caught sight of Krystal plowing her way toward the exit. “Stop her!” Anna screamed at the top of her lungs.

She set off in pursuit, Laura at her heels. They’d nearly reached the exit when they were joined by Hector and Marc, looking like nothing so much as a pair of Wild West gunslingers as they muscled reporters and cameramen aside. Someone cried out. A Minicam crashed to the floor, unleashing a stream of curses. A dark-haired man wearing headphones leaped into their path, but Marc batted him aside as if he’d been a mosquito.

Then, like the parting of the Red Sea, a narrow channel appeared and they dashed through it. Marc held the reporters at bay while Hector shepherded the women through the door onto the steps outside. Anna glanced frantically about, but Krystal was nowhere to be seen.
Please, God,
she prayed.
Don’t let her get away.

She scanned the crowd spilling down the steps onto the lawn below—not reporters, she saw, but protesters shouting and waving placards. She spotted Finch, bullhorn in hand, bellowing, “INNOCENT PEOPLE DON’T BELONG BEHIND BARS! THE SOONER YOU LET HER GO, THE SOONER YOU’LL FIND THE REAL KILLER!” Police had formed a loose cordon, but the crowd seemed orderly for the most part. Yet Anna could have wept. How would she ever find Krystal in this crush?

Then God took pity on her at last, and Anna spotted her. She charged down the steps to snatch the bullhorn from a startled-looking Finch. “Stop that woman!” she cried, pointing toward Krystal, who was jogging in the direction of the parking lot.

Her amplified voice had the effect of a gunshot. For an instant everyone froze, even Krystal. Then she was once more on the run, this time with more than a dozen people in pursuit.

It had taken countless phone calls and flyers, but with the help of her friends, Finch had managed to round up enough people for the rally. There were kids from school, Claire and Matt and some of the regulars from Tea & Sympathy, Gerry and Aubrey, Sam and Ian, parishioners from St. Xavier’s and congregants from First Presbyterian, along with those who simply felt Anna was getting a bum rap. Even Sister Agnes had shown up, a round little figure in a black habit and veil waving a placard that read
THE TRUTH SHALL MAKE YOU FREE, JOHN 8:32
. Ian had painted a huge banner that was held up at either end by Alice and Wes. And Bud McVittie, a retired army officer and president of the local VFW, had provided the bullhorn, though Finch had politely declined his offer of gas masks.

No sooner had they assembled outside the courthouse than an anchor from Channel 7, a buttery-tressed Career Barbie in a caramel-colored suit and hot pink blouse, had broken away from the pack to come scurrying down the steps, trailed by her crew.

“So you believe Anna’s innocent?” She shoved a microphone into Finch’s face.

Finch, squinting in the bright light directed at her by the cameraman, was all at once tongue-tied.

Andie nudged her, hissing, “Say something.”

Finch cast about wildly before her gaze settled on Lucien, who flashed her an encouraging grin. She found her voice, saying indignantly, “The only crime here is Anna being arrested for something she didn’t do!”

Career Barbie’s lips curved in a fake smile. “How can you be sure she didn’t do it?”

“Because she … she …” Finch faltered before blurting, “She wouldn’t hurt a fly!”

“Yeah, she’s no more a murderer than I am!” Andie chimed in. Her cheeks flushed a deep crimson, as if she’d realized how it might sound to those seeing her on TV.

“The D.A. was looking for a scapegoat; that’s the only reason she was charged.” Simon stepped to the fore, looking a good deal older than his age in a dark gray blazer and open-collared shirt. “Are you aware that he’s up for reelection this fall? A conviction in such a high-profile case would of course …” He was off to the races.

More reporters had migrated toward the ever-widening circle of protesters on the lawn, where a table was set up and Claire was doling out Dixie cups of lemonade and -freshly baked Toll House cookies.

Nearby, Olive Miller brandished a placard with a drawing of the Liberty Bell and the words
LET FREEDOM RING
! She and her identical twin Rose, wearing matching blue shirtwaists, certainly looked old enough to have witnessed the birth of the nation firsthand. A man in a toupee that screamed Carpeteria shoved a microphone at them.

“What’re a couple of nice ladies like you doing in a place like this?” he asked with a wink.

“We were on our way to rob a bank—” Rose began sweetly.

“—but we decided this would be more fun,” Olive finished for her.

The man’s mouth dropped open, and it was a moment before he recovered his wits.

A short distance away, waving banners and shouting at the top of their lungs, were Rose’s towheaded granddaughters, Dawn and Eve. They were accompanied by their parents, who looked every inch the aging, potgrowing radicals they were with bandannas tied around their graying heads, wearing tie-dyed T-shirts and Birkenstocks. They hadn’t been this worked up since they’d marched against the war in Vietnam.

“
Screw the system!
” yelled the twins’ bearded dad.

“
Hands off me, pig!
” his wife screamed at a startled-looking cop who’d accidentally bumped into her.

Burly, tattooed Herman Tyzzer had closed up shop for the afternoon. Anyone wishing to rent a video at Den of Cin would have to wait until the following day. At his side was his wife, Consuela, wearing a black
abuelita
dress with a large gold crucifix around her neck. She looked more like an ex-nun than Andie’s mom, who was anything but demure in tight slacks and a stretchy red top that showed off her cleavage. Gerry had caught the attention of at least one cameraman: On the late news on Channel 11 there would be a cutaway shot of her boobs bouncing past. But right now she was all over the map, shouting and waving a sign that read
WE LOVE YOU, ANNA
! Beside her Aubrey brandished his own placard as enthusiastically as if he were conducting Beethoven’s Ninth.

Sam and Ian brought up the rear. Ian looked like a sixties protester, with his ponytail and earring; Sam as if she’d stepped out of the Lands’ End catalogue. They’d left Jack with Mavis, who’d been prevented from attending the rally by a flare-up of her arthritis.

Nearby, Tom Kemp and his fiancée chanted at the top of their lungs. Finch had never seen Ms. Hicks so fired up, her cheeks flushed and eyes sparkling. She’d never be beautiful, but at least she no longer looked as if she’d been on the shelf too long.

Finch was glad to see that Edna Simmons had come, too. She hadn’t seen Edna since Betty had gone to the Sunshine Home. Now, watching her clump past in her work boots, her horsey braid swinging at her back, Finch felt that maybe it would all work out for Anna, just as it had for her mother.

She spotted Fran O’Brien, owner of Françoise’s Creperie. An Energizer Bunny with flaming red hair, she was flanked by her hulking teenage sons, whom Finch knew from school. She wondered if Fran had any idea that Tommy, the elder of the two and star of the varsity wrestling team, was gay. He’d confided it to Finch one day after school, maybe because he’d sensed she had secrets of her own.

A short distance away, David Ryback was pouring lemonade at the refreshment table. He and Claire were just friends, but from the way Claire’s husband acted, always finding some fix-it job around the house whenever David stopped by, you’d think he had reason to worry. Finch doubted that was the case, though she couldn’t say the same for David and his wife. From what she’d seen of them in church and around town, their marriage wasn’t in such great shape.