The Sparrow Sisters (24 page)

P
atience Sparrow,” Chief Kelsey said, his words formal, his voice shaking, “you are under arrest for negligent manslaughter in the death of Matthew Short.”

Patience didn't hear her Miranda warning although she stood calmly as the chief had to read it off a little card—that's how infrequently anything really bad happened in Granite Point. It was early, and the Sisters were still vague with sleep. Patience's mind had already flown off in search of comfort. In her head she was at the Nursery, wandering amidst her plants, pressing labels to her bottles, pinching flowers from their stems. The two policemen actually smelled basil and lavender as they led
Patience down Ivy House's steps to the car. The deputy thought he tasted mint as he licked his lips and gently bowed Patience's head to get her into the backseat. Even Chief Kelsey detected the scent of tarragon rising from her wrists as he snapped the handcuffs shut.

He'd been advised by the prosecutor to follow the book. “You don't want any holes in this,” Hutchins had said. Kelsey and the deputy flinched at the metallic click, but their quarry was as still as water. Patience Sparrow was gone long before the car pulled away from Ivy House.

It was Sorrel who called Simon Mayo this time. Nettie called Ben, and Ben called Henry. Simon was at the house before the Sisters were dressed; he wanted to see them before he went to Patience. He sat in the kitchen, drinking coffee he made himself, and waited. True to form, Nettie was more than a little frantic, and Sorrel sat so stiffly in her chair that Simon was afraid to put a mug into her hand, afraid she'd splinter into pieces.

“Listen,” he said. “I'm going to head to the station as soon as I make sure you guys are all right. You're both to stay by the phone, but don't talk to anyone but me.” He looked from one sister to the other. “Are you hearing me?” They nodded.

“I will get Patience out and home.” Simon left his cup on the table, and the Sisters heard his Mercedes pull away with a screech.

Chief Kelsey sat at his desk with his own cup of coffee. He refused to look down the hall toward the holding tank. He re
fused to think of Patience as he'd left her, sitting on the metal shelf that served as a bench and a bunk, her hands clasped so tightly her knuckles bulged white against her freckles. She'd come to the door of Ivy House barefoot. The chief hadn't noticed that she'd come along to the station that way. He found a pair of socks in his bottom desk drawer (
Why do I have socks?
he thought) and tossed them through the bars when she didn't respond to his voice. He didn't want her to be barefoot in the cell; he could only imagine the Sisters' reaction to that. And now he looked at the arrest report on his computer screen, the cursor blinking beside her name: Impatiens Sparrow. None of the Sisters had middle names; it was enough that their first names were so remarkable.

Simon Mayo slammed through the front door of the police station with such force that even Patience raised her head in her cell. Chief Kelsey looked up expecting the Sisters; he thought their anger must be a flammable thing by now. But it was Simon who was so furious he'd ignored his untucked shirt, the whiskers on his jaw. Normally Simon was hyper aware of his appearance as if starched shirts, Hermès ties, and knife-creased trousers somehow mitigated the fact that he was, indeed, a country lawyer. But today he was like a half-open drawer spilling haste, distress, and yes, fury.

“Christ, Joe!” he said. “What the hell is going on?”

“It looks like something at the Nursery could be behind the boy's death.” Chief Kelsey wanted to whisper, but he forced himself to speak with confidence, the last thing he felt.

“How did you get a warrant so fast?” Simon asked.

“Rob Short filed a complaint. I swore an affidavit.”

“You?” Simon was shocked. “You know Patience. This is extreme, Joe!”

“There is enough evidence: the foxglove, the fact that Matty spent so much time around her, her blowup with Rob Short. County got into it. We had to bring her in.”

Hot shame washed over the chief. What had happened at that coffee shop? Did that ferret of a prosecutor railroad him?

“I want her out,” Simon said.

“Not till tomorrow, bail.”

“You really charged her?” Simon was aghast.

“Negligent manslaughter,” he said, as if unintentional death made Matty less dead, Patience less arrested.

“Good God, Chief, you can't honestly think she gave him a poisonous plant? You can't believe she'd ever let him near one! She's treated your wife, your granddaughter Sarah. Remember her hornet sting?” Simon's face went slack with disbelief. “This charge can't stand. Let me see her.”

The chief gestured toward the two cells. “Let's go,” he said.

He led Simon down the hall and unlocked the cell door. Patience was where he'd left her; feet still bare, the socks in a ball on the floor. Simon shot him a look that was, frankly, one Joe Kelsey felt he deserved. The case was far from airtight. He could blame Rob Short for starting it with his stink, and he did. Then the damn video, and the shit spread around about a town that let some delusional Wiccan wannabe get away with
murder. Chief Kelsey had to do something, or Hutchins would have. He'd rather it be his circus, but he wanted to have some small hand in protecting Patience.

If Patience had turned inward and still when they came for her, she was absolutely present now. Her skin looked as gray as the walls, her hair as stringy and limp as the mop that stood in a corner just outside the cell. She shook in erratic bursts. It was a wonder she hadn't thrown up.

Simon waited until Kelsey left before he knelt down in front of Patience and gently rolled the socks over her cold feet.

“P,” he said. “I'll get you out of this, but you must do everything I tell you, okay?”

He got no response. Simon sat down beside her on the hard shelf.
Shit,
he thought,
this is really bad.
Thunder moved over the building, and Simon heard the first slap of another storm throw itself against the windows. Patience didn't raise her eyes until he told her she'd be in overnight. At that she gave him such a desperate look that Simon clutched her hands, and she let him. He turned them over to see that her fingertips were stained, her nails black, not with soil but with ink. For Simon this was the moment he truly committed.

“They think I hurt Matty,” she said. Patience couldn't bring herself to say “killed.” “I thought I did, too, at first.” Simon shushed her.

“You can't ever say that, you can't think it,” he hissed. “You must stay absolutely silent when I am not with you.”

Patience nodded and pulled her feet up, floppy in the huge socks and heartrendingly childlike.

“Now, tell me what you know. Tell me what you can't tell anyone else.” Simon took out his pad.

“I don't know anything,” Patience said. “We loved Matty. He was so happy with us.” She pushed her hair behind her ears. “Henry was going to take Matty on. He was going to fix everything.”

“I think we should leave that aside for now,” Simon said. “Let's look at you. Why would Rob single you out? Why is he so sure you hurt Matty?”

Patience flinched. “When his father didn't take care, I did,” she said. “I gave him remedies. I did. That's no secret.” She looked up at Simon. “It's the foxglove, that's what Chief Kelsey keeps asking me about. Is this my fault?” she asked.

“No!” Simon said. “You've done nothing wrong. There are plenty of dangers in this world, plenty of ways for kids to get hurt. You will be exonerated. This”—he waved his arms around the cell—“all of this is because Rob knows he neglected Matty. He's terrified and guilty as hell that he couldn't look after his own child. And Kelsey's been hypnotized by that ADA from Hayward.”

Patience put her head down on her knees. Simon saw a tear drop onto her sock and nearly groaned.

“Matty took care of his father, you know,” she said. “He was always asking me for something to mend his broken heart.”

“Rob Short hasn't been the same since his wife died, and that's sad but it is no excuse for ignoring Matty or accusing you.”

“I want to go home,” she whispered.

“And you will.” Simon squeezed her hands. “I promise.”

“Don't let my sisters see me here,” she said.

Simon nodded and stood. “I'm going back to them now. Everything will be fine. I'll be here first thing tomorrow,” he said and called out for Chief Kelsey.

Patience lay against the wall and listened to the men talk as they left her. They were arguing about the wisdom of keeping her in the cell. The chief actually admitted that he worried about the effect her arrest might have on, as he said, “You know, things.” She couldn't hear how Simon responded. She was surprised that he'd come to her, and she was so thankful that she smiled for the first time since she was arrested.

The rain got harder and harder, the wind kicked up, and before Chief Kelsey came back with a bottle of water and a sandwich for Patience, the hundred-year-old elm in front of the post office had pulled straight out of the ground, its roots heaving the sidewalk into the air with an audible, chilling crack.

T
HE
S
ISTERS,
B
EN,
and Henry had gathered in the kitchen again. Sorrel had to close the back door to keep the water out. Already the gravel paths swam in a blurry ribbon through the garden. Sorrel worried vaguely about the dahlias, and Nettie might have gone out to cut the cilantro before it was flattened,
but the storm frightened her. It was nearly dark at three o'clock, and Ben had twice touched Nettie's shoulder to settle her as the lightning flashed white against the windows. Her neck and chest were covered with angry red blotches. Ben so wanted to lay his hand against one to soothe her. Instead, he laced his fingers behind his back and waited.

Simon didn't bother to knock and came straight through to the kitchen. When he saw Sorrel, he took her in his arms. Henry saw how her neck, long like Patience's, curved until her forehead rested on Simon's shoulder. They stepped apart, and Simon held up his hands as if he expected a flurry of questions.

“Okay, she's in until tomorrow.”

Nettie gasped, and Ben leaned toward her, his hands still clasped.

“I know, it's bad, for everyone, but this is a crap charge, I told the chief that, and I'll get it dismissed before it gets to a grand jury or anyone even says the word trial.”

“You've just said it,” Sorrel murmured. She stood with her back against the tall cupboard that Clarissa had originally used for her remedies. It smelled of white pepper and lavender, crocus stamens and dry mustard. Simon and Sorrel looked at each other and, even Ben could see that whatever they might have meant to each other, whatever they were now, Sorrel trusted Simon. Henry had to trust him, too. There was absolutely nothing he could do for Patience. He still felt disoriented from Ben's call telling him Patience was gone, from his inability to get to her. He'd wanted to go to the police department and
demand that his love be brought to him. He imagined Patience in a cell, trembling with cold. For some reason, he pictured her in his boxers, already suffering from scurvy or rickets. His fingers curled into fists at the thought of her vulnerability. Henry acknowledged that even his thoughts were useless.

“There is nothing to do except bring Patience some clothing,” Simon said.

Oh, God,
Henry thought,
she
is
in my boxers.

“She's got no shoes, and a pair of sweatpants would keep her warmer than her jeans.”

Sorrel looked at Henry: his groan had been too loud.

“I'll bring them,” he said.

“No!” Sorrel snapped. “She belongs to us.” Ben and Henry gaped at her, but Simon shook his head.

“Henry should do that,” he said. “It'll be good for the town to see that her boyfriend—a doctor—hasn't abandoned her.”

Everyone began talking at once. Ben offered to go with Henry, Sorrel complained that Henry wasn't family, Simon told Ben no, and finally, Nettie gave a piercing whistle through her fingers. Only Sorrel didn't flinch.

“All of you stop,” Nettie said. “We are going to follow Simon's instructions to the letter. If he says jump, we say how high.”

Ben and Sorrel laughed weakly and nodded.

“So, I'll get Patience's things, and Simon and Henry can drive over.” Nettie walked to the back stairs and turned. “I think you're both safe out there,” she said pointing at the rain, “but the rest of the town had better watch out.”

It was a vicious storm, but Henry didn't care; he was too eager to see Patience. Nettie had packed Patience's clothes and something to read—
The Compleat Herb Book
. Henry thought she should have a complete fiction book instead. The book never made it into the cell anyway. Sorrel snatched it with a pointed look and tossed it back on the hall table. Simon led the way in his car, and they pulled into the small parking lot behind the police station, an equally small brick building with the town seal over the door: a schooner flanked by two mermaids. Henry remembered how charming he'd thought it was when Patience pointed it out, explaining that Granite Point had such a long record of fishermen coming home safe that in 1827 the mermaids had been added to the seal. Some years later, George Sparrow would be lost at sea. Now the mermaids leered at him ferociously as if to say,
We've
claimed her, good luck getting her back
.

Patience looked as unhealthy as anything to Henry. Even when she was cross and obstinate, there was always something nourishing about her. But here was a woman who had pressed herself so tightly into the corner where the metal bunk met the wall that she looked like rags.