The Rocky Road to Ruin

by Meri Allen

  At lunchtime, Pru came over and shooed me out the door. I was glad to have her relieve me because I had to make a bank deposit. I’d taken to Buzzy’s not-very-secure method of locking cash in the bottom drawer of her desk. I stuffed stacks of wrinkled bills in a grocery tote and prayed it didn’t look like I was carrying several thousand dollars in cash.

  After stopping at the bank, I drove to the hospital. The same receptionist from yesterday was at the Information Desk. Before I could speak, she announced to her coworkers, “This is the woman I was telling you about. She ran into the flames and saved Aaron Tuthill’s dog from the fire!”

  They applauded and I felt a blush warm my cheeks.

  The receptionist told Aaron I’d stopped by yesterday and he’d left instructions that I could visit. She gave me directions and I headed up the elevator.

  Aaron had been moved out of ICU to a single room in the step-down unit. I followed the sound of a talk show blaring at an alarming volume. In the sunny hospital room, Aaron lay against the bright white sheets, his metal glasses slightly askew, his gray hair wild.

  I took a deep breath and spoke as loudly as I could. “Hi, Aaron. How are you feeling?”

  Aaron fumbled for the remote and turned off the TV. He sat up, wheezed, and took my hand in his. “I feel fine. Wish I was out of here,” he rasped, then his eyes reddened. “You saved McGillicuddy! Thank you, Riley. How is he?”

  I raised my voice. Thank goodness that other bed was empty. “I’m glad I could help. McGillicuddy’s fine. Doctor Pryce even made a house call to see him.”

  “Doctor Pryce.” He sighed with relief and sank back on his pillows. “He’s a good man.”

  “Yes, he is.” On that we could agree.

  Aaron said he felt fine, but his skin was gray against the hospital sheets and his breath came in short gasps. I knew I had to talk quickly. “Aaron, did you put something on McGillicuddy’s collar before you dropped him out the window? A flash drive?”

  His bushy gray eyebrows flew up. “Do you have it?”

  Bingo. “No. I saw it when I caught McGillicuddy.”

  “So you don’t have it?” He struggled upright. “How could it fall off?”

  “I checked your yard and I’ll check Dandy’s, er, Mrs. Danforth’s—”

  “Donna Danforth?” His voice rasped. “What about her?”

  “She’s watching McGillicuddy.”

  He inhaled with a sharp gasping sound. “I thought you were watching McGillicuddy?”

  “No, she is.”

  He shut his eyes and his head fell back against the pillow. He took several gasping breaths, and the panel on the wall over his head lit up and started beeping.

  “What’s wrong?” Panic rose in my chest, and I turned, frantic, as a nurse strode in.

  “Sorry, you’ll have to leave now,” she said.

  Well, I almost killed him. My heart hammering, I waited by the door for the nurse. When she emerged, she patted my arm. “He’ll be fine, he just got overtired. He needs rest.”

  On the drive back to the shop, I took several deep breaths, trying to calm my jittering nerves. I’d saved McGillicuddy but almost killed Aaron.

  But I was filled with a sense of determination. I was right—he did put something on McGillicuddy’s collar.

  * * *

  I drove down Farm Lane past Dandy’s house and noted that her blue van was parked in the driveway. Aaron’s reaction when he learned that Dandy had McGillicuddy was so extreme it made me certain that I didn’t want Dandy present when I searched for the flash drive.

  Ice cream opens doors. I ran into Udderly’s kitchen where Pru stood at the sink washing scoops. “You wouldn’t believe how many people have been asking for a flavor called Sugar High,” she said.

  I stopped short. “Brandon’s flavor? Are you kidding?”

  “It’s popular with teenagers. I think it’s a dare to eat it.” She turned off the water and faced me. “Riley, seriously, what are you doing here? The interns and I are doing fine. I heard you were up all night making ice cream with Stretch.”

  “Remind me to tell you about Stretch.” I grabbed a to-go cup and packed it with peach ice cream. “Pru, I’m going to check on McGillicuddy at Mrs. Danforth’s.”

  “Really?” Pru folded her arms.

  I winced. The woman could read me like a book. “Yes, I have ulterior motives.” I just didn’t have time to tell her all of them.

  I had to search for that flash drive and … how did I tell Pru that ever since I heard that Brooke had been pregnant, I had to know for certain who the father was, that I feared it was Mike? As I walked back up the lane, I remembered Brooke’s bedroom, the diary on the nightstand. No girl ever left her diary on her nightstand for her family to find. Dandy must have found it and read it after Brooke’s death. All her daughter’s secrets laid bare. What if Brooke had named Mike as the father of her child?

  Wait a minute, Riley. Dandy had access to that diary ever since Brooke died seventeen years ago. If she’d wanted to confront the father of Brooke’s baby, she would’ve done it years ago. If she’d thought it was Mike, surely Buzzy or Caroline would’ve known and told me about it.

  I shook my head. Maybe there were clues in the diary that a mother wouldn’t understand. I needed to read it myself. What I planned was a violation of privacy, no doubt, but I needed answers and this was the only way I could think to get them.

  Chapter 44

  To my surprise, Dandy’s white picket gate was open when I arrived. I searched under the rose bushes for Aaron’s flash drive but I saw nothing but well-tended earth. I squared my shoulders and rang the doorbell.

  Barking commenced inside and I heard a harsh “Quiet!” as the door opened.

  “Oh, hello, Riley. How are you?” Dandy was dressed in her usual matching tennis skirt and top—navy blue with white trim—with a visor holding back her shoulder-length gray hair.

  “Hi, Mrs. Danforth. I’m doing well, thanks. I was thinking you might need a break from watching McGillicuddy.” The little dog’s barks were now interspersed with a high-pitched whine. “I’d love to take him for a walk.” She hesitated in the doorway with the door almost closed behind her, her hand on the knob.

  I’d prepared for this situation. I held out the pint of ice cream. “I thought you’d like some peach ice cream. We just made it.”

  Her face brightened. “Oh, thank you, I do like peach. I’ll put this in the freezer. Come in.” My eyes swept the living room floor and hallway as I entered. No sign of any flash drive or dog charm on the gleaming hardwood floors, or particle of dust for that matter.

  Dandy had put up a barricade in the kitchen to keep McGillicuddy from exploring the house. She stepped over it and I followed. In the corner was a cut-down cardboard box lined with a threadbare bath towel, not the digs the beloved pooch was probably used to. From the way Aaron coddled him, I figured McGillicuddy’s standard of living was close to Sprinkles’.

  “There he is!” I said.

  The little dog yipped and approached, but thank goodness didn’t seem excited enough to bite me again. I stroked his soft head.

  “I told Aaron when I saw him at the hospital I’d take McGillicuddy for a walk. I thought you needed a break from dog sitting.”

  “How thoughtful.” She put the ice cream in the freezer. “You saw Aaron?”

  “Yes, I just came from the hospital. He’s fine but he looked lonely.” He certainly hadn’t looked fine when I left him, but I hoped the lie was enough to lure Dandy away from her house.

  She tilted her head. “Perhaps I should go see him.”

  “I’m sure he’d appreciate company. Is it okay if I take McGillicuddy for a walk while you’re gone?”

  “Yes, that’s a wonderful idea. Let me get the leash. I left it outside on the patio. I’ll be back in a moment.”

  As soon as she stepped out, I hurdled the gate and dashed down the hallway to Brooke’s room, unlocked the window, and pushed it open slightly. McGillicuddy yi
pped wildly from the kitchen.

  I dashed back and was in the kitchen petting McGillicuddy when Dandy returned. Too late, I wondered if she had an alarm system, but I didn’t see a keypad by the door. I craned to see the front door, but saw no keypad there either. If she had security cameras, I didn’t know what I’d do. But I hoped her issues were confined to gardening in the cemetery at midnight, like Aaron’s was on surveilling the neighborhood.

  “Go for a walk with Riley,” Dandy said in a singsong voice as she clipped on McGillicuddy’s leash. “It’ll be good to tire him out.” We went into the backyard, where she’d made a run for McGillicuddy out of chicken wire.

  Dandy got into her van and pulled out of the driveway. McGillicuddy and I trotted after her. I watched the van head toward Town Road. The hospital was less than five minutes away. I had to move fast.

  “C’mon McGillicuddy, back we go.” I hustled back up the driveway, but McGillicuddy’s little legs couldn’t keep up. I picked him up, struggling to hold his wriggling body. I had to get to Brooke’s diary.

  I turned the knob on the kitchen door, but as expected, it was locked. The window would have to do. I unclipped McGillicuddy’s leash and put him in the run. He barked, short, insistent yips that said to anyone listening: Something is wrong!

  I dragged a patio chair under Brooke’s window, climbed up, then hooked my fingers under the sash and lifted. I boosted myself onto the ledge. It was easier than I thought. All that scooping and toting tubs of ice cream had made my arms strong.

  I heard a car in front of the house and froze as it passed by. McGillicuddy barked a few more times, then plopped down on his belly to watch me. This was more excitement than he was used to. It was more than I was used to. I wiped my sweaty hands on my shorts. What was wrong with me? I shouldn’t be doing stuff like this, but I was tired of waiting for answers, tired of being unable to help Pru with this sorrow about Martha Woodley, and tired of being unable to give Caroline answers about Mike’s death. If there was a chance I’d learn something that’d help, I’d take it.

  I prayed I wouldn’t get caught.

  I pushed the thought away. After slipping off my shoes, afraid dirt would cling to the pretty pink and yellow rug, I dropped into the room and crossed to Brooke’s nightstand. I noted the position of the diary, so I’d remember exactly how to replace it.

  As I picked up the denim-covered book, a special kind of quiet suffused the room. I imagined Dandy in here every day, lying on her daughter’s bed, paging through this book, looking for answers, for some clue she’d missed, some warning she should’ve heeded.

  I opened the diary. Brooke’s entries were written in blue pen, with some words in different-color ink for emphasis. I skimmed, looking for Mike’s name, but I stopped short when I saw Emily’s in a passage from the October before Brooke died.

  Emily’s so jealous. I can’t do anything right with her. She wants to be cheer captain, she wants my clothes, she wants my boyfriend. I know she does. She’s pathetic. She could have any guy she wants why does she want him too?

  All these years later, Emily was here, in Brooke’s diary.

  I scanned more pages but didn’t see Mike’s name, or any guy’s name for that matter. Only “him.” I remembered Dandy had forbidden Brooke to date. Perhaps Brooke knew her mother would read her diary and she’d wanted to keep any “him” from her mother’s prying eyes?

  June 5: I told him about the baby. He’s worried about his precious family finding out. I told him it was my decision and he had to decide if he wanted me too. My heart dropped—his girlfriend had needed him—how could Mike do that? This corroborated the notes in Martha’s ledger.

  I flipped pages. The penultimate entry was dashed off, the ink smeared.

  July 18: I hope Martha Woodley remembers what she said about me staying with her. Because I’m leaving. I told Mom. I thought her head would blow off. She wants to know who the father is, but I’m not telling. Not yet. He called and said we’d figure it out. I knew he wouldn’t let me down.

  With trembling fingers, I turned to the next day, the last entry.

  July 24: Nina’s coming over. She wants to bake together like we did when we were kids. Mom says it’s so nice. Ironic much, mom? She’s always been on me about my weight. She’s always nice when Nina’s around. Now Mom says she’ll help me with the baby. I don’t care. I know what I want and she can’t tell me what to do.

  The next page was empty.

  The blare of a car horn and voices from the street made me jump and I set the diary back in place. As I turned to go, I noticed a rocking chair against the wall by the doorway, which was out of my line of sight when I’d stood there the other day. Several well-worn stuffed animals were heaped in a pile on the seat, including a teddy bear wearing a stained white T-shirt with the words “Sugar Bear” written in sloppy magic marker.

  A car pulled in the driveway and McGillicuddy yelped madly. I jumped across the room, jammed my feet back in my shoes, and slid out the window onto the chair. My hands slipped as I grasped the window and jerked it down. I jumped from the chair and placed it back on the patio, my hands trembling so badly I almost knocked it over.

  I raced over to McGillicuddy seconds before Dandy rounded the corner of the house. My chest heaving and sweat pouring down my back, I bent to stroke McGillicuddy and realized the chair had left marks in the soft earth beneath the window. With another jolt, I realized that Dandy would surely discover that though the bedroom window was closed, it was now unlocked.

  “They wouldn’t let me see Aaron,” Dandy said shortly, swinging her keys into her palm with a thwack.

  “That’s too bad.” I headed for the driveway, fighting an urge to run. “McGillicuddy was a good dog. Look how tired he is. I’d better get back to the shop. Bye!”

  I ran down Farm Lane and up the steps of Buzzy’s farmhouse, my mind whirling with two facts I’d learned, answers to two questions I hadn’t thought to ask.

  Brooke hadn’t noted any boyfriend’s name in her diary.

  Nina had visited Brooke the night before she died.

  What had happened to make Brooke take a handful of sleeping pills? She had a safe place for herself and her baby and still she took her own life? Think Riley, despite Brooke’s confidence, she was a teenager. I thought back to when I was eighteen, tried to imagine living with a woman who made her students shake in their boots.

  She’s always been on me about my weight.

  On the bookshelf in Mike’s room, I’d noticed yearbooks. I pulled out the one from his senior year, and curled my legs under me on the bed as I turned glossy pages to Mike’s senior photo. He grinned from the page, handsome, brash, the world at his feet. A list of activities was printed under every photo. His read “Football, State Champions. Business Club. Swimming. Tennis.”

  I paged to Kyle Aldridge’s photo. While Mike had been handsome, Kyle had been cute, still hadn’t grown out of his boyishness. “Football, State Champions. Tennis. Student Senate. Class President. Spring Play: Brigadoon.”

  In her photo, Emily Weinberg dipped her chin at the camera, a look perfected, no doubt, by many hours in front of the mirror. “Cheer. Student Senate. Fashion Club. Tennis.”

  I flipped back to the Bs. Nina Baldwin. Nina’s swan neck, pearl earrings, and square jaw were elegant, even in a class photo. “Cheer. Student Senate. Tennis.”

  I turned to Brooke Danforth’s photo. How many people looked that good in their yearbook photo? She exuded confidence, charisma, a girl who knew what she wanted. “Cheer Captain. Gymnastics Team, State Champions. Fall Festival Homecoming Queen. Spring Play: Brigadoon.”

  I flipped to the photos of the prom. A banner across the school doors proclaimed the theme: “Truly, Madly, Deeply.” The cheerleading team was photographed in front of a pink stretch Hummer. I wondered whose idea that had been.

  I remembered the photos Rocky had knocked off the bureau. I jumped to my feet and stood them up, first the photo from the pie eating contest. In Octob
er, Brooke had written, “she wants my boyfriend.” Next, I turned over Mike and Emily’s formal portrait from Senior Prom, his bow tie coordinated with her pink gown. Emily had gotten Brooke’s fall boyfriend, Mike. I was sure that Brooke wouldn’t let a guy go unless she wanted to let him go.

  I scanned the shelves and found another photo, a group shot at the prom with Mike and Emily in the same pink-accented clothes, standing together; Nina and Kyle at the other end of the group; and Brooke surrounded by girls in the center of the photo. A few guys in the back and kneeling in front mugged for the camera, flashing hand signs.

  I went back to the yearbook and paged through dozens of prom photos; Brooke was always in a group of girls—she hadn’t gone to the prom with a date. I turned to the section with photos of the spring play, Brigadoon. The cast danced in swirling plaid kilts, Brooke in the foreground, Kyle in the background, holding a bouquet of heather.

  I flipped the heavy yearbook cover closed.

  Spring Play. Brooke was pregnant in June. I closed my eyes, picturing her desk. She’d saved the program from the play and a tiny bit of dried heather, put them on her desk so she’d see them every day when she did her homework.

  I also saw the teddy bear with the ridiculous homemade T-shirt, the words “Sugar Bear” in big black letters, relegated to the pile of cast-off, formerly loved stuffed animals. I imagined Dandy, sitting on her daughter’s bed, paging through the diary, looking for clues, seeing that bear every day. And suddenly, after so many years, hearing someone say those very words: Sugar Bear.

  What exactly happened the day Brooke died? How to find out? I didn’t dare ask Dandy. There must’ve been a police report on Brooke’s death. I knew how to get one.

  Tillie met me at Udderly after she left work. I had promised her a free peach ice cream cone in return for information. With all the thoughts I had swirling in my head, I’d hardly been able to keep orders straight.