Ever So Silent

by Christopher Little

  As if reading her thoughts, Skip said, “I know how hard it can be to think the worst of an old friend, but in my book a runner is usually guilty. Our job is to arrest her and find out for sure if she’s Ms. Sharpie.”

  Frank and Joan Foster’s lake house was next. They found the couple on a terrace facing the lake. They both had glasses in their hands, and there was a bottle of white wine in a cooler on the table. Frank rose. He greeted Caroline and looked at Skip Munro expectantly. Munro identified himself and asked, “Mr. Foster, do you know the whereabouts of your daughter-in-law?”

  “No, I don’t. We’re still hoping that you guys will find our missing son. Why do you ask?”

  Caroline was surprised that he didn’t know that Emma was missing. Word had spread around town like a brushfire on a windy day.

  Skip said, “Mr. Foster, do you know the whereabouts of your Dodge Ram?”

  “That I can answer,” Frank said. “I loaned it to my daughter yesterday. She had some trash to take to the dump.”

  So, Georgia had lied to her father, Caroline thought. She must’ve loaned the pickup to Emma.

  “Thank you, sir,” Skip said, “we won’t disturb you any further.”

  Back in Caroline’s police cruiser, Skip said, “Interesting development, huh? Next stop, Georgia Foster.”

  “Maybe we should get a search warrant.”

  “Nah, let’s pay her a visit first. Catch her vibe. Know what I mean?”

  Caroline drove past the town line to Georgia’s residence.

  Driving up Georgia’s impressively long driveway, Skip observed, “Pretty swanky. Pretty remote, too. Good place to hole up, don’t you think?”

  “I guess so. That’s why I thought to send Officer Smith here last night. The problem is that Emma and Georgia don’t get on very well. In fact, they pretty much hate each other. Anyway, as you heard, Chuck’s stakeout was a waste of time.”

  Caroline parked in the circle outside Georgia’s front door. They got out.

  Skip said, “Place this size, there’d be plenty of cubbyholes to hide a sister-in-law. Let’s see what we can find out.”

  Georgia opened the door before they knocked.

  In formal cop-mode, Skip flashed his shield. “May we have a word with you, Ms. Foster?”

  “Absolutely.” She treated them to a broad smile. “Won’t you please come in?”

  They followed her into the living room.

  “Can I get you some juice or soda? I could make a pot of coffee or brew some tea? It’s no trouble.”

  Caroline thought that she seemed awfully anxious to please.

  “Nothing for us,” Skip said, taking the liberty of answering for both of them.

  “Well, if you change your mind—”

  Caroline was impressed when Skip took a tack she didn’t expect. He said, “Why did you borrow your father’s pickup truck yesterday?”

  “That’s an odd question, Lieutenant.” Georgia was still smiling. “Dad loaned it to me so that I could take a big load of trash to the dump.”

  “Where’s the truck now?”

  “It’s in the barn. That’s where I keep my vehicles.”

  “May we see it?” Skip said.

  “Of course,” she said, “I’ll show you the way.”

  Georgia slid open an enormous sliding door. Caroline thought, incongruously, someone keeps that door as greased as a North Korean dictator’s hairdo.

  The three stared into the barn. Inside were two cars but, as they already knew, no truck.

  Georgia reeled. “Oh my God, someone’s stolen Dad’s Dodge.” She looked at Caroline, who noticed a tic in Georgia’s left eye. With a screwball grin, she said, “I guess I’ll have to report this to the police. No, wait, you are the police! Officer, I’d like to report a stolen vehicle.”

  Skip and Caroline looked at her with incredulity. Caroline wasn’t sure what Skip was thinking, but it was clear to her that she was staring at a nut job … with a ticking time bomb eye. Caroline felt that they were in the right place.

  Skip said, “Ms. Foster would you give us permission to look around your house?”

  “What are you looking for?” she said.

  “We’re looking for your sister-in-law.”

  Seemingly unsurprised, she blithely replied, “She’s certainly not here. I don’t even like her. But I have no objection to your looking around.”

  “Thank you,” Skip said, “we’ll start upstairs.”

  They checked all five bedrooms, closets included. They found no evidence that Emma was or had been there.

  “What are you going to do about my father’s truck?”

  “We’ll find it,” Skip said opaquely.

  They searched the attic, not finding anything more than the usual attic detritus. Old furniture, cardboard boxes, and the like. Caroline asked what was in the basement.

  “It’s where I exercise. I have quite a workout room. Want to see it?”

  They followed Georgia to her basement. After Skip scoured the perimeter of the basement, looking behind the oil tanks, hot water heater, and furnace, they entered the exercise room. Caroline noticed a subtle change in Georgia’s demeanor. The tic was still present, but there were other tells. Georgia’s hands were now behind her back. From the movement of her arms, Caroline thought that she was wringing her hands.

  Caroline also noticed Georgia’s large aquarium. Interesting, she thought, but she said, “Wow, you have a lot of books. You must read a lot.”

  “I love to read,” she said. For the first time since they’d arrived, Georgia avoided eye contact.

  Perhaps Skip found the “vibe” he’d been looking for. He walked over to the bookshelves and studied some titles. “Ah, Lord of the Flies. That was one of my favorite books in high school.” He reached to take it down, but the book didn’t budge. “What’s up with this? The book’s stuck.”

  Georgia giggled. “Well this is embarrassing. The decorator I hired to do this room sold me on the idea of buying books-by-the-foot—”

  Caroline stared hard at Georgia. “So these are all fake?”

  “Well, um, they’re real books, but—”

  Skip interrupted, “I think we’re done here, Ms. Foster. Thank you for your cooperation.”

  Walking back to the car, he said to Caroline, “Either my cop nose is shot, or Emma is somewhere in that house.”

  “I agree,” Caroline said. “Did you notice the fish tank? Remember how Ethan Jackson was killed? Think we can get a search warrant and tear that place apart?”

  “Pretty flimsy on the probable cause front, but I do know a friendly judge.”

  64

  Georgia’s AmEx Bill

  A loud buzzer sounded. Emma jumped out of the chair. Will did, too. He sat up straight on the edge of his bed, feet on the floor, and palms on his thighs. “That is my crazy sister announcing lunch.”

  Emma thought he looked like an automaton.

  But he explained, “Food is the only thing I have to look forward to.”

  What about me?

  The buzzer sounded again, longer and seemingly more insistently.

  “That’s because you’re standing. She won’t come in until you sit down.”

  “Crazy,” Emma muttered.

  “Yup, Georgia is nothing if not crazy, but she’s also careful.”

  Georgia opened the door. She carried a tray one-handed. On it was one bowl of soup, one sandwich, and juice in a plastic cup, which she placed on the kitchenette counter. Slung from her belt was a holstered pistol.

  Georgia turned on Emma. “No lunch for you, you conniving bitch.” She stepped over to the bed. Before Emma could react, she slapped one side of her face with the palm of her hand and back-slapped the other side. Georgia’s ring cut her cheek. Emma screamed. The force of the blow triggered intense pain to her already-injured skull. She pressed the corner of her sheet to her cheek to stanch the bleeding.

  “Because of you, the cops were here,” Georgia said. “That’s another
black mark against you, Emma. I haven’t yet decided what to do with you, but I can assure you that you are not going to stay here and ruin my beautiful relationship with my brother. Right, Will?”

  Emma interrupted, “You call kidnapping your brother your idea of a beautiful relationship—”

  “Shut up!” Georgia cocked her arm for another blow. This time, Emma ducked out of the way, but her sister-in-law pulled her punch anyway.

  All of a sudden Georgia stepped back. The lunatic adopted a bizarre dreamy expression. She looked at the ceiling as she spoke. “Will and I have wonderful evenings together. Don’t we, darling? We play chess, listen to music, dine together. Sometimes we watch a movie. When I think about it, I don’t know why I didn’t save him before. Don’t you agree, Will?”

  Will remained silent.

  “Did you notice that I even cured his depression? True happiness can do that.”

  Will murmured, “Yeah, right.”

  Georgia spun toward Will. Her eyes lost their ruminative look and snapped to steel. She hissed, “Don’t disappoint me, brother. You know I have to hurt you when you let me down.”

  Emma shouted, “Your beautiful relationship compels you to punish your brother? And to viciously murder four innocent people?”

  “What are you talking about?” Georgia demanded.

  Emma answered with a question. “You mean having to beat up your brother to make him love you?”

  “Not that, asshole. The part about ‘four innocent people.’ What is that supposed to mean?”

  “Come off it, Georgia. Why should we three be keeping secrets from one another?” Emma was winging it. She had no proof that Georgia was the killer. Was it even possible that one person could focus on imprisoning her twin and have the spare time to murder people?

  “I really don’t know what you’re talking about,” Georgia said.

  “Do the names Stella, Vanessa, Deb, and Ethan ring any bells?”

  “Of course. They’re all dead. What are you suggesting?”

  Georgia looked genuinely shocked. Her sociopathic skills were astonishing. Will gaped at her, too, and at Emma.

  “I’m not suggesting anything. I know that you viciously murdered each one of them.”

  Georgia shouted, “You’re the crazy one. I didn’t kill anyone!”

  “You’re good, really good,” Emma goaded her further. “Even if you lie to us, you should be truthful to yourself. The police think that I am the serial killer. I am not. You are!”

  “I repeat, you’re nuts.” She stared coldly at Emma. “I haven’t killed anyone, but, if I have to, I will start with you.”

  She stormed out, slamming both doors behind her.

  “After all that’s happened, do you think she will kill me?”

  Will said, “Probably.”

  “Thanks for that.”

  Wordlessly, Will attacked his lunch, inhaling his food quicker than a Labrador. He didn’t offer to share.

  If it was possible for Emma’s heart to break again, it did.

  When he was done, he balanced the tray in the middle of the door slot and lay back in his bed, his back toward his wife.

  Emma said to his back, “What the hell are we going to do? She could kill me. Ditch my body where it would be easily found. I’d be scratched off the suspect list. You would remain prisoner-for-life. And no one would ever know that Georgia is Mr. Sharpie. We have to figure some way out of here.”

  He didn’t respond.

  Emma and Will had no way of knowing that on Monday morning Lieutenant Munro had obtained a search warrant for Georgia’s home. The police scoured the house, the barn, and the surrounding property. They never found the secret room.

  Ignorant of the police department’s fruitless search, they spent the next four days and nights in relative silence. Georgia had taken to delivering their food—rations for two, now—through the slot. She had stopped talking to them.

  On the fifth morning after the breakfast buzzer sounded, the tray appeared through the door slot. There was an envelope underneath the plastic plate.

  Emma greedily seized the envelope. Inside were copies of an airline ticket on Spirit Airlines and an American Express bill. The ticket, with Georgia Foster’s name clearly printed, was from Hartford/Bradley to Dallas. The AmEx bill showed charges posted in Dallas between Friday, June 25 and Sunday, June 27.

  Emma had no trouble remembering that Vanessa had disappeared (and was probably murdered) on Saturday, June 26.

  Ironically, the AmEx posts were circled with a black Sharpie. But the police department—at her insistence—had never revealed anything about the Sharpie marks to the public.

  Holy shit, she thought.

  Still, how hard would it be to download an AMEX logo, place it in any garden-variety word processor, and type in some charges from Dallas? Georgia was nothing if not resourceful.

  Emma knew that Will, despite his PhD, was no computer whiz. So, she didn’t bother to ask his opinion.

  Emma said thoughtfully, “You don’t suppose that Hampshire is big enough for two whack-jobs, do you?”

  65

  A Sharp Crack

  On the same day that Georgia had delivered the AmEx bill, Emma began to formulate an escape plan.

  As dinner hour approached, Emma used her teeth to begin tearing her bed sheet into strips. She braided three strips together until they formed a strong rope of about four feet. The plan was simple but by no means foolproof. She tied one end of the sheet-rope to her wrist. Sitting in her proscribed spot on the bed, she waited.

  Like many plans—especially those that are the brainchild of desperation—hers wouldn’t progress hitch-free.

  The buzzer sounded. Emma tensed. She knew she would have only the briefest moment in which to succeed. Georgia opened the slot and went through the routine of making sure they were both on their beds. Again, saying nothing, Georgia slid the tray through the gap.

  Emma struck.

  She lunged forward and gripped Georgia’s right hand as hard as she could, yanking it through the slot. The unexpected force of her attack pulled Georgia off balance. But Emma wasn’t able to lash Georgia’s wrist with the other end of the sheet-rope before Georgia regained her footing. She was much stronger than Emma. Like losing a game of tug-of-war, Georgia pulled Emma’s arm inexorably toward the slot. Emma had to drop the sheet and grab Georgia’s wrist with both hands. She placed one foot against the door and heaved with all her might.

  Even one-armed, Georgia was winning. If she did, Emma had no doubt that Georgia would return and shoot her.

  Will watched in silence.

  Georgia’s arm poked through the slot at an angle. Her upper arm, below her elbow, touched the top of the slot. The part of her arm just above her wrist touched the bottom. Emma suddenly had a new idea. Instead of continuing to pull, she shifted gears and placed all her weight and strength on the top of Georgia’s wrist and pushed sharply downwards.

  Emma heard a sharp crack and a banshee scream. Georgia’s arm hung limply in the slot, deformed and unquestionably broken.

  Emma stooped and picked up the sheet-rope. She got one end lashed around Georgia’s wrist and wound the other end around the doorknob. During a brief spell when Georgia stopped screaming and paused to gasp in pain, Emma calmly said, “If you let us out, I will call an ambulance.”

  Emma glanced at Will. She was shocked to see such a satisfied look on his face. Georgia had turned them both into savages.

  Georgia alternated between screams and threats, curses and homicidal promises. She kept up her tirade for three hours. Finally, there was silence on the other side of the door. Emma looked at Will who pantomimed the snapping of a stick.

  Emma felt bad enough breaking Georgia’s arm. She knew she couldn’t torture her further, but she said, “If you don’t open the door, I will have to twist your arm. Which I’m afraid will cause you considerably more pain.”

  The latch clicked. Emma gently drew the door open, trying to minimize Georgia’s
suffering. But her howl was deafening.

  To Emma’s surprise, Georgia wasn’t ready to quit. With her left fist, she slugged Emma in the jaw, shrieking in pain as she did so. Emma reeled.

  Then Georgia cross-drew her pistol with her unbroken arm. She shrieked again. Her aim wavered as she tried to get a bead on Emma.

  To Emma’s utter shock, she was knocked aside by Will, who had finally sprung into action with a terrifying wail. He grabbed Georgia’s gun hand. As they wrestled, Georgia continued to scream, and Will continued to wail.

  Emma lurched backwards against the steel vault door. As she fell, her body pushed the door open further. The inertia of the blow made her roll over. The steel door began to close on its own. She heard the deafening sound of Georgia’s pistol discharging. The steel door closed fully, with a solid thunk.

  There was silence.

  Emma lay on the floor to recover her wits, not knowing who was hit. Her head hurt now more than ever. Eventually, she was able to get to her feet and see the door which had imprisoned Will and latterly her. It looked exactly like the door to a bank vault, complete with an electronic keypad and a handle. She pulled on the handle, but it didn’t budge.

  To a certain extent her plan had worked. She had escaped. But her gut told her that she had left a dead body inside. Whose? she didn’t know. And there was nothing she could do about it. She made sure to leave the bookcase/door wide open for responders to see.

  Holding her battered head in her hands, Emma made her way to Georgia’s bathroom. In the medicine cabinet, she found a drug called Fiorinal C, which rang a bell. She thought it was Canadian. She read the ingredients: codeine, aspirin, caffeine, and butalbital, whatever that was. At least the codeine would help. She swallowed three tablets. Two more than the recommended dosage.

  In the kitchen, Emma found Georgia’s landline, two cell phones, and the keys to her BMW.

  She found a phonebook in the kitchen drawer and dialed the number for Karen and Henry King.