by Ali Franklin
She heard a noise and looked up as Abby Strimple came through the door.
“Hi, Abby. What brings you over here?”
Abby shook her head as she walked over and sat in the chair facing the desk. “You must be having the worst week. How are you holding up?” She tilted her head and raised her eyebrows in a nearly perfect imitation of concern.
“I’m as good as can be, considering.” Ryan turned back to her computer.
“I’ve just been worried sick about you, Ryan, being questioned by the police. It must be so…humiliating." Abby stared at her.
Ryan continued to stare at the computer screen. “The detectives have to question anyone who might have information. I definitely qualify.”
“So what have they found out so far?” asked Abby.
“I don’t know. They’re not exactly sharing information with me.”
“I heard the lead detective is a hottie. I mean, for those of you who are into that sort of thing.” Abby looked like she smelled something rotten.
“Did you now?” Ryan continued typing, willing Abby to get the hint and leave.
“Okay, so no comment on the detective. But come on; you must have some clue about who their suspect is,” said Abby.
“What makes you think I have the inside track?” She watched as the list of unopened emails on the screen got longer.
“Oh, Ryan, I bet you know a lot. For some reason, you’re just not telling me.”
“The reason is that I don’t know." Ryan looked up. "Abby, I have a lot of work to do."
“I have scads to do myself,” said Abby as she got up to leave. “Oscar completely relies on me, you know. I can’t let a moment go to waste.” In seconds she was gone.
Ryan stared after her, shaking her head. “Weird.”
The memorial service was beautiful. The chapel was near capacity, with almost 200 people in attendance. Most were college employees, as the majority of students lived too far away to get there in time. But a few in-state students had made the trip.
A large picture of Cora holding percussion mallets stood on an easel at the front of the chapel, surrounded by bouquets of wildflowers. The pastor from Cora’s church sat next to Oscar and Teddy in the front right pew. Cora’s parents sat on the left front pew. They had made arrangements with the sheriff’s office to take Cora’s body back to Pennsylvania that evening.
Ryan took a seat in a pew about halfway down the right side, next to Summer.
“Hey,” said Ryan. “What’s Teddy doing up there?”
“Eulogy.”
A voice came from the aisle at Ryan’s left.
“Do you think I could sit here?” It was Grace.
“Of course,” said Ryan. Grace sat and Ryan felt a rush as their thighs brushed together. Easy, Ryan, she thought.
Forcing her mind off of the woman beside her, Ryan turned to look at the crowd. She was glad to see an entire row of Cora’s students near the back. Then the door in the rear opened and a tall, thin figure stood in silhouette for a moment before stepping in from the bright sunlight. The door closed, revealing Detective Trainor.
“Ugh,” said Ryan, turning to face front.
“What?” asked Summer and Grace.
"That detective is here."
“The gorgeous one?” asked Summer, looking around.
“Wrong,” said Ryan. “No one that infuriating can be attractive.”
“I agree,” said Grace.
Cora’s pastor stood and opened the service with a prayer. He said a few words about the kind woman who had been a member of his flock and given of herself to better the church community. He seemed genuinely moved to see how many people had come to celebrate her life.
Oscar then stood and moved behind the lectern. He spoke beautifully about how Cora’s generous spirit and her love for music and teaching had affected the campus. He talked about the philanthropic work she had done on behalf of the college and on her own. Then he shared some of the emotional messages he had received from students who had heard the news. Finally, he said that an anonymous benefactor had donated enough money to endow the Cora DeLuca Percussion Scholarship. It seemed the best possible tribute.
“She had an impact on this campus that will never be forgotten,” he concluded.
Cora’s father stood and said a few words about how she had always been an exceptional daughter. He was grateful to learn how many people had loved her. His tears flowed and he could not bring himself to say any more. He returned to the front pew, where his wife put her arm around his shoulders and pulled him into a tight embrace.
Teddy stood last. She told a few stories about working with Cora and a few about their time as friends. It was clear they had known each other well. After making everyone laugh then cry, she looked at the faces in the crowd.
“Friends, let’s celebrate the life of Cora DeLuca. Yes, she was taken too soon. But aren’t we glad…aren’t we blessed to have known her?”
Ryan smiled. She looked around to see most of the attendees nodding their heads in agreement.
Teddy continued. “While we’re sad that she’s gone, we are each the better for having known her. Cora?” she looked up to the rafters of the chapel. “Thank you for sharing a part of yourself with us.”
Ryan’s face was wet with tears. She could hear sniffles from every direction. Grace handed her a tissue.
When the service ended, the group moved to the attached hall for punch and snacks. Ryan, Teddy, and Summer introduced themselves to Cora’s parents. The DeLucas were clearly still in shock, but deeply moved by the outpouring of love for their daughter.
Detective Trainor stayed in the background, watching everyone in attendance. The few people who stopped to speak to her moved on as soon as they realized who she was. Ryan lost sight of Grace for a few minutes. When she finally found her, Grace said she had been in the chapel saying her own good-bye to Cora. Her face and eyes were red and she kept sniffling. Ryan wrapped her arm through Grace’s in a show of support.
Eventually the little gathering broke up. The students moved away in a group and Ryan suspected they were headed for O’Leary’s. She said good-bye to Cora’s parents and told Teddy, Summer, and Grace she would see them soon. She drove home lost in thought.
13
Ryan spent Friday at the office the same way she had spent the bulk of Thursday, communicating with parents and students over the phone and email, reassuring everyone that Haverwood College was doing all it could to keep their information safe. It was important work, but it was tedious to relay the same message over and over again. She looked up and smiled when she noticed the clock. It was five thirty, and she was meeting Grace for dinner.
The Italian restaurant Grace suggested was delightful. The quiet ambiance made it easy to talk, and talk they did. They started with the weather but soon moved on to a wide variety of topics.
They seemed to agree on everything. As soon as Ryan made a comment about an outrageous celebrity in the news, Grace jumped in with a similar observation or expanded on Ryan’s comment. Grace recounted the story of a celebrity who had been spotted recently in a wheelchair. The star’s publicist had said the actor was suffering from exhaustion, but Ryan said she thought he’d had plastic surgery.
“Right? I bet it was liposuction, or maybe ab implants. Or pecs,” said Grace. The women laughed, enjoying how easy it was to talk with each other.
Eventually, Ryan asked Grace more about her job. “It’s hard for me to imagine working with people who are so needy — or people who are scamming the system. In either case, it must take a toll on you.”
“It was hard when I first started working with the guys at the halfway house I told you about. I felt so sorry for them. But then I decided to concentrate on the fact that I could help the ones who wanted help,” said Grace. “I focus on that every day. I search for the families I can help through my work.”
Grace went on to tell Ryan the stories of two families she had worked with. In the first, the mother had l
eft the father with their two children and moved in with another man. She had taken the family’s assistance program debit card with her and continued to use the family’s welfare money for more than six months. Grace had traced the funds online and verified the now-single father’s story. She re-established him in the system with back benefits and made sure the attorney general knew what the mother had done.
In the other case, two parents with minimum-wage jobs and five children had wrongly been denied benefits. The state’s records showed that the father had a high-paying job with a large company in Houston. When Grace investigated, she found that an illegal immigrant in Houston was using the father’s Social Security number to collect paychecks from his company. Again she made sure the family got back into the system and the wrongdoer was prosecuted.
Tears threatened as Ryan listened to Grace’s stories. She felt a surge of warmth for this woman who used her skills to help people with so little going for them. “That’s amazing,” she said for the umpteenth time. “It must be so rewarding when you catch the bad guy.”
“It really is.” Grace’s phone rang. “Oh, I’m so sorry,” she said. “I thought I turned it off.”
“Don’t worry. You can answer it if you need to.”
Grace glanced at it. “It’s Detective Trainor.”
Ryan scrunched up her face and made a “go ahead” gesture with her hands.
Grace took the call at the table. “Hello, Detective.” There was a pause. “Why?” Another pause.
Ryan could hear Trainor’s voice on the other end but could not make out the words. Grace’s face transformed for a second. Eyes and mouth open wide, nostrils flared: fear. Then it was back to normal.
“Yes, I’ll be there.” Grace ended the call.
Ryan looked at Grace. “What is it?”
“She wants me to come in again tomorrow. I can’t believe it.”
“Do you have a lawyer?” asked Ryan.
“No. I’ve never needed one.”
“You may need one now. I know a guy, Sam Davidson. He is terrific. We're friends, so use my name and he’ll do his best for you.”
Grace grinned and handed over her phone so Ryan could enter Sam's number. Ryan was glad to be reminded what a beautiful smile Grace had.
“What time do you have to go in?” asked Ryan.
“Eight thirty,” said Grace.
“Why don’t we get together for coffer after your meeting?” asked Ryan. “There’s a Java Jimmy’s close to the sheriff’s office.”
Grace smiled. “That would give me something to look forward to tomorrow.”
Grace woke Saturday with a sour stomach. She didn’t want to visit the sheriff’s office again. She had lost count of how many times she had been questioned. It was unsettling how they asked the same things over and over, waiting to pounce if even one detail was different from the last retelling.
She showered and dressed, recalling the details of what she had done Monday afternoon. She was ready for the detectives to go at her again. And when it was over, she had another date with Ryan. She smiled into the mirror.
As she drove to the office, she tried to remember all of the questions the distractingly beautiful Detective Trainor had asked during their previous meetings. Grace wanted to seem as cool as a cucumber under the detective’s harsh glare. She pulled into a parking space, squared her shoulders, and lifted her chin. Bring it.
Grace had been right. The interview was just the same as all the others:
“Where were you on Monday afternoon?”
“When was the last time you saw Cora DeLuca?”
“Were you angry with her?”
“On Monday afternoon, what did you do?”
Today there was a new question that kept popping up in various forms:
“Why did you hurt Cora DeLuca?”
The first time she heard it, Grace paused.
“What?”
“Cora. Why did you hurt her?” demanded Detective Prieto.
Grace started to feel faint. She should have eaten breakfast.
“Can I have some coffee? Maybe we could take a break for something to eat?” she asked.
The two detectives looked at each other. Trainor shook her head and Prieto walked out of the room.
“What did Cora do to make you hurt her?” the female detective asked. “Maybe you hurt her in self-defense. I would understand that. In fact, if that’s the case, I can help you." She circled the table, putting her face close to Grace’s. “But when my partner gets back he’s going to keep asking. If you can’t give him some answers, you’re not going to have the chance to tell your side of the story.”
Grace decided to wait it out. They couldn’t make her say anything she didn’t want to. Prieto came back with a cup of coffee in his hand. Grace started feeling better as soon as she reached for it.
“Oh, this isn’t for you,” he said, taking a sip. “You’re gonna have to come up with some answers if you want me to give you special treatment.”
“Coffee is special treatment?” asked Grace.
“Very funny,” said Trainor with a sneer. “Here’s something you should know. Remember Cora’s former neighbor, Mrs. Schnitzler?”
Grace thought about it for a moment. Edna Schnitzler had lived across the street from Cora while they were dating. Cora used to say she would catch Mrs. Schnitzler looking through her blinds toward Cora’s house at all hours. It was a little creepy, but she was an old lady. She couldn’t do any harm. Could she?
“I remember,” said Grace. “What about her?”
Detective Prieto made a show of pulling his notebook from his jacket pocket. He flipped a few pages and cleared his throat.
“Mrs. Schnitzler remembers you very well. In fact, she gave us a spot-on description of you: height, hair color, voice.”
Grace pressed her lips together and concentrated on keeping a straight face. She could not imagine where this story would lead.
"Mrs. Schnitzler says she used to hear the two of you fighting 'all the time.'” He made air quotes with one hand, then continued. “In fact, she says she used to hear things breaking during those fights.”
Trainor did not need her notes to continue the story. “She said she wasn’t surprised it was ‘that nice little Italian girl who got hurt. That other one was mean as a bear.’” Trainor paused.
Grace felt like she had just been dunked in ice water. What had that crazy woman told them?
“Wait a minute,” she said, “Didn’t Mrs. Schnitzler have to move into a nursing home because she was starting to forget things?”
“She did move into a nursing home,” said Prieto. “But it was because she broke a hip and had no one to take care of her. Her memory appears to be perfect.” Prieto’s phone buzzed and he motioned to Trainor. She took over and he stepped out of the interrogation room.
“Grace, I’m telling you, this is your absolute last chance. Tell me what you did to Cora or there’s no coming back from this.”
Grace stared silently at the table.
“Look at me,” said the detective. Grace looked up. Trainor took a deep breath. "Ms. Loh, I’m a good cop. I know you’re hiding something and I’m going to find out what it is.”
Grace felt a cold drop of sweat travel down the middle of her back.
By ten o’clock Ryan found herself sitting at a table at Java Jimmy’s tapping her foot and checking her phone every few minutes. She had hardly taken two sips of her latte, but her heart was racing like she’d already downed a few double espressos. She couldn’t believe how much she was looking forward to seeing Grace again. Take it easy, she told herself, it’s just a coffee date.
Hugging her cup in both hands, she looked around. In all the times she had visited this shop, she had never noticed that it seemed to be populated mostly with law enforcement personnel. She briefly considered going to a different location so Grace would feel more comfortable when she arrived. While she considered it, Maddie Trainor walked into the cafe. She noticed Ryan an
d frowned, then walked over to Ryan’s table.
“Hello, Ms. McCabe. I’ve never seen you here before.” Ryan looked up with a frown that matched Trainor’s.
“Detective. Aren’t you supposed to be meeting with Grace this morning?”
“I was there, but I left. Prieto can handle the rest of it.”
A barista hustled around the long counter and handed Trainor a cup of something hot. “Here you go, Detective,” said the young woman.
“Thanks, Katie,” said Trainor with a smile. She looked back at Ryan.
“May I?” she gestured to the empty chair at the table.
“Yes, though I’m waiting for someone,” said Ryan.
“That wouldn’t be Ms. Loh, now, would it?”
Ryan didn’t answer. They sat in silence for a moment, then Ryan decided to go on the offensive. “Detective, what’s happening with the case?”
“We’re definitely progressing,” Trainor said.
“Do you have more than one suspect?”
The detective took a sip of her coffee. “I can’t discuss the case with you, Ms. McCabe.”
“Just tell me that you’re looking at people other than Grace.”
“Listen,” said the detective, “I am not going to discuss this with you.” She took another sip of her coffee. “You need to leave this up to the authorities.”
“But Grace is my friend.”
Trainor shook her head. “And just how long have you had this…friend?” she asked.
Ryan concentrated on keeping her face blank. There was something about the investigator that just got to her. If Trainor said it was day, Ryan would say it was night. And if she said Ryan and Grace weren’t close enough to want to help each other, Ryan would say otherwise.
“Look,” said the detective. “I don’t mean to suggest you’re not friends, but how well do you really know this woman?”
Ryan waited a beat. “I may not have known her for long, but I know she’s a decent person. Have you even talked to the people she works with, or the people at the nonprofits she’s helped?”
