“I know that. But eustachian tubes? Seriously?”
“I’m telling you. Fifty bucks says it’s an ear infection.” Clementine put her nail polish away. “You got any chamomile tea? Just in case it’s not an ear infection and is something worse.”
My heart dropped. “Worse? Like what? Don’t you dare say plague.”
Clementine rolled her eyes. “Plague? Seriously? Maybe if we had a prairie dog colony nearby. I meant the common cold. Or flu. You should probably get to work now. You’re going to be late.”
“Gladly. Good luck; let me know immediately if Grace gets worse.” I left Clementine rummaging through our pantry, looking for tea. It was a painfully slow drive to the station, long-forgotten images of bubonic plague victims from my old school history books dancing before my eyes.
At my desk, a tiny skeleton cookie entombed in plastic waited for me. I picked up the bag of bones and flipped it over, reading from the short list: “Sugar, flour, butter, eggs … Perfect. Just what I need.”
“I thought you might like that. The bakery down the street is still selling Día de los Muertos cookies. You know what’s strange? It’s called Day of the Dead but the lady selling the cookies explained to me the festival is actually celebrated over the course of two days, November first and second.” Finn opened a skeleton of his own and bit off the head. “Strange, isn’t it … Why not just call it Days of the Dead?”
I shrugged and set my papers down. I had so much to tell him. I launched right in, starting with my drive to Avondale and ending with my conversation with Chief Chavez. “His last words to me were a reminder that in this town, secrets never stay buried forever.”
By the time I was finished, Finn had gone pale. His first question was the most important, and one that we desperately needed to answer if we had any hopes of preventing further loss of life: “How did Josiah Black pick his victims?”
I recalled what I’d read. “The prosecution claimed that Black targeted the doctor—his first victim—because the man refused to treat Black’s psychoses. The medical community was of course aware of the horrible stresses that those in the military suffered from, but PTSD hadn’t yet been identified as a treatable disorder. Back then it was called battle fatigue, or combat stress reaction. Anyway, the doctor, a general family physician, didn’t have the necessary tools and training to fix Black, so, according to the prosecution, Black took revenge.”
Finn rubbed his jaw, thinking. “And the guard at the bank? What was the motive there?”
“The guard was a man named Alfred Dietrich. The prosecution argued that Black shot Dietrich because of the man’s German ancestry.” I opened a soda can and took a long swallow, secretly wishing that it was a glass of wine. “I know … it’s weak. But you haven’t seen the newspapers; the town was out for blood by the time of the trial. The prosecution could have been grasping at straws and they’d probably have stuck.”
“Mob mentality like that, Black never had a chance.” Finn scratched at the back of his neck. “And the massacre at the tavern?”
“The Sinker was a popular bar owned by a Swedish couple, Lois and John Sven. John Sven signed Black’s enlistment papers a few months after the attack on Pearl Harbor. Black may have blamed Sven for his subsequent time overseas.” I shrugged and finished my soda. “The more I read about it, the more far-fetched it all becomes. But to prove Black was innocent, or feel comfortable with the guilty verdict that was handed down on him, we need to look at everything. All the answers to the Montgomery and Esposito murders lie with him.”
I thought a moment, then added, “I’ll start with his parole records. I doubt he stuck around Belle Vista once he was released from prison, but it’s as good a starting place as anywhere else.”
Finn nodded. He looked uncomfortable.
“What is it?”
My partner sighed. “I went out with Liv last night. You know, on a date.” I raised an eyebrow and waited for him to continue. Finally, he said, “She’s a cool chick, but she’s got some issues, Gemma. Anger. A lot of resentment, toward a lot of people. She’s ex-military and a karate master. She’s the female version of Ghost Boy. She’s Ghost Girl.”
“I thought the same thing. But what possible connection could she have to Josiah Black?” The hum of the building’s old heating system kicked on. It was notorious for running too hot, too long. “Maybe she’s got a partner. Did Ramirez say anything specific that’s giving you heartburn?”
Finn’s eyes narrowed. “She talked a lot about her family, her birth family. She was eighteen when she tracked her mom down to a trailer park outside of New Orleans. Mom was living with a boyfriend, a real gentleman with prison tats and track marks up and down his arms. Mom was using, too. She wasn’t too happy to see her long-ago abandoned daughter on the front steps of her trailer. Liv stuck around long enough to get a good picture of the family history and then hightailed it out of there.”
“Let me guess. Mom and the boyfriend met in prison? Or perhaps he was her pimp?”
Finn exhaled. “Something like that. It’s a sad story; sounds as though the mom never really had a chance. Her own father was a small-town criminal, and her boyfriend, Liv’s birth father, left town as soon as Liv was born. After giving Liv up for adoption, the mom didn’t have many options. And as we both know all too well, a life of crime is for some people their only shot at survival.”
I said, “Ramirez’s spotty family tree can’t be the only thing that’s got you worried.”
Finn stood suddenly. “You know, you’re right. I’m overthinking this. I’m going to read through Josiah Black’s case and trial records. There might be something there that can help us, something you didn’t get to or was missed.”
I watched him stroll away in the direction of the restrooms, his hands casually jammed in his pants pockets. There was something he wasn’t telling me.
I checked in at home; Grace’s fever had for the moment passed. Clementine gave me the scoop, via Brody, from the morning’s hospital visit. A harried nurse had given Grace a cursory exam, then sent them home with instructions to let the illness, whatever it was, run its course. Clementine was working to keep her hydrated, quiet, and resting. Once more, I found myself thanking the powers that be for putting Clem in our family. I knew we were lucky to afford the in-home care; there was no way a day care would have let Grace come in ill, and it would have been hard for either Brody or I to stay home.
Less than an hour later, though, Clementine called me back, her voice panicked. “Gemma, I just took Grace’s temperature and it’s over 104 degrees. She’s not acting like herself. And Brody is in a day-long meeting; he said you should take Grace back to the hospital.”
104 degrees. My heart stopped. “I’ll be right there.”
I made it home in twenty minutes. Clem met me at the door, her face worried, her eyes scared. Grace was in her arms, limp and lethargic.
“The fever’s gone up slightly. She won’t take any liquids and I can’t get her to play.” Clem’s eyes welled up with tears. “Sorry, I don’t mean to be a worry but this is so unlike her.”
I took my daughter from her arms and hurried back to my car. “Lock up, will you? I’m taking her to the emergency room.”
My hands were shaking as I buckled Grace into her car seat. Her eyes were glazed, her cheeks bright red. I couldn’t remember ever being so scared in my life.
“It’s probably an ear infection, it’s probably an ear infection,” I whispered to myself the whole way back down the canyon and across town to the hospital. The words did little to calm me.
I parked in the first spot I could find at the hospital and raced inside. My heart sank as I took in the seven people already sitting in the olive-and-beige chairs. A nurse at the check-in handed me a clipboard, instructed me to fill it out, then take a seat.
“I don’t have time for this. My daughter is really sick.” I tried to hand the clipboard back but the nurse looked at me with steely eyes, then at Grace.
“
High fever and lethargy, you said? And she’s a year? Ear infection. Fill out the form and take a seat. We’ll call you as soon as we can. The doc is a little tied up at the moment.” The nurse went back to her computer screen. I restrained from chucking the clipboard at her head and instead found a seat in the back corner, as far away as possible from a woman hacking up her lung and a man whose open facial sores looked like something out of a horror movie.
I filled out the lengthy form, returned it to the nurse, then took the seat again. In my arms, Grace had fallen asleep. I slipped off her sweater and shoes, trying desperately to cool her down.
And then I waited.
Bull was the first to call. “Gemma, are you busy? I saw my family practitioner this morning and he thinks I should be on Prozac. Can you believe this nonsense? He said I’ve slipped into a depression since we moved your grandmother. I need you to call him and talk some sense into him. It’s my prostate he should be worried about, not my mental state.”
“Well, to be honest, you have seemed a touch morose the last few weeks. Anyway, I’m at the ER with Grace. She’s sick,” I replied in a low voice. The baby was still asleep and the last thing I wanted to do was wake her. “I think you should take your doctor’s advice.”
“The baby’s sick? Her age, it’s probably an ear infection. I’ll take pills over my dead body. You know what’s in them? Might as well just go find a loony bin and check myself in.”
I closed my eyes and focused on breathing in and out. “Bull, that’s totally ridiculous and frankly irresponsible. Antidepressants have saved countless lives. There’s nothing wrong with taking medicine when you are sick. And if your doctor, who’s known you for thirty years, thinks you are sick, then you probably are. So take the damn pills and make it easier for the rest of us to be around you.” The words were out of my mouth before I could stop them and I winced. “I didn’t mean that, Bull. This isn’t a good time. I’ll call you tonight.”
For the first time in my life, he hung up on me.
Finn was the next to call. “How’s the baby?”
I told him where we were, how horrible it was to sit in this sterile-smelling room with sick people all around us.
“Sounds rough. Listen, uh, I know you’re a little preoccupied, but is there any way you can come back this afternoon? Like, leave the kid with the nanny or with Brody? Chavez wants an update and I’ve been thinking. About the masks, the hooded sweatshirts, the costumes. Why does the perp disguise himself? There’s only one reason. He’s well known. He must be someone we’d recognize.”
“Finn, I have no freaking clue what time we’ll be seeing the doctor, let alone when we’ll get out of here. And when we are released, I’m not leaving Grace’s side. I’ll be in tomorrow.” This time, I did the hanging up. Had Finn never been sick, never been to the emergency room?
What did he think this was, a drive-through?
A couple came into the waiting room, a young woman pushing an older man in a wheelchair. The man was nose-deep in a Tolstoy novel, the woman preoccupied with maneuvering his chair through an aisle crowded with dangling legs and crossed ankles. I watched them for a bit, trying to determine if she was his daughter, his caretaker, or his wife.
My phone rang again. “Hi, Gemma, I mean, Detective. It’s Jimmy, you know, the intern? I was just wondering if there’s anything you need help with.”
I nearly snapped at him, then calmed down. Ives Farmington’s testimony had been bothering me since I’d left the library the day before. “Actually, there is something you could do for me. Take down this name. Ives Farmington. He was a local cop back in the 1940s. He’s probably long since passed away, but there may be relatives still around. If there are, set up a meeting with them as soon as possible.”
“You got it.”
Call waiting beeped through. You’ve got to be kidding me. It was my grandmother, Julia, calling from her cell phone.
“Jimmy, I’ll talk to you later. I have to take this call.” I switched over to Julia. “Hi. What are you doing?”
My grandmother’s voice was shaky, fearful. She sounded as though she’d been weeping. “Who is this, please?”
“It’s Gemma, Julia. Your granddaughter. Are you all right?”
“I don’t know where I am. I’m in a locked room and the people here won’t let me out. I want to go home.” Julia began to sob quietly. “I want to go back to my house, my things. Can you help me? I don’t know who else to call.”
My heart nearly split into two. A terribly sick baby in my arms, a frightened grandmother on the phone, and me, stuck in a waiting room, unable to help either one of them. Just then, Grace began to stir.
I thought quickly; no sense telling Julia that she was home.
“Julia, I can’t help you. I’m so sorry, but my daughter, Grace, she’s sick. I’m going to text Laura and see if she can come see you. Would that be all right?”
I waited a minute for a response that never came. “Julia, are you there?”
Then a click, and in the space of twenty minutes, I’d been hung up on twice. I fired off a quick group text to both Bull and Laura and then silenced my phone. I couldn’t handle any more calls. Grace was awake now, cranky. I managed to get her to sip from my water bottle. Then she wanted to play with it and that seemed to make her happy.
Across the aisle, the young woman and the older man she’d wheeled in had taken seats. She smiled at me. “How old?”
“Almost a year. Do you have kids?”
“Two. One about that age, the other is four. Both boys. It’s hard, when they’re sick.” She waved at Grace. “She’s beautiful, by the way.”
“Thanks. She’s never been this sick before.” I glared at the wall clock. “And I can’t believe how long this is taking. You’d think they would prioritize babies and children. I’m going to write a letter to whoever is in charge of this operation.”
The young woman rolled her eyes. “Tell me about it. I’m here with my dad nearly every week. We make a whole day out of it. Do you live around here?”
“Up the canyon. You?”
“In town, near the elementary school. We’re in that lilac Victorian just south of the park.” She rummaged in her bag, pulled out a cream-colored card lined with blue and pink hearts. “Here. I’m the mob president. You should join us.”
I blinked and rearranged Grace in my lap. She’d moved from my water bottle to my car keys. “I’m sorry, did you just say you work for the mob?”
She laughed. “Not that mob, although it can be just as cutthroat. M-O-B. Mothers of Babies. It’s a local mom’s group. We have playdates at the library, bake sales. Lots of potlucks. You’re not vegetarian, are you? We had one of those once. I swear, I’ve never eaten so much cauliflower in my life.”
I stared down at the card in my hand, traced the heart in the middle. The woman’s name was Jewel, and at the bottom of the card, in tiny script, was what must have been the MOB’s slogan: Moms, getting dirty since day one.
I nearly broke out in hysterical laughter at the idea of casually standing around the sure-to-be perfectly styled dining room table in Jewel’s sophisticated refurbished Victorian mansion, munching on Brie amidst designer diaper discussions. I wondered how the MOBs would feel about car bombs and dead bank guards? How they’d react if I told them I marched in my dreams alongside both the dead and the dealers of death?
I tucked the card in my purse and smiled brightly at Jewel. “Thanks, I’d love that. I’ll call you.”
She nodded and smoothed back her hair. To my relief, a man in a white jacket and a harried look on his face appeared in the doorway and called Grace’s name. I said my goodbye to Jewel and hurried to the man. He got us settled into a curtained room.
“So sorry about the wait. Let’s take a look at Grace, shall we?” The doctor took her temperature, checked her mouth, and then examined both ears. “Yep. She’s got a raging bilateral ear infection. You can pick up a course of antibiotics at the pharmacy. She’ll be feeling better by
this time tomorrow.”
“That’s it? An ear infection?”
“Oh, they can be quite serious if not treated. Or if they’re recurrent. But Grace will be fine. Give her some Infants’ Tylenol or Motrin tonight if she seems especially uncomfortable and put her to bed early. You’ll see a marked difference by the morning.” The doctor wrote something illegible on his prescription pad and tore it off with a flourish. He handed it to me and asked, “Anything else?”
I thought of everything I had on my plate, all the balls that were being juggled, the tasks left undone.
“You don’t plan weddings, too, do you?”
“’Fraid not. Have a great day.” The doctor left, moving on to some other patient, some other hurt person. I took Grace to the pharmacy, where we waited another twenty minutes to get her prescription filled.
Finally, both tired, hungry, and cranky, we were in the car and headed home. It was late afternoon by then and I felt as though I’d run a marathon. Every muscle and bone in my body ached. The emotionally draining day and uncomfortable night in the rocking chair were manifesting in actual, physical soreness in my body. I started a fire in the fireplace, then made us a couple of yogurt and fruit smoothies. Grace and I sat together on the couch, staring numbly at the fire, occasionally sipping our beverages. After a while, Seamus heaved his long, wide, basset hound body up on the couch and curled up next to us.
We were still there when Brody got home, though by then two of the three of us had fallen asleep. The third had gotten too warm and launched himself back to the floor, where he lay on his dog bed and kept watch over us.
Brody took the baby up to bed while I emptied the delicious-smelling bags he’d brought in. Cartons of egg rolls, wonton soup, sesame chicken, and fried rice overtook the kitchen counter. I leaned over, rested my head next to the food, and said a lengthy and sincere prayer of thanks to Brody. The man knew that the way to my heart was through my stomach.
Shatter the Night Page 21
