Anne said, “She’s right, Bertha. Call the police.”
Bertha sighed and crossed the room to the phone.
“What happened to the alarm?” Aunt Lucy asked.
“It’s been shut off.” Bertha’s hand shook as she dialed 9-1-1.
Chapter Three
With moonlight above her three-quarters full, Bertha moved like she was underwater toward the front walk. The neighborhood had a sleepy, peaceful appearance as she looked left and then right. A block away was Kennedy, where traffic was heavy night and day. Cars slowed for the four-way stop and sped on. If Doree’d gotten to Kennedy, and there was no reason to think she hadn’t, anyone could have picked her up.
Bertha talked to Toni often, and on some level it seemed to help, so she found herself saying, “Life can slap you in the face any time it wants to.” But on this night, it was hard to admit to Toni that she’d lost their daughter. She asked herself if she’d been too hard on the girl. She could have found another way to do things. But she’d been scared. Taking a deep breath, she tried to focus. She was scared and angry, angry at Toni for leaving her alone and with Doree for sneaking out. Of course she knew that was backward, but she couldn’t help how she felt, and she couldn’t afford another impulsive mistake. But what was she supposed to do, handcuff the kid to her bed? Bertha hung her head and asked the absent Toni, “Now what?”
Before calling the police, she’d dialed Doree’s cell and it went straight to voice mail. Bertha composed herself as best she could and left a message for her to call home. Then she’d come close to an argument with Aunt Anne, who’d tried to make excuses for Doree, saying, “She’s dealing with a lot right now.”
“Well, who the hell isn’t?” Bertha demanded.
Aunt Lucy touched her shoulder. “Suck it up, honey. She’s testing you. She needs to know she can depend on you for limits that keep her safe.”
“I give her limits and she ignores them. That doesn’t make sense.”
“Trust me,” Aunt Lucy said. “That’s the only thing that you can count on from teens, no logic. They’re too full of hormones to think right.”
Bertha raised both palms. “I apologize.” That’s when she’d walked outside. The aunts were crowding her.
When she felt calm enough to go back in, she didn’t speak to the others but went straight to Doree’s room, where she started looking for something, anything, to tell her what’d happened. It didn’t take long to see that Doree’s cell phone wasn’t in the usual place charging, to notice that her red Coach purse wasn’t in its usual place on the floor between the nightstand and the bed. Bertha crossed to the closet and, pushing the sliding door open, found the laundry basket turned over and the jeans Doree’d worn for the last two days gone. If she’d taken her cell and worn her favorite jeans, she probably hadn’t been kidnapped. But going out alone could get her kidnapped, or killed. The caller had said, “I know where that pretty daughter of yours hangs out.” If that was true, he knew more than Bertha did.
Aunt Lucy stood in the open doorway. “Police are here.”
Bertha said, “I’m going to try to call her cell again. Then I’ll be there.”
From her bedroom, Bertha used the landline. The cell phone went straight to voice mail again. She left another message, then headed down the hallway to the kitchen. Two uniforms seemed to take up the entire room. Bertha had seen them before but didn’t know them. Toni would have, just as she would have some idea about where her daughter hung out.
Anne was trying to tell them about the midnight phone call, but they didn’t seem to hear her as they turned and stared at Bertha.
Aunt Lucy touched her shoulder. “Baby, maybe you should put some pants on.”
Bertha looked down at herself. She wore an extra-large music-festival T-shirt and a pair of white boxers. She tugged the shirt down a bit. “Maybe we’d all be more comfortable in the family room. I’ll be there in a minute.”
A moment later, fastening her jeans, she found all of them waiting wordlessly. The track lighting, along the wooden beams overhead, threw garish shadows on to the slanted ceiling. She remembered when they had been touring the house with the realtor. Bertha’d loved the lodge-like room, but Toni had asked, “Who’s going to dust those beams?”
The uniform’s voice brought her back. “If she’s sixteen years old then it’s usually too soon to report her missing, because if she was upset about something, maybe she went out to cool off. With our regular missing-teen calls we have to wait at least twenty-four hours before we even take a report.”
Bertha said, “Just a goddamn minute.”
Everyone looked toward her. Maybe she’d raised her voice a little. Okay, she probably had, but with good reason.
One of the uniforms stood and came toward her. Slim, with red hair and freckles, he didn’t look much older than Doree, but his voice was deep and soothing. “Judge Brannon. I want to say how sorry I am for your loss. Toni was a great cop and we’ll miss her.”
Bertha stared at him with astonishment.
Anne came up behind him, ever the peacemaker. “Let’s all sit down. I’ll put on a pot of coffee.”
Shaking her head, Bertha met Anne’s eyes. Anne nodded, went back to the rocking chair, and motioned for Redhead to sit.
Bertha stood over them. “We had a call. A man threatened us—me and the kid.”
Redhead picked up a pen. “When was that?”
Bertha shrugged. “Around midnight.”
“Did you report it?”
“What would have been the point of that?”
“You’re a judge, you report it,” Redhead muttered, and wrote something on a clipboard.
The second officer, the heavy-set one, stared across the room. Bertha turned and saw he was looking at the alarm. She tried to meet his eyes, but he ducked. What the hell?
“Can you give us a description of, Marie, was it?”
“Doree.” Aunt Lucy cut in. “It sounds like Marie with a Do, and it’s spelled way different.” Then she spelled the kid’s name.
Still watching officer number two, Bertha realized her voice was far from breaking. “Five eight, athletic build, dark hair.”
“She’s mixed race,” Aunt Anne put in.
Bertha wasn’t offended. She often forgot that the rest of the world saw the kid like that.
“Would she have gone to her father?” Redhead asked.
“Her father is dead.” It was Anne again. “He died before she was born. With her mother gone, we’re her only family now.”
The larger cop looked familiar, and it bothered her. But why wouldn’t she have seen him? She was a judge married to a cop. Then it came to her. “Randy?”
He turned toward her and flushed. “Hello, Bertha.”
“You’re with the police?” Although he obviously was, she couldn’t figure out how it’d happened. Randy had been Alvin, her secretary’s, live-in boyfriend when she first set up her law practice right after drug rehab. He’d been a hairdresser then. She couldn’t say that his leaving that profession was a mistake. The dyed blond hair he’d talked her into had been a catastrophe that took forever to grow out. He’d gained at least twenty-five pounds since those days. She remembered how he’d dogged Alvin about calories. Surely it wasn’t the weight, but why would he avoid eye contact now? Then the answer came to her. He hadn’t told his partner he was gay, and knowing Bertha on a personal level might garner some speculation.
Randy stood. “Long time no see.” He reached across the back of the couch and shook her hand. “I was sorry to hear about Toni.”
The thank-you caught in her throat and she fought back tears.
Redhead asked, “You two know each other?”
“A lifetime ago.” Randy came around the couch toward Bertha. After a quick embrace, he said, “It was before I majored in Criminal Justice at City College, then joined the force.” A pleading look asked her not to mention the hairdresser thing.
Bertha asked, “Now you’re on my beat?”
Randy shook his head. “I’ve been rotated over here while Collins is on maternity leave.”
“Small world…”
Randy turned to Redhead and said, “You fill out the report. I’ll see what the judge can tell us.”
Anne and Aunt Lucy moved closer to Redhead and his clipboard, and both started talking at once.
Randy nodded toward the French doors by the disarmed alarm pad. “Are there chairs on that deck out there?”
“Sure.”
“I could use a cigarette. How about you?”
Bertha shrugged. She’d quit in the last century and sometimes the smoke from others bothered her, so Toni kept a metal ashtray out on the deck for smoker friends, and at times, after a rough day, Toni produced a pack of Kools and sat out there herself. When she was that upset, even Bertha left her alone.
She followed Randy out through the deck doors, and he lit up immediately. The night had grown cooler and the moon was low in the sky. “You want the light on?”
Randy selected an aluminum folding chair and sat. “It’ll just draw bugs. I can see enough from the light in the house.”
Bertha sat and leaned forward, her elbows on her knees. “I’m glad to see a familiar face.”
“It’s going to be all right. She’ll come home. I can’t begin to tell you how often I snuck out at night when I was her age.”
“Me too. Although it’s sure no fun being on the adult end of it. Especially now.”
Smoke streamed from both nostrils, and then Randy drew on the cigarette again and the ember brightened. He was really sucking on the thing. “I’m going to get the information on your phone call to the investigators working on Toni’s—ah, the drug-house shootout. It may be important. Who knows?”
“Is there an active investigation?”
“Of course, a cop was gunned down,” Randy said. “This is a priority. Maybe the crank call means something.”
“It wasn’t a crank call. It was a threatening call. And what about Doree?”
“I know a few places we could check. This time of night there aren’t very many. Does she have a boyfriend?”
Bertha put her head in her hands. She wasn’t sure. A few months ago, when things were still normal at home, she’d dated a boy who’d also been on the school newspaper—a boy prone to quoting Fight Club. He’d seemed like a nice white boy. But she wasn’t even sure if she’d recognize him if he came to the front door. Boys that age all looked alike to Bertha. What was his name? Jake? Josh? Justin? Jerrod? Jordan? Most of them had some kind of “J” name. There had been a boy Doree’d introduced Bertha to at the funeral. She’d been so preoccupied she couldn’t even remember what he looked like or even if he was the same boy. “I guess. She’s a pretty sixteen-year-old. She shouldn’t have any problem attracting boys.”
“She’ll be okay.”
“But what if she encounters the asshole from the phone?”
Randy crumpled his cigarette in the metal ashtray. Aunt Lucy opened the French doors and stuck her head out. “He wants a picture. Should I give him the one from your dresser?”
The picture in the bedroom was one of Toni and Doree. Bertha said, “Look in the kitchen drawer. She’s got some school pictures left in the envelope.”
Aunt Lucy shut the door.
“What time is it?” Bertha asked.
Randy looked at his watch. “Quarter after four.”
“When I was young,” Bertha said, “if I was out past four, I was in somebody’s bed. I guess I should hope that’s all it is.”
Randy chuckled and nodded.
They sat for a moment not talking. In the palpable hush, Bertha started to relax. It was a relief, like a burst of a thunder after a day of suffocating heat. She watched Randy stub out the second cigarette and noticed for the first time the beginning of gray hair at his temples. The years were etched like hash marks on his face.
At length Randy said, “Do you ever hear from Alvin?”
“He’s still my secretary, but things have changed since I’ve been on the bench. He’s always busy, and he gets paid regularly by the county.”
“Tell him I asked about him.”
“I will.”
“Is he seeing anyone?”
Bertha hesitated. She supposed, in the long run, the truth was best. “He’s been with Jerry Carmichael for four or five years. Jerry’s a paralegal. Works up on the fourth floor for Judge Bowman, juvenile court.”
Randy nodded and tapped out another cigarette.
“How about you?”
Randy sighed, put the cigarette between his lips, and lit it. When he started talking, the ember bobbed up and down with each word. “Sometimes I feel like a blind chameleon. I gave up on men I found attractive because they usually turned out to be nuts. I dated boring guys for a while, but they were all, you know, boring.” He took another long drag from the cigarette and tapped it on the edge of the ashtray. “Right now, I’m single and living with my aging mother. For some reason my sisters think I have more time for her since I don’t have a husband and kids.”
“When Grandma could no longer live at home, it was hard to move her,” Bertha said. “When she’d settled in, I think it was a relief for her. I was all she had. She raised me and I wanted to help her, but her care became a full-time job…you know?”
“I know.”
“Five years now. Like most, Grandma wanted to be at home. Outside of a couple of short hospitalizations, we managed. Then one day she couldn’t stay alone with what help I could give her. I don’t think I could have done it alone, although no one expected me to.”
Randy nodded and seemed to drift off into thought.
Bertha waited a respectful time making sure he was done and changed the subject. “Do you know Fred Cook?”
“Toni’s partner? Sure. I mean, we don’t see each other outside of work, but he’s a decent guy. Why do you ask?”
“Something’s wrong.”
Randy turned toward her. “Are you sure that isn’t some stage of grief. Denial?”
“I thought something was wrong before I knew she was dead. The story Cook told me didn’t make sense.”
“Was he on pain meds?”
Bertha could see that Randy wasn’t going to entertain any criticism of his fellow officers. She told herself to drop it.
Then Randy added, “Something strange has happened, though.”
“With Cook?”
“No. A paramedic who worked on the ambulance that night.”
“Night of the shooting?”
Randy nodded. “She used to hang out at the bar. Big woman. One hundred percent butch.”
“Scottie?”
“That’s the one. She got beat up and left for dead in an alley near the bar.”
Bertha felt dizzy. “When was this?”
“Last week sometime, why?”
“I think I may have seen her that night. Will she be all right?”
“From what I heard, she’s still in a drug-induced coma.”
“Why drug-induced?”
“Some of her injuries were grave.”
“An interesting choice of words.” But Bertha didn’t have time to pursue the conversation further.
The deck door opened and Redhead stuck his head out. “We’re done in here. Are you ready?”
Randy pulled a small, worn spiral tablet and a pen from his shirt pocket. “I’m giving you my home number. Let me know if I can help with anything.”
They both stood. This time Randy gently put the cigarette out and fed it back into the pack.
*
Bertha planted herself in the family room to wait for Doree or a call from the police. Time seemed to drag. She was sure she couldn’t sleep, but then a noise woke her. She opened her eyes to Doree frantically punching the code into the security alarm.
Doree turned and moved slowly to cross the room. She staggered slightly.
“Where’s your bra?”
Doree sucked in air. “My God, Bertha, you
scared me.”
“You scared me first.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Where’s your bra?”
“I didn’t wear one.”
Bertha stood, resisting the urge to take her by her shoulders and shake her. “After everything that’s gone on, how could you expect me not to notice you were gone?”
“I just wanted to be with someone who was on my side.” Doree skipped one or two exchanges ahead in the conversation, a trick of her mother’s.
Bertha could smell alcohol. She bit her lower lip and tried to stay focused, then said. “Damn it, Doree. We’re all on your side.”
Doree hung her head. “I’m sorry.”
“Are you having sex?” The question flew out of Bertha’s mouth before she considered a better way to approach the subject.
“No!”
“Because if you are, we need to talk about some things.”
“My mother had that talk with me three years ago.” Doree cut her eyes, daring Bertha to say more.
“Did she tell you about birth-control methods?”
Doree folded her arms across her chest. “If you must know, every girl at school carries a condom in her purse. Including me.”
Bertha nodded. “All right then. If you have other questions just come to me.”
“What would you know about it?” Doree turned to leave the room. “You’ve never been with a man.”
Chapter Four
When Bertha staggered into the kitchen late the next morning, Aunt Anne was waiting for her. She’d made fresh coffee, and on the kitchen island, mini muffins waited on one of Grandma’s platters. Bertha went directly to the coffee, poured a mug, pulled a stool up to the island, and reached for a muffin. “We the only ones up?”
“Yes.”
Bertha never knew what to say to Anne when they were alone. When she’d married her second husband and moved with the kids to Indiana, Bertha had seen her only on intermittent holidays. After an awkward moment, in which Bertha unwrapped another muffin, she said, “How you doing after the excitement last night?”
“I want to take Doree home with me.”
Widow Page 3
