It was Saturday when everything hit the fan.
twenty-one
Saturday morning the alarm woke me at six. I struggled through a fog of sleep, wrapped in a vague feeling that I should rebel against injustice. I remembered eventually that I'd promised to help Jamie pack from eight to eleven o'clock. I dragged myself out of bed and struggled toward the shower. I am not a morning person, another element to contrast with Jack, who sings in his morning spray and pastes encouraging slogans all over his bathroom in order that he might be inspired by the great positive thinkers of history. I admired the concept in spirit, but the flesh is weak. I liked complaining in the morning and moaning for coffee until I got it, at which point I liked to spend some time extolling the virtues of caffeine. Surely there are other people like me.
I stopped at Sunil's White Hen to get the jumbo coffee that I needed, but my friend Sunil, who had really started this whole mystery rolling, I thought idly, was again not present. Armed with my beverage and two Matchbox cars (there were no baby-appropriate toys), I drove to Jamie's apartment.
My mother was already there when Jamie buzzed me in. She was folding shirts into perfect rectangles and placing them in a box. Jamie was squatting on the floor with little Noah, helping him zip a tiny suitcase. Noah looked a bit red-eyed, which saddened me. I didn't think the children could be entirely spared from grief, but they were so little, after all, to have to cope with death.
Noah brightened at the sight of me, to my pleasure, and I handed him the little cars, still in their packages. “One's for your brother, but it's up to your mom when he gets it. He might try to bite the little tires off,” I said uncertainly, not sure what sorts of things babies attempted to choke on.
“Thanks!” Noah yelled. “I don't have too many cars like these. Can I put them in my suitcase, Mom?”
Jamie stood up, came over, and ruffled Noah's hair.
“Why don't you take them out of the packages and play with them awhile? Now that we have this room almost empty, you can pretend it's a racetrack. We'll definitely pack them before we leave, okay?”
Noah liked the idea, and I felt another surge of admiration for Jamie. What a good mom she was. Jamie turned to me. “Thanks a lot for coming, Madeline. Your mom is in charge of the clothes packing, and Linus and Wick are going to deal with the furniture. I'm not taking all of it. Anyway, if you don't mind, you could keep an eye on Cal for me while I go through the kitchen stuff. He's kind of running loose right now. I think he's in the boys’ room.”
I agreed hesitantly. I'd never babysat as a young woman, mainly because it seemed like too stressful a job. While my friends insisted that it was easy money earned while watching other people's televisions and eating their food, I had always felt it was several hours of worrying about what could potentially go wrong: children rebelling or running away or, worse yet, having seizures or requiring the Heimlich maneuver during their dinners were only some of the scenarios that had kept me from advertising my services. I felt some of the old fear as I walked through Jamie's hallway and peeked into the first of two rooms. This was obviously the room Jamie and Logan had shared, though now it was as bare and devoid of personality as a Motel 6 rental. It held a full-sized bed and two nightstands. Two lamps were on the floor by the door, their cords bundled for travel. A couple of framed prints were leaning against the opposite wall. The tears that I hadn't cried at the funeral threatened to emerge now, for no apparent reason.
I ducked out and walked toward the second room, which was pretty even in disarray. The walls were painted pale blue; at the junction of ceiling and walls was a matching nursery-rhyme border featuring tiny cows that jumped over smiling moons, Mother Goose with her storybook, Little Boy Blue in his haystack, and Miss Muffet with a grinning spider. It was a happy room, and judging by the boxes that were not yet sealed, I could see that the boys had beloved possessions that would help them in their transition to a new place. I was sure Wick would provide them with a wonderful space, probably much larger than what they'd had here.
A white wood crib stood against one wall, a twin bed against the opposite. Cal was leaning on the bed, a study of casualness, holding a stuffed giraffe and apparently feeding it imaginary food. It became apparent to me, quite soon after entering the room, that Cal had created something in his pants and perhaps had come here for the privacy to do that very thing.
Cal looked up, saw me, smiled. “Bee-bee?” he asked me, pointing at his giraffe. “Bee-bee?”
“Is that your baby?” I asked him.
He smiled uncertainly. It reminded me of my mother's brother Heinz, who came often from Germany to visit his only sister and her family. When he would say something in German, he would sit smiling, waiting for one of my parents to translate. Sometimes this took a while, which was especially frustrating when Heinz, who was a funny man, was trying to make a joke. Timing is everything. He would sit with that expectant look, as if saying, “Has the translation gone through?” He waited for the recognition on our faces.
Little Cal must often have been frustrated when his words were misinterpreted, I thought. I changed the subject. “Cal, do you have a poo-poo?”
“No,” Cal lied, continuing to feed the mysterious food to his giraffe. He was wearing little blue sweatpants and a sweatshirt that said “The Wiggles.” So far he remained shoeless. His feet didn't look flat; they were shaped more like little potatoes.
I went hesitantly toward him. I realized that there were people who had to do much braver things than this: soldiers facing battle, women like Jamie facing motherhood without a partner. It would be too wimpy and inappropriate to run down the hall and inform my mother that there was a job awaiting her in Cal's room. I did consider doing that, for about two minutes, while Cal silently fed his bee-bee. Then I screwed my courage to the stinky place (always Lady Macbeth intruded into my thoughts) and picked up the fragrant baby, giraffe and all.
It was the diaper change that changed everything, and it is still clearly etched in my mind. I carried him to the bathroom, which contained a changing table, still stocked. Jamie was wise about what to pack last. I had never had reason to use a changing table or any of the mysterious objects beneath it. I had never, I must confess it, diapered a baby at all, especially not a baby who seemed to have made a significant deposit in his little tiny pants. Cal was no newborn, after all.
Still, I managed, and without having to call my mother in. Jamie called down the hall that I should use something called a “diaper genie.” I glanced around for something resembling Barbara Eden and eventually found what Jamie was talking about. I also effectively cleaned, greased, and floured Cal, just like the cake pans I'd learned to handle with some efficiency in my 4-H cooking class.
After a few tries, I managed to secure Cal's new Velcro diaper in place. My respect for Jamie had grown to three times its original size, like the Grinch's heart.
Cal seemed in no hurry to leave. He chattered to me in his foreign tongue, holding up the giraffe for inspection, smiling, choking the giraffe. I sat him up and sprayed some air freshener in the pungent room. Cal pointed at a little shelf above the toilet and said, “Boo!”
“Boo to you too,” I said with a laugh.
Cal frowned. “Boo, boo, boo, boo,” he intoned, his tiny finger waving.
The shelf he indicated contained books. Even I wasn't so thick that I couldn't get the gist of his message. “You'd like a book, Cal?”
Cal smiled with relief and nodded. I grabbed a couple of things off the shelf, one of which was a cute little board book by Sandra Boynton. I'd thought she only wrote greeting cards. The other was the Big Book of Baby Names. I flicked idly through it and saw highlighted names in both the girls’ and boys’ sections. Both Noah and Calvin had been highlighted, though in different colors and probably years apart. Some of the girls’ names they'd favored included Sarah, Rose, and Madeline. A drop of water fell on Cal's fat leg, and I realized with surprise that it had come from my eye. This is how in touch I am with my emo
tions.
Cal was helping me turn the pages, which contained pictures of random cute babies. He liked those, but I couldn't seem to turn the pages fast enough for him, and then we ran out of book. “Here, Cal, let's start at the beginning again,” I instructed.
We opened the tome, which began with the names for girls. I saw every tenth name or so as I scanned, while Cal looked at the pictures. There were entries from every culture, of course. Abra, Acquilah, Adeline, et cetera. I wondered how people had the patience to go through every one.
We turned the page and, because the world is full of coincidence, there it was, the name I'd just heard on Thursday, the name that belonged to Detective Perez: Arcelia. Cal was ready to move on, his little fingers pulling at the paper. “Hang on, Cal,” I said. “I'd like to read this one. Why don't you feed the baby something for a minute?”
To my surprise, he took this suggestion, apparently feeling remiss that he'd ended the animal's feedings. He devotedly bent over his giraffe. I smiled and located the name again. Spanish in origin. No surprise there, I thought, and then my eyes widened and my mouth grew slack. “Treasure chest,” the book listed as its meaning. “A repository for treasure.”
I let it fall closed. Cal noticed something in my face and furrowed his little brow as though he might cry. I picked him up swiftly and gave him a kiss, then kissed his little giraffe, which he enjoyed.
We walked back down the hall toward his mother, and I heard Detective Perez's voice echoing in my head: “I'll hold on to this note, Madeline” and “Why don't you just lie low, and end the investigation?” And then, as I reached the kitchen, I remembered Linus looking darkly at the mistress I thought had been Pamela, saying, “You would think she would understand the term ‘conflict of interest’!” It was Perez he hadn't wanted at the funeral; it was Perez who had slept with his brother and was then given the job of investigating his death.
Hadn't Wick Lanford told me in those exact words when we'd discussed Logan's reasons for coming to town? “He said he was pursuing his ‘treasure chest,’” Wick had said. I'd thought it had to do with money, with Quinn Paley. But it was Perez, his “treasure chest,” that Logan had gone to Saugatuck to see, and he'd jokingly insinuated as much to his father in their last conversation together.
twenty-two
My mother knew something was wrong instantly. “What is it, Madeline?” she asked, looking up from her folding task. Jamie stopped what she was doing too and gave me a curious glance.
“Oh—uh, nothing. Cal's all changed, should I put him here?” I set Cal on the floor, where he continued ministering to the giraffe.
“Sure,” said Jamie. My mother was still eyeing me suspiciously, and I shook my head ever so slightly to indicate that I didn't want to discuss it here. This she understood, and with raised eyebrows she went back to the baby shirt in her hand, which looked like a folded handkerchief.
“What else can I do for you, Jamie?” I asked. “Before we know it, it will be eleven o'clock and I'll have to run to my next appointment. I certainly want to say I helped in the time I was here,” I rambled.
“Madeline,” Jamie said gently, “I just packed that box.” I looked down to see that I'd been unloading kitchen utensils as I talked. Real smooth. I forced a laugh and put the things back in.
“Ha-ha. Sorry. Not enough coffee for me, I guess. What a space. Okay, what should I really do?”
Jamie sent me out to her car with a couple of boxes, then back again with some more. I ended up ferrying things up and down the stairs for the next hour; ultimately I did earn her gratitude.
When it was time for me to leave, I took little Noah aside. He was still, amazingly, playing with the two cars I'd brought. “I'm looking forward to visiting you in Michigan,” I said, holding him against my side. “My boyfriend and I would love to make a trip up there soon. Will you be sure to set aside some time to play with me?”
Noah nodded eagerly. “You might even want to bring some more cars,” he said with innocent desire.
“You can count on it. We'll have a race, okay?”
Noah agreed. I held his thin little body, and then I did the same to his plumper brother, who was being fed oatmeal by my ever-helpful mother. She gave me a look that said she wanted to know what was going on. “Mom,” I said brightly, “I'll see you at Fritz's debut. A few hours. Right?”
“Right,” she agreed, wiping Cal's mouth with the corner of his bib. “Will Jack be there?”
“Oh, he wouldn't miss it for the world,” I said. “He's meeting me there. Jamie, I hope I was of help to you.” I could see that Jamie was tearing up again, and I wanted to make a quick exit. I gave her a hug, promising to come and see her soon and check on their transition to the new place.
“Thanks, Madeline. Thanks for everything,” she said.
Despite the cuteness of the children, it was Jamie's face that stayed with me in the car; hers and that of her husband's lover, Detective Arcelia Perez. I took a few deep breaths and told myself to stop jumping to conclusions. I couldn't prove that Perez was Logan's lover. I couldn't prove that she was the “treasure chest” Logan had been talking about, although my instincts told me she was; I couldn't prove that she had anything to do with Logan's death, even if she had been one of his conquests; in fact, other than giving me a really weird vibe, the revelation about Perez had no significance whatsoever. She hadn't actually lied to me. I'd never asked her if she'd been personally involved with Logan; if I had, she could rightfully have told me it was none of my business.
Still, I felt somehow that I'd been hoodwinked, betrayed. At a red light, I remembered the phone Perez had given me. Impulsively I took it out and scanned the buttons. A large central one said “Auto Dial.” I pressed this just as a horn sounded behind me. I still had some time, I noted, so I crossed the intersection and parked under a shady tree and waited to see what transpired.
A phone was ringing somewhere. I assumed it belonged to Perez. It kept ringing, however, so I hung up and looked back at my phone. There was a button that said “Auto Page.” I guessed this meant that the number of my phone would automatically appear on her pager. I pressed this, then sat huffily in my car, wondering if Perez would actually respond. I stared out my window at an older man wearing a Blackhawks sweatshirt and smoking a cigar as he rocked on his front porch swing. The cigar smoke drifted toward me and through the crack of my open window. Like all smoke, it had a seductive allure at first. After a while, though, it just smelled like a cigar.
I was considering moving on down the road to escape the aroma when the phone rang. I pressed the on button of my own contraption and said, “Hello.”
“Madeline.” As usual, Perez sounded a little bit amused. “What can I do for you?”
The stress of not talking about it for three hours now caused me to burst. “You didn't tell me what your name meant, Perez. Treasure chest. Was that some kind of joke between you and Logan? I had no idea that you were sleeping together. But if Logan went to Saugatuck to pursue you, you can bet that's what his family will assume. In fact, his brother already does. What, did he catch the two of you together in bed?” I paused to catch my breath, knowing I had just burned all of my bridges behind me.
Perez allowed some time for my harsh accusations to float around my own head. Then she said quietly, “I'm not going to discuss this with you.”
“Why?” I asked. “Because it's a conflict of interest? Because you don't want my paper reporting your relationship? Because you killed Logan?” I yelled.
“Whoa there, pardner. Let's get together. I'm sure we can discuss this like two reasonable adults. Up until now I thought you were reasonable, Madeline.”
“I have a bad feeling about this whole thing. I mean, if you weren't involved with Logan, just say so.”
“Let's get together and talk,” Perez said quietly. “Where can we meet?”
To me this sounded vaguely sinister. “Um, I don't think so,” I said. “I need to do some thinking. And I have somewhere i
mportant to go right now.”
“Madeline, I really think we should—”
“I'll call you when I think this through,” I said huffily, and pressed the off button.
My thoughts went around in circles as I drove toward the mayor's office. No matter what the involvement of Perez, I still had some things to pursue in the Don Paul arena.
I drove down Webley's main street, appropriately called Main Street, where several restaurants were clustered together. The smell of fried food floated in my window on a cool breeze. I longed to go back to Selby's Diner, where I'd enjoyed the chicken salad so much on Monday, and have a sit-down breakfast with all the trimmings; instead, I drove another block to Burger King and got an egg sandwich and an orange juice. There was no way a healthy young girl like me could concentrate with an empty stomach, I rationalized, as I ate yet another meal at the wheel. I could see Jack in my mind's eye, floating above me like a stern patriarch in a yoga position, frowning at my nutrition and my fast-paced lifestyle. Jack hadn't had the day I'd had, though, and I was sure just this once he would understand.
In any case, my stomach was full and I was ready to don my metaphorical cat-burglar black. I parked down the street from city hall, walked half a block, and tried not to look like I was skulking near the steps. I glanced at my watch: 12:07. Pamela was late. I was ready to start fuming when I saw her running toward me on clicking high heels. High heels, I thought with a pang. It was Saturday, for gosh sakes. She looked fresh and lovely in black pants and a lavender sweater under a crisp jean jacket. Her auburn hair was pulled back in a headband à la the early Hillary Clinton. Dry cleaning was slung over her shoulder, and she looked as pretty and unreal as an actress in a Woolite commercial.
She was effusively apologetic. “Madeline! Oh, you look cold standing there! I'm so sorry. I had to pick up my dry cleaning; I didn't know how long this would take, and they close at noon on Saturdays, so—”
Madeline Mann Page 19
