Listen

by Rene Gutteridge

  “Why do you ask that?”

  “Usually you two talk if there’s something wrong.”

  This probably wasn’t the time to mention their son might be looking at porn, especially after that little bonding moment they had back there. Maybe if he spent more time with Hunter on the computer, Hunter would have less time to dwell on other things. “How was the game?”

  “The other moms were really nice to me.”

  Damien paused. “I meant, did we win?”

  “Yeah, yeah. We won. But I’m telling you, Jill has mental problems.”

  “The one getting a divorce?”

  “She’s very up-and-down with her emotions and very insecure. She actually confronted me and asked if I’d gotten someone else to keep track of the money after I’d already asked her. I’d simply said . . . Oh, never mind. It’s a long story. You wouldn’t understand. The point is, she’s a real pain to be around. We’re going to see if we can figure out how to get her uninvolved.”

  “We?”

  “And she can’t seem to dress her age. The miniskirts are outrageous.” Kay disappeared into the closet and emerged with a blouse. She held it up to herself in the mirror. “What do you think?”

  “Looks good.”

  Kay turned to him. “Wouldn’t it embarrass you if I wore a tank top and a miniskirt?”

  Damien smirked. “Embarrass? Not sure that would be my first reaction.” He winked and tried to pull her close.

  She batted him away. “I’m being serious.”

  Damien didn’t say so, but he thought it was strange she was thinking so much about what people were wearing. Usually she just reserved that for their daughter. “Jenna home?”

  “No. Told her she could go out with some of her friends for a little while.”

  “It’s a school night.”

  “I know. I know. But she’s been so depressed and moody, it’s hard for me to say no to things she wants to do. I told her to be home in forty-five minutes. She’ll live. Plus, I know these moms. They’re normal. They have the audacity to wear pants, for heaven’s sake.”

  “All right. But I don’t want this to become a habit. We haven’t spent sixteen years enforcing rules so she can pout her way out of them.”

  “I totally agree. It’s just that these girls make good grades, and I think they’d be a good influence on Jenna.”

  Damien wasn’t sure what there was to influence. Jenna had always been a good kid and still was. Sure, she’d been moody, but she was a teenager.

  Damien tickled her ribs. “Okay, so let’s talk again about that tank top and miniskirt you’re going to be wearing.”

  Kay shot him a hard look. “I wouldn’t be caught dead wearing that.”

  5

  “You’re coming onto the force at a good time,” Frank said as they walked into the only Starbucks in town.

  “Why is that, sir?” Gavin asked.

  “Used to, it was only free coffee at 7-Eleven. Now we get the mochas. When I first started, police were treated even better. Free breakfasts if you’d been on all night. Lots of different perks. But that kind of faded until we were left with free 7-Eleven coffee and discount day-old donuts. That is, until Starbucks arrived.” Frank leaned on the counter. “Yeah, I’ll take a grande macchiato, upside-down, double caramel, whipped cream. Two of ’em.”

  “But I don’t really like coffee.”

  Frank eyed him. “I’m already suspicious of you, kid. Don’t tell me you’re an abstainer.”

  “An abstainer?”

  “Are you?”

  “I, uh . . . I don’t even know what that means.”

  “You eat organic?”

  “No.”

  “You eat meat?”

  “Yes.”

  “All right, fine,” Frank said. “But you better start liking this stuff. It’ll be your lifeline some days.”

  “It can’t be that boring. I mean, a police officer’s job is to—”

  “Frank Merret?”

  Frank turned to find Patti Gable, one of Angela’s old college friends, standing in line behind him. “Hi, Patti. Good to see you.” He looked at Gavin. “Why don’t you go see if our coffees are ready.”

  Gavin left and Frank looked at Patti. “How’s Dale doing?”

  “Fine. And the kids are doing great too.”

  “Good to hear.”

  “I’m glad I ran into you. Have you talked to Angela lately?”

  “Why?”

  “I’ve been leaving her messages. She won’t return my calls. That’s not like her.”

  Gavin returned with the coffees.

  Frank said, “I’m sure she’s fine, Patti. Maybe busy?”

  Patti nodded. “Yeah, sure. We all get crazy busy sometimes, don’t we? Well, if you see her, tell her I wanted to talk to her about a Tri Delta reunion.”

  “Will do.”

  Frank and Gavin walked out of the coffee shop and got into the car. Frank headed north. “What do you think?” He glanced at Gavin.

  “I , uh, well . . . very nice-looking for an older woman.”

  “About the coffee.”

  “Oh. I don’t really taste any coffee. It tastes like whipped cream.”

  “Keep drinking.” Frank turned west on Forty-eighth Street. He was force-feeding a rookie coffee. That was funny.

  “Where are we going?”

  “Just taking the long way.”

  “Why? Don’t we have to be—?”

  “Taste the coffee yet?” He glanced at Gavin, who was dutifully sipping, taking breaks only to let the steam escape from the small hole in the lid.

  “Yes. I think so.”

  “What do you think?”

  “Good.”

  “Good? Come on. Use some intelligent words, Jenkins.”

  Gavin held the cup to his mouth. He seemed to be thinking hard. “Robust and um . . . hearty?”

  Frank turned into the First Bank parking lot and pulled to the curb. “See? There’s a real difference in quality. Sure, you can get forty-eight ounces of coffee at 7-Eleven, but does it taste like that?”

  “I don’t . . .” Gavin glanced out the window. “What are we doing?”

  Frank checked his watch. “Something’s wrong.”

  Gavin’s back went erect, and for a moment he seemed unsure what to do with his coffee. His free hand slid over his holster. “Is it the homeless guy?”

  “She’s late.”

  “Who?”

  “Angela.”

  “Who’s Angela?”

  “Just shut up for a second. You talk too much.” Frank pulled out his cell phone and checked the time against his watch and his dashboard clock. The small parking lot in front of the bank was half-full. He scanned it again, hoping maybe he’d just accidentally missed her PT Cruiser. “Why isn’t she here?”

  Gavin bit his lip, then sipped his coffee, looking out each window.

  “This isn’t good. Something’s wrong.”

  “Sir, what’s going on?”

  “Come on. We have to check on her. She’s always on time. Always.”

  “Maybe she’s sick.”

  “She doesn’t get sick.”

  Suddenly the radio crackled to life. “Unit 8. Do you copy?”

  “Copy.”

  “We’ve got a situation. It’s a signal 7.”

  “Whoa!” Gavin shouted. “That’s the code for dead body.”

  Frank grabbed the radio. “Repeat. Did you say signal 7?”

  “Well,” the dispatcher’s voice said in a softer tone, “we don’t really have a code for a feline death.”

  Frank and Gavin exchanged glances. “An animal? A cat?”

  “The address is 1559 Greenway. The woman is hysterical.”

  “We’re on our way.” Frank pulled out and looked back one more time to see if Angela’s car had arrived.

  * * *

  “What’s going on?” Kay said as Damien came alongside her in the long hallway of the high school. Her heels clicked furiously against t
he waxed and buffed linoleum, echoing off the long line of metal lockers.

  “I don’t know. I got the same call you did.”

  “She has never gotten in trouble at school! Not once!”

  “Let’s not jump to conclusions. Maybe it’s not as bad as we think. We need to hear what’s going on first.”

  Kay felt her face flush. “I hate when you’re calm like this. It drives me insane. Whatever it is, it’s not good. They don’t call both parents to the school to pat us on the back.” She lowered her voice. “It’s probably that stupid outfit she had on this morning. They do have a dress code here, you know.”

  Kay swung open the door to the school office. A large desk divided the room. Two secretaries, who didn’t look like they wanted to be bothered, sat behind the desk. Behind them, a long, semidark hallway led to Mr. MaLue’s office. Some potent vanilla candle mixed poorly with the pungent smell of the cafeteria.

  Kay straightened her suit and combed her fingers through her hair. Her hand slid over her ear as she said, “Yes, hi, we’re here to see—”

  “Yes, I know,” the woman with a bun on top of her head said. “Go on back.”

  Kay grabbed Damien’s hand. The vibe in the office wasn’t good.

  Damien wrapped both hands over hers and whispered, “Don’t panic. It’ll be fine.”

  The door stood open to Vincent MaLue’s office. Kay had never been in it before. It was large, with plenty of bookshelves, a window, and framed prints of the ocean. The sea foam–colored walls made Kay feel sick to her stomach.

  Mr. MaLue stood, towering over them in such a way that a long shadow was cast right between them. Kay guessed he was well over six feet. His legs looked like small rods under his black pants. A plain tie hung from his skinny neck, and a suit jacket was thrown over one side of his leather chair. She’d only seen him from a distance at school functions. This was the man Frank wanted to kill for taking his wife, and then the relationship only lasted eleven months. Kay couldn’t imagine what Angela had seen in Vincent MaLue. But she had to push those thoughts out of her mind now.

  “Mr. and Mrs. Underwood, please have a seat.” His hand stroked his tie as he sat down behind an overly organized desk. “Thank you for coming.”

  “We’re very worried,” Kay said, hating herself for showing her hand, but she couldn’t take it. She pulled out a pad and a pencil.

  “Don’t be alarmed,” the principal said with a small smile that did nothing to reassure Kay. “Jenna is not hurt.”

  “Hurt?” Kay gasped. “What are you talking about?”

  “There was a fight.”

  Kay wrote that down only to buy time, holding back the tears.

  Damien’s calm demeanor was fading as he leaned forward. “A fight? What happened?”

  “Jenna hit another girl in the hallway this morning.”

  Jenna? Kay didn’t even know Jenna knew how to hit. She accidentally snapped the eraser off the end of the pencil with her thumb. “Our daughter has never been in trouble before. I’m having a hard time believing—”

  “There were several witnesses who all saw the same thing. Jenna hit this girl.”

  “Is the girl okay?” Damien asked, and Kay put a hand on his knee. It was a good, appropriate, sensitive question, one that Kay would never think to ask.

  “Bloody nose, but that’s about it. Nothing broken. But we did call her parents.”

  “Where’s Jenna?” Kay asked.

  “She’s in detention hall right now. But she’ll be suspended for the rest of the day.”

  Kay began to tremble. “Jenna is a great student. You know that. She has never been in trouble. Honors student. We are very normal people. Abnormally normal. Don’t you think this is out of character for her?”

  “Not lately.”

  “What does that mean?” Damien asked.

  “Jenna isn’t the same person I knew when she came to this school. I realize kids change, but Jenna, especially this year, seems particularly angry. Is everything okay at home?”

  Kay leaned back into her chair. “At home?”

  “Any problems? Marital, perhaps? Something else?”

  Kay and Damien both shook their heads. “Nothing,” Damien said. “We have noticed that she has been out of sorts, but we just assumed it was the teen phase.”

  “Maybe it is. It’s hard to tell. You might want to have Jenna see the school counselor when she returns.”

  “But we’re normal people,” Kay said, scribbling the word normal on her little pad.

  “Mr. MaLue,” Damien implored, “please reconsider suspending her. This is the first time she has ever been in trouble.”

  “Which is why she is suspended for the day, not the week. We have a no-tolerance rule for violence. I’m sorry. And you might want to express to Jenna that next time she’ll be suspended for the entire semester.” He stood, causing Kay to shoot out of her seat for no particular reason except perhaps to not look like she was falling behind in etiquette. “Right this way.”

  They followed Mr. MaLue down a hallway and then left to another hallway. Kay studied the walls as they passed. Bright, neon posters hung every few feet, announcing bake sales and contests and student leadership conferences. It all seemed so innocent—what school was supposed to be.

  “In here.” Mr. MaLue opened the door and gestured for them to enter.

  Kay rushed in, nearly knocking Damien over. Jenna sat at a desk in the back of the room, completely alone, staring out a window that faced the back side of another building. At the sound of the door opening, she turned her head. Her expression didn’t change. She picked up her backpack, slung it over her shoulder, and walked toward them.

  “Jenna,” Kay said, “first, you owe Mr. MaLue an apology. Then you have some explaining—”

  “Sorry,” she said and walked right past them and into the hallway, disappearing around a corner.

  Kay shook her head, giving Mr. MaLue an apologetic glance. “You will be getting that apology in written form.”

  “Have a nice day,” the principal said and walked the other direction.

  Kay hurried to catch up with Jenna, which wasn’t until she reached the front door of the high school, where Jenna was already hurrying down the steps.

  “Young lady, wait! Right now!”

  But Jenna didn’t wait. Instead she kept her pace and went straight to Damien’s car. But it was locked.

  Kay, nearly out of breath, stopped short of plowing into her. “What is the matter with you?”

  Jenna stared through the window of the car.

  Kay grabbed her arm. “Jenna! Talk to me!”

  “Talk to you? Really, Mom? Talk to you? Give me a break.” Jenna yanked her arm away. “Unlock the stupid car!”

  “No!” Kay clutched her purse. “Not until you tell me what’s going on.”

  “I got mad. I hit a girl. Clear enough?”

  “No. I want to know why you would hit someone. That’s a very irrational, irresponsible thing to do. You’ve never been violent. We’re nonviolent people.”

  Damien hurried around Kay, stepping between them. “Maybe we should finish this at home.”

  “I can’t go home! I have to show a house in—” Kay looked at her watch. “I’m late!”

  Damien put a hand on each of them. “Okay, let’s calm down. Kay, I can take Jenna. She can come to work with me.”

  “To work with you?” Jenna moaned. “Just kill me right now, would you?”

  Damien smiled at Kay. “You owe me one.”

  Kay couldn’t smile or think anything else except that her world had suddenly fallen apart. Her baby girl, the sweetest she ever knew, had hit someone. On purpose. Kay took a tissue out of her purse and pressed it against her eyes. She watched Jenna get into Damien’s car. She could only stare at that stupid white string bracelet she kept wearing. Had someone called her a name? insinuated she was . . . loose?

  Kay hurried to her SUV. She started it and peeled out, the frustration of the day coming t
o a head.

  Then, like a slow-motion dream, someone stepped in front of her SUV. Two people. Kay slammed on the brakes, her tires squealing like a frightened pig. Her body lunged forward and then snapped back as her seat belt locked. Instinctively she held out her hand to the passenger’s empty seat.

  “Watch out!” a woman yelled.

  Kay had missed them by ten feet or more, but it was still a close call. She tried to catch her breath as she watched the woman and her teenage daughter cross. The woman had a protective arm around the girl. As Kay leaned forward for a better look, she realized the girl was holding . . . her nose. A bloodstained rag poked out from her hand. Kay slid down in her seat. Should she say something? apologize? do nothing?

  The girl, a brunette with a glittery headband on, was crying and shaking her head. Her mother was rubbing her back as she assisted her along the pavement. That was the girl? Kay had pictured the other girl being Goth or something.

  They finally made it across and Kay inched forward, daring to look one more time. They seemed so . . . normal.

  * * *

  A crowd had gathered on the front lawn of the home when Frank and Gavin arrived. Frank got out and immediately saw the cat, black as night, swaying from a limb in the slight breeze, a stark white rope around its neck.

  He wanted to turn away, but he couldn’t. He hadn’t expected this. The dispatcher said nothing about the cat hanging from a tree.

  “What do we do?” Gavin said, suddenly beside him.

  Frank tore his eyes away from the cat. “Where are the home owners?” he said loudly, above the noise of the crowd.

  “Over there!” someone shouted.

  Frank saw a couple standing on the porch, holding each other.

  They met Frank in the driveway. “I’m Reverend Ted Caldwell. This is my wife, Beth.”

  “Is this your cat?” Frank asked, his back to the tree.

  “Yes, it is,” Reverend Caldwell said, glancing at it. “His name is Riddle.”

  “When did you discover the cat?” Frank asked.

  “We know he wasn’t there this morning.”

  Gavin took out his pad, started writing notes.

  “Our daughter left for school, and we surely would’ve noticed him.”

  “When did you notice him?” Frank asked.