Cleansed by Death

by Catherine Finger

  I kept the faux hardness in my voice, but my emotions were on overdrive. Energy sparked between us as Nick informed me that the lead had not panned out. Then he regaled me with current FBI cases in other places. His chatter was strangely comforting. Still, as we followed the familiar route west on 120 toward the lake house—my husband’s dream house—I fell apart in silence. Nick’s hand moved to my shoulder as I drove. I had the presence of mind to switch off the Bluetooth before calling Mitch along the way. I owed it to her to catch her up and, even though I’d filled her in on the basics last night, I poured out the full version of my sad marriage tale to her. I glanced over at Nick, and his face looked grim and angry as he learned even more than I’d previously told him about Del’s abuse.

  Mitch’s little saltbox of an office must’ve been shaking from the rafters at the news. She stayed calm, cool, and collected, though. And for the hundredth time in the last twenty-four hours, I wondered if everyone but me had seen this coming. No one else seemed all that surprised at my horror show.

  “I’m sorry, Mitch. This is all so unbelievable, I can’t take it all in. I don’t know what to say.”

  “This is a horrible way for your marriage to end. But in a way, he’s done you a favor. There’s no decision to agonize over any more. He left you. It’s out of your hands. Wait a minute... I hear traffic noise. Are you driving somewhere right now?”

  “Take a breath, Mitch. Yes, I’m in a car, but Nick’s by my side. I need to check on the lake house.”

  “Don’t do this to yourself. You don’t know what he’s capable of. Turn back. Please.”

  “I have to do this. I love you. I don’t know what else to say. I’ll call you. Gotta go.” I ended the call, and Nick came alive.

  “What’d she say about us going out there?”

  “Very bad idea.”

  “And you said?”

  “We’re practically there.”

  “Great.”

  I hadn’t noticed slowing down during my chat with Mitch, but the speedometer was hovering around fifty now. I slammed my foot on the gas, and the truck accelerated to over seventy. One more light, a left turn, and a country road would bring us face-to-face with the lake house. Numb, I sped through the light and then sat back in the deep, leather seat, preparing myself for the unknown.

  The house sat back quite a way from the road—the only thing it had in common with my little cabin in Baraboo, Wisconsin. Twin brick towers marked the driveway, complete with lanterns. We pulled in, sailed around the circular drive, and parked in front of the three-car garage. The roof over the middle stall was peaked, specially built for boat storage and complete with a porthole-like window in the center of the dormer. I entered the garage door code for the middle door.

  Nick touched my arm. “Josie…”

  I followed his gaze to the snow-covered, gravel path leading to the custom-built boat house edging the pristine lake below. Parked on the pathway next to the boathouse were two identical haul-it-yourself trucks. Thick layers of frost covered the windshields of both vehicles. A low fog crept up from the ground and slowly washed over me as I gazed at the trucks. The fog wisped through my mind, carrying a swirling mass of images of Del and another woman. I willed the images away but they stood their ground, beating together like an out-of-control Mixmaster. I shook my head, blinked back tears. Who was she?

  In unison, we turned back to the garage. It was eerily bare. No boxes, no vehicles. A different sight than the one on my last visit. Del and I had spent the previous weekend here. I had painted and wallpapered rooms, playing out my ideas on our new home. I had spent a small fortune on custom fabrics, papers, and linens. Doing the work myself was one of my concessions to Del’s concerns about spending so much so soon.

  Nick took my arm as we walked through the garage. It was too quiet. I unlocked the door and stepped into the kitchen.

  My gaze rested on the custom-built kitchen table. Del and I had taken my mother to an Amish colony in Wisconsin this past summer to commission the table and chair set. I’d known the man who built this table since high school. Sitting in the middle of my table was a feminine-looking basket that was not mine. It was surrounded by giftwrap. Gaily colored ribbons and a card sat on a Bible next to it — opened to a passage about forgiveness. The note was to my husband. From another woman.

  Every detail of the scene was meticulously frozen and stored in separate compartments in my mind, to be scrutinized in the upcoming days, weeks, and months. There were two coffee mugs in my sink. One of the cups was stained with bright-red lipstick, hardly smudged, as if the lip print had been painted on. I picked up the mug and turned it around in my shaking hands to get a good look at the impression on the rim. This revolting evidence jarred me, and the mug fell out of my hand into the sink below, snapping the handle off cleanly.

  My heart seized, my lungs stung, and I sucked in air as white-and-black pinpricks flashed before me. I screamed. Then I screamed again, louder. I picked up the stained and broken mug and flung it against the granite floor. The crashing ceramic as it shattered against the stones lit an inner fuse. I picked up one of the shards, and slammed it back onto the floor, and stomped on it, screaming all the while. My throat was burning. I stopped screaming, raised my face to the ceiling and took several deep breaths. I closed my eyes, slowly letting out the last breath. Then I opened my eyes and gave Nick a weak smile. He put his arms around me, and I stood silently, staring at the shattered mug.

  We walked down the hall to the unfinished powder room. Someone had moved my hand-painted wooden sign. In its place jeered a plastic-coated, eight by ten-inch picture of Del looking drunken and seedy, smiling in a way I’d never seen him smile before. Another woman had placed a photo of my husband on my wall in my unfinished powder room. My stomach roiled.

  We followed the hallway into the office. Brown-paper grocery bags sat on the desk. A pair of my favorite riding jeans spilled over the top of one of the bags. I’d moved some of my clothes over a few weeks earlier in anticipation of living here full time as soon as our other house had sold. I stepped forward, touched the fabric, and froze in place. Could I feel his presence, or hers?

  Nick waited for me to lead the way to the master suite. A dresser stood out from the wall opposite the bed. I went through each drawer. The bottom drawer held a woman’s clothes, lingerie, candles, and a trashy DVD. I started swimming in nausea, and I must have doubled over.

  Nick came to my side. “Let’s go, beautiful. Enough. We’ve seen way too much already today.”

  I ignored him and stepped into the walk-in closet. Del had placed my custom blouses in a paper sack. My evening bags lay haphazardly on the floor. Some other woman’s shoes sat next to Del’s. Backless, gold, faux-leather with four-inch heels.

  I ran to the bathroom and went through every drawer in his vanity, finding condoms on two different shelves. In my own cabinets, a fragrance I didn’t use. My custom monogrammed hand towels lay damp and crumpled on the counter. A pair of panty hose bunched up against the bottom of the cabinet.

  I walked out of the bathroom, down the hall, and into the great room. I sank to my knees before the spotless wall of windows. A row of pine trees swayed in the wind. I used to think those pines beckoned me to the lake. Nick joined me without a sound.

  Del and I had fought for months about buying this brand-new, oversized, luxury home for just the two of us. Finally, my hefty inheritance from a recently deceased aunt, and Del’s accusation that I’d never let him have his dream, won out. I had plunked down nearly every penny I had in an effort to save our marriage by giving Del exactly what he said he needed to be happy.

  “Turns out ‘happy’ doesn’t last very long.” Given Nick’s solemn look, I’d finished my thought out loud.

  I moved my knees under me and grunted to my feet. Now it was crystal clear how badly thatSOB had manipulated me.

  It would be satisfying to catch him in the act with his mystery woman and shoot him in the head. But what good would that do m
e? It would be better to see him brought to justice. If there was any justice for what he’d pulled. Probably not. Letting him live and pursuing justice would end up costing me a lot more in the long run than him good and dead. And his little “friend” too.

  The saxophone tones of my work cell yanked me out of my dark reveries. “Yeah.”

  “Chief Oliver?”

  “Frank?”

  “Yeah, it’s me. And this isn’t a social call. Where are you?”

  “Ah, out at the lake house with a buddy, why?”

  Silence. “Is that the best place for you to be right now?”

  “Sir?”

  “Just… look. I need you to drive in. Now. Get out of there. That’s not the smartest place in the world for you to be or be seen today.”

  “Okay, Sheriff. Mind telling me why?”

  “I want to make sure we get ahead of the storm before the bottom drops out.” Chills crept up the back of my neck, and the pinch of a headache worked its way up to my temples.

  “Storm, sir?”

  “The storm that Del created. What, you didn’t think I’d hear? It’s everywhere already. And it’s… complicated. Come in, and we’ll talk.”

  He hung up, and I stared at the phone as if it were alive. I snuck a look at Nick. He was gazing at me, waiting for my direction. The sound of tires on gravel turned our heads. A caterer’s van drove past the house, heading down to the water where several other majestic homes lined the lake.

  I sighed. “Let’s go. I was hoping to poke around the boathouse, but that’s going to wait for another day. I don’t want to watch new neighbors happily prepping for a holiday party I haven’t been invited to. I’ve seen enough for one day. Not that I’ve much of a choice in the matter anyway. That was the sheriff. He wants to get a handle on the PR nightmare my life has become. I’ll come back later.”

  I opened the door to the garage, and Nick and I descended the four steps single file. He had been a rock, and he hadn’t gone ballistic when he saw what Del had done. We pressed on through the expansive garage and reached the truck. He held open his hand and I tossed him the keys without question.

  “We’ll come back later.” I said again, with a tight smile, as he backed the truck into a y-turn and nosed slowly down the drive.

  I turned around in the seat for a few seconds, watching the little shed down the hill recede through the back window. The caterer’s van had vanished around the bend. I pulled my eyes away and watched the ground lining the driveway. Bulbs I’d planted in the fall flanked the drive and surrounded both brick pillars. In a few months, they’d be in full beauty. Where would I be by then?

  Nick pulled into the coffee shop where we had left his car and hurried inside. He emerged in record time, with two familiar cups of heaven.

  “This gonna be enough to tide you over on the way home, beautiful?” He leaned in and handed me the cup.

  “You’re a life saver, Nick. In every way.” I smiled my thanks and he nodded at me, winked, and turned on his heel. By the time I got home, there were three trucks and one sedan parked in my driveway. Donna descended from my front porch and waved me over. I rolled down the window. “Donna?”

  She didn’t say anything, but the ghost of a smile pulled across her face, and she stepped close. “You know how I love to decorate. Thought you could use a little help.”

  My head dropped forward and my eyes grew wide as I looked from her to my driveway. She waved a hand at me and nodded her head as if to tell me to get out of my truck. I stepped out into the cold air.

  “When did you have time to do all this and, wait, is that Mitch’s car?”

  “Could be. I’d go see what the fuss is about if I were you. Now scoot!”

  I walked between the two trucks, nodding at the local handyman behind the wheel of the white van. Mitch smiled at me from her village-issue police town car and rolled the window down at my approach. She held out a cup of coffee and tilted her head at the passenger door. I laughed as I trotted over and plunked into the warm seat.

  We drank in silence for a few moments. I was watching the workers when Donna walked up to my side of the car. I rolled down the window to talk to her.

  Donna leaned in. “You go ahead and do whatever it is you ladies do in the name of the law. Ms. Mitchell will take you to the office. I’ll spend the day with these lovely workmen and see what we can do about some home improvements.”

  “And all that stuff about agreeing with me not going to work today?”

  “Oh, that. Yeah, well, that might’ve been a bit of a ruse to occupy us long enough for Jim to set this enterprise in motion. I knew you’d want to go and ‘man up,’ as you say, around your office yet today. Am I right?”

  I jumped out of the car, hugged her tightly, and whispered, “Thank you, Donna.”

  She hugged me back before turning me toward the car. I raised my hand in thanks as Mitch maneuvered the car around on my ice-covered lawn and made her way to the street.

  “What kind of barbarian driving is this?”

  “First things first.” She raised her coffee cup in a silent salute and drove on.

  I nodded. “You know something?”

  “Nope. Enlighten me.”

  “I think I’m gonna survive this mess. I really do.”

  “That’s my girl!” She drove out onto the slick street and stepped on the gas, eliciting warning beeps as the car fishtailed on the ice, and we laughed out loud again.

  Mitch reached behind my seat. She pulled out her dress-blues hat and placed it on my head. I was still laughing when I reached out to bump fists with her. I pulled down the visor and played around in the mirror.

  “Halfway home, girl. Having a good hair day and a great hat day. Now we’ll just have to see about the rest. I gotcha covered.” Mitch pointed to the back seat.

  I turned around and smiled at one of my dress uniforms, still wrapped from the last trip to the dry cleaners. A favorite pair of calfskin designer pumps sat on the seat next to the newly emptied hat bag. “I owe you one.”

  “Yup.”

  Our next stop was Mitch’s house. Her husband met us at the door and gave me one of his soul-cleansing hugs. Their presence radiated peace; hope, even. Mitch opened the powder room door and hung my uniform on a hook. They were quietly talking as I closed the door to change.

  Mitch’s fabulous foresight and attention to detail had led her to choose my favorite navy-blue wool work skirt. I’d had this uniform carefully tailored until it showcased my five feet seven inches to maximum advantage. I’d need every little perk I could find to force myself back into my work routine today.

  I was also having a fantastic hair day, courtesy of Donna’s salon-quality equipment. I’d taken the time to blow out my dark-blonde hair into the straight and silky style reflected in the vanity’s mirror. I never left my bedroom without performing my basic skin-care routine, donning gold jewelry, and spritzing on a favorite fragrance. At least I still had my morning ritual working for me—with a little help from my friends today. All in all, not a bad look despite the tired eyes, tear-stained face, and doomed-to-all-get-out new life.

  I opened the door and stepped into the foyer, ready for anything. Mitch waited with two travel cups of coffee. She handed me a mug, nodding slightly. I accepted it with a shrug. The aroma alone was enough to send me into a caffeine high.

  “Let’s roll,” she said as she pulled open the front door.

  The richness of the coffee and the bond between us were all we needed as we sailed through the streets in companionable silence.

  We were pulling into her parking spot at the police station when she turned to me. “Chief? You thinking about an attorney yet?”

  “Not yet.”

  “You have to. The sooner the better. You need to get a good lawyer, and you need to start making some contacts today. You want me to get on it for you? Call around, make some inquiries?”

  “No. Thanks, though. I get it. I know I need to start moving, and I’ll get there soon
. I may need you when the time comes. Until then, let’s just walk through that door and get ’er done.”

  “Roger that, Chief.”

  Mitch and I climbed the stone steps and stood at the back door of the station.

  “You sure you’re up for this?”

  “Yeah, I’m up for it. All I’m gonna do is sneak in, stomp around, and let everyone know I’m alive and well. Perfect timing. Most of ’em should be at lunch by now.”

  “Good point. So, we doin’ this thing?”

  “On three.” I adjusted the hat on my head.

  We opened the door into a stairwell. Mitch headed downstairs to the shooting range, and I headed up to my office. With any luck, it’d be deserted at noon on a Monday. I pushed the fire door open and stepped into a hallway with black-and-white diamond linoleum. The hall wound past storage lockers, a utility room, and a break room, before turning into a smaller, carpeted hallway. Tiny offices hugged both sides for about twenty feet. A large open area, containing the call center and computer surveillance and conference rooms, stood at the end of the hallway. There were three corridors leading out of the open area, and I took the first right. My receptionist was at her desk in the center of the hallway. Our eyes met as I walked across the soft carpet.

  “Afternoon, Chief. Are you here for your meeting?” This was Liz-speak for “I got your back, Chief.” Her way of telling me she knew everything that had happened in the past twenty-four hours.

  “Yeah, hold my calls,” I mumbled as I swept past her, shutting the door louder than I’d intended. I wasn’t being fair to her, but I couldn’t handle our usual banter this afternoon. And I sure didn’t have it in me to talk about my ridiculous new lack of a life. Tragedy or comedy? Who knew?

  It was all I could do to walk into the building with Mitch like we’d done every day for the past four years, and I was hoping to keep my personal crisis close to the vest. Until I ran into Liz.

  She’d been my faithful assistant and number-one fan every minute of every day since I took the position of chief of police. And she was everyone’s ideal woman. Youthful radiance and healthy, blonde hair framed cornflower-blue eyes set perfectly into an unforgettably beautiful face. Half the guys in the department were speechless around her. The other half constantly vied for her attention. But Liz was simply Liz—sweet, professional, happily married, and holding us all together day in and day out. She’d no doubt been under Mitch’s influence already today. Given my stellar impersonal performance, she’d probably even sent an emergency text message, tattling on me to Mitch.