Claire told him as much as she could remember about Eugene throughout their school years, when he suffered from so many strange allergies and ailments, and spent many days at home sick. Permanently excused from gym due to his asthma, Eugene spent that time in the library, which was where you could most often find him.
“When he was out for an extended time, one of us would take his homework to his house, and if he was well enough, we could visit with him for a bit.”
Gigi was so grateful to any child willing to be friends with Eugene that she would shower them with candy and sodas when they visited the house, and gave each of them a gift on their birthdays and Christmas.
Eventually, however, as they all grew up and became self-centered teenagers, Eugene was mostly forgotten.
“Still, no one dared pick on him,” Claire said. “But he got left behind a lot, and I’m sure that hurt. He never acted bitter or resentful about it; he just seemed grateful for any attention he received.”
“I moved away soon after high school,” Claire continued. “I don’t think I saw him more than a handful of times over the years. I moved back this past spring, and now I see him at least once a week. Hannah is really the closest to him. They like the same comics and video games.”
“Do you know what happened the day his mother died?”
“I was up there, actually, that morning,” Claire said. “He was fine then.”
She told him what had happened while she was there.
“His mother was very domineering, the way you tell it,” he said.
“She was,” Claire said. “Although it couldn’t have been easy to live with Eugene. She was disappointed in him, but she wasn’t in any way afraid of him; I want to be clear about that. She was worried about him, but definitely not afraid of him.”
“What about later that day, after her body was found?”
“Hannah was there when they found her,” Claire said. “She saw him fall apart when he came home and found out what had happened.”
“I’d like to talk to Hannah,” he said. “Do you think she would call or come in?”
“I’ll ask her,” Claire said. “I know she’s worried about him.”
“I appreciate you coming in,” he said, as he stood up. “I’d like to speak with Hannah as soon as possible. No one in his family has been to see him or called.”
“His cousin, Chippie, works here,” Claire said. “I guess he’s called Chip now. I heard his wife, Jillian, has been saying awful things about Eugene, so she probably won’t visit. Chip’s father is a slime ball who shouldn’t be allowed anywhere near him.”
“He’s closely monitored,” the doctor said. “No one gets in to see him without my approval.”
“I’m glad to hear that,” Claire said. “Now that his mother has passed, Eugene is a rich man, and I’d hate to see him get taken advantage of.”
The doctor raised an eyebrow but did not comment.
“One more thing,” Claire said.
“What’s that?”
“Could you give me a map or something? I don’t think I can find my way out.”
“I don’t want to go down there,” Hannah said when Claire called her from the hospital parking lot. “I hate, hate, hate hospitals.”
“But you want to help Eugene, don’t you?” Claire said. “They’re going to decide what happens to him when the 72 hours is up, and we need to convince them he’s not a danger to anyone.”
“Ugh, the smell of that place,” Hannah said. “It reminds me of having Sammy. The food is horrible, and you know I’m not picky. Plus, Sam just dropped off Sammy and there’s no one to watch him.”
“I’ll watch him.”
“Hah!” Hannah said. “It isn’t like babysitting, you know. You can’t take your eyes off of him for even a second.”
“I can handle it.”
“Famous last words,” Hannah said.
Silence.
“Please,” Claire said. “He’s in real danger.”
More silence.
“He’s our friend,” Claire said. “We’re all he has now.”
Silence.
“Hannah,” Claire said. “Remember kindergarten? Remember what the first day was like for Eugene? What just happened to him is like that times ten billion.”
“Oh, all right,” Hannah said. “Meet me at Megamart, and bring your cash money. Sammy needs some new swimmies, but do not under any circumstances give him sugar. I don’t care if he’s climbed the highest rack they’ve got in the warehouse and is threatening to jump.”
“You’re exaggerating.”
“You’ll see,” Hannah said. “They have a code at Megamart for when we’re spotted in the store; you’ll hear it announced. It’s CODE SAMMY, and it means all hands on deck.”
Later that afternoon, a red-faced Claire lifted a soaking wet Sammy out of the huge goldfish tank at Megamart, while surrounded by stern-looking security personnel. She apologized over and over as the manager escorted them out of the store.
“He’s been banned for over a month,” the woman said. “Please tell his mother not to send anyone else in here with him, or we’ll call Children’s Protective Services.”
In the parking lot, she held on tight to Sammy as water continued to stream out of his clothing onto hers. As she reached her car, Claire spotted her old friend, Candace, dressed immaculately in an expensive yoga ensemble, getting out of her large, shiny, black SUV. Claire pretended not to see her as she struggled to get Sammy secured in the battered child’s safety seat Hannah had provided.
“Yoohoo, Claire!” she heard Candace call as Sammy fought her with all his might, which was considerable.
“Listen,” Claire hissed at Sammy. “If you sit still, be quiet, and don’t embarrass me while I talk to this fancy lady, I’ll buy you the biggest, bluest Moonshine Slershy you have ever seen.”
Sammy considered the offer and then held out his hand, which Claire shook.
“Them’s a deal,” he said, with an exaggerated nod of the head.
Claire turned around and Candace, who had been about to hug her, took one look at her soaked clothing and grimaced.
“What happened to you?”
“A slight accident in the store,” Claire said, feeling her face get hot. “I’m watching Sammy for Hannah.”
“You’re a wild one, aren’t you?” Candace said, as she looked in at Sammy.
Sammy put a finger up to his mouth and shushed her with a frown.
“He’s a stitch,” she said to Claire. “I had him in Vacation Bible School last month, and your mom had to come with him just to make sure he didn’t escape.”
“I understand you were at the O’Hare’s when they found Gigi,” Claire said.
“Oh, that was awful,” Candace said. “That poor woman. I just had the briefest look at her, but she was covered in a bright red rash and had all these welts; it looked as though she’d been stung by bees.”
“Eugene’s still at the hospital under a mental health hold,” Claire said. “I just went over to see him. They’re not letting anyone but family in.”
“I doubt Jillian will go,” Candace said. “Gigi told her that Eugene had recently become violent toward her.”
“I know Gigi pretty well,” Claire said. “I was with her on the morning before she died. She was worried about him, but she wasn’t scared of him.”
“You never know, I guess,” Candace said, looking as if she was done talking and anxious to be on her way.
“What’s Jillian like?” Claire asked.
“She’s all right,” Candace said. “She’s very involved in everything, and anxious to move up, if you know what I mean. Sometimes a little too anxious, but she means well. They own a house near us at Eldridge Point.”
“How did she and Chippie meet?”
“She was a nurse, and met Chip while working at Pendleton General. He was engaged to another friend of mine, Sophie Dean, at the time.”
“Why did he and Sophie break up?”
“I do,” Claire said. “Well, it was good to see you.”
“Let’s do lunch sometime,” Candace said, as she air kissed her near one side of her head.
“I’ll have my people call your people,” Claire said, and Candace laughed as she walked away.
Claire got in the car and looked back at Sammy, saying, “Well done, kiddo.”
Sammy held up a fat goldfish, desperately gasping for water.
“Gots me one,” he said. “He’s name’s Bert.”
Claire met Hannah in the hospital parking lot, and handed her the fish, now swimming around in a slershy cup full of clean water.
Hannah took one look at her damp clothes and the grin on Sammy’s slershy-blue stained face and cackled.
“You don’t even need to tell me,” she said. “I can piece it together on my own.”
“Hey, Hannah,” Sammy said. “Me’s gots mine own goldfish; he’s names Bert.”
“That’s a mighty fine goldfish, son,” Hannah said. “Well done.”
“You didn’t tell me he was banned from Megamart.”
“It was strongly suggested that Sammy wasn’t welcome, but I don’t think they used that exact term.”
“How was your visit?”
“I like that doctor,” Hannah said. “He’s cute. Single, too.”
“Not interested. What did he say?”
“Not much, really, just asked me to tell him about Eugene.”
“Did you get a sense of which direction he’s leaning?”
“They’re not going to keep him,” Hannah said. “He said they’d probably let him out as soon as the cuckoo-hold is over.”
“You got a lot more out of him than I did.”
“He’s fun-sized like me,” Hannah said. “There’s a hidden network of elite petites who all work together to better the world. We hide in plain sight, while righting wrongs and saving humanity from the terrible tall tyrants.”
“Uh huh.”
“He thought you were pretty cool; I think he’d like you to tyrannize him a little.”
“Please stop,” Claire said. “When can we see Eugene?”
“I saw him just now,” Hannah said.
“You did?” Claire said. “I thought only family could see him.”
“We told the nurse I was his stepsister,” Hannah said. “The doctor thought it would do him good to see a friendly face.”
“I have a friendly face.”
“But you’re one of them, you see.”
“The tall tyrants.”
“Uh huh,” Hannah said. “Plus, I could pass as his sister, and you could only be a visiting super model working for a charity that cheers up crazy people.”
“How was he?”
“Loved the comics and the book; did not, unfortunately, like the candy you sent.”
“Is he okay?”
“He’s sedated, but just to the point of calm, not oblivion. He made perfect sense. We talked about his business; he’s worried about orders backing up.”
“Did he talk about his mother?”
“He said someone should call her attorney; he has all her paperwork.”
“Sounds really sane to me.”
“Here’s the funny thing,” Hannah said. “He didn’t stutter, hardly at all. Other than the lisp, he talked just as plain as you or me.”
“How is that even possible?”
“The doc says it’s one of the medications he’s on. They developed it for people with Parkinson’s and turns out it works on people who stammer.”
“Can he stay on it?”
“I didn’t ask.”
“This is all good news,” Claire said. “I’m so glad you went to see him.”
“Me, too,” Hannah said. “I have a new prospect for my matchmaking hobby. We gotta get that tiny doctor a nice tiny woman before some tall gold digger nabs him.”
“Mama, I gotta wee,” Sammy said. “Real bad.”
“That’s what happens when you drink a gallon of blue sugar water,” Hannah said. “I’ll take you to Noodleheads for lunch and you can wee there. Care to join us?”
“No, thanks,” Claire said. “I’m going junk shopping.”
Trashy Treasures was one of several stores now residing in the old train depot warehouse down by the river in Pendleton. A bustling farmer’s market anchored it at one end, and a deli restaurant at the other. In between, under a long corrugated metal roof, several small shops spilled their wares out onto a wooden walkway made of railroad ties. There were chalkboard signs on easels, small vignettes of tables and chairs, and a healthy crowd of sunburned tourists milling around, emptying their pockets in a gratifying manner, as evidenced by the number of shopping bags they were carrying.
There was a huge metal Texaco star affixed to the wall on one side of the door to Trashy Treaures, and on the other side a lit-up neon gas station sign promised “full service.” Inside, Claire could see that all the shops were separated by wooden partitions that rose up ten feet into the air, leaving the area upwards to the peaked roof open. In that space, among the new steel beams and old wooden rafters, a few chirping birds flew. The voices of many happy shoppers spilled over from space to space, and the sound system that served all the shops was playing funky Texas swing music.
The ambience was definitely junk-inspired, and everywhere Claire looked she saw another cool thing she wanted, but had nowhere to put.
A bouquet of Mason jars had been transformed into a pendant light, an old rusted piece of gate was now an art piece on one wall, and a pealing white bird cage was filled with yarn balls in many different colors. An iron bed, distressed from sage green to ivory, had a cheerful little iron bird attached to the gracefully curling headboard and footboard. A worn cotton quilt made up of faded feed sack fabric was draped over it, topped with many pillows made from vintage floral handkerchiefs.
“I could swear I’m in Austin, Texas,” Claire said to the woman behind the counter.
“Thanks!” she said. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”
She had curly golden-red hair tamed by two short braids and a bright red bandanna, and multiple silk necklaces dripping down the front bib of her denim overalls. From her bright blue eyeglass frames and green T-shirt to her bright pink tennis shoes, her look was all funky, friendly charm, just like her shop.
“Are you Sophie?” Claire asked her.
“One and the same,” the woman said.
Claire introduced herself, saying, “We have a mutual friend, Candace, who told me about your shop.”
“Candy’s a dandy,” Sophie said. “My stuff’s not her style, but she sends me lots of clients.”
“I love your shop; how long have you been here?”
“I was just about to go for lunch, care to join me?” Sophie said. “We can have an uninterrupted chat.”
Leaving an equally interestingly dressed employee in charge of the shop, Sophie led Claire a couple doors down to a bakery she had smelled earlier.
Sophie greeted the owner, introduced Claire, and when their food came, led her back out to a two-top table in a shady spot a little way from the crowded boardwalk.
“This is my favorite table,” Sophie said. “It gives me a break from customers so I can catch my breath.”
“Business must be good.”
“It’s good all summer, great during leaf peeper season, and fabulous during ski season,” she said. “There’s a distinct drought from March to June, though, and I’m the only employee most of the time.”
“How long have you been doing this?”
“They renovated the depot about five years ago as part of an economic development plan, and at that time they were offering insane incentives to get people to open small businesses. Be
ing a single mom, I was able to get a small business grant. I negotiated a long-term lease because I knew it was going to be great; other people weren’t so lucky. I’m one of the few original tenants; everyone else either couldn’t afford to renew at the going rate or closed up when they realized how hard it is to run your own business.”
“You have kids?”
“One daughter,” she said. “She’s away at college.”
“Have you always worked in retail?”
“Heavens, no, or I wouldn’t have been foolish enough to do this,” she said. “I was a nurse at Pendleton General, in the NICU.”
“I’m sorry, what’s that?”
“Neonatal intensive care unit,” she said. “Sick babies, very sad some of the time, but also very meaningful work.”
“Oh, my goodness,” Claire said. “I don’t think I could handle that.”
“I loved it,” Sophie said. “I miss it.”
“Do you ever think of going back?”
Sophie shook her head, with a brief, bereft look quickly replaced by a sunnier kind of weary good nature.
“What do you do?” she asked Claire.
“Ugh,” Claire said. “I hate that question.”
“I’m sorry,” Sophie said.
“I’m not mad at you for asking it,” she said. “I’m mad at myself because I don’t know what in the heck I’m doing right now. I’m volunteering at the hospice three days a week while I try to figure out what to do when I grow up, even though I turn forty this Saturday. I’m a hairdresser by trade, worked in the film industry for twenty years, and just recently moved back to Rose Hill to help my mother take care of my father. He has stroke-related dementia.”
“That’s tough,” Sophie said.
“I love your shop, and I intend to relieve you of many items when we go back, but I also have an ulterior motive,” Claire said.
“I wish I could afford to hire you,” Sophie said. “All I can afford are minimum wage teenagers at the moment.”
“I’m not looking for a job,” Claire said. “I’m investigating what may be a crime, not officially of course, but unofficially because a friend of mine has been accused of something he didn’t do, entirely because someone has been badmouthing him to anyone who will listen. I’m trying to find out more about this wretched woman and I think you might know her. Jillian McClanahan.”
Sunflower Street (Rose Hill Mysteries Book 8) Page 5
