“Towards her grandson?” Laurie asked.
Sandy leaned forward in her chair. “Arnold was fortunate to be placed here. It’s odd that Arnold’s grandmother would okay your visit when she’s the one who requested he receive a two-week absence from work to assist his uncle up in Baraboo. The older gentleman had his kneecap replaced. Requires intensive physical therapy to recoup.”
“Arnold’s a physical therapist?” Laurie asked, surprised.
“Arnold assists his uncle with the constant motion exercises the therapist ordered.”
“What else does Arnold do?”
Sandy looked at her warily.
“I haven’t talked to him since we worked up at camp together.”
“Talked” was a euphemism, thought Laurie. But for polite phrases expressed at a smattering of barbecues, their verbal interactions had consisted of “hi” and “bye.” The words she routinely extended to him throughout countless summers of driving past his grandmother’s driveway.
“He works at an egg farm, extracting eggs from a conveyor belt, tossing the broken eggs, and placing the good ones in containers for market.”
“Sounds tedious.”
“Most of our young adults perform factory type jobs, either at a sheltered workshop or out in the community. They thrive on the constancy and repetition.”
“No problem with him taking time off to help his uncle?” Laurie asked.
Sandy grinned. “Two weeks is nothing. When he moved in twelve years ago, Arnold worked at camp each summer. Every fall, we’d need to find him a new job. His supportive living manager and job coach both advised against the summer job; it really did a number on his work record. But Arnold seemed driven to work at that camp.”
“He used to sweep up after the kitchen staff,” said Laurie.
“Enjoyed it, too. Said he had a secret girlfriend at the camp.”
Laurie blushed.
Sandy’s eyes widened. Then she stood up, resolutely placing her palms on the kitchen table. “I’ve already said too much. A more in-depth conversation requires Arnold’s consent.”
Laurie pretended not to notice the supervisor’s abrupt attitude change. “Can you ring Arnold now?”
“I need to get approval from our supportive living manager before we can proceed. She doesn’t get into the office for another hour.”
Laurie hesitated. “Did Arnold ever mention he was a suspect in an arson case that took place at Camp Briarwood several years ago?”
Sandy looked her in the eye. “I need to leave for work.”
“You don’t stay here all day?”
“I work night shift, nine-thirty p.m. to eight o’clock a.m. During the day, I work as a one-on-one teacher’s aide for a physically handicapped sixth-grade boy.”
Just then, it dawned on Laurie that the vagrant lurking around her summer home property could have lived with Arnold in Group Home A. “Anybody at the group home dislike Arnold?”
“Goodbye, Ms. Atkins,” said the supervisor, ushering Laurie out the door.
25
“Pack the snow harder around his tummy,” directed Rory, his cheeks pink from the cold.
Laurie fruitlessly attempted to mold the first snow of the season around the snowman’s waist. Then she handed her son a cucumber and two golf balls. “Here’s the eyes and nose.”
“This snowman’s gonna be one ugly dude,” Rory commented. He pounded the eyes and nose into the flaky white face while Rocky ran circles in the drifting white powder.
“I’m going inside to make hot chocolate. Call you when it’s ready,” called Laurie, but her son had already abandoned the snowman to chase the dog.
Laurie shuffled to the front door. She and Ryan used to build snow castles before their son’s birth. She sighed. Fairy tales were meant to be lived by unencumbered souls. With children and pets came responsibility.
Laurie set her boots on the mat inside the kitchen doorway. Then she grabbed a gallon of milk from the fridge, measured two mug-sized portions into a pot and switched on the gas jet.
She was still in shock over Ryan’s sudden exuberance the night before. He’d swung her into his arms and told her he received a glowing reference from Brad Jr. One that he could use should he decide to go back into the insurance business.
Rory came stomping through the back door, their little dog in tow.
“Whoa. This guy’s a mess.” Laurie scooped the Bichon into her arms. Then she lowered him into the kitchen sink and rubbed him down with a torn bath towel.
Her son plopped down on the kitchen floor and pulled, unsuccessfully, to free his feet from his high boots. Laurie plunked Rocky on the floor. “Okay, kiddo, let me give it a try.” She struggled to pull her son’s feet from the unforgiving boots. No way would Brad Jr. extend an olive branch to an employee he’d fired. Unless he had an ulterior motive. “What if Brad’s involved with the dead guy?” she muttered.
“What dead guy?” asked Rory.
“Someone in the newspaper,” Laurie said quickly.
“Does he live around here?” persisted Rory, his eyes tight with worry.
“Nope. Not even from Illinois.” Laurie gave a final yank on his boots. Then she looked towards the stove. “Oh my gosh,” she gasped, taking in the pool of chocolate spreading like a cloak across the stove top.
“It’s not my fault,” called Rory, hightailing it for the family room.
Laurie whisked the sponge from the sink and mopped up the stove top.
“Hey everybody,” called a tenor voice from the living room.
Laurie’s eye twitched. She needed to share her concerns with Ryan, just as Mitzy had advised. Yet she didn’t want to bring a tsunami down upon her little family.
Ryan vigorously rubbed his hands as he stomped into the kitchen. “As cold as a vampire’s kiss out there.”
Rory ran into the kitchen and threw his arms around his dad. “You kiss vampires?”
“How you doin’, dude?” said Ryan. “Nice start on that snowman.”
Her husband stuffed a handful of chocolate chip cookies into his mouth. “These are low sugar, right?”
“Ryan, we need to talk about T.G.” Laurie said quietly.
He ceased chewing.
“Do you know his identity?”
“Nope.”
“Todd Gray was denied a heart transplant by Great Harvest. You were the insurance adjuster who turned him down.”
Ryan froze. “Who told you?
“Mitzy said you suspected he was the kid who croaked on our property.”
“You mean Helga Beckermann’s driveway,” Ryan said uneasily.
“Looks like you’re the one who’s been hallucinating,” said Laurie.
Her husband gazed out the kitchen window.
“You discovered him on our front lawn and ran to get help. When you returned, the kid was gone. Why can’t you be honest with me? I’m sick of all these intrigues.”
Rory came rushing into the room. “Why you yelling, Mommy?” Laurie stared at her husband stonily. To her son she said, “Go back in the family room.”
“Yelling makes bad electricity.”
“Go!” yelled Laurie.
Rory ran from the room.
Ryan put his head between his knees. “Brad Jr. was the one who denied those claims. He wanted to save the company a shit-load of money and make daddy proud. When I approached him with my findings, he warned me to shut up or he’d fire me. Rather than have that on my record, I quit the company.”
“If your fantastical story’s true, why leave me in the dark?”
Ryan looked away. “I needed to protect you.”
“Protection isn’t leaving your loved one in ignorance, Ryan. You’ve been emotionally unavailable to me for a long time now.”
“I gotta go wipe the snow off the car.” Ryan stormed out the door.
Walk away, Laurie taunted him inside her head.
*
Arnold twisted a strand of red licorice and popped it in his mouth. Then
he pulled a loaf of white bread from the pantry. “My grandmother said to not tell anyone about my camp job.”
“But you haven’t worked there for several years,” commented Officer Gomez.
“You must’ve talked to Debbie,” said Arnold. He buttered two slices of bread and set them down on the crumb-laden kitchen table.
Then he extracted a knife from the silverware drawer and started to separate the crust from the bread.
“Um, you might want to put your uncle’s sandwich on a plate before you go much farther,” suggested Carmen.
Arnold ran his hand across his eyes. “Whew. Lucky grandma isn’t here.”
“You’re taking care of your uncle, huh?” Carmen said in an encouraging voice. “Sandy told me your uncle had a knee replacement.”
“Yep. I change his sheets, bring him his food, help him with his exercises, and tell him stories so he don’t get bored.”
“Who’s Debbie?”
“My vocational counselor. She helped me get my job at Camp Briarwood.”
“You make any friends when you were working at camp?”
Chomping on the licorice, he seemed lost in thought. “I don’t know if I should tell you. My grandma gets pretty mad when I disobey her.”
Carmen consulted her notes. “Says here you’ve been living at the Lutheran group home for twelve years now. That’s a long time.”
Arnold smiled. “I turned thirty last May.”
“Okay then. Tell me about your camp experiences.”
His eyes took on a guarded expression. “Police are scary to talk to.”
“Why’s that?”
“They make you say things you’re supposed to keep secret.”
“Like what?”
Arnold shivered. “Bad things. Like the time I swept up an onion. The garbage can was outside and I didn’t want to go out there so I put the onion back on the kitchen counter. The cook chopped it, along with the rest of the vegetables. I was too scared to tell him it was dirty.” Silence filled the air.
“Did he peel the onion first?” Carmen asked kindly.
Arnold placed his thumb and forefinger beneath his chin and looked upward. “I think so.”
“All right then.”
“So it was safe to eat?” Arnold asked hopefully.
“Yep.”
Arnold let out a relieved sigh.
“Some things we think are bad aren’t really bad after all, are they?” said Carmen.
Arnold extracted a package of Swiss cheese from the refrigerator. Then he sliced open its contents and pulled five slices from the pack. “I don’t know.”
Carmen eyed the red droplets that decorated the top slice. “Your uncle like licorice on his cheese?”
“Oops,” said Arnold, wiping them off with his shirtsleeved elbow.
“You’re supposed to be here in Baraboo for another week, right?”
Arnold pressed the second slice of buttered bread atop the open-faced sandwich. “How’d you know?”
“Sandy gave me your uncle’s address.”
“Then I guess it’s okay to talk to you.”
Arnold cut the sandwich in half. He pulled down a single serving potato chip bag that sat on top of the refrigerator. Then he peered inside. His face paled. “My uncle’s gonna be mad.”
Carmen shifted in her seat. “We were talking about bad things that aren’t really bad.”
Arnold looked at her. “Grandma used to beat me with a belt when I was little. She said I was dumb and she was teaching me to obey my elders.”
“Abusing a child is always bad.”
His expression turned fierce. “My grandma’s not bad. She loves me.”
“She might love you in her own way, but hitting a child is never right.”
“So I’m not bad?”
“Nope.”
“Arnold, get me my lunch,” came a rough voice from a far-off room.
Arnold tensed. “I got to go.”
“I’ve got a bag of potato chips in my car. How ’bout I give them to you when we’re done talking?” offered Carmen.
Arnold’s face brightened. “Yeah!”
“Bet you’ve got lots of friends at the group home,” said Carmen, watching the stout young man bustle around the tiny kitchen.
“Oh yeah,” said Arnold in a jubilant voice. “We go bowling and to the movies. Sometimes Sandy takes us for ice cream.”
“Sounds like fun. You guys allowed to have guests in your rooms?”
“Not girls,” he said candidly. “They don’t want us to make babies.”
“You have a girlfriend?”
“Yep, but she moved into an apartment with Charissa. They live too far to visit.”
“You seem pretty independent. How come you don’t move into an apartment yourself?”
Arnold cast his eyes away. “I want to stay in the group home with Sandy and my friends.”
“You allowed to have guy visitors in your room?”
He nodded. “Sometimes you want to talk private.”
Carmen leaned forward. “You share your friends’ private stories with anybody?”
“Jesus doesn’t like people to gossip,” Arnold said knowingly. “I always ask my friends’ permission first. Wanna hear one of my stories?”
“Sure.”
“You’re only the second person who’s ever heard this one,” he said conspiratorially.
“Arnold, where the hell are ya?” came his uncle’s whining voice from down the hall.
“Coming, Uncle Roger,” he said, grabbing a package of orange Kool-Aid from the pantry. “Last June, our regular housekeeper was sick so another lady and her son came to clean our rooms.”
“What did her son look like?” asked Carmen.
“His arms were real thin, like he didn’t eat much, but he had some neat dragon tattoos. He said they washed right off when you got tired of them. He wasn’t dumb like me, but he still lived at home with his mama. We got along good. I wished we could be brothers. I told him about this special napkin I hid in the bottom of my socks drawer.”
“A cloth napkin?” asked Carmen.
Arnold shook his head. “A white paper napkin. When Terrence and his momma left here, my special napkin was gone.”
“You think the housekeeper and her son stole it?”
Arnold nodded.
“Why would somebody steal a paper napkin?”
“The napkin had the two addresses of this girl I had a crush on in 1996 when I worked at Camp Briarwood.”
Carmen nonchalantly withdrew a notepad from her shirt pocket. “Two addresses?”
“Yep. Laurie’s married address in Chicago and her parents’ summer home address.”
“Did the girl give you her addresses?” asked the officer.
Arnold shook his head. “Grandma was invited to her wedding thirteen years ago. There was this tiny envelope with an address. Grandma never sent it back.”
“So you wrote both addresses down on a napkin,” Carmen encouraged.
“Yep. It was hard to print all those words and numbers without the napkin tearing. I messed up a whole bunch of napkins. I wrote Laurie a note a long time ago when we were up at Camp Briarwood. It said I LOVE YOU. I brought it to the senior counselor cabin. Her campers were on an overnighter with another counselor and the unit supervisor. Laurie was off duty.
“The moon was high. I saw these shadows through the curtains. A boy and a girl touching each other’s privates. My head hurt real bad, but I had to rescue her. I ran outside and prayed. Jesus told me to light a fire in the bush outside the cabin.”
“You started a fire?”
Arnold nodded. “Laurie and Eddie must have smelled smoke, ’cause they ran out of the cabin real fast. The fire truck came and put out the fire. I felt proud because I saved Laurie from getting hurt. By that time, I was at grandma’s house. She told the police I was there all night.”
Carmen sucked in her breath. “Anybody get hurt in that fire?”
“The bush died.” T
he color drained from his face. “I shouldn’t have told you that story. Now you’re going to put me in jail.”
“Relax, Arnold. That fire happened twelve years ago. Neither human life nor property was injured. You’re a man with mental challenges. The judicial system wouldn’t prosecute you.”
“Judicial system?” he asked fearfully.
“Just wait ’til I get hold of you, boy,” a harsh voice echoed down the hall.
“I gotta go.”
*
Laurie slipped onto a barstool and plopped an ice cube in her cafe mocha, creating waves of liquid sand. “What’s up?”
Mitzy licked the whipped cream from her Frappacino. “Thought you’d want to know Officer Gomez interviewed Arnold at his uncle’s house in Baraboo. Turns out Arnold printed both your addresses on a paper napkin and hid it in his pajama drawer at the group home.”
Laurie jumped to her feet, nearly spilling her coffee. “That napkin belonged to Arnold? I am so relieved.”
Mitzy glanced around at the inquisitive stares of the coffee shop patrons. “Arnold told Gomez he showed the napkin to the housekeeper’s son. Soon afterwards, the napkin disappeared, along with the housekeeper and her son.”
Laurie fell back into her seat. “Why would they steal a paper napkin with my addresses?”
“More likely, Arnold forgot to put the napkin back after showing it to the boy,” said Mitzy. She leaned towards Laurie. “I’m thinking Brad Hamilton Jr. paid some thug to convince your husband to keep his medical claims discovery to himself.”
“That came out of nowhere,” said Laurie, slumping in her chair.
“He is a real con artist.” Mitzy slurped in coffee.
Laurie’s fingers trembled on her mug. “What if Brad paid the housekeeper to retrieve all this personal information on Ryan and me?”
“What possible connection could there be between the housekeeper and Great Harvest?”
“Maybe she cleaned Brad’s condo,” said Laurie.
“Sounds pretty lame to me.”
Laurie snapped her fingers. “What if the housekeeper’s son was one of the eight claimants rejected by Great Harvest?”
“Tell me where you want to go from here.”
Laurie swiped at her eyes with a caramel-stained paper napkin. “Investigate Brad Jr.’s role in this fiasco.”
Window of Guilt Page 15
