She wasn’t quite to the circle of porch light at her back door when she heard a sound. There wasn’t any wind. Someone or some thing nearby had made it. Should she sprint through the lighted area to her back door or stay in the darkness hidden if, indeed, she was hidden? But before she had time to fully consider it, she felt the presence of someone behind her. She turned and was shocked to find a man only inches away. She cried out and started to run, but he grabbed her arm.
“Hold on, sister, I ain’t gonna harm ya.” He was small, but his grip was strong.
She struggled. “Let me go.”
“Have you seen my girl?”
“What girl?”
“My Kitty.” He put his lips close to her ear. His breath reeked of alcohol and his coat smelled foul and musty. “Don’t tell me you don’t know who she is.”
Celia shook her head. “I haven’t seen her for more than a month.” She pulled her arm free and ran toward her back door.
“I’ll be watching you,” he called after her. “That child belongs to me.”
Inside, Celia slammed the door shut and locked it. She ran through the house to the front and checked the lock, then scanned the windows. She returned to the kitchen, flipped off the overhead light, and sat at the table in the soft glow of the light on the range hood, trembling and rubbing her arm that still hurt. So that was Kitty’s father. She must have escaped from him again.
Celia considered, then rejected calling the police and reporting the attack. She doubted they could do anything about the prowler without involving Kitty. She’d have to deal with the banty-rooster-sized bastard on her own.
She checked all the locks again, pulled the drapes and blinds closed, and waited for half an hour before she climbed the stairs to her own room, stripped off her clothes, and stepped into a hot shower. She didn’t stay there long. Wrapping herself in her terry robe, she turned out the lights and sat by her bedroom window that overlooked the backyard. She wasn’t aware of falling asleep, but at dawn she pulled the shades and crawled into bed.
*
Myrtle came in late, one arm wrapped around a slow cooker of little hot dogs and the other arm around a fairly young woman. She got everyone’s attention and introduced Dodie, a new friend. The others called hello from their seats around the card tables, and one or two nodded from the food table, their mouths too full to talk. Lois pushed her glasses up on her nose and stared at the two, surprised at this woman’s age and appearance. Dodie was very different from the last woman. She was pleasant in a mousy way. Her hair was swept back into a bun at the nape of her neck. She was slender and her clothes seemed a little loose on her. Maybe she’d just lost weight.
Sophie nudged Lois and said, “Call them over.”
Lois whispered, “Aren’t we waiting for Cara and Connie?”
“Oh, they can sit somewhere else. Besides they’re late, and Myrtle’s here and she’s our friend.”
Lois stared at Sophie and wondered when that happened. A woman wasn’t a friend just because she cried in your living room. Before Lois could call to them, though, Sophie got up.
“Wait,” Lois said.
Sophie looked down.
“Since you’re up, could you get me some of those little hot dogs and a handful of Tostitos?”
Sophie gave her a tight smile and walked away. Lois watched Sophie at the food table talking to Myrtle and saw the two women follow Sophie back to their card table.
“I just love your grape-jellied hot dogs,” Lois said.
Myrtle seemed a bit flustered. “Thank you.”
As Myrtle wiggled in her folding chair to get comfortable, Lois noticed that her hair was shorter—kind of spiked on top—the gray roots definitely growing out.
Sophie said, “Are you from around here, Dodie?”
“Dodie was born and raised in Oak Park,” Myrtle said.
“Good grief,” Sophie said. “What are you doing down here? Did you get in trouble and it was this or prison?”
Dodie didn’t laugh with the others. She said, “I live with my grandmother. There was an opening at the city library and Grandma needed help—”
“You’re a librarian.” Lois could think of nothing else to say. How did you have a conversation with a girl in her forties?
Myrtle said, “I couldn’t believe my luck finding a beautiful woman who lives right here in town.”
Blushing, Dodie put in, “With my grandma.”
“Well,” Sophie said, “do you play pinochle?”
Dodie shook her head. “Myrtle told me you’d show me.”
Lois sighed. Everyone looked at her.
Behind them the other tables were getting started. Laughter and loud talking filled the crowded room. Lois rolled her eyes, and Sophie started explaining as she dealt the cards.
*
Less than a week later Myrtle showed up at their front door with another coffee cake and Sophie asked, “How’s Dodie?”
“She dumped me.”
“Oh,” Sophie said. “I’m sorry.”
“Actually, her grandma dumped me.”
Lois and Sophie glanced at each other.
When they were settled in the living room, Myrtle shoved a piece of cinnamon coffee cake in her mouth and started talking as she chewed. “I went to pick her up this morning. We were planning to go to church together. Her grandma answered the door and told me it was over.” Myrtle’s voice caught and tears started to roll.
Lois retrieved the box of tissues from the floor—exactly where it had been over a month ago when Myrtle had first stopped by.
“Grandma told me I might as well give it up. Her granddaughter could never have a meaningful relationship with me because she’s straight.”
“I’ve heard that some of the best sex comes from straight women,” Lois said.
Sophie gave her a look and Lois didn’t elaborate.
Myrtle nodded in agreement and said, “Her grandma insisted that Dodie would never have sex with me. Actually, we’d been screwing all over my apartment the night before.”
Sophie said, “Oh, my.”
Lois flushed and took another bite of cake.
Chapter Fifteen
Jack’s parents spent the night on the Tuesday before Thanksgiving. The pain and awkwardness with them had lessened somewhat over time, and after the kids were in bed, Celia stayed up late with them and talked. Her mother-in-law was ready with gossip about the rest of the family. Celia saw that she was laying a foundation for a future relationship, to which neither of them had the rules.
The next morning when the kids clambered into the car, they left tracks in a light powdering of snow.
“Looks like it’s going to be a hard winter,” Celia’s father-in-law said, pointing at the gray sky.
She said, “It sure is starting early.”
By the time Celia loaded the last backpack into the cargo area of the old SUV, Merris was already absorbed in a book and the boys were fighting about who would have to sit in the middle. Celia leaned across the seat and collected a kiss from each one of them, then refused to get involved in the argument about the window seats.
Later in the morning, Celia stripped each kid’s bed, carried a wicker laundry basket full of sheets and blankets to the basement, and started the washing machine. In the kitchen she made herself a peanut-butter sandwich, poured a glass of milk, and started reading a new mystery while she ate. Later she checked the entire house to make sure the windows and doors were locked tight. Finally, she carried the book into the living room and curled up on the sofa to read. The house was so quiet she could hear the ticking of the clock in the hallway.
The ringing phone woke her. The room was almost dark. Light from the streetlight outside slanted across the floor. She fumbled for the lamp, then blinked at the sudden brightness. The phone was on the coffee table and Celia grabbed it. What if there had been an accident? What if it was the kids?
“Is this Celia Morning?” came a man’s voice.
She hesitated, then sai
d, “Yes. Who is this?”
“Ms. Morning, this is Sergeant Fredrick from Juvenile. We have your niece down here. We need you to come downtown.”
“I’m sorry,” Celia responded. “What?”
“Your niece, Kitty. We picked her up last night during a prostitution sting. We would have called sooner, but she wouldn’t give us any information until now.”
“Is she all right?”
“If you could call getting arrested and spending the night in juvenile jail all right, then I guess she’s just fine.”
Celia didn’t hesitate. “What do you need me to do?”
“You’ll have to post bond. Let me see, five hundred dollars, plus twenty-five for processing—all in cash. Then we can release her to your custody. She has a court date. I suggest you get her an attorney first, then get her into drug rehab or therapy. This kid isn’t old enough to work at McDonald’s and she’s working the streets.”
“I’ll be right there.”
“Lady, haven’t you been concerned about her?”
“I’ve been worried sick,” Celia said, and hung up on him.
*
The stores downtown were already decorated for Christmas. There wasn’t much traffic as Celia drove toward the Central Juvenile Detention Center. She pulled into a drive-up ATM and took out the maximum. That, with her Black Friday stash, would be more than enough
Juvenile jail shared a block with the city police and city jail. Once she turned into the parking garage, she had to go to the third level to find a space. She took the stairs down to the second level, then stopped. A lightbulb was out below and the stairs had looming shadows. She had deliberately avoided the elevator because the last thing she wanted was to be stuck in an elevator with a stranger and cash in her purse. The car ramps were on the other end of the building, so she took a deep breath and forged ahead. By the time she made it to the bottom level she was out of breath. She stopped on the sidewalk, beneath a streetlight, briefly, then hurried on. Inside the building she had to sign in, pay the bond, then wait for more than forty-five minutes while Kitty was processed and ready to go.
When she came through the door, Celia drew a sigh of relief. Kitty wore a short denim skirt and a red sweater, both stained and filthy. Her left knee was covered with white adhesive tape and gauze that had a dried bloodstain in its center. Kitty’s red hair was pulled back in a crooked, messy ponytail, her eyes black with smeared mascara and eyeliner.
“Do you have a coat?” Celia asked.
Kitty shook her head.
Celia took off her own down-filled jacket and put it around her shoulders. “The car isn’t too far.”
Kitty said nothing as she followed Celia along the sidewalk to the parking garage.
Celia decided that she didn’t look like she had the energy to climb three flights of stairs, so she pressed the button for the elevator. As they approached her car, Celia unlocked it with the remote, then hurried ahead to open the passenger side. She made sure Kitty was buckled in before she closed the door and walked around to the driver’s side. Before she climbed into the driver’s seat, she scanned the shadowed corners of the third level and listened. All seemed quiet.
Inside the car, with the heater going, Celia could smell the street on Kitty. Softly, she said, “Where have you been?”
Kitty shrugged. “Around.”
“I’ve missed you.”
Kitty stared at her then. “Why?”
“I thought we were friends. I care about what happens to you.”
Kitty looked away. “You have your own daughter.”
“Nevertheless…”
They drove through town without speaking. Twinkling red and green Christmas lights played on the windshield and the dashboard. They were out of downtown and driving through a residential area when Kitty said, “You don’t have to take me home with you. I can find a place to stay.”
“You’re staying with me,” Celia said. “You’ll have something hot to eat and then a shower and a clean bed to sleep in.”
“Please don’t go to any trouble. I’ll be fine. I’ll pay the bond money back.”
“I’m not worried about the money. I’m worried about you.”
Kitty closed her eyes and exhaled. “Don’t you understand? He knows where you live. Neither of us is safe if I go home with you.”
Celia hadn’t forgotten the little man in her backyard. She laid her hand on Kitty’s shoulder. “We’ll figure something out. I’m sure we’ll both be fine—for tonight anyway.”
Three blocks from her house, Celia pulled into a McDonald’s and ordered two of everything on the dollar menu. She hadn’t eaten since that morning, so the greasy food smelled wonderful. Kitty reached into the bag and pulled out a long French fry to munch on, saying, “God, I’m hungry.”
“Me too.”
Light snow was falling as Celia pulled into the driveway and raised the garage door. Safely inside the house, she said, “Go wash your hands. I’ll set the table.”
Kitty said, “Okay,” and left the kitchen.
Celia set two places and divided the food. A few minutes later when Kitty hadn’t returned she called to her. No response. So Celia went to find her.
The only light in the living room came from a small reading lamp next to Jack’s favorite recliner. Kitty was standing only a few feet into the room staring at something. Celia followed her gaze. The little man sat on the couch.
*
Captain Ward was getting a lot of pressure from the higher-ups, who were getting pressure by the press. Counting Tia Johnson, there were now three sniper murders locally and more in Indiana. Ward called Morgan Holiday and Robert Redick into his office. As they entered, he was at his desk shuffling papers and motioned for them to sit.
“What do you have on the latest shooting?” he asked.
Although he was looking at Morgan, she was sure the question was for both of them. She waited to see if Redick would jump in—he didn’t. So Morgan started talking. “We don’t have much. CSI found the bullet, and it’s the same caliber and from the same rifle as the others. The shooter was probably positioned on the roof of Northgate, the senior high-rise across the street. We didn’t get much from interviews and couldn’t find any evidence on its roof. The only thing in Johnson’s apartment to link her to the sniper killer was the round that took her life.
“One old man I interviewed in the hotel lobby told us Johnson had a friend that helped her move in. We followed up on that, but it was pretty much a dead end. Johnson was convicted for production and sale of meth and on parole from Dwight. She was buying drugs from a guy that Vice thinks might be pretty high up in the chain. But we don’t think this murder had anything to do with the process of buying and selling drugs.”
“Why is that?” Ward asked.
Redick answered this time. “The only thing this victim has in common with the others, besides the ammo we’ve found, is that she’s a lawbreaker. You could say she and the others are people that someone might want dead.”
Captain Ward’s face was growing red. He said, “Stake out the hotel and let’s bring this dealer in for a talk.”
Morgan protested. “It won’t yield much. This shooting isn’t about drugs. None of them are.”
“You got anything else?”
“No, sir.”
“Then set up a stakeout. We’ll put uniforms on it over the nights and weekends. Check with city housing and see if they have an empty apartment on the front of Northgate. If they don’t, see if one of the seniors will let us watch the building across the street from his or her window.”
Morgan said, “I’ll need cover on Thanksgiving Day. The Prairie Flower has a special dinner for the residents and their families. I’d rather work the stakeout, but I’m the only family my mother has here in town.”
“Okay, get it covered,” Ward said in a dismissive tone.
*
The two of them ended up being guests in a small, one-bedroom apartment on the second floor of the Northg
ate high-rise. The occupant was an old woman named Frances, who seemed somewhat taken with Redick. On Thanksgiving Day, he covered the stakeout alone, so Morgan could have dinner with her mother.
Betty Holiday had changed since her escape from the Prairie Flower. She didn’t save all of her ugly comments for Morgan alone. She had told off every member of the staff, some several times.
In the dining room Thanksgiving Day, Belle Trees, the activity director, motioned to Morgan. Her mother was getting settled at her place at the end of the table as Morgan followed Belle out the door.
The slender, middle-aged, black woman spoke in a rather loud whisper. “I just wanted you to know that your mother has reached the combative stage. The doctor will probably increase her medication the next time he’s here, but with the holiday we haven’t been able to reach him. In the meanwhile, the staff is having quite a time with her. This morning an aide was helping with her bath and your mother slugged her.”
Morgan blinked. “Slugged her?”
Belle nodded. “Caught her in the chin, split her lip. She’s going to have a bruise.”
“Good grief. What can I do?”
Belle smiled weakly. “This is a stage they go through. The disease is progressing. Just watch her today. The volatile behavior seems to come out of nowhere.”
Back in the dining room, Morgan took a seat next to her mother. Although it was Thanksgiving and a number of family members were there, the group around the tables was smaller than normal. Several of the seniors had gone to spend the holiday with their families.
The glasses of ice water were filled, then the kitchen staff wheeled in carts of covered dishes and set one at each place. When they removed the covers, a plate of steaming turkey, dressing, potatoes and gravy, and green beans was revealed. A dietary aide made her way around the table filling coffee cups.
Retirement Plan Page 16
