by Leslie Meier
“I worked out the times so he’d be drinking for a good while when the buzzer went off. And just to make sure he’d fall down the stairs I loosened the railing. Those cellar stairs were awful rickety, anyway. They were an accident just waiting to happen, and I made sure it did.”
Lucy dropped her arm from around Franny’s shoulders and moved over a few inches on the sofa, putting a little distance between them. This was a side of Franny she’d never seen before.
“So he was dead when you found him?”
“No. I guess he was so drunk that he just rolled down the stairs. He was coming around when I found him.”
“What did you do?” Lucy had to know.
“I went back upstairs and got out the vacuum. That was one of the things on the list. ‘House must be vacuumed thoroughly every day. Or else.’ I hadn’t done it yet.
“At first, when I turned it off, you know, to unplug it and take it into another room, I heard him yelling. Shouting at me. Real mad. Ordering me to call for help. I told him I’d call when I got done vacuuming. Pretty soon he started asking for help. Promising he’d never hit me again. I didn’t believe him. I’d heard that before. Then he was begging me. His voice got weaker. By the time I finished vacuuming the bedroom I couldn’t hear him anymore. That’s when I called the ambulance. Just like I said I would.”
“Oh, my God.” Lucy was stunned. “How could you ignore him?”
“When I look back at it, it’s as if somebody else did it. I felt as if I was following instructions or something. I was sure they’d put me in jail, but nothing happened.”
“You didn’t tell anyone?”
“I wanted to, but I couldn’t. After Darryl’s funeral I went to live with Mom and got the job in the hardware store. I began to feel better. The time I spent with Darryl was like a nightmare. I almost believed it happened to somebody else, not me. Now I know that was an illusion. You can’t get away with killing someone. Poor Mr. Slack’s become the instrument by which I’ll be punished.”
It occurred to Lucy that Franny’s view of the universe had become rather egocentric. Maybe jail did that to a person. Lucy knew she wouldn’t want to be locked up with nothing but her thoughts.
“Did you kill Mr. Slack, Franny?” The unthinkable now seemed possible.
“No.”
“You’re sure?”
“I’m sure.”
“That means there’s a murderer out there. If you take the blame for Slack’s death, his real killer might never be found. That wouldn’t be right, would it?”
“I guess not.”
“I think you need to talk this over with somebody professional, like a therapist.” Lucy took Franny’s hand in hers. “Have you met your lawyer yet?”
“No. He’s coming this afternoon. His name is Philip Roderick. He’s an old college friend of Fred Slack’s.”
A loud bell rang, startling the two women. Lucy flinched as the baby gave her a hard kick, uncomfortably close to her bladder.
“That means it’s lunchtime,” explained Franny. “I gotta go.”
Lucy watched as the matron opened the gate for Franny and locked it carefully behind her.
“Franny,” Lucy called to her. “Let this lawyer help you, okay?”
Franny nodded and turned to go. Then it was Lucy’s turn to go through the other gate and the metal detector once again. The door swung open easily, it didn’t even clang behind her, but Lucy still felt an incredible sense of lightness when she stepped outside. A languid puff of wind ruffled her hair, she took a deep breath of clean air, and she suddenly understood what prison was all about. She was free to go; Franny wasn’t.
20
Toe students, be sure to stretch out before rehearsing.
Lucy couldn’t get away from the prison fast enough. Safely back in her Subaru, she wanted to press the gas pedal to the floor and fly along the country roads as fast as the silver car would go.
Instead, she kept an eye on the speedometer and let up on the gas whenever the needle approached fifty. She switched the radio to a rock station, turned up the volume, and pounded her hands on the steering wheel in time to the beat.
What would she do, she asked herself, if she were trapped in a marriage like Franny’s? Could she actually kill someone, even to save her own life? Looking into her heart, Lucy wasn’t sure how far she would go to defend herself, but she knew without a doubt that she would use every last shred of strength she possessed to protect her kids.
Repelled as she was by Franny’s story, Lucy wasn’t about to judge her. The way she saw it, Franny had acted in self-defense when she killed her husband, and she didn’t believe Franny could have killed Slack.
If only Ben didn’t have an alibi, he would be the prime suspect. From what she’d seen, Slack’s death had been the result of a violent confrontation. It hadn’t been premeditated or planned; it had all the signs of a clash of tempers that got out of hand.
If old Slack had viewed the tape and saw the boy stealing, he would certainly have confronted him. From what the medics said, it hadn’t taken much of a blow to kill him. Ben was young and strong, and he could have just overreacted to his grandfather’s accusations.
That would explain the argument between Fred and Annemarie that Sue had overheard, too. As parents they wanted to protect their son, but Fred didn’t want to see Franny punished unfairly.
Lucy couldn’t understand why the police were so sure they had a case against Franny. She decided to talk to Barney as soon as she could.
Convinced she had neatly solved Slack’s murder, Lucy turned to the tantalizing question of Caro’s disappearance. She turned into the parking area in front of Tatiana’s studio, grabbed the albums off the passenger seat, and hurried inside.
“Hi, Lucy,” said Tatiana, who was standing with one foot hooked over the barré in what looked to Lucy to be an impossible position. The dancer didn’t turn to face her but made eye contact in one of the floor-to-ceiling mirrors that lined the studio. “I was just about to have some lunch—want to join me?”
“Thanks,” said Lucy gratefully. “I forgot to eat. These are the albums.”
“Let’s go upstairs to my apartment. We’ll be more comfortable there.”
Inside Tatiana’s immaculate little apartment, Lucy pulled a chair up to the low counter that separated the kitchen from the living room. Tatiana busied herself pulling containers of food out of the refrigerator and produced a lunch of rice cakes, fruit salad, cottage cheese, and sparkling water.
“How did you get these albums, anyway?” asked Tatiana, pulling them toward her.
“My daughter discovered them when I was helping Kitty Slack close up Caro’s house. I probably shouldn’t have taken them,” admitted Lucy, reddening slightly.
“What exactly are we looking for?”
“I’m not sure. You know her better than anyone. I thought you might find some sort of clue.”
“These must be family,” said Tatiana. The first page of the album featured studio photographs of an attractive couple. From their age and clothing Lucy thought they must be Grandma and Grandpa. The next page included a photograph of a substantial house. “Sylvan Lane” read the spidery handwriting underneath it.
Tatiana leafed through several pages before she came to a snapshot of a young woman proudly holding a very plump baby.
“This is Caro,” exclaimed Tatiana, pointing to the caption. It read, “Dear Caroline—Her First Visit.”
“There’s a picture exactly like that of me in my mother’s album,” said Lucy.
“My mother has one of me, too,” said Tatiana, laughing. “Sometimes I think all families have the same photo albums.”
“All happy families, anyway,” said Lucy, pushing her plate away and bending closer to study a series of photos taken at a summer place, a log cabin somewhere in the woods.
“Look at those swimsuits!” she said, pointing to a photo of a group of smiling children wearing old-fashioned black jersey bathing outfits. A shot of a
waterfall looked vaguely familiar, but Lucy’s attention was caught by a photograph of Caro as a little girl with bobbed hair, clutching a huge beach ball. In another picture she was dressed in a ridiculous starched and ruffled dress, standing with one hand at her waist and her elbow jauntily cocked.
“You can see she had a mind of her own, even when she was very young,” observed Tatiana.
Turning the page, the two women stared at a formal portrait of a handsome man in a military uniform. His picture took up an entire page. It was followed by several snaps of him and a group of his teammates in jersey swimsuits with a “Y” on the chest.
“A Yale man,” said Lucy, and Tatiana nodded.
In the last photograph he leaned casually against a vine- covered wall, seemingly without a care in the world, holding a tennis racket.
“What happened to him?” asked Lucy.
“He died in the war.”
“She never married?”
“No. She turned to dance. ‘Dance is my husband,’ “ recited Tatiana dramatically, “ ‘You students are my children.’ It sounds kinda corny, but she really meant it.”
“Besides you,” asked Lucy, “who were the students she was closest to?”
Tatiana stood up and went to the table that stood behind her sofa. She picked up a framed photograph and showed it to Lucy.
“This was taken at her retirement dinner. Here’s Jennifer Whitman, Bonnie Freed, Maria Bondi, Ludmila Oberanskaya. Maybe you recognize them, they’re all successful dancers. This is Louise Comden. She could do incredible fouetté turns, but she married a lawyer or something. Janet Waters got pregnant and left school. She’s a librarian now. Sally Liberty writes for Dance magazine. That’s me.”
“Have you spoken to them? Do they know she’s missing?”
“I didn’t think of that,” exclaimed Tatiana. “I can get their numbers from the alumnae office. I’ll call them tonight.”
“If nothing else, maybe you can get them to chip in and hire a real investigator,” muttered Lucy, going back through the book. She stopped at the picture of the waterfall. It looked so familiar. She propped the book on its edge and leaned back in her chair to study it. A comer of a folded piece of paper slipped out from behind the snapshot.
“What’s that?”
“It’s a map,” said Lucy, smoothing out the brittle paper. “It looks like something out of an A. A. Milne book.” The crayon drawing included a cabin, winding trails, a carefully marked Snake’s House, a creek, and a waterfall labeled Crystal Falls. “Our Summer Heaven” was written in large letters across the top.
“Caro must have drawn this.”
“Did she ever talk about her childhood?” asked Lucy.
“No. She really didn’t talk about herself much. This stuff is fascinating. Do you mind if I keep these books for a few days?” Tatiana glanced at the clock. “I’d like to take my time and go through them.”
“Why should I mind? You have more right to them than I do,” said Lucy. “It’s late. I better get going.”
“I’ve got a class in a few minutes. I’ll see you tomorrow at the rehearsal.”
“Maybe you’ll have some news,” said Lucy, picking up her bag.
“I hope so,” said Tatiana. “She’s been gone for too long. I’m really worried about her.”
21
The use of the auditorium is a privilege which can be withdrawn by the school administration. Leave the facilities in the same condition you found them.
On Tuesday, Lucy decided she hated mornings. She’d forgotten to set the alarm, so everybody got off to a late start. The family no longer sat down to breakfast together—these days everybody grabbed their own. Bill fried himself a couple of eggs, Toby ate a bowl of cold leftover spaghetti, Elizabeth refused to eat anything but peach yogurt for breakfast, and Sara always had a bowl of Cheerios. Lucy sipped at a cup of decaf and wrote notes.
“Dear Mrs. Wilson,” she scribbled on a piece of notebook paper. “Toby should not take the bus home today, as he is going to a friend’s house after school.”
“I need a note, too, Mom,” reminded Elizabeth. “The ballet rehearsal is right after school.”
Lucy opened Toby’s notebook to tear out another piece of paper and discovered an overdue book notice.
“What’s this, Toby? This book was due in March.”
“I think I lost it.”
“You better find it. It says here they won’t promote you unless it’s returned.”
“Honest, Mom. I’ve looked everywhere.” He believed it, too, thought Lucy, studying his earnest expression.
“Oh, well, we’ll look for it later. You guys better hurry or you’ll miss the bus.”
The two older kids clattered off, and Bill sat down at the table opposite Lucy.
“Don’t forget,” said Lucy, pouring a cup of coffee for him. “It’s Tuesday. Little League tonight.”
“Mmmph,” he nodded, his mouth full. A trickle of egg yolk dribbled down his chin and caught in his beard.
Lucy turned to Sara, only to discover she was attempting to blow milk bubbles.
“Why did I ever get married?” muttered Lucy, thinking of Tatiana’s exquisitely neat apartment.
“You wouldn’t have it any other way and you know it,” said Bill, dabbing his chin with a napkin. “Besides, we need you. You’re the only one who can keep the schedule straight.” “Today’s Franny’s arraignment.”
“Are you going?”
“I think I should,” said Lucy. “Just to give Franny a little moral support.” Her tone was defensive, but Bill didn’t seem to notice.
“There’s a new video store just opened up over in Wilton. Why don’t you take a look at the camcorders? Barney says we won’t have ours back for a long time.”
“I know.” Lucy sighed. “We can’t afford one right now.” “Maybe our insurance will cover it. I saw Fred Slack yesterday and he said something about it.”
“That sounds too good to be true.”
“Why? We pay a hefty premium every year and we’ve never filed a claim. Might as well try. What’s Sara going to do while you’re in court?”
“Kiddie Kollege, then she’s going to Jenn’s house.”
“Well, I better get a move on,” said Bill, draining his cup. He bent down and gave Lucy a quick kiss. His beard tickled, and Lucy smiled.
“You’re a good man, Bill Stone,” she said, slipping her hand around his neck and pulling his face toward hers.
“Stop that kissing,” shrieked Sara. “You’ll get germs.”
Lucy laughed. “I said not to kiss dogs because you’ll get germs. It’s okay to kiss Daddy.”
“Oh.” Sara hopped down from her chair and ran to present her cheek for a kiss. Bill bent down and gave her a quick peck, grabbed his lunch, and was out the door.
When she walked into the courtroom an hour later, Lucy didn’t know what to expect. She looked around for familiar faces, but the only people she recognized were Ted Stillings and Franny’s mother. Lucy would have preferred to sit by Ted, who was covering the case for the Pennysaver, but felt she really ought to sit with Irma. She looked so lonely, sitting there all by herself, clutching her tan vinyl purse.
“How’s it going?” asked Lucy, slipping in beside her.
“Lucy Stone, bless you,” said Irma, clasping Lucy’s hand and squeezing it. “They haven’t started yet, they’re still doing some sort of roll call. That man”—she indicated the court clerk, seated at a desk just below the judge’s bench—”calls the cases and the lawyers tell him if they’re ready. That’s Franny’s lawyer over there.”
Lucy followed Irma’s finger and stared at Philip Roderick. He was sitting back comfortably in one of the armchairs provided for the lawyers, his long legs crossed at the knee and a thick briefcase resting beside him. He looked different from the other lawyers, who were joking among themselves. His suit, black with a faint gray stripe, was better cut. His shirt was whiter. He was almost obsessively well groomed, Lucy observed. Hi
s olive skin was flawless, his thick black hair was brushed smoothly back, and his nails were manicured. A gold Rolex, his only jewelry apart from a heavy wedding ring, flashed at his wrist. Philip Roderick exuded confidence; Lucy was glad he was defending her friend and not prosecuting her.
“All rise,” announced the bailiff. “Court is now in session, Judge Joyce Ryerson presiding.”
Seeing the judge, a fiftyish woman with neatly coiffed gray hair, Lucy felt like celebrating. She nudged Irma with her elbow and smiled encouragingly.
“The State of Maine versus Frances Mary Small,” called the bailiff.
A door, almost concealed by the matching paneling, opened, and Franny appeared in handcuffs, accompanied by a uniformed matron. The officer showed Franny where to sit and then stood behind her. Franny looked very tiny and frightened, and Lucy’s heart went out to her.
“How does the defendant plead?” asked the clerk.
“Not guilty,” announced Roderick in ringing tones.
“So noted,” replied the clerk. “Trial is set for September twenty-ninth at ten A.M.”
“My client requests release on her own recognizance, pending trial,” said Roderick. “She has lived in this community for virtually all her life. She has deep ties here, and her mother also lives in Tinker’s Cove.”
“The prosecution objects,” said Holmes, the assistant DA. In contrast to Roderick he looked rather shabby in a rumpled seersucker suit. “The defendant has a history of violence, and we believe the public would best be served if she remains in custody.”
He gave the clerk a thick file folder, which was passed along to the judge. The judge began leafing through the folder while Holmes continued his argument.
“The state is also requesting a complete psychiatric examination of the defendant, in light of the extreme violence of the crime with which she is charged. This was an attack upon a frail and elderly gentleman which resulted in his death.”
The judge looked up from the folder and glanced at Roderick.
