by K. E. Garvey
“I’m telling you, there’s no one. Everyone who meets her loves her.”
Detective Johnson took her turn at the questions. “I’m sorry to have to bring this up again, but aside from your aunt, do you and your sister have family nearby? I’m trying to rule out a connection between what happened to your aunt and what happened to your sister.”
“It’s been just Aunt Katherine and us since 2010. That’s when our mother passed away.”
“Natural causes?”
“Yes.”
“What about your father?” Johnston asked.
Until she heard him say the word, “father,” it hadn’t occurred to her that there might be mention of him. Suddenly, his name seemed to be everywhere, floating around the room just waiting to drop what she’d done in Johnston’s lap. “Warren died in a car crash in ’97. He was a pathetic drunk.”
The detectives shared a look, and then Detective Johnson said, “I see. And I’m sorry,” in the obligatory tone one would expect.
“Don’t be. He deserved everything he got.” Only once the words had crossed her lips did she wish she could grab them back. She knew she was being foolish by showing animosity toward Warren’s memory even if her feelings were genuine and deserved. They could find it odd and look a little closer into his death. She had never been questioned when he died and she assumed what she did had gone undetected. Why give them cause to look now. “I’m sorry. It’s just that he put my mom, my sister, and I through hell while he was alive, and… well, it’s been a long time since his name has come up in conversation.”
“Sali.” She turned when Amy called her from the bedroom.
Detective Johnson stood first, and waited to speak until her partner had joined her. “I think that’s all we need for now. Please give us your address and phone number once you decide where you’ll be staying.”
“Of course.”
He added, “We should be hearing back from the lab anytime now. We’ll let you know if anything new comes in.”
“Thank you.”
She walked them to the door and closed it behind them. Detective Johnson was the more sympathetic of the two, but she couldn’t shake the feeling that her partner was someone you didn’t want to be on the wrong side of. His eyes shone with intelligence, and when he spoke she could tell he always said just what was necessary and not everything on his mind. She said a silent prayer that she was right about him, and that it wasn’t a random crime. She hoped he would lead them to Amy’s shooter before the shooter found his way back to her.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Gail - 1998
The setting sun cast long shadows over the city. One-by-one street lights flickered on, and kids on bikes coasted into driveways on the brink of curfew. Every few minutes Gail had to tug her sister along by the hand if they stood a chance of making it home in time for dinner. Their mother’s mood had improved since Warren’s death, but staying out after dark was something that wouldn’t make it past even her best of moods.
Gail found the suburbs of Mendenhall almost magical. Between the streetlights and the glow streaming from the windows of evenly spaced houses, she could make out cars, trees, and even people for a long time after sunset. Back home, only during a full moon could you see ten feet in front of you. As pretty as fireflies were, their light did little to illuminate past their own tiny bodies.
“Come on. If you don’t start walking faster I’m going to leave you behind, and you can explain to Mom why you’re so late.”
Cheryl came back with an immediate reply. “I’ll tell her you left me.”
She gave her sister’s hand another tug. Even before she had made the idle threat, she knew she had no ground. Cheryl was the baby, and she was her protector. Their mother had always expected her to protect her little sister, but she would have even without her mother’s expectation. Cheryl was always so small, and so sweet. There was an innocence about her that Gail couldn’t remember having herself. No matter what ever became of her life, she would always wear the pride of having been able to protect Cheryl from Warren. Rather than to harbor ill-will or question why he had chosen her instead of her sister, she was relieved. Always relieved. Cheryl had always been tender-hearted and the thought of her curled up in a corner hurt, scared, and crying was more than Gail could bear.
As they rounded the corner of Aunt Katherine’s block, she saw the porch light was already on. She had hoped her mother hadn’t been watching the clock. She’d probably be upset and blame her for keeping Cheryl out so late, but it was OK. Ever since Warren’s death, her mother’s anger amounted to little more than scolding and a dose of disappointment, which brought about a fleeting case of the guiltless. Before lights out, she’d have forgotten what she was upset about. She had to admit, she liked widowed mom better than married mom.
When they reached the top step, the front door swung open. “There you are. Get in here. Your aunt has dinner on the table and then we need to talk.”
Each girl looked to the other, but neither spoke. Was she putting the scolding off until after they ate? That didn’t seem like her, but she couldn’t think of anything else that would have her perched at the door like a cat awaiting his chance to sneak out.
During dinner, her mother watched them intently as they ate. First, she’d look to Gail and her lips would curl just slightly, as if she wanted to smile but couldn’t. Then she’d look to Cheryl and give her the same almost smile. It didn’t feel like the normal scolding.
Suddenly, their mother put her fork down, glanced at Aunt Katherine, and said, “I have news.”
She had their attention, but neither girl said anything. There was too much excitement in her voice for a scolding.
“Don’t you want to hear what it is?”
Cheryl nodded and Gail said, “Sure.”
Their mother lifted her shoulders and then let them drop. She looked like she was about to jump out of her skin. “Do you remember what I told you after your father died? Remember how I told you that I was going to give you girls a new life?”
They each complied with the obligatory head nod and waited for her to continue.
“Well, it’s time. I know I haven’t been around much lately, but I had to put in those kind of hours at the plant if I wanted to keep my promise.” She looked to Aunt Katherine once more. “I have enough money put away that we can finally move, and…”
She let her words trail off and watched both girls closely. Gail couldn’t tell if her mother was trying to build suspense, or if she was waiting for one of them to return her excitement and beg her to continue.
“We’re all going to get new names.”
She wouldn’t have been shocked if her mother had announced she was getting them a puppy, as Cheryl had wanted one since she was five. She would have been happy if her mother had told her she was going to allow her to start wearing makeup, as most of the girls in her class did. But a new name? Was it a joke? She stared at her mother like it was the first time she’d ever seen her. Had she gone crazy?
“I know this is a surprise, but what if I told you I was going to let you choose your own names? Anything you want.”
The only thing she could think to say was, “Why?” Her question was met with a stone-cold stare telling her that wasn’t what her mother had wanted or expected to hear.
Both girls sat quietly while their mother tried to pick up the threads of her happy mood. She looked to Aunt Katherine, took a deep breath, and plastered a smile on her face that lacked the animation of the previous one. Then she looked hard at her oldest daughter. “I thought we could all use a fresh start. Completely fresh.”
She held her gaze until Cheryl broke in. “Can I be Anastasia?”
“Sure sweetie. Any name you’d like.”
The whole conversation was ridiculous. How could someone just change their name as easy as that? How would anyone know what to call them? What would they tell their friends who had had their same name since they were born? She turned toward Cheryl, and sai
d, “Anastasia is a cartoon. It’s babyish.”
Cheryl lowered her head as if to rethink her choice.
“Sure you can sweetie,” their mother said to Cheryl, her eyes on Gail. “You can choose whatever name you’d like. That’s what makes it so much fun.”
“This isn’t fun. It’s weird. None of my friends have ever changed their name.”
Aunt Katherine picked up her plate and stood. “Then I suppose it’ll make you what they call a trendsetter.”
“I like Cinderella,” Cheryl said.
Her mother replied, “You don’t have to decide tonight.”
“May I be excused,” Gail asked, eager to put the conversation behind her.
“Not yet. Don’t you want to know where we’re moving?”
She didn’t care. At some point she would, but after the shock of a name change, she wasn’t ready to learn their mother had decided to move them to someplace like Iceland or Antarctica?
“We’re moving to New Jersey,” their mother announced, her hands splayed on the table. “Isn’t that wonderful?”
“What’s in New Jersey?”
Her mother shot her a warning look. “Soon, we will be. Why don’t you help your aunt clear the table?”
She had pushed her mother too far. The excitement her mother struggled to contain during dinner had been replaced by polite tolerance. She didn’t allow her daughter to ruin her good mood, but Gail had definitely put a chink in its armor.
Later that evening, propped on pillows, she read Of Mice and Men, required reading for sixth period English. Although her eyes scanned the words, she couldn’t have answered a single question on a pop quiz.
Still blown away by her mother’s unexpected announcement, she had gone from thinking it was the most stupid idea she’d ever heard to tossing names around in her head. From the corner of their room where she’d been playing with her favorite doll, Cheryl said, “I know what name I want.”
She looked over the top of her book. Expecting to hear something lame like Snow White, Bambi, or Pocahontas, she half-heartedly asked, “What is it?”
“Amie,” Cheryl said with conviction.
She pushed herself higher in the bed. “Really? Why’d you pick that?”
“Because Mom loves that song almost as much as she loves me.”
She had been so focused on her reasons for not wanting to change her name that she never even thought about their mother. Yet Cheryl thought only of her. Why did she always tend to think of how hard life had been for her, how unfair it all seemed when her mother had had it just as hard, only in a different way. Suddenly, her new name came to her.
“My new name is going to be Sali. Sali Bloo.”
“How come?” Cheryl asked.
“Because Warren hated that song almost as much as he hated…” She paused. “As much as Mom loves you.”
Chapter Thirty
Sali - 2018
They had stayed up well past midnight taking turns consoling each other. Sali believed she and Amy were both in the denial stage of their aunt’s murder, knowing but not yet accepting. In all of the hours they considered possible scenarios, neither of them had come up with a single plausible explanation for such a heinous and random crime. Only once she had said goodnight to Amy and slid under a blanket on the couch did she begin to think more clearly, methodically.
Nothing was missing from their aunt’s house, so it wasn’t a robbery. There was no mention of sexual assault, so rape wasn’t the motive. Could it be they were after information about Amy? It seemed not only possible, but probable since she could think of no other reasonable explanation, and her keychain was found at the crime scene. But why would anyone want to harm her sister when Amy would cry rather than curse at someone who’d offended her. The dark realization that whoever had killed Aunt Katherine could already have Amy’s address would keep her from sleeping.
The thought caused her to sit upright and scan the windows and doors. She envisioned someone sitting in a parked car outside Amy’s building watching their silhouettes move around the apartment while counting down the minutes until the last light went out. She turned when she heard Amy’s slippers scuffing across the floor.
“You can’t sleep either?” Amy asked.
She shook her head and made room for Amy on the couch. “If only I ran as fast as the wheels in my mind were spinning, I’d never lose another race.”
Amy pulled a section of blanket over her lap. “You know, if Paul and I had had a bitter breakup—”
“Don’t even say it.”
“Then who? I’ve thought back to grade school and can’t come up with anyone who would make sense.”
She took hold of Amy’s hand. “I can’t say I know what’s going on with Paul, I mean from what you told me it sounds like he’s got his own stuff going on, but there’s no way you’ll ever convince me he’s capable of something like… something so heinous. No way.”
After several seconds, Amy said, “You’re right. I suppose if I understood what he was going through that he felt he had to do it without me, I wouldn’t be so suspicious of him now. I thought I knew him better than almost anyone else, and then he pulled something so out of character that he left me wondering what else he could do that would be completely out of character.”
“Certainly not that.”
Amy laid her head on Gail’s lap, and said, “My shoulder hurts, my head hurts, but mostly, my heart hurts.”
She stroked her hair. “I know. Mine, too.”
~ Amy ~
If Sali asked her one more time if she was alright, or if she needed anything, she thought she might literally scream. Amy knew it was Sali’s nature to take care of her, and she loved her for it; but the harder she looked after her, the more it made her feel as if she couldn’t take care of herself. An unshakeable feeling of helplessness threatened to suffocate her.
“Did Detective Johnston say whether he was bringing his partner with him this time?” she asked when Sali entered the room.
“All he said was that they had news, and then asked if we’d be here.” She set a plate of cookies on the coffee table. “I wish he had said more. Hearing something, anything might help to calm my nerves.”
That was something she could certainly get on board with. Although they hadn’t actually discussed the sum of the clues they had so far, she knew they had both come up with the same answer. Whoever had killed their aunt had also attempted to kill her. And they’d be back.
“The waiting is excruciating. It might help to know what it is we’re waiting for: answers, a resolution, or another strike?”
Her sister looked at her with a mix of emotion on her face, but said nothing. The sudden knock on the door broke through the unwanted silence.
She tugged her housecoat closed across her chest as she sat in a chair to the right of the couch while Sali peeked through the peephole before opening the door. Detective Johnston entered alone and waited until Sali had closed the door and motioned him further in.
“Good morning, ladies.”
“Morning. Would you like a cup of coffee?” Amy asked.
He lifted his pant legs as he sat on the couch. “Maybe in a bit.”
Sali wrung her hands and joined him on the couch closest to Amy. “You said you had news?”
“We got the lab work back. We know the identity of the person… man, who left his blood behind in the vacant building. That in itself doesn’t prove he was the shooter. We don’t even know whether this person acted alone, but once we find him we’ll know a lot more than we do now.”
Amy looked to Sali who sat with her mouth hanging open as if waiting for the words to jump out on their own. Finally, Sali composed herself, and asked, “Who was it?”
“A guy recently released from state prison. He’s been away for quite some time making him an unlikely suspect, but it is what it is. His name is Warren Grissom. Does that sound familiar to either of you?”
She couldn’t have heard him correctly, but the terror in
Sali’s eyes told her she had. It took several moments and several tries to choke out her words. “That’s impossible.”
“You know him?’ Detective Johnston asked without trying to conceal his surprise. “Why is that impossible?”
“We knew him.” She watched her sister clutch her chest as she continued. “Warren was our father, but he’s been dead for more than twenty years.”
The detective covered his mouth with one of his large hands and rubbed it side to side. When he finally spoke again, his tone was sympathetic, but confident. “The pathetic drunk. I recall you telling me about him. Obviously, things aren’t as they seem here, but the one thing that is indisputable at this point is that the blood found at the scene belongs to a man named Warren Grissom. I would have liked to have gotten his prints on the weapon, but it was wiped clean. Probably used gloves—”
“No!” Sali stood, her back as straight as a chalk-line and a slight tremor in her hands. “No. I don’t care what the tests say, you’re wrong. It can’t be him. It’s impossible.”
“Same name, different man? Possibly,” Detective Johnston said, but his voice lacked conviction.
“Don’t jump to conclusions, Sali. Let him check it out first. Who knows, stranger things have happened.”
“Aren’t either of you listening to me? It can’t be Warren. It just can’t.” She walked around the couch, laid both hands on the back of it and stared between the two as if challenging either of them to debate her. Detective Johnston accepted her challenge.
“How can you be so sure, Sali?” he asked.
“I know…” She lifted her head enough to look over their heads, and barely loud enough to be heard, said, “…because I killed him.”
Chapter Thirty-One
Sali - 2018
Sali had tried to keep herself busy since Detective Johnston’s visit, but busy hands did nothing to quiet her mind. Since hearing the news that Warren was not only alive, but involved in Amy’s shooting, she had tried to make several alternate scenarios work without success. A different man with the same name was too far-fetched and more coincidental than she was able to accept. A mix-up at the lab was possible, but highly unlikely. The truth chilled her to her core, but she had no choice other than to accept it. Warren was alive. Her mother had lied. But why?
