“But, of course, you didn’t.”
“Nope. Things got a little crazy,” I said in the understatement of the decade.
It felt good walking the trail with Garrett. We paused at one point to smile at a squirrel who’d stopped half up a tree to glare and chatter at us.
“Do you remember where it was that you felt the branch move?” Garrett asked.
I stopped and looked around.
“I thought it was before this point but I could be wrong,” I told him. “I know it was near one of the other cottages before Ebba’s place.” We’d already passed one of those houses. “Let’s go as far as Ebba’s before we turn around and head back.”
I didn’t want to go that far. I didn’t want to see the small white house with the gray shutters that looked so innocent. I concentrated on the trail and the beautiful summer day. The air was thick with the smell of cedar trees and lake water and even the gnats who buzzed my face didn’t dampen my feeling that all was right with the world. Until it wasn’t.
The rods both pulled right and I stopped in my tracks and nodded. “This way.”
We turned and walked through thick shrubs.
The bush opened onto tall knee-high grass that swayed in the breeze and parted as we walked only to close around and disappear around our feet. I followed the rods slowly and deliberately, allowing them to lead me like they had countless times before, knowing that in the end there’d be a body.
When the rods pulled right again I followed and when they crossed in an X pattern it was under a giant monkey tree where the grass was nearly waist high. At the sight of pink high-tops I stopped cold.
Chapter Fourteen
Garrett moved around me to take a closer look.
“It’s Ava,” Garrett confirmed over his shoulder.
“Did her mother kill her?”
“She’s been here a while. I don’t see any visible sign of being shot, and Ebba confessed to everything but never once mentioned anything but concern about Ava. Then again, who knows? I think we’ll have to wait for the coroner to rule on cause of death.”
I turned away from Ava’s body to view the tranquil lake that peeked between the trees and bush we’d just traipsed through. This peaceful lakeside community was about to be forever tainted.
We stayed with the body until others arrived and then walked back to Garrett’s car in silence. Once buckled up and headed back, he thanked me for helping them find the body. I didn’t want to think of Ava dying however long ago in that field. And I didn’t want to believe her own mother had killed her in a fit of maniacal rage.
“Could we get ice cream?” I asked, wanting and needing at least one thing to be that simple.
On the drive home from lake with ice cream cones in our hands I casually mentioned to Garrett about changing my name.
“I started using my middle name partly because I didn’t want the name my mother gave me and also because that was the name my grandparents called me. I figured they were the ones raising me.”
I took a long lick from my cone knowing that saying my grandparents raised me was a huge understatement. I’d survived in spite of that upbringing.
“So you’re thinking about going back to being Delma?” Garrett asked.
“Maybe,” I admitted. “I’m going to give it some thought.”
Even though Garrett was in the middle of his own investigations he managed to wrangle some time off. We spent a lot of time in bed and, when not in bed, Garrett spent a lot of time cooking. We had Tracey over for steak so that Garrett could finally use the new barbecue. Even though the sirloins were too well-done for my liking, we enjoyed each other’s company.
“You two are kind of made for each other,” Tracey remarked. “Sure you’re hella lot different but you’re also the same, you know?”
“I’m not at a-a-all like him.” I elbowed Garrett in the ribs.
“And I’m sure as hell not at all like her,” Garrett protested, feigning insult. “She’s crazy.”
“Yeah, but you’re both the good kind of crazy.”
Then she sliced up a birthday cake she’d brought from the store even though it was nobody’s birthday, and before the end of the evening I’d agreed to attend the next stitch and bitch with other women my age in the community.
* * *
The next morning Garrett told me the coroner report had come in on Ava Johansson’s cause of death.
“Blood infection. She was septic.”
“But how?” I frowned.
“She did a bunch of blood withdrawals and stored her blood to fake her own death but she wasn’t careful with the needles. Coroner figured she gave herself a raging infection and it killed her. I’m guessing she was on her way to meet up with Ebba at the cottage when the infection did her in.”
“That’s so sad.”
He shrugged. “I think it’s more sad that all she wanted from her mother was cash. Her mother is dying and all she wanted was to get as much money as she could so she could take off once her mom was dead.”
“Well, maybe in the end she was trying to meet her mother and spend time with her. I’d like to think that.”
He nodded. “They did find a key for the cottage that she wore around her neck.”
“I’m sure Ebba will go to her grave thinking her daughter was on her way to see her,” I said. “And I’m sure that might bring her more comfort than thinking her daughter flew off to South America without saying goodbye.”
“Ebba went off the deep end and almost killed you,” Garrett said, his eyes hard. “I really don’t care to bring her comfort in her dying days.”
“Point taken.” I leaned in and kissed him. I thought about the key to the cottage around Ava’s neck and my own hand went to the wedding band around mine. It was time to try something I’d been avoiding.
“I want to try and find my mother.”
Garrett watched as I removed the pendant from around my neck.
“I don’t think this is such a good idea because—”
“I just want to try,” I interrupted him. “I need to do this.”
He’d watched me discover bodies using my divining rods but he’d never watched me pendulum dowse before. It wasn’t something I did regularly. It had helped me once when Katie’s life was in danger, but it never worked on a single case since. When I researched the topic I realized it might only work if I have a strong attachment to the person I needed to find. I looked at the wedding ring on the gold chain in my hand. Was there still enough attachment to a mother who’d tossed me to wolves?
I was about to find out.
Holding the chain up above the kitchen table, I stilled the band with my hand and waited until it no longer moved.
“Show me your yes,” I whispered.
The ring began to swing ever so slowly in a pendulum fashion from left to right, east to west, in a deliberate sway. I stopped the movement with my free hand and waited again for it to become motionless.
“Show me your no,” I whispered.
The ring swung north away from me and then south toward me, back and forth, back and forth, gaining momentum with every sway.
“Thank you,” I said and, again, stopped it with my hand.
I drew in a deep breath and exhaled loudly. Garrett’s eyes were on me and Wookie had taken up residence on my feet. I had all the love and support I ever needed but I still needed to know.
“Is my mother, Molly Arsenault, dead?”
The ring swung on the chain up and down giving me a vigorous no answer. I felt tears burn my eyes.
I stopped it from moving and took in another deep breath.
“Is she still in Washington State?”
Again, the ring began to move and this time it swung left to right to show a positive answer.
I turned to Garrett. “Could you tell me the na
mes of all the cities where that big drug bust happened?”
“Well, sure, but are you going to ask that thing about every city and then every street in that city?” He rubbed the back of his neck nervously. This flew in the face of every kind of hard fact a federal agent relied on and I knew it was a lot for him to swallow.
“If I have to, I will.”
He nodded and got up to retrieve his phone. When he got back, he tapped a couple minutes and then rattled off a few town names.
“Wait a second, did you say Marysville?”
He glanced at the list. “Yes, there was a known drug house just a few blocks down from where that Ted guy used to live with your mother.”
I held up the ring on the chain again.
“Is my mother in Marysville?”
Immediately, the answer was a wild swing from left to right. The answer was yes.
A few minutes later we were on the road. I was jittery and anxious in the passenger seat of Garrett’s sedan. He was silent and stoic as he drove down the highway. A half hour later we pulled up in front of the white bungalow with bright blue trim.
“You ready?” Garrett asked.
“Give me a second.”
I closed my eyes and focused my thoughts on my breathing to relax my anxiety, then I ran my hand across the worn denim of my jeans. Feeling the texture so I could focus on the moment and not on my thumping heart. I looked over at the house and saw Fluffy the cat sitting in a window staring at me, and a memory hit me so hard it knocked the breath out of my lungs.
“You okay?” Garrett placed a hand on my leg.
“I remember.” I swallowed thickly. “I remember living in an apartment. It was dirty. I slept on a mattress on the floor and there were cats. Two of them...white and fluffy. Mom always had cats.”
It was the first time I’d ever remembered anything of my life before the day that my mother dropped me at my grandparents’ place.
“You don’t have to do this,” Garrett said quickly.
“Yes, I do. If I don’t do it right now, I never will.”
I swung the passenger door open and climbed out. Garrett was at my side in a heartbeat and we walked together up to the front door. I didn’t even have to knock before it was opened by the same woman, Ted’s old girlfriend.
She looked from me to Garrett. “I figured you’d be back.”
“I never got your name.”
“Jia,” she replied, stepping aside to let us in.
I didn’t wait for permission and I didn’t take off my shoes either. I just walked down the hall toward the bedroom. Jia and Garrett both followed but nobody tried to stop me. I flung the door open and there sitting in an overstuffed chair that almost swallowed her sat my mother with Fluffy on her lap.
A low moan escaped my throat as I froze in the doorway. My mother got to her feet, placed the cat on the ground and took a tentative step toward me.
“Delma?” she asked, pushing a strand of her waist-long hair behind her ear with a frail hand.
“Yes,” I murmured.
She opened her arms wide and I went to her. She was all jagged bone and cocaine withered. As I pressed her against me I felt like I could crush her with too strong a hug so I only lay my head on her shoulder and let my tears dampen her stained T-shirt.
She patted my back and whispered, “I’m so sorry, Delma. I’m so very sorry.”
A few minutes later we were all sitting in Jia’s living room. Iced teas in our hands while Molly Arsenault told the tale that was every addict’s story. She chatted about addiction and recovery and more addiction. She talked about the lifestyle that brought her from one bad relationship to another and one flophouse to another.
“I did come back for you after I went to rehab but my mom told me you’d been adopted out,” she whispered, her deep set eyes meeting mine.
“I know.”
“Your grandma and gramps...”
“I know.” I put a hand on her knee. “I know.” I didn’t want to talk about the past and didn’t want the quicksand to swallow me if we talked about Grandma and Gramps.
“How did you end up here?” Garrett asked her.
“After my last round in rehab I came back here to see if Ted would put me up but, thankfully, Jia has a heart of gold and didn’t put me out on the street.”
“I figured she needed a break,” Jia said and then added apologetically to me, “I didn’t tell you she was here when you came to visit because she asked me not to.”
I looked hard at my mother, taking in her emaciated form that looked so much older than her late forties. “How sick are you?”
“Well, I got the Hep C and my liver is shot.” She wrung her bony hands nervously. “I don’t have too long left so that’s why I asked Jia not to tell you I was here. Didn’t think you’d care to meet me now when it’s too late.”
“Better late than never,” I replied and wondered inside if that was true.
We didn’t stay much longer. There was a lot of exchanging of information. Mom didn’t have a phone but she got my number and Garrett’s and we got Jia’s number as well. When we were leaving I saw Garrett slip a wad of bills into Jia’s hands and tell her it was to help with groceries. It was a kindness that made me love him even more.
A couple days later we packed up my mother’s one bag and her cat, Fluffy, and brought them both back to my house. Wookie was enthralled with my mother but less than impressed by her furry companion. That dislike between the fur-kids was mutual and there was a lot of woofing and a scratched nose before a tense truce happened.
Garrett went back to his own place because he had lots of work to do but I suspected he just wanted to give me time with my mother. I appreciated having her in my house, but we were polite strangers afraid to say anything much for the first couple of days. Her skin and eyes were leaning more and more toward a sickly yellow, and there was hardly anything she could eat that would stay down.
“Would you like some chicken noodle soup?” I asked.
“That would be nice,” she replied. “Thank you.”
She sat at the kitchen table wrapped in my thick housecoat, her hands gripping a cup of coffee as if for the warmth even though the house was too warm for me.
I brought her the soup and Wookie sauntered over and sat next to her. He placed his large head in her lap and she obliged him by stroking the top of his head with one hand and spooning soup into her mouth with the other.
“Wookie is a funny name for a dog,” Molly mused. “Like those characters from Star Wars, right?”
“I didn’t name him. I got Wookie from a friend and since he already answered to the name I didn’t think I could change it.”
She ate a little more soup and then put her spoon down and turned to me.
“Your dad loved Star Wars. I used to watch the movies a lot because they made me think of him.” She closed her eyes and a faraway smile played on her lips. “One time you and me were staying at a crummy fleabag motel and a couple next door were fighting real loud and you were scared. I made us some microwave popcorn and got a couple Cokes from the vending machine and we—”
“You turned the TV up real loud so I couldn’t hear the fighting and we watched Star Wars and ate popcorn in the bed.” The memory washed over me and took the air out of my lungs. I gasped as a flashback brought me the smell of microwave popcorn and the feel of thin motel sheets and the heady recollection of her arm around my shoulder and my head nestled into the crook of her arm. I blinked back tears as I finished. “I dumped some of the popcorn in the bed and you said it didn’t matter because spills happen when you’re having a party and we were going to party all night.”
“Can’t believe you remember that.” She smiled and reached to give my hand a brief squeeze. This was the second time I ever remembered anything besides the back of her head as she drove away leaving me with my
grandparents.
“It was only a day or two afterward when I made the call to get into rehab.” She gave my fingers a brief squeeze before letting them go. “I left you at the farm because I had nowhere else to keep you while I went away, but I came back. Your grandma said you were adopted out and I hated it but knew it was for the best because who needs an addict for a mom, right?”
Over the next few weeks she told me stories of when I was little and told me things about my dad like how he snorted when he laughed and cried during movies. We didn’t talk about the bad. My grandparents. We let the dead lie where they couldn’t hurt either of us anymore.
Chapter Fifteen
We buried my mom on a rainy Friday morning. Her plot was at a small, peaceful cemetery near my home, far away from the place where her own mother and father were laid to rest.
Garrett and I both took some well-needed time off then. We rented a cottage on the Oregon coast that was okay with a large, energized Rottweiler and a fuzzy white cat that were still getting used to each other.
We slept until noon and Garrett cooked and fattened me up on big morning breakfasts of omelets and hash brown potatoes and late evening cookouts on a deck overlooking the ocean. We’d end our days wrapped in each other’s arms listening to the sound of the waves crashing against the beach.
Forty-nine days without a drink.
Starting over seemed to be part of life.
One evening on the deck, snuggled on a porch swing, Garrett asked me, “So you’ve decided then, to change your first name back to Delma?”
“Yes, I think I have.” I snuggled in closer against a cool breeze drifting in off the ocean. “What do you think of that idea? Think you can get used to calling me Delma?”
“Sure, I could do that but...” He shrugged.
“What? You don’t like it, do you?” I sat up and frowned. It would be nice to go back to the name my mother gave me.
“I think,” he said, pulling me tight against him, “you should consider changing your last name as well. To Pierce.”
It was a suggestion that ended in a kiss that was long and slow and made me breathless.
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