The Day She Died

by S. M. Freedman

  “Don’t you have this stuff typed into a form or something?”

  He just continued to watch her. His eyes weren’t as kind as she’d first thought.

  “It was this morning,” she said. “He left before breakfast. Gabriel was eating cereal. Button and I were drinking tea and talking about what needed doing in the garden.”

  “Button?”

  “My grandmother. Her real name is Batya, but I had trouble saying that when I was little, so it came out as Button. Somehow the name stuck.”

  “Did your husband say goodbye before he left?”

  “He asked what we had planned for the day. He didn’t have to work, since it’s Sunday. I told him that Button and I would take Gabriel to the library for storytime, and we’d be back before lunch. And we talked about going to see a movie this afternoon.”

  “Today is Thursday.”

  “What?”

  “You said your husband didn’t have to work today, because it’s Sunday. But today is Thursday.”

  “I don’t … what?” She placed a shaking hand against her forehead. Her fingers were so numb she couldn’t feel anything beneath them. It was like she wasn’t there.

  “Did your husband seem different lately? Upset? Or more distant?”

  “No.”

  “Does he have any addictions? Alcohol? Prescription medications? Gambling?”

  “No!”

  “Any reason to believe he’s having an affair?”

  “What kind of question is that?”

  “One I have to ask, Mrs. Adler.”

  “No way.”

  “All right, so when did you realize that he was missing?”

  “When we came back from the movie.”

  “Movie?”

  “I mean the library. I got lunch ready, but Leigh still wasn’t there. I thought maybe he’d gone out to run some errands, or maybe he’d gotten a call about one of his patients.”

  “Did you try calling him?”

  “Of course. But his cell is doing this thing where it only rings once and then an automated message says it’s disconnected. That’s when I really started to worry.”

  “What’s his number?”

  “I … don’t remember it off the top of my head. I have it saved in my phone.”

  “All right, I’ll get that from you later.” Mathers continued to type, and Eve leaned back in the vinyl seat and took a few deep breaths, clutching tightly to the straps of her purse.

  “Mrs. Adler, you look like you could use something warm to drink. We have tea, if you’d like?”

  She didn’t think she’d be able to hold a cup without sloshing it all over herself. “No, thank you.”

  The detective stood, his belly pressing the keyboard tray so it slid back under the desk. “Wait here, please.”

  “But —”

  “It’ll just be a few minutes.”

  * * *

  She wasn’t sure how long he was gone, but he eventually returned. “Mrs. Adler? Would you please follow me?”

  “Why?”

  “I think we’ll be more comfortable in an interview room.”

  “I won’t be.”

  “Please, just follow me.” Assuming her cooperation, he turned and moved away. After a moment of indecision, Eve pushed to her feet and shuffled after him.

  “Listen, Detective …” She’d forgotten his name.

  “Listen, I’d really rather stay out here.”

  “I’d imagine you would.” He pushed open the door to Interview Room C.

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “Have a seat. We’ll be right with you.”

  That’s when it hit her. She clutched the front of his uniform shirt. “Oh my God. Have you found Leigh? Is he okay?”

  She pictured a heart attack, Leigh sprawled face-up on someone’s lawn. She pictured a car speeding through a stop sign, and his broken body flying through the air.

  “I have no word on your husband. Please, just have a seat.”

  Shakily, Eve moved around the table and sat on a hard plastic chair. The door clicked closed behind him, and she stared at the mirror on the far wall. She wondered if anyone was on the other side, staring back. The colour was unnerving, and she remembered how Hector had always said that painting with silver was so difficult because it was more than a colour, it was a reflection.

  The door swung open, and she turned away from the mirror.

  Detective Baird pushed his considerable girth into the room. He looked exactly the same as he had the last time she saw him, more than a decade ago. Metal scraped linoleum as he pulled the chair around the desk and sat down across from her, knee-to-knee.

  She shook her head. “No.”

  He flopped a folder — a thick one — onto the table beside him, and laid a notepad and pen on top. “Third time’s the charm, Ms. Gold.”

  “It’s Mrs. Adler. And I don’t know what you mean.”

  “Detective Mathers tells me you married Sara’s brother.”

  “That’s right.”

  “The thick plottens.”

  “What in the world does that mean?”

  “Well, Mrs. Adler, it seems like people pay a heavy price for being close to you.”

  “My husband is missing,” she said through gritted teeth.

  “I’m here to file a missing person report, so you can look for him. I have nothing to hide.”

  “You never do.”

  “This is insulting!”

  “You know what I find insulting? Knowing that someone has killed two people — maybe even three — and watching them walk around free and clear because I don’t have enough evidence. That’s insulting.”

  “I’m here to talk about my missing husband. Nothing else.”

  “All right. Let’s talk about Leigh.”

  She sensed a looming trap, but didn’t know where it might be. “Okay.”

  “When did you two marry?”

  “Years ago.”

  “How many years?”

  “Five or six.”

  “You seem uncertain.”

  She sighed. “I was in a car accident. I have brain damage. My memory isn’t always good.”

  “I see.” Rather than take notes, Baird let his hands rest on his lap.

  “What does it matter, anyway? The important thing is that he’s missing. And you don’t seem to be doing anything about it.”

  “We’ve started the investigation. Officers are currently checking local hospitals and cruising your neighbourhood.”

  “Okay, good,” she said, feeling only slightly mollified.

  “A year ago,” Detective Baird leaned forward in his chair, “a woman came forward to file a complaint. Annabeth O’Neill. Do you remember her?”

  “She was the leader of this gang of mean girls that used to bully everyone else.”

  “Annabeth recommended we also talk to another girl from your neighbourhood, Myra Duborney. Her maiden name was Knottsworth. Do you remember her?”

  “We used to call her Snottsworth. She was a friend of Annabeth’s.”

  “In six hours of taped interviews, she gave similar testimony to what Annabeth gave. And we convinced her to join Annabeth in pressing charges. Before the statute of limitations runs out.”

  “Pressing charges. Against me?”

  “No. Against your husband.”

  Her purse dropped from her lap and hit the ground. The contents scattered and rolled in all directions. “What?”

  Detective Baird watched her, his expression bland. “I can’t believe this. What kind of charges?”

  “Statutory rape.”

  “Annabeth’s really pretty, isn’t she?”

  “No.” Her mouth filled with the dry taste of pretzels, and she gagged.

  “Her parents called the cops.”

  “Now, we believe that your husband is a sexual predator.”

  “Leigh denied it, of course, and I guess Annabeth was denying it, too.”

  Hot bile climbed her throat and
she slammed her hands over her mouth, desperately swallowing it back.

  “He groomed these girls over the course of at least six months, gained their trust, isolated them, and made them feel like he was the only one who understood them.”

  “No,” Eve said through her hands. “No way. I don’t believe it.”

  “And then he engaged in sexual contact with them. In Annabeth’s case, it went on for years.”

  “He wouldn’t do that to me.”

  “He did it to them, Mrs. Adler. And I suspect, as this gets closer to trial, we’ll find many more victims. Predators like your husband keep on repeating the same patterns. Which got me thinking —”

  “I’m going to be sick.”

  “Were you one of his victims? It would explain so much. Maybe even solve the mystery of what you and Sara argued about.”

  “The windows were all steamy. I knew then that I should walk away, but I didn’t.”

  “Oh my God, I can’t breathe.”

  “Mrs. Adler, either your husband took a powder to avoid going to trial, or —”

  “I have to get out of here.” She stood and pushed past the detective.

  “— or you found out about these other girls, and took matters into your own hands. Either way, I’ll find out.”

  Eve bolted, and to her surprise he didn’t stop her. She was halfway through the maze of desks when Detective Baird called from behind her, “Mrs. Adler! Your purse!”

  But she didn’t stop.

  THIRTY-TWO

  Sara’s Eleventh Birthday

  “ARE YOU SURE you can’t stay? There’s cake.”

  Sara’s mom didn’t turn from the stove. Her arm moved in rhythmic circles as she stirred the pot of chili. It smelled like gassy heaven: fried meat and beans and tomatoes and onions.

  Eve wished she could stay. Mrs. Adler was making her famous garlic knots, there was cake, and she could watch Leigh from across the table.

  But she was saving up to replace the bicycle that had been stolen from the carport when she forgot to chain it. She hoped if she saved up half the money, Donna might chip in the rest. She needed to stay on her good side for that to happen, and Donna had told Eve to come home for dinner.

  “I have to go,” she said.

  “Will you be all right? It’s getting dark out there.”

  “I can walk her halfway,” Sara said.

  Mrs. Adler shook her head. “You have to practise your piano.”

  “It’s my birthday!”

  “Sara,” Mrs. Adler said.

  Sara wrinkled her nose. It was a long-standing battle between mother and daughter, and anybody could see who was going to win. They had spent a lot of money on that piano, Mrs. Adler was happy to point out, and they were bloody well going to use it. Since Sara was the only one of the four children who showed any musical talent, she ended up in the hot seat whether she liked it or not. And she didn’t like it.

  “I’ll be fine. It’s only six blocks.”

  “All right,” Sara said.

  “Can you come over tomorrow after school?” Eve asked as she followed Sara through the living room. “Button bought me some glitter nail polish. Want to try it out?”

  “For sure! And we can look through your closet and figure out what you’re going to wear to the dance.”

  “I’m not going to the dance.”

  “And I’m not going without you, so don’t be a chicken.”

  “The boys in our class are stupid and immature. I don’t want to dance with any of them.” Eve said it extra loud, hoping that Leigh, who was doing homework at the dining room table, might hear.

  “Jaime isn’t stupid,” Sara said, her eyes big with hurt.

  “Well, I guess he’s okay.”

  “Pretty soon you’ll want to do all kinds of things with those dorks,” Danielle said from where she was sprawled on the living room couch. She’d grown dangerously beautiful in the last year or so, with long legs and silky hair. Eve admired her a little, but hated her more.

  “Naked things,” Margie said, and both she and Danielle giggled.

  “Gross!” Eve and Sara said in unison.

  “Oh, don’t worry. Nobody will touch you with that disgusting gut,” Danielle said to Sara, slapping her own flat belly for emphasis. To Eve she said, “And you need to grow some tits.” Danielle’s were like ripe apples on full display.

  “Yeah,” Margie said. Hers still looked more like starving apricots, but, judging by the tight shirt she wore, she was pretty proud of them.

  Eve wished she had a smart comeback, but they always came to her too late to do any good. Sara seemed to be in the same predicament. Her cheeks flaming, she opened the door and whispered goodbye, handing Eve her school bag.

  “Hey.” Eve reached out and took Sara’s hand, running a finger across Sara’s inner wrist. Our hearts are joined together.

  Sara traced Eve’s wrist with her finger, completing the ritual. Always and forever.

  As Sara closed the door, Eve saw her suck in her tummy so it didn’t roll over the top of her jeans.

  She climbed down the stairs to the Adlers’ walkway, sliding her arms through the straps of her bag and settling it on her back. At school she would let one strap dangle because it looked cooler that way, but there was no one here to see. She tucked her hands inside the sleeves of her hooded sweatshirt and started for home.

  Dead leaves swirled around her feet. They crackled and scraped across the pavement, and her skin prickled with nervousness.

  She reached back and pulled her cellphone out of the side pocket of her bag, turning it on and clutching it in her hand, a lifeline to safety. It was Donna’s old phone, meant for emergencies only. She’d been hoping for a better one for her birthday last week, but that hadn’t happened. Maybe she’d get one for her twelfth.

  She wouldn’t have noticed the car if it hadn’t been for the noise it made, a high-pitched whine that sounded like the Chevy Monza Donna had traded for her current Buick. It passed her, an old behemoth that had been lowered to ride just inches from the ground, its windows tinted black. Slowing at the corner, it turned right.

  Not long after, Eve heard it coming around for another pass. As it moved slowly past her, she cut away from the sidewalk, climbing the lawn toward a stucco house with dark windows and an empty carport. No help there. With a chirp of the tires, the car sped up and once again turned right at the intersection.

  Belatedly, panic burned up her throat and threatened to turn her legs to Jell-O. She began moving as swiftly as she could, watching behind her and saying a silent prayer to whoever protected little girls from predators and psychopaths that she wouldn’t see those square headlights coming at her again.

  She heard the car before she saw it. It glided slowly around the corner, the street lamp highlighting its dark flank.

  She lifted the phone and punched the button that pulled up her contact list. She hit A for Adler and lifted the phone to her ear, trying to quell the shaking in her hand. The phone began to ring, but she remembered Mrs. Adler’s rule about not answering the phone during dinnertime. Would they be eating yet?

  The car slowed to a stop twenty feet behind her, and the engine revved. Eve broke into a run, her backpack swinging from side to side like a pendulous weight. She glanced behind her, and the car’s high beams clicked on, blinding her. When she faced forward, all she could see was the ghost of the car’s headlights. She stumbled and almost fell.

  There was a click from the phone. “Hello?”

  “Mr. Adler. Help!”

  “It’s Leigh. Eve? Are you all right?”

  “There’s a car,” she gasped for breath, “following me!”

  Behind her the engine roared, and the tires squealed as it sprang forward, closing the gap. It braked hard, and the engine revved with menace.

  “Where are you?”

  “Halfway home … but I don’t think …”

  The car roared forward again, and she screamed. It stopped half a block behind her, g
rowling like a lion teasing its prey.

  “I’m coming!” Leigh said, and the phone banged in her ear.

  She could see the light from her porch, almost two blocks away. It seemed like another planet.

  An eruption of whoops and jeers came from inside the car, growing louder in a way that suggested they were cranking down the car windows. It sounded like teenaged boys, and that was all it took to jog her memory. The car belonged to Steve Ryder. She’d seen him pull into the high school parking lot while she walked to school one morning. He and his buddies were still on the warpath after the stolen contraband incident, and she was clearly about to pay for it.

  Another thought occurred to her: They knew where she lived. They were playing cat-and-mouse with her now, but if they were going to grab her they’d do it in the next block or so, before she got too close to her own front door. So she needed to give Leigh time to get there.

  Going against every instinct, she slowed to a walk. Hobbling like she’d twisted her ankle, she tried to look as weak and pitiful as she could. How long would it take Leigh to reach her?

  Though she couldn’t possibly have heard his approach over the incessant roar of the car engine, she swore she heard the sound of feet slapping the pavement, and turned just in time to see Leigh fly from the shadows and land on the trunk of the car. He stormed up the roof and skated down the windshield. The juvenile delinquents inside let out satisfyingly girlish screams.

  “Hey, boys!” Leigh said with deadly cheerfulness. “Does Coach know you’re out harassing cherries instead of running your drills?”

  He slid off the hood and leaned against the open passenger window. “No wonder you looked like a bunch of monkeys trying to fuck a football last Saturday.”

  “Bite me, Adler,” Steve Ryder said.

  Canton Forsythe said, “We’re just messing with her, dude.”

  “Don’t think she’s enjoying it, dude,” Leigh said with dangerous calm.

  Silence greeted this.

  “So, maybe you douchebags should just head on home. And let me make this clear. Eve Gold is under my protection.”

  “Oh, yeah? Her and how many others?” Canton said.

  She caught a flash of Leigh’s teeth, eerily green in the glow coming from the dashboard. “You even look at her wrong, and I’ll fucking kill you. Got it?”