Sister Dear

by Laura McNeill

  The night was balmy and warm for November, but Allie shivered in spite of the temperature, clasping her elbows and tucking them close to her body. In the distance, a car’s engine revved and whined. Allie listened.

  In the far side of the yard, Molly pawed at the ground, nosing at the grass with the dedication of an experienced private eye. A squirrel chattered overhead. Molly growled, then let out a series of ear-piercing barks. A light snapped on in the window across the street.

  “Come on, girl!” Allie urged and slapped at the side of her leg. Molly bounded up, eyes shining. She was breathing hard, tongue lolling to one side.

  Allie checked the time again. Emma was almost forty minutes late, making Allie officially frustrated and worried. She debated about calling her parents, but they were still at dinner. And there were very few people, if any, Emma would actually confide in.

  She picked up the wine glass and poured the remaining liquid into the sink. A few drops hit her black sweater and disappeared. “Great,” she murmured, not bothering to blot the stains. She needed to go. Allie grabbed her windbreaker from inside the door. “Come on, Molly. Let’s go for a walk.”

  It took only a few minutes. A lone truck—likely the manager’s—sat near the grocery store’s entrance, but otherwise, the lot was barren. As an added measure, she walked the length of the property to make sure she hadn’t missed Emma’s car.

  Allie’s eyes moved to the still-new sign in the front of a narrow but long one-story building next door. The coach’s pharmacy. She paused. If Emma’s stomach was upset, she could have stopped there, thinking it was quicker than the grocery store. She scanned the blacktop. No cars. No sign of Emma.

  Molly began whining and pulling on her leash.

  “What is it?” Allie allowed her to lead, following the dog’s sniffing nose through a row of sparse trees in the far corner of the lot. It was then, looking at the back of the pharmacy, that she noticed a door cracked open. From the opening, a slice of florescent light illuminated a small Dumpster and flattened cardboard boxes propped up beside it.

  She turned to leave, but then reconsidered. What if an employee had forgotten to lock up? What if there had been an accident? Just a day ago, her father was talking about a veterinarian’s wife who had collapsed at home. No one thought to check on her over the course of nine hours. And by then, it was too late.

  Allie’s adrenaline kicked in. She tied Molly’s leash to a post and gave her a firm command. “Stay, girl.”

  Gripping her cell phone, she debated about calling the police. If this was nothing, she’d look ridiculous. Allie glanced both ways, picking her way across the gravel, her shoes crunching against the uneven surface. She put a hand on the door and leaned inside. “Hello?”

  Allie squinted at the bright lights, shielding her eyes against the glare. She called out again. Silence, then a moan, the sound of something low, came from the back.

  Allie didn’t think. She bolted into the back of the pharmacy, rushing toward the noise. In the center of the room, a man lay on his side, arms and legs sprawled out like he’d fallen from three stories up.

  Letting out a cry, she sank to the floor and felt for a pulse. “Coach?”

  At the sound of her voice, his eyes opened, his mouth parted slightly to speak. A thick gurgle rose from his throat. His body tensed, then went slack. The side of his head was cut and bloodied.

  With a hand on his back and one on his neck, she tried to ease him into a prone position. Not anticipating his weight and bulk, the coach’s body slipped in her hands, causing the tips of her fingers to scrape his skin as she caught him. Gasping for breath, Allie tilted his head back and started compressions, rescue breaths. Again, she felt for a heartbeat. Allie continued pushing on his chest until the muscles in her arms burned. She felt one rib crack, then another.

  She didn’t stop when noise erupted from all sides. Shouting, feet stomping, doors opening. Hands, several of them, pulled her away, yanked Allie to her feet. Emergency workers flooded the room; sirens wailed. Allie saw Sheriff Gaines, his face grim and cold, jaw set, right before she collapsed.

  When Allie opened her eyes, she was propped up in the back of a police cruiser, filthy and dazed. There were streaks of caked blood on one hand, like dried paint. She pressed a hand to her forehead, unable to remember where it had come from.

  From the corner of her eye, she caught movement from the pharmacy.

  EMTs, each one shuffling his feet like a pallbearer at a funeral. They carried out a black body bag. The contents, lumpy and heavy, were hoisted into the county coroner’s vehicle.

  Gaines surveyed the scene and turned back to Allie. He reached into the patrol car, grabbed at the crook of her elbow, and shook her hard. “What happened?”

  Allie gasped. “I-I don’t know. The door was open. I walked in.” She inhaled through her nose, fighting the shooting pain. “You’re hurting me.”

  He released her arm, sneering. “You walked in the back, after the place was closed for the night? That’s trespassing.”

  “Something wasn’t right,” Allie said weakly. “I was only trying to help.”

  “You must feel pretty at home to just walk in the back door of a business.”

  Allie recoiled as if she’d been slapped. “Sh-sheriff, I was looking for my sister. She was supposed to be at the grocery store. Her-her stomach was upset. She was late. I was looking for her.”

  “You weren’t looking for her,” he erupted. He glowered down at Allie, his nostrils flaring. “You were inside a private building, trespassing.”

  Anger surged inside Allie. “That’s not at all what I was doing,” she snapped before she could realize what exactly she was saying.

  “Don’t you take that tone—” The buzz of a cell interrupted Gaines’s retort. He turned away and put a hand down to silence it.

  The sheriff locked eyes with Allie, who was fighting to maintain a strong exterior. Below the surface, though, she felt as if her very life force were being suctioned out through an ever-widening hole in her heart.

  “Why don’t you start by telling me what happened?” Gaines repeated.

  Trembling, Allie clasped her hands. “This is all a mistake. Can’t you see that?” She searched his stern face with disbelief, then exhaled deeply, blowing all of the air from her lungs.

  Gaines drew back and raised an eyebrow. “You just made this easy,” he spat out. “Have you been drinking?”

  He turned away from Allie and then motioned at a man on his right. “Do a Breathalyzer. Then get her downtown. Reynolds, you transport.”

  “My dog. She’s tied to a post, over there.” Allie pointed across the parking lot. She heard Molly barking, mournful, anguished cries.

  Gaines gritted his teeth. “Elliott, make sure Dr. Marshall comes and gets the dog,” he snarled. All of the officers snapped to attention, many of them older men she recognized from patrols around town and football games. They probably knew her father, maybe even had coffee together on Saturday mornings. Every one of them avoided her gaze.

  Reynolds took Allie by the elbow, easing her into the nearest patrol car. He said nothing and kept his grip firm, but not tight. He placed a giant hand on her head, guiding her movement so that she didn’t strike it on the door frame. After he recited instructions on the Breathalyzer, Reynolds held the tube for Allie. When she finished blowing, her vision wobbled.

  The officer stepped away, and the rear door slammed shut. Allie jumped, then stared, unblinking, at the thick steel rods dividing the front from the backseat.

  Reynolds slipped into the front seat and cranked the engine. As the car left the parking lot, she shuddered. Streetlights cast yellowed circles of light on the sidewalks and front lawns. Familiar houses flashed by. Neighbors, people she’d known since childhood, stood half-awake on their front porches, watching the parade of police vehicles and flashing lights.

  She was terrified, but forced herself not to cry. They rode in silence to the police station, where she was escor
ted into a small, windowless room to wait.

  FIFTY-FOUR

  SHERIFF GAINES

  2016

  The last time he’d seen June, she’d been fine. Happy, even. More awake and alert than she’d been in years. Gaines choked back a guttural cry, a sound between anger and agony.

  On the phone, the administrator told him June’s death had been sudden. That she hadn’t been in pain. His best guess was a heart attack or stroke. A clot could have dislodged and made its way through her body to her already-fragile brain. By the time anyone realized something was wrong, she was gone.

  When he’d hung up from the call, he’d turned on his siren and lights, raced to the nursing home, and pulled into the parking lot. Inside, he’d taken the stairs two at a time, edging past the small crowd of employees around the nurses’ station. He’d barely registered all of the people, including the tall, lanky teenager with the dark hair who took off as soon as Gaines arrived.

  Chest heaving, the sheriff ran into his wife’s room. He skidded to a stop. June looked at peace, he thought, lying in her bed. The aide came in behind him, whispering that the medical examiner was on his way.

  “Give us a minute?” Gaines asked. When she stepped out of the room, he knelt in front of his wife and laid his head in her lap, gripping her fragile hand. Tears leaked from his eyes, wracking, silent sobs filled his chest. He smothered the sound in the crook of his elbow.

  “I miss you,” he murmured, mourning the woman he’d lost ten years before. Then Gaines straightened, sat back on his heels, and sucked in gulps of air. There was more to do before June could truly rest. He owed it to her.

  Gaines pulled himself upright, knees creaking in protest. When he opened the door and motioned for the nursing supervisor, she took a careful step toward him and reached to touch his arm, a gesture of empathy. But Gaines didn’t have time for that, not now. And because of his job, these people would never question him.

  “I have to go. Emergency. One of my men is in trouble. Possible hostage situation. Please take care of what you can,” he explained, avoiding eye contact. “I’ll be back as soon as I can.”

  “Of course.” The nurse nodded, eyes wide.

  He was out of the building and back outside, behind the wheel and driving in less than three minutes. The story was a complete fabrication, but Gaines didn’t care. He had to leave, get out of that awful place.

  The sheriff pulled into the driveway of his new house and let Chief into the shaded backyard as he gathered supplies for the trip. Gaines made three trips to the garage, loading the trunk with everything he could possibly need.

  Finally, the sheriff made sure Chief had enough food and water to last the day. When he knelt down again to stroke the dog’s thick coat, his eyes filled with tears. “Good boy, stay.”

  Chief whined and pawed at the chain link as Gaines drove away. He couldn’t watch. He had to focus on the road.

  As the miles passed, no matter how much he fought it, his mind drifted back to Allie Marshall. Despite his firm warning, there was nothing she wouldn’t do or say to have the investigation into Coach Thomas’s death reopened.

  So today he would take care of the only other thing he was concerned about Allie Marshall finding. If it was still there. Gaines pressed the accelerator, pushing the engine to respond. The drive didn’t take long. There was no music, no radio. An occasional rock or pebble hitting the undercarriage of the cruiser. The splat of an unlucky insect against the windshield. The rub of rubber on the road as he braked around a sharp curve. He flicked on the windshield wipers, sending streams of fluid onto the glass, and watched the parallel black rubber lines cross back and forth across his line of vision, smearing the bug’s remains.

  As he slowed and turned off the road, the car bumped over the uneven ground. Gaines pulled up to the structure, jumped out of the patrol car, and stared. It was there. Coach Thomas had lied. And the sheriff had convinced himself the one man he couldn’t trust had kept his promise.

  Near the back of the property, he noticed the adjoining building and did a double take. The door had been broken, split to pieces, as if someone had thrown a sledgehammer right through it. The remaining wooden slab hung precariously on its hinges. The sheriff pulled out his gun as he crept toward the opening and eased inside, bracing himself for someone to jump out of a darkened corner. But there was no one there.

  Gaines holstered his weapon and scanned the room, taking in the benzyl alcohol, distilled water, syringes, and glass beakers. Cotton balls and rags sat near a stove with four small burners. He narrowed his eyes. Empty vials of equipoise. Below them, there were footprints in the dust. The sight of them chilled his veins. Allie Marshall had been here. She knew.

  Anger welled up inside his chest. Gaines reached for his keys, stalking out to the patrol car, blind to everything but his plan.

  Justice, sweet justice, would be watching this place burn to the ground. His own personal Dante’s Inferno.

  FIFTY-FIVE

  EMMA

  2016

  Emma was so very tired. She’d been on the run all day, avoiding her phone, her clients, and her own family. And then there was the stop at the nursing home. As expected, slipping into the private room had been easy. The nurses were busy with charts and medicine checks, the aides swapping stories near the bathroom.

  June Gaines had been resting, face up, hands folded across her waist. Her hair was smoothed and coiffed, as if she were to be awakened at any moment for the arrival of a royal guest.

  Emma had taken a thick pillow, grasping it firmly in both hands, and held it over the woman’s face until she stopped struggling. The minutes dragged by like hours, and Emma’s arms ached from fighting. The woman had been stronger than she’d imagined, but gave up the fight after Emma had laid her full weight on the woman, staying there for several more minutes just to make sure.

  When she pulled back the pillow, Emma surveyed June’s appearance. With a glance around the room, she spied a soft brush on the dresser. Minutes later, Dr. Gaines’s hair was brushed and patted into place. Her blouse was smoothed, her hands placed carefully in the same position as they’d been when Emma first walked in the room. She looked close to perfect. And at peace.

  Now Emma could take care of Caroline without interference from that awful woman. And Allie—she would take care of sister dear—after she made one last stop.

  A short drive later, Emma entered the wrought-iron gate. She made her way up the hill, her shoes pressing into the smooth gravel, making a crunching sound with each step. When she came to the last row from the top, Emma stepped onto the soft grass. With silent feet, she counted the steps, remembering how many it had taken her the last time she’d visited.

  It had been years, but not much had changed. The same flowers edged the trees and small flags fluttered in the slight breeze, marking certain resting places. A bench, large enough for two people to sit, had been placed near his marker. She stopped there.

  The grave had a magnificent view of Brunswick, with space for his wife and their children. His mother and father were still living, retired in Florida, according to the Internet. Of course, she’d never met them. She couldn’t leave the hospital for the funeral.

  The community rallied around the coach’s wife, taking her enough casseroles and pies for three freezers. Churches collected money for her husband’s burial expenses. Someone said a light always burned in the window of their home because Coach Thomas’s family had constant visitors. No one wanted to leave them alone.

  Two weeks later, the coach’s wife sold the house, the pharmacy business, packed up her girls, and moved away. A year later, the high school erected a memorial in his honor. That part proved the most difficult for Emma, a constant reminder of what she didn’t have. Of what she could never have. Of what had been taken away.

  Perhaps the cruelest blow of all—caring for her sister’s child, a bitter replacement for the baby she’d lost. And every time Emma saw her niece, it reminded her of her own losses. S
he would never be a wife to the man she loved. She would never carry another son or daughter. She could never have the family she wanted.

  Waking up in the morning and functioning was effort enough. She lived a respectable life, cared for Caroline, helped her parents: the sister who did everything right. And it still wasn’t enough. It would never be.

  Allie had everything. She always did. And in the end, she would get Caroline back too.

  Emma knew this now. Her niece was like the rest of the human race, like her parents and Natalie Harper and others. They’d forgive and forget, and soon Allie would be back to being the favorite. She’d made inroads already. Caroline was softening; it wouldn’t be long before she’d decide that she wanted to be Allie’s daughter again. That she wanted her real mother. All children did.

  After what seemed like hours, Emma made herself get up and walk to the gravestone. In the grass, she knelt in front of the rectangular gravestone, ran a finger along the edge.

  She grasped the small box in her pocket, pulled it out, and removed the top. She reached inside. Time to say good-bye to both of them. She stared at the granite marker, tracing his name with her eyes, her cheeks wet with tears.

  Boyd Thomas.

  I miss you. I’ll always love you. I’m lost without you.

  Help me.

  What should I do? Where do I belong?

  A gust of air blew the tree branches overhead, scattering crisp autumn leaves to the ground like confetti. He answered her through nature, offering a release and a blessing.

  Dabbing at her face with the edge of her sleeve, drying her eyes, she almost laughed out loud at his wisdom. Of course. One more stop to make, then home.