“What’s he going to do with them?”
“I’d like to say ‘burn them,’ but I don’t want Mitchel to have anything negative to say about me. Officer Pedone was going to drop them off at Mitchel’s brother’s house. That’s where he’s staying now. His mother wanted him to stay with her, but she can be a real pain in the butt. Anyway, we have several more steps before everything is settled, and it can take a really long time.”
“I can only imagine.” Ellie had had her own experience with red tape.
“So, if Mitchel pleads not guilty, there will be a trial. If he pleads guilty, they will probably knock the charges down from felony domestic violence to misdemeanor domestic violence.”
“There’s a difference?” Ellie knew there was. “That was sarcasm, by the way. I cannot believe that they can actually consider any act of violence a misdemeanor. It’s infuriating.”
“It sure is.”
“So what will happen in each case?”
“If he pleads guilty, and they reduce the charge, he’ll get probation and community service.”
“That hardly seems right.” Ellie was starting to steam.
“Yes, indeed. And if he pleads not guilty, he’ll go to trial, and the jury will decide.” Colleen explained further. “And going to trial could take months. Even a year.”
“Jeez. Sounds awful.”
“So the present custody arrangement is in effect, as well as the temporary restraining order, until the hearing. That’s when we’ll know how he pleads and what comes next.”
“How are you holding up?” Ellie sipped on her wine.
“Not too bad, really. Our marriage had been in a severe downward spiral for a couple of years. I’m actually relieved.”
“Sometimes it takes a monumental eruption to move us forward.” Ellie spoke from experience.
“You got that right. Anyhoo, I had a security system installed and bought a Taser.”
“A Taser?” Ellie was curious. That was one of the first things she’d purchased when she had left the hospital. One can never be too safe. Or maybe she was just being paranoid. She chuckled to herself.
“Yep. Wow. Those things are impressive. Officer Pedone showed me how to use it.” Colleen felt herself blush. “He’s been extremely helpful.”
“Glad to hear it. Sometimes it can be very frightening when you’re faced with so much stress with little or no backup.” Ellie spoke from experience.
“And Jackson seems to be doing so much better. I cannot thank you enough for your kindness.” Colleen almost started to get weepy. She had been keeping herself in check for Jackson’s sake, trying to hold back the tears.
“I’m glad he and Buddy are friends.” Ellie paused for a moment. Was this the right time to invite her?
“Listen, I’ve gotta go and put dinner on the table. Jackson is washing up. Oh, and, if you ever need anything, say, an errand to be run, please let me know.”
Ellie was slightly stunned. “Why, thank you. I appreciate it.”
“I know Hector does a lot for you, but just in case, please know you have backup.”
“Thanks, Colleen. I’ll certainly keep that in mind. Thanks for calling. Have a good evening.”
“You, too.”
The two clicked off at the same time.
Lots of thoughts rushed through Ellie’s head. Had she found a friend? For the first time in two years, she felt that there was someone she could relate to. Even if it was just over the phone.
Chapter Eleven
Mitchel had tried to keep his cool the evening Officer Pedone delivered the rest of his clothing. He was very polite to the man, but what he really wanted to do was punch his face in. Delivery boy. And who the hell was she to have a cop bring his clothes? “Yes, Officer. Thank you, Officer.” Mitchel was seething at his own impersonation of Eddie Haskell. He signed the receipt and grabbed the bags. As soon as the officer was out of sight, he went outside and threw them in the trash.
“Hey, Mitch?” his brother, Gregory, yelled from the basement. “What’s up with the cops?” He had seen the police car leave as he looked through the small basement window.
“He was making a delivery. And it wasn’t pizza.” Mitchel was almost spitting, he was so mad.
Gregory climbed the steps, wiping his hands on a towel. “What was that all about?”
“The rest of my stuff.”
“Like what stuff? All your junk from the garage and basement?”
“Nah. Just my clothes.” Mitchel lit up a cigarette.
“Hey, man, you know the rules. No smoking in the house,” Greg reminded him.
“Yeah. Whatever.” Mitchel stomped out the kitchen door and sat on the back step.
“What’s going on, bro?” Gregory was right behind him.
“What’s going on? You’re kidding, right?” Mitchel threw him a look.
“No. I mean I know there’s a lot going on. But what was the visit from the cop all about?”
“I told you. He delivered my clothes.” Mitchel flicked the cigarette butt onto the sidewalk.
Gregory went over and picked it up and put it in the metal ashtray. “See, you do it like this,” Gregory instructed his brother. He was getting worn-out by Mitchel’s attitude, especially since he and his wife, Elaine, were letting him stay there for, well, they didn’t know for how long. But it was becoming apparent the arrangement wasn’t going to last very long. Even after a few days, Elaine was getting annoyed at Mitchel’s sulking, smoking, and drinking.
“Buzz off.” Mitchel went back inside and popped open a can of beer. Greg followed him in.
“Listen, I know this is not easy, but you’re going to have to take control of your emotions.” Gregory had become used to Mitchel’s mood swings. He didn’t like the idea of having to deal with his brother’s emotional state, but at the moment, there wasn’t much he could do other than abandon his brother in his time of need.
“Yeah, right. Control my emotions.” Mitchel took a swig of his beer and wiped his mouth with his sleeve. He pointed to the can with his other hand. “This, my brother, is how I control my emotions.” He chugged the rest of the beer, opened the refrigerator, and grabbed another one.
Greg put his arm on his brother’s shoulder. “Maybe you should slow down, eh?”
Mitchel pulled away from Greg violently. “Don’t you be telling me what to do also!”
Greg could see Mitchel’s anger increasing, and he had to defuse the situation before it got out of hand. And especially before Elaine got home. If she saw Mitchel in this frame of mind and on his way to a bender, both men might be out on the street.
“Come on. Let’s go watch some baseball. I just finished putting the new console together for the TV downstairs. I wanna see how it looks from the sofa.” Gregory opened the basement door and gestured for Mitchel to go down.
When Greg and Elaine had bought the house, it had a finished basement that Greg had converted into a game and TV room. He built a bar on one side and arranged a seating area on the other, with a pool table in the middle. It was supposed to be a playroom for the kids they had planned on. But after several attempts, Elaine had been unable to carry a pregnancy to full term, so they gave up on trying to have a family. Elaine sought solace by working at a children’s art center that focused on kids with learning disabilities. Several evenings a week, she would volunteer at the library.
Greg and Elaine had led a relatively quiet life until they opened their home to Mitchel. One of their bedrooms was for guests, another was a den. Elaine was uneasy with Mitchel sleeping in the room next to theirs, so Greg set up an area in the basement where Mitchel could have his privacy and leave them with theirs. He put up a couple of bookcases as a room divider and moved one of the futons over. The only rule was no smoking in the house, a rule that Mitchel seemed to forget every time he lit up.
Mitchel begrudgingly descended the steps to his new temporary home. “How about a round of pool instead?” Before Greg could give him an answer, Mitchel s
tarted racking up the balls. He had a cigarette dangling from his mouth. “It ain’t lit,” he said through clenched teeth. He pulled a cue stick and hit the ball with such force it flew off the table.
“Whoa! Easy there!” Greg walked over to where the ball landed and picked it up. “You sure you want to do this?”
“Screw it.” He threw the pool cue on top of the table and headed toward the bar. He pulled out a bottle of scotch and poured himself a large dose.
Greg knew Mitchel had gone beyond the point of reason and decided to leave him alone with his miserable mood. By now, the scotch seemed like a good idea to him as well, so he poured himself two fingers’ worth and headed toward the stairs.
“Where you goin’?” Mitchel was being snarky.
“I need to clean up before Elaine gets home. I promised I’d heat up the manicotti. You want any?”
“Nah. I’m fine.” Mitchel had his back to Greg, and he waved his glass in the air.
“OK. There’s plenty if you change your mind.” Greg knew Mitchel wouldn’t change his mind. He’d get totally smashed and pass out on the sofa. That seemed to be the routine since he had come to stay with them. He never once made it over to the futon that Greg had unfolded into a bed.
Greg knew that Elaine was going to be asking how much longer Mitchel would be staying with them. She had argued that he could stay with their mother, who was alone, in a much bigger house. But Elaine also knew that Vivian Haywood could be as impossible to deal with as Mitchel. At least she knew where he got his attitude from.
Gregory and Mitchel’s dad had been a farmer. He worked at least twelve hours a day until late one afternoon, when he didn’t show up for supper. The boys were only ten and twelve years old at the time. Greg, the older of the two, was sent out to look for him. After an hour spent searching the property, he found his father crushed by a tractor. It appeared he had been trying to fix something when the tractor engaged and ran right over him, then stopped a foot away from his trampled body. It was clear that he was dead.
Smashed like a pumpkin. Greg was never able to forget that image. It had humbled him for life. Greg often thought about what effect it would have had on Mitchel if their roles had been reversed? Would Mitchel be less aggressive and angry? He would never know the answer. What he did know was that his brother was on the fast track to either jail or a hospital. He was hoping neither would be Mitchel’s fate, but one or the other seemed inevitable.
Chapter Twelve
Ellie cringed as she watched her ninety-year-old neighbor, Andy, hobble to his big 1959 Cadillac Coupe DeVille. Unlike Andy, his car was in pristine condition. In fact, Andy had several classic cars that he kept in a storage facility on the outskirts of town. What he planned to do with them was something she could not imagine. She supposed everyone should have a hobby, but a man in such frail condition probably shouldn’t be behind the wheel of a car.
Andy was a pleasant old gentleman. As far as she could tell. Each morning, using a cane, he would navigate his way to his automobile. Slowly and carefully, he would back out of the driveway and, Hector had told her, head to Sissy’s coffee shop, where he would have breakfast. It was almost embarrassing to her that someone at his age and his state of health had the guts to get out and do something every day, while she was homebound.
An hour or so later, the huge car would return and gingerly inch its way back into the driveway. Andy would get out of the car, open the trunk, and pull out one or two grocery bags. She watched with trepidation as he managed his way back into the house. She prayed every morning that he wouldn’t fall. If he did, she would have to call 911. That would make Birchwood Lane quite the hot spot for police activity.
At one time, she suggested to Hector that he should go over and talk to Andy and offer to run errands for him for free. She offered to pay Hector out of her own pocket, just to avoid the anxiety caused by watching him, but Andy politely declined Hector’s offer. He said that going shopping gave him something to do. And every morning, watching Andy gave her something to do as well. She wanted to be sure he was safe and not lying on the ground with a carton of milk at his side. What happened after he got into his house was another story. She knew from doing a little surreptitious checking that not only did he not have Internet service; he didn’t have cable, either. He had an old antenna on the roof, which she assumed provided whatever he needed for entertainment.
She put down the binoculars and moved toward the “control panel” area of the loft and began to type. Ever since her release from the hospital, she had been on a mission to acquire information—information that could save her from the prison in which she was living.
Before she finished with one of her searches, her computer dinged. It was Hector. He needed some advice on a project he was doing for one of his classes. He had another idea for a game that would be somewhat like the one they had developed together. It was called Catch Me. The premise was for people to pretend they were running from something and for players to find ways to catch them.
Hector’s game was all about finding someone who was running from the law or had simply gone missing. A “missing person” type of game for kids. Something like super-sleuthing but without a lot of technology. Good, old-fashioned, gumshoe detective work. It would be a simple game. Not a lot of special effects. It was more of a puzzle-solving game that required thinking skills instead of the skill of pushing buttons. Granted, games required thought, but quick reaction was how you won.
When she read the premise, it freaked her out a little. Was Hector trying to dig into her past in reverse? No. Hector wouldn’t do that. Though maybe, subconsciously, the idea had come to him because of her mysterious background. In any event, it reminded her of the old episodes of Columbo that had recently been running on a cable network. It was the little clues that led the shrewd detective to solve the case. This would be similar, except you had to locate the person by following a set of clues. There was a sprinkle of Choose Your Own Adventure involved as well. The player got to choose which door, street, alley, room, town, or place to explore. If they hit a “dead end,” they would have to start all over, but the clues would be different, and the situation would change. Someone could get all the way to where they think they have caught the “runner,” but one bad choice would send them back to the beginning, to a new case with new clues.
There were several similar games on the market, but it was a growing genre. If Hector could develop it fast enough, Ellie would pitch it to the clients for whom she did the beta testing.
She typed a message to Hector:
Ellie: Would you personally own it and be able to sell this game, or would the school take ownership?
Hector: Good question. I’ll check with my teacher. Thanks for the heads up. And the help!
Ellie: No prob.
She sat back in her chair. This could help her out a lot. Not the money but the game. She would help Hector make it sophisticated enough that it would attract young people with a high intellect. The kind who watch Jeopardy every night. She liked the idea and would discuss it with him at some point. But he had to do the basics before she could get involved.
The rest of the morning ran as usual. Slow. Steady.
She went downstairs to fix some lunch. Buddy was getting antsy. He was getting so used to his playdates with Jackson that it seemed as if he knew what time it was.
“Are you waiting for your friend?” She patted him on the head. “Just a couple more hours.” He snuggled against her in response. Percy jumped on the counter, as if to say, “Excuse me, but I’m here, too.”
“Oh, you goofball. I love you, too!” Ellie scratched Percy’s ears and rubbed his face. “I know. It’s time for a treat.”
Percy’s meow almost sounded like he was saying “treeeeeet.”
That always made Ellie laugh out loud. Ellie reached into the pantry and took out some dental treats for her cat. After the incident, Ellie thought getting a cat and a dog would be good therapy for her. She had gone to the lo
cal shelter, where she found both of them. They were each around two years old and had grown up in the same house. Unfortunately, the owner could no longer care for them and had surrendered them to the shelter. Ellie couldn’t think of separating them, so she adopted both. That’s when the veterinarian suggested that Ellie brush Percy’s teeth. As if that was ever going to happen.
Ellie fixed herself a roast-beef-and-cheddar sandwich and stood at the kitchen counter. Spring had come a couple of weeks early, and the daffodils, crocus, and tulips were peeking their heads above the ground. She had to admit, Hector was a kid of many talents. Not only was he a computer genius, he was an excellent gardener. Ellie felt that was a good combination for a balanced life.
She knew about his parents and his strict upbringing— strict in an old-fashioned way. Everyone in the family had dinner together every night, and without being tethered to an electronic device. They went to church together every Sunday and celebrated holidays with friends and relatives. And if someone was alone, they would be invited to join.
Ellie had been invited to dozens of dinners and celebrations, and had declined them all, until she felt she needed to explain.
Dear Mrs. Cordoba,
I want to thank you for your many generous offers for dinner. I appreciate the invitations greatly; however, there are circumstances beyond my control that makes leaving my home extremely difficult. I hope you understand, and perhaps one day we shall meet in person, and I will enjoy one of the wonderful dishes Hector has bragged about.
Sincerely,
Ellie Bowman
After she had written the note and given it to Hector, she chuckled to herself. What if they think I’m under house arrest? She mulled it over and decided that was much more interesting than the truth.
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