by Paula Boyd
"Sure we do, Rick," I said. "Another unwed pregnancy."
Jerry stopped pacing and stared at me, presumably wondering if I was just being hateful, which I was not.
"You may be right, Jolene," he said. "But from everything we’ve come up with so far, Rhonda Danvers was a model citizen, not even a parking ticket to her name. She was on the PTA board when her son was in school and recently started helping out at her grandson’s preschool."
"Oh, geez, let me guess, she worked at a bank and taught Sunday school too."
Rick’s blue eyes widened and the tips of his ears turned red beneath his blond curls. "Yeah. Teller of the Year three years running at Community National and she taught the teen class at Sunrise Baptist."
Now, why did that news piss me off? Because I knew it was a lie--all of it. "Let me guess, you got your information from her son."
"Yes, but it’s all checked out so far," Rick said. "Looks like she turned herself around."
"Well, Saint Rhonda had a little slip yesterday in the grocery store. So did sonny boy. They both looked ready to kill me right then and there." Before I let myself get all worked up again, I said, "What’s the story on her son?"
"Harley Roy Danvers was born in Redwater Falls," Rick said. "Father was listed as a Roy Lee Danvers, deceased."
The name was made up, so there was no point dwelling on that. "Is Harley in the military?"
Rick shuffled some more papers and nodded. "Was. He just received an honorable discharge from the army. Didn’t reenlist because he wanted to be closer to his son. Harley Junior’s mother died in childbirth about a year ago. Rhonda had been taking care of the boy ever since."
This was not the Rhonda I knew or the one I’d seen this morning in the United Supermarket. And frankly, learning about the Miss Goody-Two-Shoes version was making me a little ill. I stumbled back over to the chair and started to sit down when it hit me what was wrong--or at least part of what was wrong.
"Wait a minute!" I said, rushing back to the table and spinning the yearbook back toward me. "Rhonda’s picture wasn’t circled, was it?" Jerry and Rick both shook their heads.
I turned to the senior class photos and found hers, then flipped the page backward. "Look!" Rhonda Davenport’s oval picture fell almost exactly on the flip side of Russell Clements’. "So, it wasn’t Russell’s face that was circled, it was Rhonda’s?"
Jerry and Rick both checked the pages for themselves.
"The paper was wet," Rick said. "But it sure looked like the mark was on the side with Clements. I guess it’s possible it could have bled through. We don’t have a lab report back yet." He hurried to the phone again and made another call.
Jerry and I waited while Rick tried to get the lab people on the phone. No one was available and he wound up leaving messages at several desks to try to get some of our immediate questions answered.
There were several ways to look at this situation. If Rhonda had been the one marked for murder then Russell should theoretically be safe--only he was missing. Or, if Rhonda actually hadn’t been circled, and it really had been Russell with the red mark around him, then our killer wasn’t necessarily working on the X’s and O’s program and anyone on any page was a potential target. There were likely other possibilities as well, but nothing that pointed to any kind of clear logic. I sat back down at the table and relayed my theories to Jerry and Rick.
Neither seemed to find my summation a major revelation so I paged over to my own senior photo, then turned it to check the other side. Only white space and lines of text graced the same area. Jerry’s page was the same way. "No question about those circles," I muttered. "Let’s try the teachers’ page."
Jerry put his thumb to a dog-eared page and flipped it over. Willard Pollock’s cocky grinning pose took up the top half of the page; the school superintendent--who’d been there when dirt was invented--scowled out from the bottom. That was one we could scratch off the list as he’d died a few years after I graduated. "There were no marks on these pages, right, Rick?"
"Right," Rick said then looked at me suspiciously. "Any of these teachers have histories I should know about?"
Rick was getting to know me a little too well, I feared, and it did not escape my notice that he’d backed way off on the playful flirting thing. Kind of hurt my feelings.
As much as I preferred not to, I gave Rick the condensed versions of my problems with Pollock and Sharon Addleman. When I casually mentioned that I’d also run into Ms. Addleman in the grocery store, both Rick and Jerry very nearly fell out of their chairs.
The grilling that ensued was neither interesting nor pleasant, particularly for me. And if anything enlightening came of it, I surely missed it.
Jerry did jog my memory on the photography club thing, but I’d never come up with anything concrete that might pertain to murder. Now, however, there was a small connection in that everyone in that club photo, except Bud-the-underclassman, had either accosted me in the grocery store or was dead. Rhonda got checks in both boxes. And all these incidents meant what?
Nobody seemed to have a clue, least of all me. After swearing under oath that I hadn’t forgotten to tell them anything else, Rick gathered up his papers and took off back to his office. I suspected that Sharon Addleman would be the subject of a prompt investigation.
As Jerry locked the flip latch behind Rick, I stood and stretched. "Gosh, it’s almost eleven. Want me to buy you a burger somewhere? This room is getting awfully stuffy."
Jerry narrowed his eyes at me. "It’s going to get a whole lot stuffier before you step a foot out of it." And he didn’t say it nicely either.
"Now, Jerry--"
"Save it, Jolene. You’re going nowhere."
In an unusual move, I decided to keep my mouth shut. If I wanted to leave I darn well would--somehow--but I knew better than to announce that fact to Sheriff Parker. Without a word, I grabbed another Dr Pepper and marched myself back to my own little room.
One look around told me that the fancy furniture and plush carpet wouldn’t keep me entertained for very long. I don’t much care for television, but other than reading the hotel guide or the Gideon’s gift, it was all I had. No, not all I had. There was the telephone. And I did need to check in on my mother.
I walked over to the desk and dialed my mother’s number. On the fifth ring, the answering machine picked up. I hung up and redialed. "Hello?" she said, sounding a little breathless.
"How’s it going?"
"What? Oh, Jolene. Why, everything is just fine out here. Are you just now getting up? Do you know what time it is?"
Oh, yes, I knew. I also knew she was turning the questions back to me to avoid answering any herself, not that I was going to ask much. "I just wanted to let you know that I’m okay." Even though I found another body last night. "No need to worry about me." Not that you are.
"Well, that’s good. I knew you’d be all right with that fine sheriff guarding you. Bowman County sure does have some top-notch officers."
Oh, please. Two months-as well as two days--ago she was calling them goons and thugs. I rolled my eyes and took a different approach. "Sounds like everything is going pretty good out there. You and Deputy Harper must have settled your differences and come to some sort of mutual understanding about things."
"Why, yes, we did. Everything’s just fine. No problems at all. Now, you’re sure everything’s okay with you?" she asked, remembering to throw in a little motherly concern to confuse things. "You’re not in any trouble, are you?"
She didn’t fool me for a second, but I played along with her pretense of concern. "I’m fine. Jerry’s fine too. He’s staying in the room next door. We’re being very good little children. We’re all just safe and sound as can be." Rhonda-the-slut’s dead and I found her, but not to worry. "Well, glad things are going well out there. I’ll check with you tomorrow."
Lucille muttered some obligatory thing that made it sound like she semi-cared what I’d said.
And yes, it did peeve me ju
st a tad that my mother could have a man walk in off the street and fall right at her feet whereas I, well, my pathetic situation was fairly obvious. "Have a good time, Mother," I said, cringing as she giggled. I also said good-bye, but I think she’d already hung up.
I muttered a little as I grabbed the TV remote and turned the thing on. I took all the pillows from both beds and made myself a nice little backrest, flopped down and started changing channels. Samantha the witch stopped me, but I only got to see the last nose twitch and Darrin’s obligatory kiss before the credits rolled.
The shows from that time period are comforting to me, turning back the clock to a more innocent time. I was singing along with the theme song to Gilligan’s Island when Jerry walked in. I didn’t stop. "The weather started getting rough," I chirped, loudly and off-key. "The tiny ship was tossed--"
"I guess getting chewed out for an hour by two law enforcement officers doesn’t faze you."
"Nah, I’m tough. Besides, this is the beauty contest episode."
"You hate beauty contests."
"Yeah, but in this one the monkey wins. And rightfully so." I pulled out a pillow from behind my back and threw it at him. "Have a seat. Ginger really pours it on in this one. You’ll like it."
He tossed the pillow back on the bed. "Don’t ever forget to tell me about things like this ever again. Okay?"
"I didn’t deliberately not tell you about Sharon Addleman, I really just didn’t think about it after my Rhonda trauma. Now, I will admit to deliberately withholding information on Harley, but you weren’t so very happy with me at the time and I didn’t want to make it worse."
"Beside the point. I don’t care how mad you think I am--"
"I got it. The truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth, so help me Jerry."
He did not smile, just marched over to the desk in the corner of my room, pulled out the chair and sat down.
I proceeded to be intensely interested in Gilligan’s goofiness. "Tell me the truth, Jerry, who do you like best, Mary Ann or Ginger?"
He thought for a minute then said, "Ginger was every boy’s fantasy, but Mary Ann’s the one you’d take home to meet your mother."
"So, you’d pick Mary Ann?"
He shook his head. "No. I wouldn’t want either one of them. But since we’re coming clean about things, and for the sake of honesty." He gave me a pointed look that I didn’t much care for. "There’s something you need to know. I almost asked Rhonda to marry me once."
I sucked in my breath. "What!"
Jerry grinned. "Got your attention, huh?"
"Yeah." I punched the remote, stopping Skipper in the midst of his first exasperation. "But you’re lying."
"No, I’m not," he said seriously. "I really thought about it. When it came down to actually doing it, however, I wasn’t that noble."
He ran his hand through the wavy black hair and sighed. He hadn’t explained anything, yet I could already guess where this was headed. Maybe not specifically, but in a general "save the lost puppy" kind of way. He had never been in love with Rhonda and I knew it, but he’d always had some kind of strange connection to her that I resented. I didn’t say anything, just waited for him to say what he needed to.
"Remember when we were in the sixth grade and Rhonda moved into a house a few blocks from the school?"
Yes, I did. Vividly. That had been the real beginning of our rivalry. As I recalled, her mother had married a guy named Davenport, hence Rhonda’s name, and they’d moved into the house by the school about the same time. I don’t know if they owned the place, or if Mr. Davenport already lived there, or what, as those details weren’t particularly important to an eleven-year-old. Funny, I also couldn’t remember what her name had been before it became Davenport. "Older white frame house with a little tiny fenced front yard, right?"
"Yeah. Did you ever go inside?"
Believe it or not, I actually had. "Just once. I walked over with her at lunch to get something, we were maybe in sixth or seventh grade. I don’t even remember what she went to get or why I went with her, but it was probably the last time we even pretended we could stand each other."
Jerry tapped his fingers lightly on the desk. "Remember much about the house, the family?"
"Not really. We didn’t stay but a couple of minutes. I think her dad, step-dad, was there."
"He was home with her a lot," Jerry continued. "He didn’t work much, if at all, mostly hung around the house and drank, I think."
The shudder shook through me before the memories fully caught up with me, at least consciously.
The house had been dark and not very neat. The man had been in the living room, sitting in an old recliner with frayed sides, watching television. He’d yelled something at her. At the time, I didn’t even recognize the words or the slurred delivery, or maybe I just blocked it all out. Now, as an adult thinking back, I knew he’d been calling her vulgar names and that he’d been drunk. A sickening wave rolled through me. She’d grabbed a notebook, a green spiral, and run from the house. I’d run with her. Once we crossed the street onto school grounds, Rhonda relaxed and it was as if nothing was wrong.
The churning in my stomach told me I already knew Jerry’s secret. "She was abused, wasn’t she?"
"Yeah."
The guy had given me the creeps and I hadn’t even gotten a good look at him, don’t know that I ever saw him at all. But he’d inspired instant distrust and fear. "When did you find out?"
"I was maybe fourteen, walking in front of the house. The window was open. I heard him yelling at her, saying horrible things. He slapped her and shoved her down on the bed."
Oh, God, I could guess what had happened after that. I didn’t want to hear it any more than he wanted to verbalize it, but we both knew. And for the first time, my heart went out to Rhonda.
I felt my eyes tearing up, for Rhonda, for Jerry, and even for dumb me who should have done something, who should have known something was very wrong in that household. I pushed up off the bed, walked to the desk and looped my arms around his neck. "Now I feel really awful. I can’t begin to imagine what she endured."
"I imagined it for years, but I didn’t do anything about it. I should have."
"Oh, Jerry, what could you have done? You were a child. Even if you told an adult--"
"I told my dad, but nothing ever changed as far as I knew, and he wouldn’t ever talk about it."
"So you think marrying her would have saved her, made all her problems go away?"
"It would have helped."
I pressed a soft kiss to his temple. "Wouldn’t have helped you."
"Or her either, probably." He turned and looked up at me, smiling just a little. "I felt sorry for her and I felt guilty for what I knew, but I didn’t much like her."
I laughed. "Careful, now, you’re sounding a little like me."
He scooted his chair around and pulled me onto his lap. "I better watch it then, we don’t need two of you."
I ran my fingers along his cheek and the smooth line of his jaw. "You have no idea--"
An obscene buzzing ring jolted me in mid-confession. When I realized the phone on the desk behind me was the source of my irritation, I also felt a relief. I had been about two words away from saying something seriously stupid. I couldn’t remember exactly where I’d been heading, but it was in the direction of sap, such as "How I’ve missed you" or "We’ve been apart too long" or something equally nauseating. The dreaded "L" word might have even cropped up.
As Jerry reached around me and picked up the receiver, I stood and stepped away.
"Sheriff Parker," he said, his voice very deep and very official. "Fifteen minutes. Fine. We’ll be there."
We? Oh, boy. Sounded like a trip to the police station was on my agenda now. At least it beat sitting here watching TV.
I wandered over to the dresser mirror, ran a comb through my hair, fluffed the top a little and tucked the sides behind my ears. There’s only so much I can do with it in the heat and humidity, b
ut I’d rather have it curly than plastered down with no body whatsoever. I slid on a pair of dangly polished stone earrings, then opened my little billfold/purse thing and glazed my lips with a clear and moisturizing gloss. In the mirror, I could see Jerry sitting at the desk, looking down at a business card and punching in numbers.
"John, this is Jerry. One o’clock good with you?"
He glanced at me and I pretended not to notice. His face scrunched up into a scowl and I feared he was having second thoughts about letting me out of captivity.
"Yeah, Rick got the fax this morning. He’s having somebody there type up statements today." He glanced at me again. "Unless I change my mind." After a lengthy silence on Jerry’s part, he finally muttered, "Yeah, I know. Let’s just wait and see how it goes tomorrow."
After he hung up, I turned around and smiled--a small little smile rather than the wide grin I felt like sprouting. "Where are we going to meet Rick for lunch?"
Jerry strummed his fingers on the desk again. I’ve noticed he does this when he’s contemplating how to deal with me. I’ve also noticed it isn’t a particularly good sign. "I’m meeting Rick for lunch," he said.
Uh oh. "But you said ‘we’ on the phone. We means you and me. Right?"
He shoved back from the desk and stood, sighing and muttering. "I make far better professional decisions when you’re not around to confuse me."
Huh? I confuse him? That sounded like a good thing, although I did not smile about it. "Actually, Jerry, I don’t think I’ve done anything wrong in the last few minutes so I don’t know that I’m to blame for anything right now."
He stared at me some more, then checked his watch. "Before we go, I need to go give Amy a call and check on the kids. They should have gotten back from Dallas last night. I need to let her know I’m going to be tied up for a few days."
We again. Good sign. Really good sign. "Tell Amy I said hi," I said enthusiastically. I meant it sincerely as I really do like Amy. Someday, if I ever hang around long enough, I figure we might even get to be actual friends.
Amy wasn’t home and he wound up leaving a generic message on her answering machine. Just as well. She would be terribly upset to know Jerry was on the latest lunatic killer’s hit list. Just because she divorced him--and now dated women--didn’t mean she didn’t care about him. In truth, she probably still felt the same way about Jerry as she always had. She cared for him--for lack of a better term--like a brother. He still felt the sting of her rejection, but he'd moved on to accepting the situation. He seemed to genuinely like her too. Not your usual divorce relationship, and certainly not like mine.
