The Widow's Walk

by Carole Ann Moleti

  “What’s in yer letter?” Kevin’s voice wavered.

  Barely breathing, Mike tried to speak. He pointed. Mae and Kevin’s eyes tracked to the ghosts, silent, oblivious to the living.

  “I should never have come here.” Elisabeth’s voice played in Mike’s head though she was looking at Jared. “If I’d stayed in London, none of this would have happened.”

  “I should never have left you alone.” Jared buried his face in his hands.

  Mike’s stomach lurched, and he put a hand over his mouth to hold back the bile rising in the back of his throat.

  “Merciful, Jesus. Maybe we best get a priest.” Mae’s jaw hung open, her breath puffed out in shallow spurts.

  Kevin put his arm around Mae. “To hell with the priest.” He looked at Mike. “We best call Sandra.”

  The room was cheap, but adequate. She walked downtown to get snacks and milk at Trader Joe's on Boylston, a few blocks from the post office on Massachusetts Avenue. Cold walk, all uphill past the Fens, this time of year. The steep hill kicked her butt and strained her knee even more.

  The stroller groaned under the weight of the shopping bags. Liz scouted out a payphone near the post office.

  Marti answered, even without a known caller ID. “Hello?”

  “Marti, it’s Liz. Listen I’m in Boston and need help.”

  “What happened, sweetie?”

  The sound of her friend’s voice summoned tears. “I have to get away for awhile. Too much going on, and things are really bad between Mike and I. He left.”

  “Oh, Liz. Come right over.”

  “No, Eddie and I are taking a vacation. Can you babysit my car? It’s parked right near my old house, and I just mailed you the keys.”

  “Sure. Where are you going?”

  “I’ve got some research to do for my book.”

  “So, where are you going?”

  “I’d rather not say. This way if anyone asks, you don’t have to lie.”

  “Are you sure you’re okay? You know you can count on me to keep a secret.”

  “I’m fine. Lots of loose ends to tie up. Then I’m going back home to the Cape.”

  “Okay, Liz. Promise to keep in touch so I don’t worry.”

  “I will, Marti. Thanks. Love ya. Bye.” Liz hung up before she had to give any more information.

  The walk downhill, back to the motel, took her farther and farther from anyone, anything she knew. She and Eddie had a quick snack. It was getting late, and Bill might have already left his office.

  No way could Liz imagine taking the baby on the T to Government Center. Not in this cold, not with her leg hurting the way it was. She needed to be in control, or at least look in control, when she confronted Bill.

  A quick make up freshen: dark lipstick, hair up. Eyes lined, dark mascara. She wasn’t playing demure tonight. Liz tightened the brace under her slacks and bundled Eddie into the front pack carrier. He’d have to survive the cab ride without a car seat.

  The woman in the deserted lobby looked up as Liz passed, then back at her computer screen. The chlorine smell from the pool mingled with the odor of bad Chinese from the hotel restaurant. Good thing she’d stocked up for later.

  Streetlights blinked on. The sky was a pale gray with streaks of orange and purple clouds. Bare tree branches waved like skeletal baseball fans over the deserted, windswept parking lot. Could opening day at Fenway only be a month off? Would spring really come?

  “Can you get me a cab?” Liz asked the woman at the desk.

  “Sure.” She picked up a red phone and mumbled into it. “He’ll be here in a minute.”

  “Thanks.” Liz stepped outside and sucked in fresh air.

  Eddie fussed, rubbed his eyes. She’d interrupted his nap. He snuggled under the blanket to escape the chill wind. The black and red Chevy pulled into the circular drive.

  Liz eased into the back and pulled the seat belt around both her and the baby. “Leverett Saltonstall Plaza.”

  The cabbie grunted his assent.

  It had been a long time since she’d been to the office that once was Gerry’s. Would Bill be there, working, pretending nothing was wrong, that he wasn’t under criminal indictment? Or was he holed up in his neighboring co-op? Was Margie, the long suffering secretary, still on the job? Would she tell Liz where Bill was, call to announce her, or call the cops? This was crazy and would likely get her into legal trouble., But who the fuck cared right now? That’s right, who the fuck cared? He’d stolen money from her, and she was toting the baby that, except for the grace and goodness of Mike Keeny, would have had no father and a destitute mother.

  Guilt gurgled like Old Faithful. Facing Bill as pissed as she was: easy. Hurting Mike was another matter.

  The ghost was quiet, content to know that in forty-eight hours they’d be in England–the first time Elisabeth had returned since the day she’d sailed off to Boston to meet Edward. Not unlike when Liz had summoned the courage when she bought the Barrett Inn. And what she was about to do now.

  The cabbie, accustomed to sullen riders, said nothing until, “Saltonstall Plaza. Twenty dollars, ma’am.”

  Liz handed him two tens, and two singles. Cheap, but she had to stay under a hundred per day. The door thudded behind her. She looked up at what used to be Gerry’s office window, half expecting to see him silhouetted in the yellow-orange light. The neighboring one, Bill’s, was dark. He wasn’t there.

  Odd, her heart beat normally. She’d dreaded the scene in front of Margie the secretary and the other partner more than confronting Bill.

  Liz walked toward the luxury building where Bill made his home. She knew the apartment number, the floor; they’d been there many times over the years. The last time had been some charity function. She’d worn that sexy red gown. Black stilettos. Gerry wore his tux. Cummerbund. Hot. They could barely keep their hands off each other until they got home. A year later, Gerry was dead.

  Stop, not now. Liz hesitated. Would Gerry approve of her plan to confront the prick that stole his money, betrayed his trust, ruined his practice? A sense of warmth flowed through her, despite the wicked wind scuttling papers and discarded Charlie Cards across the deserted plaza.

  Liz smiled. “Thanks, Gerry. This one’s for you.” She strode into the building, to the same doorman who had been there for years.

  “I’m here to see Mr. Jeffers. 1220B.” What if he didn’t live there anymore? Had fled? Gone into hiding?

  “May I tell him who is calling?” The man studied her, took in the infant in the carrier huddled under a blanket, likely wondering if Jeffers had anything to do with it.

  “Mrs. Elizabeth Levine.” A little white lie, nothing compared to Jeffers’ deceit.

  A flicker of recognition passed over his face. “Of course, Mrs. Levine. I’m sorry, it’s been a while.”

  “Yes, it has.” He knew how to stay out of the tenants’ business, and how to protect them. Would he announce her?

  Liz put on her best stone face, pulled herself up high despite the aching back, the throbbing knee.

  He caved and picked up the phone. “Mr. Jeffers, Mrs. Elizabeth Levine to see you.”

  An Alvin the Chipmunk voice, unintelligible, dribbled from the receiver.

  He replaced it gently on the cradle. “I trust you recall the way.”

  The door buzzed open. Liz ducked in before he changed his mind and crammed herself into the elevator. She needed some company to distract her, help her pretend this was a routine business or social call.

  She hopped out and walked toward Bill’s gorgeous three-bedroom with panoramic views of Boston. He was waiting in the doorway, his look somewhere between a cornered fox and a deer who’d just realized it was about to be hit by an SUV. She slid her hand into her pocket, took out her phone, and tapped on
the voice to text.

  Eddie, lulled to sleep by the car ride, hung like a lead sinker. Liz’s back and neck ached, the pain in her leg now extended up into her right hip. She struggled not to slouch, to limp.

  Barefoot, baggy chartreuse silk pajama bottoms that had seen more prosperous times, the matching shirt partially buttoned over paunch, a day’s worth of scraggly beard and tousled, gray streaked hair that stuck up like devil’s horns on the back of his head–the once high powered lawyer was obviously melting in the heat of investigation.

  “Liz.” The stench of stale beer laced Bill’s breath. His eyes, red rimmed, darted side-to-side.

  “Bill.” Though toting an infant, one leg in a brace, her heart threatening to come out of her chest, Liz’s clothes fit, and she wasn’t drunk. Seeing him rattled bolstered her confidence.

  “Come in.” He tripped on a drooping pant hem but righted himself. Still had that leer. The same one as when he’d propositioned her.

  “No, thanks.” No way would she allow herself to be in his apartment while holding her baby. Her arms closed around Eddie, as if that would protect him.

  To Bill, being in control, being on top, was paramount. Not being there had to be killing him. Small consolation, but he was as miserable as all the people he’d defrauded. “What are you doing here? Don't you use that phone to take a picture.”

  Deep inside, Gerry’s fury gurgled and spewed from Liz’s mouth in a feminine version of his deliberate incisive trial lawyer’s drawl. “The last thing I want is a picture of you. But I’ll call 911 if you get anywhere near me. Why did you do it, Bill? You took advantage of my son’s vulnerability. Used it to prop open a window and sneak in to rob me. And then, not content with destroying one family, you went on to decimate others. You ruined a practice that took years to build, betrayed your partner, your staff. And you have the balls to ask me what I’m doing here?”

  “I could have you arrested for harassment, stalking.” Bill struggled to control his boozed up tongue.

  “Are you threatening me, Mr. Jeffers?” She could push him over with little effort.

  “You’re the one who showed up uninvited, Mrs. ‘whatever you are now,’ pretending to be Mrs. Levine to get past the doorman.”

  “Call the cops, Bill. I dare you. Have me arrested. Wait until I stand up in court describing how you felt threatened by a woman holding a baby in the hall outside your apartment. You know, a widow, like the other widows you stole money from. You’re a scumbag. You’re going to jail. You’re going to hell.”

  He waved her away and turned to go back inside, fists clenched. Just before the door closed, Liz put up her hand to hold it ajar.

  “Give it back. All of it.” The words were out before Liz realized that Gerry had stolen her voice.

  “You better get the fuck out of here now.” Bill gritted his teeth. The muscles in his neck twitched, the veins bulged, pulsed.

  Touché. Probably having nightmares. “Gerry’s haunting you, isn’t he? Sweet dreams.” Liz walked away.

  Bill’s gaze bored into her back. Would a bullet go through her and kill Eddie, too? The door slammed as she turned the corner to the elevator and slumped against the wall, dripping sweat, her heart pounding.

  She hugged her son close. Liz had done her dirty work, now it was Elisabeth’s turn. She took the elevator alone and dashed across the lobby. Huffing, puffing, limping, abandoning all pretense, she passed by the doorman.

  “Good night, Mrs. Levine. Nice to . . .” His greeting vanished into the revolving door.

  The cold froze tear droplets on her face. Eddie whimpered. Two police officers walked across the plaza in her direction. Could Bill have called the cops?

  Nauseated, shaking, Liz walked as slow as she could so as not to raise their suspicions. She contemplated ducking into the T station, but would be cornered there buying a Charlie Card or waiting for the train.

  She hurried down the plaza steps toward Fanueil Hall and blended into the dinner-going crowd, wishing she could just stop into the old Steaming Kettle and relax. It was a Starbucks now, anyway. The cops did come down the stairs, but from her vantage point behind a shuttered souvenir kiosk, Liz saw them going in the opposite direction. She hastened to the taxi stand and hopped into the first car.

  The driver turned, a wicked grin on his face. Was she being paranoid? Should she get out and take the next one? The baby’s desperately needed diaper change diffused the tension. The cabbie lowered his window and put the car in drive.

  “Howard Johnson’s Fenway.” She exhaled. It was going to be a long night.

  Chapter 26

  The ghosts faded into the tiniest motes of dust. Mike just made it to the bathroom sink. Kevin’s patted his back.

  Mae closed the lid on the toilet, sat down. “It’s all coming back to me, dear God, like it just happened. I was so tired. We’d been up all night. I shouldn’t have . . .”

  “No more.” Kevin took her hand while still tapping Mike. “It wasn’t your fault the last time, and isn’t this time either.

  Mike rinsed his face, his mouth, the sink. Goosebumps popped out. Chilled, shaking, his stomach hurting like he’d been punched, he forced himself to breathe. He took a swig of water.

  Neither had noticed their brogues fading, Kevin’s into stilted turn of the century speech, and Mae’s into Katherine’s shy, wispy British.

  He had no idea who he was, never mind who he sounded like. “What did your letters say?”

  Mae shrugged before burying her face in Kevin’s chest.

  He embraced her and spoke to Mike over her shoulder. “Only that she was sorry to upset me, but not to worry. To please give the horses extra snacks because they’d miss her and Eddie visiting. That she’d be back as soon as possible.”

  “Any idea where she went, Mae?” The two women shared lots of secrets, maybe she’d be able to parse some meaning, some inkling from the wording.

  She grabbed a tissue and mopped her nose. “I don’t know. Maybe if I study it. I’m too upset.”

  Shit, this was too weird. Did they realize their ghosts were speaking for them, through them?

  Kevin was typically upbeat, optimistic. “We’ve got to be calm, think this through. She doesn’t have much money . . .”

  “Oh, yes she does.” Mike interrupted. “Got a payout of a CD. The question is, where else could she go? Boston? Her lawyer is there, and her old friends. I bet she’s down there holed up with Marti. I’ll try and find her number on an old cell phone bill.”

  “Good idea! We can look online and see the call activity. I have all the account passwords in case I need to pay bills.” Mae snapped back to herself, seemingly never realizing she’d been gone.

  “What about Sandra?” Kevin put his hands on his hips. “Are the two of ya forgettin’ what we just saw?”

  “Ya should’ve been here last night. Looked like Jared was about to attack Liz, and that Elisabeth was ready to escape from inside her.” A look of alarm, like someone had stuck her with a pin jolted Mae upright. “If Elisabeth’s in control, I’m not sure Liz can stop her.”

  Mike grabbed her shoulders. “What happened?”

  Mae chewed her lip. “Jared was coming toward Liz. It looked like hands, legs growing out of her.”

  Another piece popped into the jigsaw, but the puzzle was far from complete. “Out of the dimension Sandra said she was trapped in.”

  Kevin raised his hands like he was doing the wave at a baseball game. “I said fifteen minutes ago we should call Sandra. The longer we wait, the further Liz can travel.”

  Mae shook her head. “No good will come of that woman bein’ here, Kevin. She’ll blab it all over town. Liz will be ruined, committed.”

  Mike stroked Mae’s arm. “I trust Sandra more than I trust my wife right now. I think Kevin is right. Two against
one.” Mike fumbled in his pocket, found his wallet, rifled through the cards. “Here it is.” He picked up the phone.

  “If ya think I’m goin’ to be in the same room when ya go through yer little black book, Michael Keeny, and callin’ yer . . .”

  “Mae!” Kevin put his hand over her mouth. “What’re ya sayin’ fer the love of God!”

  “Sandra is my friend, nothing more. I want my wife back, whole, healed.” Mike dialed.

  Mae stormed out.

  Three rings, and the message picked up. “Moonstone. Leave a message.” Chiming bells, a gong. Each sound pounded Mike’s head like a hammer.