by Clea Simon
“Damn, I’ve been too slow.” I thought she was talking to herself rather than me. “I’ve got to get moving.”
“There’s nothing either of us can do, I’m afraid. In the eyes of the law, she’s doing everything right.”
“Just wait, Theda. Just you wait.” She looked over at me and I dared a glance back. “There’s something going on, I know it. And I’m going to get to the bottom of it.”
“Are you planning something?” I hadn’t liked the look on Violet’s face, a stare of intense concentration shot with anger. Would she torch the old building for revenge, turn it into some sort of feminist cat-hair funeral pyre in her friend’s memory? “You know, the cops have gotten reports that someone has been in Lillian’s house.” I wanted to warn her. “They’re on the alert, now, and they’ll arrest you if they catch you there.”
“They won’t catch me. And I’ve got to keep searching. I know the answer is in there somewhere.”
“Is that why you took the spare key?”
“What? No. I mean, I took it to make a copy, but I put the hidden one back days ago. I figure anyone who knows about it should have the right to use it. I just wanted my own.”
“You put it back? Oh, tell me another one!” My exasperation was only partly faked. She was growing on me, sure, but she still wasn’t being straight with me. “Violet, what am I going to do with you?”
“You sound like my mother.” She was changing the subject, but I couldn’t force answers from her. Not while driving.
“You’ve got a mother?”
“Hmmm, two really. My dad passed away when I was a kid and Mom and Alice have lived together since I went off to college.”
“What college?” It wasn’t the question she expected.
“Bay State Arts,” she said, and I could hear the pride in her voice. The private art school drew international talent in all media to teach, and the gifted students went through a rigorous jury system for a place in each class.
“Impressive.” It was. “Did you graduate?”
“No.” Her voice dropped, and now it was her turn to sigh. “Mom got sick and it was all Alice could do to take care of her. I transferred to the state school, started taking biology classes. I thought maybe I’d end up a vet. But then even that got too pricey, so here I am, the punk-rock barrista. Maybe I can make some money as a cat sitter.”
“Oh hell.” I suddenly remembered Lillian’s cats.
“What?” Violet sat up fast and looked around.
“Cats. I just remembered. Isn’t tomorrow?” I didn’t know how to say it.
“Yeah, D-day. I’ve been thinking about it all morning. But I know the shelter. They’ll give them all day tomorrow in the hope of getting just one more placed. But then, it’s the shot.”
“Damn.”
“Yeah,” she said. “Damn.”
We rode in silence for a while then, watching the budding and still bare trees go by. And when we started to talk again, it was about less pressing matters. She’d grown up in a rural area in upstate New York, not unlike the farming country around Northurst. She still had cousins there, people who would welcome her if things ever got too tough.
“But I’m a city kid now, you know?” I did.
In turn, I told her about my own upbringing. In comparison, my comfortable suburban life, decent public schools and private college sounded pretty easy. But neither of us had any siblings, so when I told her about losing both my parents within a year of each other almost ten years before, we were on common ground.
“It’s weird, knowing that it’s just you now, isn’t it?” she asked.
“Yeah, that’s it. The sense that you could walk off the face of the earth and nobody would know.”
“Until rent was due, anyway.” We laughed.
“I think that’s what I get out of the scene, in a sense.” I was trying to put into words the series of disconnected thoughts I’d had during my run that morning. “It’s not family. I don’t even know how many people I know that well. And I do see my close friends outside of bar hours, but….” I let the thoughts trail off.
“It’s family of choice.”
“Exactly.”
“But, well….” Now it was Violet’s turn to stop in the middle of a thought.
“What?”
“You’ve got to be careful.”
“Yeah, Mom? Anything specific?”
“I told you the other night, when you wanted to know why I stalked off, that I saw this creep, right?”
“Uh-huh.” I remembered.
“Well, he was more than creepy. He was dangerous. He tried to rape me.”
“In the Casbah?” I was appalled.
“No, no, it was at Lillian’s actually. About a week before she died.”
“Back up, what happened? And do you know this guy?”
“No, I don’t. I’ve never seen him with anyone I know, either, or I’d get the word out. Just some—some real creep. What happened was one night, after rehearsal, I went over to Lillian’s. She’d gone out to visit Dougie that day, and she didn’t always get the bus back. So I thought I’d swing by, see how the cats were doing. You know, feed them, scoop out the litter if it needed it. It was around midnight, but I can be quiet. I figured, worst case, Lillian wakes up and finds her litterboxes have been cleaned.
“So, anyway, I let myself in and was being as quiet as I could be, when I heard a noise. I started to turn around, when suddenly this bastard grabs me. He had his hand over my mouth and I tried to bite him, but he just laughed. He laughed! He said something horrible, something creepy, like, ‘Well, what’s this little bonus prize?’ and pressed me up against the wall. He had his hands all over me. I was trying to kick him—he had my arms sort of wedged against the wall—but he’d caught me totally off guard. And then a light came on in the next room. It was Lillian. She’d heard something and she must have known somehow that something was wrong. She started yelling,‘Who’s there? Who’s there?’ She said something about having a gun, though I know she didn’t. Then she yelled, ‘I’m calling the police!’ and for a moment everything was still. I think she would’ve, too, if she really had to—despite all her old fears. But just for a minute there was silence. He was staring at me. God, he was creepy. Then he dropped me and ran. I kind of had the wind knocked out of me or I would’ve gone for him, then. I swear I would’ve. I’d have been able to take him, too. But he was gone.”
“Damn, that’s awful, Violet. I’m so sorry. But why didn’t you let Lillian call the cops?”
“Let her? Are you serious? After dealing with storm troopers, she wasn’t comfortable with anyone in authority. And I wasn’t going to press her. I’d been through that once already and, believe me, the cops are no better than that jerk was! I wasn’t going to put myself in their hands again.”
“Not all of them are bad.” I thought of Bill Sherman. My cop.
“You’re not a street girl with purple hair. They see me, they see ‘fair game’ written on my forehead. Besides, the guy was gone. And I could’ve taken care of myself—could’ve taken care of him, I mean—it’s just that he startled me. Lillian scared him, but if she hadn’t I would’ve been able to fight him off. I was just waiting for my opening.”
“‘She may be little, but she is fierce,’” I quoted at her, unsure whether to laugh or start lecturing.
“Huh?” Violet looked up at me. I shook my head, amazed at her spirit if nothing else, and she continued. “So when I saw him in the Casbah the other night, it made sense.”
“What?” I wasn’t following.
“He must know about me. Maybe he’d seen my band or something.” I shook my head. I didn’t understand. “A lot of guys, well, no, that’s not fair—some guys think that if you’re gay you’re a threat to them, to their manhood. Or a challenge. You just need to get worked in or something.”
“Oh.” Of course. Violet was lesbian. I’d just never put it together.
“You know I’m queer, right?”
&nbs
p; “I do now.” I laughed. “Sorry, I just never really thought about your sexuality.”
“That’s okay, Theda. You’re not my type either.” I shot her a look and she smiled back. “But that’s one of the things that was so great about Lillian. You’d think that her generation, they’d be more traditional, be full of the stereotypes and crap. Well, she knew and she didn’t care. Hell, she was always asking me if I couldn’t meet a nice girl and settle down! After that night, she wanted me to move in. Not to help her out, but so she could keep an eye on me. But I loved her too much for that. It would’ve felt like I was taking advantage. Now I wish I had.
“Damn!” She slapped the dashboard and sat up straight. “Maybe it wasn’t about me. I’d figured he’d been waiting for me, knew my habits. Or maybe he’d heard the rumor that Lillian has some kind of treasure trove buried in among the old magazines and kitty litter she kept. That one keeps coming back. Or he was just a local jerk. But maybe he wasn’t after me. Maybe it wasn’t a simple break-in or random or anything. Maybe that creep was out for her—and then he came back and hurt Lillian. But why?” She bit her lip. “Damn, damn, damn. I should’ve confronted him when I saw him at the Casbah. I should have grabbed his skanky ass the other night when I saw him walking through the club. But, you know, Theda? I was afraid. Me! I saw him and I just wanted to get away.”
“That’s human, Violet. And, you know, you might have been right the first time. It might have been gay-bashing.” I paused, silently cursing her secretiveness. “But why didn’t you tell me this? I mean, did you tell anyone?”
“I can take care of myself, Theda.” She stared straight ahead, trying for tough. All I could think was how young she looked, how vulnerable. I wanted to argue with her, to point out how her assumption had helped a criminal go free. How it might have led to Lillian’s murder. But she looked so fragile just then, and besides it was too late.
Instead, I asked as gently as I could, “You never called the cops about the break-in, about the rapist, did you?”
She shot me a look. “You have to ask?”
No, I didn’t.
mmm
We made the rest of the trip in a silence that gradually grew more comfortable. Violet took charge of switching tapes, I tried to think of a way to pass along all this new information to Bill without involving her. I couldn’t quite see how to do this, not yet, and was grateful for her occasional interruptions to give me directions. Worcester sped by, and the day continued bright and clear. But about a half hour later, once we’d taken the exit for Northurst, I realized that our easy mood was changing again. It was me: I was growing more tense rather than less. Something other than Violet’s story was weighing on me.
“It’s coming up, right on the left,” said Violet, and I caught myself clutching the steering wheel hard. There didn’t seem to be anything around us to make me nervous. In fact, everything looked better than normal. Idyllic even. As we cruised down Dougie’s street on the outskirts of Northurst, what I saw was an old and settled community, with newer ranch-style houses interspersed between their tall, older neighbors. At Violet’s prompting, I pulled up in front of one of the big, original houses, three stories topped with eaves and flanked by towering oaks that had just begun to bud. A wheelchair ramp curved around to the porch, and the fresh, flawless paint job—light lavender, with darker purple and black for the trim and shutters—marked it as slightly different from its neighbors, but only in the sense that it looked better cared for. Clearly, despite the money stolen, Greenleaf House had its supporters.
Dougie was waiting by the steps, smoking a cigarette, as I pulled up to the house. Dwarfed by the huge old building and the shadow of two tall trees, wearing the beat-up cardigan he’d had on at his mother’s funeral, he looked vulnerable rather than threatening. But that didn’t mean he couldn’t have had a psychotic episode, especially if his treatment had been disrupted. It didn’t mean he hadn’t accidentally caused his mother’s death, I reminded myself as he looked up, waved, and stubbed out the cigarette with slow, deliberate movements.
“It’s because of the fire they had out here,” Violet was explaining. “No smoking indoors.” He started toward us, and as he got closer, I saw how big he was. Even plump and out of shape, he would easily be a match for an old woman. Violet waved at him. “Plus, they’ve all become extra careful about disposing of their butts.”
“But wasn’t it arson?”
She shrugged. “Yeah, I guess so. But, hey, everyone is so quick to blame these guys anyway, it can’t hurt for any of them to be extra careful.”
Feeling vaguely ashamed of my own suspicions, I managed a smile as Dougie reached the car. Violet got out to greet him and they exchanged a brief hug. She pulled her seat forward so he could squeeze his considerable bulk into my back seat, and then introduced us.
“Dougie, do you remember Theda? She was at your mother’s memorial.”
“No, I don’t remember,” he said quietly, his voice a monotone. “But thank you. Thank you for coming to my mother’s memorial service.”
“You’re welcome. I’m sorry for your loss.” He looked up and nodded, then went back to hunting for the backseat seatbelt. My rearview mirror showed the top of his balding head, the remaining hair curly like his mother’s. Suddenly an intense face stared up at me and I started.
“Found it!” I heard the seatbelt snap.
“Shall we?” I sighed and started the car.
Violet answered for us all “I’m starving!” and gave me directions back to the village we’d passed by. A few blocks out, toward the local community college, we found a strip mall anchored by two fast-food joints that disrupted the almost rural calm of the town. Dougie started bouncing in his seat, and I realized one of these was our destination.
“I’m not really sure how to talk to him,” I confessed to Violet, once we had parked. “I’ve written about mental illness before, but I’ve never really spent time with someone who was, well, this disturbed.” Dougie had gone straight in to one of the garish outlets and stood in line, studying the illuminated menu overhead with rapt concentration. I’d delayed a bit, looking for the break to confess my fears to Violet. I felt as out of place as the restaurant’s big plastic signs.
“Just talk,” she said, as we followed him in. “He’s okay when he’s on his meds. He’s just a little stiff, a little formal.” She looked back at me and saw my hesitation, the awkwardness I wasn’t sure how to overcome.
“Theda, he’s basically a very shy guy.” She pulled close to me so we wouldn’t be overheard by any of the lunch crowd who were filing past us. “Just keep in mind that he’s sort of fragile. Don’t yell at him, or even talk too loud. And, well, you know, keep your voice steady if you can. He doesn’t like loud noises or anyone he doesn’t know getting too close. It’s only been the last two visits that I made with Lillian that he let me hug him. I think he’s more embarrassed by his illness than anything else sometimes.”
What qualified as a loud noise? Could something have startled him that night at Lillian’s? I didn’t see how I could ask Violet, she seemed so attached to the guy. Nor could I tell anymore what was a legitimate suspicion—and what was really just my own discomfort with Dougie. Instead I asked, “Does he know?” I wasn’t sure how to phrase it. “I mean, does he know I know about his schizophrenia?”
“I think he assumes everyone does. Sometimes he gets sort of preachy, you know, saying he wants to raise awareness and that he’s a client not a patient, that kind of thing. Some days he seems more vulnerable. Play it by ear.”
We’d pushed through the door and Dougie had turned back to look at us, so we broke off.
“Shall we order?” His voice, though low, was polite and modulated now.
“Yes, let’s.” I was falling into his somewhat courtly style.
“Three cheeseburgers with fries, right?” Even Violet seemed a bit subdued, in volume if not spirit. “And sodas? Or coffee?”
“Diet for me.” I was relaxing.
>
“Soda,” said Dougie. “And extra fries. Don’t forget the fries!”
“As if I would,” she chided him and went up to order. I reached for my wallet, but she waved me away. “My treat, you guys. Go find us a table.”
I followed Dougie, who had quickly turned and headed out to the restaurant’s wing. Large floor to ceiling windows gave the alcove the feel of a greenhouse, despite the plastic chairs and tables, and I began to see how this could be a pleasant outing. But then we sat, and we were alone. My nervousness returned, and I did my best to swallow it. It was time to ask some questions.
“Dougie. May I call you Dougie?”
“Sure. You’re a friend of Violet’s. And everybody calls me Dougie.” The big windows made the alcove ring with echoes, and his low voice was barely audible. I leaned forward without thinking. He drew back, and I made myself do the same.
“Thank you.” How to begin? “I wanted to ask you about the trouble at Greenleaf House a few months back, when you left for a while.” I didn’t really care about the fire or the theft, but if it had prompted a relapse on his part, it seemed like a good place to start.
“I lost my job.” I wasn’t sure I’d heard him, but resisted the temptation to lean forward.
“Your job?”
“I had a job in the office at Greenleaf. Three hours a day.” He’d picked up the salt shaker in what I now saw were yellow-stained fingers and started turning it around.
“What did you do?”
“Filing mostly. I was in charge of some mailing, too. Whatever the counselors needed.” The salt shaker went round and round.
“I’m sorry about that. Did you lose it because of the fire? Or because you left Greenleaf House?”
“He said I was bad. That I wasn’t telling him the truth.” The fingers holding the salt began to tremble and he clamped them hard around the shaker. I didn’t know if he needed another smoke or if my questioning was getting to him, but it seemed time to back off. Besides, Violet had just shown up with a tray from which rose a surprisingly delicious smell.
