He said, “To be honest, I just needed to get away and decompress for a few days.”
“All of us doing this kind of work need that. The social work journals call it self care and say it’s burnout prevention, as if we need to justify taking time off just like everyone else.”
The chatter of female voices interrupted his response. A group of three women that Allie recognized from previous trainings entered the pool area. The women joined them and half an hour later. They went to dinner together as a group, choosing the hotel’s best restaurant, where silence and discreet lighting were the featured ambiance.
The hostess showed them to a cozy half-circle booth of plush red leather that embraced a circular table with snowy white table cloth and crisp white linen napkins.
Phil quickly slid into the booth next to Allie, sitting to her left. He insisted on buying a margarita, which she accepted reluctantly but sipped with relish. The others, too, had their favorite drinks as they waited for dinner. Phil took the role of host and raconteur. He made them laugh with half a dozen jokes that began “Tucson is so hot....”
Allie felt relieved the conversation didn’t require her to consider each statement with clinical judgment, structure questions to be non-threatening, or filter her comments through the sieve of empowering encouragements. She forgot everything but this moment and these people, reveling in the effortless exchanges, a stark contrast to the controlled therapy sessions that had comprised most of her communications lately.
The atmosphere of collegiality around the table refreshed her almost as much as her earlier reverie at the pool. A hand on her left thigh provided a brief reality check. Her head jerked to look at Phil’s face. He removed his hand immediately and continued his story seamlessly, without a blink or a blush.
At around ten p.m., they found no more excuses to linger. They left the restaurant together and said good night in the lobby.
Allie had changed into a pair of silk pajamas, washed her face, brushed her teeth and was about to get into bed when her phone rang. She looked at it for a second. She doubted it was really for her. Who did she know who would call her here? She hadn't told Bob or Betty where she would be staying.
She picked up the phone expecting a wrong number but the male voice was familiar.
“Hi, it’s Phil down here on the first floor.”
“Oh. Hi, Phil.”
“I enjoyed our dinner tonight Allie. Ah, I couldn’t sleep and I was thinking you might be awake, too. Would you like to come down to my room for a while?”
“Oh. Well…actually, I was about to...to go to bed. I want to get up early and be on time for the seminar. But--thanks anyway. Bye.”
Her eyebrows shot up as she hung up the phone, then she laughed aloud. Phil wanted to hook up with her, and shocked by his directness, she had thanked him for it.
She wondered if that was proper hook-up etiquette, or if he was now thinking it over and considering her pathetic. Well, he took her off guard. Other men had approached her with the same carnal intent, but never so directly.
She sat on the bed, unmoving, then realized she was considering it. She pictured herself slipping into her robe and taking the elevator down to Phil’s room, the knock on his door and.... No, she couldn’t imagine it, but she wasn’t above accepting and appreciating the little ego boost. In minutes, sleep came to smooth the smile from her face.
The next day she felt invigorated rather than distracted by the tropical ambiance of the hotel and she enjoyed the course on ethics. She arrived at the conference room on time at the start of both days and returned on time after breaks and break-out sessions. She took notes diligently and while making copious notations about inappropriate relationships in the workplace she thought about her own workplace and then about Phil’s straightforward and honest invitation to a sexual encounter.
They saw each other around the conference venue several times a day. He remained cordial and polite, showing no evidence that he felt insulted by her refusal to have sex with him or that he intended to pursue her further. It sparked an idea that she at first rejected then tried to ignore. It rose and increased like yeast bread in a warm oven, forcing her to consider it. If she followed it through to execution, it might help her cope with an issue that troubled her.
The basis of the plan involved sharing what she had learned with other professionals. All licensed professionals were expected to informally support and mentor new, unlicensed colleagues. She had attended many informal, peer-taught trainings as well as trainings for licensure. She felt she had graduated from her newbie status by now. Presenting a training would confirm a more seasoned status in her own mind and in the minds of others.
On the last afternoon of the seminar, she walked through the lobby pulling her suitcase and waved a combined hello/goodbye at other attendees who were also leaving. She was about to walk through the door when she saw Phil turn from the reservation desk and beckon to her.
“Hey, Allie,” he said, “hold up a minute. Heading out, huh?” Without waiting for an answer he said, “Me, too. I’ve really enjoyed talking with you the past few days. Seems we have a lot in common. Here, take my card. Call me some time. Let’s think about getting together again. Just for fun.”
A rush of joy filled her. She looked at the printed information on the business card from his agency then turned it over. No home number or smart phone number. The dead giveaway squelched her hope. She had been taught to consider what her clients didn’t say, or information they didn’t give, as important as details they did reveal. That wisdom could be applied even here.
She looked from the card into his face. “Phil, are you married?”
He hesitated. She knew he contemplated a lie. Then he shrugged. “Busted.”
“I enjoyed you too, Phil,” she said. “But I won’t be calling.”
He turned to go and over his shoulder gave her a parting smile that crinkled the corners of his seemingly innocent blue eyes.
***
Back at her office in the Verde Valley, she approached Betty with her proposal to give a training.
“I think it’s a great idea,” Betty told her, “and I think I know your audience. The Cottonwood social services networking group is looking for ways to learn skills and improve services. A lot of them would love to come and I think some of them need to.” She added, “We meet twice a month, but there’s a computer list serve, so I can e-mail everyone to announce the training. We have about thirty-five members. When are you doing it?”
“The sooner the better, before I forget everything and have to work to decipher the notes I took!”
They set the date for the middle of the following week. Allie made a few calls to other therapists in town, keeping track of the number who said they might attend. The list soon lengthened to a number beyond the capacity of the break room, so she reserved the largest meeting room at the local library.
At a little after five p.m. the following Monday, Heidi stopped by Allie’s office to chat. “I think it’s wonderful that you’re doing this,” she said. “You’re brave! I’d rather work a month of Sundays than get up in front of an audience like that.”
“I’m not looking forward to it, to tell you the truth. Public speaking isn’t my forte either. But....” Allie hesitated, wondering whether confiding in Heidi was fair to the younger woman. Finally, she said, “It’s not all pro bono and benevolence. I have an ulterior motive.”
Heidi said, “Most of us do at any given time. Now I’m intrigued. Can you give me the juicy details?”
“They’re juicy, all right. Come over and have dinner with me this evening and I’ll explain. I don’t know what I’ll feed you. It may be something from the freezer nuked in the microwave.”
“My own spec-i-al-ity. My sauce pan is rusting in the cupboard as we speak.”
Chapter 9
On the same morning Allie would give her training, Crystal was unaware of how her day would go. She answered the phone to hear her aunt’s thin, sweet voice.
The old woman’s words were a little tremulous but clear. “Crystal honey, how are you? How is Danny? Good, good....what about my darling little Toby? That’s good. He’s turning into a real little character, isn’t he? And Kaylee? Is she still loving that pre-school? She’s a smart little girl...well, good, that’s good. Crystal, if you could, honey, I’d like you to come over to see me later this morning. What? We have some things to talk about. No, nothing’s wrong. Don’t be upset. It’s nothing but it would be better if you came while Kaylee is in school and Toby is with your neighbor. You know, those morning play dates you told me about?”
Crystal said, “Yes, sure, of course,” while trying to halt a thread of alarm stitching through her mind. A second after she ended the call with her aunt she called Kim at work. “Kim, I need you to meet me at my aunt’s house during your lunch break.”
“Why, what’s up now?”
“She says she wants to talk to me and she asked me not to bring the kids.”
“She loves the kids!”
“Yes, Kim!”
“She doesn’t want any distractions, hum? Yeah, I’ll be there.”
Hours later Crystal mounted the steps of her aunt’s house. Without her children in tow she felt alone and vulnerable. Other brief episodes of freedom from mothering usually involved window-shopping, a visit with a friend, or the simple pleasure of a bubble bath and a do-it-yourself pedicure. Today she had no such sense of freedom. It felt, as her aunt would say, like the chickens were coming home to roost.
The door to the little 1950's craftsman style house opened before Crystal could knock. “Come in, come in honey. I just made some coffee.”
Aunt Iva wore one of her favorite dresses, a cotton print with sprigs of blue rose buds and lavender daisies on a field of dark blue. She had topped it with an ancient brown sweater that hung from her shoulders like a monk’s robe.
Crystal hugged her aunt gently, aware of the woman’s fragile skin and brittle bones. She grasped and patted her aunt’s age-spotted, blue-veined hand with a rush of affection and tenderness. For the moment, it overcame her anxiety. She followed the old woman’s shuffling, arthritic steps past the living room where an antique Queen Anne sofa reigned, into the dining room.
The dining set stood over a worn rag rug and polished hardwood flooring. Late morning sunlight flooded from the window framed by white lace curtains that were pulled back, the roller shade raised to welcome warmth and light. A coffee service sat ready on the table.
Crystal sat and stared at the shafts of light over the table. They swam with tiny particles of dust like microscopic fish in the sea of air. While her aunt settled, she followed the swirling motes with her eyes, willing to be hypnotized by her senses instead of think about the coming conversation. She noticed that in spite of tiny motes in the air, not a speck of dust or dirt marred the surface of the worn maple wood table and chairs, or anything else in the room that she could see.
She marveled again at her Aunt’s determination and resolve to adapt but not surrender to the disabilities brought by age. To struggle with dwindling physical and material resources toward the single goal in sight, one’s own mortal end, took a courage she could hardly fathom.
“So, what did you want to see me about, Aunt Iva?”
Aunt Iva smiled as she spooned two heaping teaspoons of powdered coffee into the strong black brew in her cup.
“Auntie! What are you doing?”
“Honey, how do you think I get going every morning at my age? You know, if you rest, you rust.” Auntie sipped the potent black coffee with apparent relish. When she had carefully placed the cup back in its saucer with trembling hands, she looked up at Crystal.
“Danny came to see me on his way to work yesterday, Crystal. He wanted to find out how I was doing after my fall. You know, for a few minutes I wondered if I had fallen and then forgotten about it. But I’m not that far gone yet, honey, thank the Lord.”
Crystal felt her face flush as she withstood her aunt’s questioning eyes. Guilt and anxiety struck her dumb.
“Then there’s that charge on my credit card. For a stun gun, for heaven’s sake, and no charge at all for my toaster oven. Honey, I know very little about guns. What is a stun gun?”
Crystal still couldn’t speak. She felt her throat swell and eyes burn with incipient tears.
“Honey, just tell me what’s going on. I can’t be angry at you no matter what the trouble is, and if it’s as bad as I think it is, maybe I can help.”
“You wouldn’t be angry, Aunt Iva? Even if I told you I tried to kill someone?”
“What?” Her aunt’s faded blue eyes squinted and teared as if she’d been slapped.
Crystal wiped her own eyes and clenched her teeth to stem the tide of emotion. It was time to tell her aunt the poisonous secret she hadn’t been able to confess as a child, the poisonous secret that had fueled a murder plot. Slowly, she choked out the sordid details.
Her aunt gasped several times and her face twisted in apparent anguish but she said nothing.
Crystal feared for the old woman’s heart.
Finally, Aunt Iva said, “He did that to you? You were only six or seven years old?”
Crystal nodded. The old woman brought both fists down on the table, rattling her cup in its saucer, making Crystal start in surprise.
“That immoral, unprincipled, miserable son-of-a-sea-cook! He....” She registered the look on her niece’s face and stopped.
She placed one hand on the table to steady herself, rose and went to Crystal. “I am so sorry that happened to you, honey,” she said, grasping and hugging the young woman to her as she would a child, as if the years had never passed.
Crystal accepted her aunt’s understanding with a flood of relief, and with her head against her aunt’s warm stomach, she was comforted.
When Aunt Iva released her and settled again in her chair she said, “I told your Aunt Evelyn there was something not right about him from the very start.” She massaged the knuckles of her gnarled hands then rubbed her knees absent-mindedly, as if trying to banish the pain while she allowed memories to overtake her.
Crystal heard Kim’s knock at the door before her aunt did. “It’s just Kim,” she said. “I asked her to come. I hope you don’t mind. I’ll let her in.”
At the front door, they remained silent but Kim’s cocked eyebrow asked for an explanation. On their way to the dining room, Crystal whispered, “I told her. Everything!”
When they sat down at the table Aunt Iva just shook her head and looked at them as if still trying to assimilate what Crystal had confessed. Kim refused her offer of coffee and instead went to the kitchen and poured herself a glass of water. She returned. Aunt Iva fixed her with a look that suggested she saw Crystal’s best friend with new understanding. “So he did that despicable thing to you, too?”
Kim glanced at Crystal. “Yes.”
“Honey I am so sorry. I never even suspected such a thing could happen--was happening.” She hesitated. “But I should have. Crystal, just after your Aunt Evelyn got sick, she told me she had found something of Frank’s that shocked and upset her. It happened when she was looking for some tools to try to fix a leak in the kitchen faucet. That big tool box of his, the one as big as a refrigerator, there was a separate compartment in there, a false bottom to the thing. I don’t know how she found it, but there were some photographs and some videotapes in there. She was so distraught by what was in them I think it made her sicker.”
Kim and Crystal exchanged glances again. Crystal had hidden behind the tool chest that night in Upshall’s garage. An almost imperceptible nod from Kim told her that she had seen the tool chest too when she had entered the garage to kidnap Upshall.
Auntie continued. “Your Aunt Evelyn said she put those horrible things right back where she found them. Didn't try to watch the movies after what she saw in the pictures. She wouldn’t say what they were, but she said it was unnatural and it made her hate her own husband. She didn’t ta
lk to him about it. Said there was nothing he could say that would explain it. She would never let him come near her after that, not even when she got sicker and needed help taking care of herself. She went into the nursing home rather than let him help her. That’s where she died, you know.”
Auntie’s hands gripped the edges of the dining room table and she looked both tired and sick.
Crystal said, “I’m sorry to bring all this trouble on you, Aunt Iva. I don’t want to burden you. Maybe you should go lie down and rest.”
“No, honey, I don’t want to lie down. I just want to understand this. Were you really going to shoot him, Crystal honey?”
“With Kim’s gun.”
“But then you changed your mind and decided to throw him in that well?”
“That’s why Kim bought the stun gun...on the computer, on the internet, Auntie. She put it on your credit card but paid for your toaster oven in cash. They were the same price, so it didn’t cost you anything.”
“Well that's very nice, honey. I'm happy about that.” She waited for Kim to speak.
“I'm the one who...who threw him in the Well the other night. Then someone else showed up. I had to run. I couldn’t drive his car back so I called Crystal to come and get me. Other than that, Crystal didn't do anything.”
Auntie leaned back in her chair and clasped her hands in her lap. “It helps me to know what happened. For a while there, I thought I was slipping.” She fell silent for a moment then said, “Crystal, honey, he needs to pay for the things he’s done but you don’t want the sin of his murder on your soul.” She looked at Kim. “Or yours either, Kim.”
“You’re right. We don’t,” Kim said, glancing at Crystal, who nodded her agreement.
“You both have your whole lives ahead of you,” Aunt Iva said. “And bright futures, too. You’re a good mother, Crystal. You want to set a good example for your kids, see them grow up to be good people.”
The Well - Book One of the Arizona Thriller Trilogy Page 17
