Marly felt a violent tremor run through her body. Her hands shook and her feet wobbled.
It was one thing to push a screwdriver up into Troy’s brain when he was about to chop her into little pieces, or to fight off Louise at the edge of the crumbling cliff. It was one thing to run away from Del and accidentally pull him into the line of fire. It was one thing to walk away from two dead men in a truck. But this was another thing. This was murder. She couldn’t do it. She straightened up.
After all that. Fuck me. Fuck me, fuck me, fuck me.
She replaced the protective tip on the syringe and put it back in the plastic bag.
Behind her, Marly heard the door from the kitchen open and Diane’s soft voice. “Rosie, I just came back to—Marly! It’s late. What are you doing here? Why aren’t you in California?”
Marly moved to the bottom of the bed to face Diane. “I’m here to say good-bye.”
Diane’s forehead wrinkled as she attempted a smile. “You didn’t have to come all this way for that. It looks like Rosie will be around for a while.”
Rosie moaned, and Marly stretched her mouth into what she hoped was a grin.
“No, I’ve come to say good-bye from Louise and Troy.”
“Louise and Troy?”
Good Lord, Diane is such a dim bulb. But Rosie understood and uttered a mournful, wordless cry.
Marly held Troy’s earring between her thumb and forefinger, and turned toward Rosie.
“They’re in hell, Rosie,” Marly said. “They went over that cliff screaming.”
Rosie started to climb out of bed, but Diane crossed the room and pressed her back into the pillows.
“What are you talking about?” Diane said, still behind the curve.
“Jeez, Diane. Shut up and listen. Louise and Troy came to California to take Elaine and me up to a high cliff, chop us to pieces, and throw us over. But we showed them.” She gasped, overcome by a surge of hate-fueled bile in her chest. “We showed them and they’re dead.”
Rosie yelled something incoherent. She squirmed and thrashed her legs, struggling to free herself from Diane’s hold.
Draping herself across the bed, Diane held Rosie down. “Marly, stop. You’re crazy. Please.”
“I’ll tell you what’s crazy. What’s crazy is all sorts of people going missing and no one cares. Louise and Troy told me. My father, Beanie. He’s up in Schwarzer’s quarry. Ollie Fardig, too. And Johnny. Carl couldn’t protect Johnny and he can’t protect Mark or Pammy or Alison or my mother. And neither can you. Louise and Troy were planning to burn down my mother’s house once the kids were back here.”
Marly’s voice failed her. She bent over and rested her fists on the foot of the mattress. Rosie’s chest heaved and she arched her back like a bow against the hospital bed, her head thrown back against the pillows. Diane went limp and sank onto the chair, her face buried in her hands.
Rosie rolled back and forth, cursing. “Bitch, bitch, bitch. You should be dead. Elaine should be dead. We’ll take care of you.”
Moving faster than Marly would have thought possible for someone so ill and distraught, Rosie opened the drawer in the table next to her bed. Marly’s eyes widened as she saw that Rosie was reaching for a gun nestled in tissues.
Marly’s body was trying to move two directions at the same time. One part told her to run from the room while the other wanted to rush forward, shove past Diane, and pull the gun away from Rosie.
As Rosie’s hand dipped into the drawer, Marly’s attention was drawn by a movement in her peripheral vision. A figure stepped through the open screen door and pointed a shotgun—Marly’s shotgun—at Rosie’s head.
Marly stopped breathing. Diane jumped to her feet. Rosie shut up and froze in place. She dropped the gun back into the drawer.
“That’s it, Rosie,” Betty said in a hoarse whisper. “Helen wants you to know that you have fucked with her family for the last time. That goes double from me.”
Betty smiled a humorless grin, keeping a careful bead on Rosie. “Diane, why don’t you take that gun? Marly, what’s in that bag?”
“Syringes,” Marly said. “Insulin. But I couldn’t do it. Fuck.” She wiped her nose with the back of her hand.
Betty made a soft tsking sound. “Marly, you are overwrought. Helen called me this afternoon and told me you might be paying a visit tonight. I didn’t move quite fast enough to stop you, but you made the right choice. Now you need to take a break. Give Diane your bag with the syringe. And that one with the jewelry, too.”
Diane stood and staggered to the bedside table. She removed Rosie’s gun from the drawer, holding it as though it were a dead rat. She clenched her jaw several times and turned.
“Yes, Marly. Give me all that. There’s some food in the refrigerator. Go use the bathroom. You look terrible. Clean up and get something to eat.”
Too drained to protest, Marly relinquished the bags and stumbled out of the parlor to the bathroom off the kitchen.
By the time she’d finished in the bathroom, the door into Rosie’s room was shut. Marly rattled the doorknob. Locked. Only a few soft murmurs escaped. Marly wondered if she should warn Betty not to pull the trigger of that shotgun.
The refrigerator revealed a crusty pot roast, boiled potatoes, and some limp broccoli. She wrinkled her nose and grabbed a can of sweetened iced tea and a brownie from a pile on the counter instead.
The sugar definitely made her feel better. She paced the kitchen and checked out the other rooms.
Betty came out and shut the door behind her.
“Time to go, Marly,” she said. She held out the two bags and let them drop with a soft plop onto the table. “I think you might want to dispose of all this.”
Marly studied the contents. The syringes and ampules looked the same as when she’d handed them to Betty. “What about Rosie?”
“Don’t worry about her.”
“Where’s Diane? Did she talk to Helen too?”
Betty shook her head. “Don’t worry about Diane.”
“Betty—”
“I had an understanding with Rosie. I never discussed it with Carl, but he knew the bargain I’d struck. I wouldn’t say anything about Johnny. I wouldn’t say that Mark and Pammy were Johnny’s children—my grandchildren. If I kept my mouth shut and made nice, she’d leave them alone, even in California. That meant leaving you alone, too, because they needed you.”
Betty went to the sink for a glass of water. “Maybe they would have killed those children in your mother’s house. Maybe not. Louise might have made up that part to scare you more. But no question, Mark and Pammy would have been so hurt and damaged if anything had happened to you. And that was not our agreement. My precious grandchildren.”
Marly’s voice came out in a ragged whisper. “According to Louise, they have arranged for ‘friends’—that’s a quote—to jump Carl. They are just waiting for the word, which Louise was going to deliver tonight.”
Betty sank into a chair. Her face twisted into a mask of pain, then softened back into her placid, calm façade.
“I’ll tell Carl. He’ll most likely know who she meant,” she said, and waved her hands. “His business.”
Marly rested her forehead on the table, too tired for tears. “How do I make peace here? I can’t take this anymore. I can’t go to the police. They can’t keep us safe.”
“I assume you are the one who stole all that money. That gives you leverage. Carl will be taking over soon. Once things are clear, you call him. Maybe in a week or two. You tell him you want to make amends. You say that dealing with Rosie was not an option but that he’s different. You’ll make him whole. You’ll return that money you stole, and in return I can come see Mark and Pammy and be their grandmother, for real. And he can come too.”
Marly groaned.
“Just from time to time.” Betty patted Marly’s head and smoothed her hair. “That’s not such a bad thing. Now you go.”
“I want to see her.”
Bett
y stood. “Leave now, Marly.” She returned to Rosie’s room, closing the door. The lock clicked.
Marly finished her brownie and let herself out the kitchen door. She circled the house, but Betty and Diane had shut the windows and pulled the shades to Rosie’s room. Exhausted, Marly worked her way back into the trees where she found her backpack and the shotgun where she’d left them.
She called Betty’s name and heard it echo back to her from the woods. Only the tree frogs answered. Alone in the dark, she walked back to her mother’s house by starlight.
26
Marly: Sic Transit Gloria
June 17–25, 2009
The dirt road to Schwarzer’s quarry was rough going. Marly parked at the top of the rise, not certain that her low-slung rental would be able to clear the roadbed for the rest of the journey. She wanted her presence in Charon Springs to remain a secret, but that would be impossible if she had to hike out to find someone to tow her car. She walked downhill using her flashlight to find her way along the vestiges of the old road, most of it washed away by runoff from heavy rains.
Growing up she had avoided this place, although like all kids, she had sneaked in to look several times. Hidden in the woods, about twenty feet off the old deserted road, lay the quarry, a mere fifty feet across and seventy feet long. Starlight winked innocently from the surface of the water.
Everyone knew this was an evil spot. There was no way out once you had jumped or fallen into the deep waters that filled the hole left after Old Man Schwarzer had tired of extracting limestone. The sheer sides dropped straight down all the way around, ten to fifteen feet. Her friends Chuck and Harry had once come with a rope, vowing to swim, but they both chickened out. No one jumped in. Voluntarily.
Marly wondered if her father had been alive on his last trip here. She hoped not. Had he thought of her, Charlene, or her mother? Had he been as terrified as she had been at the top of that cliff in the Santa Cruz Mountains?
Marly pulled out the bag with the syringe and insulin ampules. They appeared unused, but she would take no chances. Using her gloves and a cloth, she wiped off each item and replaced them. She filled up the bag with sand and small pebbles, squeezed out the air, and tossed the sealed unit into the center of the quarry. She repeated the same procedure with her second package: the pendant, ring, earring, and watch she had taken from Louise and Troy.
Someday, someone would drain this cesspool. Bodies and evidence would pop up. She wondered if that would be her in lifetime.
Marly sat in meditation, caught up in the memories of her father and the other people she knew who were resting just below her feet. But she couldn’t stay here forever. She wanted to go home—to her mother’s house. When Marly had returned the shotgun to the barn, Denise had still been out, but she would be home by now. Last call at the Rock was two a.m. She ached to hug her mother, but knew that would be a sentimental mistake.
Instead, Marly hiked back to her car and drove to a secluded spot on the far side of Charon Springs. She dozed until dawn. At first light, she headed for Rochester.
Stopping at the top of the western ridge out of town, she parked in the middle of the road and walked back for one last look down into the village. She watched the new sun bathe the hillsides, the trees, the church steeple, the rooftops, and even the Rock, in gentle, healing light, as mists released from the valley and drifted up to embrace the sky.
She cried for her father, who had never had a chance, and for her mother, who had no inner compass to guide them out of harm’s way. Vicious human nature had robbed Marly of her place in this world and made her hate this lovely valley that had both molded her and driven her away. She cried from relief that she hadn’t killed Rosie.
Back in the car, Marly drove at a slow pace to Rochester and checked in for her flight to California. This time Homeland Security waved “Edith” through without comment. Marly considered an upgrade to first class, but decided that would be tempting fate.
Once she boarded the connecting flight from Pittsburgh to San Jose, she planned to sleep, but she spent her time pretending to read, lost in her reveries.
She was no murderer. The abuse and sense of helplessness accumulated over the years had crested into a fury so consuming that she had walked right up to the edge with Rosie. But she had backed away.
Marly didn’t think she was a sociopath, either. She had empathy. She didn’t think that she was above the laws that governed others. She believed in consequences. She didn’t own a gun. She respected cops and believed in law and order and did her best to make sure that Mark, Pammy, and Alison thought the same way.
She’d been squeezed into some tight corners and thought that she had no one to help her. But over the years, Andrea, Mrs. Haas, Elaine, and Helen had come through. And Betty.
Law enforcement was not up to the challenge of determined Harris mayhem. That fact required continued self-reliance on her part. Witness protection was a nonstarter. Even if she qualified for the program, her mother would never have been able to adhere to the rules of a new identity. Leaving Denise behind was not an option.
Over the Rockies, Marly settled back for a nap. As her anger receded, she could recognize how much Tony meant to her. She would build a healthy, normal family with him. If he would still have her. She would tell him about Del and Zeke, but she would never tell him about Louise and Troy, and she would not lose any sleep over that. If she made her peace with Carl, the Harris threat might be neutralized. For the time being.
Once upon a time, she had been a listener in the snow, savoring life in a frozen landscape. Now she had grown up.
* * *
Marly tossed her disposable phone in a trash can in the San Jose Airport lobby and caught a cab home. There was one message waiting on her answering machine. It was from her mother.
“Oh, Marly. I have the worst news! Rosie died in her sleep last night. This is just awful. Please call me.”
Perhaps it had not been a dream after all. Diane. Betty. It was after eleven at night in New York, but her mother picked up on the second ring.
“Hi, Denise. Mom. It’s Marly. I just got your message. What’s up with Rosie?”
“I can’t believe it. Rosie’s doctors had told her that she was doing better. Betty helped put her to bed and Diane checked on her when she came home at three in the morning and she said Rosie was fine. But this morning she was dead.”
“What did the doctors say?”
“Oh. Dr. Duckworth said that she must have been worn out from all the chemo and the lung cancer. These things happen, I guess. It’s just not fair.”
“He came down to examine her? In person?”
“No. You know he never comes to the Springs. He talked to Diane and Betty. They’re both nurses, so he trusts them.”
“He’s going to sign the death certificate?”
“Oh yeah. He’s the coroner, you know. No question about it. Heart attack.”
Marly vowed never to say another bad word about the good doctor.
“Will you come for the service next week?” Denise asked.
“I can’t do that, Mom. Mark and Pammy come home on Saturday and Alison comes back on Sunday. We head to England for the summer next week, so there’s a lot to prepare for. It’s too crazy.”
Denise sniffed. “Rosie thought so highly of you, don’t you know? She was always asking about how you were doing. A couple of weeks ago, she was saying such nice things about you, how she admired you, and how glad she was to hear the kids were doing great.”
Marly squeezed her eyes shut and spoke from between clenched teeth. “That’s real sweet.”
“She’s going to be cremated. That worries me. She was raised Catholic, you know. She went to our church sometimes but she wouldn’t let Del or Zeke be cremated. She was adamant. Now Diane insists that Rosie told her she wanted cremation. It’s in writing.”
“It sounds like she had a change of heart, Mom.”
“And she wanted her ashes dumped into Schwarzer’s quarry. Of
all places.”
“Kind of out of the way,” Marly said. “But I’m sure she had her reasons.”
“I wish you were here.”
“You’ll see us in England, right? We have a house lined up in Oxford and you’ll be there in about a month.”
“Yeah, that will be real nice, I guess. I don’t know that I’ll feel comfortable there. And don’t ask me to drive. I hear that’s really hard.”
“Fine, Mom. Don’t worry, I wouldn’t dream of asking you to drive.”
* * *
The next day, Marly’s morning run ended at Helen’s house.
“Hey, Marly,” Elaine said as she opened the door. “Mom’s making pancakes.”
Helen waved a spatula. “Sit, sit. Elaine, get Marly some coffee.”
Marly studied Elaine’s face. “You look better.”
“Ugh. My ribs still ache and this black eye will take forever to fade. I’m going to have to come up with a story. But otherwise I’m feeling fine.”
“Betty told me about your phone call, Helen.”
Helen raised her eyebrows. “What? I haven’t spoken to Betty in years.”
Marly looked from mother to daughter. It was clear that neither was going to admit to anything.
“Okay. Have it your way. I do have news, fresh from Charon Springs. My mother called last night, quite upset. Rosie died in her sleep late Tuesday night or early Wednesday morning.”
Elaine crowed and raised her coffee mug in a mock toast.
Helen cocked her head and saluted with her spatula. “That’s a shame.”
“My mother’s a bit worried because Rosie’s going to be cremated. She was raised Catholic. Practicing Catholics don’t usually choose cremation.”
Helen’s smile faded. “Is that true? I had forgotten that.”
“According to my mother, Diane says that’s what Rosie wanted. She also wanted to have her ashes deposited in Schwarzer’s quarry.”
Helen turned her attention back to the pancakes. “That’s as good a place as any. Sic transit gloria Rosie.”
A Short Time to Die Page 25
