by Susan Hunter
“Hey, good morning, how’re you feeling?” he asked in the hearty voice of someone who had not consumed way too many margaritas the night before. His eyes were clear, his smile bright. He was disgusting.
“OK,” I whispered. “But could we talk in our indoor voices for a while?”
He grinned. “Here, a glass of water and a cup of coffee. That’ll start you on the road to recovery. I’ve got some over-easy eggs, bacon—”
I shook my head rapidly, then dropped into the nearest chair to ride out a sudden wave of dizziness. “No, no thanks. Dry toast if you have it. That would be great.”
I took a huge drink of water and ate a couple of bites of dry wheat toast before I said, “Look, about last night. I, uh. That is, I don’t want you to think…uh, I don’t usually…I didn’t sleep with you last night, did I?”
“You don’t remember?” he asked, a hurt look on his face.
Oh no. Oh hell. I took a deep breath, “Ben, I—”
Then I realized he was shaking with laughter. “I’m sorry. I couldn’t resist. The expression on your face—” He lost control and started laughing again.
“You know, you’re kind of an ass.”
“Hey, now. Last night you told me I was your best friend. You even sang me a song about it.”
I lowered my head into my hands and muttered, “Stop. Please. Just stop.”
“C’mon Leah. Don’t be embarrassed. No. We didn’t sleep together. You were in no condition to drive. When we got in my car you wouldn’t give me your address. Said you didn’t want your mom to see you. So, I brought you here, took your shoes off, tucked you into bed, and now here you are safe and sound.”
“Thanks,” I said. Then, anxious to change the subject, “So, this is your grandmother’s house? It’s pretty, uh, vintage.”
“I know. Every time I come into the kitchen, I expect to see Lucy and Ethel having coffee. It’s gonna take a while to update it.”
“Well, it made a nice B&B for me. Thanks. But I should get going. Could you give me a ride to my car, and then I’ll just head on home?”
“Nothing more to eat?”
“No, I’m good, thanks.”
I’ve done the walk of shame a few times in my life, but this was the first time strolling into my mother’s kitchen was part of it. As I pulled into the driveway, I noticed Miguel’s bright red Toyota parked across the street. Yay.
I squared my shoulders and did my best to appear nonchalant and clear-eyed.
“Hey! Morning, Mom. Hi, Miguel. What are you doing here?”
“Miguel just brought me some tamales left over from the party last night. I could put a couple in the microwave for you,” she said with an evil glint in her eye.
“No, no, that’s OK,” I said, as my stomach did a quick lurch.
“So, Miguel was telling me you had quite a good time last night, Leah. You don’t look like you’re having so much fun now.” Her voice was filled with faux concern.
“Whatever, Mom. Let’s just move on, OK? Got any coffee? I saw Karen last night.”
“Oh?”
“Mom, if you’re so worried about me asking questions, maybe you shouldn’t be telling everyone what I’m doing.”
“Karen isn’t ‘everyone,’ and, besides, I already told you I talked to her. Don’t get surly with me because you’re hung over.”
I held up my hand. “Sorry. Can we take it down a notch? My head is killing me.”
“Serves you right,” she said, but handed me a glass of water and some aspirin at the same time. “You’re old enough to know better. Did Lacey’s roommate reach you last night?
“Delite? She called here?”
“She said she lost your card, and she wanted to talk to you. I gave her your cell number. I thought about not doing it, but I knew that would only postpone the inevitable.”
I unzipped my purse and started pulling things out and setting them on the table as I rooted around. Camera batteries, my wallet, a battered compact, a bottle of water, geez, my purse was way too big. “Damn!”
“You lost your cell again? Your mamá needs to make you one of those strings little kids use for mittens, only you can hook it to your phone,” Miguel said.
“You know what’s not funny? You. Help me think. I must have taken it out at your house?”
“Sorry, chica, I cleaned up everything this morning. If it was there, I would’ve found it. Maybe it’s in your car?”
I dashed out and started ransacking my Focus. Not on the seats, not under the backseats, not in the door pocket, not in the glove compartment, not on the floor, not in the center console storage box.
“It’s not there. Why am I so careless?”
My mother didn’t say anything, but it was killing her.
“Maybe it’s at Ben’s. Do you have his number, Miguel?” He nodded and punched it in, then handed me his phone.
“Ben, Leah Nash. Hey, could you do me a favor and take a look around and see if I left my cell phone at your house, or maybe in your car?”
“Sure, I’ll call you back in five.”
As I waited anxiously, I grilled my mother.
“What exactly did Delite say?”
“I told you. She lost your card, and she wanted to get in touch with you.”
“But did she say what about? Why?”
“She didn’t say, and I didn’t ask. You’re going to do what you want to do, I know. But I don’t have to be part of it.”
“Don’t you get it, Mom? Delite knows something, I’m sure of it. She as good as admitted that she lied about going with Lacey to a party that night. Maybe she’s ready to tell me why.”
“Now, Leah,” she said in the tone she’s used to correct me since I was two years old. “You need to settle down. You need to get some sleep. You need to take a step back. Honey, I’m worried about you.”
“Don’t be, Mom. I’m fine. I—”
Miguel’s phone rang, and when he looked at the caller ID, he handed it over to me.
“Ben? Did you find it?”
“Sorry, Leah, no luck. I checked all the rooms you were in—bedroom, bathroom, kitchen. It’s just not there.”
“Well, thanks for looking. Talk to you later.” I handed the phone back to Miguel.
“Hell to the max. It’s got to be somewhere. I can’t go without a cell phone. If I don’t find it today, I’ll have to get a new one tomorrow.” Another roadblock loomed. “I don’t have Delite’s number!”
“Yes, you do, just look at the recent call list on Carol’s phone,” Miguel said.
My mother and I exchanged looks—hers slightly defiant, mine definitely I-told-you-so. “That would work, if Mom’s phone was made in the 21st century. She’s still got a 1994 Trimline phone—that one on the wall over by the bar. No tracking phone calls there, right, Mom?”
“It’s a perfectly good phone. It does what I want it to do, and I don’t leave it lying around all over town. I have an answering machine, isn’t that enough? Don’t get snarky.”
At that moment, the phone in question rang. My mother answered it. “What? Yes. Of course. Yes, Max. She’s on her way, I think. No, she’s just running late. She lost her phone. All right. Tell Ellie good luck.”
She hung up and glared at me.
“What?”
“Max is at the Fun Run at the county park with Ellie and Alex and half the town. He wants to know where you are. Leah Marie Nash, I lied for you, and I don’t like it. I told him you were on your way. It’s bad enough you get drunk and go home with a stranger last night, but I don’t want Max to think you’re so hell—”
I shot a glance at Miguel who was suddenly studying with rapt attention a recipe for curried chicken stuck to the refrigerator with a magnet.
“Sorry, Mom, sorry, sorry. I just forgot about it,” I said, throwing things into my purse.
“It seems to me you ‘just forgot’ about everything except your current obsession. No one said you shouldn’t be trying to find the truth about Lacey—”<
br />
“Oh, no. We’re not going there are we? ‘No one?’ How about Max, Coop, you, Paul, everyone in this town except Miguel,” I hissed back.
“Just a minute, missy—”
“Missy? Really, Mom? You haven’t hauled that one out since I was 10 years old.”
“Well, you’re acting like a 10-year-old! A belligerent, willful—”
“OK, great as it’s been talking to you, I’ve got to go. As you know, I’m late.” As I banged the door shut, I heard her say, “Wait, Leah, please. I’m worried about you, I—”
But I didn’t wait, I kept going.
Twenty-Two
The 5K Fun Run—which name seemed to me an oxymoron, fun and run being diametrically opposed activities as far as I was concerned—was an annual event to raise money for DeMoss Academy. The course skirted the county park, looped around a section of the Catherines’ property, then came back by the river bluff where just weeks ago Sister Mattea had plunged to her death. Judging by the chattering crowd waiting for the race to start, and the runners joking and doing warm-ups, no one seemed to mind—or remember.
A bank of clouds advancing from the west suggested a storm in the offing, but if so, it was still miles away. Meanwhile, a few hundred yards from the finish line volunteers, fired up charcoal grills, set up serving tables with paper plates and plastic cups, and unloaded tubs of baked beans and coleslaw, mountains of hotdogs, buns and condiments. Farther over in the park, kids were playing on swing sets and slides. It was the first major event of the almost-summer, and the turnout was great.
As I got out of the car, Helen Sebanski, publicity chair for the event, spotted me and came bustling over with her characteristic half-walk, half-trot, a gait that left her perpetually breathless. She was resplendent in a purple track suit over a T-shirt imprinted with the MGM Grand logo. Her soft white hair was held back by a glittery gold headband.
“Leah, I’m so glad you’re here. I was beginning to worry. I should have known we can always count on the Times,” she said, panting discreetly and smiling as she took my hand in both of hers. I felt a stab of guilt that I tried to assuage with a hearty, “I’m happy to be here, Helen. Looks like a great event. Did you have fun on your senior excursion to Las Vegas?”
“Oh yes. I won $500 on the slot machines. It was just marvelous,” she said, as she took my arm and fox-trotted me over to Sister Julianna and Reid Palmer.
“Sister Julianna, Mr. Palmer, this is Leah Nash with the Himmel Times.”
“We’re already acquainted, Helen,” Reid said, smiling at her.
“Well, that’s a small town for you, isn’t it? But then it’s a small world too, I always say.” She turned to me. “You won’t believe this, but I ran into Sister Julianna when I was in Las Vegas. You brought me luck, Sister. I won $500 after I saw you.”
“That’s wonderful, Helen. Can I count on you to tithe 10 percent of that for the DeMoss development fund?” She winked to show she was kidding. Then she must have noticed the puzzled expression on my face. Las Vegas and Sister Julianna went together in my mind like the pope and McClain’s Bar & Grill.
“I was attending a conference on adolescent dysfunctional behavior at the Bellagio,” she said to me.
“Sister Julianna is being modest. She was the keynote speaker. She’s a nationally recognized expert on adolescent behavior,” Reid said.
“Well, we’re just so proud of all the wonderful work you do,” Helen said. “I—”
“Helen! We can’t find the starting pistol!” someone shouted from the starting line.
“Oh dear, I have to go. But thank you both so much for all you do for the children. And, Leah, I’ll look forward to seeing the write-up in the paper,” she spoke from over her shoulder as she trotted off with a little wave.
“So, maybe I could do a feature about you and your work on the national level,” I said to Sister Julianna. That might be an avenue for access to the Catherines that wouldn’t upset Max.
She shook her head. “Reid is exaggerating. I just like to stay current and make a contribution. Actually, Leah, we were talking about you when you walked up with Helen.”
“Oh?”
“I think you’ve mistaken my feelings about your inquiries. I understand that you need—we all need—to know the truth.”
That was a 180. Had Reid engineered her change of heart? Mine not to reason why, mine but to step up and take advantage of it.
“I wonder then if you know why Delite lied to you about Lacey going to a party with her the night she disappeared?”
“You talked with Delite? She said she had lied?”
“Yes and no. Yes, I talked to her, but, no, she didn’t admit she lied. She was clearly hiding something, though. Her story just doesn’t fit when you factor in Danny Howard. When I pressed her on it, she got pretty belligerent. She also said Lacey couldn’t stand Father Hegl. Do you know anything about that?”
“I don’t think she can be right about that. They were both so interested in music and both such beautiful singers. And Father Hegl loves teaching, especially talented performers like Lacey. In fact, he’s teaching a music class Wednesday nights at the technical college this semester in addition to everything he does at DeMoss.”
“Father Hegl is, as am I, a believer in the transformative power of music,” Reid added.
It seemed to me that this sidebar on Hegl’s devotion to music was a diversionary tactic to get away from the topic of Delite and her lie. “Why do you think Delite would have made up a story about going to a party with Lacey? Do you think it’s possible she was trying to make you believe she was trying to be a better person by accepting responsibility for her behavior? So she wouldn’t get shipped off to juvenile detention? Or, is it possible someone put her up to lying? Because—” My query was cut short.
“I’m sorry but I believe Helen is trying to get our attention, Reid. It looks like the race is about to start. Leah, you’ll excuse us?” She started moving away before she even finished her sentence.
As Reid turned to go he said, “Please call me, Leah. I’m curious to hear more about your investigations.” As they left, I saw Max striding toward me.
“Hey, Max. I saw Alex and Ellie headed to the starting line a few minutes ago. You’re not running this year?” The last time Max ran anywhere was in 1989, when I accidentally hit a softball through his picture window. He ignored my attempt to keep things light.
“I hope you were talking to Reid Palmer and Sister Julianna about the race and nothing else.”
“Don’t worry, I’ve got it covered. It’s all good.” A lie by omission is still a lie, I know. It just doesn’t feel quite as bad.
He fixed me with his fierce eyebrow stare. I stared right back, and then he surprised me. He put a hand on my shoulder.
“Leah, please don’t make me do something I don’t want to do.”
Before I could ask him what he meant, the loudspeaker crackled and runners were ordered to the starting line. He dropped his hand. “I gotta go. I want Ellie to hear me cheering.”
As the runners took to the course, I talked to committee members, got a tally on sponsorships and tickets sold, how many runners had entered, the usual drill for an event like that. As I worked the crowd, I saw Miguel wandering around shooting photos. He must have taken pity on my unprepared state this morning, even though it wasn’t his weekend to work. That was a good thing, because even with the fool proof idiot camera in my bag, I wasn’t confident I could hold it steady enough to take any decent shots.
The first runners started coming in about 20 minutes after the race began. The last ones trailed in about half an hour after that. Ellie took first place in her group. Paul Karr finished 5th for the over 60s, and Miller’s daughter Charlotte got a first. Helen Sebanski was in her glory on the dais, putting medals around the winners’ necks, and Reid made a nice speech about the work DeMoss Academy did, and how grateful everyone on the board was for the community support.
People were still eating an
d talking as the sky got darker and darker. The more experienced committee members, used to the vicissitudes of Wisconsin weather, had begun packing up supplies when the wind started to pick up. By the time the first drops of rain fell, the tables were cleared and the vans loaded. After a few more tentative drops, the pace picked up and people scrambled to their cars.
Thunder rumbled to the west and I dove into my Focus just as a flash of lighting forked across the sky. I was blocked from leaving by an SUV filled with squabbling children and irritated parents who apparently elected to punish them—and me—by sitting in place until the kids stopped crying. By the time they left, the rain was pelting my little compact with such force that the windshield wipers couldn’t keep up even on high speed.
I decided to stay where I was until the storm passed. A few other cars had the same idea, but I moved away from them toward the center of the lot to be out of range of any falling trees. Then I turned off the motor and tilted my seat back. The rain hit the roof and slapped at the windows with a hypnotic rhythm. I reached into the backseat, pulled out the raggedy blanket I keep there, and snuggled under it. I closed my eyes, safe from the storm in the warm cocoon of my car.
With no sound but the rain and my own breathing, my body relaxed and my mind quieted. I fell into a kind of trance. The tangled knot of regret, anger, and guilt that had been tightening around my heart since Sister Mattea’s death, seemed to loosen. My failure to save Lacey, Max’s problems, Coop’s defection, Miller’s involvement, Delite’s stonewalling, Hegl’s role, the mystery of what Sister Mattea knew—everything fell away, and I was just breathing in the semi-darkness of the storm.
At some point, I must have drifted off into sleep, because when I opened my eyes, the rain had stopped. I sat up with a start and looked around. It was still light but the shadows were long. I looked at my watch—eight o’clock. I’d slept for hours.
