Slow Dancing

by Suzanne Jenkins

  “See you later,” he said, waving, and left the café, anxious to return to the station with his latest find, a four-inch steak knife carefully wrapped in a paper napkin in the box his leftovers came in.

  Chapter 24

  Frank and Ellen spent the rest of the day in the yard as they’d planned after the detour to the sheriff’s office. Chicken ready for the grill, they made potato salad and chucked corn and were slicing strawberries to top ice cream sundaes. More flats of petunias sat in the shade, waiting for planting. They’d weed and primp the garden, a favorite summer pastime.

  “Who’s that, sister?” Frank said, looking up at the road, shading his eyes with his hand. A human being walked toward the house, but its sex was unclear. “I need glasses.”

  “It’s Mary!” Ellen replied, disgusted. “Why is she comin’ here?”

  “Bother,” Frank mumbled. “Hide them berries. She’s the last one I want to have to invite for a meal.” Ellen picked up the tray of food and took it around to the back of the house into the kitchen. What did Mary want?

  As she got closer, Frank could see she was in distress. They busied themselves resuming the sanding of the picnic table while they waited for her approach.

  “Hi, thought I’d drop by,” she called when she reached the driveway. She took a rumpled tissue out of her pocket and blew her nose. When they didn’t respond, she stopped walking and called out, “Mind if I come up?”

  “No,” Frank said. “As you like.” Caught off guard by his attitude, Mary hesitated. Frank was always polite, even when the most aggravated with her.

  “Did I catch you at a bad time?”

  Frank stood up. “What can I do for you, Mary?”

  “I got bad news today, that’s all. I came by to give my condolences to Ellen about her real father.” Ellen looked up when she heard the word real.

  “No disrespect, Miss Cook, but Frank here is my real father. My only father. Please remember that when you come around his house.”

  “You got a smart mouth on you for a girl,” Mary snapped. “Frank, I’d think you’d want her to be more mindful of speakin’ to adults.”

  “Mary, why’d you come out here?” Frank asked, exasperated. “We done nothin’ to you. Your opinion about my child ain’t welcome, neither.”

  She came closer, and then sat down with a plunk on the picnic table bench and started to cry. “I never did anything to you, yet you’re so mean to me! I was there for Margaret from the time she got here. Her and you, Ellen. Took you both in and gave you what I had. I never asked for nothin’ in return.”

  “Yet you talked trash about Frank to anyone who would listen,” Ellen snapped. “Shame on you. It’s disgusting.”

  “What did I say?” she said. “That I saw you two through the living room window, in a lover’s embrace.”

  “That’s a lie!” Ellen shouted, Frank going to her and patting her.

  “Quiet up, sister, no point in gettin’ yourself in a tizzy about it.” To Mary, he said, “When in God’s name did you ever see us doing that? Maybe in a dream, or a nightmare.”

  “Just this week! I was walkin’ by the river and I looked up and there it was, as plain as day.”

  “Monday night, someone tore up our garden,” Ellen said softly. “Was that you? Mary Cook, my mother’s best friend. Was that you who destroyed her peonies? The roses? Not a petal left behind?”

  Mary’s face belied her next words as the flush came up her neck. “It wasn’t me. It was a coincidence. I was here on the river’s edge and I saw you and snuck up by the garage. That’s when I saw the two of you, holding each other, rocking, kissing. It was disgusting.”

  Frank chortled loudly, slapping his hands on his knees. “Mary, we was dancin’! What you saw was us slow dancin’, like we always do. You better get home. I don’t think you’re in your right mind, lady. Get on home before I call the sheriff and tell him you was the vandal who ruined our garden.”

  The three of them waited, his words sinking in. Mary, family friend albeit annoying as could be, had so much venom for them that she could do that to a beautiful garden. “How did it get to this? All I wanted was to be your wife, Frank. Be Ellen’s mother.”

  “You can’t force such things, Mary. We would have been together before Margaret ever came to town if it was meant to be.”

  Ellen had left so quietly they hadn’t noticed. She was inside on the phone, calling the sheriff, telling the dispatcher Mary Cook had just admitted she was at their house the night the garden was ruined.

  Sitting at his desk, Boyd had a new file in front of him. In it was the coroner’s report from the autopsy of Margaret Fisher McPherson, nurse’s notes from Hallowsbrook and a narrative from questioning Miss Margo Portland regarding the conversation she had with Ellen Fisher, daughter of the decedent.

  The intercom buzzed. “Sheriff, call on line two.” Boyd picked up the phone.

  “It’s Faye, Boyd. Prints on the trash can knife match the prints on the café knife.” Sitting back in his chair, Boyd couldn’t believe what he was hearing.

  “What about the prints from the room?”

  “They’re unknown.” He could hear her snickering. “Come by my office in about fifteen minutes; you and Madden go pick Mary Cook up for questioning.” He put the phone down and the intercom buzzed again.

  “Sorry, sheriff, line two.”

  “Who is it?” he asked, growling.

  “Ellen Fisher.” Boyd quickly picked up the phone.

  “Ellen, you okay?”

  “Miss Cook is here, sheriff. She’s actin’ strange, crying about the man who says he’s my father.” Boyd stood up and started to gather up his belongings.

  “Oh boy, I’m sorry she’s bothering you.”

  “That’s okay, but she told Frank she was out at the house on Monday and made her silly remark about seein’ us kissin’. Monday night was the night the garden got wrecked. She denied it, but I’m pretty sure it was her.”

  “And she’s still there?”

  “I think so. I left Frank and snuck inside to call you.”

  “You did the right thing, Ellen. I’m on way now.” They said goodbye and hung up. Ellen went to the sink and turned the water on, letting it run for a moment. She filled a glass part way and drank from it, looking out the window. She could still hear the droning of Frank and Mary’s voices, rising up and then down to a whisper as they argued. Praying silently Sheriff Dalton would hurry and get there, she felt guilty about leaving Frank with Mary. She put her ear to the door.

  “I don’t believe you,” Frank was saying, disgust in his voice reverberating. “You’re sick, Mary Cook.”

  “It’s true Frank; I wouldn’t lie about something like that. I loved her and she loved me back. We were together before she married you.” Ellen’s heart was beating so hard, she felt faint. Straining to hear Frank’s response, it took her a few seconds to figure out he wasn’t talking, that he was just as shocked.

  “We went on a date the second day she was here, Mary,” he said, finally. “If what you’re saying is true, you got on her that first day.”

  “It wasn’t like that!” she screamed. “I didn’t get on her. It was mutual.”

  “This is low even for you,” Frank said softly, looking around to see if Ellen was nearby, not wanting her to hear Mary.

  “Believe me, Frank, it’s true. Ask the nurses at Hallowsbrook. They knew we wanted to be alone.” Ellen thought back to the few times they’d arrived on Saturday when Mary had already been there, how jealous she’d be finding Mary in Margaret’s room, her smug smile before she left. Afterward, Margaret ignored her family. What if what Mary was claiming was true?

  “I loved her as much as you did. She was my best friend! I love Ellen, too. I promised Margaret I’d be there for her daughter. And I would have been, if you’d both only give me a chance. Please Frank, give me a chance. I promise I’ll do whatever it takes to please you.”

  Ellen opened the door. “You’re a liar. My mother
couldn’t stand the site of you.”

  “Sister, don’t do it, don’t lower yourself.”

  “Its okay, Frank. She needs to know,” she said, directing the next words at Mary. “My mother once said you had cooties. She begged Frank to keep me away from you and he has.” Frank took her arm and pulled her over to him.

  “That’s enough now. Don’t lower yourself.” The sound of a car on gravel made them look over to the road, to the sheriff’s car turning into the driveway. Frank looked down at Ellen with his eyebrows raised and she nodded her head. Boyd got out of the car, pointing to the house. Frank took Ellen’s arm again, whispering to her. They went back inside, closing the heavy door after them.

  “He must be confrontin’ her about the garden,” Frank said. They went to the window and peeked out the side of the drapery. It happened so fast, they’d later say that it was almost like slow motion, confusing them both.

  “What the heck?” Frank shouted. “She punched him in the gut!” Throwing the front door open, they ran to Boyd who was lying on the ground moaning, holding his stomach. Mary was already at the road, running toward town.

  Trying to catch his breath, Boyd was unable to talk at first. “Jesus,” he croaked. “She’s got a hell of a left hook.”

  “As much as I’m sure you’d like to forget that ever happened, she just assaulted a police officer,” Frank said.

  “What are you saying?” Boyd asked, as they helped him get to his feet.

  “You need to report this. Sister, go inside and call the sheriff’s office again.”

  “No, no, I’ll chase after her. I need to pick her up before she disappears. I came to take her in for questioning.” He didn’t elaborate and they didn’t ask what he was going to question her about when he got into the cruiser, groaning, and left without saying goodbye. Frank put his arm around Ellen’s shoulder and they watched as he turned onto the road, dust trailing behind him, as the car sped up.

  “He’s probably embarrassed,” Ellen said, worried. “I thought she might have stabbed him in the belly.”

  “Like Alan was stabbed?”

  “Yes, just like that. Do you think she did it, Frank?” Rubbing his chin, Frank thought about it for a moment.

  “I’ve said it before, Mary is trouble, but I don’t think she’s a murderer.” But Ellen’s thoughts had shifted from Mary the murderer, to Mary the seducer.

  “I heard what she said about momma. She implied they were lovers, didn’t she Frank?”

  “If they were, Margaret was coerced,” Frank said, stony. He remembered the early days of their relationship, how eager Margaret was to get out of Mary’s house when he would come to pick her up for date, willing to risk town gossip to stay with him out at the cottage before they were married, never allowing Mary to baby sit with Ellen, even for a moment.

  “No, I believe she’s lying. Your momma never kept any information about her past secret. She was honest with me.” She’d said it nearly the first date; she’d had a child out of wedlock, what was there to hide?

  “Then what was it? Why would she say such a thing?”

  “I don’t know, sister. But I do know you shouldn’t be worryin’ about it.” Not wanting to upset Ellen further, Frank’s brain was exploding with ideas of what might have happened to his wife, who might want her dead and why, but he’d keep those things from Ellen.

  Mary may have taken advantage of Margaret, but she might have done much worse. He wanted to take a ride up to Beauregard and visit the hospital. Mary made the accusation herself; the nurses left them alone so they could be together. She was there on the day Margaret died. It was too much for him. Margaret was dead, and it didn’t make much difference who or what took her life. The finality of her death hit him just then.

  “Boy, I’m sorry about everythin’. Sorry you had to lose your mother; sorry you had to hear what Mary had to say. We should be gettin’ on with life, not moving backward.”

  “I’m ready to move on,” Ellen said.

  They walked back to the house. “Let’s have our picnic, okay? We got the day off, although it seems like some people want to ruin it for us. Let’s not let ‘em.”

  “Okay, Frank.” But Ellen’s teenage mind was processing Mary’s words, trying not to visualize her mother in the arms of another woman.

  Chapter 25

  While Margo waited for Boyd to contact her, she stayed busy preparing for the next workweek. She’d navigate between the office in Seymour and the clinic at Hallowsbrook where patient physicals and updating charts would keep her mind busy. It was the most favorite part of her job; taking care of patients with mental health issues was challenging but rewarding.

  Margaret McPherson’s death still haunted her. Margaret petitioned the hospital board to have her involuntary commitment reversed; all the paperwork filed was in her favor. But privately, Margo wasn’t sure it was in the family’s best interest for Margaret’s release and documented the facts in her report. The week of Margaret’s death, the judge ruled in Margaret’s favor, after her next doctor visit the following week, she’d be released to go home. Margo saw her the morning she died.

  “I’m going home!” Margaret was excited, pacing in her room and wringing her hands. Memories disturbed, Margo heard the telephone in the kitchen ringing and ran to answer. “Hello?” she said, out of breath.

  “I’m headed your way in a while,” Boyd said.

  “Is that right?” she answered, smiling. “Well come on over.”

  “I need to make one stop,” he said. Margo knew what it was; he was going to say goodbye to Carol.

  “Okay, well I’ll see you later. Love you,” she said before hanging up, but he was already gone.

  Busily ironing the last few items, putting the board away before he arrived, she glanced at her reflection in the mirror. She was always ready for Boyd, just in case he could find time for her. Being involved with a married man forced her to rethink the way she lived, to make room for him in her life in ways she’d never thought she’d succumb. Spur of the moment requests, cancelations, outright standups were all part of the package. Putting up with it meant relinquishing that part of herself that hoped for a marriage and a family. Maybe now, if he was going to leave Carol, she’d have that chance for a real life with him. She’d been alone for so long with no eligible men in town except Frank. Frank, just thinking about him increased her heart rate. But he was hopeless. Even with his wife dead, he still wasn’t free.

  ***

  Dave found Mary Cook before she made it home. Just as her foot came out between two trees; she’d run through the woods from Frank’s house, the officers were waiting to catch her. Boyd had called them after he left Frank’s, admitting she’d punched him in the gut. They didn’t think it was funny and he was grateful for it. Now he had to excuse himself from questioning her because charges would most likely be leveled against her for the assault.

  “We’re you been, Mary?” Dave asked.

  “Don’t you two have anything better to do?” She asked, exasperated seeing them waiting for her.

  “We hear you’ve done the unthinkable. Assaulting an officer of the law is no laughing matter. It’s an automatic sentence of thirty days for a physical assault.”

  “Poor Boyd, got soft in the middle,” she whined.

  “So you admit it?” Dave asked, getting out of the car. “Put your hands behind your back, Mary Cook. You have the right to remain silent…” he read her rights and while Henry opened the back door, putting hand cuffs on her. She complained the entire time.

  “I usually wear these after someone’s paid for my dinner. I have a business to run, and the weekend is my busiest time. You’ll be responsible for loss of income.”

  “Oh, is that right,” Dave said. “Story is, your last boarder was murdered after you threw him out of your house.”

  “Who said I threw him out?” she asked, sarcastically.

  “When’s the last time you were at Miss Logan’s? Anyway, get in the car will you please
? I don’t want to use force.”

  “Has that bitch been talking about me again? Honestly, she’s the biggest liar.” Mary tried to get in the car with her hands bound behind her back but fell backward into the car. Dave picked up her legs and helped her get in.

  “Actually, story is Johnson himself told everyone over at Towering Pines what had happened.” That revelation shut her up, and they made the rest of the ride to the station in silence.

  ***

  After Boyd filled out the necessary paperwork and the physician at the clinic examined him, a large red welt on his abdomen obvious where Mary had punched him, and after he called Margo, he went home to say goodbye to Carol. Pulling into the driveway of his modest house, he noticed the peeling paint, a gutter swinging in the breeze, duct tape holding a screen in place. His neglect of the exterior screamed divorced mother. But they were still married. Guilt flooded his thoughts. He made a mental note to call a handyman and someone to cut the grass. But the inside of the house was neat and tidy, thanks to Carol. She liked order, and the house reflected it. He smelled basil and tomato, beef and garlic. She was fixing his favorite; Italian food. She always tried to please him, cooking the food he liked, trying to make the house an oasis for him.

  Their boys ran to him and hugged his legs, screaming, “Daddy, you’re home!” He put his hat down and pulled them both up to his chest by their arms, hugging them, kissing their necks. He thought of Frank, taking care of Ellen, loving her, devoted. Frank would kill himself before he abandoned Ellen. These boys were depending on him to set an example, and he was preparing to leave their mother, and ostensibly, the children as well.

  “Let’s go see mommy, okay?” They were still as could be, resting their heads on his shoulders. He walked through the dining room, noticing the table set for dinner as usual, the piles of neatly folded laundry on the buffet, waiting for her to take up stairs to the bedrooms. She was lifting a pot of boiling water with spaghetti, taking it to the sink to pour into the colander when she slipped, gasping and dropped it, splashing boiling water down the front of her legs and onto her feet.