by Sharon Sala
“Detective Amblin has been very kind,” she said.
John nodded. “I want to thank him for that, too. I’ve lost touch with most of the friends I had in school.” Except for Aaron Carter who is playing snitch for me.
Poppy picked at a hangnail without thinking, then looked surprised when it started to bleed. She wrapped a tissue around it and then put her hands in her lap.
“I see mine now and then, but they don’t see me. Most of them are already married. Some with a baby or two.”
He frowned. “You’re only twenty. Plenty of time for all that.”
“Now you sound like Mama and Daddy. I’m almost twenty-one. Every time I talked about getting an apartment they both had a fit. And I didn’t push the issue all that much either. I don’t make much waiting tables and it costs a lot to live on your own.”
“Tell me about it, although I can’t complain about my salary. I do okay as a long-haul trucker and with no wife and kids, I don’t have that feeling of guilt some do that they’re missing out on the best years of their lives.”
Poppy eyed her brother, trying to see him from a prospective girlfriend’s point of view.
“Do you have a girl, Johnny?”
He smiled. “I have lots of girlfriends, but not one special one. What about you?”
She thought of Vic Payton. He’d wanted her, but the spark between them just wasn’t there, at least for her. He’d chased her for nearly a year before he’d finally given up.
“No. No one special.”
“So we’re both flying solo for now. It’s all good. Whatever is meant to happen will happen, but not until it’s time.”
“I guess.”
“Okay, another tough question. Can you handle it or are you too tired to keep talking?” John asked.
“We need to talk. What do you want to know?” Poppy asked.
“Have you seen Dad’s body?”
Her voice began to shake. “In my mind every time I look at the river - in my sleep every time I close my eyes, but no, not in the sense that you mean. He’s still at the morgue.”
“Then I’m going there tomorrow. Do you want to come?”
“No, and I don’t know if I want to view his body at all.” She shuddered. “He was in the water most of the night. It’s a miracle he didn’t wash downriver because the storm and the downpour were awful. His body probably caught on something. I don’t want a bad image locked in my memory.”
“It’s okay, honey. I just didn’t want to leave you out of the loop if you wanted to go.”
Poppy needed to change the subject. “Your bed is all ready, clean sheets and everything. You know where everything is, but if you need something I didn’t think of, just ask me.”
John cupped the side of her face. “Thank you. It’s been a long drive getting here. I’m going to shower and then hit the sack. I won’t take too long so you can get to bed, yourself.”
“I think I’ll watch TV for a bit. Sleep well, Johnny.”
“You too, Poppy,” he said, then kissed the top of her head and left.
Poppy turned on the television because she’d said that she would, but she couldn’t concentrate on anything except the days ahead. She wondered if the murder investigation was progressing, which brought Mike Amblin to mind. It was disconcerting to try and merge what Johnny said about the detective having been a local football star with the soft-spoken, hard-eyed man who’d come into her life at such a terrible time.
She hoped he was as good at his job as he had been playing football. She wanted her father’s killer behind bars. Well, that wasn’t exactly true. Actually, she wanted to watch him die, but she would settle for putting him behind bars for the rest of his miserable, cowardly life.
****
Amelia Caulfield was restless. The conversation she’d been having with Justin during their dinner had ended on such a terrible note that she’d couldn’t sleep. She wound up in her bedroom, pacing the floor. She didn’t understand why he was so angry, but he obviously was, and – although it didn’t make sense, he seemed angry with her – which prompted a surge of indignation.
She’d done nothing but love him and do everything within her power to make his life perfect from the day he’d been born. The best toys, the best clothes, the best schools, the best education money could buy. She’d been the one who’d set him up with Deborah, who turned out to be the perfect wife, and when he’d called in desperation about Callie’s health, she’d dropped everything to do his bidding. He had no reason to be angry with her and every reason in the world to be indebted.
The longer she paced, the angrier she became. This wasn’t fair and she’d put up with it long enough. She glanced at the clock. It was nearly eleven p.m. If he was already asleep, then it was just too bad. He should be awake and miserable like she was, but when she caught a glimpse of herself as she passed a mirror, she hesitated. No makeup and a dark hairnet over her steel-gray hair. Ah well. It’s not like he’d never seen her face this naked, but maybe it would be a good reminder that she was an old woman who deserved the respect her age demanded.
She tightened the tie on her robe, slipped her feet into her house shoes, and strode out of her room. The nightlight in the hallway was bright enough that she had no problem navigating the distance without turning on lights. As she passed the door to Callie’s bedroom, out of habit she almost stopped to peek in, then remembered her granddaughter was still in the hospital.
By the time she reached Justin’s bedroom she had worked herself up into a snit. She’d raised him better than this. He was going to wipe that sarcastic tone from his voice or know the reason why. Anger fueled the power of her knock as she rapped four times on the door in rapid succession.
“Justin! It’s me. I want to talk to you.”
She took a step back, expecting the door to swing inward at any moment, but when she got no response it made her angrier. This time she doubled up her fist and pounded on the door.
“Justin! Open the door or I’m coming in.”
Indignation was in every line of her body - in the expression on her face - in the tone of her voice as she opened the door and strode inside.
“Justin! How dare you ignore my-“
The room was empty. The bed was still made. As far as she could tell he hadn’t been here since he’d left for work early this morning. She frowned.
“What the-“
All of a sudden she heard footsteps coming down the hall at a fast clip. She stormed back out of his room with an accusation on her lips, but it wasn’t Justin, it was her bodyguard, Oral Newton.
“Are you all right, Mrs. Caulfield? I was making the rounds downstairs before retiring and heard noises and shouting. Is something wrong?”
Amelia sighed. If only Justin was as accommodating as Newton.
“No, Newton, everything is fine. I wanted to speak to Justin and was knocking on his door, rather loudly I suppose. I’m sorry I startled you.”
Oral eyed her attire and quickly looked away. “Then I’ll be going to my room, unless there’s something I can do for you.”
“I don’t suppose you know where my son has gone?”
“No ma’am. He left the house right after dinner and hasn’t returned, but I can find him if you need him.”
“That won’t be necessary. We can have our conversation tomorrow.”
“Yes ma’am, then I’ll say goodnight,” Oral said, and turned away.
“Newton!”
He pivoted sharply. “Yes ma’am?”
“Thank you. You are not just a faithful employee. You are a true and trusted friend.”
Oral stood a little straighter. “It’s been my honor to serve you, ma’am, and I’ll be here as long as you need me... for whatever you need me to do.”
Amelia’s eyes narrowed as she lifted her chin. “Hopefully the worst of our days are behind us, isn’t that so, Newton?”
“Yes ma’am. All is well, and with Callie getting better, there should be nothing left to cause yo
u distress.”
She watched him go downstairs, waiting until she could no longer hear his footsteps before she returned to her room.
Despite her frustration with Justin’s bad attitude, the interlude in the hall had been enough to settle her. She kicked off her shoes then crawled between the covers and quickly fell asleep.
She never knew when Justin came home, and by the time morning came, he had his emotions under control. When Amelia came down for breakfast, he had already finished and was on his way out the door.
“Good morning, Mother. I have early meetings. Have a nice day,” he said, kissed her cheek and was gone before she could gather herself enough to call him back.
****
Mike Amblin got up tired and somewhat pissed at himself. It had been difficult falling asleep and when he finally had, had dreamed of Poppy Sadler - dreams that had no place in a murder investigation. He ate breakfast with reruns of Carl and Hannah Crane’s conversations in his head, trying to make sense of what they’d said, but such was the life of a homicide detective.
Yes, the cops put the bad guys in jail when they could, but usually after days of investigations and interviews and running down leads that went nowhere – always waiting for that one good tip that would blow a case wide open. It was like solving a puzzle and Mike liked puzzles, and with any kind of encouragement, he’d be liking Poppy Sadler, too.
All the way to the precinct, he kept a running scenario of things that could happen to a high school girl at her prom that would be dire enough to bother her husband twenty years later, and none of them were good.
If Sadler had been a jealous man, finding out his wife had a serious lover he’d never known about would piss him off.
If something violent had happened to Helen and she’d never told, then that might be a reason for him to seek justice on her behalf.
What he needed was more research on Helen. If she came up clean, then he’d be convinced this was the wrong angle to pursue, but he had to be sure. If there had been any witnesses to Sadler’s murder, they weren’t talking, and no one had phoned in any tips that could give them a new lead to follow.
Kenny didn’t agree with him, but Mike would bet money the two teenagers they had under arrest were guilty of nothing more than swiping an abandoned car.
The one man who might be able to corroborate that story had suddenly gone to ground. For whatever reason, Prophet Jones had become a scarce commodity. He was hoping the coroner had finished the autopsy on Jessup Sadler and found some evidence they could use.
As he passed The Depot, he saw Vic Payton standing outside in what appeared to be a heated argument with a young woman. Since he was the manager, Mike didn’t think he would behave that way with a customer, so he was guessing it was the new fiancé Poppy mentioned.
“Better you than me,” Mike muttered, remembering his one fling in college and the girl who’d dumped him when she found out he wanted to be a cop, not a professional athlete.
When he reached the precinct he had his head on straight, ready to face the day.
****
John Sadler was up early, but Poppy still beat him to the kitchen. One look at her face and he was wondering if she’d ever gone to bed.
“Coffee’s made,” she said, pointing to the coffee maker. “How many eggs do you want?”
“Two if you fry. Three if you scramble,” he said. “I’ll do toast.”
And just like that, they picked up where they’d left off years ago, sharing the work and the food beneath the same roof. The only thing different now was the absence of their parents.
“Did you get a date set for the funeral?” he asked.
“Yes, tomorrow morning, 10:00 a.m. Gladys and some of the ladies from Mama’s Sunday school class will take care of serving the dinner afterward at the church. She and Mel will be by here around 8:30 in the morning to pick up whatever food that was delivered here we can’t eat and add it to what will come in at the church.”
John eyed her curiously as he slid bread into the toaster slots and turned it to medium brown. One moment she could be so matter-of-fact about the business of dying, and then the next she was crying like she’d been shattered. It never ceased to amaze him how women could departmentalize themselves like this and still function.
“Is there anything you need to do today? Do you have something to wear? If you need a new dress, I’ve got money.”
Poppy’s head came up. “You said the word money, which reminds me. I forgot to tell you what happened before you got here last night.”
“What?”
Poppy cracked eggs into a bowl with a steady rhythm as she recounted the visit.
“A lawyer named Graham Ring, who represents Caulfield Industries, came by. To make a long story short, he said Mr. Caulfield heard about what happened to Daddy and how Mama had passed the same day. Despite the fact that Daddy had already been fired, he put Daddy’s pension through to the family. He said normally the pension would have gone to the widow, but because Mama died the same day as Daddy, he wanted to give it to me. As long as I live in Caulfield, I will receive the full amount of what would have been Daddy’s monthly pension.”
John reacted just like Poppy guessed.
“That’s weird. Dad gets fired, and then the boss gets a conscience. Why does this feel like blood money?”
“That’s exactly how I felt, and yet I took it because, damn it, Daddy earned it. Was I wrong?”
“No. Hell no, you weren’t wrong. Don’t ever think that,” John said.
“That’s not all. The lawyer said Caulfield is picking up the outstanding debts for Mama’s care at Saint Anne’s, and he’s offered to pay for both funerals, although Dad already had Mama’s services paid for.”
“That’s weird,” John muttered. “I mean... the pension I can see, because Dad already had put in more than thirty years with the company, but the other I don’t get. It’s almost like... like-“
“Hush money?” Poppy said.
“Yeah. Exactly. But why?”
“I don’t know, but I didn’t refuse it either, so I guess I let him buy us off.”
“Don’t think like that. He’s the one with the guilty conscience or it wouldn’t have happened, right?”
“I guess,” Poppy said. She whipped the eggs with a fork, poured them into a hot buttered skillet and began to stir. “At any rate, I don’t need a dress to wear, but if I did, I would have the money to get it, okay?”
He nodded. The toast popped up. “Butter and jam?”
“In the fridge. Get some milk, too. I don’t like my coffee black.”
She dished up the eggs as John set the table, and then they sat down to eat.
“Are you still going to talk to the police this morning?” she asked.
John nodded as he chewed. “Which reminds me, I forgot to pack socks. Do you think you could find me a pair of Dad’s to wear until I can buy some?”
“You don’t need to buy any. He isn’t going to be wearing them again.”
He smiled. “That sounded just like something Mom would have said.”
It still hurt Poppy to think of her in past tense, but it was what it was.
“I guess that’s not so hard to understand. I am my mother’s daughter.”
“And I am my father’s son, so I will wear his socks and be glad we both had big feet.”
Poppy giggled then seemed embarrassed she’d been frivolous at such a sad time.
“Don’t do that,” John said.
“Don’t do what?” she asked.
“Feel guilty because you laughed. This used to be a happy house. Hopefully one day soon it will be again.”
They finished the meal in an awkward silence. Poppy carried her plate to the sink.
“I’m going to get the socks. Just put your stuff in the sink when you’re through eating and I’ll clean up after you’re gone. It will give me something to do.”
“Okay,” John said, and got up to top off his coffee and put another piece of br
ead in the toaster.
Poppy walked down the hall with a lighter step. It felt good not to be alone in the house.
She entered her parents’ bedroom with socks on her mind, and once again, was met with faint scents of the pine-scented aftershave Jessup Sadler always used and the much fainter smell of her mama’s perfume.
She could almost believe one of them was about to step out of the closet and ask her what she wanted, but then she shook her head and headed for the dresser.
She opened the middle drawer in Jessup’s dresser, wincing as it squeaked, then remembered there was no longer a need to maintain quiet on her mama’s behalf. She dug into the stack of socks, looking for a pair with the right weight that would work with John’s boots.
Her dad had always been fussy about his socks. He’d wanted them matched in pairs, then turned one into the other until they looked like little fat tubes. When she was a child, she used to sneak out a pair of his heavy winter socks and use it for a pillow for her doll. Even now, this felt like trespassing, digging into his things like this, but knew she was being silly. He would have given John whatever he needed without thought.
As she thrust her hand into the drawer, feeling for a mid-weight knit, she felt something hard and flat. Curious, she dug down then pulled out a book. It wasn’t until she looked inside that she realized it was actually a diary, and according to the flyleaf, had once belonged to her mother when she was a girl.
Poppy started to put it back and then stopped. This didn’t make sense. If this was Mama’s diary, why was it in Daddy’s dresser? It’s not where her mother would have kept it. And if her daddy had put it beneath the socks, he’d intended to hide it. Something wasn’t right.
Normally, she would have put it right back and been embarrassed she’d found it, but their lives were in limbo with a question hanging over their heads. Suddenly there were secrets in this family that didn’t make sense – like someone having a big enough grudge against Jessup Sadler to want him dead. So she took the diary and the socks and met John coming down the hall in his bare feet.
