Fatal 5

by Karin Kaufman

  Charlotte flips her glossy hair over her shoulder and winks. “Like I said, I like older men.”

  We open the door to find Miranda sitting near her dining table, looking out the window. Charlotte rushes to her side. “Mom?”

  Miranda turns, extending her arms to us. “Girls! So good to see you two are friends.” We hug her.

  I pull out the journal, feeling a little guilty, since Bartholomew told me not to let anyone see it, especially Miranda. But the greater good is to show it to her so she’s warned about Paul. “We have something for you to look at. If it’s too hard, you don’t have to read it.”

  She nods, sliding her oversized bifocals down her nose and reaching for the notebook. “Another note?”

  “No. Same writing, though. It’s Rose’s journal.”

  Miranda drops her hands and gets quiet. “I don’t know if I should read it. I never quite knew how she felt about me. It was a tricky friendship.”

  Charlotte shoots me a desperate look that clearly says, “You have to smooth this over.”

  I try. “I’ve skimmed over most of it. Really, she’s mostly upset with Paul, as far as I can tell.”

  Miranda sighs. Maybe that wasn’t a comforting thought. I pull out a chair. “Don’t worry. You don’t have to do it.”

  She stretches out a pale hand, steel in her eyes. “Yes, I do have to. Time to figure out what really happened. This isn’t your burden to bear, Tess.”

  Charlotte wipes a tear and sits behind her mother. As Miranda turns the yellow pages, Charlotte reads over her shoulder.

  Apparently Miranda is a fast reader. She gasps a few times, especially at the flower pictures, but for the most part maintains her Grande Dame composure. She’s wearing her chess-master face.

  When she reaches the end, she pulls out a handkerchief that’s tucked into her sleeve, dabbing her eyes under her glasses.

  Charlotte looks at me, and I know we both want to say, “So, what do you think?”

  Instead, we sit in funeral-home silence.

  Finally, Miranda breaks it. “I’ll have to think on this a spell.”

  Charlotte and I get up, leaving Miranda with the journal. Once we’re in the kitchen, I pour water into the kettle.

  Charlotte smiles. “Mom’s Earl Grey? I remember that tradition.”

  I pull out a tea bag. “I hope we didn’t upset her too much. Maybe that was a bad idea.”

  “No, Mom can handle it. She always dealt with the big stuff, more than my dad. When we had to put our dog to sleep, Mom broke the news. When my grandpa had a stroke, Mom told me. When the Challenger exploded, she answered all my questions about death. Wait…you wouldn’t remember the Challenger.”

  I make a face. “No, but I am literate and I’ve seen the replays.”

  Miranda’s voice drifts in. “Girls? Come here a second.”

  We race out of the kitchen. Miranda is sitting with her ankles demurely crossed and her hands folded on the journal. “One thing that jumps out at me is the way she talks about her mother. Her mother was long dead when Rose wrote these journal entries.”

  I’d wondered about that. Charlotte shoots me a horrified glance.

  Miranda continues. “And the whole thing about Paul doing something to C. She must mean Cliff. Maybe she thought he killed him?”

  That makes sense, in a warped way. If Rose was beaten, maybe she’d assume her abusive husband would kill someone else—someone who’d been visiting her. Still, I’d thought of both of these things already. There is a deeper truth here, something that fits all these things together.

  “She also said that Paul was trying to poison her. Now, she never told me that. But she did tell me he hit her. She told me that right before she died.”

  Charlotte breaks in. “Mom! How can you marry him? You were just talking about the Klan and wife-beaters and—”

  Miranda interrupts her. “Because I didn’t believe Rose.”

  What? Now we’re getting somewhere.

  “It didn’t make sense that in the years we were friends, she never once told me. I never saw a black eye or a broken arm. And her story seemed flimsy. Something about him bruising her, as I recall. Well, shoot, Russell bruised me when he tickled me too hard—didn’t mean he was beating on me.”

  So Miranda doubted Rose’s story. Had the Doctor really believed it?

  I turn to Charlotte. “Feel like a drive to Putnam County?”

  45

  ~*~

  She’s expecting, this girl who won’t heed my warnings. She may be even prettier than I was at her age. Has Bartholomew grown captivated with her beauty, like he was with mine? He whistles when he leaves The Haven now.

  Tess Spencer is very good at tracking. It won’t be long until she puts the pieces together. I wouldn’t be in this mess if Bartholomew had turned the journal over to the police when I died. Instead, he kept it, so he protected Paul.

  I shouldn’t be surprised. He double-crossed me. And yet I won in the end. Claire flew out and took Rosemary the moment she was born. Bartholomew didn’t know about that. Silence was expensive, but I covered my tracks.

  Tess still has the journal, as far as I can tell. If I can get close to her house when she’s out, maybe I can search for it. If she’s like Bartholomew, she keeps it hidden somewhere.

  I’m finally free, able to enjoy my second life as Marilyn Davis—the life Cliff wanted me to have. It’s time Paul met with justice, and it’s time I met my daughter.

  ~*~

  After reading the journal and drinking her tea, the Grande Dame seems exhausted. We move her to her bed. As Charlotte walks out to clean up the kitchen, Miranda grabs my arm.

  “Listen, honey, God’s pressed something on my heart to tell you, and if I don’t say it soon, I’m going to pop.”

  I step closer, fighting the urge to pat my friend’s head and tuck the covers around her, like a child. “Do tell.”

  “Rose was an only child. Her daddy wasn’t around much, but her momma took her to church. Rose was the loveliest woman in Buckneck—men threw themselves at her, married or not. Sound familiar?”

  I think about it, finally nodding slowly.

  “But she made a mistake. She wouldn’t go to church or read her Bible. So her views of God got warped, like wet floorboards.”

  I adjust the flickering light bulb in her lamp.

  “I wouldn’t be a friend to you if I let you go the same way.” She clasps my hand. “We all get in over our heads at some point or another. God never lets you down, even if it feels like it.”

  I hold my tears in, looking at Miranda’s spotty, thin hand.

  “Well, think on it. I felt like I needed to warn you. Only the Good Lord knows how much time I have left—no, don’t start crying. I’m ready to go. That scare with the heart pills only reassured me of that.”

  Charlotte comes in behind me, pressing a tissue into my hand. I wipe at my eyes and blow my nose. “Thank you. I will think on it, I promise.”

  Miranda smiles and clicks off her lamp. Charlotte and I walk into the living room, grabbing our outerwear before heading to the parking lot.

  I appreciate that Charlotte doesn’t chatter or ask questions. Once we’re settled in the SUV and I’ve regained some of my composure, I turn to her. “We’re going over to Doctor Cole’s house to ask him some things. He’s been lying to me this whole time. He had to know Rose didn’t die that New Year’s Eve in 1973.”

  She nods. “Let’s do it.”

  We’re both starving by the time we reach Putnam County. When we go through the Wendy’s drive-through, Charlotte orders a Junior bacon burger and fries.

  Curiosity gets the better of me. “I thought your mom said you were a vegetarian?”

  She laughs. “I was when I was in China—safer that way. I could recognize most of the vegetables, but not all the meats. I’d rather eat tofu than pig’s feet, you know?”

  “They sell pig’s feet here in the USA too,” I say.

  “I know, and I’m not going
to eat ‘em here, either! Did your mom ever make kidneys?”

  I fight the coldness that creeps into me every time someone asks about my parents. “No, she didn’t. But I ate plenty of pickled eggs, let me tell you.”

  We swap stories until I pull up to the Doctor’s drive. I call his number, hoping he’ll honor his promise to help out any way he can. Sure enough, he buzzes us in the gate.

  When Charlotte gets a look at his house, she whistles. “He must be pretty well-off to build a place like this. Think of all Rose could’ve had if she’d just divorced Paul and married the Doctor.”

  Good point. Why didn’t Rose just divorce Paul? Was she afraid he’d come after her? Another question for Bartholomew, perhaps.

  The Good Doctor is nowhere in sight, so we park and walk up to the front doors. I tell Charlotte the questions I plan to ask, in case the Doctor’s spicy cologne derails my logic again.

  I knock, and when there’s no answer, I try the door. Images of black-clad shooters race through my mind. What if Rosemary came back to get what she was looking for?

  In the hall, I catch a glimpse of movement toward the left. When I see the Good Doctor waving us into the kitchen, I’m relieved as a hooked fish thrown back into the pond. He’s wearing a red plaid shirt and jeans dusted with flour.

  “Looks like a cowboy,” Charlotte whispers.

  “Sorry, ladies, but I’d agreed to make this pasta for the church dinner—my specialty. Come on in.”

  Charlotte catches her breath as we walk into the kitchen. High wooden cabinets give way to cathedral-height windows. The fridge is cleverly disguised with a matching wooden panel. Natural light floods the marble countertop where he’s working.

  “This is gorgeous,” Charlotte says. “Reminds me of a cathedral in Assisi. Only minus the kitchen appliances.”

  The Good Doctor looks flattered. “Thank you. Now what brings you two all this way? Must be something important.”

  Don’t look at him. Just talk and focus on his hands. “Doctor—I mean, Bartholomew—I think you didn’t tell me the whole truth.”

  I feel his eyes on my face. “In what way?”

  You know very well in what way. I am a bullet, speeding toward my target. I am an iceberg, unstoppable in strength. I clear my throat. “In this way: you knew Rose didn’t commit suicide, yet you continued to perpetrate that idea to everyone.”

  He walks around the counter to look in my eyes. The clove-like smell trails right along with him. “Tess, you’re right. I confess I lied on that count. I’d made a promise to Rose that I’d never tell anyone. I’m only admitting it now because you figured it out. A true gentleman keeps his word.”

  And a true gentleman doesn’t have an affair with a married woman. I buck up against the cologne’s softening effects. “What happened to her after she faked the suicide? And how did she do that, by the way? And why did she go to all that trouble? Why didn’t she just divorce Paul and marry you?”

  He pats my hand, fingers lingering for a second. “Questions, questions. Where to begin?”

  Charlotte interrupts, her musical voice filling the room. “Begin at the beginning, Doc.”

  He offers Charlotte a forced smile. “I believe I shall. I loved Rose, and I wanted to take her away from Paul. He was abusive.”

  I interrupt. “You believed that? Did you ever see signs?”

  “Quite often, her wrists or arms were bruised. Not necessarily her entire body. But of course I believed her. In my experience, you never question the wife’s side of an abuse story. Anyway, I’ve told you about the pregnancy; how I asked her to get an abortion. I hated to do that, but we couldn’t risk Paul discovering it before I could get her out of there.”

  Should I tell him Rose lied to him? Does he need to know Rosemary is probably his child? I silence Charlotte with a look. For now, we’ll keep that information under our hats. It’s just a wonder he hasn’t run into Rosemary at the bistro or The Haven yet.

  “You’ve read over the journal, Bartholomew. What did she think Paul had done to Cliff?”

  His tone flattens. “I’ve wondered about that many times. I could only conclude she thought Paul had something to do with Cliff’s running off the road. She didn’t discuss Cliff with me.”

  I do believe the Good Doctor was jealous of Cliff Hogan. Jealous enough to hurt him? This web just gets more tangled. And who’s the spider in the center?

  Doctor Who whirs in my purse. I pull out my phone, checking the number. Nikki Jo.

  “Excuse me a second.” I step toward the dining room, putting a hand over one ear while I press the other to the phone. “Nikki Jo?”

  “Oh, Tess! Where are you?”

  My heart stops. “Over at Putnam County—what’s wrong?”

  “It’s Petey. He’s here at the Pleasant Valley Hospital. A rock dropped on his head.”

  “A rock? On his head?”

  “Roger said it dropped from a net in your tree out back.” She covers the phone and talks to someone. When she gets back on, she’s sniffling. "C-could you come over? I can’t handle this without you. Roger’s here and Thomas is coming.”

  “On my way.”

  The Doctor and Charlotte are deep in conversation about Italian pasta. Both stop talking when they see my face.

  “What is it?” Charlotte rushes to my side.

  “I have to go to the hospital. Thomas’ little brother got hurt.”

  “What kind of injury?” Bartholomew jumps into doctor mode.

  “Head. He got hit in the head with a rock.”

  Bartholomew dusts off his jeans. “I’ll come over—is he at Pleasant Valley? Do you want me to drive you?”

  “Yes, Pleasant Valley. I’ll drive myself, thanks. But could you bring Charlotte? I…need to be alone.”

  “Of course.”

  Once I get to the SUV, I bomb out the Doctor’s gate. Something deep inside tells me not to overthink things and just drive. So I do.

  46

  ~*~

  I hide behind a fallen tree, still panting. I’m not as spry as I used to be, but I can still get around in the woods, thank goodness.

  I hope they got that poor red-headed boy to the hospital. If it weren’t for that obnoxious barking dog, he wouldn’t have come around and spotted me in the tree. I had to climb higher, knocking a few stones out of some kind of net they had up there. Maybe it was a trap—for me.

  The journal isn’t worth this kind of trouble. I still want the police to find it. But there are other ways to make things right—things I can do myself. I’ll go back to my hiding place and talk to Mother. She’ll know what to do.

  ~*~

  Thomas rushes out the sliding front doors of the hospital. He takes my arm and steers us toward the elevator. His yanked-down tie, sad eyes, and stubbly face make me feel guiltier. He starts talking without asking what I’ve been up to.

  “It’s a concussion from a contusion—something like that. No bone shards in there, as far as they can tell. Did you know he’d set up a trap in that big oak? Probably after I told him about that woman in the tree. I shouldn’t have mentioned it to him.” He turns me around, focusing on me with his dark eyes. “Who would do that to a kid, Tess?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “If I find out, I’ll sue his pants off—or maybe I’ll just strangle him instead. Or her. Anyway, if Petey doesn’t wake up…” His voice trails off.

  I grip his arm tighter. “Don’t think that way. He will. He’s a tough kid.” I have no idea where these words are coming from.

  The elevator dings and we walk into the sterile hallway. Thomas dazedly leads us toward Petey’s room. I can hear Nikki Jo crying before we reach the door.

  Petey lies on the bed, head wrapped in gauze. A bright spot of red has leaked through on the side. He moans occasionally. Nikki Jo rushes over to me, hugging me until my own tears start.

  She sobs. “Who did this?”

  All my pat answers fly out the window. I want to get this son of a biscuit eater as
much as they do.

  Roger sits in the corner, eyes fixed on Petey. I’m amazed by his composure. Must be his military training. Thomas pats him on the back and sits next to him.

  “He needs to wake up soon,” Nikki Jo says. “They said if he doesn’t, it’s a bad sign.”

  “Maybe we should pray over him.” Again, words materialize out of thin air and form sentences I’m shocked to utter.

  “Oh, yes. Why don’t you do it?” Nikki Jo bows her head.

  Good lands. I haven’t prayed seriously for years. I glance at Thomas, hoping he’ll rescue me, but his head is also bowed.

  I try to compose my thoughts as I pray. “Dear God, You see everything. And You see Petey lying here. Please wake him up soon. Help everything to be okay. We can’t lose him…” Tears stream down my cheeks as I think of Petey, asking me to come over and play Xbox. I should’ve gone right then. I should’ve stopped this stupid fool’s errand of prying into Rose’s life. I gasp a few times. “And I’m sorry I haven’t listened to you lately, God. And…Amen.”

  The whole room is in tears when Bartholomew and Charlotte come in. The Good Doctor hugs Nikki Jo, then walks over to Petey. As he shines a flashlight in Petey’s eyes, Petey sits straight up. Nikki Jo rushes to his side.

  Petey touches his bandages. “Wha—what’s going on?”

  The Doctor eases him back to the pillow. “It’s okay. You’ve had a concussion, that’s all. You need to rest right now.”

  Petey looks around. “Ma? Hey, what are you guys all doing here?” He grins. Oh, thank you, God, for that grin.

  He looks curiously at Bartholomew again. “You’re a doctor? Where’s your stethoscope?”

  Bartholomew nods, then turns to us. “If he can remember the word stethoscope, he’s going to be okay.”

  Roger clears his throat. “That was quite the powerful prayer you said there, Miss Tessa Brooke.”

  My in-laws know my full name, and they’re the only ones I let use it. Thomas wraps me in his arms, resting his head on mine. Charlotte winks at me. I’ll bet she’s imagining Thomas as a little rapscallion, disturbing the peace in church.