Fatal 5

by Karin Kaufman

  Nikki Jo and Roger talk with Bartholomew. I go to Petey’s side and pat his arm.

  “You look pretty good, for a boy who got hit in the head with a rock.”

  His freckles blanch as he wrinkles his nose. “Well, you know how it goes when you’re out investigating.”

  I get serious. “No, I don’t want you investigating anything else. And no more traps—you hear me? The person in the woods won’t bother us anymore.”

  “How do you know that, Tess? There was somebody up in that tree—Thor was barking his head off at her.”

  “Her? You sure it was a her?”

  “Sure I’m sure. I know a woman when I see one. She had long blonde hair. Anyway, she was the last thing I saw before I blacked out.”

  I should track down Rosemary and put the fear of all that’s holy into her.

  Thomas grins at his brother. “You going to be healthy by the time Andrew gets here tomorrow?”

  “You know it,” Petey says.

  “Okay, bro. I need to get back to work.” Thomas turns me around and kisses me full on the lips. “Thanks for coming so quickly.”

  He doesn’t utter a word about how this is my fault, attracting stalkers to our yard with my investigative techniques. He doesn’t ask me why Doctor Cole and Charlotte showed up right after me. He doesn’t even ask about the journal.

  I love my husband.

  47

  ~*~

  “Nobody knows the trouble I’ve seen…nobody knows my sorrow.” The song keeps playing in my head. I wish I could stake out the Spencer house and make sure the boy comes home, but it’s too risky now.

  As usual, I have to look after myself. No one else will. Paul never cared, and neither did Bartholomew. I’m at the age where I want my girl to know who I am, so she can make a fuss over me and care for me when I get older. She’ll understand why I had to let Claire take her away from me.

  I’ve called Claire’s number so many times, just for a chance to hear Rosemary’s voice. Yet just this past month, her number was disconnected. What if they’ve moved? Has my daughter gotten married? Do I have grandchildren?

  I wasn’t in West Virginia long before the ghosts found me. Mother’s still among them. Of course, she was upset I hit that Spencer boy’s head with a rock, but I explained it to her. I think she agrees that closure is what we need.

  ~*~

  Charlotte and I part in the hospital hallway. She hugs me, then looks at me with eyes that seem more yellow than gray-brown.

  “I’ll get the journal from Mom and take it back to the house. Do you think I should burn it?”

  I nod. “I’m ready to be done with Rose and everything about her. Your mom’s been told about Paul, but she believes he didn’t hit his wife. I think we have to take our hands off this.”

  Charlotte fingers a piece of her hair. “But what if he’s only after Mom’s money? Didn’t Rose leave her some, too?”

  “Yes, but I figure that has to go to Rosemary now. I don’t know all the legal ins and outs of it, though.”

  I’m tired of straining my brain, trying to figure out everyone’s motivations forty years ago. Petey’s only twelve, and today his life could’ve been cut short.

  “I’m out of it, Charlotte.”

  She knows just what I mean. “You should be. You’ve got a baby you need to protect. And you look like you haven’t slept in three weeks. Go home and let me handle the rest.”

  “You’ll call before you go back to Morgantown, won’t you? Or stop by?”

  “Of course. Now go.”

  I trudge down the hall and punch the button on the elevator. As I wait, someone’s body odor reaches me before he does. An older man shuffles along, focused on his feet. He has a bad comb-over and his pants hang so low, they might fall off.

  A nurse runs up behind him. “Mr. Reynolds! Mr. Reynolds, time for your pill. Come back to your room, please.”

  Instead of looking at the nurse, the man fixates on me as I step into the elevator. “Don’t ya hear ‘em? Them ol’ haints are hangin’ all around ya! Ya can’t escape ‘em!”

  The nurse grabs his arm, and a large orderly runs toward him. This dude must be on the wrong floor—I think there’s a Psych unit somewhere in this hospital.

  Haints. That’s the same word Paul used—mountain talk for ghosts. I remember Miranda asking me if I believed in ghosts, way back when she got that first warning letter.

  I steer my thoughts back to the present. Only the present for me now; enough of the nebulous past. It wasn’t my past, anyway—it was Miranda’s. And now that she has all the facts, she should be able to make her own decision about marrying Paul.

  By the time the elevator reaches the lobby, I’m full of new resolve. This Christmas, I’m going to focus on family. For New Year’s, I’ll enjoy Miranda’s wedding and wish her well. Anyway, some part of me actually likes Paul, because he said I’m nothing like my dad.

  I suddenly feel hopeful about the New Year. When I try to put my finger on the reason, it comes back to my prayer. God did hear me. Maybe He hasn’t done everything I wanted over the years, but He’s done some really good things for me, like letting me marry into the Spencer clan.

  On the way home, I find a Southern Gospel station and crank it. I don’t know most of the songs and I can’t understand half the lyrics, but I try to sing along. “No fear, when Jesus is here…”

  I grab the mail and turn into the driveway, trying not to focus on the oak tree behind our cottage. I’m sure rocks still litter the ground right where they fell on Petey.

  Andrew’s Karmann Ghia blocks our driveway. I stop the SUV and run up to the porch of the big house. As I raise my hand to knock, Andrew throws open the door and hugs me. “I came home as soon as I heard. Who cares about some dumb Latin final?”

  Such an attitude does not a doctor make, but I know Andrew’s worried about Petey.

  “He’s fine. I just came from the hospital. He’s awake now and talking. In fact, he’s ready to get home and see you.”

  Andrew’s no-holds-barred smile could surely make millions in advertising. Even sporting his ripped green cargo pants and bleach-stained polo shirt, he looks like he’s trying to start a trend.

  Eyes wide and innocent, I ask, “Where’s Kelsey?” Let’s see him explain this one.

  He cracks his knuckles. “Kels? Oh, that didn’t work out. I was going to bring this other girl, Helga, but she couldn’t get out on such short notice.”

  An entire lecture springs to mind, about dating for marriage and not just for kicks. Instead, I meet Andrew’s jolly blue-green gaze and blink. “Hm.”

  He grins. “I know what you’re thinking. It takes time to find a girl half as epic as you are, Tess.”

  Sweet-talker. “Hey, Don Juan, can you move your car so I can pull into my driveway?”

  “Oh, sorry about that. Sure thing.” He steps into his beat-up Birkenstocks and jumps over the low edge of the porch. “When’s Thomas getting home?”

  I shout over his revving engine. “I have no idea! He had to leave work to see Petey.”

  “Dude. That was a close call for Petey. I think the Spencer men need to go out and find the freak who did this.”

  The somewhat-comforting image of Andrew, Thomas, and Roger in jungle gear, toting AK-47s, springs to mind. I sigh as he backs up and parks.

  “Afraid not. This is something I have to do.”

  He slides off his leather seat and looks at my stomach. “You better take care of yourself. I still don’t see the baby?”

  “Andrew, it doesn’t pop out till later. But my stomach’s getting a little bigger, for your information. My pants don’t button all the way.”

  He grins. “You’ve got a lot of spunk in you. Thomas needed that.”

  I laugh. “As if you don’t have enough spunk for the whole family!”

  My phone rings, and Andrew makes creepy faces to the Doctor Who theme. I shoo him off to his house and walk toward the SUV. “Hello?”

  “It’s me
, hon. Hey listen, I forgot to ask if you could come to the office Christmas party on Thursday night? You’ll get to dress up!”

  “Is that supposed to be an enticement? ‘Cause it’s not really working.”

  Thomas laughs. “What if I buy you a new dress?”

  “Do you even know my size?”

  “You’re not making this easy.”

  I grin as I park the car and walk to our front door. “I’m just spunky, that’s all. Of course I’ll come. I like to be at your side for any and all social events.”

  “Okay, I’ll sign us up. Oh, and you’ll need to bring a couple of desserts.”

  My keys drop to the ground. “I gotta go. I can’t get into the house.”

  I fumble with the new keys, opening each lock. So far, we have a grand total of two regular locks, two deadbolts, and a sliding chain lock on the front door. I think Thomas adds one every night.

  I walk upstairs, prepping for my next mission. I load the shotgun, since I can’t find where Thomas put the Glock. I might be the only pregnant woman who’s going out this year with a handsaw and a shotgun to gather her Christmas tree from the woods. I’m a real mountain momma.

  48

  ~*~

  I still can’t figure out if Paul really loves Miranda. Her overdose should have scared him good. Instead, he just puttered around the house like normal and dropped in at The Haven a couple of times. Maybe he’s just marrying her for my money. In that case, he’ll get a little surprise when it goes to my daughter instead of him. I know he must have been surprised when Royston read the will forty years ago, and all that Darby family money went to Miranda.

  I don’t think he ever walks in the yard. Pity that my flowerbeds look so neglected. I’d trim them up myself, but someone might notice. It’s not my house anymore; I realize that. But I miss loading up the woodstove on icy winter nights. I miss dinner parties where I could dress up and our friends would tell Paul what a lucky man he was. I don’t miss Paul—he never did anything but hurt me.

  Tess Spencer’s husband seems like a good man, not overprotective like Paul was. Still, I don’t know why he lets her run all over the countryside. I guess times have changed.

  I can only think of one way to locate Rosemary—follow Tess around. Unless I underestimate her, she’ll be tracking down Rosemary next. Tess Spencer is a rather formidable child of the mountains. I wish I could talk with her and explain things. Maybe someday I will.

  ~*~

  I prop my fresh-cut, thin-branched pine in its makeshift tree stand: a tall travel mug. Then I double-string a strand of white lights around it and add a few mismatched ornaments. I’m not sure any presents can fit under the scrawny thing, but who cares?

  Nikki Jo calls to say they’ll be home late. In a fit of housewifely industry, I thaw some ground beef and whip up spaghetti and garlic bread to take over to Andrew and the late-night crew. Nikki Jo’s white lights have automatically come on in her back yard, and Petey was right. They look like hundreds of stars. That must’ve taken ten strings of lights, easy.

  I knock on the door and Andrew yells from upstairs. “Coming, coming!” Thor barks fiercely until the door opens, then runs to sniff the bushes out front.

  I hand over the spaghetti pot and carry the bread into the kitchen. Andrew looks like he just got out of the shower. “Good news—Helga’s driving in tomorrow morning.”

  “Really? Does she need some place to stay?”

  “No, she’ll just be in the den. She’s kind of an outdoor girl, so she doesn’t mind sleeping on the couch or wherever. It’s a wonder she didn’t ask to stay out in a tent.” He winks. “Alone, of course.”

  As I walk out, Thor zooms past me at top speed, little claws skidding as he races into the kitchen. Andrew shrugs. “I don’t know how Petey puts up with that animal.”

  I snicker. Andrew and I are on the same wavelength. Well, sort of. I doubt Helga is going to impress me much. Growing up in a rusted, leaking trailer with frequent invasions of spiders and mice takes some of the glamour out of “roughing it.”

  When Thomas gets home at seven-thirty, he piles spaghetti on his plate and nearly inhales it without even changing his dress shirt. He sits at the table, looking blankly at The Buckneck Daily.

  “Notice anything different?” I gesture toward the living room.

  He turns, confused. “Did you have time to get your hair cut today?”

  “No, but nice try. Didn’t you see the Christmas tree?”

  He peers into the living room. “Oh…that? It’s a Christmas tree?”

  Ooh. He did not just say that.

  He stands to get more bread, looking past the counter at the handful of white lights strung on our miniscule tree.

  He chews while he talks in a decidedly un-lairdly fashion. “In my house, my dad always picked the tree—back when we got real trees. Then Mom got that artificial wonder and it’s been white ever since.”

  I put my hand on my hip. “Are you saying I shouldn’t have gotten our tree?”

  He starts coughing. “Crumb,” he whispers, gulping at his water. When he calms down, he comes back to the topic at hand. “Well, where did you get our tree, Tess? Surely not the tree farm down the road?”

  “Oh, certainly not. And I’m hanged if I’ll ever get another tree for your ungrateful self.”

  He tries to put his arm around me, but I jerk away. I grab the sponge from the sink and start cleaning invisible grease off the stovetop.

  “Well, that was awkward,” he says, under his breath.

  “Awkward! Awkward? I’m the pregnant chick who busted my hiney to cut down that tree, with a twelve gauge strapped on my back! I’m the one who took time to decorate it, so it could feel like Christmas around here! Yeah, I’m feeling pretty awkward myself.”

  Thomas groans. “It’s been a long day, with Petey’s concussion. You seem tired and hormonal. Am I right?”

  I grab the nearest ladle and whap it on the counter. “Tired? Hormonal? I’m a pregnant woman, for Pete’s sakes! You got me pregnant and now you’re criticizing my Christmas tree?”

  “Are those two connected?” He gives me a confused look.

  I throw the ladle in the sink. “I’m going upstairs to take a bath! Don’t come in and don’t come anywhere near me.”

  Thomas sighs as I stomp up the stairs. Here I’ve repeatedly put my life on the line for my friend, and all he can do is criticize. Growing up, I rarely had a Christmas tree, yet he berates my tree-choosing skills?

  Jerk. What a dadburn jerk.

  My mind flits to Rose’s marriage. Did Paul make her crazy like this? Was the pregnancy the only thing that made her fake her own death? Does marriage ever get better, or does it get worse?

  I sink into the water, heavy with the smell of lavender bath salts. I’ll bet the Good Doctor would never say stuff like Thomas just said. No wonder Rose thought he was great. He had his own house, his own career, his own snappy clothes…no ties to anyone else.

  Wait. Didn’t he have a sister in Arizona? I wonder if she’s still there. Maybe I could look her up.

  No. I can’t keep searching this stuff out. I’m getting way too OCD with this whole attempt to figure out Rose’s life. I’m out, like I told Charlotte. Done.

  Only I need to talk with Rosemary. Maybe I should take Charlotte to the bistro and threaten Rosemary to stay off our property. Maybe I should take the Glock instead.

  Anyway, what was she doing up in that oak tree? It’s not like she needs evidence that she’s Rose’s daughter—that’s plain for all to see. I suppose I could save her some trouble and tell her who her dad is. He’d be a really cool dad.

  Thomas bangs on the bedroom door. “Tess, I have to come in and change. Okay?”

  “Whatever!”

  I listen to Thomas’ every move, which gives me a good indication of his continued irritation. Drawers jerk open and slam shut. A faint click and the sound of slamming metal tells me he’s dropped his gun’s magazine and is racking the slide to empty it.<
br />
  The bath’s worked wonders, and I’m feeling calmer. I suppose I should be magnanimous and tell him I’m sorry. But sorry for what? I feel no remorse for letting him know he acted like a Jerk Royale.

  He knocks again, this time on the bathroom door. We both know it doesn’t have a lock, like every other door in this cottage.

  “May I come in?”

  “No!”

  “C’mon, Tess. I said some thoughtless things. I admit it. I’m the one who’s tired. I just want this crazy person out of our woods and everything back to the way it was before.”

  “Before what? Before your wife went and poked her nose all up in other people’s business?”

  Silence. Then he says, “Uh, no. I just mean before some stalker started trailing you around.”

  “Well, it might comfort you to know that I’m giving it up. I’ll quit trying to protect my friend from an ill-advised marriage.”

  “You know I like Miranda, too. I feel bad that she likes Paul—he has too much baggage, what with Rose’s suicide, and the will…”

  Obviously I haven’t brought Thomas up to date on things, like the fact Rose could be alive somewhere. I should probably do that sometime.

  Thomas’ voice softens. “You know, I was so happy you came to see Petey today. Thanks for praying for him.”

  He’s wearing me down.

  He moves closer to the door. “You do too much, little pregnant momma. Chopping down trees, chasing down truths long buried, endearing yourself to my family and everyone else. Would you like a massage before bed?”

  I stand and grab my towel. This must be how you make your marriage work for years: you fix things and move on. “Be right out,” I say.

  49

  ~*~

  I sit in Cliff’s little church, trying to see through its stained glass windows. I have no idea who the pastor is now. It’s been years since I’ve darkened a church door.

  An awareness of my own mortality has been chasing me around ever since I came back to this state. Sun-washed, wide open Arizona loved and nurtured me for years, only to spit me back over to the mossy green captivity of these tree-cluttered mountains. Memories taunt me around every curve. Cliff’s radiant face. Bartholomew’s irresistible smile. Flowers I grew in hopes of ridding myself of Paul forever.