She peered in. “Girl, what in blazes are ya doin’ out here?”
I told her about the break-in and my fear of falling asleep in my house.
“You sure don’t need to be workin’ today,” she said. “Take the day off.”
I had already taken a week of vacation time off the week before and going home was the last thing I wanted to do. Home no longer felt safe. For the first time, I considered letting Violet keep the house and moving somewhere else. Somewhere bad people couldn’t find me. But leaving the county wasn’t an option.
We were busier than usual, which could have kept my mind off my troubles. But the ringing cell phone in my drawer kept reminding me my problems were still waiting. I turned it to silent, but my drawer sounded like a vibrating bed in a cheap motel, which drew more than a few strange looks.
Between customers, I checked my caller ID. I had calls from Violet, my attorney, and the police. I asked Betty if I could return that one. Perhaps if I proved myself agreeable, I would look less suspicious.
I snuck off to the back room and called the detective assigned to the case. He told me they hadn’t come up with anything yet, but had more questions and wanted me to come into the station. Next, I called Deanna who admonished me for talking to the police without her there.
“I don’t care if it’s about a hangnail. If you talk to anyone with a badge, you call me first.”
When I told her that my presence had been requested at the police station, she groaned. “Don’t go. Just wait for me to set up a time for us to go together and I’ll get back to you.”
I still needed to call Violet and I needed to have someone come fix my window. And turn back on my electricity and phone. Plus, I could barely keep my eyes open from my lack of sleep. Betty came to check on me and I apologized for taking too long, tears in my eyes.
“Rose, go home. We’re fine without you.”
I started to protest but stopped. I was tired and needed sleep before I faced my police interview. The first place I thought to go was Violet’s.
I called her on the way over and filled her in on the previous night’s activities, leaving out all references to Joe. When I knocked on her door, she opened it after the first rap and pulled me into a huge hug. I would have cried if I weren’t so tired.
“Can I go lay down and take a nap?” I asked. “I’ve been up since one this morning.”
“Of course!”
But as I walked down to Ashley’s room, my phone vibrated. It was Deanna telling me that I needed to be at the police station in thirty minutes.
She met me in front of the station, looking very professional but grim. “Don’t you answer a single question unless I tell you to, got it?”
I nodded, wondering why she acted so concerned. Two hours later when we emerged from the police station I understood.
“I’m not gonna lie to you, Rose,” she said. “It doesn’t look good.”
“I don’t understand. Why would they still think I killed Momma after the break-in?”
“They think you staged it, because so much broken glass was outside the house versus inside. If the intruder broke the window to get inside, the glass would be on the inside.”
“There was glass inside!”
“But most was outside, meaning the window had been broken from inside.”
“I broke the window beating him out the window! What about the utilities being turned off?”
“They were cut with hedge trimmers with the name Gardner written on them and neighbors said they heard noise coming from your shed hours before the incident. One said they saw you going out to the shed.”
My heart plummeted into despair.
“I’m going to ask you again, Rose, and I need you tell me the God’s honest truth. If you answer yes, I can still help you but I have to know, one way or the other. Did you kill your mother?”
“No!” I nearly shouted, horrified she thought it possible.
“Did you stage the break-in to make it look like someone was after you?”
“No,” I answered, more resigned. It looked really bad.
“There’s a chance they’re going to arrest you for your mother’s murder and possibly other charges like filing a false police report for the break-in. The real question is if they will charge you with manslaughter or second-degree murder.” She focused on something over my shoulder, lost in thought. “I think you’ll escape a charge of first-degree murder, although you had the argument in the early afternoon and the murder occurred in the evening. They could very well accuse you of spending the afternoon plotting your mother’s death.”
I heard her words but they didn’t sink in, floating on the surface of my consciousness, bobbing and teasing me with their seriousness. This couldn’t be happening. Me, Rose Anne Gardner, accused of murder. I began to laugh.
Deanna’s eyes widened in astonishment, then she patted me on the shoulder. “You’re in shock. It’s okay, it’s a normal reaction, actually.”
My laughter died away just as quickly as it started. “How much longer until they arrest me?”
“You’re not a flight risk and they’re still trying to piece things together. I suspect possibly a week, week and a half, depending if they find any new evidence. Everything they have is circumstantial. They’re hoping to find a solid piece of evidence before they file the charges so they’ll wait for results from the crime lab.”
I wasn’t sure if that made me feel better or worse.
“Go home, hang tight and wait. I’ll give you a call when I hear something.”
I drove to Violet’s, later wondering how I had gotten there. I remembered getting in my car and staring at the steering wheel for what seemed like forever, and then I was in Violet’s driveway, still staring at the steering wheel.
This couldn’t be happening.
Violet waited for me at the door, having seen me pull into the driveway, actual proof I did drive. I looked into her anxious face, not sure what to say.
“How bad is it?”
I told her everything then asked, “Can I go take a nap? I’m so tired, I’m about to fall over.”
She sent me to Ashley’s room. I snuggled down into bed in the Pepto-Bismol colored room and fell asleep, so numb I barely felt the tears falling down my cheeks.
Hours later, I heard a rustle of noise. I squinted into the assaulting late afternoon light. Ashley stood next to the bed, watching me.
“Hey, sweetie,” I said, still groggy from sleep.
“You look like Sleeping Beauty,” she whispered.
“Thanks, Ash. Come snuggle me.”
I laid on my side and she climbed in, pressing her back into my stomach. I nuzzled her wispy-fine hair and inhaled the scent of baby shampoo. Wrapping my arms around her waist, I pulled her closer.
“Tell me a story, Aunt Rose.” She clasped her hands over mine. The tenderness of the gesture poked my heart, reminding me that if I were convicted of Momma’s murder I would spend years in prison. I would never have children.
“A story?” I asked, trying to refocus as fresh tears burned my eyes.
“About a princess and a prince.”
I spun an elaborate tale about a prince lost in the woods, but rescued by a princess galloping by on her goat. The princess then helped the prince, who had lost his pet frog, which they found in the company of a rabbit family in a carrot patch. When the frog was found, the prince returned to his castle and the princess left on a quest to find the fabled, yet much coveted, magic red shoes.
“That’s not like the princess stories on TV,” she said, giggling.
“No, it’s not. But don’t let other people tell you who you’re supposed to be. You just be you, even if you don’t do things like everybody else.”
She turned, and reached her hand to my cheek. “Like you, Aunt Rose? You’re not like everybody else.”
Looking into those deep blue eyes, I realized it was time to take my own advice. For better or worse, I was me. I had visions of people, whether t
hey—or I—wanted them. I had to accept them and learn to make the best of it. And just as suddenly, I realized I had lost a lot of living, twenty-four years’ worth, squandered in my fear, embarrassment, and self-pity. I didn’t want to go from one prison to another without living at least a little. If I was going to jail, I planned to fit in all the living I could first.
I smiled into Ashley’s sweet little face and felt a vision coming, as if on cue. This time I accepted it and without my usual resistance, the vision lasted longer than any I’d ever had before. I was in the funeral home. Violet was crying and leaning into Mike. They stood next to a casket with an open lid. I walked slowly toward it, fear gripping my heart. I was short since I was looking through Ashley’s eyes and I couldn’t see over the side. Mike picked Ashley up and I stared down into the casket.
It was me.
I looked peaceful and serene lying in the casket, like I was taking a nap. Violet stood next to Mike, openly sobbing now. I felt nothing as I watched, a void of any feeling, as though I was already dead. I glanced around the room and saw a sign on an easel with my picture on top and wording underneath.
Rose Anne Gardner
Born October 8, 1986
Died June 12, 2011
Then I was back on Ashley’s bed, looking into her smiling face.
“I’m going to die,” I whispered.
“Like Snow White?” Ashley asked in excitement. “Are you going to eat a poisoned apple?”
“I don’t know,” I said, the corners of my mouth lifting into a sad smile.
“Will your prince come wake you up, Aunt Rose?”
“No, Ashley, that’s make believe. Princes don’t do that in real life.”
“Hmm…” she said, lying on her back.
I was grateful she was four years old and didn’t comprehend the meaning of my words.
I was gonna die.
Suddenly, prison looked pretty good.
TWELVE
There’s something freeing about knowing the date of your death. All your fears of living vanish away. Worried you’ll be in a car wreck? Afraid you’ll fall off a roof and plummet to your death? Unless it was June twelfth, I had nothing to worry about.
It was also strange, like somewhere a big digital display counted down the moments until I died. I didn’t know the time, but I knew the day. I had less than a week left and I was done frittering my life away.
Where did I start? What did I do? The list, of course. All the things I’d always wanted to do but was too afraid to try. Twenty-three tasks left to accomplish in five days. Why was I wasting time in Ashley’s bed?
I scrambled up, kissing Ashley on the forehead. “Aunt Rose has to go home, Ashy!”
When I bolted down the hall, Violet looked like I had just announced plans to join the circus. “Where are you going?”
“Home,” I said, grabbing my purse.
“What? You can’t go there! What if someone tries to break in again?” Her voice rose in panic.
I yanked her into a tight hug. “It’s okay, Violet. I’ll be all right.” I didn’t add for another five days anyway. No sense worrying her any more than necessary.
“But, Rose…”
“I love you, Violet!” I yelled over my shoulder and headed to my car.
I tried to remember my list, hoping to do something on the way home. Get cable… I picked up my cell phone and found the number for the cable company. They said they’d send someone to install it the next day. I had to ask off work to meet the cable installer, then decided to call in sick for the entire week. I sure wasn’t going to waste my last five days at the DMV.
Get my own place… Violet said she would sell the house to me, so that made it mine. Two items just like that. Maybe this would be easier than I thought.
As I drove through downtown, I noticed a pickup truck stopped at the edge of the park. The tailgate hung open and a large metal cage sat in the grass. A puppy romped next to it.
Get a dog.
I turned around and drove back to the truck, parking to the side of it. A family with two small children played with the puppy. A bigger dog, but not by much, sulked in the corner of the cage when I walked up.
“Can we get him, Daddy?” the little boy asked the man who appeared torn.
He bent over, rubbing the back of the puppy’s neck. “Well…”
The boy and his younger brother began a chorus of pleases that would have softened the staunchest of men. The father caved.
I watched it all transpire, taking delight in the children’s happiness. The way the puppy’s owner kept glancing at me I realized I probably looked like some kind of child predator standing there.
“Is that your last dog?” I asked, looping my hand around the strap of my purse.
“That’s my last puppy. I’ve only got the mother left. She’s just a mutt, though. Nobody wants her. I was gonna drop her off at the shelter on my way home.”
I looked down at the whimpering dog in the cage. She was small, definitely a mutt and not cute like her offspring. Her gray and black fur was short and wiry. She had short legs, a long body, and pointy ears and snout. She looked like a cross between a terrier and a rat.
“Can I see her?”
The owner looked at me like I’d lost my mind, which I supposed I had. I knelt down. “What’s her name?”
“Muffy.”
“Come here, Muffy,” I beckoned, patting the ground. “Come here, sweet girl.”
The dog crept toward me, her head hunkered down and her tail between her legs. She stopped at the opening of the cage. I stroked her neck and behind her ears. She cautiously left the cage and sat next to me while I continued to pet her.
“She’s a good dog,” the owner said. “She’s scared of other dogs, which don’t work out so well on my farm. In fact, she’s pretty much scared of everything. I’m surprised she came out of the cage to you. She don’t normally take to strangers.”
Muffy’s sad eyes looked up at me. My tummy tightened with empathy. We were a lot alike, Muffy and I, both afraid of the world and what was in it.
“How much is she?” I asked, taking the sides of her face into my hands.
“I ain’t gonna charge you nothin’, you can just have her. Like I said, I was gonna take her to the pound, although, honestly, I didn’t want to do that. She just showed up at my farm one day and had a litter of pups a couple days later. I kept her and the pups until they was ready to go.”
“What do you say, Muffy? Wanna come home with me?” I could have sworn she wagged her tail, or she may have moved it to pass gas, which was highly probable from the stench suddenly filling the air. I decided to go with the wag.
I tried coaxing her into the car without much success. Finally, I scooped her up, surprised to find her lighter than she looked, and plopped her into the driver’s seat. She peered up at me.
“You gonna drive? That’d be a sight. A driving dog. What? No? Then scoot over.” But she didn’t budge, so I sat on the edge of the seat and pushed her over to the passenger side with my hip.
The farmer loaded up the cage, laughing.
“We’re puttin’ on a show, Muffy. Let’s go home and get some dinner.”
I drove with the windows halfway down. Muffy stuck her face over the top of the glass, her tongue hanging out. I prayed she didn’t get carsick.
When I pulled up, I noticed Joe’s car in his driveway. Why’re you even looking? That man was a confusing mess. I only had five days left. Instinct told me that wasn’t nearly enough time to figure out Joe McAllister.
I carried Muffy into the house. After I set her down on the kitchen floor, she began sniffing everything while I rummaged through the refrigerator for dinner. I couldn’t remember the last time I went to the grocery store.
“Whatcha want for dinner, Muffy? There’s not much here.”
Muffy didn’t answer. She turned around in circles, then sat in the corner of the kitchen behind the table. She laid her head on her front paws and stared up at me. I’d
never seen such a pathetic sight in all my life.
I made scrambled eggs and fed half to Muffy, half to me. Afterward, Muffy got a really strange look on her face. Uncle Earl had made a face like that after eating a batch of bad pickles once and that didn’t turn out so well. I ran to my bedroom and found a belt, which I strapped around Muffy’s middle section. I was afraid I’d choke her if I put it around her neck.
We barely made it outside before Muffy squatted next to a bush and made the nastiest mess I had ever seen. Talk about false advertising. They forget to mention that part of pet ownership in the dog food commercials.
“Feel better?” I asked Muffy in a baby voice. “I promise to take good care of you in the five days I have left.” It was then I realized in five days I wouldn’t be around to take care of her. I’d been a pet owner for less than an hour and I was already failing miserably.
“What do you mean you only have five days left?”
I whipped my head around to see Joe a few feet away.
Crappy doodles.
He looked angry. Not just angry, menacing.
“Where you goin’ in five days, Rose?”
“Nowhere. Not that it’s any of your business, Joe McAllister.”
He heaved a sigh and kicked a piece of gravel. “You’re right, of course. What you do is none of my business.” Then he stood next to me, whispering in my ear. “You seem like a nice girl, Rose, I hate to see you mixed up in something really messy.”
His breath sent chills down my back, all the way to my toes. How could this man do this to me? What on earth was he talking about? Then I realized he was looking toward the dog and the huge pile she just made.
“I admit it was kind of impulsive to get into such a commitment, but I think I can handle it.”
Joe stepped away, his eyes wide open, like he’d stepped into a pit of rattlesnakes. “So you admit you’re involved?”
“Well, yeah. The evidence is right in front of you.” I tugged on Muffy’s belt. “Come on, Muffy. Let’s go in the back.” I yanked and pulled and ended up dragging her to the backyard. Unfortunately, Joe followed me.
Crimes of Passion Page 70
