Caught in a Bind

by Gayle Roper

  They don’t make them like her anymore, I thought as I studied Mrs. Russo. And these kids don’t know how lucky they are to sit under someone like her. Her eyes sparkled with a zest for books, for kids, for life in general. And she was definitely old enough to have known Tom.

  “I’m trying to trace a man I think went to school here about twenty-three or-four years ago,” I explained after I introduced myself and showed my press card.

  Her eyes lit up at the idea of tracing someone. I was looking at a woman who thrived on research. “What was the man’s name? I’ve taught here for almost thirty years, so I might well remember him.”

  Somehow I knew her comment was mere modesty. I bet she remembered just about everyone who had gone through this relatively small school since the day she arrived.

  “Do you remember a student named Tom Whatley?”

  Immediately she smiled and began shaking her head in the reminiscent way some people have. “Who doesn’t remember Tom Whatley?”

  I grabbed my tape recorder out of my purse. “Can you tell me about him?”

  “Come on into my office where we can talk.” She indicated a small closet of a room off to one side. She faced her readers and announced, “I’m stepping into my office with this young lady. I expect to hear no noise whatsoever while I am absent.”

  She walked ahead of me into the office, confident that the students would obey. I glanced over my shoulder and thought that they probably would. Nobody wanted a dressing down like Jay had gotten.

  “Everybody knew Tom,” Mrs. Russo said from her seat behind her desk. “He was one of those kids who was into everything. Football, basketball, track, National Honor Society, yearbook, class plays, choir. You name it, and Tom seemed to be involved.”

  Football? Basketball? Tom Whatley? Not only was he short. He was slight, even as an adult. As a teenager he would have been as substantial as dandelion fluff.

  “All the girls had crushes on him, you know. So handsome. If I’d been a few years younger, he would have turned my head too.”

  I stared at Mrs. Russo. Maybe she wasn’t as sharp as she seemed.

  “Do you have old yearbooks that I could look at?” I asked. “I’d like to see what he looked like back then.” I’d like to show her she wasn’t talking about the right person.

  She got up from her seat. “Wait until you see how handsome he was.” She shook her head. “I haven’t thought about Tom in quite a while, though it must be about ten years, mustn’t it? You doing one of those recap pieces?”

  I mumbled something noncommittal as she led me to a shelf where years of books sat, the pictorial history of the school. A recap piece? Ten years? What was she talking about?

  She went unerringly to a yearbook, flipped to the senior pictures and thrust the volume into my hands.

  “There he is.” She pointed to the picture of a young, handsome, very large kid down in the lower right-hand corner of the right page. I blinked and looked again.

  The name read Thomas John Whatley, but he definitely wasn’t Edie’s Tom.

  NINE

  Comments like Class Everything, Ladies Man, Prom King, and Three-Letter Man were inscribed next to the picture of Tom Whatley. He had lots of dark, wavy hair and a killer smile. Hunk was the word that came to mind.

  “Tell me about him. Anything and everything you can remember.”

  “Well, he was definitely a star in our little firmament.” Mrs. Russo reached out and ran a finger across the picture. “And he was a nice kid too. I think he was as popular with the faculty as he was with the kids.”

  “What did he do after he left high school?”

  “He went to Annapolis and played football for them. He did well his first two years, and then the trouble began.” For the first time since we began talking, she wasn’t smiling.

  “What trouble?”

  She looked out the window, squinting against the bright light or against the memories, I wasn’t sure which. “From what I heard and read in the paper, he got caught up in drugs somehow and lost his place at the Academy. After that, he bounced around for several years, taking jobs but never sticking with anything for very long. It was quite sad.”

  “Did you ever see him during this time?”

  She nodded. “Just once. I bumped into him down the shore one summer walking on the boardwalk. He was as charming as ever, but I realized for the first time that he was only charm, no substance. I remember wondering whether he’d always been that way and we’d all been blind to it, or whether he’d become that way as life got away from him. I still remember how sad I felt that night. The only time I felt sadder was the night I heard he’d died.”

  “He’s dead?” My heart paused midbeat, though why I should be surprised, I didn’t know. No one usurps the name of a living individual. The living individual tends to complain. “How did he die?”

  “Again I don’t know all the details, but it had something to do with a drug bust gone bad. I just remember that his best buddy was somehow involved.”

  “His best buddy?”

  “Tom Willis. They were like brothers all through school. The kids used to call them the TomTom Twins.” She shook her head and her hennaed curls bounced. “Most unlikely pair of friends you ever saw.”

  I pulled my fascinated gaze from her head. “Why?”

  “Well, there was Tom Whatley, king of the school, and there was Tom Willis, nice little guy, but not even a princeling, let alone a king.” She flipped the yearbook page. “There. That’s Tom Willis.”

  Again my heart gave an irregular little beat. Smiling up at me was Edie’s Tom, younger, slighter, full of innocence, but definitely Edie’s Tom.

  The comments beside Tom Willis’s picture ran to the generic phrases reserved for the nonroyalty of high school, things like Nice Guy, Pleasant Personality, a Twin, Good Student.

  I stared at Tom Willis and wondered how he got from being Tom Whatley’s best friend to being Tom Whatley. What had possessed him to drop his own name? What had happened that night of the bad drug bust? Did any of this history have anything to do with Tom’s present disappearance? And what would Edie say when she learned about this?

  “Tom Willis surprised me,” Mrs. Russo said. “I admit that I was so blinded by Tom Whatley’s glory that I didn’t see what, or I should say who, Tom Willis was. And he turned out to be quality. He didn’t win any scholarships or appointments to prestigious schools. He went to Rowan University, a fine school but not in the same category as the Naval Academy. I think he studied psychology. After he graduated with honors while working two jobs to pay living expenses and help support his widowed mother, he went to the police academy and became a cop right here in Audubon. I ran into him around town not long after that time I saw Tom Whatley down the shore. Suddenly I realized what I hadn’t seen earlier. Tom Willis was the man with substance.”

  I thought of all he was to Edie and nodded. But where was this man of substance?

  “You know what saddens me?” Mrs. Russo was looking out her office door at Jay, who was diligently reading Moby Dick. “For some students high school is the peak of their lives. Tom Whatley was one of those.” She turned to me. “Isn’t that one of the saddest things you ever heard?”

  I’d never thought about that fact before, being only eight years out of high school myself and just starting to find my place in God’s scheme of things. Still, the thought that everything could be downhill from here was very sad.

  Please, Lord, don’t let it be true of me!

  I looked back at the yearbook picture of Tom Willis. “How was he involved with Tom Whatley’s death?”

  Mrs. Russo grew thoughtful. “Again the details are hazy, but it had something to do with him being one of the cops in the drug bust, and Tom Whatley being shot and killed in the process.” Mrs. Russo pondered a minute longer. “You know, now that I think of it, I’ve never seen Tom Willis since that time so long ago, not even at Tom Whatley’s funeral. I know he quit the force, but he must also have left
town.”

  And I knew where he’d gone, at least up until last Thursday. “Do the families of both or either of these men live around here still?”

  Mrs. Russo turned, walked to a reference shelf and pulled a phone book off a shelf. She flipped to Whatley, then Willis.

  “There are three Whatleys in the area, and they’re probably related to Tom. And Mrs. Willis, the other Tom’s mother, still lives right here in Audubon.”

  I shook Mrs. Russo’s hand and thanked her for her help.

  “It was nice to have you drop in,” she confided. “It gets a bit dull when the high point of your day is confiscating Cliffs Notes.”

  “I want to be like you when I grow up,” I said.

  “You should be so lucky.” And she winked.

  I was still smiling when I climbed into my car and pulled out my cell phone. I dialed the three Whatley numbers. This time I got three answering machines. It was disgusting how no one stayed home these days waiting for phone calls from the press, specifically me. I dialed the Willis number, and a lady answered. I hung up without speaking and immediately drove to the address I’d gotten from Mrs. Russo. As I might have expected, her directions were perfect.

  The Willis house was a typical Audubon bungalow, gray with white trim, the front porch closed in to make a sunroom. The sparse grass in the front yard was in need of a good lawn service, and the globe yews hadn’t been trimmed in forever. The only bright note was a fat azalea full of plump buds just waiting to burst in spring’s warm sun.

  I rang the doorbell and waited. Finally the inside door opened, and a little bird of a woman peered out at me. She must have decided I looked safe because she came across the sun porch and opened the door a mere crack.

  “Can I help you?” she asked with a tremulous smile.

  I gave her my best smile, the one that Curt loved and Mac hated. “Hello, Mrs. Willis. I’m Merrileigh Kramer and I think I know your son, Tom. And your daughter-in-law Edie.”

  Instantly the smile disappeared. “I’m not interested,” she said in a desperate voice and began to close the door.

  I quickly put my hand on the door. “I mean it when I say I’m a friend. I work with Edie. Please talk to me. I’m very confused.”

  The whole time I talked, Mrs. Willis shook her gray head. “Go away, please. Just go away.”

  “But Mrs. Willis, we need to find Tom. Edie’s beside herself with worry. Do you know where he is?”

  “Go away,” she pleaded yet again. “I don’t know anything.”

  I looked at the small woman, and I saw genuine fear in her face. I sighed and took my hand from the door. “Please.”

  Mrs. Willis shook her head, and the door shut in my face with all the finality of the gates of hell snapping shut behind an unrepentant sinner. The only difference was that I was on the outside while the sinner would be on the inside.

  I arrived back at the newsroom shortly before four.

  “How did Mr. Montgomery’s visit go?” I asked Jolene.

  “He never came, and if he doesn’t hurry, Mac’s desk is going to revert to its natural chaotic condition.” She wrinkled her nose, showing her beautiful capped teeth. “We’re all just waiting around practicing our paeans of praise about Mac.”

  I cocked my head toward Edie, and Jolene shrugged: who knows?

  “I’m fine,” Edie said tartly. “And I’m not an idiot. I know what this means.” She jerked her head a couple of times.

  “Sorry. I didn’t want to bother you. You looked busy.”

  “I am. I’m a reporter, and I’m working on a story. And I’m fine.”

  “No, she’s not.” Jolene leaned back in her chair. “She wouldn’t go to lunch with me. I even offered to pay.”

  Jolene might be a millionaire, but an offer to pay was a rare occurrence and a sign of the depth of her concern.

  “I asked you to bring me a cup of noodle soup,” Edie defended.

  “Which you carried to the restroom and threw away when you thought I wasn’t looking.” Jolene’s lethal nail pointed straight at Edie’s nose.

  “You are one nosy woman,” Edie griped.

  “I am,” Jolene said proudly.

  I turned to go speak with Mac about my story of a lifetime when William Poole entered the newsroom. The focused look on his shar-pei face as he approached Edie’s desk made me think, Uh-oh.

  “Edie, may I talk with you in private?” William asked.

  Edie, who had watched his approach with trepidation, seemed to shrink into herself. “Is this about Tom?”

  William nodded.

  “Do I need a lawyer?”

  William blinked. “I don’t think so. This isn’t an official interrogation or anything. We just need to talk.”

  She looked at Jolene and me in a panic.

  “It’s okay, Edie.” I came and stood by her, putting my hand on her shoulder. “You can trust William.” I shot him a look that said he’d better be trustworthy. “He’s a friend.”

  But Edie wasn’t having any of it. “Stay with me, Merry. You too, Jo.”

  “Like you could get us to leave.” Jolene joined me beside Edie. Her expression dared William to tell her to go.

  William looked exasperated. “Edie, I need to talk about some very private things with you. I don’t think you want an audience.”

  “I have no secrets. I want them with me.”

  “There’s a conference table over there.” I pointed to the scarred collapsible table about the size of two card tables that sat along the far wall. It was so unstable that if Mac got angry during a meeting and pounded his fist, everyone’s beverages jumped and spilled. “Why don’t we sit around it?”

  William looked unhappy but resigned. After all, he’d said it wasn’t an official interrogation.

  We paraded across the newsroom and clustered about the table, William at the head, Jolene and Edie on one side, me across from Edie. When Mac saw the parade to the table, he came to see what was going on. I’m sure Larry would have come too, but he wasn’t here.

  “What’s all this, William?” Mac asked.

  “I need to talk with Edie,” William explained again, looking beleaguered.

  “Oh, okay.” Mac pulled out a chair and sat next to me. William sighed deeply and cleared his throat. We all looked at him expectantly, me especially. I wondered if he was going to mention Tom Willis or if I had beaten him to the punch.

  “Edie,” William began, “do you remember when I questioned you about Tom’s background?”

  She nodded. “And I knew very little.”

  “Well, we’ve learned a bit more. By tracing Tom’s Social Security number, his birth date and birthplace, we’ve learned a fascinating piece of information.”

  We all waited while he paused for dramatic effect.

  “Tom Whatley doesn’t exist.”

  “Oh, no!” Edie put her hands to her face and began to cry.

  Jolene scowled at William like it was his fault Tom didn’t exist. Mac frowned and reached across the table to pat Edie on the shoulder. You would have thought he had taken patting lessons from me. But he was alert enough to pick up on William’s choice of words. “What do you mean, doesn’t exist?”

  I sat still and said nothing because I knew how right William was. A terrible thought struck me and knocked my complacency for a loop. Was he referring to the real Tom Whatley or Edie’s Tom Whatley? “Is ‘doesn’t exist’ a euphemism for ‘Tom’s dead’?” I blurted.

  William nodded. “Tom Whatley is dead all right.” He talked right over Edie’s wail. “As a matter of fact, he’s been dead for ten years.”

  As a conversation stopper, William’s comment was one of the best I’d ever heard. I looked around the circle and tried not to smile at everyone’s dropped jaws. I looked at William, who was looking at Edie.

  She turned her earnest, tear-streaked face to William. “Then you haven’t found my Tom’s body?”

  William shook his head, surprised. “Your husband’s body? No.”
/>
  Edie looked at the ceiling. “Thank you, God.”

  “But Tom Whatley’s body?”William glared at all of us. “Yes.”

  Mac was having a hard time assimilating William’s information. He was probably still hung up on doesn’t exist. “Tom’s not dead but you’ve found his body?”

  “Edie’s husband isn’t dead, to the best of our knowledge,” William agreed. “But Tom Whatley definitely is. We found his death certificate at the Camden County Courthouse dated almost exactly ten years ago.”

  Mac narrowed his eyes. “If Tom Whatley’s dead, then who’s Edie’s husband?”

  William nodded. “The question of the hour. We don’t know yet. I’ve sent Jeb out to Edie’s house to get something with Tom’s fingerprints on it. We’ll begin a trace immediately through AFIS.”

  “Don’t bother, William,” I said. “I can save you the trouble.”

  Everyone looked at me, and I have to admit that I kind of liked the power of knowing what no one else knew. Childish, of course, but fun.

  “Edie’s husband is named Tom Willis.”

  Everyone looked at me in surprise, including William, who wasn’t happy about being beaten to the punch. Edie dropped her head onto her chest, but was that relief I saw in her eyes before they closed?

  “Tom Willis is from Audubon, New Jersey, and he’s an excop.” I acknowledged William with a nod of my head as I passed on that bit of information. “He was somehow involved in the death of his best friend, Tom Whatley, in a drug bust. His mother—that is, Tom Willis’s mother—still lives in Audubon, but she wouldn’t talk to me.”

  “Edie,” Jolene cried. “If Tom Whatley isn’t Tom’s real name, are you really married? If he signed the marriage certificate Tom Whatley, are you legal?”

  We all turned to Jolene in disbelief. Talk about the least important issue at the moment.

  “Well, is she married?” Jolene asked, refusing to back down.

  Edie’s married state or lack thereof didn’t interest William. “What I need to know, Edie, is why your husband is calling himself Tom Whatley.”