Caught in a Bind

by Gayle Roper

  “I don’t know.”

  “But you’ve been married for how long?”

  “Five years.”

  “And you expect me to believe you don’t know about the false identity?”

  “I do not know why he calls himself Tom Whatley.”

  “Where would he go if he ran away after committing a crime?”

  “He did not commit any crime!”

  “Did you know he was using a false identity?”

  “I—”

  The back door of the newsroom burst open and Randy flew in, startling all of us.

  “Mom!” His eyes went to her empty desk.

  “Over here, Randy.” Edie waved her hand.

  Randy came charging over, his face full of anger. “The cops were at the house again. You’ll never guess what they were after.”

  He skidded to a halt beside our table and for the first time noticed William. “Oh.”

  “Hello, Randy.” William stood and indicated the chair at the far end of the table. “Would you like to join us? We’re talking about your stepfather.”

  “Here,” Jolene said. “Sit next to your mom.” She got up and moved to the seat at the far end.

  Randy collapsed into the vacated chair and, full sneer, made one of his patented statements. “That man is not my stepfather.”

  Sitting with his back to the room, he didn’t see Sherrie enter to keep her appointment with me. I did, though, since I was facing Edie and Randy. I held up a finger to Sherrie to show I’d be a minute here. Sherrie nodded and sat in an empty chair along the far wall, patiently waiting until I was free.

  Randy kept talking. “Just because he’s married to my mother doesn’t mean I have any relationship whatsoever with him. In fact, he makes me sick.” The last four words were separate and emphatic.

  “Randy!” Edie was embarrassed and distressed. She reached for his hand. He pulled it away, crossing his arms over his chest and tucking his hands into his armpits so she couldn’t grab at him again.

  I glanced at Sherrie, noting that her usually bright eyes were clouded with concern. I got up and walked toward her, keeping an ear tuned to the table.

  “Hi,” she said to me absently, her attention fixed on Randy just as mine was. “What’s wrong?”

  “The police are talking to Randy’s mother about the disappearance of his stepfather.”

  “His stepfather has disappeared?”

  “He’s been missing since Thursday night.”

  Sherrie looked confused. “He said today that he had just gotten rid of a huge problem and was feeling light as a feather in relief.” She turned to me. “You don’t think he was referring to Mr. Whatley, do you?”

  I thought the chances were about one hundred percent that he was referring to Tom, but I didn’t want to upset Sherrie. “Maybe he had just finished a huge term paper or something.”

  Sherrie hitched her backpack higher on her shoulder. “Nice try, but I doubt it.”

  Just then Randy went wild again. He stood up abruptly and his chair, a rickety folding thing about as sturdy as the table, went flying. He glared at Edie.

  “How can you defend him, Mom? How can you be so stupid?”

  Edie said something we couldn’t hear, her face pleading.

  “He’s a thief! And I bet he’s a murderer too.” Randy struck the table with the flat of his hand, the sound reverberating through the room like thunder. “I bet he killed that guy in my car just to make my life miserable.”

  I glanced at William, who was listening to the outburst with grave concentration. He was not going to interfere.

  Edie’s voice became a little louder in response to Randy’s harangue. “I doubt that anyone would kill someone just to make your life miserable, Randy. Especially not Tom. That was a very self-centered comment.”

  “Self-centered? Me?” He leaned into Edie, his nose mere inches from hers. “You leave my father and marry that man, and you call me self-centered? You’ve ruined my life!”

  “Ruined your life? Me?” Edie stood, glaring at her son. “You’re doing that all by yourself.”

  “You married a thief and a murderer!”

  “I married a wonderful man!” She turned to sit down. But Randy wasn’t finished yelling yet. He grabbed Edie and spun her to face him so fast she lost her balance. She reached out for Randy’s arm to steady herself.

  “Get your hands off me!” Randy pushed at her. With her previous loss of balance compounded by the push, she started to fall. She grabbed for Randy more desperately than ever. His face contorted with rage. “I said get your hands off me!”

  He shoved her as hard as he could. Her chair flew, striking Larry the sports guy’s desk with a great crash. She staggered, then went down hard, striking her head on the edge of the table as she fell. The table flipped, falling on her and pinning her to the floor where she lay absolutely still.

  The incident happened so fast that none of us could intervene. Mac leaped from his seat and rushed to subdue Randy. William lurched to his feet and around the table with the same goal. Jolene screamed and I grabbed the phone on my desk to dial 911 and ask for an ambulance.

  But the fastest responder was Sherrie. She raced across the room yelling, “Nooo!” She threw herself at Randy, beating William and Mac by a good five strides. She wrapped herself around him, pinning his arms to his sides. She was panting and crying and screaming, “How could you do that? I thought you were nice! You’re just like my father! You’re just like my father!”

  Randy stared at his mother, his face white and his eyes wide with horror. “Mom!” He tried to move, but Sherrie, tears streaming down her face, hung on.

  “Don’t you dare touch her again!” the girl screamed. “Don’t you dare! You’re just like my father!”

  Randy looked at Sherrie’s tear-streaked face and shuddered. “No,” he whispered. “I’m just like my father.”

  Into this chaos walked Jonathan Delaney Montgomery.

  TEN

  Mr. Montgomery, the epitome of professionalism in his navy blazer, gray slacks, light blue shirt and red-and-blue rep tie, brown leather briefcase clutched in his hand, took one look at the emotional tornado streaking through our newsroom and closed his eyes as if to deny what he was seeing. Then he turned very deliberately on his well-shod heel and left.

  Just like that.

  No “What’s going on?” No “Can I help?” Not even “Do you need help?” The least he could have done, I thought critically, what with Edie lying there on the floor unconscious, was to ask, “Is she all right?” But nothing. Not one word.

  It was abdication pure and simple. At least the Duke of Windsor had run because of the “woman I love.” Mr. Montgomery just ran.

  And, I thought ruefully, it is my great joy to work for this man.

  I looked at Mac, who was watching Mr. Montgomery’s exit with resignation and sorrow on his face. Obviously he felt his goose had just been cooked, and I was afraid he might be right. The unfair thing was that Mac was innocent of any responsibility for the chaos.

  I caught his eye and smiled with sympathy.

  He sighed, shrugged and took a deep breath. He turned to Edie and hunkered down beside her.

  “Hey, Edie.” He took her hand in his and began rubbing it. “Can you hear me?”

  When she groaned and started to move, he said, “Shh. You stay nice and quiet. Help’s on its way. Merry called the ambulance for you.” He sat beside her, talking quietly and soothing her, until the ambulance arrived.

  In the meantime I hustled the hysterical Sherrie back to my desk and pushed her gently down into my chair.

  “How could he? How could he?” she kept saying over and over again. She looked shocked, her eyes wide and tear-filled.

  I went down on my knees and threw my arms around her, holding her, patting her back. I didn’t know what to say, so I said nothing. I wasn’t certain she would hear me anyway.

  Eventually the tempest eased somewhat though she was still hyperventilating w
hen I called Stephanie.

  “I’ll be there in less than five minutes,” Stephanie said.

  After I hung up, I knelt before Sherrie again and pushed her hair back off her forehead. Her face was flushed and her hands shook.

  “It’ll be all right,” I said, trying to comfort her. “Mrs. Whatley will be fine. You’ll see.”

  She shuddered violently at my words. “No, it won’t be all right even if Mrs. Whatley is fine.” Her eyes overflowed with a new sea of tears, and I suspected that a lot of her own past, a past she probably thought she had licked, was flashing before her eyes. Her sorrow broke my heart.

  “Tomorrow we’ll try again to talk, okay?” I said for want of anything better to say. “It’s even more important now, don’t you think?”

  Sherrie mumbled something that sounded like an affirmative. Then after a mighty sniff, she said clearly, “Is he still here?”

  I nodded as I glanced at a distraught Randy. “He’s very upset.”

  “Good!” She kept her eyes fixed on the floor so she wouldn’t accidentally see him. “He should be.”

  Randy looked terrible, all white and wide-eyed, as he stared first at his mother, then at Sherrie. I wasn’t certain which bothered him the most: his mother’s injury at his hand or the blighting of his romance with Sherrie, again at his own hand.

  “I’m sorry, Sherrie,” he whispered a few minutes later in an anguished voice as, head down and taking care not to look his way, she left with her mother. “I’m so sorry.”

  “You ought to be, boy,” William Poole said as he walked to Randy and took his arm. His voice was devoid of sympathy, and his eyes drilled a hole right through Randy. “And now you need to come with me.” He reached toward his belt like he was going for his cuffs.

  “No!” Randy looked frantic. “I don’t have to! Mom? Do I?”

  Edie lay on the floor, the emergency techs strapping her to a backboard. Her neck was already in a cervical collar. “Oh, Randy,” she sighed and a tear tumbled out of her eye and rolled back into her hairline.

  Randy sank to the floor beside her. “I didn’t mean to hurt you! It was an accident!”

  “Was it?” William asked coldly.

  “Mom! Tell him! It was just that something came over me. I couldn’t help it!” He grabbed for her hand, but one of the techs reached out and restrained him. Randy looked distractedly at the tech, then back to his mother. He balled his large fists awkwardly on his knees.

  “The something that came over you, boy, is your own lack of self-control.” William was giving him no quarter. “And the sooner you admit that you’re the one to blame, the better off you and your mother will be.”

  “No,” Randy cried. “I didn’t mean—”

  “Sure you did.” William glared at him. “I’ve seen your kind for years, and you make me sick.”

  Edie made a protesting sound at the harsh words, and William looked at her, his gaze gentling. “Edie, don’t be easy on him, or there’s a lifetime of this treatment awaiting you and some woman foolish enough to marry him someday.”

  Edie smiled at him sadly and nodded. “I know,” she whispered. “But he’s my son.”

  “Don’t let that get in the way of what needs to be done.”

  Edie looked at Randy again. Then she shut her eyes in pain. “Do whatever you need to, William.”

  “No, Mom! I love you. I do! I’m sorry.” Randy’s eyes were red, his nose was running and he looked more like five than fifteen.

  “That’s just what your father used to say, Randy.” Edie looked hopelessly at the ceiling. “You’re becoming just like him, and it breaks my heart.”

  “No! No, I’m not!” He grabbed for Edie’s hand again, and this time he connected. “Don’t say that! Please! I promise, I’m not!”

  Edie smiled wanly at him and said nothing.

  “Randy.” Mac lowered himself to Randy’s eye level. “We all care for your mother a lot, from Sergeant Poole to all the News staff. That you would dare touch her in anger upsets all of us. Not only were your actions morally reprehensible, but assault and battery is against the law.”

  “Assault and battery!” Randy couldn’t believe his ears.

  “What else would you call it if not that?” Mac asked quietly.

  “Get up, son. We’re leaving.” William put a hand beneath Randy’s arm and lifted.

  It seemed impossible, but Randy’s face turned paler, and he clung to Edie’s hand.

  I didn’t know whether William could or would actually do something official to Randy or if he was just trying a scare-him-straight type of thing. Either way, I thought Randy was a thoroughly broken young man, and I was pleased to see it.

  Ah, God, use this to make something of him. May he turn to you for help.

  “William, may I see You for a minute? Alone?” I motioned him to my desk.

  He released Randy. “Don’t you move.”

  Randy nodded, compliant. He was taller, younger and undoubtedly fleeter of foot than William, but all fight was gone. Besides, where would he have fled?

  William walked across the room. “Yes?”

  “He’s underage and has no other family in town. If you need somewhere for him to stay tonight—you know, if they keep Edie at the hospital—he can come to my place. The sofa will be fine for one night.”

  “You’re not afraid he’ll hit you?”

  I looked across the room at the boy in question. I didn’t think I’d ever seen anyone so contrite, so forlorn. “Should I be?”

  William gave a sad smile. “I don’t think so. I just hope this is the kid’s wake-up call. His mom’ll forgive him even if the girl won’t. He can still recoup things nicely if he’s got a mind to.” He looked at me. “But I’m not going to make it easy for him. I’m going to make him squirm.”

  “Just call me if you need me.”

  Finally only Jolene, Mac and I remained, and Jolene didn’t stay long. She was itching to get home.

  “Wait until Reilly hears! He thinks my job’s dumb.” She cracked her gum in delight. “This’ll show him!”

  I looked at Jo. The woman never ceased to amaze me at the way she saw things, always slightly skewed. Here I was, emotionally drained, and she was as perky as a high school cheerleader. All that was missing were the somersaults and splits.

  “I don’t think he thinks your job is dumb.” Mac looked more weary than I’d ever seen him. “He thinks that you having a job is dumb.”

  “You mean because of the lottery money?” Jo asked. Mac nodded. “Twenty-five thousand dollars a month for twenty years makes the idea of working as a general assistant at the News sort of redundant, doesn’t it? It’s not like you need the money.”

  “Well, I’ve got to do something with my life,” Jolene said. “I can’t just sit around all day getting my nails done. I mean I could, but come on. How boring is that!”

  “What do you do with it all?” Mac asked, blatant curiosity compelling the question.

  Jolene just looked at him. “That’s a very personal question.”

  “And you won’t answer it?”

  She nodded and shot him with her forefinger. “You got it.” She grabbed her purse and headed out the back door. “See you tomorrow.”

  I listened to their exchange as a brilliant, beautiful Easter lily of an idea, fragrant with possibilities, blossomed. I didn’t know why I hadn’t thought of it before. I just had to figure out how to pull it off without Jolene realizing she was being manipulated.

  I left the hospital parking lot at 9 p.m. Edie was resting comfortably, and I hoped I soon would be too. I was driving on empty, both literally and figuratively.

  The first problem was easy to fix, and I stopped at the gas station at Eighth and Main. The latter was also fixable, I realized, and I headed for Intimations. All I had to do was share my Audubon story with Curt, and I’d immediately feel better. He’d congratulate me and give me a great hug and kiss, and I could forget Edie’s pain and Sherrie’s tears and Randy’s white fa
ce and bask in the glow of my love’s approval. Already I felt brighter, refreshed.

  I was grinning as I pulled up in front of the gallery and parked behind Curt’s car. I looked at the quietly elegant sign over the door, unlit since the grand opening had not yet occurred, then at the picture tastefully displayed in the window— Curt’s latest from which prints had been made. The picture was softly lit, its deep red barn and silo glowing in a setting sun that streaked the evening sky with soft pearl pinks and mauves.

  I had to admit, albeit unwillingly, that Delia knew what she was doing. Intimations looked great. I sighed. I’d have liked it better if I could be mad at her for pulling Curt and his work down to some tacky level that diminished his abilities and threatened his reputation. The truth of the matter was just the opposite. She was going to be a professional godsend.

  I walked to the front door. As I expected, it was locked. I knocked loudly, but got no answer. I peered through the door into the gallery, dark and falling away into black shadows except where dim light seeped in from a streetlamp. Way in the back of the room I saw a sliver of light peeking out from the bottom of a door. The workroom, I guessed.

  I knocked again as loudly as I could and didn’t stop until the closed door at the rear of the gallery opened and a woman dressed all in black emerged. As soon as she pulled the door closed behind her, all that showed was a glimmer of blond hair gliding across the gallery toward me.

  She opened the gallery door a scant two inches, her elegant face set in a winsome, friendly cast.

  “I’m sorry. We’re closed.” Her voice was gracious, her smile warm. “Please come back Wednesday night for our grand opening.”

  “Thanks.” I smiled with equal grace and charm. “I’m looking for Curt Carlyle.”

  Her eyes narrowed for the briefest of moments as she suddenly recognized me.

  “I’m sorry. Curt’s not here.”

  “Sure he is. That’s his car.”

  She followed my pointing finger with her eyes. Her lips compressed ever so slightly.

  “It’s not that he’s not here.” She backpedaled with an agility that came from long practice and made me wonder how seriously afflicted she was in the truth-versus-misleading-statements department. “It’s more that he’s not available.” Again the smile, but all the charm was now gone. “He’s working.”