A Manor of Murder

by June Shaw

  He gazed at me, at my tensed shoulders, my tensed jaw. “I’m really not as interested in this film as I thought I’d be.” He shoved up to his feet. “Maybe we can do this another time. If you’d like to?”

  “Absolutely. We’ll plan something. Maybe we’ll rent a movie of your choice.”

  He surely knew our mood was gone, the romantic emotions destroyed by my twin. As I walked him out, I feared that if I did not commit to a more open relationship with this wonderful man soon, I would lose him.

  Chapter 11

  I slept later than usual. When I awoke, I stayed in bed, replaying events from last night. Dave had come over and helped me plant. Then he’d helped with dishes before we began to watch a film that probably wasn’t his favorite. Since he’d dirtied his shoes like I’d dirtied mine while we’d planted my azaleas, we’d needed to get his from out back before he left.

  The little dirt on them had dried, and even though I had offered to wash them, he deferred, thanking me and saying they were fine. He had sat right outside the door and slipped them on, tied them, and gave me a quick kiss before walking to the side of my house to get to his truck parked out front.

  Positive feelings and negative ones played through me while I got up, showered, and dressed, still replaying some things from the day before. Dave had been loving and helpful. He’d dug a hole and planted an azalea. Noticed and removed a broken branch with two dried leaves that had turned orange.

  “It was orange!” The words blasted from my mouth as the scene came to me. The object I had seen but forgotten was that color. I was sure of it.

  Breathless from my discovery, I grabbed my phone. Lesley’s secretary told me she had just stepped in, but a client was waiting to see her. The pleasant young woman said she could take a memo for Dr. Babineaux. Maybe she would be able to call me between appointments or if not, she would probably return my call after office hours.

  “No!” I insisted. “Get her now! Tell her who I am, and that I need to talk to her right now.” When no response came, I thought of how many patients might say that to the person who needed to act as a buffer between them and their psychiatrist.

  I lowered my tone. “Please, it’ll only take a minute. Just tell her what I said.” She still offered nothing, so I added, “She and my sister who died were best friends.”

  A long second passed. “I’ll pass on your message. Hold please.”

  Soon Lesley picked up. “Hi, Sunny, what’s the matter?”

  “It was orange. Lesley, I remembered that when you were speaking on the phone with Crystal and somebody drove by on the highway and shot her, I hadn’t thought I’d seen anything or anybody around. But it came to me this morning—I had glanced at the road when something from there made a Pop! It was a truck. The truck was orange.”

  She didn’t say a word.

  My heart continued to race. “Lesley, is it possible that I really saw one? Or is my mind just trying to figure it out?”

  “You were a child then. But yes, even years after a traumatic event takes place, people can recall something their minds blanked out at the time.”

  I tightened my grip on the phone even more, attempting to push my thoughts back there. To find another image. To envision the person who killed her.

  “Sunny.” Her tone was soft. “Good for you that you’ve recalled another memory from that day. Maybe you will even think of more.” She allowed me a moment and then asked, “Did you sing when you remembered it?”

  My thoughts shot back. I envisioned the orange, just like the orange leaves on the azalea bush. “No. I didn’t even hum.”

  “Good for you.” She was letting me also congratulate myself for that achievement. “Now I need to get with a client.”

  I understood, thanked her, and sat in silence. Time moved on while I tried to squeeze any picture or sound or even a scent from then. All I thought of was sitting beside my sister, watching blood spread on the back of her favorite turquoise shirt, and later hearing the sirens.

  Eve walked into my house before I heard her. “Hey, what’s up, sis? You didn’t hear me ringing the doorbell?” She wore a royal blue jogging suit that brought out the red of her hair and held up a house key. “It’s a good thing the key to your place is with the keys to mine so I could get in here. I was about to call the police and tell them something happened to you.”

  I raised a hand toward her and waved it like a windshield wiper. “Oh no, don’t call the police.” Seated at my kitchen table, I pulled out the chair beside me. “Sit. Let’s talk about some things.”

  Looking even more concerned, she sat and placed her fingers over mine while I relayed everything. I told what I recalled about the truck and how that memory came because of a dying azalea leaf. This wasn’t the time to tell about Dave, so I left out the part about him being here to plant it and then staying awhile. “I wasn’t sure if an old memory like that could be true, but I called Lesley and she said they could and often do.”

  “Sometimes that happens with people who’ve been abused as children,” Eve said. “I’ve heard a number of women and men on talk shows telling about how that happened to them. Repressed memory, the professionals call it.”

  We looked at each other. Silent moments later, we both lowered our gazes toward my oak table. Our thoughts stayed inside ourselves. She, surely like me, went back to that most awful day when we lost Crystal. Her killer drove past. This we knew before. Now I could picture him moving beyond our house that sat along a bayou with empty lots on either side. I couldn’t see the man’s face but imagined a gun he pointed at her. He could have just as easily shot me.

  But he kept rolling along in that orange truck. Yes, I was certain it was a truck.

  “Do you want to go tell Mom?”

  “That might give her a little peace. But I don’t know.”

  “It was something we’re both satisfied to discover. It’s something, Sunny. And that was her child, her daughter.”

  “Okay, we’ll go.”

  “Oh, first I want to see those bushes you planted. I can’t believe you put azaleas in your yard.”

  We went out back. The dirt was still dark and moist from my watering last night. I stared at the last bush on the right, the one Dave set in the ground. Maybe this would be a good time to let Eve know that happened—to make her aware that he and I cared about each other.

  She wrapped her arms around me, held me in a tight hug, and pointed to those bushes. “Do you know what this means? Besides getting more memory back from that day, you’re overcoming another situation that event caused. You’ve gotten over hating azaleas that everybody else loves.”

  I stared at mine. “I didn’t say I like them.”

  She gave me a one-arm squeeze. “I am so proud of you.”

  My small smile was the only response I could give. No, now wasn’t the time to tell her about Dave and me.

  Eve decided she’d jog home and change clothes. She would pick me up in her car.

  It wasn’t until a few minutes after she was gone when I realized I could have jogged with her. Waiting, I stared out my backdoor’s window at my flowerbed. A lot more people could see those azaleas if they were on the side of my house or out front. But back there I could watch them grow. So could my sister when she came over. And Dave. And anyone who visited and Mom, the next time I convinced her to come to my house.

  When Eve arrived, she was dressed much better than I was, but that was nothing new. I wore casual slacks and shirt with flats while she had put on a swingy dress and little heels.

  Mom was sitting with her friends in their normal grouping when we walked in. The enticing aroma of cinnamon rolls from breakfast or the upcoming lunch pulled me forward, along with the pleasant laughter coming from their gathering.

  “Ladies, what’s going on?” Eve asked. “Sounds like fun.”

  The Chat and Nappers nodded with big s
miles—at least most of them did, although one or two couldn’t hear well and today might not be wearing their hearing aids.

  “You look nice today, Eve.” This was spoken by the woman whose thin white hair was curled tight, revealing her ears with no aids in them.

  “Thank you. You can tell us apart now?”

  “Of course.” She swerved her finger up and down at Eve. “You dress better than her.”

  Even though I normally didn’t care about things like clothing, I felt a blush tinting my cheeks.

  “That isn’t a nice thing to say.” Our mother leaned forward and frowned at her. Having her come to my defense gave me great pleasure. “My daughters are unique. They might look alike, but they are individuals.”

  “Thanks, Mom,” I whispered at her ear when I leaned down and kissed her.

  “It’s true,” she said. “I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

  Those words brought even more comfort to my heart. My mother loved the person I was. I gave her a big, warm hug. Her eyes were gentle when she looked at me. Eve bent down and kissed her, but I was the one who right now felt extra special.

  “Where is your male friend?” Eve abruptly asked her.

  “He’s out. He got a virus or something and went to the doctor,” the newer woman with her husband’s urn on her lap announced without waiting for our mother to answer.

  “I would have taken him if I still owned a car.” This came from Miss Clarice who had been walking next to the group. She wore a nice pantsuit and looked younger than many others here. “But I would take him anywhere he wanted to go.”

  Two of Mom’s buddies snorted at her. “You know he’s Miriam’s boyfriend, don’t you?” the one seated beside Mom said, placing her hand on Mom’s as if to help her show ownership.

  “They haven’t taken any wedding vows. Until they do, he’s still available.” Clarice shoved her pointed nose up in the air and walked on.

  The women in Mom’s group all started talking about how he was Mom’s, and nobody else had the right to go after him. As Eve and I remained in the midst of this gathering, I also experienced the urge to complain about what that other woman said and stand up for my mother. But then I recalled our main mission was to stop any wedding from happening. Who was the man really? What did he want? Would he hurt her?

  People around the place started walking or rolling in wheelchairs. As if on cue, the cadre of ladies here stood and started moving toward the dining area. Our mother easily got to her feet. “I hate to run off so soon, but you know the meal is much better when it’s first out. You two could come and sit with me in there awhile. A couple of the ladies from our table had late hair appointments upstairs this morning and said they’d be a few minutes late to eat.”

  We walked beside her. I leaned in close. “There’s something I need to tell you.”

  Normally she might have urged me to say things in front of her close friends. This time she came to a halt, concern filling her eyes. “Sunny, what is it?”

  “It’s about Crystal.” The second I said my dead sister’s name, our mother appeared to wilt like a dried flower. I hated to go on and was sorry I’d brought it up, but she had to know. She was Crystal’s mother and should learn everything we knew about her.

  A couple of male residents almost ran into us. They had to take a sharp turn while we three stood still.

  “Tell me.” Mom’s gaze gripped mine.

  I swallowed, all moisture gone from my mouth. “I remembered something from that day. I had thought I’d only heard a shot, but then an image came back to me. I had looked at the road once I heard that sound. A truck was passing by. An orange truck.”

  Motion from her thin neck came from her throat’s swallow. The news, this information I was giving, was having a profound effect on her.

  “It’s all I remember.” I gripped her hand. “But maybe I shouldn’t have brought it up.”

  Eve was leaning close in front of our mom as if to give her support. Mom lost a sixteen-year-old child that day. Her cold hand with the gnarled knuckles tightened on my fingers. “No, I’m glad you did.” She gave me a tight-lipped smile with a nod. “It’s something.”

  Both my twin and I wrapped our arms around our mother. Amid workers and residents, we stood there long moments, holding her, gripping each other. We were there. We were family. We all had each other.

  Automatically, Eve and I went along with our mother to her table in the center of all the others. Chairs scraped the floor as people sat in them. The tempting aroma of fried shrimp filled the air. Staff members wearing navy shirts and the navy pants with a ribbon tying the waist served trays to the tables.

  The woman who wanted Mom’s man or whatever he was to her sat right next to our mother, no apology for her earlier comment on her face or from her lips. Mom gave her a brief nod. “I told my daughters they could sit with us a little while until the others get here.”

  We sat, and Mom lifted her glass that held ice and sweet tea. “Oh, I forgot to bring my medicine.”

  The other lady leaned closer as though she were inspecting Mom’s shoulder and then every inch of the table to find something our mother couldn’t see. “You always bring it.”

  “I know, but I didn’t today.”

  “I’ll run up to your room and get it,” I said, disappointed that I hadn’t noticed she was without the tiny tan knitted strap with a pouch at the end that held her prescription bottle. Like a small purse with a long strap, that was the last thing she always put on when she got dressed every morning. That way she’d be sure to bring her medicine and have it to take with lunch. And then when she’d go back to her room for a nap after lunch, she removed the pouch and set it next to her bed where she’d be certain to put it on again in the morning. She never forgot it—that we knew of. A pinch of concern made my scalp tingle. Was she starting to forget other things, too? We would need to pay close attention for any other signs of forgetfulness.

  She shook her head. “Don’t worry about it. I should be able to skip one day. Or I can just take it later.”

  I was on my feet. “There’s no reason for you to skip your medicine, and you always take it at noon so you don’t forget.”

  “I know. Thank you, Sunny.”

  Eve began a discussion with Mom while I was leaving the table, probably to discourage her idea of skipping her medication and also to distract thoughts of our sister who I was now also missing more than I had in quite some time.

  The only stairs that I knew of were at the far ends of each hall. Since we were in the central portion of the manor, elevators were close. I was the only one riding up to the second floor. Things were quiet when I reached it. No one was visible in the long hallway.

  Mom’s room was just beyond the large room on the right that was used for working out or sometimes nondenominational church services. I glanced inside that room and saw no one.

  A sound I recognized as a blow dryer picked up from the short hall to the left. That came from the little beauty shop used by those who didn’t want to go out to a favorite hairdresser. Probably one of the usual ladies who sat at the table with Mom was getting her hair dried. I needed to hurry and get Mom’s medicine down to her so I would have at least a little more time with her.

  My mother’s room, as always, was unlocked unless it was nighttime. Eve and I had urged her to lock the door when she left her room, but she had responded that was ridiculous. No one locked their rooms that she knew of here, and what would she do—walk around with her key every time she went right there to exercise or visit a friend a few doors down?

  Her room smelled fresh. I made a quick run-through. Her coffeepot was off. So was her small stovetop. The four chairs were all straight against her little square table. The TV in front of her sofa was off. She had left her favorite soft afghan over the arm of the sofa where it waited for her. Her small bathroom was clean with everything
put away, and as always she’d made her bed and placed two pink throw pillows on it right after she got up. The small tan pouch—knitted for Mom by a now-deceased friend—held the bottle of pills Mom needed for her heart to continue to work correctly. It lay forgotten today on the small bedside table.

  I grabbed the pouch, squeezed it, and looked inside to make certain her prescription bottle was in it and hadn’t dropped out and rolled under the bed. Satisfied, I hurried out, almost forgetting myself and locking the door behind me. I shook my head, wanting my mother to lock herself in her place just like she had done at home.

  The whine of the blow dryer stopped. Voices picked up from the beauty salon and then a blow dryer started again. I needed to rush to have a little time with my mother.

  “That was fast,” she said when I sat again and gave her the knitted pouch. “I guess you didn’t need to wait for an elevator, since everybody is down here.”

  “Not everybody,” I said.

  Mom smiled. “I know. Mac is at the doctor’s office.” She nodded toward the table four away from hers where he normally ate with other men.

  “I meant the ladies whose chairs Eve and I are sitting in.” My tone might have sounded more offended than I’d wanted to let on. “Where’s Miss Clarice?” I nodded to her empty place.

  “She went to the restroom,” Eve said.

  “But before that, she was talking again about my man.” My mother was shaking her head with a crease forming between her eyes.

  “Mom.” I placed my hand on hers. “He’s not yours.”

  Eve gripped her opposite hand. “That’s what I’ve been trying to tell her,” she said to me. “If she enjoys having a man to flirt with a little at her age, that’s okay. I’m sure it’s kind of flattering.”

  “You would think so,” Mom told her, sliding her hand away. “But flirting is not what I want to do. Settling down and getting married is.”

  “But you’ve been married,” I said, and she pulled her hand away from beneath mine.

  “That was so many years ago, young lady. And if you ever decide to get married again, you can be certain I will support you. Now you two can just realize that I’m still of sound mind, and I do still get feelings I’m sure you don’t want to hear about. So look.” She pointed toward the bank of elevators. “The ladies whose seats you’re in are coming back.”