"Go ahead," I managed to whisper.
Jack and I leaned to the side as they trooped past us. I began to shake violently.
"Hot coffee," I said to Jack.
He rubbed my arm. "You’ll have to wait while the guys are in the house."
Jack kept his arm firmly wrapped around my shoulder, which wasn’t at all like Jack.
"What the hell is taking them so long?" I asked. "There’s either a dead body in there, or there isn’t. Are you sure you called 911? Maybe you dialed the wrong number."
"Relax, Sam."
One of the men appeared at the front door to summon Jack, who stood and went inside. He returned a few minutes later.
"Well, is there a dead guy in there or not?" I asked, looking up at him.
"Yep, there’s a dead guy in there. You got him. Good girl."
"Good girl? I killed someone, and you’re telling me I’m a good girl? What the fuck are you thinking?"
"Bad language. Not now. Don’t talk like that while the cops are here. They’ll need a statement from you. Try to remember what happened," Jack instructed as he put his hands under my elbows and hoisted me up to my feet. "Come inside with me."
"I don’t want to go in there, Jack. Do I have to?"
"They need to know what happened." Jack gently nudged me forward into the hallway where two of the men stood waiting for me. They escorted me into the living room and sat me down. I felt too dirty to sit in my nice clean living room, the room I kept free of toys in case company stopped by.
"Ma’am, we need to take a statement from you and then your friend will take you to his home for a while. Your home is a crime scene, and we need to process it."
One of the suits handed me a cup of coffee. I took a sip, and it warmed me like life–giving medication.
Slowly. Creeping into my mind. Flashing images. Returning with unexpected clarity. I told the story, actually remembered the story. They asked questions. I answered questions. Sleeping. Heard noises. Got the gun. Husband’s gun. Protection. Alone in my house. Second time someone broke in. Kids at the lake with Grandma and Grandpa. Down the stairs. Silently. Something moving. Rushing up at me. On the stairs. Shots fired. Fleeing outside.
One of the suits entered the room and handed something to another suit. A photograph. Jack stayed close. Right beside me. I looked.
"Mrs. Stitsill? Do you know this man?"
I reached out, grasped the photograph, and stared at the unreal image of Jon Stitsill’s head. His eyes were closed, but he held the same distinction he had in the wedding photographs that Rosie had brought to school. A murderer with distinction. I leaned back against the sofa, tipped my head toward the ceiling and closed my eyes. Air whooshed out of my lungs. This man had wreaked havoc on my life for way too long. First, through the letter, then the phone calls, then through Rosie. He killed Rosie, killed my dog, and he scared me beyond reason. Was this over now? Had I really killed him?
"Is this the man I shot?"
"Yes, ma’am. We think you may have shot this man. His body is on the stairs to your basement. Do you know him?"
"I think it’s a man who calls himself Jon Stitsill, the man who stole my husband’s identity."
"Thank you, ma’am. It appears that he broke into your home in order to steal something. We found a metal strong box beside his corpse."
"Are you sure he’s dead?"
A knock on the door interrupted us. I flinched. One of the suits went to the door. He opened it. I heard murmurings. The suit admitted another man into the house. This guy didn’t wear a suit, though. Tweed sports coat. Broad shoulders. McGrath. Thank God.
"Hi, Sam." He walked straight to me and crouched down in front of me. He rested a hand on my shoulder. The expression on his face spoke volumes. He needed to comfort me, and I wanted his comfort.
"Hey," I answered, then struggled to stem a sudden emotional tide rising within me.
"You okay?" McGrath asked.
I absently nodded, then locked eyes with him and said, carefully phrasing my words, "These gentlemen say that there is a body on my basement stairs. Could you check and make sure he’s really dead?"
McGrath’s mouth formed a thin line. He nodded and stood.
Jack introduced himself to McGrath. The two men exchanged handshakes before McGrath left the room. The suits spoke. Someone refilled my coffee. I began to feel more awake, warmer, and very queasy. I jumped up and ran to the bathroom, closing the door and locking it. Gut wrenching heaves followed. Sometime later, I heard a tapping on the door.
"Sam, open the door. Let me help you," McGrath said.
"Give me a minute," I called out as I stood at the sink. Turning on the water, I washed my face and brushed my teeth. I avoided my reflection in the mirror.
"Sam?"
"Yeah."
"Let me in."
I unlocked the door. McGrath filled the doorway.
"You need a shower, clean clothes, and a change of scenery."
"Yes, to all of the above." I walked into his arms. "One question, though."
"What Sam?"
"The gun. Did they find the gun?"
McGrath nodded. "It’s all taken care of."
He held me as I sobbed for Jon. My Jon. I cried for Rosie. And for this other man. Jon Stitsill, whoever he was. I shook with fright, anger, shock. I’d killed a man. How could that be possible? I suddenly missed my once predictable life, the one that kept me busy every moment with the mundane routine of teaching and raising kids. And I suddenly missed my husband and the security of knowing what tomorrow would bring.
Chapter Forty–One
I DIDN’T FEEL human. Probably the shock. After we arrived at McGrath’s, I showered, yielding to the hammering of hot water on my body. Then, I scrubbed my head. I lingered until the hot water gave out. Got out, dried off, and dressed. As I dried my hair, I wondered through the tears how I’d tell the kids about Jon. And where I would find the strength.
McGrath wanted to drive me to my in–laws, but I wanted the kids to see a familiar face. Jack knew the kids and Jon’s parents. So, I asked him to accompany me. For me, the trip to the lake passed in a blur. Jack drove in silence. His occasional pat on the knee helped me to stay grounded.
As I climbed out of the car and shut the door, the kids poured out of the house and ran up to me. Tears streamed down my face as I gazed at their innocent faces.
"Mommy, what’s wrong?"
I looked up. My in–laws stood behind them. They read the answer on my ravaged face. Ed put his arm around Betty, pulling her close. She began to weep silently.
"I have bad news," I began, then felt emotion clog my throat. I took a steadying breath as Jack gave me a reassuring nod. "Daddy was in a car accident, guys. In Japan."
Nick turned toward me first, searching my eyes and reading them. His shoulders slumped and tears welled behind his normally tough exterior. He angrily kicked a rock.
"Is he hurt?" Annie asked, putting a sheltering arm around Marie’s shoulders.
Blinking through tear covered eyes, I breathed, trying not to fade away as I shared the news. Jack put his hand on my shoulder, shoring me up.
"Daddy died," I managed. "I’m so sorry."
Nick immediately approached me, wrapping one hand around my forearm and patting my back with the other, assuming the man of the house role he adopted whenever Jon traveled. I leaned down toward Lizzie and gathered her up in my arms. Annie, Will, and Marie stood in their spots, frozen by shock and unease.
Lizzie was the first to pipe up. "Where is Daddy now?"
The other kids stayed alert for information, letting her forge ahead with the questions they wanted answered.
"Daddy’s body will be sent home on an airplane from Japan, and then we’ll get to see him."
"What day?" Lizzie asked.
"I’m not sure yet, honey. When a person dies in another country, it takes a few days for their remains to be sent home. I’ll let you know as soon as I know."
Annie and Marie linked arms. Tears
streamed down both of their faces, but they seemed unable to speak.
"Do we still get to be a family?" Will asked.
"Of course." I knew this would be a question that would take some time to answer. What happens to a step–family when one parent dies?
I extended my arms and the kids folded into them. Betty and Ed joined us as we wrapped our arms around each other and held on. We cried and huddled close, then cried some more. Marie turned away and walked, head down, toward the beach, shoving her feet in the sand. When Annie sensed her absence, she turned and ran after her sister, linking arms with her and comforting her.
I led Lizzie, Will, and Nick toward the shore, and we stood silently, looking out over the vast blue water. Annie came up behind Will, protectively taking his hand while holding Marie’s in the other. Hand in hand, like a line of fortification—Jon’s people—we slid our toes in the warm sand at the water’s edge. The sun, brilliant on the rippling water, enveloped us. It made sense that we were here together at the lake where Jon had grown up. His parents, his wife, and his children, the circle of his life.
Marie, sounding more adult than her thirteen years, spoke first. "We’re supposed to say a prayer." We closed our ring, supporting each other in a circle of grief and reverence.
I began the Our Father, and the kids joined in. When we finished praying, the boys, speaking in low tones, wandered a few feet away. Annie, Marie, and Lizzie stayed close, sitting down, picking up sticks, and haphazardly poking holes in the sand.
It seemed impossible to speak. To put together what had happened.
Lizzie picked up rocks and stuffed them in her pocket. She circled back around to where I sat near Annie and Marie.
"Daddy’s a good driver," Lizzie said to herself.
"Come here, sweetie." I patted the sand beside me.
"Daddy was a good driver," I agreed, "and I’m not sure who was driving. But it was an accident, and even when we don’t want or mean them to, accidents happen."
"I want Daddy," Lizzie cried and looked at me, begging with her eyes.
"I know, sweetie. I know." I held her close for a few minutes. Nick shuffled back toward me. He hesitantly sat down beside us, almost as if he wasn’t sure if he should or not, then leaned his head on my shoulder.
"What’s going to happen?" he asked.
"What do you mean, honey?"
"To us?" he answered.
"It’s going to be alright," I reassured him. "We’ll figure it out." Nick. Tough guy on the outside, all heart on the inside.
"It’s not fair," he murmured, biting his bottom lip.
I stroked his head of thick strawberry–blonde hair, and brushed the freckles sprinkling his cheeks with the tip of my finger.
"Nope," I agreed.
"Rex is really going to miss him."
"Here’s the thing, Nick…" I started.
Nick glared at me and screamed, "No way, Mom!" He darted off for the cottage. I didn’t bother to run after him now. I knew he needed space and time.
"C’mon, kids," I told the others. "Let’s head up to the cottage." I wanted to distract them, show them it was alright to do something normal, take a break from shock and grief. I hoped I could find a stupid video, one where no one died.
When we turned to walk back to the cottage, I saw Jack sitting on the deck, his long legs extended and feet propped on the railing as he spoke into his cell phone.
I watched Ed guide a still weeping Betty inside and told the kids to grab the bags of snacks out of the back seat of Jack’s car. While they did that, I joined Jack on the deck, taking a seat on the porch swing beside him. He closed his cell phone, and said he needed to run me into town for a meeting.
"What? I can’t." I shook my head, overwhelmed at yet another task.
"It’s McGrath. He has news. On second thought, take my car. I’ll get the kids."
"I won’t leave them now," I said, glancing at my children.
"Sam, you’ve gotta find out what’s going on."
"I’m not leaving. I’ll call him."
Jack ushered the kids into the house. "I’ll be right in," I called after them.
I dialed McGrath’s number. He picked up on the first ring.
"I’m sorry. I can’t come. I need to be here with the kids."
"I understand. But I need to let you in on a few things."
I leaned back in my chair, all of the air puffing out of me. What more could there be?
McGrath began. "The guys at the house weren’t cops. They were Feds. They’d been watching the house, expecting this Stitsill guy to show up. They told my chief they were operating on a matter of National Security and on a need to know basis. They started watching your house after the break in, because they suspected he might show up there. They even called off the guys I assigned to watch the house. By the time I’d made it downstairs, the body had already been bagged. A quick and tidy clean up."
"So they expected Stitsill to show up at my house, but they didn’t notify the local cops of their presence and they did absolutely nothing to protect me?" I clarified, my voice tight.
"That about sums it up," McGrath said. "It’s not right, but it’s over."
"I don’t even feel human," I admitted quietly.
"You’re in shock, Sam. Hell, you’ve suffered two major blows in twenty–four hours. That’s more than most people deal with in a lifetime. You’ll be okay, but it’s going to take time."
"Can I go home?"
"Not quite yet. But we’ll sort out the situation at the house. My gut tells me there won’t be a formal investigation. The Feds are playing things close to the vest. This Stitsill guy was involved in some really bad stuff, and the government knew all about it."
"Sounds like he might have been on the payroll. Like they were protecting him."
McGrath audibly sighed. "Certainly seems possible. Why he stole Jon’s identity, we’ll probably never know. But he was definitely into some heavy–duty stuff."
"I can’t take the kids home till I’ve been there first. I need to make the place whole again." How on earth I would do that, I had no clue.
"Whatever you want to do, I’m here for you. Right here. Minutes away."
"I’ll stay at the cottage tonight. Make sure everyone is alright. Give them some stability. Ed and Betty will help, but they just lost their son and they’re grieving, too."
"What can I do?"
"Knowing you’re there if I need you is enough right now."
"Okay," McGrath said. "Call me if you need me."
"I will. Right now, I need to call and inform Jon’s friends," I said.
My throat filled with tears, and I struggled to take a deep breath.
I heard the screen door smack and felt Jack settle his hand on my shoulder.
I met his gaze. "Thank you."
"What can I do?"
I held out the address book I had gathered before I left the house. "Hang out with my kids. Make sure nothing happens to them while I make these calls."
I made several calls. Broke the news. Autopilot.
Ed brought me a tumbler of amber liquid. "Here," he said, "drink this."
I took a sip. Medicinal booze. Seemed I’d been doing a lot of that.
"We’re here with you, Mom and me. We’ll do whatever we can to help you and the kids through this."
I wrapped my arms around him. I managed to whisper a thank you through my tears.
"I’ll spend the night, if that’s alright. Tomorrow, I’ll go home, get the house put back together. I left in a rush. I’d like some time alone there to make some calls, and get details straightened out before the kids come home."
Ed nodded. "Whatever you need, you’ve got."
Jack left after supper. We agreed that he would return for me the following afternoon. I needed two full days to get the house put back together before Ed and Betty brought the kids home.
I tucked them into bed. I cried. They cried. I soothed them until they fell asleep, clinging to one another in the ki
ng–sized bed Betty and Ed had put in the loft, my grief for them overwhelming.
I went to find my in–laws to say goodnight. Betty wept softly on Ed’s shoulder, while he gently patted her back as he held her to him.
I slipped unnoticed out of the room and into the room that Jon and I had shared whenever we spent time at the lake. Paneled in knotty pine, it smelled of cedar–lined closets, and the handmade quilt that had been in his family for three generations stretched across the antique iron bed where Jon and I made love like unencumbered teenagers the summer before. I climbed on top of the coverlet and rested my head on Jon’s pillow. I smelled his unique scent. Clean, like soap. My Jon. Still close, but far away in a distance I couldn’t yet fathom. It seemed funny that I’d notice his smell now. Was it because I knew he was never coming back? I wondered how long I’d wait for him. He was gone so much, how long would I fool myself into thinking that this was just another extended trip? I half–imagined that one of these days, he’d pull into the driveway and the kids and I would run out to greet him. That I’d realize this was just another in the string of nightmares I’d been having lately.
The lump in my throat grew. Suddenly, I remembered the last time Jon and I lay in this bed, my head on his shoulder, both of us straining toward the window, hopeful we could see the stars without getting out of bed. We were both exhausted. We’d spent the day tossing kids in the water. That, mixed with a couple of beers, made us giddy as school kids.
I’d begged Jon to climb out of bed and tell me what he saw in the stars. He teased me about being lazy. Then, he eased himself up and walked to the window. He stood naked in the moonlight.
"You’ve gotta come here, babe," he said, smiling. "It’s magic."
"I can’t," I whined. "My legs are too heavy."
"No," Jon said. "Really. You have to see this."
When I lumbered over his side of the bed and rose, bitching and complaining the entire time, I reached the window and glanced up just in time to see a shooting star. Jon draped his arm around me and looked at me with loving eyes.
"That’s our star," he said as he pointed toward the sky, "shooting into the universe. Our love burning bright."
"You are such a sap," I chided as I shoved my elbow into his middle.
Identity Issues (The Samantha Series) Page 21
