Rohn Federbush - Sally Bianco 01 - The Legitimate Way

by Rohn Federbush

  A slight breeze blew through the open window of the car. The fall chill made Donna pull her coat collar closer to her throat. Most of the leaves were fallen from the trees, but the condominium’s staff failed to collect them. The trees appeared naked with their colorful skirts draped around their ankles. Donna’s hands itched to paint the scene.

  “You are safe to enter now,” John continued, “but I want to warn you. There has been another robbery. The place is a mess.”

  “Oh Lord,” Sally prayed. “We need your protection.”

  Donna jumped out of the car, then leaned back through the passenger window. “Sally, go home with John. Sam can handle this.”

  “Call me when you find out what happened.” Sally waved for John to join her.

  “No,” John said, as he got in the car. “Call us as soon as Sam is through.”

  “I will,” Donna promised, thinking she might wait until Sam left, if she ever let Sam Tedler leave again. Sam’s hand was on her shoulder.

  A mess hardly explained the disaster Donna encountered in her own home. Every book was emptied from the shelves. The paint on the walls was marred and the framed pictures smashed. Her couches were ripped and the stuffings strewn as far as the culprit could toss them. The kitchen was the worst hit. Every dish broken, every pot out of the cupboards and all of the silverware strewn on the floor.

  “Someone is still looking for whatever they didn’t find on Professor Leonard’s computer.” Sargeant Cramer shook her head.

  “Did they destroy my studio?” Donna couldn’t summon the courage to walk up the stairs.

  Sam went up to inspect any damage. When he returned, he said. “Nothing was touched in the painting room but the master bedroom is destroyed.”

  Donna ran to the first floor, guest bathroom. Was she vomiting in relief? Did her paintings mean that much to her? Sam came in and held a cold hand on her forehead as she emptied her stomach. “Do you need water?” He provided a chilled glass “Just sip it, or you’ll start dry vomiting.”

  Donna sat on the floor as far away from the toilet as she could without leaving the room. “I think you better call Dr. Lorell for me, Sam.” She pulled her knees up to her stomach. “Her number is next to the kitchen phone. I hope.”

  Sergeant Cramer peeked her head around the frame of the door. “Mrs. Leonard I have to get back. If you find anything is missing, let me know. I am going to file this as another act of vandalism until I hear from you. Take your time.”

  Sam shed his coat and draped it around Donna. “Just stay there until you feel like getting up.”

  “We have to stop meeting like this.” Donna wanted to laugh, to giggle until she was silly, but she could not.

  “I’ll make you some tea.”

  Shortly after maneuvering herself into David’s office, Donna sat in his desk chair and completed drinking Sam’s effort at making tea, the phone rang.

  “Dr. Lorell.” Sam brought her the cordless phone.

  “Vomiting is not uncommon.” Dr. Lorell said.

  “For grieving widows?” Donna asked. “I didn’t know.”

  “For pregnant widows.” Dr. Lorell said. “The hospital took a routine blood test after your visit to the courthouse prison.”

  “I’m pregnant?” Donna asked aloud, then remembered Sam was in the room.

  “Make an appointment next week for an exam,” Dr. Lorell said cheerfully. “You are two months along, I think. See you then.” The doctor hung up.

  “But what about?” Donna said into the dead phone. What about raising a baby without a father, what about living a life without a husband, what about ... There were no answers for her in the present and the future was hanging fire.

  “David’s baby.” Sam knelt beside her. “Aren’t you pleased?”

  “I am,” Donna said and then bawled like a baby. She forgot the destruction of her home as soon as Dr. Lorell told her she was carrying David’s child.

  When the wet storm of tears passed, Sam asked what he could do. “I could move your paintings into storage and find a room for you.”

  “I’m too exhausted to think about moving. I don’t want to call Sally. Do you think you can find Zelda’s number?”

  “You want Zelda here?” The hurt in Sam’s voice was obvious.

  “No, but she owns a van and lots of energy.”

  “How did Sally and you become friends with Zelda?”

  “Zelda lives next to Paul St. Claire.” Donna wondered if any of her clothes were ruined in the onslaught of somebody’s personal vendetta against the Leonard household. “I’ll need new clothes,” Donna said to herself, thinking of the baby.

  “I don’t think the vandals ruined yours.”

  Donna stopped speaking. Her mind was a confusion of conflicting plans. A baby? Her paintings? Sam was kneeling next to David’s chair, waiting for her to continue. She stuck her finger in the pile of dirt from the fig tree still splayed out on the David’s desk. “I wasn’t crying because the doctor gave me any bad news.”

  “You’ve experienced enough traumas in the last week to declare war on the rest of humanity.”

  “Do you know how handsome you are?” Donna reached for his blond curls.

  “Sympathetic friends look good to you, do we?” Sam put his arms around her shoulders.

  Donna leaned her head on his arm. “I want to tell everyone.”

  “How far along are you?” Sam asked.

  “I’m two months pregnant.” Donna gently kissed Sam. Sam slid his hand under her hair and held her head, as he returned the friendly kiss. “David’s child.” Donna pulled away.

  ♦ ♦ ♦ ♦ ♦

  Sam let go of her. “Babies need fathers.” Donna’s gray eyes widened. Sam’s heart gave a jump. What had he offered? “I mean it,” Sam assured himself. “I’ve been in love with you from the first moment I saw you.”

  “When you told me there was an accident?”

  Sam embraced Donna again, whispered in her ear, “Do I have a chance?”

  “I think so.” Donna kissed him more than a second time.

  They stayed in the embrace as long as they could, both their young bodies cried for warmth, understanding, and physical release from the tensions caused by the continuing traumas surrounding David’s accident.

  ♦ ♦ ♦ ♦ ♦

  Thanksgiving Day

  Fourth Thursday in November

  On the tree-lined north shore of the Huron River, a half-mile west of Ann Arbor but still within the city limits, Sally and John paced off closet areas on the third floor of their planned new home.

  “You’ll need more room than I will.” John stood behind Sally with his arms around her waist.

  “I am a clothes horse.” Sally let the back of her head rest on John’s chest. “But whenever I shop, I fill the emptied department store bags with clothes to give away.”

  “How is that working out?”

  “I’m not giving away as much as I should. I get emotionally attached to the strangest items. I have a sheepskin vest I bought from a Waterloo garage sale for seventy-five cents. I can’t seem to part with. The Lord has showered me with possessions.”

  “My brother and I know our good fortune comes from years of our mothers’ faithful prayers. But even he says I keep out-of-date duds.”

  On the way back to the car, Sally thought better of mentioning the hairpiece John’s twin brother insisted on wearing. “Don’t you love the smell of fresh cut wood?”

  “Too bad we have to cover the two-by-fours with wallboard.”

  Sally’s noticed a familiar car driving away from the new housing development. Her attention shifted to the Leonard case. “I wonder who is involved in the robberies.”

  “You’re thinking there’s a cover-up? By whom?”

  “The university?” Sally mulled over the possibility.

  “The vandalism seems more personal. I wonder why the paintings weren’t hit.”

  “Wouldn’t they be an obvious target? Unless ...”

&nb
sp; “What?”

  “Hazy thoughts. Let’s visit Donna. It is Thanksgiving Day. Where are we going to find a restaurant open?”

  “We’ll find one. I’m thankful I found you; but we better get out of this cold wind.”

  ♦ ♦ ♦ ♦ ♦

  At the Leonard house, Sally wondered why none of the home’s windows were broken in the latest bout of vandalism. The paintings and the windows. Something was yelling at her but she couldn’t hear the answers or even form the questions. John rang the bell for the third time and then pounded on the door. “Donna,” Sally yelled, in growing concern. Sam Tedler opened the door. “Oh, no!” Sally swayed against John. “Has someone injured Donna?”

  “No,” Sam said matter-of-factly. “I’ve been here all night.”

  “Well, that’s not right,” John said.

  “Come in, come in. Donna’s dressing. I mean, she’s busy. She’ll be down in a minute.”

  “What are you up to?” Sally asked.

  Sam led them into the cleaned up kitchen. “Paper plates will have to do. Pancakes okay for you two?”

  “I thought you were a stand up guy, Sam.” John sat at the dining room table which commanded a clear view of the kitchen.

  “Now, John.” Sally remembered AA cautioned about taking anyone else moral inventory.

  “Are you taking advantage of a widow’s grief.” John asked anyway.

  “She’s two months pregnant.” Sam answered

  “Oh, dear Lord.” Sally joined John at the table. “I’m sure she’s thrilled and appreciates your support, Sam.”

  Sam gave Sally a gorgeous smile, she thought, until she heard Donna behind her. Donna hugged Sally’s shoulders and kissed the side of her face. “I knew you would understand. I have so much to be thankful for.”

  “But, someone you know vandalized your house, Donna,” Sally said. “Someone who didn’t break any windows maybe so the neighbors wouldn’t notice the ruckus.

  “Someone who hates me, you mean.” Donna accepted a paper plate with a pancake on it from Sam. “I don’t entertain many people in the house.”

  They all turned toward the hall, where someone was knocking as if to dispute Donna’s statement. John went to open the door. They heard his cheerful greeting, “How are you feeling, Harry?”

  Harry made for one of the dining room chairs. “Surprisingly weak in the knees.”

  “Didn’t they feed you properly?” Sally asked.

  “I think the shock of losing David, and being accused of actually injuring my best friend.” He handed Donna a pie box. “I hope you like pumpkin…for Thanksgiving…I could use a cup of coffee.”

  Sam delivered the coffee and a stack of pancakes and bacon. Breakfast odors seemed to restore everyone’s good nature. Donna embraced Harry and sat next to him holding both his hands. “Thanks for coming over so soon.”

  “Let the man eat his breakfast,” Sally said.

  “I needed to warn you.” Harry looked around the destroyed rooms, and seemed to size up the situation. “I came too late. I never thought he would do anything so evil. Well, I guess I did. Your step-son …” The distraught man couldn’t continue. He pushed his unfinished plate of pancakes away.

  Sally asked him. “Do you think Norman has enough hate in him?”

  “Yes.” Donna answered without hesitation. “He can’t stand me. I’m probably lucky to be alive. I hope he doesn’t know I’m pregnant.”

  “Which would cut down on his share of inheritance,” Sally added.

  Harry calmed down enough to say, first to Donna. “David’s child. You are blessed.” Then he added for the rest of them, “I fired my housekeeper. She’s married and involved in an affair with Norman. I never told David.”

  “I can have Norman pulled into the police station and questioned,” Sam said. “We can let him know he’s being watched.”

  “Wait,” Sally said. “Let’s think this through. Why would Norman steal David’s research? And why didn’t he slash Donna’s paintings? Whoever vandalized the house went into every room upstairs.”

  “Someone close to Donna, who loves her paintings, who knows Norman hates his step-mother, who doesn’t want the house destroyed, and who has connections to David’s research?” John reviewed the clues.

  “Zelda!” Sam, Donna and Sally said in unison.

  “She wasn’t interested in freeing Harry.” John agreed.

  “We need to trap her into confessing.” Sally said. “Don’t tell Zelda about the baby, Donna. She might let Norman know and he doesn’t need anymore incentives to injury you.”

  “Why would anyone want to steal David’s research?” Harry said almost to himself. They turned their attention to him. “St. Claire told us the Parkinson test in China failed. David believed him.” Harry hung his head as if determined not to reveal anything more.

  “Is that why David was so ready to die?” Donna asked him bluntly. Harry nodded his head and used his handkerchief unashamedly to dry his face.

  Sally understood. “So there wasn’t really any reason to steal David’s notes -- unless.”

  “The pills did work,” Sam said.

  “St. Claire hinted David was withholding information. A firm in China was demanding better results.” Harry looked at each person assembled at the table.

  Sally asked, “They weren’t using prisoners to experiment on, were they?”

  Chapter Sixteen

  Thanksgiving Day

  As if on cue, Zelda Cameron knocked on Donna’s front door. Sam let her in. “So, sorry to hear about the vandalism.” Zelda looked around the living room at the obvious displays of wanton destruction. No one seemed ready to converse with her. “Who would want to do something like this? Were your paintings ruined?”

  “No.” Donna knew the subject of David’s failed research needed to be shelved until Zelda was no longer within ear shot.

  Zelda seemed honestly shocked. Harry pushed back his thinning hair and accepted another cup of coffee from Sam. Zelda sat down on the arm of one of the ruined couches. She faced the crowded dining room table. “When I first heard about the crime, I thought Halloween pranksters might be blamed.” No one commented. She continued to the tough crowd, “Maybe you should get away, Donna. Come to New York with your work. We’ve missed the parade crowds. What if this onslaught continues? At least your paintings would be safe in New York.”

  “The trouble might follow you to New York,” Harry said, handing Donna a piece of pumpkin pie.

  “I think you should go,” Sally said. “If you take Sam with you.”

  Sam and Donna shared a long obvious moment. Zelda chose to dismiss the mute love scene. Harry was too involved in passing around slices of pie to notice. John shrugged his shoulders. However, Sally seemed to agree no harm would come to Donna as long as Sam was at her side. “Make sure no one informs Norman,” Sally said to Zelda.

  “Why is that?” Zelda asked, sounding too innocent.

  “Think about it,” Sally said, clearly angry at her for pretending to be ignorant about Norman hatred for Donna.

  ♦ ♦ ♦ ♦ ♦

  Last Monday in November

  Zelda’s New York Apartment

  Zelda’s part-interest in the New York gallery included the fixed-rent apartment on the building’s top floor. After spending their entire afternoon explaining Donna’s paintings to Zelda’s patrons, Sam, Donna and Zelda retired to the elevator for access to the living quarters. Floor-to-ceiling windows provided a sweeping northern view of Central Park. A vase of out-of-season peonies filled the open room with their heavy scent. “Isn’t this lovely?” Zelda asked the couple.

  Donna nodded. Sam slid around the wood floor in his stocking feet, as if his childhood had suddenly returned. “You can hear the traffic.” Sam knocked into the leather couch and somersaulted onto the pillows. “Not very homey, though.”

  “Maybe if you stopped thinking of the place as your personal gym.” Zelda tried to hide her outrage.

  “I wouldn’t want to
raise children here,” Donna said.

  “Raise children?” Zelda’s out of control tone continued to rise in pitch and volume. “What about painting here? This is prime north light.” Zelda waved her arms around, encompassing the vast expanse of rooms. “You couldn’t find a better studio.”

  “I’m pregnant,” Donna said simply.

  “Move rather fast don’t you?” Zelda turned on Sam.

  “Not mine.” Sam held his hands up to the studio’s black ceiling as if Zelda’s irate tongue was a lethal weapon.

  “David’s?” Zelda asked, but meant the word as a statement. She sat down on the black leather love seat and punched one of the yellow throw pillows.

  “Ann Arbor is a more family-friendly place to live,” Donna said. “You could still show my paintings.”

  “New York thrives on personalities. People will tell their friends they met you, a famous artist with her paintings in a prestigious gallery. They’ll want to brag about their ability to introduce people to you. No one can relate to you if you are way back in Ann Arbor.” The phone rang and Zelda jumped as if her world suddenly ended. “Excuse me,” she said, taking the wireless phone into a bedroom and closing the door.

  Donna and Sam made use of the time to kiss and hold onto each other, as if their known worlds ended, too. “I’m glad you don’t want to live here,” Sam said, not letting go of their embrace.

  “Break it up.” Zelda shouted when she returned. “Sorry. I received bad news and I need to leave.”

  “What is it, Zelda?” Donna tried to caress the older woman.

  “Nothing, nothing.” Zelda broke down. “No matter what I do. It’s never good enough.”

  Donna held her as Zelda cried broken-heartedly. Donna tried to comfort her, “I love the way you hung the paintings, Zelda. Your customers seemed impressed. Sam and I were intimidated by them. They oozed money and culture. Why are you so upset?”

  “Who is judging your actions?” Sam quietly asked, “St. Claire?”

  Zelda nodded, then denied her action. “No, no.” She brushed Donna away from her. “I’ll be all right.” Zelda stood up and marched around the couch. “So much has been happening. My life is out of control.”