by Martha Carr
Parrish and Bach hurried down the road toward the exit and Biggs followed them to ensure they didn’t take up the trail of the elderly woman he had seen and change their minds about her well-being. But at the entrance the two men parted ways and quickly walked in different directions.
He made his way back to the car and signaled to Buster to put down the window.
“Did you see an old woman pass by here? About five feet, dressed pretty nice?”
“No, just saw Parrish pass by pretty quickly. No one else. Why, what’s wrong?”
“Parrish had a target. She would have had to go right by here. You would have seen her.”
Something was wrong. Biggs had calculated how fast the old woman was walking and he knew she should still be visible somewhere along the path or at least on the street.
“I’m going to go back in and look around.”
“Okay, let me know if you need back up. I’ll call you know if anyone goes by out here.”
Detective Biggs walked swiftly on the outside road, scanning the sides for any sign of someone just passing through there. He was wondering if he had somehow missed something and Parrish had finished off another old woman right under his nose. His frustration at Parrish only grew with each step.
Just where the boundaries of the cemetery cut in sharply the detective spotted the broken bushes and followed the trail till he came upon the stone bench and the woman on her side. He rushed over and put two fingers against her neck, feeling for a pulse.
“Buster, I found her. Looks like she had a stroke or something. Call for a tanker,” he said.
“She still alive?”
“It was barely there but she’s still alive. Better hurry though, if we want to keep her that way.”
“Any ID on her?”
“Yeah, her license says her name is Harriet Jones. Hold on, her phone is here. Most of the phone calls are to a Wallis Jones.”
“Isn’t that the woman we saw outside of Alice Watkins murder?” asked Buster.
“Yeah, it was,” said Biggs. “We may need to ask Wallis Jones a few questions.”
Chapter Twenty
A small squad of just six Management soldiers moved through the Richmond neighborhood without notice. That was their job. Warfare was hard enough but this war had insisted that American soldiers learn how to fight on their home turf in areas that resembled their own suburban backyards.
Tonight was no exception.
They had left their van at Deep Run Park and walked out to John Rolfe Parkway, waiting for a later hour when there would be fewer people on the road. The park closed at sundown and a Management operative dressed as a park official chased off the few lovebirds and teenagers who were still hanging around till they were sure the park was empty.
They were deep into a neighborhood full of known Circle operatives and they knew it but they were given orders to find and execute a target. No one asked them how they felt about it, or cared.
At the appointed hour, the street lights there were would go dim and they knew they only had ten minutes to hustle up the street, past all of the dark Colonials and ranchers till they got to Pump Road where they would be closing in on their target.
The Sergeant in charge of the squad gave the signal to get ready. It was almost time.
The rest of the neighborhood was watching TV, tucking their kids into bed and reading them stories or laughing over dinner with friends in their dining rooms, just off their kitchens. Some of the families that lived there knew there was a war going on but the battles were supposed to all be to the far north and Midwest. Nothing had come this close, yet.
They all felt safe this far into their own territory. Everyone in the West End of Richmond, in some of the better neighborhoods, were just going about their business with no idea that a small piece of the war was drawing close to them.
Wallis had walked over to Bunko night from her house, grateful that it was so close tonight. The air was a little cold but the short walk did her some good. She got a little fresh air walking the short distance while she admired the bright stars overhead.
There were no streetlights along her street but the moon made it possible to see everything. She was really looking forward to tonight.
Bunko was at Sandra Wilkins house that night. The women in Wallis’ neighborhood had been getting together for a regular Bunko game since their children were still in diapers. Mostly it was an excuse to eat candy, drink wine and share the best gossip about the neighbors who weren’t in the room.
There had been a little chatter about doing something like a book club but Julia, always one of the louder voices in the room, always said that a book club was too much effort and guilt. Effort to go get the book and guilt when no one read it before the meeting. “It would just turn into a drama club instead,” she had said with a snort.
Bunko just involved a few dice, a lot of food and a few halfway decent prizes.
The group had started with sixteen women whose children were all in the kindergarten class from the nearby public elementary school. In the last couple of years some of the children had been selected to attend Sutler, the local private school while others were divided up among the public middle schools and their lives were not as interconnected as they used to be.
The private school had all of the amenities that any parent would hope for to help their child succeed and maybe even do better than they had, with a little something extra. It was the local feeder school for Management. Getting accepted to Sutler, whether the parents really understood it or not, meant they were making a lifelong contract to follow Management’s ideas about a lot of the details of their life.
Wallis knew the hard way that sometimes it ended in a premature death. She had tried to warn Sharon not to send Ned’s best friend, Paul there and so far, she was successful. But at least once every few months Sharon brought up the fancy school again, wondering if she was cheating Paul out of something better. Sutler offered large scholarships that covered almost all of the expenses and Sharon’s ex, David Whittaker, wasn’t about to help out with one more dollar than he was ordered to by the courts.
Sharon was barely getting by and Wallis knew she was worried about getting him through high school, much less figuring out college.
She convinced her to hold off by pointing out that David was on the board and he rarely joined anything that was completely legal. He was firmly ensconced in Management’s ranks, even if Sharon didn’t know it and had been a violent and angry husband.
Wallis wondered if even Management was sorry they had once offered a scholarship to a younger David and were now stuck with him.
Others in the group, though had taken Sutler’s offer and their children appeared to be on a trajectory out of the middle class struggle of their parents. One of them was Roger, Julia’s son and another friend of Ned’s.
Julia was always talking about the opportunities that Roger was getting that she could have never given him. “He’s taking piano lessons. I couldn’t do that on my salary, not without Sutler.” It was all Wallis could do not to start asking her pointed questions to lead her to a different conclusion. She wanted to warn her to get Roger off the tracks in front of a train none of them seemed capable of seeing.
But Norman had pointed out more than once that nobody was asking for her help. Wallis liked Julia though and wanted to help her friend.
Julia was a fun, oversized blonde who was usually in matching velour that she even wore to work. “The rules say no jeans. There is nothing about velour.”
Tonight she was wearing a pale green set with matching suede clogs. Julia was usually in some color that wasn’t too far off of a shade that reminded Wallis of an Easter basket.
Wallis appreciated the attention to detail.
“Where’s the caramel cake, Sandra?” Bridget, a lanky brunette, yelled toward the kitchen. The cake was a southern delicacy and almost impossible to get the icing just right. It was all a bit mystical. Women from her church were always trying to make th
e cake just so and they got the consistency right about one time out of ten.
“It’s coming,” said Sandra, as she came out carrying her claim to fame on a milk glass cake platter. “Have I ever missed a Bunko night?” she asked. She was new to the group and had only been invited to a handful so far but she was right. The cake had appeared at every one of them.
Her accent was old Richmond with rounded words that sounded like she was about to start singing at any moment. Wallis smelled the familiar Chanel Number Five as she passed by mixed with the sweet caramel from the cake. The combination was so familiar to the women she had known as a child. It always made her feel like she was home.
Sandra was the oldest woman in their group and the newest member. She had moved into the neighborhood not too long ago from the Raleigh area. She said she needed a fresh start.
Her marriage had ended and along with it, her catering business but she was determined to start over and was decorating cakes for a local bakery. What she really needed, she said, was some new friends she could count on that were local. Wallis knew exactly what she meant. Everyone in their Bunko group did.
After their friend, Yvette Campbell was murdered in what still looked like a random poisoning, the group had stopped meeting for well over a year.
It started as a few phone calls with someone suggesting they could use a break. No one really wanted to talk about what happened. A friend had died and no one could explain why or even who did it.
One month turned into two until a year had passed.
But eventually Maureen Bowers started calling all of the members and said she missed her friends.
When they had taken a break, there were only twelve women who still met regularly, all from the neighborhood. Now, after Yvette, they were down to eleven who would get together for Bunko night.
They needed another player. Julia quickly started a round of phone calls to insist they should try someone new to the area. She apparently didn’t care for a couple of the other regular’s friends that came as occasional substitutes, and said so, somewhere in each phone call. Everyone knew it would be easier to just find a new face than live with Julia’s sighs and comments for the next year.
Besides, she had a point. Lucy usually brought a friend, and much like Lucy, they complained about their lot in life. It was a little much.
Wallis volunteered and took it upon herself to go knock on the old Blazney house and use Bunko night as a good excuse to let go of even more ghosts and meet her new neighbor. Sandra had answered the door and invited Wallis in for a piece of cake. Wallis knew she would fit right in with the others.
“Have you ever heard of Bunko?” she had asked her.
“Why, yes,” said Sandra, the words sounding like she was about to sing at any moment.
Angie Estaver had insisted on hosting that first night back and her husband, Hector grilled out back with all of the husbands in tow. Their dog, Ralph was yipping at Hector the entire time he was turning the chicken.
Yvette’s husband was the only one missing. He had moved back to somewhere in Colorado not too long after the funeral to be closer to his family.
At first it was an awkward night.
Everyone had a little too much to drink and for a while, people wanted to sit around and tell stories about Yvette, and memories of when they all were younger.
Hector noticed the mood taking a turn for the somber and turned up the music. He tugged at his wife’s arm and kept cooing at her to join him on the dance floor. He got Norman to help him move the coffee table out of the way and eventually, everyone kicked off their shoes and started dancing. Even Wallis managed to join in and forget everything for a little while.
Bunko never really got started that night. Maybe that was the point.
It did the trick though, and reminded everyone of why they tried to get together all the time. They were all more like family to each other. Sandra Wilkins was just the newest member.
The next time they played was at Wallis’ house, it was her turn and she made sure to get Norman and Ned to make every cookie they knew how to bake. They were the cooks in the family. Wallis had been asked a long time ago by both Norman and Ned to stop trying.
The last straw had been the recipe she got out of a woman’s magazine for a quiche that had so many eggs the consistency was more like a gelatinous custard.
To make matters worse, Wallis had been distracted by a phone call from a client. She was pouring the mixture into the ready-made crust while trying to comfort a worried mother asking about custody arrangements for the third time.
It wasn’t until dinner with Norman and Ned looking on anxiously, when she tried to cut into the quiche at the table that she realized she had left the wax paper in the bottom of the crust.
Norman and Ned had tried not to laugh but a snicker out of Ned led to an outright guffaw from Norman till even Wallis found herself giggling over her cooking skills.
But that was years ago.
The memory used to be one of Wallis’ favorite. Lately, every happy memory with Ned had a little bit of doubt and regret attached.
As a family court attorney, Wallis had seen countless families pass through her office or the court room. She had seen her share of moody teenagers who were living ordinary lives and she knew that most of them eventually passed through the phase and became happy adults who still talked to their mother.
But Ned was having a different kind of childhood. She couldn’t be sure that the same rules applied to him anymore.
“Put down whatever that store bought dip is that you brought, Wallis and come sit by me,” said Bridget.
“It’s actually snickerdoodles,” said Wallis. “Don’t worry, I used my ringer. Norman made them and he sends his love, as well.”
“You have got to be the luckiest woman in this room, Wallis Jones,” said Julia, “outside of maybe, Angie and that’s just because Hector is hot and kind. Or maybe Maureen because Fred is the strong and silent type. You’ve got a man who’s easy on the eyes and can cook.”
“And has a decent job,” said Bridget.
“A hat trick,” said Julia.
“Come on, start at my table,” said Bridget. “I’ll even let you ring the bell and start the game. You can put the cookies down, right here,” she said, laughing, as Wallis took a seat at a square card table covered in a pale green and gold checked tablecloth that puddled on the ground. The table was barely big enough to fit four people around it. One more table just like that one was set up next to them in what was the living room and there were four seats set up at the nearby dining room table.
Maureen quickly took the seat next to Wallis and gently patted her hand as she sat down next to her.
“I’m so glad we get to start out next to each other,” said Maureen.
“Yeah, I know. I’m sorry we haven’t been able to figure out a time to get together. You’ve been so good about keeping in touch,” said Wallis. She had always liked Maureen and Fred Bowers. They were such a good couple. They always spoke well of each other and seemed to have a strong marriage based on friendship. It’s what Wallis hoped she had built with Norman.
Besides, Maureen was the least likely, besides Wallis to start a round robin of gossip over the phone just to get her way.
Maureen always seemed to Wallis like she was happy to go along with whatever came next, which made it easier to get along with this group. There were already so many strong-willed women who had a few ideas about what everyone should be doing.
“Here you go, I’m a woman of my word,” said Bridget. “You get to ring the bell,” she said, pushing the hand bell in Wallis direction. Wallis smiled and forgot about her troubles for a moment as she lifted the bell and gave it a hardy shake, laughing at Julia blowing on her dice at the table next to hers.
“Y’all make it so easy to take a deep breath,” said Wallis, smiling.
“I know what you mean, honey. Come on ones,” yelled Julia with a whoop as two of the dice delivered what she wanted. “W
ahoo,” she yelled.
The women kept rolling the dice, laughing and drinking wine and eating until late into the night. Wallis took a break when she realized the hour and called Norman to let him know she was fine and was still playing. He laughed and asked if she had some hot dice and she said no, but there was also the prize for most losses and she was definitely in the home stretch for that one.
“You okay to drive?” he asked.
“Yeah, I’m fine, especially since I walked here from just a block away, thank you very much. I’m mostly eating chocolate by the handful but that doesn’t usually impair my driving skills. However, the couple of glasses might have done something if I had to drive.”
Norman laughed. “Hurry home, I’ll try to wait up.”
“You’re an ‘effin liar,” said Wallis, laughing, “but I’ll wake you up when I get there. Promise.”
“Deal,” he said.
She had gone back to the game and quickly won a few rounds wondering if she had blown her chances at the coasters with Irish symbols on them that was the booby prize that night. It was one of the first times she could remember having so much fun for an entire night without wondering what it all meant or how everyone was doing. She laughed out loud when she realized she was surprised to just be having fun. That was it. No underlying conspiracy or someone wanting to know something or dropping some large secret on her head.
She looked around at the women and felt gratitude for their friendships. Wallis had no sisters of her own and these women were the closest thing she had to siblings who held her history in a way that no one else would ever be able to again.
Besides, for the most part they all seemed so good at being happy. Julia got up and danced around the room like she was a cowboy riding a bull when she realized she was going to win the grand prize for the night. Wallis leaned back and let out a belly laugh till tears came to her eyes. She thought Julia might rip the velour pants if she kept gyrating and kicking up her leg, whooping loud enough to bother the neighbors next door.
She was trying to get a peek at Maureen’s chit sheet when she suddenly realized her phone was buzzing. She was slow to pick it up but by the time she did it was buzzing again and it was Norman, trying to explain that something had happened.
