by Judy Alter
“And probably to anyone who gets between him and Sheila,” Mike answered. “That’s us.”
“But we don’t know how to protect ourselves or her. In this case, evil takes so many forms. We never know when it will show up again. With Ralphie gone, who will Hollister send to do his dirty work? Hollister hides behind a smokescreen of lies and deception.”
“You don’t think he’ll do anything himself, like try to kidnap Sheila?”
“Nope. Is he still in town?”
“Last I heard he’d left the Worthington. I bet if you turn on the television tomorrow, you’ll see him conducting his regular Sunday service…and then he’ll hightail it back up here. Besides there’s that panhandler fellow you and Keisha met.”
“So Sheila really wouldn’t be safe with Ms. Lorna tomorrow morning?”
“Not a chance I’m willing to take. ‘Night, Kelly. I’m going to sleep.”
I lay awake and fumed.
****
Mike was distinctly not pleased to be escorting Sheila to Ms. Lorna’s, but when I offered to trade if he’d stay here and organize for the potluck supper, he said he wanted to check out Ms. Lorna’s house. So, as he told the story later, while Ms. Lorna gave the tour, he busied himself checking locks and doors, windows and the basement. He went to the garage and found nothing—the building was empty. Ms. Lorna didn’t have a car, and he couldn’t figure out why she had built a new garage.
“Just another of her notions, I guess,” he told me later. “But it would make perfect cover for someone watching her, and Maggie could break into that house without effort. No deadbolts, some of the locks don’t even work, and there are four ground level entrances and one to the basement. The door from the basement to the main living level is not secured at all. A small hook kind of latch. It’s a break-in waiting to happen.”
With a mental picture of him rattling doorknobs, I let him rant and then calmly asked, “Do you think that will happen?”
“Who knows? You said it last night. With Bruce Hollister, evil comes in many forms. At least with your rat man, we knew who we were watching for. Now we have the panhandler—wish I had an identity on him. How desperate is Hollister about his ministry? How much does he make from it annually? Or maybe he thinks Ms. Lorna has a fortune hidden in the house.” He stalked back to his computer in the bedroom, just as Sheila came in the back door.
“Kelly, I’m concerned about my mother.” She laughed. “Somehow I have a hard time calling her Lorna or Ms. Lorna, like you all do, but the term ‘Mother’ doesn’t trip off my tongue lightly unless I can refer to her in the abstract.”
“It’s all too new,” I assured her. “Give it time. What’s your concern?”
“That house! It’s falling down. I don’t know that it’s safe for her to be there. I can tell by looking she has done no maintenance. Who knows about the wiring or the plumbing and Mike said it has no security. What can I do to fix it up?”
Golden words to my ears. “I’ve been trying to fix it up for a couple years, but she gives me that stony look and says she’ll live in it until she dies and then she doesn’t care what happens to it.”
“But she could well die in a fire…or a burglary…or at the hands of a deliberate intruder sent by Bruce. I told you, he’s desperate. Having Lorna McDavid revealed as his mother-in-law would be scandalous, at least in his eyes. I doubt many people have heard of her and would care one way or another—even his born-again Christians.” She shook her head. “But what’s my role in this? How can I help her?”
I spoke slowly. “I think she has the money to do some repairs. She’s just stubborn. But she said once if you’d live there with her or if you wanted the house, she’d fix it up. So that’s the key. My carpenter, Anthony, who does all my renovation from the ground up, tells me he can fix that house if he gets it soon. Another year or two and it will be on the demolition list—beyond repair.”
“Really? That bad? I’ll see if I can gentle her into it next week. Would Anthony do it?”
“I don’t have any projects for him right now, so he could get a start. Make security a priority—deadbolts, solid-core doors, and an alarm system. Never a bad idea, but a particularly good one right now.”
“Agreed,” she said. “We’re in a conspiracy together—but a good conspiracy.” She paused. “I’m sure I’ll grow fond of her, but right now it’s hard to think of her as my mother.”
“You will grow fond,” I said, “just as we all have. But she hasn’t had much practice in the motherly role. You have to help her. And maybe talking about Bruce would be one way to do it.”
She looked away thoughtfully, and I could see reluctance in her eyes.
****
Ms. Lorna positively glowed the next night at the potluck. Her arm firmly tucked into Sheila’s good elbow, she said to first one and then the other, “Have you met my daughter, Sheila O ‘Gwynn?” In fact, she led her through the house and out back where the man had gathered to greet each person individually.
“I feel like I’ve been abandoned,” Keisha laughed, “or outdone.”
“Wonder what Sheila told her about not using her husband’s name?”
Keisha shrugged. “Don’t know, but it doesn’t seem to have fazed her. She’s happier by miles than we’ve ever seen her. Come on, everything’s ready and laid out. Let’s sit.”
Elisabeth Smedley, on the other hand, did not glow. I had half forgotten that I’d invited her, and when I did, I didn’t really expect her to show up. I’d forgotten about Elisabeth’s chutzpah. When I answered the door, she stood with leather folder in one hand. I assumed it held a legal pad, pencils, and—heaven forbid—a tape recorder.
“Hi,” she said happily. “Thanks for inviting me tonight.”
Before I could answer, she stepped into the living room, looked around, and asked, “What’s going on. Who are all these people?
“Family,” I said succinctly.
Her attention fixed on Sheila and Ms. Lorna, as though a magnet had drawn her there. It must have been Sheila’s bandaged shoulder that led her to ask, “Is that the woman we were at JPS for?”
I so badly wanted to correct the “we” and point out she’d been an interloper, but I said, in curt tones unlike me, “Yes, and they’re having a private moment. Let me take you to the kitchen.” I grabbed her elbow and literally propelled her, while she stared over her shoulder without the least bit of embarrassment at her curiosity.
Where, I prayed, were Megan Jackson and her boyfriend, Brandon? I needed them to handle this newcomer.
Maggie came in from the yard demanding, “Where are Nana and Otto? They’re not usually late.”
“I’m sure they’ll be along,” I said. “Nana’s not always prompt.”
When they finally appeared at the door, both girls ran to greet them, with demands of “Where have you been?”
“Otto had to go by his shop. It was time to wind one of the clocks,” my mother said. “Isn’t that so, Otto?”
He nodded vigorously, ready to agree with anything Mom said.
Maggie didn’t close the door after them. Instead, she stood staring out at the street. I walked over and quietly asked, “What are you looking at?”
“That Jaguar over there,” she nodded across the street.
I saw a dark green Jag, the kind that costs eighty or ninety thousand, its windows tinted so dark that we could not see who was inside. Then, as though a miracle, the driver’s side window rolled effortlessly down, and Bruce Hollister stared back at us. He wanted us to know he was there.
“Go get Mike,” I said to Maggie, “but quietly. Don’t alarm the others.”
Mike came, looked out the door, and slowly walked out. Many another man would have charged out, full of bluster, but Mike sauntered as though he were going to pick up the paper. I watched, heart in my mouth, wishing I’d told him to get his gun but knowing he would have scoffed at me.
He reached the curb and held out a hand for a shake. Hollister’s hand reache
d up and grabbed his. They seemed to chat amicably for several minutes.
“Who’s that guy? He looks sort of famous?” Smedley didn’t miss a trick.
“He is. He’s a televangelist.” There, I’d already said too much. “Go on, Elisabeth, I don’t want him to think he has an audience.” She stomped away, and I waited, holding my breath, in the doorway, trying to peak around the edge so as not to be seen, which, if I thought about it, was ridiculous.
Finally, Hollister peeled away in his expensive wheels and Mike came back to the house.
“Well?” I demanded as soon as he shut the door.
Both Sheila and Lorna—as well as Smedley—turned and looked at us curiously. Mike made a motion with his head toward the bedroom, and I followed him.
He sat on the bed and stared at his hands so long I wanted to scream. Finally he said slowly, “If he hadn’t caused such a scene at JPS and if we hadn’t linked the late Ralphie Coleman to both the hit-and-run and to Bruce Hollister, I’d have believed him. He’s that good. He said his wife had left him, and he just wanted to take her home to San Antonio. I don’t think he knew how much I know about the whole thing—he probably doesn’t consider it a police case, but it is. Anyway, he was smooth, almost pathetic. But when I shrugged and said his wife didn’t want to see him, didn’t want to go to San Antonio—and I said it as nicely as I could—he grew angry and said, ‘I will be taking her back to San Antonio. Watch me.’”
“Did you tell him who you are?”
“I didn’t have time. You saw how he peeled out of here.” He stood, gave me a light kiss, and said, “We better rejoin our guests.”
When we went back into the living room, Lorna and Sheila were completely absorbed in each other, but Smedley was staring at us intently. Thank heaven, the next guests to arrive were Megan and Brandon and her younger sister, Liz. I rushed to greet them, and with my arms around Megan in a prolonged greeting, I whispered, “Megan, your roommate is here. You’ve got to do something to keep her occupied. Particularly don’t let her bother Mr. Lorna and our injured guest.”
Megan was surprised by my intensity, but she whispered, “Sure, Kelly. Whatever I can do. What have we walked into the middle of?”
I tried for nonchalance. “Nothing big. It’s just that Elisabeth is so curious about everything and everyone. She…uh, she can be a pest.”
As we parted, she laughed aloud. “Don’t tell me. I know that.” Then she looked contrite. “I am sorry. I didn’t realize sending her to you would create such problem.”
“That may be the understatement of the year,” I said, turning to give Liz a hug.
Brandon stood looking puzzled, and Megan promised to fill him in later. Liz went off in search of the young people, even though they were quite a bit younger than she was.
I watched Elisabeth throughout the rest of the party. She pestered Mike, until he almost threw his barbecue tongs at her (well, he wouldn’t really have but he looked as though he wanted to).
Keisha grabbed her. “Young lady, are you twenty-one?”
Startled, she said, “Yes, ma’am.”
“Come on then. Let’s get you a beer,” and she dragged her into the kitchen.
Mike pulled me aside to ask why I’d invited her. I shrugged and said I’d tell him later. Megan tried her best to distract the girl, but she was single-minded and she had fixated on Lorna and Sheila.
Otto was the one who let his guard down and gave her his garbled version of the story. He’d cornered Lorna and Keisha for a while by, for once, moving out of the chair he always sat it and inserting himself, uninvited, between the two women. The three began an animated conversation with, would wonders never cease, Lorna doing most of the talking. I even saw Otto wipe an occasional tear from his eyes. Mom watched them carefully. She didn’t like anyone else to have Otto’s full attention.
Finally, he got up, bowed to both ladies, kissed their hands, and returned to his chair, where he promptly called for Mom to bring him another beer. Smedley saw her chance and grabbed the footstool by him. Before I could do anything, as if I could, he was talking away, and I was sure he was giving the girl his version of the Lorna and Sheila story. Otto was a storyteller par excellence, no matter what else you could say about him, and Smedley listened intently, occasionally taking notes. I even caught her turning to snap pictures of Lorna and Sheila, until I grabbed her phone and erased them.
“What the…?” she demanded.
“This is a private moment for them, and a private household. You will not take pictures without permission…and I am not giving permission.”
She bit her lip, whether in embarrassment or anger I didn’t know, though I bet on the latter.
The evening seemed to stretch on forever, though most people enjoyed it. Mike, José, Anthony and all the kids, including Liz Guthrie, stayed outside and had a jolly time. It seemed to me I spent most of the evening playing defense between Lorna, Sheila and Smedley, who began to duck when she saw me. Finally, we saw all our guests out the door. Sheila offered to do what she could to help clean up, but I shooed her out the door.
“Kelly,” she said, “this has been the most wonderful evening. I loved your friends.”
“They’re family,” I said, “and you really didn’t get to know them.”
“No, I spent all my time with my mother—well, except for when that Otto fellow was telling us about his Black Forest clocks. I’ve promised to come see them.”
“And you must. They’re remarkable.”
“But, first, more time with my mother. I’d like to spend the day with her tomorrow.”
“We’ll ask Mike at breakfast.” I nearly shoved her out the door, because I was anxious to get the dishes done and collapse.
Keisha was doing dishes, and I bypassed the cleanup to do just that—collapse on the couch. Mike came to ask what was wrong with me.
“I have just made a horrible mistake,” I said, “and it tired me out.”
He looked puzzled, so I explained, “Elisabeth Smedley is going to cause trouble.”
“Oh, come on, Kelly. She’s just a student. A bit overeager perhaps, but she’s okay.”
Keisha came quietly in and said, “Kelly’s right. I know.” And then she went back to the kitchen. Out of a sense of guilt, I followed and pretty soon we had the kitchen all cleaned. Mike, meanwhile, had marshaled the girls to get ready for bed, and they came for goodnight hugs from all of us.
Keisha left, and I fell into bed without brushing my teeth or cleaning my face—things I never did. When Mike repeated his question about what was wrong with me, I said, “A big cloud is hanging over me. I don’t know whose name is on it—Bruce Hollister or Elisabeth Smedley.” With a big kiss, he said, “Don’t be melodramatic. Tonight was a really nice evening. All the people we care about.”
“And Elisabeth Smedley,” I muttered, as I fell asleep.
Chapter Ten
Things didn’t look a lot better to me in the morning. I woke early and poked Mike until he was awake. Sitting up and rubbing a hand across his short hair, he muttered, “What you do that for? I was so sound asleep.”
“We have to talk,” I said.
“At five-fifteen on Monday morning?”
“Try to wake up, and I’ll bring you some coffee. I want to talk before the girls wake up.”
“You better be quieter in the kitchen than you usually are,” he grumbled.
I made sure the girls’ doors were closed, made the coffee, and carried two cups back to the bedroom. “Sheila wants to spend the day with Ms. Lorna. She has a gun.”
Mike clapped a hand to his forehead. “I’ll have to be sure she has a license…and she keeps it where the girls can’t get to it.”
Paranoid as I am about guns, I hadn’t even thought about the girls getting to it. Though pretty much I trusted them to know guns were off limits. They weren’t boys who would experiment with a found gun, and both had said, after a couple of episodes in the family, that they hated guns. Still….
“Maggie, please go ask Sheila if she can join us for breakfast?”
“What if she’s not up yet?” It was seven by then.
“Knock gently. I bet she’s awake.”
Maggie came back within a couple of minutes, announcing that Sheila wanted to know if it was okay to come to breakfast in her pajamas.
Mike just rolled his eyes heavenward and said, “Yes.” Then he turned to me. “Kelly, can you work from Ms. Lorna’s today…with your cell phone, laptop, and gun?”
The latter startled me, but I said, “Yeah, pretty much if I need to.”
“Thanks.”
When Sheila came in, he barely greeted her. “Kelly will spend much of the day at your mother’s house, with you. We’ll get a locksmith out to take care of the doors and windows, and an alarm company to add security. You can visit with your mom.” Then he added, “Oh, and I need to see you privately after the girls go to school.”
I volunteered that I’d take the girls, run by the office, and then come get Sheila.
The only thing she said was, “I’ve got to move my car today. It’s still at Kelly’s office.”
“I’ve taken care of it. It’s being kept in a private garage. I didn’t want it sitting in our driveway like a red flag.”
She stared at him for a long moment, as though this bit of information had emphasized what danger she was in. She still didn’t know that her husband had been outside our house the night before.
I thought hiding her car was like locking the barn door after the horse was out, but I kept my opinion to myself.
By the time I left to take the girls to school, the poor woman still hadn’t had any breakfast, but I saw Mike serving her pancakes and sausage.
I was a bit irritated because Mike was issuing us all orders as though he was our lord and master.
