by Judy Alter
“Came to my office in the mail,” he said. “My secretary was horrified when she read it.”
In the mail! Elisabeth must have mailed it to him. She was trying to stir up trouble so she’d have a good story to write about. Who was it that said peace and harmony are boring? Smedley was going to see that life—and her story—wasn’t boring.
“I’m sorry about your horrified secretary,” I said, with just a touch of sarcasm, “but I really don’t think the story will go any farther.”
“Oh, you don’t, huh? I have to go back to San Antonio today because the newspaper has already called my office wanting a comment. The whole stinking thing is public now. And that’s what I begged Diane to avoid.”
It took me a minute to connect Diane and Sheila, and I almost said, Oh, you mean Sheila? Caught myself in time.
“I need to find the person who wrote this,” he thundered. “Just tell me where I can find this Smedley person, and I’ll go.”
I held firm. “I can’t do that.” It was, in some ways, a tempting thought though. Smedley would get what she deserved.
“Do you know what this means?” Suddenly he stood and towered over me, his rage once again at full force. “My career is over! I’m a has-been. Who will follow an evangelist whose mother-in-law is a slut?”
All sorts of replies went through my mind from, She probably won’t be your mother-in-law long to the now trite, What would Jesus do?
Before I could say anything or even move defensively out of my chair, Keisha was across the room holding the automatic opener to our gate, one finger on the button. “You see this?” she asked. “It’s our panic button. If you ain’t out of here in two seconds, I’m calling the police. Don’t suppose that would help your precious career any, would it? Get on out of here and leave all these women be.”
He stared at her, then at the gadget in her hand, while I stifled a nervous giggle. At long last he turned and barged toward the door. But as he opened it, he turned and said, “You haven’t heard the last of me by a long shot. And neither has Diane. You can give her that message for me. And I will find that Elisabeth Smedley.”
He slammed the door so hard as he stumbled out that I thought the glass would break.
“Was that a threat?” I asked.
“Sounded like it,” Keisha said. “You best call Mike. And warn Elisabeth Smedley”
Now, anger was making my hands shaky, but I managed to dial his cell and hear the familiar, “Shandy here.”
“Mike, Bruce Hollister was just here. He wasn’t as pleasant as he was with you the other day.” I described his visit, word for word.
His first question was, “Do you have your gun.”
Of course I didn’t. Sheila carried hers everywhere. I didn’t.
Have you ever heard someone grit his teeth over the phone? I swear that’s what I heard from Mike’s end. Finally, at long last, “Meet me at home at noon. I hope you have leftovers. Meanwhile call that Smedley pain.”
I would have quipped that I had peanut butter, but somehow it didn’t seem very funny in light of Bruce Hollister.
I called Smedley’s cell phone. She answered on the first ring. “Hi, Kelly. I saw that it was you. What can I do you for?”
Now I was the one to grit my teeth at her cutesy question. “You can watch out for yourself. You successfully stirred up a hornet’s nest with your article, and Bruce Hollister swears he’ll find you.”
“Oh, good. I’d love to interview him.”
How dumb is this girl? “Elisabeth, I don’t think that’s what he has in mind. He’s in a rage at all of us, and now particularly at you. I don’t know what he has in mind, but we have a strong suspicion he’ll do anything, even murder, to get his way.” I thought that was a strong warning, but apparently not.
“Great. This is getting really interesting,” she exulted.
“I don’t think you understand how serious….”
She interrupted me. “Oh, Kelly, don’t worry so much. He won’t hurt me. Thanks for the tip.” And she hung up.
At home for lunch, I told Mike about that conversation, and he shook his head. “I’ll have to talk to her, see if I can make her realize this is no game. I can’t send someone to protect her, but I can alert campus police.” So while I made sandwiches, he called the chief of the TCU campus police. As we ate, we hashed over what we would tell Sheila—everything—and what she should tell Ms. Lorna—nothing. Mike said officially he was glad to know if Bruce Hollister was in town.
“I keep thinking he’ll go back to San Antonio and tend to his business,” he said.
“That’s not the impression I got today, Mike. He threatened us. He really did. But he did say he’d have to go back to San Antonio to clear up the mess Elisabeth stirred up.”
“Even if he’s still here, I don’t know what to do. I can’t arrest him on a hearsay threat, and yet I don’t want to wait until he acts. I hate this in-between feeling, just hanging and waiting because he has the ball in his court.” He put his head in his hands, and then looked up. “All we can do is be extra careful and alert.”
With those words ringing in my ears, I went back to the office and then, a little after two-thirty, to pick up Sheila. She was ready and waiting, and I was thankful not to have to go in and make small talk with Ms. Lorna. It was not a day for small talk. Still I was pleased to see the older woman standing in her front door, waving to me. I waved back vigorously as Sheila got in the car.
Out of habit, I asked, “How was your day.”
“Terrific,” she said. “My mother showed me all her treasures. She has jade and amber from China, lots of porcelain, and more Chinese robes than I can count. But she has precious little in the way of everyday dishes, everyday clothes—you know. It’s like she’s living in another world and has removed herself from the one we all live in.”
“That was pretty much it,” I said, “until Keisha lit into her one day and took her off her high horse.”
“Lit into her?” Sheila was a bit shocked.
“Yeah. Sheila, your mom was Miss High-and-Mighty when I first started getting her groceries. Preferred to be called Ms. McDavid, called me Ms. O’Connell and ordered me about like I was her latest servant. She never showed any of the ordinary courtesies, like greeting me or saying goodbye. Then Keisha had to do the grocery run one day, and she sat her down and told her they would be equals.” I grinned. “Keisha can do that kind of thing, where I never could. And Keisha listened to her stories about China. They kind of bonded, much as I hate that word.”
“Those stories about China. They aren’t true, are they?” She spoke slowly, hesitantly, as though she didn’t want to know the truth.
“No, they’re not. But I think they give her…oh, I don’t know, something to hang on to? Something that sets her apart? They’re important to her, though after she once confessed to me that she’s never been to China, we never mentioned it again.”
By then we were at Em’s school, and I hadn’t had a chance to ask about Ms. Lorna’s health. When I finally did ask that night, Sheila almost chortled.
“She eats heartily. Today I warmed up that good, homemade potato soup Keisha brought from some market and made tuna salad sandwiches. She ate every bit and drank a huge glass of water. Then she had a wee drop, as she calls it, of her Scotch and went off to nap. Gave me a perfect chance to explore.”
“And”
“All the things I told you I found. Plus out-of-date food that I pitched, broken crockery, dirty laundry stacked up. Can we get a laundry service?”
“Sure. I’ll give you some names in the morning.”
“She needs a home care nurse or someone like that. Maybe that’s a chore I’ll take on as soon as my arm is free again.”
“But her health?”
She shook her head. “I didn’t find out a thing. She won’t talk about it, won’t even acknowledge that she’s said she won’t be here long. I watched but I didn’t see anything alarming—no shakiness, she doesn’t hesitate
when she speaks, she just doesn’t show any signs of illness. In a way, she’s remarkable for a woman of her age. Did you know she does a yoga routine and meditates every morning?”
“China?”
“Yep. Says she learned it in China. I did tell her we’d made a doctor’s appointment, and after I told her yes, I wanted her to go, she never protested. I guess we’ll just go on like we are until her appointment on Monday.”
I fervently hoped so.
After supper, with the girls in their rooms, Mike and I told Sheila about her husband’s visit to my office. That is, I told what happened, and Mike commented. When I said he left with what sounded like a serious threat, she assured me it was.
“Bruce is like a bad little kid. If he doesn’t get his way, he’ll retaliate. But it’s never straightforward. He ambushes you. He’s devious. I…oh, don’t get me started. I’m just so sorry to have brought this trouble to you, and I hope I’m not putting you in danger. I’ll leave. I don’t want the girls in danger.”
“I think we can protect them, but if you leave, we can’t protect you. You’re staying here.”
“I can never repay you,” she said. “But maybe someday I can do something for someone else.”
“Right now, you’re doing something wonderful for Lorna McDavid. I’ve never seen that old lady smile before.”
She laughed ruefully, “She still doesn’t smile that often.”
With Mike’s warning to lock her door and turn on the alarm, Sheila went out to her apartment. Mike stood at the door and watched until she was safely inside and the door closed behind her. Then he and I turned to the evening chores—packing lunches, getting things set for breakfast, checking the girls’ outfits for the next day and then making sure the girls turned off their TV and lights. It was probably after nine when we settled down to read for a bit.
Our quiet concentration was broken by two sharp, loud noises followed by a male voice yelling indignantly. Even I knew we’d heard gunshots—and they’d come from Sheila’s apartment. Mike was on his feet instantly, while I sat frozen, my heart beating wildly with worry about Sheila…and about my girls, if bullets were flying.
“Get the girls in our room, and get out your gun. Do not come out under any circumstances until I tell you.” He had grabbed his service revolver from the closet shelf where he stored it at night and headed for the front door.
“Mike….”
“Go!” he ordered.
I did, calling softly, “Be careful.” And I sent a prayer heavenward. In the hall I nearly stumbled over the girls, both of whom were wide awake and terrified.
“That was a gun, wasn’t it?” Maggie said, while Em echoed, “Gun?”
I shooed them into our room, Gus at our heels, and told them to lie flat on the floor.
“What about you, Mom?” Em asked.
Obediently I lay flat at the end of the bed, where I had a good view of the hall. My gun was by my hand, but I heard no more gunshots. In fact, it would have been eerily quiet except for a man shouting. Now the sounds came from the front of the house, but I could only hear one man, and I couldn’t make out what he was saying. Mike must have been talking quietly, trying to defuse the situation.
It wasn’t too long before Mike came in. I heard him open the closet door in the living room and then shut it. “You can come out now,” he called.
I put my gun away and followed the girls into the living room.
“Kelly, why don’t you make hot cocoa? I’m going to check on Sheila, probably bring her in, perhaps for the night.”
“See what she wants. I can always make a pallet.” I was frustrated—we needed a bigger house! I’d have to bug Anthony about those plans for expansion.
Sheila came in looking neither shocked nor shaken but angry. She declined hot chocolate and asked if we had bourbon. I produced a bottle, and she poured herself two fingers neat, taking an immediate sip.
“That…that…”
I was afraid she would let her language slip and cast a glance at the girls. To my horror, Maggie supplied, “Son of a bitch?”
“Mags!”
“Mom, that’s what she wanted to say and didn’t because Em and I are here. I was just helping her out.”
At that, Sheila began to laugh, and the tension broke.
“Okay,” I said, “but never say it again, especially at school.”
She rolled her eyes as though to ask how dumb I thought she was.
Slowly, the story came out. Sheila nodded at the girls, and I said they could stay. They knew enough that they deserved to hear the rest.
So she continued. Bruce had knocked on the door, called out in a calm voice, and said he just wanted to talk, see what he could do to make the situation better, even suggested moving her mom to San Antonio. “I should have known. He would never move her where his congregation might meet her. I shouldn’t have let him in. Once inside, he changed faster than you can snap your fingers. Ugly. Demanding I pack and come home with him that moment. If I refused he’d just take me to San Antonio without my belongings. He grabbed me and it got ugly.”
“Was he armed?” Mike asked.
She shook her head. “I doubt he’d carry a gun himself. How would that look if a famous evangelist was caught carrying? He relied on brute force…and he has that in his favor.” She rubbed her upper arm, and I wondered if a hand-shaped bruise would appear the next day.
“I pretended to turn to pack, but instead I got my gun and pointed it at him. He just scoffed, so that was when I fired.”
“Did you shoot him?” Em asked.
“No, sweetie. I aimed next to his feet, close enough to make him jump in fright. I’m a good shot, and I know it. He hollered and backed out the door, so I fired one more warning shot, and he ran down the driveway, hollering. He is not taking me to San Antonio by force…or any other way.”
Mike interrupted. “That’s where I come in to the story. He was standing in the driveway by the foot of the stairs when I came out. Gun drawn.
“‘Put the damn gun away, copper. I’ve had enough of guns tonight to last a lifetime. My own wife tried to kill me.’
“‘I’m sure she was just trying to protect herself.’
“‘I’m her husband! She can’t ‘protect’ herself against me.’”
Sheila and I both recoiled at that statement. Mike didn’t blink as he went on, “He says you’re certifiably mentally unbalanced and a danger to the community—I think that means him. He plans to get a court order to have you judged incapable of managing your own affairs.”
Sheila thought for a long time, and when she spoke, it was with bitterness. “If he had me institutionalized, which he’d do in a flash if he could, then he’d be open to play the role of the pitiful husband who had to lock up his wife for her own good. Didn’t that thinking go out in the nineteenth century?”
“For most people,” I said, “but not him At this point, if he had you committed, he’d have to deal with Lorna. She’d become an avenging angel. Just my prediction.”
Em had fallen asleep, her head on the table, so Mike picked her up and gently carried her to bed, motioning for Maggie to follow.
“I want to hear the rest,” she protested.
“Tomorrow,” I promised, giving her a hug.
When Mike returned, he said, “One more thing. As he left, Hollister said to tell you, Kelly, that he found Elisabeth Smedley, and you should ask her about it.”
“Megan hasn’t called,” I said, “so it can’t be too bad.” Maybe wishful thinking on my part.
Mike went on, “Smedley aside, as I see it we have two bargaining chips, if you’ll use them. I’m going to call the station and report an intruder. We can get your husband for trespassing and attempted kidnapping, if you want to press charges. You can promise to drop the charges when and if he drops his commitment proceedings.” He got up to call the station, and I heard him begin with, “I should have called you guys earlier, but we had a situation here and we’ve been straightening it
out. I want it on record, so can you send someone to document a case of trespassing and attempted kidnapping.”
Someone turned out to be José who practically rushed in the door with his gun drawn. “Kidnapping?” he yelled. “Are the girls okay?”
“They were asleep until you yelled,” Mike said. “Come on in, and we’ll tell you what happened.”
So Sheila recited her story again and then Mike, his. I began to get incredibly sleepy, but I managed to offer beer, wine and snacks. José had lemonade I’d made for the girls. I came a bit more awake when I heard Sheila ask where a competency hearing would be held—Fort Worth or San Antonio?
“I’ll call Terrell Johnson in the morning,” I said.
Mike added, “Now that you have this documented, José, I think we don’t have to press charges or do anything. Let’s leave the next move up to him.”
“He can choose to press charges for assault with a deadly weapon, but I think he’d be foolish to do it. I’ll have to go look for evidence and maybe come back in daylight. Should be some bullets and footprints.”
With an apologetic look at me, Sheila told him she could show him the bullet in the floor of the apartment. “I’ll get it fixed, Kelly.”
Mike said he’d help José look around for evidence outside. He got our huge torch flashlight, and they went out.
I went to bed, resolving to clean up our snacks and drinks before the girls got up. At least lunches and breakfast were ready to go. I was exhausted. Some day it had been. Thank you, Bruce Hollister, for keeping life from being peaceful.
Chapter Twelve
Bruce Hollister was eerily quiet after that explosive evening. There were no more threatening appearances, no threatening phone calls, no police appeared with an arrest warrant for assault with a deadly weapon, and no investigator from the Department of Family Services appeared. I called Terrell Johnson the next morning.
“Kelly! I always know life’s about to get interesting when I hear from you.”
I told him about Bruce Hollister’s threat to have Sheila declared incompetent and take her back to San Antonio.
