by Laura Alden
Pete made a “hmm” sort of noise, which covered pretty much everything.
We stood there a moment, neither one of us saying anything, until we heard voices and footsteps coming toward us so fast that we barely had time to get off the path before a pack of runners swirled on by, chattering about splits and barefoot shoes and carbs.
When they’d passed, the mood had changed. Pete and I had shared a traumatic experience and I’d been far too close to death, but right now I wanted—needed—to go home and not think about it. We could talk about it later. Just not now.
I looked up at Pete. “Um . . .”
He smiled easily. “Disc golf on Tuesday?”
I smiled back, nodding, and he sauntered off, hands in his pockets, whistling. I watched him go, happy that he was my friend. Actually, there were a lot of things I was happy about: all the questions about Amy’s and Kelly’s deaths were now answered, Cindy wouldn’t ever cause any more accidents, and I could finally, with complete confidence, tell both Maude and Kelly’s mother what had really happened that night.
There was only one thing left to do—call Marina and tell her that I’d helped capture the killer without her help. She’d play at being annoyed, of course, but—
A sharp noise cracked through the trees.
I jumped and whirled, looking for the threat, breathing fast, trying to see, trying to see . . .
Don’t be afraid.
“I’m not,” I said out loud. And I wasn’t.
The branch that had broken off a nearby tree rattled down through the upper limbs and tumbled down to earth. I walked over and kicked it off the path, deep into the undergrowth.
No, I wasn’t afraid at all.
I put my hands in my pockets and walked off, whistling, with Spot at my side.
Epilogue
The middle school auditorium was filled to standing room only. Once word spread that the PTA story project was complete and that the children and their story partners were going to appear together on stage to read excerpts, everybody in town wanted in on the fun.
From the phone calls and e-mails, it quickly became evident that the elementary school gym was going to be at least two sizes too small, so the principal got together with his middle school counterpart and moved the whole kit and caboodle across town to the school Jenna would attend come September.
I bit my lower lip, thinking over the things that moms worry about. Would she like middle school? How could she possibly be old enough to be headed here? Was she going to feel lost in this huge building? Was she going to make new friends? Was she going to be okay?
After I’d successfully tied my stomach into knots, I took a few deep breaths and took stock of my surroundings.
I sat on the stage at the end of a long row of chairs. Some were regular chairs, some were wheelchairs, and walkers and canes were scattered everywhere. Each student sat next to their story partner, and they were all chatting and laughing, looking like they were having the time of their lives.
There was Oliver with Maude. My heart smiled at the sight. A happy but unforeseen product of this project was how Oliver had blossomed. Though he was still shy, and might always be, he’d enjoyed meeting Maude and learning her story. He was even asking questions about the stories in our own family.
This was good, of course it was good, but if he decided to research certain family members, things might become sticky.
Marina, out in the audience with Zach, caught my eye and waved her copy of the Story Book at me. “Got ’em!” she called, grinning hugely.
When the books had gone on sale last week, she’d made it her new life goal to get the autographs of all the kids and all the seniors. She’d stopped by to tell me so on the Sunday afternoon of Cindy’s arrest and had found me on the sunny deck, reading through the galleys of the story project. The printer had told me I could make a few changes at this stage, but please, not very many of them.
“How goes it?” she asked, dropping into a chair.
I put down my red pen and stretched. “Almost there. The kids did a great job.”
After a companionable silence during which we both sat with our faces turned up to the sun, Marina said, “You’ve changed.”
I kept my eyes closed. “Have not.”
“Sure you have. Think about it. Two years ago, would you have taken on a project like this? No way. You might have helped out a little, but you wouldn’t have come up with the idea, presented it to the PTA, persuaded them it was a good thing to do, and then followed through.”
“Would too.”
“Nah.” She slid down in the chair, down far enough to rest her head against the back. “You’ve gotten gumption. Or maybe you had it all along, and now it’s finally surfacing.”
I closed my eyes again, enjoying the warmth of the day.
“Either way,” she said, “it’s a good thing.”
“Mmm.”
She snapped her fingers. “Almost forgot why I stopped by. You, mah deah, are the winner of the weight loss contest! By one small pound, you have overtaken the rest of the contestants. I declare you the winner, with all its responsibilities and commitments.” She beamed.
I squinted at her. “I didn’t know there were any responsibilities or commitments.”
“Are you saying you don’t want to wear a crown and a sash and ride a float in parades all summer?”
“That’s exactly what I’m saying.”
She put her chin in her hand. “Disappointing, but not unexpected. As such, I revoke all of that and instead, award you the grand prize.” She opened her purse, pulled out an envelope, and handed it to me with a grandiose flourish. “Yours for the keeping, little chickadee.”
Using my thumb, I ripped open the envelope and looked inside. Frowned. “I thought the prize was going to be a trip to a day spa.”
“Yeah, sorry about that. The deal fell through.”
I extracted the gift certificate to Sabatini’s. “So instead, my prize for losing ten pounds is a meal at a pizza place?”
Marina shrugged. “If you don’t want it, I can give it to the second place winner.”
“Who came in second? You?” I held the envelope out to her.
“Claudia.”
I snatched the envelope back, tucked it into my waistband, and gave it a pat. “They have good salads, if you don’t mind iceberg lettuce.” And the twenty dollars I would make sure to collect from Claudia would be the sweetest I ever spent. If I didn’t frame it, that is.
Now the big hand on the large clock on the back auditorium wall was only a couple of minutes away from the starting time. I looked at Erica, down in the front row, but she was deep in conversation with the parent to her left.
Along the row of chairs, I heard Maude’s clear laughter. Her clear, perfectly healthy laughter.
After Cindy’s arrest and before I went home, I’d hustled over to Sunny Rest. I’d rushed inside, anxious, hoping to find Maude conscious, hoping that she hadn’t slipped further away. I’d race walked to her room and found it empty. Stricken, I’d stood in the doorway, and hung on to the doorframe. She was gone. I was too late, I’d taken too long, I’d done my best and it wasn’t good enough. She was gone. . . .
Tracy, the nurse’s aide, stopped, a pile of linens in her arms. “In the solarium.”
I blinked at her. “What?”
“You’re looking for Maude, right? She’s in the solarium. Down the hall on the right.” She put a hand to her waist. “Beeper. Gotta go.”
With slow measured steps, I walked down the hall. In the solarium. Probably had her wheelchair placed so she could enjoy the sun. She couldn’t have many days left and would want to soak it in as much as possible. She’d probably be asleep and she’d be—
She slapped a card down on the table. “Right bower. That’s my trick and you, my dear friends, are euchred.”
Auntie May cackled. “Way to go, partner.”
I stood there, gaping at the scene. “You’re not sick.” The four women at the t
able turned to me as one. “You’re not sick at all!”
“Oh, honey.” Maude’s face filled with concern. “Let me explain, I—”
“You were making it all up!”
Auntie May rolled her wheelchair around. “I’m the one who made her do it. If you’re going to be mad at someone, be mad at me.” She stabbed at her chest with her index finger.
I had a sudden flash of Marina and me, forty years hence. I’d be Maude and Marina would be Auntie May and no one in Rynwood would be safe. I pushed the vision away. “You manipulated me. Maude is healthy as a horse. You . . . you lied to me. Both of you.”
“As little as we could,” Maude said. “My doctor did shake her head about crocheting, I didn’t lie about that. But what I didn’t say is that she was recommending cross-stitch, instead.”
“Of course we manipulated you,” Auntie May snapped. “Someone had to light a fire underneath your hind end. Only way to do it was play on that guilt complex you carry around on your back. Got to get results, kiddo, and that was the best way to do it.”
“I didn’t like it,” Maude said. “But it was a lovely chance to act again.”
“To . . . what?”
“Maudie here was a leading lady in the Rynwood theater for years,” Auntie May said. “Only stopped when she broke her hip about twenty years ago.”
Which explained why I hadn’t known; she’d dropped out of theater about the same time I moved to town. And Maude’s theater experience must have been what people had been trying to tell me about for weeks.
“Besides,” Auntie May said. “If you’d known Maudie was hale and hearty, would you have tried so hard?”
“Of course . . .” I stopped. Of course I wouldn’t have. Maude’s supposedly ticking clock had been one of my primary motivators. It had been the reason I’d lost so much sleep and the reason I’d barged into Amy’s house.
I’d tried hard to be angry, but Maude had taken my hand and put it to her cheek. “Please forgive me,” she said softly. “If I could have done it any other way, I would have.”
So I’d forgiven her, and both Auntie May and I comforted her when I told her what had really happened to Kelly that long, long-ago night.
I looked down the row to where Maude and Oliver were deep in conversation and smiled. How could anyone stay angry with her? Not me; I found it difficult to be angry with anyone, even Faye Lewis, who had come into the bookstore last week, also begging for forgiveness.
“Cindy and I grew up together,” she’d said in my office, tears streaming down her face. “I knew how she was about Keith, I knew how she could be, but I didn’t want to know. I didn’t want to see. I didn’t want to . . .” She’d put her face in her hands and sobbed.
I’d finished her sentence for her. Didn’t want to know that her friend was a killer. And who could blame her for that? “Nothing to forgive.” I’d gone around my desk and hugged her tight until the tears stopped.
Now I made eye contact with Erica and pointed at my watch. She nodded and walked up the stage steps, head high, carriage straight, knowing without looking that she wasn’t going to trip on the steps with her high heels. But instead of walking to the podium she came over to my chair.
“Here.” She held out a sheet of paper.
Automatically, I took it. “This is the schedule for the assembly. You need this.” I pushed it back at her, but she held her hands away.
“I’d like you to lead this assembly,” she said.
“Me? I’m doing the project introduction, that’s all. You’re the PTA president. You do the real stuff.”
“Dearest Beth.” Erica shook her head. “You have no idea, do you? I don’t doubt that you’ve been wondering why I’ve been so harsh with you the last few weeks. Ah, I can see you have and I’m sorry for that. But I had to see what you’re made of.”
“Flesh and bone.” I pinched my skin. “See?”
She smiled. “But what I didn’t know was if that skin could take the heat.”
Clueless Beth did not, in fact, have any idea what was going on. “Probably not,” I said. “I’m not good with high temperatures.”
“And there you’re wrong. You did wonderfully. Not only did you respond well to Claudia and Randy, but you completed the project on time, filled this auditorium, and got the attention of local media.” She glanced at the TV camera crew stationed at the side of the stage. “Plus, you found another killer and have given this town a sense of peace it hasn’t known since that poor young girl died.”
I eyed her. Maybe she’d taken exaggeration pills.
“My point,” Erica went on, “is that you’re the best candidate possible. I want you to run for president of the PTA next year.”
“What?” I sat up tall. “But you’re president. I’m not going to run against you.” No, don’t make me do this. I’m happy being secretary. I’m happy behind the scenes. I’m where I belong . . . aren’t I?
I glanced at the packed auditorium. Thought of the speech I was about to give, and realized I wasn’t at all nervous. No, I was looking forward to it. I wanted to tell everybody about this project. I wanted to speak. Good heavens, how had this happened?
Erica smiled. “You’ve grown so much in the last two years that I almost don’t recognize you. You’re ready for this, and I’m ready for a rest. Consider it, please.” She leaned close and dropped one eyelid in a wink. “After all,” she said softly, “do we really want Claudia Wolff to be PTA president?”
She returned to her seat, the gauntlet thrown into my lap.
Oh, dear.
I swallowed. Looked at the schedule. Opening remarks. Pledge of Allegiance. Etc., etc., etc. Okay, I could do this. No problem, or at least not enough of a problem to cause paralysis or instant death. But . . . did I want to?
Maude’s laughter punctuated my self-absorption. Maude. I wouldn’t have met her without the PTA, wouldn’t have met Barb, wouldn’t have learned about Kelly, would never have learned what had happened to Amy, wouldn’t have met Officer Sean and maybe wouldn’t have learned how good a friend Pete would be. He was such a nice man that he was even here today, taking time away from his business to watch the assembly and take the three of us out for ice cream afterward.
But . . . PTA president?
No. Let someone else do it. I’d stay secretary as long as I was wanted, but president? No. I didn’t crave drama. I wanted peace and quiet and long walks with my children and dog in the evenings. I was happy that Cindy wouldn’t hurt any innocents ever again, but I was even happier that things were back to normal.
I liked normal. Normal was an excellent place to be.
Decision made, I stood and walked to the podium. Adjusted the microphone. Straightened the paper. Smiled at the crowd. Saw Marina’s grin, saw Jenna’s happy face, saw Erica’s encouraging nod.
Then I saw Claudia Wolff glowering at me.
And I changed my mind.
