I was so proud of Momma. Wish I was more like her. Well, her pioneering spirit anyhow. Where did the old girl go? Didn’t look like she came home. And if she did, what must she think? Would she know that her husband was dead? And just how did she feel about that? Other than that his Social Security disability pension would cease. I wondered if she ever loved him. What an odd couple. Opposites to the extreme. Or were they so much alike that they only enhanced each other’s bad qualities?
I heard footsteps above me. Someone had come in the front door. I heard the heels on the slate landing. And the steps to the living room were squeaking. Momma. It had to be Momma. Finally. I bolted from the closet and charged up the carpeted stairs. Wish I had long enough legs and more coordination to take them two at a time, like Tammy and Perry did.
I rounded the corner on the landing. I saw her. “Who are you?”
“Hello. I’m sorry, the door was ajar. I-I was just stopping by to…”
“To what?” I disappointedly asked the elegant African American lady.
“I think I lost an earring here.”
“When were you here?” I squinted at her accusingly. Maybe she was a real estate agent or client.
“I was here at Dr. Payne’s wake.”
Yeah, that was right. Mrs. Meddlestein interrogated her. I remembered. She had come in later than the other mourners and she had been the only stranger to me. “I’m sorry, ma’am. I wasn’t in such a good mindset that day. I’m Donna. Dr. Payne’s youngest child.”
The woman warmly smiled and stroked my hair. She gazed into my eyes. “Yes, I know. He spoke so highly of you.”
“Really? He never mentioned you. Were you a patient?”
The woman blinked a tear out of her eye. “We were friends,” she sort of choked out.
I recognized her voice. Oh my God. It was coming back to me now. She was the young waitress at the White House. Katherine with the cheese platter. The same girl my Dad had groped on the train. She was Daddy’s girlfriend. Oh my God. I took a step backward. All these years. Momma was right. I thought she had imagined the whole girlfriend thing. The infamous salad bowl incident. She was the one who had my momma’s salad bowl.
“You are the one that stole my momma’s salad bowl!”
She stepped back too.
“Dear, I don’t know what you mean.”
“What is your name, madam?”
“Miss Lagossee.”
“Whole name.”
“Miss Katherine Lagossee.”
“Get out.”
“I was only looking for my earring. It’s Black River Gold, in the shape of a leaf—”
“If we find it, we’ll…keep it for our momma. Only fair. Since you have her salad bowl.”
The woman looked a bit shaken. She probably thought I was a nut. I didn’t care if I was a nut. I wanted this interloper out of my momma’s home. Damn Daddy’s hide.
Miss Katherine Lagossee said, “Now just calm down, dear. I don’t know anything about no salad bowl. Like I said, I was a good friend of your father’s.”
“I imagine you were. Eww! Now get out!”
“I don’t like the tone of what you are insinuating, young lady. You respect my age and gender now, you hear?”
“I will not respect Daddy’s…Daddy’s—”
“Don’t you dare. You hush up your mouth, child.”
“Make me,” I goaded.
“Little Tammy never sassed me like this. You are your momma’s child.”
“What—”
“Little Tammy always respected me. ‘Yes, ma’am, Mommy Kay’, she’d say—”
So this was my sister’s special babysitter. Oh my God.
“Mommy Kay? Katherine Lagossee, you are Mommy Kay? Get out!” I yanked the sleeve of the woman’s champagne silk blouse, ushering her toward the steps. She indignantly strutted. As badly as I wanted to shove her down the stairs, I wouldn’t do that to an old lady. She departed. I bolted the door.
Oh I couldn’t wait to be done with all of this. Once Momma was back home, everything would be worked out. No, it wouldn’t. How could it be? I hoped Momma never had to come home to this sad mausoleum. And I hoped she never had to know what her children had done to her. Tammy and Perry that was. But where was she? Oh my God, I hope she’s not wandering the streets like a bag lady. A wave of nausea nearly overtook me. No. I refused to let that image linger. Momma was no bag lady. She was a smart, savvy, experienced woman. She could take care of herself. She must’ve done it many times when she was in the counterfeiting division of the Secret Service. Deep undercover. So cool. Secret agent Momma. I’ll bet those criminals didn’t know what pummeled them. I smiled.
It was the first week in August. Perhaps Momma had left for her annual spa treatment. In Palm Springs. She would come home rejuvenated and re-energized. What was I thinking? How could she? I had her purse. Momma couldn’t go anywhere without it. Such a mess. I had to find her. I had no idea where to start. But I also had to take care of things on the home front for her. What if she got home and saw what had happened to her house, to her life? Well, I guess one thing I could do was pay the bills. Sounded like a nice, tangible project I could handle, unlike trying to find Momma like the proverbial needle in a haystack.
I shuffled through the drawers of Momma’s lingerie chest. I knew that’s where she kept her checkbook and things. I snatched out the budget book and the checks. I’d take them home and get everything in order for her. Walking out to the living room, I placed them on the dusty cherry red carpeting, near the off-white wrought iron railing. Perry might sell Momma’s house out from under her but I would be darned if I would just sit back and let her credit be ruined too. I’d make sure her bills would get paid on time.
I heard the squealing moan of the trash truck, sounded like it was still a block or two away. Perhaps I could get the freezer emptied before the trash men came. I certainly couldn’t move it to my house full of defrosting food. Trotting down the basement steps, I tugged the drapery cord on the sliding glass door. I squinted as sunlight flooded in. I leaned down and removed the brown stick from the track and then unlocked the door and slid it open. I unbolted the white-painted security grate from the wall and swung it open. Two steps out, I grabbed the dented aluminum trashcan, removed the lid and was relieved to find it empty. I wrestled it into the house and closed the glass door. I plodded down the hallway with it and stuck it just inside the doorway of my old underground bedroom. It was adjacent to Daddy’s deep freezer, at the end of the hall. I heard the suction sound of the white gasket as I raised the lid. White vapor came out. I reached in and grabbed a frozen sour cream container. It clunked hard as it hit bottom in the metal garbage can.
Ground beef, canned ham followed. Canned ham? What a weird thing to freeze. Six packages of salad mix, a bag of baby carrots and a very heavy sack of ice cubes followed. Shoot. Couldn’t leave those in there. I heaved the ice cubes out and dumped them in the bathtub. I brought the plastic bag back and threw it in the trashcan.
At the very bottom of the freezer, I spotted a round blue Tupperware container. I leaned in deep with my short arm. Which was very cold by now. Stretching, I could barely reach the top of the lid. It loosened as I yanked. Didn’t quite come off though. Before tossing it in the garbage, I decided to be brave and see what yummy delicacy Daddy had saved. Some of Momma’s tasteless leftover homemade vegetable soup perhaps?
I peeled the lid off. A piece of paper was inside. All right, Daddy, what’s this, the recipe? I sat on the rust-colored sculptured carpet. Unfolding the frigid note, I dropped the container. A plastic bag fell out. I could see a solid pink-ish gray meat inside it. Oh my God. According to the notations in Daddy’s doctor’s handwriting, this was an organ. Removed from a patient. Miss Pippin. A left ovary and fallopian tube! Eww!
Why would he keep a patient’s ovary in the deep freezer of his home? What a freak!
I heard the beep of the garbage truck’s backup mechanism. I left the organ on the floor and dragg
ed the garbage can down the hall, across the rec room and out the door. I made it in time. The guy snatched the can from me, dumped it in the truck and tossed it back my way. It rolled over to the Meddlesteins. I chased it down and returned it to its proper place in the carport. I replaced the aluminum lid and zipped back into the house.
I looked down at the pink-ish lump on the floor. Well, this particular bio-hazardous medical waste must have meant a lot to Daddy, so I was just going to place it back into his freezer, for all eternity. Gagging, I forced myself to pick the baggie up, pinching it between two fingernails. I shoved it back in the Tupperware with the note and sealed it tight with the lid. I made a couple of trips to the bathtub and brought handfuls of ice to cover it with. I closed the freezer lid and then checked to see that the electrical cord was still plugged into the wall. It was. The freezer would now convey with the house. No way did I want it anymore. Maybe Tammy would take it. I no longer cared.
I bolted the steel door into the house and wedged the stick in the sliding glass door track. I closed the drapes and rushed upstairs. Grabbing Momma’s budget and checkbooks, I locked up the house and left.
I maneuvered down the broken concrete steps. Mrs. Meddlestein was sweeping her driveway. She stopped and leaned on her broom.
She said, “Hello, Donna. I see you had company. Tell me, how well do you know that lady? I couldn’t get any information out of her. She just insisted that she was Nathan’s friend. Odd, I never recalled him having lady friends.”
The clipped voice and curiosity in her eyes suggested Mrs. Meddlestein suspected the truth. That Miss Lagossee had been Daddy’s mistress.
I shrugged my shoulders and exhaled as I slowly plodded over to the edge of Momma and Daddy’s driveway. I talked across the street to her. “Hello, Mrs. Meddlestein. How are you?”
“Oh you know, some days lousy, some days worse.”
“Well, I really need to rush off now.”
“Any bids on selling the house?”
“It’s not for sale.”
Great. Mrs. Meddlestein trotted across the street to me.
“But I don’t understand, dear. Unless…unless you are moving in? Oh that would be lovely. I belong to a ladies’ Thursday morning bowling league and we could use a new member. How well do you—”
I put on my best phony smile. “Momma will be returning. Any time now, actually.”
Mrs. Meddlestein raised her eyebrows.
“She’s been released from the hospital.”
“Oh…well…wonderful. I’ll cook up a fresh batch of chicken soup. She loves my matzo balls.”
My stomach grumbled. Hopefully, she didn’t hear. “That will be lovely, Mrs. Meddlestein. I remember when I was a little girl and became sick at school. You would come and get me and bring me home and I’d lie propped up on your couch, eating your delicious soup. It always seemed to make my tummy all better.”
The old woman smiled. “You still remember that? How sweet, Donna. You were never any problem at all. I enjoyed looking after you. I know your parents were unable to leave their jobs and I was happy to fill in. It’s so good to know…”
I hugged her. “Yes, it meant a lot to me too. You and your husband were so good. I remember twice, when I was home alone and the heat went out. Mr. Meddlestein came over and relit the pilot light on the furnace for me.”
“Oh it was just the neighborly thing to do.”
“And I thank you. I really need to get home now. It was good chatting with you.”
“Absolutely. I really need to get dinner started in the crock pot. Roddy likes it on the table as he walks in the door.”
“Is he ever going to retire?”
Mrs. Meddlestein laughed. “Hush, child. He’d drive me to drink if he were underfoot. The secret of a happy marriage is not too much togetherness.”
I laughed with her.
She said, “Really though, he’s built decades-old relationships with some of his clients. He and they would be lost without each other.”
“Is he still arguing in court?”
“Heavens no. Mostly he just prepares simple documents, wills, real estate closings and tax matters.”
“I imagine some of those can still get quite interesting. Well, bye now.” I heaved the big gold Chrysler door open and slid my things over on the passenger’s side of the seat. I shuffled in, slammed the door and pumped the gas pedal three times. It took two cranks to get her started. I buckled the twisted lap belt and waved to Gloria Meddlestein. She was schlepping her brown rubber garbage can up to her garage.
As I drove through the congested Washington streets, I had warm familiar feelings ooze over me. Mr. and Mrs. Meddlestein had been a second family to me, looking out for me when my parents were away. Oh I was only alone just for an hour before school and about half an hour after school. And my momma would always call in the morning and make sure I was up. I was never really desolate because, well, the Meddlesteins were just across the street. And as Perry used to say, “If there is ever a robbery attempt on this street, Gloria Meddlestein will know about it before it happens and stop it with her bare hands and big mouth.”
Yes, God bless thy nosey neighbor.
I had been a latch-key kid from third grade on. Perry was off at college and Tammy went to her special babysitter, Mommy Kay…Katherine Lagossee. I’d bet anything she was Tammy’s biological mother. And Nathan Payne was her real father. No wonder he adopted her, she was his precious little love child.
According to a radio traffic report, an accident was blocking the Roosevelt Bridge, which would have been the quickest route home. The Fourteenth Street Bridge had heavy volume, stop and go. But I didn’t want to drive past the United States Bureau of Engraving and Printing. Where dream boy had transported me. Maybe I was scared that I’d see Momma begging on the street in front of it. Or having a shoot-out with the Miami pirate. Oh my mind was really in a mess.
There I sat, waiting patiently on the ramp from DC to merge onto the Wilson Bridge. I switched the radio from today’s pop music on B101.5 to WTOP. “Traffic and weather on the eights”. After the commercial, the reporter came on.
She said, “No problems to report on the Capital beltway. Things running well on the Wilson Bridge into both Virginia and Maryland…”
Yeah right, lady. If I had my cell phone, I’d call and enlighten you. I really needed to get a replacement. But I hated going into the phone store or the electronics store or even the discount department store to buy one. The transaction always took more than an hour. Ridiculous. Maybe I should try online and just pay the postage to have it delivered. Yep, that was a plan.
I made it over the bridge and once past the first Virginia exit, things sped up to around forty-five miles per hour, most of the time. Good enough for me. Exiting at Route Seven, I slowly made my way, every red light stopping me. My tummy churned. I needed to eat. Well, I could just pull something out of the freezer and I really needed to begin using that stuff up. A flashback of the ovary caused me to change my mind and make a sharp right turn into the Giant shopping center.
The salad bar was on sale this week, two ninety-nine a pound. Great. Two people ahead of me in line. Let’s hope they didn’t double-dip into anything mayonnaise-based, or did something else to gross me out. The baby-boomer-late-bloomer mother in front of me was feeding the toddler in her cart cherry tomatoes as she piled up a family-sized salad.
My turn. I smiled as I tonged up small portions of iceberg lettuce, broccoli florets, chopped ham, chopped egg, shredded orange cheese and, I just couldn’t resist, one thin slice of pickled beet and one tiny spoonful of their penne pasta with mozzarella.
I popped a hard plastic lid on the aluminum pan and pinched the crimping all the way around. I placed it in the bottom of a handbasket and strolled back to the deli counter. My order of shaved olive loaf and shaved Swiss cheese was cheerfully passed over the counter. Onto the nuts. I preferred the store brand of mixed nuts, they had less peanuts in them than the national brand. And
I was a peanut butter girl but not wild about munching the peanuts one by one.
I paid and returned to my car. I maneuvered the old gold boat over to the gas station. Great. It just dawned on me that I had pumped unleaded gas in it the last time. I was sure she was a lead drinker as old as she was. Well, I didn’t blow her up yet. I didn’t even know where I could buy leaded gas. So I pumped her full of the contemporary stuff, hoping for the best. I really needed to buy myself a car. I sighed.
I drove the short trip home and parked in the garage. I took my purse and plastic grocery bag out and punched the code on the wall to close the door. Yep, needed a replacement remote control too. When would I put this darned accident behind me? I grumbled my way to the community mailbox. Nothing for me today.
I trotted up my brown brick steps and unlocked the door. After stepping inside, I shut the door, threw my weight against it until it clicked, like neighborly cop Dick had taught me, and locked up. I kicked my shoes into the foyer closet and then padded down the hardwood hallway into the kitchen. I dropped the bag and purse on the counter and opened the off-white vertical blinds on the French glass doors. I gasped. And jumped back. There was a man on my deck, sleeping in the chaise lounge.
I hustled back into the hall and craned my neck, squinting to make out the figure. He rolled over and I recognized the furry back and bald head. It was Dick, my friendly neighborhood crime fighter. Walking back into the kitchen, I unlocked the door and flung it open. He jumped up.
We stood there, without a word. He smiled. I eyeballed him, loads of questions jumbling up in my head.
He said, “Hi ya.”
I nodded cautiously. At least his fly wasn’t gaping open this time. “What are you doing on my deck? Do you know the cops are looking for you? Where have you been? Why don’t you wear pants?”
“Can I come inside?”
“I don’t—no.” I was torn, because up to this point, he seemed like a nice guy. But now my stomach felt like it was in my throat. Man, I hated this constant rollercoaster of danger and intrigue I seemed to be living. Jeeze.
The Immaculate Deception Page 15
