by Stone, Naomi
“Why didn’t you go home?” Greg laid out pieces of bread on the cutting board and then spread them with peanut butter, dipping his knife deftly into the jar and out again.
“What?” She followed his motions as he applied raisins and honey to one sandwich-in-the-making and then, with smooth efficiency, laid slices of cheese and pickles on the other. She’d sure rather watch the efficient dance of his sandwich-making process than think about the subject at hand.
“When you got here and Aggie was gone, when I found you sitting alone out on the back stoop? You looked like some homeless waif. Why not go home?”
The question annoyed her. “I didn’t want to go home,” she snapped at him. “Why do you come to your mother’s house for lunch? Why do you still live over her garage instead of on campus like a normal grad student?”
“There’s no such thing as a normal grad student,” he responded as if by rote, but flinched from the unwarranted attack. He set her sandwich before her and settled back at the table with his own.
“I’m sorry.” She put a hand on his. “That’s not fair of me. Money’s tight while you’re in school.”
“It’s not just that.” His tone grew thoughtful. “I feel better knowing I can check in on Aggie every day. Mom likes everyone to think she’s totally independent, and she even fools herself most of the time, but she can’t always do what needs doing.” He took a bite from his three-tiered sandwich and chewed.
“She can’t?” Aggie was fooling people? If so, she’d had Gloria fooled too. She bit thoughtfully into her own sandwich.
“There are things she can’t reach, things she can’t lift.” He took a swig from his soda.
Well Aggie needed a hand with reaching and lifting, but that had never seemed any big deal.
“She dropped her cell phone between the bookshelves the other morning and wouldn’t have been able to call for help–except I stopped by that morning and pulled it out for her.”
“Oh no.” Aggie always had her cell phone.
“Yes, and that wheelchair of hers has gotten stuck more than once. The left wheel has jammed–”
“She’s going to get it checked out. It happened last week when we went to Michael’s together.”
Gloria paused. She’d lost Jo. What would she do without Aggie? How had she never noticed what a fine line Aggie kept between coping with the practicalities of her illness and maintaining her independence? Why didn’t Aggie ever say anything to her? Weren’t they friends?
Greg noticed. He was right there, taking up the slack without ever mentioning it. Even now, here he was when she needed him, needed someone. Was he neglecting his work, the research project vital to his whole future, for the sake of sitting here with her right now?
“Anyhow,” she said, “I’m glad you’re here. For Aggie and now for me. Thanks.”
He made a gruff, throat clearing noise. “It’s okay. I’m sorry about your friend.”
“I wonder if the police have been able to contact Jo’s family. She doesn’t have anyone locally, just some cousins in Colorado.”
“The police should have access to her information.” He set his half-eaten sandwich back on the plate. “Why don’t you call them to make sure?”
“Yes. If they don’t, I’ve still got the number on my phone for her cousin, Jenny, who she stayed with on vacation last year.” Gloria dug in her shoulder bag, “That detective gave me his card in case I thought of anything relevant.”
She found the card and her phone, stared at both for a moment before summoning the courage to punch in the number. Greg sat silently across from her, sipping his soda.
It was only a moment before the call picked up.
“Detective Algerson?” she asked.
“Yes, ma’am?”
“It’s Gloria Torkenson. We met earlier. I thought of something. A couple things. Have you checked on Jo’s ex yet?”
“We’ve been unable to contact him as yet.”
“He moved to Pittsburg a while back. The split was friendly. I wanted to let you know, if you were looking, he probably had nothing to do with it.”
“That’s good of you, but we’ve already ruled him out. Others have confirmed he no longer lives locally.
“Oh, I have contact info for Jo’s family in Denver. She doesn’t have anyone locally.”
“Good. We can use that. Your HR department’s info, what Ms. Dexter gave us, proved to be outdated. Just let me write down what you’ve got.”
She read off the number from her phone’s contact list.
“Good. We’ll contact her people,” the detective assured her.
“Detective Algerson,” Gloria softened her tone, pleading. “I have to admit I’m almost afraid to go back to the office, thinking there might be a murderer there. Can you tell me anything on how the investigation is going?”
Greg rolled his eyes. She frowned at him. She felt silly playing for sympathy with the detective, but that wouldn’t stop her. “Please?”
The detective cleared his throat. “Well, ma’am, I don’t think you need to worry. We now believe this to be a stranger killing. Your security people found the door beside your loading bay propped open and the traces of blood we found at the scene were identified as Ms. Willard’s.”
“Oh. Oh no. So, Jo surprised someone breaking in?”
Greg straightened in his chair, raising a brow. She held up her hand for him to wait.
“I’m told employees sometimes leave that door propped open when they go out for a smoke,” the detective said.
“Yes. Sometimes.” All the dang time. Still, it wasn’t as if anyone would see it from the street or like the neighborhood had a noticeable crime rate.
“Your security people found some equipment, new computers, still in their shipping crates, missing. We believe thieves took advantage of an open door and Ms. Willard surprised them in the act.”
“Oh no. Poor Jo.” Gloria bit her lip. Jo nearly always took the back exit. She loved to park under the flowering crab apples at the end of the parking lot. Especially this time of year, while they bloomed pink, and white, and red and fragrant. “Oh, that’s awful.”
Gloria ended the call in a daze, thanking the detective for sharing what they’d learned. It was all so terrible. Some stranger, probably some hardened criminal had killed Jo.
At least the detective’s conclusion cleared her co-workers. The people she worked with had their quirks, but they all seemed like decent sorts.
“Are you going to be okay?” Greg asked, reminding her of his presence.
She shrugged, gathering strength to speak. “At least I don’t have to worry about a murderer in the office. That’s kind of a relief.”
* * * *
Greg listened as Gloria filled him in on what the detective had told her. He’d had half a mind to ask Serafina for a superpower to help him to solve the case. Only what sort of power would do the job? The ability to view past events claimed by some psychics? The ability to force people to tell the truth, like Wonder Woman’s lasso gave her? All moot now.
Looked like the police had this one covered. He should stick to dealing with situations beyond them, where Wonder Guy could make a real difference.
“I said,” Gloria spoke forcefully, “I’ll be okay now. Where were you?”
“Just thinking.” Murder lurking behind some familiar face, the possibility chilled him. He’d always taken people at face value, but a person, like a lake, might show only the reflected sky rather than what lay hidden below the surface. “I’m glad the police have ruled out your co-workers as murderers.”
“Amen to that.” Gloria shuddered. “I didn’t want to go back to the office suspecting someone there of murder.” The crusts of her sandwich lay abandoned before her. She stood, gathering up her plate along with his. “But, like I was saying as your mind wandered.” She gave his shoulder a light cuff as she passed behind him to deposit their dishes in the sink. She gathered the utensils from the cutting board. “I’m okay now, or at
least a lot better. I’m sure you didn’t plan on spending your whole afternoon babysitting me.”
“I don’t mind.” He twisted in his chair, watching her graceful, sure movements as she turned on the faucet and grabbed a sponge to wash up.
“And I love you for it.” She spoke over her shoulder and the sound of running water. “But I’ll be okay here until Aggie gets back and I don’t want you neglecting your research project on my account.”
“I don’t like leaving you by yourself when you’ve been so upset.” He hesitated. He did have work to do at the computer lab, not to mention being concerned now over what trouble he might be able to prevent while on duty as Wonder Guy. “Isn’t your dad home? You could hang out with him...”
Gloria’s scowl killed the rest of his thought, leaving it to shrivel unspoken. She put the last plate in the drainer and rejoined him.
“Greg. I hate to break it to you, but watching my dad drown himself in alcohol is no way to get my mind off bad stuff. I’ll do better to put together a few orders of cell shells. I like working with my hands. It soothes me.”
She looked tired. He hadn’t realized before the effort it took for her to keep a bright face on life, to keep up the stance of cheerful optimism she usually wore. Gloria didn’t feel at home in her own house. She seemed more at home here with him and his mother than at her place with her own father.
Even here, she never seemed to relax, as if she believed no one would accept her if she didn’t put up her usual brave front and give them her patented engaging smile. How long had it been now since he’d last seen her lose it?
Her twelfth birthday party. When her parents had thrown a backyard barbecue to celebrate. He’d been there when she’d learned of the traffic accident that caused her mother’s death and had never seen her cry so wretchedly before, or since, until today. Now, as then, it left him longing for some way to make her world right again.
It all came back to him now. Gloria’s aunt Cecily had come to the weeping girl when she’d sank to the lawn beside him at the picnic table. Her aunt knelt beside her and put an arm around her shoulder. She gave Gloria’s slim, huddled shoulders a shake. “Stop it right now. All these people are here to help you celebrate your birthday. It’s your duty to be the hostess, to make sure everyone has a good time. It’s selfish to curl up and cry this way.”
Only then had someone told Cecily the news, and she left Gloria behind while she went to comfort her husband for the loss of his sister.
“C’mon, Gloria.” Greg had bent to take one of his friend’s limp hands. “Let’s go over to my house for a while. My mom will know what to do.”
“We haven’t cut the cake yet.” Gloria looked up, her expression blank.
“Someone else can cut it.”
“It’s my job.”
“Your Aunt Cissy didn’t know.” He’d fallen silent, unwilling to say what he thought of her aunt, or to speak of the terrible thing that made nothing else matter.
“Being hostess is still my job.” Some spirit returned to her voice and eyes. The party continued, kids yelling over by the Slip n’ Slide, adults chattering around the grill and along the picnic tables.
Hardly anyone seemed aware of what had happened.
“The party can wait,” he’d insisted and tugged on her hand. “People are still eating their burgers and hot dogs. You should get away from here for a while anyhow.”
“Okay.” She gave in so readily he’d been afraid she was broken.
When they got to Greg’s place, the instant she saw their faces, Aggie left off mixing a fresh batch of lemonade for the party. She rolled over, pulled Gloria up on her lap, and rested the girl’s head on her shoulder while Greg explained what had happened.
Gloria never did get to cut her birthday cake. One of the mothers who’d come to help out with festivities took over the task, making up plastic-wrapped plates of cake to send home with the guests as they left, as most did, very soon after the news broke.
Today came as an echo of the past. At least this time Gloria seemed to be over her tears, for now. If she wanted to be alone, and doing her craftwork gave her comfort, he’d leave her to it.
* * * *
Gloria loved this part of it. Maybe not the smell of the hot glue, but she loved transforming a plain bit of leatherette by affixing rhinestones arrayed like a scattering of stars, or making it punk with steel grommets and chains, or steam punk with bits of clockwork and brass. She loved the variety of textures, materials and styles her imagination conceived.
She and Aggie had standing orders for popular items too repetitive to be much fun–like those featuring gold, silver or rhinestone capital initials. Gloria rewarded herself for completing a job-lot of these by taking time to work on one of their high-end pieces. Like now, as she tweezed tiny orange and white Swarovski foil-backed crystals into place on the butterfly-shaped flap of a black cell shell.
With old episodes of The Gilmore Girls playing on the shelf behind the worktable and her attention focused on filling in the pattern of a Monarch butterfly’s wings, she wouldn’t have to worry about what had happened to Jo. She’d move on with her life. In theory.
Jo’s family would come, dispose of Jo’s stuff and her apartment. Jo’s coworkers in HR would pack up her desk and take over her workload until the company hired someone new. If they decided to hire anyone at all, and didn’t dump the extra work on Anne and Patty.
In any case, after a while, the waters of daily life would flow back in, smoothing over the impression Jo’s life had made in the world, like waves filling in footprints left along a beach. It would be as if she had never been there at all.
Gloria blinked away fresh tears. Dwelling on the past would set her off again. Maybe she should have stayed at the office, commiserating with Anne and Patty–if Ms. Dexter had the heart to let them.
She’d come home hoping to find Aggie, only to wind up alone. She’d expected the work, if not The Gilmore Girls, would be enough to take her mind off things, but she’d seen this episode before and her mind kept wandering. Situations she’d ordinarily find amusing seemed trivial in the face of Jo’s senseless murder.
Gloria turned back to her work. The droplet of glue meant to secure the crystal in her tweezers had set while her attention wandered. It hit her, how much of the pleasure in the work she did here with Aggie was the pleasure of their camaraderie. Even when they had nothing particular to say and only shared their reactions to whatever show played or passed tools and supplies across the table.
With Aggie and Greg gone, it seemed too much like she sat at somebody else’s table, in somebody else’s house. She couldn’t go home. She had no real home. She had the small refuge of her bedroom in the face of her father’s zone of chaos and she bided her time there until her escape–until she moved in with Pete.
People chattered rapid-fire at each other on-screen. Gloria set aside her tweezers, reaching for the glue gun to set another droplet of hot glue in place. She paused, hand in the air. How much of her attraction to Pete lay in the prospect of leaving her father’s house for his? If she had an apartment of her own, would she be quite this eager to get married to Pete?
How long had she felt this way? It had been almost as if she’d lost both her parents when Mom died. Dad had continued to work and support her, to pay the bills for years afterward, until he lost his arm. Afterward he’d withdrawn into himself, as if going through the motions of living. He hadn’t been someone she could turn to for comfort. He’d never been what she’d call sociable. Mom had been the one to make friends in the neighborhood, to listen to Gloria, to reassure her when she felt sad or frightened. Dad just didn’t know how. His way of being social was to share his beers in front of the television.
She’d been fifteen when he started offering her a beer now and then. She imagined all too easily what she might have become if she’d ever accepted.
No wonder she’d been attracted to Pete. Pete was The Anti-Dad, the polar opposite of what her father had b
ecome. Pete talked to her. He listened to her. At least, he did when he wasn’t working. He didn’t drink, or if he did, it was like an afterthought. “Oh, there’s wine with dinner? Sure, I’ll have a glass.” Was that the substance of her relationship with Pete? Was it based entirely on his not-dadness?
Chapter 12
Greg hated leaving Gloria alone, but when he looked back before letting the door close behind him, she already had the hot glue gun in hand and a bead tray open before her. She’d said she was okay. He had to take her at her word.
She might be okay, but could he say the same for himself? An innocent woman had been murdered and he might have prevented it. Greg glanced around the yard, making sure no one would see and said, “Super-ize Me.”
At least Wonder Guy might have prevented it. If he’d been around instead of living Greg Roberts’ life. What did Greg Roberts do that was more important than saving innocent lives?
Greg, now as Wonder Guy, leapt into the air at an angle to avoid entangling himself in the branches of the trees shading the yard. Good one. He looked back to verify if he’d managed the leap without leaving a pit in the patio tiles. It seemed to be as much a matter of intent as thrust. Lucky Newton hadn’t known about this. It might have set physics back a hundred years.
The cool wind of his flight, the freedom of the surrounding blue expanse, lifted his heart as ever, but his thoughts dragged. He couldn’t spend every minute of the day and night as Wonder Guy. The world needed Greg Roberts too, didn’t it? What if his technology research helped save lives someday? Light-speed computing might have applications in medicine and a thousand other applications. Not everything worth doing could be done in a flash or drew the kind of attention Wonder Guy got. Who knew what might be built on the few bricks of knowledge he would lay in his lifetime? Now it seemed like Wonder Guy was his competition.
Bzzz. He clapped a hand to his ear. “Ow!”
“Oops. Volume control seems to be off.” Serafina’s voice diminished from a roar to a normal speaking tone before the words were out. “Hurry, dear. Something quite disturbing is happening at one of your lakes.”
