I considered this request and shrugged. “I can ask him when I talk to him.” I shifted my attention to Clay. Given that Oliver Knutson was probably a mover and shaker in the Milwaukee area, I figured Clay’s paper might have some basic information about him prepared for an obituary. “What can you tell us about Oliver Knutson?”
Clay smiled and looked over at Cora, who handed him her laptop. “We were looking in to that very thing when you came in,” Clay said, taking the laptop. “Give me a second to log in to my work account at the paper and pull up the preliminary obit for the man.”
The room fell silent except for the sound of Clay tapping away on the computer keyboard. I looked over at Tad. He was sitting at the back of the group, looking wary and withdrawn. I wondered if the rest of the group had made him feel welcome.
“Here we go,” Clay said, leaning back in his chair and reading from the computer screen. “Oliver Knutson was fifty-seven years old at the time of his death. According to the obituary info, he was a ‘self-made man’ who struck it rich when he was in his twenties by developing a software program that was bought by Microsoft. That initial boost of wealth grew exponentially thanks to some wise stock investments, and he used the rest of it to start up a novelty and party supply store called Pizzazzeria. The store did quite well for him, and he has since opened a dozen more throughout Wisconsin, Indiana, and Illinois, and he has franchises in six other states. He was predeceased by his son, James, who died in an automobile accident six years ago at the age of seventeen. James was the son of Oliver’s first wife, Anne. Knutson has been married to his second wife, Caroline, for four years. No kids for those two.” Clay looked up at me. “That’s it.”
“Not much,” I said.
“I could dig up some back articles on him, but I can’t do that search outside of my office,” Clay said. “I do know Knutson’s first wife, Anne, came from family money. And if I remember correctly, their divorce was a surprisingly benevolent one. If there was any bickering or fighting over money, no one heard about it.” Clay paused and shrugged. “I’m not sure that information is helpful, or even relevant. One thing that might be, though, is I know Knutson had some health issues. He was a heavy smoker for a lot of years, and he liked his food. He wasn’t a small man.”
Sonja nodded. “That was one of the things Caroline complained about a lot.” She gave me an embarrassed, apologetic look before continuing. “She called him a beached whale, and she said the thought of having sex with him disgusted her.”
“She told you that?” Alicia said, looking aghast. Several people in the room shifted uneasily in their chairs.
Sonja shrugged. “You’d be surprised at some of the stuff our clients share with us. They’re often trapped with us for several hours at a time. Plus, in addition to basic hair, manicure, and pedicure services, we offer massages, spray tans, and waxing. Working with, or exposing certain delicate body parts, tends to foster a sense of intimacy. People get to talking and they share things they might not otherwise. Especially the ones who have been coming to us for a long time.”
“Don’t you think it’s odd that the woman came into Sonja’s shop for a complete makeover the day her husband died?” Holly asked.
“And in such high spirits,” Sonja added. “Almost gleeful.”
“It is odd, but it could be nothing more than a bizarre grief reaction,” I said, playing devil’s advocate. “Or maybe she’s being honest about it all. If she’s been wanting out of the marriage for a long time, this must seem like a gift.” Too late, I realized my words might hit home with Tad. I glanced over and saw him studiously staring at the plate in his lap. He had ordered a burger and, so far, he’d only taken one bite of it. I couldn’t see his expression, but I sensed his uneasiness and cursed to myself.
“Presumably the police have already looked in to it,” Joe said.
Tiny, a first-generation American whose parents were Norwegian, felt the police had botched the investigation into his sister’s death twelve years earlier, and he still held something of a grudge over it. “Da police aren’t perfect, ya know,” he said. “Dey miss stuff all da time.”
Clay, who was still tapping away on Cora’s laptop, much to her annoyance, said, “According to the news release, the police don’t suspect foul play, but the exact cause of death is still pending an autopsy.”
“It can’t hurt to ask the cops to look in to it, can it?” Holly asked.
“Ya, but it might not help eeder,” Tiny grumbled.
I sighed and shrugged. “I don’t see the harm in asking, though it would help if we had something more to go on. I’ll run it by Duncan to see what he says.”
“Thank you,” Sonja said.
At that point, Tad set aside his unfinished burger and fries, got up, and left the room without a word. As soon as he was gone, I looked at the others with a sad expression. “Did anyone reach out to him?” I asked. “Did you guys make him feel welcome?”
The guilty looks and lack of responses gave me my answer.
“Come on, you guys,” I pleaded. “Tad is one of the good guys. I promise you, he had no knowledge of what his wife was up to, and he wasn’t involved at all.”
“We believe that,” Carter said. “But it’s still awkward. I don’t know what to say to the guy.”
“None of us do,” Holly said.
“How about something like sorry about what happened and we hope you’re doing okay, or we’re glad to see you back here, or even just a simple how are you doing?” There was more shifting in chairs, and a lot of guilty side glances. My phone rang, and I saw it was Duncan. “I have to take this,” I said. “But I hope you guys will reach out to Tad. He’s one of us. He’s family.”
With that, I got up and walked out into the hallway to answer Duncan’s call.
“I got you some time with Felicity,” he said.
“That’s great. How did you get Parnell to cave?”
“Actually, she called me to ask for you. Apparently, Felicity has been a bit of a handful for the foster parents who have her, and they can’t seem to get through to her. So Parnell wants you to go by to see what you can do.”
“I’m ready any time.”
“I’ll pick you up in ten.”
“Wait,” I said. “Before you hang up, there’s something else I want to run by you.” I told him about Caroline Knutson’s odd behavior, and the group’s concerns about the nature of Oliver Knutson’s death.
Not surprisingly, Duncan sounded skeptical. “It’s not much to go on,” he said. “And it’s not my case. In fact, I don’t think the case is being handled by our district. I’ll see what I can find out.”
“Thank you. I’ll meet you out front in ten minutes.”
I disconnected the call and went back into the Capone Club room. “I just spoke with Duncan,” I told the group. “He said he would look in to the Knutson case. No promises; it’s not even his district’s case. But at least he’s going to check into it.”
Judging from the pleased expressions and smiles I saw in response to my news, the group was glad Duncan hadn’t simply dismissed their concerns. There was no guarantee he wouldn’t eventually do that anyway, but at least for now he was playing along.
I told the group I would check back in with them later, then went downstairs to my office to grab my coat, hat, and gloves. On the way into my office, I saw Tad sitting at the bar looking morose, nursing a drink. By the time I emerged, he was no longer alone. The Signoriello brothers—bless those two dear men—had left the warmth and comfort of the upstairs fireplace and come down to join Tad. So had Carter and Holly. They flanked him at the bar, and I saw Carter give Tad a friendly pat on the shoulder. As I made my way to the door to watch for Duncan’s car, I heard the wonderful sound of Tad’s laughter.
Maybe everything would turn out all right after all.
Chapter 13
Duncan filled me in as he drove. “The couple who is fostering Felicity focus on caring for kids with special needs. The wife is a nurs
e and her husband is a psychologist. Neither of them works outside of the house anymore, so it’s kind of an ideal setup for these kids. According to Parnell, they’ve dealt with all manner of kids with a variety of problems. They’re the ones who are insisting we bring you by because, apparently, Felicity has been acting out by hitting, kicking, and yelling any time anyone tries to interact with her. When they ignore her, she squats in a corner and doesn’t move for hours. They haven’t been able to get her to say anything other than one word.”
“Which is what?” I asked
Duncan shot me an amused look. “She keeps saying Mack, over and over again. The Varners—that’s the name of the couple caring for her—thought at first the word represented some item or a food she wanted, like mac and cheese. They finally called Parnell to see if she knew what it meant.”
“That had to have been painful for Parnell,” I said, unable to suppress a small smile.
“I’ll admit, she didn’t sound happy when she called me. But in her defense, I do think she has the best interests of the child in mind. So try not to be too smug or antagonistic.”
“Parnell is going to be there?” I asked, my smile fading.
“Yes, I’m afraid so.”
“Yippee,” I said, my voice dripping with sarcasm. On that somber note, the rest of our drive was made in silence.
The Varners lived in a split-level home on the outskirts of the city. I guessed their ages to be somewhere in their late fifties, and judging from the multitude of pictures I saw displayed, they must’ve fostered and/or had a lot of kids.
The psychologist, whose name was Jerry, had a neatly trimmed mustache and beard that were all gray, while the hair on his head was more of a salt-and-pepper color. He had a receding hairline, pale blue eyes, and a rather large nose. He was tall and stood very erect. Something about him reminded me of pictures I had seen of Sigmund Freud in his later years, and I wondered if the similarities were intentional or coincidental.
His wife’s name was Irene, and I figured she must have been a knockout when she was younger, because she was a looker even now. Her skin was creamy and unblemished, her facial features were refined with a small, pert nose, pouty lips, and large, round eyes that were a shade of green one rarely sees. It made me wonder if she was wearing tinted contact lenses. Her strawberry-blond hair was streaked with white, and the fact that she didn’t bother to touch up the color made me like her for some reason. She looked patient, capable, and caring, and she greeted us with a warm smile that looked apologetic.
Parnell was indeed present, just as I’d been warned, and her expression was a mix of pouting petulance and annoying irritation. She avoided looking at me as she did the necessary introductions, and then said, “I’ll leave it to the four of you to figure out what you want to do from here.” Finally, her gaze settled on me. “I don’t mean to put a lot of pressure on you, Ms. Dalton, but the Varners have determined that Felicity’s behavior warrants a more controlled and professional environment if it continues.”
“Do you mean an institution of some sort?” I asked.
Parnell nodded.
“It’s not a decision we take lightly,” Irene said. “But Felicity’s behavior borders on dangerous, both for her and for us. If we can’t get her under control, we might need to experiment with some medications to try to calm her.”
“Of course,” Jerry said, “we’d prefer to keep her here and not medicate her, if possible. So we’re hoping you can work some magic.”
“I’ll do my best,” I said. “I definitely had a connection with her yesterday, but who’s to say if that will continue?” I looked around the house, let out a heavy sigh, and said, “Well, let’s get to it. Where is she?”
Irene pointed toward the stairs. “She’s in a bedroom in the lower level, the second door on the left. We had to empty the room of all its furnishings because she kept pounding her fists on them, ripping the bedclothes apart, and banging her head against things. She seemed to like it better when the room was empty, and Ms. Parnell told us that’s the way things were set up at her home.”
“Sort of,” I said, shooting Parnell a questioning look. “Did she tell you about the cubbyhole?”
“She did,” Jerry said. “We tried to create a small closet space in her bedroom here, similar to what she had there, but she didn’t seem particularly interested in it.”
“The space she had there, while hidden away, was actually quite roomy,” I told him. “And she had some comfort items in there. Maybe your spot is just too small for her.”
Jerry nodded. “You might be right. Come on,” he said, heading for the stairs. “I’ll take you to her.” He turned and made his way down the stairs, stopping in front of one of the doors in the basement level.
As he reached for the knob, I put my hand on his arm and stopped him. “Would it be all right if I went in by myself?” I asked.
Jerry hesitated, made eye contact with Parnell, and gave her a questioning look, apparently conferring with her. Or deferring to her.
“Let her go,” Parnell said with a shrug. Then she looked at me, her eyes narrowing. “It’s your funeral,” she said, demonstrating a complete lack of tact. “If the kid goes off on you and you get hurt, you’ll have no one to blame but yourself.”
Jerry stepped aside, and I opened the bedroom door.
The room, like the one in Felicity’s home, was completely empty. Felicity was settled on her haunches in the far corner, her arms wrapped around her knees, her expression frightened. But her face quickly morphed into something different when she saw me. She stood, her face alight with happiness, and said, “Mack!” She moved toward me, and for a moment, I thought she was going to hug me. I extended my arms in anticipation, but she stopped a foot away and took hold of one of my hands. She lifted it to her face and positioned my palm against her cheek, leaning into my hand.
Judging from the gasps and murmurs I heard behind me, this behavior stunned our onlookers. I don’t think any of them were more astonished than I was. I had anticipated a much more fragile, damaged version of Felicity than what I had seen yesterday. I feared the change of scenery and people would have overwhelmed her, and I wasn’t sure she would even remember me.
“Hi, Felicity,” I said. I studied her face, which looked calm and composed at the moment, though she wasn’t making eye contact with me. I saw a bruise and a couple of small scrapes on her forehead and chin, no doubt from banging her head against the wall. “It’s good to see you again.”
She stared off at one of the side walls of the room but continued to hold my hand against her face. I let her stay that way for a moment, and then said, “Irene, could you round up some markers or crayons, and some blank paper to use them on?”
“Sure.”
“Felicity, can we sit down and talk?” I said.
She still didn’t look at me, but I caught the slightest shift in the focus of her eyes.
“Your hair smells like coconuts,” I said, getting a whiff of whatever shampoo had been used on her. My mind briefly imagined what bathing an uncooperative Felicity had to have been like, and it made me wince. “The smell of coconut sounds like a hammer hitting a nail to me,” I said to Felicity. “Isn’t that funny?”
She finally lifted her face away from my palm, though she didn’t let go of my hand. Her eyes met mine, and I saw a twinkle there that, for a moment, I thought might be some sort of synesthetic reaction. Suddenly, her face lunged toward mine. The movement was so unexpected and so fast that I didn’t have time to back away. But I did blink and flinch—an involuntary response. If Felicity noticed, she didn’t show it. In the next nanosecond, I realized she was sniffing at my hair, and I willed myself to be still. I hoped my heart would stay in my chest, because the adrenaline surge triggered by her lunge made my heart race and pound like it wanted to bust out of there. After a few seconds, she backed away and smiled at me.
“Hair smells purple,” she said.
Behind me, I heard Jerry whisper, “Well, I�
�ll be damned.”
Irene returned with a plastic bag full of crayons and a short stack of printer paper. “Will these do?” she asked, handing them to me.
“They’re perfect.”
Felicity had squatted at my feet, and she reached over and rubbed one side of my left leg. “Gone,” she said. “All better?”
I nodded and smiled at her. “Yes, Felicity, it is all better. I broke the bones in my leg and that’s why I had that cast on there. But the bones healed up, and today the doctor took off the cast. It’s much easier for me to get around now.”
Felicity had continued to rub my leg as I spoke. She paused, cocked her head to one side, and said, “Hurt?”
“Not now,” I said. “It hurt when I first broke the bone, but only for a little while.” I looked over at Irene. “Why don’t you sit down on the floor with us to draw?”
“No!” Felicity said. She crab-walked away from me, scuttling toward her corner.
“It’s okay, Felicity,” I said. “Irene and Jerry are friends of mine. They won’t hurt you. They want to help you. They want to help me help you. They are nice people, although they don’t see colors and shapes like we do.” I saw Irene shoot me a curious look. Behind me, I heard Parnell mutter, “Oh, for cripes’ sake.”
Then, much to my surprise, I heard Jerry say, “Mack, do you have synesthesia?”
I turned and gave him a grateful, though slightly disbelieving smile. “I do,” I said. “You’re familiar with it?”
“Somewhat,” Jerry said. “One of my instructors, an older man who was retired from his practice, told us about the disorder, and one particular case he had that was an unusual and severe type of synesthesia. It was a girl, a teenager who had a particularly complex overlap of all her senses. She’d been diagnosed as schizophrenic because she saw and heard things that weren’t there, but our professor was able to determine it was just a function of her synesthesia.”
I stared at Jerry for a moment. “Was your professor’s name Dr. Whitman by any chance?”
Jerry cocked his head to one side and smiled. “Indeed, it was.” His face lit up. “Don’t tell me . . . are you the patient he talked about?”
Last Call Page 13
