She Wore Mourning

by P. D. Workman

  “I never forced anything on her. She might ‘feel like’ I did, but we’re talking facts here, not feelings. I never forced her to do anything. Sure, I wanted kids. I still want kids. I want a family of my own.” He shook his head, unable to find strong enough words.

  “I’m not ready for kids either,” Kenzie said. “I want you to know that. I thought you were a guy I’d like to get to know, have a little fun with, but I’m not looking for a serious relationship. Everything about you is serious.”

  Zachary couldn’t think of what to say. He thought he should crack a joke. Make her see that there was more to him, that he did have a fun side. But down there by the morgue, with the sad Christmas garlands, and Kenzie spouting the Gospel According to Bridget, there was nothing he could say that would come out funny or lighthearted.

  He swallowed and shook his head. “We’re not serious enough to be discussing kids,” he said tersely. “That’s not why I wanted to see you.”

  Kenzie stared at him for a minute; then she gave a little laugh. Not laughing at him, just a little cough to break the tension.

  “I guess I got ahead of myself, then, didn’t I?”

  “It’s going to be a while before I can talk to anyone about having kids again.”

  As much as he longed for that missing family, he knew it was the truth. The talk of abortion, the phantom pregnancy, the traumatic breakup with Bridget; it was all too much. Too fresh.

  “Yeah.” Kenzie looked sorry that she had brought it all up. At least she wasn’t calling him a liar anymore. “What was it, then? Why did you come down here? You’re done with the Bond case, aren’t you?”

  “Yes… just trying to put together the final report. It’s hard… because I don’t really believe it.”

  “You have to put what you believe in the report. Otherwise, it’s just another lie, isn’t it?”

  “But just like you said… I didn’t find anything the police didn’t already know. There are no grounds to reinvestigate it. It was… just an accident. A tragic accident.”

  “So that’s what you put down.”

  “But I don’t believe that. I think someone drugged him and drowned him.”

  “You don’t know that.”

  “How could I know it, unless I was there? There’s evidence to back it up.”

  “There isn’t.”

  “He had cough medicine. Both parents said they didn’t give him cough medicine.”

  “Maybe they forgot. Did it absentmindedly. Or they thought they’d be in trouble for it. Maybe they figure he drowned because he wandered into the pond while under the influence of the cough medicine, so they’re afraid to admit it. Maybe somebody else had taken cough medicine, and he decided to take a drink out of the little dosing cup without anyone knowing about it. There are a hundred different scenarios, Zachary. There’s no evidence of a third party. Just put that in your report.”

  “I suppose.”

  He knew he was going to have to, but he hated to do it. He didn’t want to stir things up between the family and the police. He didn’t want it getting into the news again. He didn’t want people getting hurt because of him.

  “So…” Kenzie gave a forced smile. “What other cases have you been working on? Tell me something interesting about another case. One that doesn’t involve a death.”

  Zachary considered, and told her about the other case that was top of mind. There had been some press coverage, even though the school had tried to keep it quiet. They had tried to distance themselves from the charges against Principal Montgomery, which wasn’t possible, when she was dating one of her students.

  “I heard about that! That was one of your cases? How did you end up investigating child sex crimes?”

  “It didn’t start out that way. Just surveillance on a party to see what she was up to. Like dozens of others I’ve done. This is the first time I’ve turned up a teacher-student relationship.”

  “The principal’s husband hired you?”

  “I can’t say who hired me. I’m not at liberty to say.”

  “But that’s who it was.”

  Zachary shrugged and didn’t say one way or another.

  “Wow. I’m really impressed. That was a really big bust.”

  “It was unexpected, but once I knew what was going on, I had to protect the minor.”

  “You did the right thing. Boy, did you ever. That’s amazing.”

  Zachary was finally able to smile at Kenzie, and she smiled back.

  Chapter Eleven

  It was the day before Christmas, and Zachary knew he was supposed to have the final report ready for Molly. But maybe it was bad timing. She wouldn’t want to get that news right before Christmas. He still hadn’t managed to work out the language to his satisfaction. He wanted to be able to clearly state that Declan had been given cough medicine, but that nothing had been overlooked in the police investigation. He couldn’t say both of those things. Not when the cough medicine seemed so significant to him.

  But more than the writing of the final report, the season weighed heavily on him. The last few years he had gotten through Christmas only because of Bridget. His hope for a new life with her. With that whole life shattered, he didn’t know how he was going to struggle through one more. It was a crushing weight.

  He ignored the calls. He could see by the caller ID that the caller was Molly, and he knew what she was looking for. She wanted his report. She wanted to put the case to bed once and for all and to have a Christmas without guilt for Declan’s death hanging over their heads.

  As the evening drew on, there was one call from Mr. Peterson, one of Zachary’s former foster fathers. The only one that he had kept in touch with over the years. Mr. Peterson had given him his first camera and had been the only one to encourage Zachary in his photography. Mr. Peterson left a stilted voicemail, his tone concerned.

  “Zach… just calling to see how you are. To… wish you a Merry Christmas and make sure you’re okay. Okay? Call me back and let me know you’re all right… Okay? Pat says ‘hi’… Talk to you soon.”

  There were no other calls. No friends, no family, no special person in his life. When people had asked him what he was doing for Christmas, he’d brushed them off, saying he had plans but remaining vague about what they were. He didn’t want pity invitations. He didn’t need people trying to fit him in at their Christmas tables just because of how miserable he was.

  He found himself in the bathroom, with the medicine cabinet hanging open. Spencer would have been horrified by the mess. Zachary started pulling medications from the shelf. A cough medicine with codeine. Painkillers. Sleeping pills, some of them over-the-counter and some of them prescription. Pills for anxiety. For ADHD. Risperdal. Cold tablets in various daytime and nighttime formulations.

  Overdoses were a risky business. Not as certain as a gun or slashed wrists. Not that those were guaranteed either. But with pills, a person might throw them up again. Or wake up three days later with a headache. Or do permanent liver or kidney damage without that last, final sleep they were seeking.

  The phone was ringing again. Zachary wearily dragged himself out of the bathroom to the bedroom, where his phone sat on the bedside table, vibrating noisily. He looked down at the screen.

  Molly.

  Again.

  The least he could do was tell her he wasn’t going to be able to get the final report to her until after Christmas. Sometimes, things just didn’t work out as planned.

  He picked up the phone and answered the call.

  When he reached the hospital, Zachary looked around the emergency room for Molly. He saw Spencer first, pacing back and forth near the windows. He probably couldn’t sit down for fear of catching a hospital infection.

  Molly was sitting in one of the uncomfortable, slippery plastic chairs, her elbows on her knees and hands over her face. Zachary sat beside her.

  “Molly?” He put his hand lightly on her back. While he wasn’t one for touching strangers, she needed some comfort, an
d it was all he could manage.

  Molly raised her face to look at him, and then put it back down in her hands again.

  “I called you and called you,” she said in a flat, stony voice. “I’ve been trying to get you for hours.”

  “Yes. I’m sorry. It hasn’t been a good day for me.”

  It was a stupid thing to say. Once the words were out of his mouth and he heard them, he knew. He was having a bad day? Isabella had just attempted suicide and Molly didn’t know if her daughter was going to make it.

  “I’m sorry,” he said quickly. “I didn’t mean that. At least, I didn’t mean it to sound like that. I’m sorry I didn’t answer your earlier calls.”

  “I know.” She sniffled. “It’s not like any of this is your responsibility. I just didn’t know who else to call.”

  “You hired me in the first place because you wanted to avoid this. I’m sorry. I failed you.”

  “You didn’t fail me. It was going to happen with or without you. I knew it was. We all saw it coming, but we couldn’t watch her twenty-four hours a day. Even if we tried to put her in an institution for her own safety, they’d only do a seventy-two-hour evaluation. If she didn’t want to stay and they didn’t think she was a danger to herself, they would let her right back out.”

  “They wouldn’t have let her out, would they?”

  “They would,” Molly said with certainty. “I know they would. We’ve been here before.”

  “I’m sorry. I didn’t know that. I guess I should have done a little more background on the case.”

  Molly wrung her hands.

  Spencer hovered nearby, pausing from his pacing.

  “Like she said, it wouldn’t have made any difference. You couldn’t have done anything to change it. We were doing our best to keep an eye on her, but… it was bound to happen anyway.”

  Zachary studied Spencer, shaking his head. “It wasn’t inevitable. You can’t know that.”

  “She was getting more and more depressed, slipping further and further into unreality.”

  Zachary remembered Isabella’s bizarre call. “She phoned me. She said that her lost cat Mittens came back. I thought it sounded strange; I wondered if it was a psychotic break… was it?”

  Molly raised her head, and she and Spencer looked at each other.

  “The cat did come back,” Molly said, her voice distant. “I swear, I never thought there was a snowball’s chance in hell. Did you, Spencer?”

  “No. Of course not.”

  “I thought it was just crazy talk. I thought it was just Isabella…being Isabella. She would get stuck on things. For years at a time. I don’t know how many bags of that damn cat food she went through. Putting food out for it every single day it was gone. It was crazy.”

  “But now, the cat is back,” Spencer said.

  He started pacing again.

  Zachary sat with Molly. There wasn’t much to say to her. She told him about Isabella and Declan, little stories about them. The things that become legends in families. Remember when…

  Zachary couldn’t help thinking about his own history while she talked about her child and grandchild. What would it have been like for him if he had still been part of a family? Would he still have been teetering on the edge like he was? It didn’t seem to have helped Isabella to have a loving, interested parent. She had still attempted suicide.

  Or maybe Zachary was looking at it all wrong. Maybe he wasn’t paying any attention to the dysfunction in the family, and that was the key to Isabella’s instability. Maybe the mother who was outwardly loving and kind actually wasn’t. Maybe the fact that she was still trying to control her adult daughter’s life and to manipulate her mental state was part of the problem. Maybe she was too involved. Too ready to take the reins and control a family that was no longer hers.

  Molly had told Zachary on the phone that Isabella had taken pills. The very method Zachary had been considering when he finally decided to answer the phone. Was it a coincidence? Or were they both influenced by some outside factor? Maybe it was the fact that Declan had cough medicine in his system when he died. Zachary’s focus on it had directed both of their thoughts to the medicine cabinet.

  Was it his fault that Isabella had been impelled to attempt suicide?

  “Why do you think she did it?” Zachary asked Molly, in the midst of a retelling of one of her cute stories. “Was it because of my investigation?”

  Molly stopped and looked at him, mouth open. “What?”

  “Something made her decide to take action. Was it me? Because I was asking her questions?”

  “No.” Molly shook her head. Her face was chalk white. “No, I really think your investigation was helping. Giving her something positive to focus on. That maybe you would be able to find out the truth.”

  Unless the truth were that Isabella had given Declan the cough medicine, knowing the reaction he would have to it.

  “Then why?” Zachary demanded. “Why now, without even waiting to see what my report said? Was she afraid of what it was going to say?”

  “I told her that you were going to give it to us before Christmas. That maybe it would help her to see that it wasn’t her fault.”

  Zachary shook his head.

  It was past midnight. Christmas Day. He’d missed his deadline. It was Christmas Day, and he was sitting in the hospital waiting room, trying to comfort the mother of the woman he might have pushed toward suicide.

  “It’s a bad time of year for suicides,” Molly said.

  Zachary raised his head to look at her. Unaware that he had been covering his face, in much the same position Molly had been when he first came into the waiting room.

  “Christmas is a bad time of year for people who are depressed,” Molly said. “There are lots of suicides around this season. It’s not your fault.”

  “I wish I could believe that.”

  “I don’t know why Christmas,” Molly went on. “Maybe because people expect to be happy for Christmas, and then when they’re not… the expectations make it worse… seeing other people who appear to be happy.”

  “Isabella bought presents for Declan,” Spencer said, his pacing bringing him closer to them again. “I couldn’t understand why she would do that. She knew he was dead. She knew he wouldn’t be opening presents and spending Christmas with us.”

  Just like she had fed the missing cat. How many years would she continue to buy her dead child Christmas presents?

  Molly looked at Spencer, nodding sadly. “Isabella always loved Christmas. I was hoping maybe she’d perk up a bit for it. That it would be good for her.”

  “What could be good about Christmas without your child?” Zachary demanded, his throat aching. “How could she look forward to that? How could she celebrate when her arms were so empty?”

  Molly and Spencer both stared at Zachary. His reaction was over the top. It was too much. They were wondering what was wrong with him, how he could be so emotional over someone he barely knew. What did he know or care what she felt?

  Zachary dropped his head into his hands again. “I hate Christmas.”

  There was silence. Spencer started to pace again.

  “When Isabella was a little girl…” Molly started in on another Isabella story. Then she faded out and gave a sigh. “You must have somewhere to be today. I shouldn’t have called you down here when there’s nothing for any of us to do. What did you have planned for today?”

  If Zachary had used a day planner, there would have been a big, black hole for Christmas Day. He couldn’t see anything past it. Just like so many years in the past, he’d been unable to see how his life would continue after Christmas Eve. It was the black beast that swallowed everything else up.

  “Nothing. Just taking a break. Staying at home.”

  “It’s different when you’re on your own, isn’t it? Sitting around in your pajamas watching Christmas specials on TV, because there’s nowhere else to go? You don’t have any family around here?”

  Zachary
sat back the best he could in the slippery plastic chair. He massaged his forehead, immensely tired. “I don’t have any family.”

  “You don’t? I’m sorry.”

  He shrugged. “I haven’t had for a long time. Not since I was ten. The last couple of years, I had my wife. This year…”

  “You’re not together anymore?”

  “We had a pretty ugly break-up. Yeah.”

  “You could come over and spend it with us,” Molly suggested. Then she seemed to realize what she had just said. “I mean… I guess this is it, isn’t it? This is how we’re spending our Christmas. Here. Waiting for word.”

  Zachary nodded. “Might just as well be here as anywhere else.”

  In fact, it was probably the safest place for him to be on Christmas Day.

  Chapter Twelve

  You are recently divorced?” Spencer asked, drifting closer to Zachary when Molly took a break to find a bathroom and more coffee. He’d obviously overheard at least part of the conversation with Molly.

  “Yes,” Zachary admitted. “Just this year.”

  “What was that like? The whole process?”

  “It was… devastating,” Zachary admitted. His face grew warm, and he looked far off into the distance, away from Spencer.

  Spencer eased back and forth on his legs, looking tired. If he’d been pacing ever since they discovered Isabella, he had to be exhausted.

  “Things haven’t been good between Isabella and me,” he said in a low voice. Even though Zachary had already sensed that, it was difficult for Spencer to get it out in the open. “We’ve never really been compatible. We thought we were, but we didn’t know anything. I told you about the plate.”

  “The one you threw out,” Zachary confirmed.

  “Yeah. That’s just one example out of many. We’ve tried to make it work. Set up boundaries, so that she can be comfortable in her studio and know that I won’t touch anything, and I know her things will be confined to certain areas. We’ve set up our timetables and parenting duties…” Spencer paused for a moment, getting past the fact that he no longer had any parenting duties. He swallowed hard, his Adam’s apple straining. “So that really, it’s just like we’re two single people sharing a house, and up until this summer, sharing custody of a child. It’s not any kind of partnership.”