Girl With The Origami Butterfly

by Linda Berry

  “It doesn’t always work. You should see my dreams.”

  “Mine too. A real horror show.” She saw a smile twitching at the corner of his mouth. Suddenly, they were both laughing, and she gave him a playful cuff on the arm. “Come on. Let’s see what Tracy has to say.”

  When they reached the narrow alleyway behind Barney’s, they found the waitress nervously pacing the oil-stained asphalt, sucking on a cigarette as though trying to draw courage from it. Flies buzzed around an overflowing dumpster that reeked of stale grease and rotting food.

  “I only have a minute,” Tracy said, blowing out smoke and setting an immediate protective boundary.

  Sidney got straight to the point. “Can you confirm your stepbrother’s whereabouts last night?”

  “Yeah, he was here. He got here around ten and stayed right up until midnight.” The words came without hesitation and sounded rehearsed. She swallowed and nervously flicked her cigarette ash.

  “You know Samantha Ferguson?”

  “Everyone knows Sammy. Knew Sammy,” she corrected herself. “This used to be her stomping ground before she went to rehab.”

  “How’d you know she was dead? Noah tell you in the last half hour?”

  Blood rushed to Tracy’s face as she realized her mistake. She dropped her cigarette and crushed it with the toe of her shoe, then looked at them brazenly. “No, Dad told me.”

  “He just had to rush to the phone and call you at work, huh? About a woman he didn’t know.”

  A tough little nugget under the pretty packaging, Tracy gave Sidney the evil eye.

  “He tell you how she died?” Granger asked.

  “Overdose, my guess.”

  “You’re in for a shock,” he said sternly.

  Tracy froze and her sable-colored eyes widened with surprise. “She was murdered?”

  “Yeah.”

  For a long moment, the waitress looked stricken. She rubbed her arms as though suddenly chilled, though it was warm in the alley.

  “You know anyone who might want to hurt Samantha?” Sidney asked.

  “A lot of people. People she snitched on to get herself a lighter sentence.” Her lips formed a harsh line, and when she spoke her bottom teeth showed. “She sent my stepbrother to jail for three years. She got two months. Then she was right back here, using and selling again.”

  “Selling?”

  “Yeah. To support her habit.”

  “Can you give us names? Users, dealers?” Granger asked.

  “I’m no snitch.” Tracy’s tone held a touch of defiance, but the way she tightened her crossed arms suggested fear. “I know better.”

  “People would get even?” he asked.

  She tightened her lips.

  Sidney got right up into Tracy’s face. “You cover up for a murderer, I’ll make sure you see jail time for obstruction.”

  Tracy’s cool thawed several degrees. She stepped back, lowered her gaze.

  “What kind of relationship did Noah have with your mom?”

  She drew in a breath, blurted, “The normal kind.”

  Sidney held her gaze, waited for more.

  “They had problems, okay? He couldn’t hold down a job, so he had to move back home. Couldn’t kick drugs.”

  “When was this?”

  “Three years ago, when he was twenty-seven. Mom didn’t want him there. She didn’t like his drug use or his creepy friends coming around.”

  “How’d your stepdad feel?”

  Tracy fidgeted with her wristwatch, sliding the band back and forth. “He wasn’t happy, either. Noah didn’t pay for groceries, wouldn’t help with chores…” She fell silent.

  “What else aren’t you telling me?”

  “He stole money a few times. Miko was going to kick him out, but… well, Mom was killed, and my stepdad couldn’t deal with anything for a while. Then Noah got busted.”

  “Who were these creepy friends of his?” Granger asked.

  Tracy bit her bottom lip, looked longingly toward the restaurant door. “I gotta get back to work.”

  “We’re not done, Tracy,” Sidney said sharply, and handed her a business card. “You better think real hard about any names you want to share. You live here in town?”

  “Yeah. Moved back after Mom died to help my stepdad. He was a zombie for a while.”

  “You married?”

  “I live with my boyfriend and his two kids. He teaches science at the high school. Look, I have to get back to work.” She opened the screen door, peered back at them, seemed to gather some courage, and her dark eyes flashed with anger. “Leave my family alone. They’ve suffered enough. People treat Miko like he’s a murderer. Noah served his time. He’s changed. Harass someone else for a change.” She let the door bang shut behind her.

  “No love lost between her and Samantha,” Granger said as they strode out of the alley.

  “Nope. She wasn’t too broken up about her murder, either.”

  “You think she knows who did it?”

  “She’s got her suspicions. Noah and his druggie friends are first in line.”

  “Yet, she covered for him.”

  “Covering up for a family member is instinctual.”

  “Lots of friction between Noah and his stepmom. Goes to motive.”

  She flashed him a grin. “You’re catching on, Granger.”

  “Trying.” He grinned back.

  Once seated in the Yukon, Sidney starting typing notes into the laptop while details of Tracy’s conversation were fresh in her mind. She enjoyed having Granger as a partner. He was intelligent and observant. A good person for bouncing around ideas. After this homicide was put to rest, she and her officers would go back to their solitary lives, riding solo, rarely seeing one another. The hours of each shift staggered, each patrolling a different segment of town. One day she hoped to have a budget for pairing up her officers. The town was growing. People she didn’t know were moving here, and a criminal element was always at work in the moving tide of tourists.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  WITH SELENA WATCHING the house, Ann felt safe enough to catch up on sleep. She was dead on her feet, and when she stood, she felt a head rush from all the wine she drank in lieu of eating. She snapped the heavy drapes together, blocking out the afternoon sun. Bailey hopped up awkwardly beside her on the big mattress. Sedated by pain pills, he fell asleep instantly. The feel of his body curved against hers triggered tears. She was overwhelmed with relief that her hound made it safely home.

  She drifted into a damp world of glistening black trees where little moonlight sifted through the canopy. Branches thrashed in the wind, gnarled roots writhed like snakes over the ground, leaves morphed into scaled insects, bushes clawed her clothing like talons. She ran in slow motion, legs heavy, feet bared and bloodied, terror constricting her throat. Behind her, an assailant smashed through the underbrush with demonic speed.

  With a gasp, Ann’s eyes opened wide. Her heart hammered her chest. A movement in the corner of the room caught her eye. There a dark figure stood. Motionless. He lifted a finger to his lips. “Shhhh.”

  Ann sat bolt upright and screamed. Bailey was instantly on his feet on the mattress, his barks matching the elevated pitch of her shrieks.

  The door burst open and Selena switched on the light, handgun in hand. “What’s wrong?”

  Ann pointed to the corner, and panted, “A man. Standing right there.”

  No one was there.

  Selena quietly crossed the room, flipped on the light in the walk-in closet, and entered. Ann heard her ruffling through racks of clothing. She came back in and looked under the bed, then disappeared into the adjoining bathroom. Ann heard her cross the tile floor, sweep the shower curtain aside, and a few seconds later, shut the window.

  Selena reemerged, tucked the gun into her waistband, and sat next to Ann. “You were dreaming. No one is here. You’re safe.”

  Ann trembled uncontrollably. “I heard you shut the window.”

  “It was
only open a crack.”

  From the deep grooves between Selena’s brows, Ann knew her friend was deeply concerned.

  The cell phone buzzed on the nightstand. Ann reached for it. “Unknown caller. Should I answer?”

  “Yes. See if you can get the caller to identify himself.”

  Ann swiped her finger across the screen. “Hello?” She listened. “Who’s calling, please?”

  No sound. The line went dead.

  “Probably a telemarketer. I get several a day,” Selena said evenly.

  Ann tried to believe her.

  “Should we search the house together?” Selena asked.

  Ann nodded and padded after Selena into the living room. After arming herself with a poker iron, she and Selena searched the house; every conceivable place a man could hide, every closet, the pantry, and they tested doors and windows to ensure they were locked. They were safely barricaded. Against what?

  Selena sat Ann down at the island in the kitchen. “I’m going to make you a nice bowl of soup. Alcohol on an empty stomach is not a good remedy for shredded nerves.” Selena continued chatting as she pulled ingredients from the fridge and set to work. Clicking a steady beat on the cutting board with her knife, she chopped potatoes, onions, celery, and carrots, then sautéed them in a cast iron pan with olive oil, garlic, and fresh herbs.

  Watching the unruffled motion of her friend, listening to her soothing voice, Ann was calmed, and the heavenly aroma lifting from the pan made her stomach clench with hunger.

  After adding salt, pepper, and fresh cream to her pot, Selena transferred the ingredients to the blender, pulverized them, reheated the mixture in the pot, and finally, ladled thick potato soup into two bowls. She set one in front of Ann.

  Ann tasted a spoonful. “Hmmm. Smooth and creamy. Perfect.”

  “Comfort food.” Selena poured them both a glass of lavender sage ice tea and straddled the stool next to Ann. She broke off a chunk of crusty bread from a fresh loaf, slathered it with butter, dipped it into her soup, and ate enthusiastically. She reminded Ann of an adoring mother with a sick child, who watched with approval as Ann finished her bowl. “Feel better?”

  Ann nodded. “Much.”

  “Want to talk?”

  Ann shrugged. “Yes, but I don’t want to pretend I’m okay. I’m not.”

  “I’m listening,” Selena said, pushing her empty bowl aside.

  “I feel the same way I did after John died. Anxious. Weighed down by dread. Bad dreams.” She paused, not knowing how to untangle her thoughts, each wired with stinging emotion. The episode in the woods last night cracked open a sealed vault and vivid memories of John’s violent death were leaking out. How could words frame the terror she felt that evening? How could she describe the residue of sorrow that felt like cancer in her bones?

  Selena’s eyes darkened with concern. “You’ve never talked about John’s death before. I’ve never asked. I felt I would be intruding.”

  “Thank you for that. It’s hard to talk about.” Ann stared at her hands, tightly clasped in her lap. An uncomfortable sensation reminded her of who she really was behind the mask she assumed every day. “The worst part is that Matt was part of it. I’ll never forgive myself for doing that to my son. I should have left John years earlier. Or killed him. Matt would have been better off, even with me in jail.” Ann glanced at Selena to gauge her reaction. She saw care and sadness in her friend’s eyes, but no judgment.

  “John beat me for fifteen years, Selena, and I put up with it. I was emotionally paralyzed.” Ann felt the heaviness in her chest, the old wrenching in her stomach. “When he got drunk and violent, I put myself between his rage and my son. I was his punching bag. Matt witnessed years of violence. I know now how that affected him. The feeling of helplessness tore him apart.”

  Ann swallowed and continued. “One night ten years ago, Matt tried to defend me. He hit John on the back with a baseball bat. It hardly fazed him. John was a big man. Powerful. He punched Matt in the face so hard, our son flew across the floor into the wall. He lay there. Bleeding, unconscious.” Ann winced as the old touch of panic set in. “Something inside me snapped. I raced out of the house to a neighbor and called 911. The police came quickly. They dragged John out in handcuffs. He bucked and fought, screaming that he’d come back to kill us. They tased him over and over, and finally subdued him enough to get him into the car. He served eight months in jail, enough time for us to sell the house and escape here to the lake.”

  “What a nightmare,” Selena whispered. She reached over and covered Ann’s hand.

  “John wasn’t out a week when he surprised me in the garden. Beat me nearly unconscious. Then he strangled me.” Ann closed her eyes for a moment. Sweat dampened the back of her neck. “Matt came home just in time. He and I killed John.” Ann forced herself to meet her friend’s gaze, certain she would see horror, but Selena’s eyes were soft with compassion.

  “I know what happened, Ann. It was in the paper.”

  Ann shivered, remembering the humiliation she and Matt endured, on top of everything else that happened. “Yeah. The whole town knew. They probably think I’m a murderer.”

  “They don’t. Everyone knew John was a violent drunk.”

  “A monster.” Ann reached for her glass with a trembling hand. “See? I’m a wreck.”

  “You’re strong, Ann. Give it time. This will pass.”

  Ann’s hand tensed on her glass. “No, it gets worse. Back then, it got so bad, I thought about killing myself.”

  Selena released a little gasp.

  “I took my boat out to the middle of the lake. I was going to let myself sink to the bottom like a stone and not come up. But at the last moment, I couldn’t do it.” Ann felt the sting of tears. “I couldn’t abandon Matt.”

  Selena handed Ann a tissue.

  Ann blew her nose and continued in a quivering voice. “To ease the pain, I tried every kind of pharmaceutical cocktail there was. I tried hypnosis, meditation, even a special diet with no grain or sugar. Nothing helped. Until I found therapy.”

  “What kind of therapy?”

  “Grief therapy. I got into a group of women who had also experienced violence. They understood what I was going through. The therapist said we were suffering from PTSD.”

  Selena looked at her earnestly. “That’s something combat veterans get.”

  Ann sniffed. “PTSD can affect anyone. It could be from a mugging, a rape, even a car accident. Sometimes the symptoms are temporary. Sometimes they last a lifetime, and every day is a challenge.”

  “Is that how it is for you?”

  “Yeah. Lucky me.” Ann ran her fingertips under her eyes. “Jude taught me how to manage the pain. Stash it away. Keep it from running my life. But it’s back. Full force.”

  “Jude was your therapist?”

  “My lifesaver, more like it.”

  Selena’s head cocked slightly.

  Ann met her direct gaze. “I know what you’re thinking.”

  “What am I thinking?”

  “I should go back to therapy.”

  “Doesn’t sound like a bad idea.”

  Ann tightened her jaw, shook her head. “I can’t.”

  “Why not? It helped you before.”

  “My facial blindness. It’s hard for me to meet new people, even on a good day. They’ll think I’m a freak.”

  “You’re anything but a freak, Ann. Just the opposite. You’re so gifted, it’s scary. Look how you transformed this farm from a dry patch of dirt into a paradise. Flowers and herbs and vegetables. Everything thriving. You and I have built a wonderful business together. All of our products started from your ideas.” Selena’s tone softened. “And you helped me get through the worst year of my life. You listened over and over to all my stuff about Randy.”

  Selena’s kindness made Ann feel even more vulnerable. She despised appearing weak in the eyes of others. She felt a burning in the back of her throat and tears streamed from her eyes. She roughly tried to k
nuckle them away. They kept coming.

  Selena handed her a box of tissue and put a comforting hand on her shoulder. “Have a good cry. Give it all you’ve got.”

  Emotion welled up like a geyser and overflowed. Ann wept, shoulders shaking, using tissue after tissue. Selena stayed the distance, rubbing her back, encouraging her to let it all out. Minutes went by. Maybe five. Maybe ten. Finally, Ann wiped her face and honked her nose one last time. She knew she must look a mess, eyes red and puffy, face bloated, but she didn’t care, and she knew Selena didn’t either.

  “Feel better?” her dear friend asked.

  Ann nodded, straightening her shoulders. “A little.”

  Selena made them both a cup of chamomile tea with honey and they sat sipping in quiet companionship. The wind moaned under the eaves of the house and jangled the outdoor chimes in an erratic rhythm, as though expressing Ann’s anxiety.

  “So, what’s your game plan?” Selena asked.

  Ann’s fingers strummed the counter top. “I’ll give Jude a call.”

  Selena picked up Ann’s cell phone and handed it to her.

  “Now?” Ann swallowed to steady her voice. “I’m not ready.”

  “Yes, you are.”

  Squinting at the screen, Ann went to contacts, brought up Jude’s number, and sat staring at it, her mouth dry as cotton.

  “You’re going to make an appointment,” Selena said firmly. “I’m going with you, to make sure you go.” She took the phone from Ann’s fingers and pressed the call button.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  WHEN GRANGER AND Chief Becker returned to the station, Darnell, Amanda, and Winnie were crammed into the conference room milling around the white board where Winnie was posting photos of the two crime scenes. Granger noted everyone moved slowly and looked as wiped as he felt. His stomach growled at the smell of pizza, and he smiled at the four large takeout boxes spread across the counter, along with soft drinks and paper plates.

  Chief Becker was the first to step up to the counter and pick up a plate. “Let’s get this show on the road, people. The sooner we get done here, the sooner your heads can hit your pillows.”