The Fortieth Birthday Body

by Valerie Wolzien

  “Two more hot buttered rums and an appetizer tray, please,” Kathleen ordered. When the waitress hurried off, she respected the other woman’s silence and joined her in staring out into the swirling snow.

  “Do you ever think about that summer?” Susan asked, interrupting the silence.

  “Of course.”

  “But it wasn’t as dramatic for you, was it? To you it was just another murder investigation—just another job.”

  “And to you …”

  “It was the loss of two friends. And then learning to accept that a person we all knew was the murderer. Sometimes I still can’t believe it.”

  Kathleen had spent many years as a policewoman, and knew well the upset and confusion that a violent death nearly always brought with it.

  “Do you think that anyone could become a killer like that? If pushed far enough, do you think we’re all capable of striking back like that? Of killing someone?” Susan continued her questions.

  “I used to know cops that thought that was true—that thought everyone was capable of killing. And, heaven knows, I’ve met some unusual murderers, but I think that most people, no matter what happened in their lives, wouldn’t kill someone they knew. They might kill a stranger in a war, or they might want to hurt someone so badly that they think they would kill him. But I believe most people stop short of murder.”

  Susan sipped the hot drink that the waitress brought and wondered if Kathleen was right. Just how much did she hate Dawn? She asked herself if Kathleen wondered why she was asking these questions. They were good friends, but their relationship had begun only a year and a half ago. There were lots of things each didn’t know about the other’s past. They hadn’t even seen each other for the months following the murder investigation that had brought Kathleen to Hancock in the first place. Then, after running into each other on a weekend trip into the city, Susan had introduced Kathleen to a friend of her husband’s, a widower who worked in the same ad agency. He was now Kathleen’s husband. “How is Jerry?” she asked, suddenly remembering her manners.

  “Good question,” was the rueful response. “He’s working so hard, I don’t see him much. If you want to know about him, ask your husband. Jed talks to him more than I do. At least they go in and out of the city together most days.”

  “But you’re not … ?” Susan asked, instantly concerned.

  “We’re happy together,” Kathleen assured her. “Really we are. And I’m told that everything is going to clear up once the fall campaigns are in the can. I have nothing to complain about.” She looked at her friend and beamed. “Have I told you how happy I am to have a perfect husband and a perfect friend?”

  “And a perfect life in the suburbs?” Susan teased, picking up a raw mushroom.

  “Well, let’s just say it’s not as bad as I thought it would be.”

  “Were you really dreading it?” Susan asked. “I thought that Jerry offered to move into the city when you and he got married. I wondered then just why you were staying here. It’s not as though he had any children in the schools to worry about. I always thought that he might want to get away from where it all happened.”

  “You mean the accident.”

  “Yes.” She paused. “You know, you’ve made him very happy, Kathleen. I’ll never forget the way he looked that night when he came to the door and told Jed and me about the crash. I don’t think I’ve ever seen such anguish on a person’s face.”

  “It’s not often that a man is told that his entire family, his wife and both of his children, have been wiped out in one horrible tangle of cars. He still has nightmares that it’s happening all over again, you know.”

  “God.”

  “Yes.” Kathleen sipped her drink and studied the plate of vegetables the waitress had brought.

  “You’re not … you’re not jealous, are you?” Susan asked, hesitantly.

  “Of course not. He loved them and now he loves me. I’m not twenty years old. I understand that life changes and that the past, no matter how important, doesn’t negate the present. Jerry loves me and I love him. We don’t begrudge each other the years before we met.” She seemed to make up her mind and she speared a carrot with her fork.

  “Of course not,” Susan agreed. But what if it had happened after they had met? Stop it, she ordered herself. You’re confusing your life and Kathleen’s. “The dip looks good. What is it?”

  “Something green. Maybe spinach. Definitely sour cream. Try some. Maybe it’s not as fattening as it tastes. Hey …” She remembered something. “Did you go to the caterer’s this morning like you were threatening to?”

  “No. I went by, but they were closed. I’m still tempted to call them up, though. You don’t happen to know if …”

  “If I know the answer to your question, I still won’t tell you,” Kathleen insisted, remembering the spiced shrimp balls, the stone crab claws, the lobster, and the clams that Jed had discussed repeatedly with her. Determined to have all his wife’s favorites, he chose to ignore the possibility of a shellfish allergy among his guests. But she wasn’t going to talk about it. Nor would she mention the hours that she and Jed had talked about the proper guest list (although they had finally decided to invite almost everyone that could possibly be considered an appropriate guest, both of them being unwilling to offend anyone through an accidental omission as well as a simple acceptance of the axiom “the more the merrier”). Nor would she even offer a hint about the gift Jed was planning to present publicly. She hadn’t been consulted about that, merely informed. In fact, Kathleen just wasn’t going to talk about the party—that way she knew she wouldn’t let anything slip. There was a bit of guilt in this decision: A comment of hers had confirmed Susan’s suspicion that there was to be a party at all. “I still feel badly that you know about the whole thing,” she said.

  “Don’t be silly. I’d rather know. Otherwise I wouldn’t get the chance to shop for the perfect dress.”

  “We’re still going out? In this weather?” Kathleen was incredulous.

  “You’d prefer to sit home and worry about the drive our husbands will be making home from the city?”

  “Okay. You’re right. I never feel really comfortable on these snowy days until Jerry’s home in the evening. We’d better order lunch and we could, of course, have one more drink.”

  “Excellent idea.”

  The waitress was waiting for their signal.

  V

  “Do you mind if we stop at Growls and Grins first? I have to buy a gift,” Susan asked, as she and Kathleen walked out into the storm. “It’s on the way.”

  “Of course not. Chrissy or Chad going to a birthday party?”

  “No, I still haven’t gotten a present for the Bower’s new little girl. I went over to see the baby—I guess we should start calling her Missy now—right after they got her, but I still haven’t sent a gift.”

  “Isn’t she the cutest thing? But I don’t know what you’re going to buy. I stopped in yesterday and that child has everything a baby could possibly use or need—including enough silver mugs and porringers to seat a dozen other babies at a formal brunch.”

  “I think everyone is just so thrilled that they finally got her. You haven’t been in town long enough to understand all they’ve been through: They got married knowing that, if they wanted children, they would have to adopt one, but they never thought that it was going to be so very difficult to get a baby. They had almost given up when they heard about this lawyer in San Francisco who arranges private adoptions.”

  “They were lucky to get her,” Kathleen commented. “There just aren’t that many babies needing to be adopted.”

  “True,” Susan agreed. “And they’ve been working at this for years. They practically changed their entire lives to get a baby.”

  “You’re kidding,” Kathleen said, peering at a display in one of the shop windows.

  “No, they started going to church regularly and Gloria volunteered for all sorts of community service. Why, she prac
tically runs the hospital thrift shop single-handedly … Here we are. Don’t slip on the steps. It’s getting icy.” She pulled open the door of the tiny shop, revealing a riot of stuffed animals, mechanical toys, games, and children’s clothes.

  “Well, you have a lot to choose from,” Kathleen commented, stamping the snow from her boots on the provided floor mat.

  “I don’t think that’s going to make it easier.” Susan sighed, heading over to an exhibit of stuffed forest animals. “Do you think she’d like a life-size raccoon?”

  “Not particularly. I don’t think there’s anything cute about an animal that dumps your garbage cans and then eats the garbage.”

  “I guess not,” Susan agreed. “You know, I wanted to buy Chrissy the stuffed Steiff giraffe before she was born. I used to go into F.A.O. Schwartz—the big store on Fifth in the city—and drool over it.”

  “But you didn’t buy it?”

  “Jed had just started at the agency. He wasn’t making very much money and we had to pay off the loans that had gotten him his M.B. A. If I’d spent two thousand dollars on a stuffed animal, he’d have had me committed. Besides the fact that we were living in a small apartment. We didn’t have room for the baby, so where were we going to put a seven-foot toy?”

  “What about when Chad was born?”

  “We were doing better then, of course. But we still didn’t have that kind of money. That’s probably one reason Missy’s getting so many great gifts. We all had our children before we had any spare cash. It’s great to finally be able to buy just what we want even if our own kids are too old now to appreciate it.”

  “Would they ever have?”

  “Probably not. They’d have been happier with something plastic and trashy. I guess the stuffed animals are for the parents.”

  “These must be,” Kathleen agreed, reading the tag attached to a particularly cuddly jaguar. “It says not for children under three years of age.”

  “That’s because the eyes can fall out and a young child might swallow one,” said the elderly saleslady coming up to them. “Toys for children under three have to meet certain safety requirements set by the federal government. Can I help either of you?”

  “We’re looking for a gift for the baby who has everything,” Susan stated, putting down the panda bear she was stroking.

  “And you’re interested in a stuffed animal?”

  “Not really … Look at those. They’re wonderful,” Susan interrupted herself. “Chad would love them for his bedroom.”

  “I don’t know.…” The saleswoman began, looking around to see what interested her customer.

  “Oh, you’re right,” Kathleen agreed, reaching across the piles of animals and grabbing a satin pillow embossed with the arrogant lion that was the Porsche emblem.

  “Oh, look. The Ferrari and Mercedes symbols, too,” Susan enthused. “These really would look great on his bed. And his birthday’s coming up in a few months. I could get them now, and be ready ahead of time for once.”

  “You’re not talking about a baby present,” the saleslady said, catching on. “We also have pillows with the BMW shield, the Jaguar shield or, I think, a Corvette and a Lamborghini logo. Let’s see.” She knelt down and started sorting through the colorful pile.

  “Fantastic.” Susan joined her search. In a few minutes, they had found seven different pillows and had them laid out on a low shelf. Susan sat back on her heels and examined the different designs. “Well, I like the Porsche, Jaguar, and the Ferrari—that design is great.”

  “Are those the cars that he likes best?” Kathleen asked.

  “Good question. He’ll probably care more about that than about the designs.”

  “Well, you should know what he likes—he talks about expensive sports cars enough, doesn’t he?”

  “Yes. But I don’t really listen,” Susan admitted with a frown.

  “I suppose one of each is a bit much,” the saleswoman suggested, fluffing up the round satin Mercedes emblem.

  “Definitely,” agreed Susan, who had had a chance to examine the price tags. “But it is his eleventh birthday and he’ll love them. Let’s pick out five,” she decided. “The Ferrari, the Lamborghini, the Jaguar, the Corvette, the Porsche. The BMW and the Mercedes are too yuppie—a little boring or something. What do you think?” she asked her friend.

  “Fine,” Kathleen agreed, thinking that they were getting near something she didn’t want to talk about.

  “Wonderful choice,” enthused the saleswoman, gathering up the pillows. “Shall I wrap them, or do you want me to put them in bags?” She glanced out the window at the still falling snow. “They’re going to be very bulky.”

  “Could you wrap them? And I’ll come in for them in a few days when this weather clears up a bit,” Susan said, handing over her gold card.

  “Of course, Mrs.…” she glanced down at the name embossed on the plastic “… Henshaw. I’ll gift wrap them and put them in the back with your name on them. So even if another salesperson is here, you just tell her your name and she’ll be able to get them for you. I’ll wrap each pillow separately, shall I? Little boys love opening presents, don’t they?”

  “That would be great. I’ll be in soon,” Susan agreed, drifting away from the sales desk and back to her friend, now examining hand-painted mobiles of lions, clowns, ducks, and other assorted baby-appropriate themes.

  “That doesn’t solve the problem we came in with,” Kathleen said. “We still need a baby gift for Missy, remember?”

  “I know. But I’ve had an idea. Pickwick Papers—the bookstore around the corner—has a great selection of children’s books. What would you think about something like that? Or is a baby too young to appreciate books?”

  “Missy’s too young to appreciate silver porringers, but that didn’t stop people from giving her a dozen. I think books are a great idea. I love reading to my nieces and nephews, and I remember doing it when they were still too young to sit by themselves. Let’s go look. I want to check out their selection of books about Greece. Jerry and I are thinking of going there in the fall, you know.”

  “If you’ll just sign here, Mrs. Henshaw,” the saleswoman suggested.

  Susan rushed back to the desk. “Of course.”

  “And could you put your address and phone number underneath?”

  Susan did as requested and slipped the card back into her wallet.

  “You can come in for these anytime,” she was reminded.

  “Does the snow seem to be letting up?” Kathleen asked, pulling up the hood of her coat and heading over to the door.

  “Not appreciably. Thank you for all your help,” Susan said to the woman now trying to hold the five pillows all at once. “I’ll be back soon.”

  The wind blew snow in the door as they left the warmth of the shop. “The bookstore isn’t very far, is it?” Kathleen asked.

  “Just follow me,” was the reply, almost lost in the now-howling wind.

  “No one else is crazy enough to go out shopping in this stuff,” Kathleen insisted when, a few minutes later, they were once again inside where it was warm.

  “Looks like you’re right,” Susan agreed, looking around the brightly lit room full of books and almost devoid of people. “We’d better shake off our clothes or we’ll drip on the books.”

  “I’m sorry, ma’am, but we’re closing the store early today—because of the snow.” A young man with long hair falling across his smudged horn-rimmed glasses approached them. “The police have declared a state of emergency and asked us to close. We haven’t had any customers all morning really, so it will be a relief to get home,” he added.

  Susan, who had always thought that the reason to have a job in a bookstore was that on slow days you would have all that time for reading, smiled uncertainly. Then the meaning of what he had said sunk in. “What about the schools?” she asked anxiously.

  “They were called off a while ago. At least, that’s what the radio’s been reporting.”

&nbs
p; “Chad and Chrissy. Where could they be?” Susan grabbed her friend’s arm anxiously. “I know you want to leave, but could I use your phone for just a few minutes?” she asked the salesman.

  “Of course. There’s no rush. My wife is coming to pick me up and she won’t be here for a while. Help yourself. It’s behind the computer on the desk by the door.”

  Susan rushed over to the desk and Kathleen, realizing for the first time just how much snow she had brought into the room with her, stood still, dripping on the linoleum by the door. She smiled uncertainly at the man beside her as a trickle from her coat slid across the floor in the direction of a shelf of best-sellers. He smiled back before reaching for a sponge, hidden from view by an unopened box of books, and bent down to mop up the liquid.

  “I’m very sorry …” Kathleen began.

  “They’re fine,” Susan interrupted. “Both Chrissy and Chad are at the Kings’ house. Stephanie drove them both to school, but by the time she had made it to the junior high school with Chrissy and Kathy, the decision had been made to close up for the day. So she turned around and collected Chad from his school and took them both home with her. The Calhouns live next door and their son is in Chad’s class so the two of them are out in the backyard making a snow fort.” The question of whether her son’s boots had ever made it out of his locker flashed through her mind. Damn.

  “And Chrissy?”

  “She and Kathy are going through fashion magazines and trying to think of a snack that will fill them up but has no calories. They’ll be fine. And I called over to the dress shop. They’re going to stay open and we can still look for that dress, if you don’t mind.”

  “Great. Let’s get going.”

  VI

  But there are some days when, no matter how hard you look, no matter how much you try on, everything makes you look old, fat, or just plain horrible. For Susan, it was that type of day.