Danger Comes Home (Kelly O'Connell Mystery) (4 page)

“Yes.” Simple and straightforward. “She’s worried.”

“She don’t need to worry. I’m working through some stuff right now, but Miss Kelly, you got to know that I will always take care of Theresa. All my life. I will never let her be in danger.”

A little too much emphasis on danger. What was really going on? All I could say was, “I know that, Joe. And I hope Theresa knows it too.”

“Whatever I do,” he said, “I do with Theresa in mind. She’s everything to me.”

There wasn’t much more to say, so we said our goodbyes. As I hung up, I thought his talk of danger made me think that was an awful way to live, afraid all the time. And that led my thoughts to Jenny. I started to look for Wilsons on Alston in the phone book and then decided that would be me jumping the gun again. I’d best wait till Maggie got home from school.

My last call was to Mom. For a long while, she dodged Sunday night suppers because that was Fellowship Supper at her small neighborhood Methodist church. But she was having no success getting Otto Martin, the companion she swore was not a boyfriend, to go to church with her, and she knew he’d come to our house. Otto is a story unto himself—an Old World clockmaker, short, chubby and cherubic until you got to know that he had a stubborn streak about what was wrong and what wasn’t. Still he was a delightful storyteller, and he made Mom happy.

“Please bring Otto,” I said.

“Of course, and I’ll bring potato salad.”

We were getting laden down with side dishes, but it would all be good and fun—and little work for me. Mike didn’t even like me to shape the hamburgers; he did that himself. I just had to buy meat and buns and relishes, put out paper plates, and we had a dinner! Great for a non-cook like me.

After school, Maggie reported that Jenny’s eyes lit up when she heard about the cookout. “Mom, that’s the most expression I’ve ever seen on her face. I don’t think she has much fun. But just as quick as she was happy, she was blue again, said her parents wouldn’t let her come and wouldn’t come themselves. She did give me a phone number though. She said it’s her mom’s phone.” She handed me a slip of paper. The number was obviously a cell phone, harder to trace.

I settled the girls at their homework and went into the bedroom to call Mrs. Wilson. No answer, so I left a message—with my cell phone number. The rest of the evening, I kept my cell phone handy.

After the girls were in bed, Mike said in a serious tone, “I want to talk about something.”

“Do I need a glass of wine to fortify myself?”

“Suit yourself.” Now he grinned. “And bring me a beer.”

When we were settled in our bedroom, where we thought little ears that were supposed to be sleeping wouldn’t hear us, he said, “Kelly, it’s Jenny. I don’t ever, ever want Maggie to go to Jenny’s house. Don’t ask why. I just don’t.”

Usually I resent it when Mike gets dictatorial about the girls—after all, I raised them for the first—what?—nine years of their lives, without his help. But this time I agreed with him. I did gently suggest, “Could you have put that in the form of a question, so we could share an opinion, rather than having you dictate?”

He leaned over to kiss me and said, “Yeah, I apologize. I’m still getting used to being a dad. I so want to do it right.”

“I know, and I’m grateful. I wouldn’t have married you if I didn’t sense that. But we have to share parenting decisions. I definitely agree—Maggie will not go there, but I’ve called and left a message for Jenny’s mother. Maggie wants to invite them Sunday night.”

“I heard her say that. Our numbers are swelling. I was going to suggest inviting Buck and Joanie, but that’s too many people…and their new baby is still pretty new.”

“Almost two,” I corrected, “but let’s not put them in the mix this time.’

Mike sighed. “Okay. One more thing. José called me this afternoon. He says he went by the Wilson house three times last night, and there was way too much traffic. I’m going on stakeout tomorrow night.”

My heart sank. Mike didn’t often do things that sounded scary to me, but this did. “How late?” Then again, just because Mike did what he did, be it patrolman or narcotics officer, I knew he was always in danger, and I was grateful when he came home to me in one piece. I remembered too vividly that one night he didn’t come home…and I went to the hospital.

“Don’t know. Until I come to some conclusions. I’ll take somebody with me. Don’t worry.”

As if!

We settled down with our books, but my cell rang.

Mike’s response was, “If that’s somebody wanting to buy a house at this time of night….”

I made a “shush” sign at him and answered with, “Kelly O’Connell.”

A soft voice replied, “Ms. O’Connell, this is Mona Wilson. I’m returning your call.”

I signaled Mike as much as I could with my eyes. “Hi, Mona. Maggie asked me to call. We’re having a cookout Sunday night, just family and some friends, and Maggie so wants Jenny to join us—with you and your husband, of course.”

A quick intake of breath. “I don’t know. May I talk to him and get back to you tomorrow night?”

“Of course. I do hope you can all join us, but if not, I’ll be glad to pick Jenny up and bring her home.”

I thought there was a catch in her voice when she said, “That’s very kind of you. I’ll call this number tomorrow.”

I knew Mike was watching and waiting. “Jenny’s mother. She’ll talk to her husband and call tomorrow. You know, Mike, I dismissed her as…oh, I don’t know…but she’s educated. I can just tell from talking to her. I wonder how she ever ended up where she is.”

“No telling. Maybe she loves the guy. Can’t account for women’s taste in men.” He leered at me.

“And you can account for men’s taste in women?” I asked tartly.

I suspected Mrs. Wilson would not call again, or if she did, she’d politely decline. To my surprise, she called about ten the next morning to say she and Jenny would like to join us, if I was sure it was no bother, and what could they bring. Her husband, she said, would be busy.
On a Sunday night? Let it go, Kelly.

My first instinct was to say not to bother bringing anything, but a Keisha-inspired thought hit me. If I asked her to bring something, she would be more a part of the evening. “There will be about fifteen of us, and we’re having hamburgers, potato salad, that kind of thing.”

“I make pretty good chocolate chip cookies,” she said. “Let me bring a batch.”
Wonderful. She cooked some between beatings.
Stop it, Kelly!

“Terrific. The kids will love that! About six?” I gave her the address and hung up wondering if we’d really see them. And then I laughed aloud, thinking what a jolly crew we’d be—Theresa worrying about Joe, Anthony worrying about Theresa, and me worrying about all of them, including Jenny and her mother. It made me laugh, because I thought of Em’s plea that we not talk about anything serious on Sunday night.

Keisha gave me a strange look. “Why are you laughing all by yourself? Can I share the joke?”

“I think it’s a kind of macabre joke, Keisha.” And I told her about the Wilsons, to which she replied,

“Good. Give me a chance to use my sixth sense and see what’s going on there with that poor child.”

I rolled my eyes.

That afternoon when I picked the girls up, Maggie was obviously upset.

“Mag, what’s the matter?”

She shook her head. “I’ll tell you when we get home. In private.” She shot a glance at Em, who immediately howled, “That isn’t fair. We have no secrets in our family.”

Once home, I fixed them one peanut butter and honey sandwich—their new favorite—to share and sliced a banana to split between two plates. I’d learned the hard way that too much afternoon snack killed dinner appetites, and I was fixing chicken tetrazzini tonight which, theoretically, they should both enjoy. I guess it was because Mike was going on stakeout, but I felt the need to fix a special dinner, not something I threw together. I’d found a great recipe on Pinterest.

“Em, would you excuse Maggie and me for a few minutes? Maybe you could start your homework in your room?”

Em scooted down in her chair, crossed her arms belligerently, and announced, “I’m not going anywhere. I’ll do my homework right here where I always do.”

Maggie gave her a dark look but finally said, “Okay, brat, but you have to promise not to say a word at school. Cross your heart and hope to die.”

Em performed the required gesture and then added, “I’m not a brat.”

Maggie ignored her and turned to me. “Jenny actually asked me to sit with her on the steps today. She’s never done that before. And she talked. I didn’t have to make conversation like I usually do. Her dad beat her mom again last night, tried to strangle her. Jenny said she really, really wanted to call the police, but she was too afraid of Todd—that’s what she called him. And she said something really scary, Mom.” Maggie stopped and cast another dark look at Em. “You sure you promise?”

Em crossed her heart again and said with determination, “I promise.” There was no way she was going to miss the rest of this story.

“What is it, Maggie? What did Jenny say?”

“She said she might have to kill her dad if he did that again.”

I was stunned, trying to wrap my brain around the idea of an eleven-year-old child who felt so desperate that she’d even give voice to those words. I held my arms out to Maggie who walked gratefully into them. “Honey, she won’t do that. She just had to give words to the anger she feels when her father beats her mother. We honestly can’t interfere. Even Mike can’t. He has no proof. Mrs. Wilson has to help herself.”

“What could she do?”

“Best would be if she left that house, left him, took Jenny with her, and then filed an official complaint. But from what I’ve seen, I don’t think she’ll do that.”

“Can’t you suggest it?”

“No, Maggie, I can’t. Unless she asks my advice, I can’t say anything. After all, you just asked Em to promise not to tell, and I think that promise applies to me too, don’t you?”

“Yeah.” She hesitated and then she said, “You can tell Mike.”

Oh, boy—what would happen when I did that?

My chicken tetrazzini was a hit. Everyone took second helpings, and Em made me promise to make it again soon. I had opened a bottle of white wine, but of course Mike wouldn’t have any since he was going back out to work. So I toasted by myself—at a loss for an idea of what to toast. Finally, I said, “To happiness for everyone.”

The girls raised their water glasses and said, “Here, here!” something they’d recently learned. It made them feel sophisticated.

After the dishes were washed and dried, homework done and checked, and the girls in bed, Mike got ready for his stakeout of the Wilson house. He put on black jeans and a black turtleneck, topped with a black windbreaker. Personally I suspected he was going to suffocate. Spring was here, and it would maybe go down into the sixties tonight. I kept my mouth shut, even as I watched him tuck his service revolver into his waistband and slip a sheathed knife into his sock. Still, my heart was pounding. I had hated the days after the accident disabled him but the one good thing, when he first went back to work, was that he was at a desk and in no danger. Now I would worry until he came home.

“Mike, you won’t do more than watch, will you?”

“No, sweetheart. I’ll be in a car and probably bored to death, drinking too much coffee, most of the evening. No need to worry.”

But of course worry I did after he left. I swear I hadn’t dozed when Mike came home at three in the morning. To my inquiry, he said, “I’ll tell you in the morning. But, yes, Jenny and her mother are in danger. And our girls are to stay as far away as possible. I sort of wish you hadn’t invited Jenny and her mother Sunday night.”

“Mike!” I said indignantly.

“I know,” he soothed, “and I want to do everything I can to protect Jenny, but I don’t want to put my family in danger by association.”

“I think that cat was out of the bag the minute we took Jenny home.”

“I don’t know. I think the father, if that’s who he is, might be so disinterested he never asked where she was.”

“Maybe he won’t ask where they go Sunday night.” I was sort of clinging to straws.

Mike had one more thing on his mind. “Kelly, I know I’ve asked you to say out of police business, and I am sort of leery about having Jenny’s mom here Sunday, but I could use your help. See if you can get anything out of her, any information at all.

“Does that make me undercover?” I asked.

He crawled into bed, took me in his arms, and didn’t answer the question.

****

Sunday night’s supper was neither as joyful as some previous evenings had been nor as glum as I predicted. My mother was in one of her expansive moods, pleased to have Otto following her every move. She laughed at his stories—did the man never run out of new material or was she listening to reruns?—and fussed over him, bringing beer, fixing him a plate as though he were a child. He loved the attention, and never once complained.

Claire was glad to be back in the fold. She didn’t know about Jenny, and that had to be explained quickly before Jenny and her mom arrived. She didn’t know about Theresa’s concern about Joe either but I wasn’t going to share that this night. Maybe later. Liz trailed in behind her mom, and Claire explained that Megan and Brandon Waggoner would be along soon. I was pleased because Brandon had fit right in the few times we’d seen him. If he was as wealthy as Claire claimed, it didn’t show, and he and Megan seemed to have a growing relationship.

When Theresa and Joe came in, I studied them covertly. Joe brought the dips into the kitchen, and Theresa followed to unpack them and put them out. She’d brought tomato salsa and tomatillo salsa along with queso and two huge bags of tortilla chips, plus serving bowls and small napkins. As soon as she began unpacking, Joe melted away. They hadn’t exchanged a word, even a look. In fact, they avoided each other.
Kelly, are you reading too much into this?

Anthony hovered over Theresa every minute, even offering to get her a beer, although he still hadn’t quite accepted the fact that his daughter was a married woman, old enough to drink beer. He kept his arm around her, hugging her, asking if she was all right. “You look a little peaked. Joe, you taking good care of my girl?”

Joe looked, if anything, resigned. But he nodded and said, “Best I can.” He and Anthony had made peace a while back, after a more than rocky start to their relationship, and I knew he didn’t like being questioned.

Theresa knew what her dad was doing, but she was also suffocating. Finally, she gently pushed him away and said, “Dad, you go outside and drink beer with the other men.”

“You sure you’re okay?”

“I’m fine,” she said, guiding him toward the back door. He went reluctantly, casting a last glance over his shoulder at her.

Theresa threw me a look of desperation that clearly said, “Please help!”

I shrugged. I’d do what I could.

Of course, the person I was most interested in, even before Mike asked me to do his skullduggery, was Mona Wilson. She wasn’t as drab as I’d expected. Sure, she could use a good haircut and her clothes were pretty basic—denim skirt, white turtleneck, which of course I assumed was to hide bruises around her throat. She had pulled her hair back into sort of a low ponytail that sat on her neck, a style that looked smashing on Claire but failed to achieve that rating with Mona. But there were no visible bruises, nor scars except for an old one over one eyebrow. Could have been anything. And in spite of all that, there was a quiet dignity and self-confidence about the woman.

Her cookies looked moist and just right, and she thanked me again for having invited them. “Jenny doesn’t get much fun, and she’s been so looking forward to this evening.” Her voice was hoarse, and I bit my tongue to keep from asking if she had a cold. She must have read my mind, for she said, “I’m sorry, I’ve almost lost my voice. It’s allergies. This is such an awful time of year in Texas.”

I agreed, but I also knew better.

“I’m delighted you’re both here. Have you met everyone?”

She recoiled just a bit. “Oh, no, that’s all right. I’ll just introduce myself in a bit.”

The girls spirited Jenny away to their bedrooms, and then came back for Theresa, who seemed reluctant to go with them, looking about for Joe. I reminded her he’d gone outside. She followed Maggie but pretty soon came back out and sat next to Mona. “Mrs. Wilson, the girls want me to give Jenny sort of a mini-makeover, and I’m wondering if you’d allow me to trim her hair just a bit. You know, shape it and get rid of the split ends. I’m pretty good at it.”

Em came up behind her, saying, “She is good at it. She just did mine.” Em’s lank, straight hair, much like Jenny’s but with more shine, framed her small face nicely. Theresa had trimmed it so that the ends just barely curled under. Em twirled in front of Mona and then fluffed her hair, shook her head, and demonstrated that it all fell right back into place.

“That…that’s lovely,” Mona said, and Em interrupted with “I’m Em, Maggie’s sister.” She held out her hand to shake, and Mona took the offered hand and held it just a minute. Then she looked at Theresa. “Her father, he doesn’t want it any shorter.”

“He’ll never know I’ve taken scissors to it,” Theresa assured her. “But she’ll feel better about herself.”

Mona nodded her head in permission, and the girls all darted away. I took soft drinks for them into Maggie’s bedroom, and one look at Jenny, sitting in the chair before the vanity, told me that she loved being fussed over, loved being the center of attention. The spark in her eyes almost made me cry.