From the Grounds Up (24 page)

'You're not crazy,' I said. 'You have a mood disorder.'

'Mood, schmood.' Sarah smiled. 'The drugs are good.'

I started to ask her how long she'd been on them, but decided to defer.

'I want to hear more,' I said, 'but let's wait till my house. You can drop off the car and then we'll stop at the store to buy something to grill.'

'I have a better idea,' Sarah said. 'You go home and let Frank out and feed him. Then come over to my house. Bring wine if you want it.'

'How are you going to get home?' I asked.

'Mario.'

The way she said it made me wonder whether she and Mario were more than hotrod-lover and mechanic. I'd have suggested that Mario join us, if I hadn't wanted to speak to Sarah in private.

Besides, there was only so much car talk I could take.

'What are we having?' I was onboard with not cooking or having to straighten up my house. I did, though, need to know which color wine to bring.

'Pizza,' Sarah said, 'or whatever is in the refrigerator.'

I didn't necessarily want pizza again, but I'd also seen the inside of Sarah's refrigerator. 'Pizza is just fine. I'll bring red.'

'Just enough for you,' Sarah said, climbing into the driver's seat of Firebird II. 'I've had to give it up. The lithium, you know.'

'But you had some the other night,' I pointed out. 'In fact, the other
two
nights. And Jim Beam yesterday.'

'Big mistakes and I paid for them, believe me.' She started the car. 'I scuttled my rum and Cokes. Who knew they considered wine "alcohol", too?'

With a wave, Sarah took off.

As she departed with a roar, I saw the curtain behind Art Jenada's front window twitch.

Somebody, and I think we all know who, had been watching us.

When I approached Sarah's house nearly an hour later, a white van was pulling away.

'Did Mario just leave?' I asked, hooking a thumb toward the disappearing truck.

Sarah swung the front door wide and stepped aside to let me in. 'We discussed having Ronny check out the car. Mario is going to drop it by tomorrow morning at eight thirty.'

I imagined the conversation:

Sarah: 'I want my cousin to look at the car. Monday all right with you?'

Mario: 'Sure.'

I didn't quite see why that required a house-call, but if Sarah had found a kindred spirit in Mario, I was all for it. And her. Or them.

Sarah picked up a Schultz's grocery bag that was sitting next to the threshold.

'I thought we were ordering pizza?' I said. 'You don't have to cook.'

'I'm not,' Sarah said, shaking the sack at me. 'These are Auntie Vi's things. Mario found the bag in the trunk of my Firebird.'

'You should have invited him to join us,' I said, knowing full well it was too late.

'I did. He had plans.'

'Don't you think you should have cleared it with me? After all, we might have private stuff to talk about. Partner stuff.'

'You just suggested I invite him.'

'I was making a gesture. Showing support of your relationship with him.'

Sarah looked skyward. 'And I'm the one on drugs.'

I followed her out to the kitchen, wanting to take advantage of the opening. 'So, how long have you been on lithium?'

Sarah was going through the stack of takeout menus next to her phone. 'Just a week. That's why I slipped up on the wine.'

And the Jim Beam. But, being the sensitive friend that I am, I plunked my bottle of Syrah on the counter and went digging through Sarah's cupboard drawers for a corkscrew.

'Last one on the left,' she supplied.

'When did you realize you were . . . having problems?' I finished rather lamely, even for me.

'You mean when did I know I was a crazy?'

'Stop that,' I snapped. 'This isn't something you should kid about.'

Sarah turned, Pizza Palace menu in hand. 'No. This is something
you
can't kid about. I have it, so I can kid about it. I can say anything I damn well please.'

Her hand was shaking a bit when she picked up the phone. 'What do you want? Pepperoni, mushrooms and banana peppers?'

'Go ahead and get onions.' It didn't rise to the level of anchovies, but this was a more generous concession than it might appear. The topping agreed with Sarah about as well as it did with Frank. Urging Sarah to eat onions was akin to sacrificing myself on the altar of flatulence.

Sarah turned around, phone to her ear. 'Really?'

'Really. And I'm sorry. I've just been worried about you.'

'Before, is when you should have—' She held up her finger and placed our order.

When she hung up, I asked, 'What? No infinite holds? No singing of pizza songs?'

'Nope. I think you may have imagined the whole thing.' She grinned at me. 'I've been really worried about you, Maggy.'

My, my. Weren't
we
feeling chipper?

'Point taken. We're all nuts. So what were you saying about "before"?'

'Just that now I'm getting treatment and it's helping. So what's to worry about?'

'Nothing,' I said. Except the depot, her late step-uncle, her even 'later' car, and her teenage foster kids. But if Sarah could see a silver lining, so could I.

I went to hug her and she held up her hands to ward me off. 'Let's not get carried away, OK? I don't like you that much.'

'You
are
feeling better,' I said, delighted.

'Well, yeah. Kind of.' Sarah set out a wine glass for me and a Coke for herself. 'I still have the mood swings, but they're not as wide as they were.'

'Great.'

She shook her head. 'I have to tell you, Maggy. It scared the hell out of me when I cried.'

'Me, too,' I said, following her out to the living room, where we settled down to await our pizza.

I took a sip of wine. 'Did you see your lawyer yesterday?'

I was treading carefully, trying not to bring up unpleasant things in a way that might upset my friend.

'I did,' Sarah said, sliding a coaster under my glass as I went to set it down.

'And?'

'He told me I do have rights in this situation.'

'Terrific,' I said, glad there was positive news. 'What's he suggesting?'

'First of all, he's going to contact Patrice and inform her that I am still Sam and Courtney's legal guardian and they are still minors. She is to have them call me immediately.'

'They haven't replied to your messages yet?' That was just plain wrong. How thoughtless could Sam and Courtney be?

Then again, both
were
teenagers.

'No, they haven't. And my calls go right to voicemail, like their phones are turned off. I did try texting, like you suggested, but not a peep.'

Nor a 'tweet', presumably. 'What will you say to them when you do get the chance?'

'I'm going to tell them that I love them. That their mother loved them, too, and she wanted me as their guardian, not an aunt they never knew.'

'Pitch-perfect,' I said. And remarkably sensitive.

'That's all I can do. If it doesn't work, my lawyer is going to demand Sam and Courtney return here while the whole issue of custody is considered.'

'Even better,' I said. 'Once they're here, face-to-face—'

'Unless Patrice blocks it.'

'If they don't come to Brookhills, would you consider going to Cape Cod?' I asked it hesitantly. I was trying to imagine the scene as Sarah pounded on Patrice's door and came up only with Armageddon.

'Damn right, I will.' Sarah stood just as a Volkswagen with a 'Pizza Palace' placard turned into the driveway.

'That's the spirit.' As Sarah went to the door to pay the pizza guy, I got out plates and napkins.

Fighting Patrice, buying a new car, throwing in with me on Uncommon Grounds. Sarah didn't need any help. She seemed to be doing wonderfully.

Which meant that maybe my generous offer of onions as an additional topping was precipitous of me.

Three slices later, I had a suggestion. 'Want to sit outside?'

'That bad?' Sarah asked with a wicked grin.

'Mere preparation.' I picked up my glass and led the way to her brick patio.

'It really is beautiful out here,' I said, surveying the spring flowers in the beds skirting the bricks. 'Did you do the plantings yourself?'

Sarah snorted and waved me toward the umbrella-topped glass table. 'You've known me how long now?'

'Just a couple of years, when you think about it. We became friends only after Patricia was killed.'

'Huh.' Sarah cocked her head. 'I guess that's true. It seems so much longer.'

It did. No matter which way she meant that.

'And what about Patricia?' I asked. 'How long were the two of you friends?'

'We met just after she moved to Brookhills, so about four years. Before she died.'

Sarah took two fingers and touched her lips, then tilted back and puffed heavenward. Blowing a kiss to Patricia up there somewhere or, more likely, another pretend smoke ring. When Sarah talked about the past, it always seemed to dredge up her old habit.

'Did Patricia tell you anything about her family life?'

'Nope.' Sarah looked sideways at me. 'Why? What do you know?'

'Nothing, I--'

'Spit it out Maggy. Just because I'm on drugs doesn't mean I won't rough you up.'

An idle threat. Perhaps.

I reluctantly filled her in on what Caron had told me about Patricia's childhood. Then I told her what Pavlik had found or, to be fair, not found.

'Huh.' Sarah tapped her index finger on the table like she was knocking the ash off a cigarette.

Not exactly the response I'd expected. I didn't want to color her thoughts with my own take on the situation, though, so I kept quiet.

'Huh.'

But now I couldn't stand it. 'All right. "Huh", what?'

'Granted, Patricia was not wrapped particularly tight,' Sarah said slowly, 'but I can't believe this is something she would make up.'

'She never said anything to you?' I asked.

'Nothing. No indication whatsoever.'

'Yet Patricia wanted you to have custody of the kids over blood relations on her side of the family tree.'

'True.' Sarah had a rueful grin on her face. 'Guess it shows "tight-wrapping" was not exactly a pre-requisite for guardianship.'

I punched her shoulder. 'That's not what I meant. You're plenty wrapped.'

'You wouldn't just say that, would you?'

Quite honestly, I probably would.

But I was telling the truth in this case. Sarah, sans mood swings, was one of the most dependable people I knew. 'Of course not.'

'Liar.' The grin faded. 'Thing is, Patricia, whatever her background, wasn't abusive to Sam or Courtney. I'd bet my life on that.'

'So you're saying all is well with Patrice, too?'

She shrugged. 'Innocent until proven guilty, Maggy. Pavlik didn't find anything. Even I came up empty.'

I looked at her.

'My kids were staying with her,' Sarah said. 'You'd have to guess that I'd check the family out the best I could.'

'Like how?' I asked. 'Google them?'

'I started there and found Patrice's name on a list of her church board members.'

That was a good sign, I guessed. Though God knew--and I concurred--it wasn't conclusive. I'd had a run-in or two with crazies intertwined with their churches like yarns in a sweater. 'Did you actually talk to anyone?'

'Their pastor. The church organist. Oh, and the woman who does their flowers. All passed Patrice with flying colors.'

I had to give it to Sarah. She was thorough.

'Even so,' she continued, 'I'm going to call my attorney in the morning and tell him what you told me.'

That Caron told me.

That Patricia told her.

I felt like we were kids again, playing a game of telephone.

Maybe it was time to grow up.

Chapter Twenty-Five

The next day was Sunday. As it turned out, it was the day of rest before . . . well, the rest.

By the time Monday morning dawned, my Escape had been washed, the lawn cut and a plan made.

Art Jenada might well be the one behind all the 'accidents', but if I didn't have proof, the harassment wouldn't stop. And, so far, if you didn't count Kornell's crash--maybe a true accident--no one had been seriously hurt.

Unfortunately, I couldn't count on that continuing as September first approached. It was time to protect ourselves.

Jenada said he didn't know who owned the building the florist had rented. I had no reason to doubt the caterer any more than I had reason to trust him.

So I didn't.

I found Laurel Birmingham, town clerk, unlocking the door of our municipal hall at eight a.m. sharp.

'Morning, Laurel,' I said as I came up behind her.

She jumped, hand to her breast. 'You scared me to death, Maggy. What are you doing here this early?'

'I need to find out who owns a property. Can I do that with you or do I have to go to the county courthouse?'

The courthouse was five miles away, but boasted the advantage of having Pavlik's office nearby. If I needed to go over there, maybe he'd buy me breakfast.

'Come on in.' Laurel swung open the door, but blocked my way while she reached to turn on the corridor lights.

'Sorry. There are no outside windows in the passageway, so it's pitch dark,' she said, letting me pass by.

Laurel is tall and well-proportioned, with what my mother had called an hour-glass figure. Laurel's cellphone would stay put. In fact, she'd probably have to send divers in for it.

'Thanks,' I said, willing myself to be tall. 'I wouldn't want to break a leg on the cow.'

I patted the snout of a life-sized, plaster Holstein displayed in one corner. The animal was mostly white, but instead of the requisite black patches, hers were red and shaped like apples.

'Careful.' Laurel was sorting through her key ring for the one to the Clerk's Office. 'That thing's worth ten thousand dollars. It's here on loan from an art museum in Manhattan.'

New York lending Wisconsin a cow. How wrong was that?

I followed Laurel into the office and waited on the public side of the counter as she went around back, dropping her purse on a desk. Then she came toward me and straightened her nameplate.