Married to a Stranger (20 page)

“Dr. Heisler and I were wondering if we could talk to you for a minute?”

Anxiety rose instantly to the woman’s glassy eyes. “If my husband comes back…”

“It’s just for a minute. Can we come in? Alida’s teacher came to see us.”

“Alida!” the woman cried. “Is Alida all right?”

Emma hesitated. She knew what the woman was asking. Had there been an accident? Was her child injured? In that sense, the answer was obvious. “No, no,” said Emma. “Alida is okay.”

The woman was trembling. “Are you sure?” she asked. “You’re not going to tell me something awful, are you?”

“No. Nothing…has happened to Alida.”

Risa Devlin slumped against the windowsill and clutched her crevice of décolletage with relief, breathing hard. “You scared me,” she said.

“I’m sorry,” said Emma, knowing that Alida’s mother now thought that Alida was in no danger. She had no idea that they were here to suggest injury of another, more profound, kind.

“Come on in,” Risa said, pointing to the open door to the solarium.

Emma and Burke entered the house through the solarium’s door and followed the barefoot woman down the hall, assuming they were heading to the living room. Instead, Risa Devlin led them to a bedroom that was, unmistakably, the lair of a teenaged girl. The walls were papered with posters of rappers, athletes, and handsome young movie actors. There was a single bed, which was covered with a brightly colored flowered quilt, a desk with a swivel chair, and a white bureau. Risa indicated the swivel chair, and Emma sat down. Burke stood behind her. Risa lay down on the single bed, on her side, and gazed at them. “I hope you don’t mind,” she said, her voice slightly slurred. “I’m very tired.”

“No. It’s all right,” said Emma. She looked around the room, wondering which girl the room belonged to. Ivy or Alida.

“This was Ivy’s room,” said Risa as if reading her thoughts. “I spend a lot of time in here. I find it comforting.”

“I’m sure it’s a comfort,” said Emma, although she could tell that this woman was anything but comforted. She was clearly trying to medicate her problems away and had lost sight of what was appropriate—like receiving visitors in the bedroom of her deceased child.

“Why are you here?” Risa asked. “Did something happen at school? Why didn’t the teacher come?”

Emma looked up at Burke. “Mrs. Devlin,” he said. “I want to thank you for talking to us. I realize that we put you in an awkward position when Ivy was at the center. I wouldn’t blame you for refusing to see us. I know your husband is still very angry.”

Tears rose to the woman’s large blue eyes. “You were trying to help Ivy. I know that. Even if you were wrong about what you thought. We had to be sure.”

We? Who’s ‘we’? Emma thought. She had been impressed at the time of their treatment of Ivy with Risa Devlin’s bravery in the face of her husband’s outrage. She was further impressed that this woman, who must have suffered mightily from Lyle Devlin’s righteous indignation, still clung to the belief that she had done the right thing. “Alida’s teacher was talking to her at school today,” she began.

“Her grades are good,” said Risa.

Emma nodded. “She hasn’t done anything wrong. It’s just…after what happened to Ivy, her teacher was thinking that this was a difficult time for her….”

Risa’s large blue eyes glistened, but the expression on her puffy face did not change. “Of course it is. She lost her sister.”

“Her teacher has noticed…changes in Alida,” Emma continued carefully. “She seems…old for her age. She suggested that Alida might want to go to counseling, but Alida indicated that her father wouldn’t approve of that. Because of your experience with Ivy.”

Risa stared impassively at Emma, her head resting on Ivy’s pillow. Emma wondered if she was going to put her thumb in her mouth. She appeared to be drifting away, pulled down by whatever medication she was taking. Emma tried to hold her gaze. “Anyway, Miss Piper came to us to see if there was any way we could straighten out the problem.”

“What is the problem?” said Risa.

Emma looked up at Burke. He frowned at Risa Devlin. “Mrs. Devlin, we came to you once before to ask for your help, and you were ready to move heaven and earth for your daughter’s sake.”

Tears began to trickle down Risa Devlin’s face. She shook her head. “It didn’t work,” she said. “Nothing worked.”

Burke held up Alida’s notebook, which he had brought with him. “While she was talking to Miss Piper, your daughter, Alida, was drawing something. But after she left, when Miss Piper collected the composition books, she saw Alida’s drawing. We thought you might want to see it.”

Risa struggled up to a sitting position, her gaze wary, and reached out for the notebook that Burke was holding. Burke handed it to her and watched for the woman’s reaction. Risa’s eyes traveled over the drawing as if Burke had handed her the photo of the corpse of a loved one, long missing. In her eyes was a combination of horror, sorrow, and recognition.

“Obviously she has been doing her best to hide her…distress. I thought you ought to know,” Emma said. “‘HELP ME.’ Can you think why she would write that?”

Risa began to shake her head, her hands trembling as she held the drawing.

“Mrs. Devlin?”

Risa Devlin’s face had changed. She looked up and lifted the notebook in her trembling hands. “I can’t do this again,” Risa said. “I won’t.” Her sweet voice had an edge, and her fuzzy blue gaze had begun to clear.

B
URKE POURED
a glass of mineral water and handed it to Emma, who was sunk into the comfort of a deep-cushioned oatmeal-colored sofa in Burke’s living room. “I couldn’t believe the way she reacted,” Emma said.

Burke nodded and sat down in a buttery leather club chair. “I know. I didn’t know what to expect. Risa Devlin seems so…”

“Passive,” said Emma. “I know. But she’s not. It seems she’s actually got quite a stiff spine. Although she’s nearly broken by Ivy’s death.”

“I almost hated to lay this on her. With all that she’s been through. But I think it was the right decision.”

“I do too,” said Emma. “She had to know. But I wish she had let us stay with her to confront him. Or called the police. I’m worried about leaving her alone to face him. If it was Lyle Devlin who attacked me, he is a horribly dangerous man.”

“I agree with you,” said Burke. “But you saw how adamant she was. I didn’t want to step in and start telling her what to do. She’s had enough of that from her husband. But I plan to call her at regular intervals tonight. If I sense that she’s in any danger I’m going to call the police.”

“Good,” said Emma. All of a sudden, Emma straightened up. “Burke, do you hear someone. Footsteps?”

Burke frowned and then gestured toward the back deck. Emma nodded. Burke got up and walked over to the glass sliders, throwing on the outdoor floodlights.

David was standing on the deck, staring through the floor-to-ceiling sliders.

“David,” said Burke. He opened one of the glass doors.

“Honey, what are you doing out there?” Emma asked.

“I thought I’d have a look,” said David. “Wondered what I’d see.”

“What does that mean?” Burke asked.

David ignored the question and stepped into the living room. He spoke to his wife, who was curled up in a corner of the sofa, her camel-colored skirt tucked beneath her, her discarded boots lying on the carpet. “Well, you look comfortable. I should know by now where to find you,” he said. “I went over to the center to pick you up. No one knew where you were. Didn’t you realize that I’d be worried? You knew I was going to come and get you after work.”

“Oh, David, I’m so sorry,” said Emma setting down her glass of water. “I forgot to call you. We were—”

“Who’s ‘we’?”

“Burke and I,” she said. “We went to see Lyle Devlin’s wife.”

“What for?” David demanded. “You should be staying as far away from that guy as you can.” David turned on his friend. “Why in the world would you take her there?”

Burke grimaced. “It was some unfinished business, David. You’re right. I should have let you know. But it was a really worthwhile trip. I think you’ll agree when we tell you about it. Can I get you something? A glass of wine?”

“I don’t want any wine. I want to take my wife home,” he said.

“This is my fault, David. I should have realized you’d think something terrible had happened,” said Emma. “That was stupid of me.”

“No, it was stupid of Burke. You of all people should have realized,” David said, turning to Burke.

Burke’s gaze was cold.

“David!” Emma’s tone reproached him.

“Well, it’s true,” David insisted.

Emma struggled to her feet and set her glass down on the burl wood cocktail table. “I’m sorry, Burke. This was my mistake. I got so involved in what we were doing. David, it was an important meeting. I promise you that. I just feel bad about not letting you know.” Emma stuck her stockinged feet into the boots and straightened out the toffee-colored outfit she was wearing.

“Let’s go,” said David.

“Okay,” said Emma. “I’ll tell you all about it on the way to the storage unit.”

“The storage unit?” he cried. “It’s almost dark.”

“You said you’d take me there after work. It won’t take long. I need to do this, David.” Emma patted her own head gently, to be sure her french braid was still in place.

David shook his head.

“Please. You know I can’t drive there myself.”

“Is there anything I can do?” Burke asked.

“Stay out of it,” said David. Then he turned to Emma. “Do you have the key?”

“Right here in my purse.”

“All right. Let’s get this over with.”

Emma reached up and kissed him. “Thanks,” she said. “Burke, I’ll see you at work tomorrow.”

“I’ll walk out with you,” said Burke. “I want to get that envelope from the medical examiner out of my car.”

David did not speak to Burke. He led the way out the sliding doors and across the back deck, clattering down the steps to the driveway.

T
HE
U-K
AN
-K
EEP
-I
T
Storage Facility was located in an industrial area of Clarenceville where there were warehouses and a recyling center and the offices of the water company. All were busy during the day but were deserted, now that the workday was over. The facility was comprised of row upon row of locked garage-size units surrounded by a chain-link fence. It had been built in the shadow of a highway bridge alongside the Smoking River. There was a trailer, which served as an office during business hours, and a parking lot beside it.

By the time Emma and David arrived, the office was closed, and the halogen lights in the parking lot and around the units were illuminated. “How do you open that gate to drive inside?” David said.

“I don’t know if you can drive in after business hours,” she said. “I think they have to open it from inside the office.”

“Well, that’s stupid,” he said irritably. “You can’t get into your space after business hours?”

Emma held up her key. “You can get in, you just can’t take your car in. You have to park in the lot after business hours.”

“That’s ridiculous. What if you need to move something?” he said.

“I guess you have to come back during business hours,” she said. “But luckily all I have to move is one little pistol. Drop me off and I’ll wait for you right here under this light while you park the car.”

“Oh no,” he said. “Nothing doing. I’m not leaving you alone. Not for a minute.”

“Do I have to walk back from the parking lot?” she said, grimacing.

“No. I’m not going to park in the lot. I’m going to leave the car right here.”

“But the sign says you can’t,” she said, pointing.

David straightened out the wheel and turned off the engine. “Well, I have a wife who doesn’t need to be walking all the way from that lot. And I’m not leaving you here alone. So if they don’t like it, they can give me a ticket.”

“They might tow you,” she said, although she felt secretly pleased that he was willing to break the rules to accommodate her.

“They’re not going to tow me,” he said, getting out on his side and coming around to hers. He opened the door and helped her out. “If the cops come, I’ll hear them. And I’ll explain it to them. Besides, we’re only going to be in there for a minute, right?”

Emma nodded as she took his hand and got out of the front seat. Everything hurt, every which way, but the thought of having that gun safely in her possession spurred her on. “Right,” she said. “Let’s go get it.”

At the end of each row of units a letter was clearly painted. Emma and David walked past the rows of units until they came to row
G
. Thanks to the well-spaced halogen lights, Emma could see all the way down to the end of the row, and there was not another soul around. That didn’t stop her from feeling apprehensive as she limped, with David right beside her, down the row to unit 14.

“This is the one,” she said, stopping in front of a corrugated metal door. She stuck the key in the lock for number 14 and turned it. The door rolled up on a track, but it was not automatic, and she had forgotten that the door had to be lifted to get it started. For a minute she hesitated, thinking about her stitches. Then she remembered her detemination from the night before. She had to prove to him that she was not succumbing to this “victim” mentality. She was fighting back on her own behalf. If she could use a gun, she could open this damn door.

She took a deep breath, bent over, and grabbed the handle.

“Wait a minute, hold it a minute,” he said. “What do you think you’re doing? Let me do that.”

“I can do it,” she said.

“Honey, I’m here,” he said. “You don’t have to do it.” He gently displaced her and took over the handle. The door rolled all the way up, clanking as it rose. Emma flipped the switch beside the open door, and a weak bulb illuminated the contents of the storage area. For a moment her heart sank. It was worse than she had remembered. Why did I save all this stuff? she thought.

At the time of her mother’s remarriage, it had seemed sensible—necessary even—to hang on to the things of her childhood that Kay seemed willing to discard. But now, looking at all the boxes bursting with toys, a broken rocking horse, odd dishes, moldy camping equipment, and childhood videos, she wondered if maybe she too was ready to get rid of the past and start her new life as a wife and a mother without all this baggage.

“God, look at all this junk,” he said.

“It’s not junk,” she said, bristling.

“Did I say junk?” he asked teasingly. “I meant treasures. Look at all these treasures.”

“That’s better,” she said, smiling.

“How are you going to find anything in this?”

“I know where everything is,” she said. “Just stay out of my way.” With a sigh, she entered the unit and began her search. She peered at all the labels, climbing over rolled-up rugs and tennis rackets until she reached the back of the unit. She had to shift a couple of boxes, even then, to find the one she was seeking. She started to lift a carton marked
LINENS
.

“Don’t you pick that up. You’ll break your stitches.” He began toward her through the accumulation. “Give it to me. I’ll move the stuff so we can get out of here.”

Standing among the shabby-looking collection of mementos, she felt crowded by his impatience. “David, stop. I want to do this at my own speed. Look, I won’t lift anything heavy. I promise. Just…let me do this.”

He looked at her skeptically, but she was clearly determined.

“All right, I’ll wait by the door. But if you come to a heavy box, just let me know and I’ll move it for you.”

“Fine,” she said. “Now go on.”

She began to move one box at a time, being sure to test their weights and lift only those that were light as David picked his way back toward the open door. She found the box she was looking for at the bottom of a pile.

“Dad,” Emma read aloud from the label she had marked herself on the top of the box. She placed the box on top of a short tower of boxes so that she could look through its contents without bending over. She opened the top and smelled a lingering trace of the aftershave he always wore. She began to lift out the familiar, long-forgotten effects. His old wristwatch was in there, although it no longer ran. There was a canvas fishing hat and a book of essays by H. L. Mencken with slips of notepaper still marking favorite pages. There was a small, retractable telescope, which they always took camping. On a clear night, they would prop themselves up along a lakeshore or a riverbank and search the sky above them for constellations. There was a framed photo of the two of them, holding up a string of fish. She studied the photo, their jubilant, innocent smiles.

She heard David let out a groan and an expletive. “What’s the matter?” she said.

“Stubbed my toe on one of these valuable andirons you have hidden in here,” he grumbled.

Emma smiled. “Sorry,” she said. “Is it bad?” she asked.

“Bad enough. Now we’ll both be limping,” he said.

“Well, if it makes you feel any better, those andirons are valuable,” she said.

“Oh, I do feel better. Let me kick it with the other foot and see if I can break that toe too,” he said.

Emma laughed. “You’re a baby. Go and lean against the wall, or sit down,” she said. “I found the box. It won’t take me long.”

Get busy, she thought. Don’t be dawdling over this stuff. Save the trip down memory lane for another day. She pushed aside the remaining contents of the box, and there on the bottom, snapped into a moldy, suede shoulder holster and belt, was her father’s old Smith & Wesson double-action revolver. She smiled, thinking how she used to love to see her dad strap the holster on, because he reminded her of the sheriffs in the old cowboy shows they would watch together on the Western channel. She knew that he liked it for exactly the same reason. Beside the holster, in an equally moldy pouch, were the bullets. She was sure the gun would not be loaded. Mitchell Hollis was religious about unloading the gun after each time they used it. But he had taught her how to reload, and now his many demonstrations came back to her.

From outside the unit, she heard David groan again and then there was a thud, as if he had flopped down on the concrete outside. I hope he didn’t really break that toe, she thought. Emma opened the stained pouch and shook some bullets out. Then she lifted the gun and holster carefully from its resting place and, holding the barrel pointed down, unsnapped the holster and pulled the gun out. She moved the cylinder latch and then shook the cylinder open, as her father had taught her. Sure enough, the chambers were empty. One by one, she fed the cartridges into the chambers and then carefully closed the cylinder with both hands. She felt as if Mitchell Hollis was right beside her in that dusty storage room, telling it all to her again.

“David,” she cried triumphantly. “I’m all set.”

Scooping up the holster and the pouch, Emma tossed everything else back into the box and turned around.

Standing at the open port door, staring at her, was Lyle Devlin.

Emma let out a cry.

The halogen lights glinted off his wire-rimmed glasses and haloed his bristly graying hair. His fists bulged in the pockets of his jacket.

“Mr. Devlin. What are you doing here? Where’s my husband,” she said. She tried to sound calm and collected, but she could hear the panic in her own voice

“I thought I told you to stay out of my business,” he said.

“I have nothing to say to you,” she said. Her heart was pounding. She kept the gun pointed down, hidden from his view, her palm sweaty on the stock where she clutched it.