After they were gone, I said, “Maybe we should move my bed to Mom’s and put your king-size bed in here.”
“Sounds like a plan.”
****
The next day I called Joe and got him on the first try. I asked if he was available to help Anthony and Mike with the weekend big switch, and he said of course. I told him I’d pay him, but he protested. “Miss Kelly, I should be paying you. Whatever Theresa and I can do to help you, we’ll do it.”
I did ask Joe if Conroy talked to him again, and he said, “No, ma’am. I was ready to do what you said, tell him the truth, but I’m not going looking for him.”
“I don’t blame you. I think he has his eye on other suspects.”
Joe sighed. “I hope they solve those murders quick. But I think the second one maybe made him think less about gang stuff.”
We all hoped they solved those murders “quick” as Joe said, but otherwise things were falling into place.
****
Claire and I went to the neighborhood meeting that night. About seventy-five people sat on metal chairs in the church fellowship hall. The most I’d ever seen at a neighborhood association meeting before was maybe thirty.
Claire wore a turtleneck to hide the bruises on her neck, but there wasn’t much she could do about her shiner. She’d done the best she could with makeup, but it was still pretty obvious. “I guess I can’t say I walked into a door,” she joked.
“Don’t say anything,” I advised.
Several people stared at her. I’m sure the whole neighborhood knew she shot her husband. Did they think she killed Florence Dodson too? She may not have had a scarlet A, but maybe an invisible scarlet S for Shooter or CW for Crazy Woman? Claire held her head up, nodded to a few people she knew, and we sat down, near the back of the rows of seats.
I looked around the crowd and recognized several people. As a good real estate agent, I should go talk to them, though I hated to leave Claire alone. But, as the saying goes, I “worked the crowd” before the president called the meeting to order. I greeted Barbara Wright and her husband. They loved their house on Fairmont that Anthony and I redid. The fact that we found a skeleton in it didn’t bother them at all. “It’s made great cocktail conversation at a couple of parties,” she said. I noted their neighbor, Mrs. Glenn, wasn’t there—probably afraid to come out at night. Ralph Hoskins sat in the front row, and I didn’t go up there to talk to him. He told me he would be part of the evening’s program. I spoke to a few other clients and overheard one lady say, “I don’t know how she can show her face in public.” I followed her line of vision, and she was staring at Claire. What’s that old Indian saying about not judging a man until you’ve walked a mile in his moccasins?
Mitzi Greene, association president, banged her gavel on the podium, and the buzz in the room quieted. Mitzi said, “We all know why we’re here at this meeting. I’ve asked Officer Mike Shandy to speak to us about safety precautions and how real this danger is and also to tell us what the police are doing about this killer in our midst.”
I resisted a fierce urge to look around the room for an obvious killer, sitting there in the midst of the room, and then I covered my mouth with my hand. Mike stood up just then, his eyes caught mine, and he knew what I was thinking. Chances were higher than ordinary that the killer was in the room that night.
When someone you love gets up to speak before a crowd, it’s natural to be nervous. I’d never heard Mike speak in public before, and I twisted my hands together until Claire reached over and separated them. Then she smiled at me.
Mike did very well. He thanked people for allowing him this opportunity, then spoke directly. Yes, there appeared to be someone targeting older women. No, he wouldn’t call two murders evidence of a serial killer but recent events called for extra caution on the part of residents of all ages. He talked about the usual precautions—windows and doors locked, outside lights at night, and said it wasn’t wise for women to go out alone at night, although he reminded everyone these two “events”—that’s what he called the murders—did not happen after dark. He urged people to watch out for their neighbors, phone in any suspicious persons or events. “I won’t tell you that our phones aren’t overwhelmed,” he said with a grin, “they are. But we’d rather you call than ignore anything that bothers you. Police have added extra patrols in the neighborhood and extra people to man the phones in the local station. We’re doing everything we can,” he said, “and we urge you to do the same. But please don’t panic!”
Of course, there were questions. Ralph Hoskins had the first one. “Why can’t the police find out who did it, track down people these ladies know, and so on?”
Mike tried to be patient. “We can’t be accusing everyone they know, and so far we’ve found no connection between the two women.”
Hoskins looked agitated at that and muttered something about neighbors taking it into their own hands.
Mike cut off questions when they got repetitive and meaningless. Three people asked about copycat killers, and one wanted to know if the FBI should be called in. Mike handled it all with good humor but then excused himself. “I have to get back out there on the streets and keep you all safe,” he said and drew a small bit of laughter. Most people weren’t laughing.
Mitzi introduced Ralph Hoskins who led the neighborhood task force. “We have to do this ourselves, since the police are getting nowhere,” he said. “I’ve got about twenty volunteers, and we’re going door to door talking to people, trying to reassure them.”
Trying to scare them is more like it.
“If we get more volunteers, we can patrol the neighborhood in pairs during the day, driving of course.”
How would that help them see into people’s back yards? I kept quiet.
Hoskins had an elaborate plan for block captains, and he explained about sign-up sheets on tables at the back of the auditorium. When the meeting adjourned, I saw people rushing to the sign-up tables. I wasn’t one of them. Claire declined too with the simple comment, “I’m not afraid, and I’ve got too many other things on my mind right now.”
As we walked past the tables, Claire spotted a knot of three women staring at her. Suddenly, she left my side and went to them, hand outstretched, “Hi, ladies. I’m Claire Guthrie. Have we met?”
They stumbled and mumbled and said they didn’t think so. Reluctantly each one shook hands with Claire and gave her name. Claire favored them with a big smile and said, “Appearances can be so deceiving, don’t you think?” And then she sailed out the door, leaving me to follow in her wake. I knew again why I liked Claire Guthrie, whatever she’d done.
When I parked in the driveway, Claire said a quick good night and went to the apartment, though I invited her in for a glass of wine. “Thanks, but I’ll take a rain check. Wore me out fending off all those dirty looks.”
Joe and Theresa had the girls sound asleep, and I knew it was late for them to be out—they both had early mornings. So we hugged, I said thank you, and they were gone. I had the house to myself.
Mike didn’t come in until about eleven, by which time I’d fallen asleep in one of the big chairs. It was nice to be awakened by a gentle kiss, but then I was sort of alarmed I didn’t hear him come in.
“You were really out,” he said. “Did the meeting wear you out that much? Was it my speech?”
“No,” I said, stretching sleepily. “You were good—and you didn’t talk too long like Ralph Hoskins did.”
Mike threw a sofa pillow at me. Then he looked more serious. “I hung around back for a couple of minutes, heard Hoskins get going. He’s sure out to trash the cops, and he wants to be a hero. Suppose he’s obsessed with this whole thing?”
“Like the arsonist who comes back to watch the fire he set? I can’t see it. I think he’s lonely and bored, and he’s found a mission. Gives him something to do, something to care about.”
****
The girls were teary about my leaving them—we hadn’t been apart for a whole weekend since they were born. But Keisha promised them all kinds of fun, and they sent me off with tight hugs and sent love to their grandmother, whom they didn’t know. All Claire said was, “Good luck.” And Mike took me to the airport early that Friday morning. I wish I could say I left all thoughts of the girls, Claire, and the serial killer behind as the plane took off and banked, but I didn’t.
Mom, however, was enough to distract me. I rented a car, but Chicago had changed so much, particularly its freeway system, that I nearly got lost getting to the home of my childhood. Once I got there, I was astounded. Mom sorted indeed—she had boxes and boxes packed and labeled—some for Good Will, probably too many for Texas. Much of the furniture had big tags—Fort Worth or Good Will.
“Mom?” I asked. The obvious question hung in the air.
“Hennie—that’s my agent—said much the same thing you did. Only she said it more bluntly.”
And I thought I’d been pretty blunt.
“So I really got to work, and you’re right, of course. There’s no sense shipping things across country that I won’t use.”
Mom seemed to have taken charge once she decided on the move. I couldn’t have been more delighted. Oh, there were still a few minor battles to be fought.
The old brown recliner had a Fort Worth tag on it. “Mom, let’s not send that recliner. Your house has a blue and yellow theme—bright colors, not dull.”
“That was your father’s favorite chair….”
“Well, think about it.” I suspected the chair would go to Texas.
Mom made her meatloaf, mashed potatoes and creamed corn—my favorite meal from my childhood, and she had white wine chilling in the fridge. She tried to make this visit a success, and I was determined to meet her efforts. I didn’t dare ask about financial papers that night.
But I did ask the next day. She spread everything out for me, while saying, “I don’t know why you don’t trust me.”
I sighed. “It’s not that, Mom. I just want to make sure you’re doing the right thing and will be comfortable.” Turned out she would be more than comfortable. My dad left her with half a million in investments, all in secure things like bonds. Unless the Great Depression came back, Mom would be fine. She could even splurge a little. I saw that she lived on social security plus the income from the investments and didn’t dip into the principal. What could be better?
I talked to her about transferring her assets to Fort Worth banks, changing her address for the investments she had, and generally how to go about the move, and she seemed to understand. (Why did I regard my mom as though early senility had set in? I realized she was quite capable when she didn’t want to play the clinging role—a thought I would keep in mind.) She balked most at selling her 1990 Buick but I convinced her it wasn’t worth shipping. She of course remained convinced the car was a jewel and the dealer we sold to cheated her. Mom muttered about all car dealers being alike.
The much-talked-about Hennie came by, bringing lunch of deli sandwiches and iced tea. I liked her immediately and thanked her for helping my mom. “My pleasure,” she said. And then it was on to business—closing and all the details I wanted to know.
Saturday evening we went to an Italian restaurant that I remembered from my childhood, and after Mom consumed two glasses of Chianti—I can’t stand the stuff—I told her Keisha would be staying with her. “You know Keisha. You’ve talked to her on the phone.”
Mom thought for a long minute. “Yes, I know Keisha. She’s black, isn’t she? And sort of strange?”
“Yes, Mom, she’s black and maybe sort of strange in the way she dresses—but she is one of my best and most trusted friends. She’s with the girls this weekend.”
“And why is she staying with me? I live alone here and am perfectly fine. I don’t need a caretaker.”
I traced the pattern in the checkered tablecloth with my finger. “There’s been some trouble in the neighborhood. Some assaults on older women. We want to be sure you’ll be safe.”
Mom considered this. “I know that’s not a good neighborhood you live in, Kelly, but I never thought you’d put me in danger.”
“That’s why Keisha’s staying. Believe me, you won’t be in danger with her around.”
Mom shook her head. “I don’t know about this, Kelly. I have some strange feelings.”
I waved them off. Maybe I should have listened.
****
By Sunday, I was ready to go home, antsy even. I talked to the girls four times, and they were having the time of their lives. Keisha took them to Curley’s for hot dogs, to the zoo, to ride the zoo train, to the Cowgirl Museum and Hall of Fame. She ordered pizza for them and let them stay up past ten o’clock. I thought I’d have a terrible time once I got home whipping them back into shape.
And I’d talked to Mike twice—sort of nothing conversations. We missed each other, everything was fine, no nothing happened in Fairmount. We closed on the sale of the house on Monday, I helped Mom with the transfer of her banking, and then I left at noon on Tuesday. She would fly down in the next weekend.
