Chapter Twelve
Jim Guthrie died the night before Halloween. Mike called about nine o’clock. The girls were in bed. We’d been having this battle—Maggie insisted that since she was a lofty third-grader, she didn’t have to go to bed the same time as a kindergartner. When she announced this, Em said resignedly, “Whatever!” So now Em went to bed at eight and Maggie at eight-thirty. But Em never went to sleep until Maggie went down, and it was all self defeating. Anyway, this night they were both in bed, sound asleep.
“Is Claire with you?”
“No.”
“Is she outside?”
“I think so. I think I heard her car just a few minutes ago. You know, she’s started her job, and she doesn’t eat with us much anymore. What’s up?”
“Jim Guthrie ran his car into a freeway wall tonight. Looks like he died on impact.” Mike was never gentle about delivering bad news, at least to me.
I gasped and struggled for a minute to take this in. Finally I asked, “Where?”
“Looks like he couldn’t make up his mind between the Summit and Forest Park exits, started for Summit, changed his mind, and tried to get back on the freeway. Hit the concrete divider. Car’s a total wreck, and, as I said, he’s dead.”
Stop repeating that, Mike!
“Could be he fell asleep. He smells of alcohol. Autopsy will check that out.”
My mind jumped to what an awful job Mike had. He got close enough to the victim to realize that there was an alcohol odor. “Autopsy?”
“Always, on a death like this.”
“I guess I better go tell Claire.” If there was anything I didn’t want to do, that was it.
“No, that’s my job. I’ll do it. But you stand by, please.”
Murmuring, “Okay,” I hung up the phone and sat in stunned silence.
Of course, Maggie came right into the room—the child did have sixth sense. And Em followed her.
“What’s happened, Mom? You look awful.”
Thank you, Maggie.
“Is Mike all right?” That was Em’s first concern.
“No one is all right,” I managed to say. “Mr. Guthrie wrecked his car on the freeway tonight. He’s dead. Mike’s coming to tell Claire. The most important thing you girls can do is go back to bed.”
“Mom!” Maggie protested.
“Maggie, I rarely treat you like children, but this is a matter for adults. You go on now. I’ll come tuck you both in.”
“Okay,” Em said belligerently, “but I won’t go to sleep.”
“Oh, you will too,” Maggie said.
“Will not!” came the chant.
I used that voice with them that I seldom did. “Girls, NOW!” They scampered off to bed, and I tucked each of them in, promising we’d talk in the morning, if Miss Claire wasn’t around.
I sat in the living room and remembered how I felt when Buck Conroy told me Tim was murdered. Numb, unbelieving, unsure of how I was supposed to feel. I was pretty sure that was what Claire would be feeling. How do you react when a man you once loved but now feel so distanced from dies? I heard Mike drive up and wished I were a fly on the wall so I could hear the conversation.
I didn’t have to wait long. There was a slight knock on the back door, and then Mike brought Claire in. She was wide-eyed, as shocky as she’d been the night she shot Jim.
“Kelly, give Claire a glass of wine, call her lawyer, and talk to her. I can’t, and she’s too upset to dial the phone right now. She should say nothing to me without counsel present.” He was businesslike.
I got the wine and asked her if I should call Terrell Johnson or Angus Mitchell. Before she could answer, Mike said, “I’ve got to get back on duty. See you later.” He gave me a quick kiss, took Claire’s hand, and said, “I’m sorry, Claire. I know this is awful for you.”
She just stared at him. After he left, she said, “Call Angus, please. Mike told me I’d be a ‘person of interest’ if toxicology showed anything besides alcohol, and I want a seasoned lawyer. This may change everything—since Jim is no longer Angus’ client, he might take over my entire defense. But, Lord, Kelly, I’m the person who shot at him. I didn’t try to kill him, but still, how bad does that look?”
I poured her a glass of chardonnay and waited, wondering why she thought the blood tests would show anything besides alcohol. “I just saw him. I mean I left him not thirty minutes ago. We ordered drinks in the bar at the Worthington Hotel. Jim said he didn’t feel well, had a horrendous headache, and I gave him two aspirin. Then he said he thought he better go, but I ran into someone I know and stayed for a few minutes.”
“Did you see the wreck on the freeway?”
She shook her head. “I came home on Henderson. I never could understand why Jim always got on the freeway to come home from downtown—it’s so close. But I did hear sirens. He was alive and well—okay, not feeling good, but well—just a little bit ago. I can’t believe this.”
I called Angus Mitchell, who said, “Kelly O’Connell! Again?”
When I explained the situation, he said, “I’ll be right over. Give me your address.” And I did.
Claire and I didn’t talk much while we waited. She did say Jim agreed to be more reasonable about the divorce terms, and she thought they were moving toward a settlement she could accept. “I don’t know what will happen now.” She put her head in her hands, a perfect picture of despair.
I asked about the girls, and she said that Angus would go with her to tell them. “They both adored him,” she added, and I wondered if she needed to convince me or her oldest daughter. I knew that they both lived with Jim, but Megan was there because she couldn’t afford anything else and her mother’s place wouldn’t stretch for two. Jim refused to pay her tuition at TCU, and she attended the local community college. I hadn’t seen her since summer, but Claire told me Megan took her situation in stride and hoped for a TCU scholarship. It occurred to me that with Jim dead, she stood a better chance of a scholarship—no family money to support her.
Angus Mitchell arrived a few minutes later, looking impeccable as always, and Claire walked into his comforting embrace. I offered to excuse myself. But Claire said, “No, Angus and I have to go see the girls.” She hugged me. “Thank you, once again. You always seem to be my savior.”
I didn’t walk them to the front door, but out of the corner of my eye, I did see Angus put a protective arm around her. Then she shouted, “He did what? He can’t do that! We’re not divorced yet.” With a backward glance at me, Angus closed the door behind him, and I went to lock it. As I turned toward my bedroom, I saw both girls dart into their rooms. They’d been eavesdropping. I was too tired to deal with it and pretended not to notice.
When Mike came home, I was curled up in bed, in a fetal position, hiding from the world. Somewhere in the back of my mind, something bothered me, but I couldn’t put my finger on it. I didn’t get up for our usual late-night visit, and when Mike came to bed, he kissed me and whispered, “Yeah, I know. I’m worried too,” and turned over to go to sleep.
****
I slept hard and barely heard the alarm, had no idea if or when Claire came home. I had just ushered the girls out the back door for school when Claire came in the front, still dressed as she was last night, which gave me pause and a not-so-nice thought.
“I spent the night with the girls,” she explained. “It was a long night and I didn’t get much sleep. I’m moving out today, Kelly, with thanks for all you’ve done for me.”
Astounded, I stammered. “Can we talk about it after I get the girls to school?” Maggie and Em were dressed in their Halloween costumes for the big party at school. Maggie looked homeless—in addition to the odd mixture of oversize and too small clothes we’d thrown together, she’d left her hair uncombed—a wild mess that curly hair—and managed to run outside and daub a little dirt on her face. Em looked elfin in the cat costume that Claire crafted out of some leftover gold and brown fabric she’d found somewhere—or did she buy it?—and some yarn from her endless bag of yarn. I had my very own calico cat.
She nodded. “I’d like to. I’ll be outside packing.” Then she noticed the girls. “You look wonderful! Em, you’re Miss Emily.”
Em repeated it, “I am Miss Emily. I like that.” The child was dismayed, more at the departure of Emily the cat than at the idea of Claire’s absence. “Can I go say goodbye to Emily?”
“Em, we’re late for school as it is.”
Claire put an arm around her and promised, “I’ll leave Emily here until you come home and you can go see her. And you can come see her often after I leave.”
Satisfied, Em headed for the car. Maggie never felt as sure about Claire—maybe because she was older and more suspicious, maybe the cat thing—but she surprised me by reaching out for a hug and telling Claire, “I’ll miss you.”
Claire tweaked her nose. “You do look homeless—what’s your name?”
Maggie thought a minute. “Bertha.”
“Bertha? Why that?”
“I’ve never known anyone named Bertha, so I just thought it sounded right.”
“So do I. I’ll miss you, Maggie, and Gus. Are you sure it’s not my cooking you’ll miss?”
“Well, that too,” Maggie said with a grin.
I knew very well who wouldn’t miss Claire—Mr. Still Asleep in the bedroom.
****
As I drove back home after depositing the girls, I remembered the last time Claire asked me to come home for a talk and then vanished. I wondered if she’d done that again, but she was there when I knocked on the door. I stopped on the way to pick up the morning paper, with a headline that screamed, “PROMINENT BUSINESSMAN KILLED IN ONE-CAR CRASH.” I left that paper in the car.
The room wasn’t the mess I’d expected. Claire Guthrie was even neat about packing, and sometime this morning she’d found some boxes to put her things in. “Coffee?” she asked, and I nodded.
“How are the girls?” I asked, as she continued her packing.
“Predictable. Liz was hysterical, Megan, calm. I have a feeling there are some things Megan isn’t telling me. I don’t think you’ve seen her but she’s come to spend the night with me a few times, said she just wanted to get out of that house.”
“So you’re moving back in?”
“Right, and taking up some long overdue mothering.” She wiped a tear from one eye. “Jim left the house to Liz, in trust of course until she’s twenty-one, but she thought she would live there and allow her sister to stay with her. It didn’t occur to her that I would move back in. I explained that no seventeen-year-old should be left on her own without a supervising parent, and Angus explained the legal ramifications, but none of it got through. It’s not going to be pleasant. I’m going to have to take up some reins that Jim dropped, with his drinking and running around town.”
“Does she still blame you for shooting Jim?”
“Yes, and she somehow thinks his death is my fault.”
I wanted to ask, “Is it?” but I bit my tongue. “What can I do to help?”
She shrugged. “Bring the girls to visit. Let me come back here occasionally. This has been a real refuge for me.”
“You got it,” I said. “Do you need help moving all this?”
“No, Angus said he’d send somebody later this morning.” She stared at me, now clear-eyed, and said, “Kelly, you’ve been a godsend. I don’t know how I’d have gotten through this without you.” She seemed to forget she still had a whole bunch of legal problems facing her.
The next thing I knew I was engulfed in a hug, the warmest sign of affection Claire ever showed me. I hugged back and then, wishing her well, went back inside the house—and of course right to the bedroom where I woke Mike to tell him the news. After a few groans, he woke up enough to understand what I said and muttered, “Good. I’ll feel better about things now.”
Throwing back the covers, he asked, “Care to join me?”
I slapped his hand away and laughed. “I’m a working woman with an office to run, and I’m late. No, I’ll talk to you later.
“Yeah, I want to talk to you. I think we’ll cancel Halloween this year.”
That thought troubled me as I drove to the office. I knew why Mike wanted to cancel it, and why he couldn’t get off tonight to take the girls trick or treating—every beat cop would be out in the neighborhood tonight, and Mike warned that there would be few front porch lights on.
Fear prevailed in Fairmount these days and dictated the activities. I saw gardens wither because older ladies were afraid to go out to water. And people talked about the serial killer, sometimes in low and sometimes in loud tones, in restaurants, grocery lines, almost anywhere you went. At least Anthony had work at Mrs. Glenn’s house—and I did get a little income from Mom’s house. That reminded me—Mom! She’d better come spend the evening with us.
