Not Guilty (29 page)

Oh my God,
she thought. “What about it?” she asked.

Dylan shifted around, as if the afghan were scratching him, as if what he was trying to say was making him physically uncomfortable. Keely forced herself to wait, not to nudge him. There was something that he needed to say, even if she didn’t want to hear it.

“You’re going to kill me,” he said.

Keely forced herself to remain calm. “I don’t think I’ll kill you,” she said, trying to sound offhanded. “I just got you home.” Her attempt at insouciance failed. She could hear the tremor in her own voice. “But I’m not going to let you off the hook now. Too much at stake.”

Dylan hesitated. “He left a note,” he said flatly.

Keely stared at him. “A note?”

“A . . . suicide note. On the computer. I erased it.”

Keely felt tears rush to her eyes. The day of Richard’s suicide came back to her, vivid as if it had been yesterday. “Dylan,” she said. She looked at him in disbelief.

“I knew you’d go crazy if I told you this.”

Don’t,
she warned herself.
Don’t punish him for telling you the truth. This is the burden he had to let go of.
But she could not help but blurt out, “Why did you do that?”

“Because I’m bad, all right? I’m bad, bad, bad.”

“Dylan, don’t you say that. You’re not bad. You were never bad. I don’t want to hear that from you ever again,” she said sharply. “I’m glad you told me. I just don’t understand. Why did you do it? What did it say?”

He closed his eyes and shook his head. “I don’t know. I don’t know.” Then he sighed. “Yes, I do.”

She waited, watching him closely.

“It’s what you were saying . . . I was afraid—”

“Afraid?” she cried. “Afraid of what?”

“I didn’t want you to know. I thought you would be mad at him,” he said in a small voice.

“Mad at him? Are you serious? He shot himself, for God’s sake.”

“See? I knew I shouldn’t tell you.”

Keely raised her hands as if in surrender. “Sorry,” she said, taking a deep breath. “I’m sorry.”

“I didn’t know what to do. I was nine years old,” he cried.

She nodded. “I understand. I’m sorry. Dylan, what did it say?”

“I don’t remember everything,” he said miserably.

“Tell me what you do remember,” she demanded.

“I knew you’d be pissed.”

“I have to know,” she said. “Was it about the headaches?”

“It wasn’t the headaches,” he cried. “That’s what I meant.”

Keely stared at him. “Then what? Please, honey. I’m not mad. Just tell me . . .”

“He killed someone,” Dylan said bluntly.

“Dylan, my God!” she exclaimed.

“I’m not lying, Mom. The note was on the monitor screen when I found him. I read it only once, but I’ll never forget that part. He and some friend of his did it. And he felt guilty. He couldn’t live with how guilty he felt anymore. That’s what it said.”

“I just can’t . . . I don’t . . .” Keely shook her head.

Dylan leaned toward her. She could see his eyes now, wide and haunted. “I don’t know, Mom. I was nine years old. I came in the room. I saw him there on the floor. I read what he wrote. It was on the screen. Some of the words I didn’t even know. I was only in fourth grade. I couldn’t even figure out what parts of it said. He said he’d killed someone. I know that. He and a friend of his. And he couldn’t live with himself any more. I didn’t know . . . I didn’t want you to see it. So I erased it. I’m sorry, Mom.”

Keely pressed the heels of her hands against her eyes. “Oh my God,” she said.

“I know I shouldn’t have. I was just afraid to tell you.”

She gazed up at her son with tears in her eyes. She could still picture him at nine years old, small and knobby-kneed. Still halfway believing in Santa and the tooth fairy. Confronting a reality that no one—certainly no child—should ever have to face. Thinking, despite the horror of it all, that he would try to shield his mother somehow. The image was devastating—a heartbroken little boy deciding to protect her. “Oh, Dylan, you were just a little child. How could you know? You thought you were doing the right thing.”

“You’re not mad at me?” he asked.

Keely shook her head. “No, of course not, darling. How were you to know? Nothing could ever have prepared you for that moment.”

Dylan let out a deep sigh. “Wow. You’re really not mad?”

“No,” she said, shaking her head. “Of course not. You were trying to spare me. But who? Who did he kill? And why? It’s impossible. He would have told me. And who was the friend? Did it say?”

“I don’t remember,” Dylan admitted miserably. “But lately I’ve been wondering . . .”

They stared at one another in the dimness. Keely’s eyes widened.
“Mark?” she whispered.

Dylan gazed back at her. “That’s what I was wondering.”

“Oh God, what did he mean?” she cried. “Not to know—it’s just . . .so frustrating. Never to know . . .”

“Actually, I’ve been thinking about that,” Dylan said. Throwing off the afghan, he drew his knees up to his chin and wrapped his arms around the legs of his sweatpants, resting his chin on his kneecaps.

She looked over at him, surprised.

“I’ve been thinking. There might be a way . . .”

She rested her hands limply in her lap and stared at him. “What?” she said. “What are you saying?”

I
ngrid Bennett answered the door wearing a long, teal-blue velour bathrobe and fuzzy pink slippers. Dylan’s face broke into a grin at the sight of her. “Hey, Grandma,” he cried, wrapping her in a bear hug.

Ingrid put her arms around him, patting the leather jacket he wore with both hands, as if she wasn’t quite sure he was real. “Hello, sweetheart. I was so glad to hear you were back at home. Did you sleep well in your own bed last night?” she asked, pulling back to look worriedly into his eyes with a searching gaze.

Keely and Dylan exchanged a glance. “I had a little trouble sleeping at first,” he said. “But I’m okay,” he said. “Mom says you’re the one who’s sick.”

Ingrid looked up at Keely, who was standing behind her son on the doorstep. “I’m doing better,” she said faintly. “Come in. Let me get you something to eat.”

“I don’t want anything to eat, Grandma,” said Dylan firmly. “I just came here to see you.”

“That’s right,” said Keely, bustling in, with Abby in her arms.
“Ingrid, you should get back in bed, where you belong.”

“I can sit up for a while,” Ingrid insisted. “It’s so good to see you,” she said to Dylan. “Does it hurt?” she asked, indicating the bandage on his neck.

“Not too much,” said Dylan.

Ingrid crept over to her favorite chair and seated herself gingerly. She sighed and gazed at Dylan, her sad eyes glistening. “You scared me half to death, you know.”

“I’m sorry, Grandma,” he mumbled.

“How’s the bland diet going?” Keely asked. “Is it helping?” She set Abby down and pulled out the bucket of toys from the hall closet. Abby dove into it contentedly.

Ingrid shrugged. “It helps,” she said. “That and the liquid the doctor gave me. Although I hate the taste of that stuff. It’s like drinking liquid chalk. I have to go for x-rays again in two weeks, but I can feel that it’s getting better. But I haven’t got anything good to offer you. You should have told me you were coming.”

“That’s exactly why we didn’t tell you,” said Keely. “We knew you’d be up cleaning and cooking things when you ought to be in bed.”

“I do get tired,” Ingrid admitted.

“Come on, Grandma. Let me help you back to your room,” said Dylan.

Ingrid looked at him in disbelief. “What are you talking about? Miss your visit? I wouldn’t dream of it.”

“You won’t miss my visit,” said Dylan. “I thought I’d stay over tonight. So I can keep an eye on you.”

“Oh, honey, no,” said Ingrid, alarmed. “Nothing is ready. The sewing room is a mess. The daybed isn’t even made up. You should have called me.”

“Right,” said Dylan. “So you could get sick all over again by lifting mattresses and going to the grocery store.”

“I’ll fix up the sewing room,” said Keely, “if you want him to stay, that is.”

Ingrid’s eyes gleamed. “If I want him . . .” she scoffed.

“And I’m going to cook,” said Keely. “I’ll run to the store and get you some supplies. I would have done it sooner, but . . .”

“Don’t worry, honey, I know,” said Ingrid, and Keely felt herself blushing at the unfamiliar endearment from her former mother-in-law.

“First, let me get in there,” Keely said, “and make up the daybed.” She turned and pointed at Ingrid, who had started to rise from her chair. “Sit. I know where everything is.”

Ingrid sighed and sat back down. Dylan settled himself beside her
on the floor and leaned his forehead against her robed knees. She reached out a hand and rested it on his newly shaved head. Keely’s heart ached at the sight of them, both suffering, each one looking to the other for solace.

Keely walked down the hall to the sewing room and flipped on the light. The room was in a state of disarray, as if Ingrid had been interrupted and called away in the middle of a major project. As she straightened up the bolts of fabric and piles of recipes, she kept glancing at the computer on the corner desk.

At first, she had protested about Dylan’s plan. But he insisted that he had figured it all out. Ingrid still used his father’s old computer. Keely had offered it to her when they moved back here because Mark had brand-new equipment and they didn’t really need Richard’s outmoded model. But it was possible that a file with Richard’s suicide note was still contained in the computer. Once Ingrid was asleep and he was alone in the guest room, Dylan intended to search for it. Keely realized that her son understood computers in a way she never could. He took after his father. If the letter was still in there, he would be the one who was able to find it.

“I’ll stay up all night,” he said, “if I have to.”

Keely had protested that he needed his sleep.

“I need this more,” he had said.

She knew that what he said was true. One thing they agreed on—that it would only be upsetting and horrifying to Ingrid to know what he was trying to do. That’s why they didn’t plan to tell her.

Keely could hear the murmur of their voices in the living room, punctuated by Abby’s merry mumblings. She hated to be deceptive, but it was the only way she was going to find out. Dylan could remember only that the note said Richard and a friend had caused a death, about which Richard felt terribly guilty. Richard and Mark had known each other for years. Everyone in town had told her what great friends they had been. And yet, she never remembered Richard mentioning Mark during their courtship and their marriage. Something had come between them. She had always assumed that it was time and distance. Mark never indicated anything else. But what if it was more than that?
And what if it had something to do with Mark’s death? If there was a connection, she had to know.

Keely tucked the corners of the sheets under the daybed mattress and stuffed the pillowcase with a down pillow. Dylan wanted to do something to help. She had the feeling that if he managed to find that note, it would do him more good than any amount of rest. Taking a deep breath, she went back down the hall to the living room.

“All right,” she said cheerfully. “I’m off to the grocery store to get some food for dinner. What else do you need? How about some soup? Or some pudding? I’ll make you some pudding, shall I?”

Ingrid smiled, her face more peaceful than Keely had seen it in a long time. “That sounds good,” she agreed. The presence of Dylan was a balm for Ingrid’s spirit.

“Get me some Ring Dings,” said Dylan.

“Ring Dings!” Keely protested.

Ingrid laughed indulgently.

“All right,” said Keely. “Consider it done.”

She made her foray out to the grocery store, although it was difficult to concentrate on her shopping. When she returned, Dylan and Ingrid were seated together on the sofa, ruminating over their cards in a serious game of gin rummy, while Abby was watching a cartoon on TV.

Keely went into the kitchen to start supper, and, as she negotiated the unfamiliar cabinets, she made a quick phone call to Tarantino’s. To her relief, Gina answered the phone. Keely identified herself in a low voice and asked about Wade.

“I don’t know where he is,” Gina said. “He never came back.”

“He didn’t call to say he wasn’t coming back?” Keely asked.

“Nope,” said Gina. “Nothin’. We found the delivery car, with the keys in it, parked in the mall here.”

“Do you think you could give me his home phone and address? It’s really important that I reach him,” Keely said.

“I’m not supposed to,” said Gina. There was a brief silence. “Ah, what the hell. He’d have a lot of nerve complainin’.”

“Thank you,” said Keely, as she quickly wrote down the information and stuffed it in her pocket. Just as Keely was hanging up the phone,
Ingrid came into the kitchen. “You finding everything all right?” Ingrid asked.

“No problem,” said Keely firmly. “Now you go sit down. Leave everything to me.

K
EELY AND
A
BBY
STAYED
until just after dinner and a hasty cleanup. Then Keely gathered up Abby’s things and said good night.
“I’ll come back and get him in the morning,” Keely said.

“Maybe I’ll want to keep him,” Ingrid said, her eyes twinkling.

“You can’t have him,” said Keely good-naturedly. She gave Dylan a brief hug. “Good luck,” she whispered. Dylan pulled away from her, pretending not to have heard. But before the door closed behind her, they exchanged a glance and he nodded.

Keely took Abby to the SUV, buckled her into the car seat in the back, and then climbed into the front seat. She pulled Wade’s address out of her pocket. She wanted to drive there right this minute, but after that close call of the previous night, she was not going to risk it with Abby riding with her. For a minute, she thought about what to do. Then, her lips set in a determined line, she drove to her street, past her own house, and turned into the Warners’ driveway.

She knocked on the door, and Nicole answered. “Hi,” the girl said brightly.

“Hi,” said Keely. “How are you?”

“Good,” said Nicole. “Come in. Is Dylan still at his grandmother’s?”

Keely was taken aback at first, and then she remembered that Dylan had called Nicole to say they couldn’t come for dinner because they were going to Ingrid’s. “He’s spending the night there,” Keely said.
“Listen, Nicole, I know this is last minute, but I was wondering if I could leave Abby here with you for just a short while.”

“Sure,” she said. “Hang on a minute. I’ll tell my dad you’re here.”

“No, really. I have to run,” said Keely apologetically.

At that moment Dan Warner, holding the sports section of the daily paper in his right hand, came out into the hallway. “Keely, hello,” he said cheerfully.

“Hi, Dan. I just was telling Nicole, I need to leave Abby with you for just a little while.”

“That’s fine,” said Dan. “Where are you heading?” Keely felt her face redden, and she pointed vaguely in the direction of the SUV. “I just need to . . . um . . . go see someone for a few minutes.”

“Honey, take Abby into the other room, will you?” he said.

Nicole obediently picked up Abby. “Come with me,” Nicole murmured. “I’ve got a cookie for you. Yes, I do.”

Keely forced a smile. “Thanks a lot,” she said. “I know this is short notice . . .”

Dan frowned at her. “When Dylan called Nicole today, he told her about you being run off the road last night,” he said abruptly.

Keely sighed. “Oh. That was just . . . it could have happened to anybody. So many impatient drivers out there these days.”

“And he told her about the guy from Tarantino’s Pizza. That he wants money from you.”

Dylan!
Keely thought angrily. She couldn’t believe he was broadcasting their business all over town. She was going to have to make it clear to him that this was something they needed to keep between themselves. Dan was staring at her, waiting for an explanation. “Oh, you know kids,” she said airily. “They love to make everything sound so dramatic.”

Dan laid the paper down on the hall table and peered at her, his arms folded across his broad chest. “Don’t blame him for telling her. He’s worried about all this stuff.”

Keely sighed. “I know,” she admitted, avoiding his gaze.

“Has this little errand tonight got something to do with all that?”

Keely considered lying, but there was something about Dan that precluded the possibility. “I have to try to find this guy. I have his home address.”