Twisted Reason (10 page)

“Or maybe they’re trying to drive me crazy. Gaslight me like they did to that pretty Ingrid Bergman. She saved herself from that bastard – and you better watch out, I will, too.”

Underneath this layer of outrage and paranoia toward others, Sherry harbored a more intense anger and frustration with herself. She remembered that she was supposed to do something that day. She recalled waking up with a plan. But she was certain that she hadn’t followed through with it. Worst of all, she had no recollection of what it was she planned to do.
I should have written a note. I should make lists like I used to do.

She dug around in drawers until she found a pad of paper and a pen. But then she didn’t know what to do. It went beyond not knowing what she wanted to write down. It was far more elemental. She looked at the paper. She looked at the pen. And she couldn’t remember how to bring them together to put words down. She turned them both around in her hands, looking at them from every angle. But nothing came to her. She threw them both as hard as she could. The pen bounced against the wall, the pad fluttered its pages in the air and fell to the floor before making it halfway to its destination.

Fat teardrops formed in her eyes and plopped on to her cheekbones before travelling down to her chin. She wiped angrily at them as they hung there, mumbling her irritation with the itching sensation they caused.
Maybe I told someone what I wanted to do. Maybe if I asked, someone would remember.

At that thought her tears dried – now she had something to do. She placed a hand on the bed on either side of her hips. She tried to push her body up but the mattress was too soft and her arms too weak. She placed her palms on her knees, leaned forward, and straightened into an upright position. A proud smile crossed her face as she walked to her front door.

She turned the knob and pulled. It didn’t open. She leaned backwards, putting her weight into the task but the door would not yield. She turned the lock on the doorknob and repeated the process but still had no luck. She beat on the door and yelled. But no one came.

She kicked the door until she was aware of the growing pain in her foot. She sat on the edge of the bed, removed her shoes and saw blood on one big toe. She hobbled into the bathroom, got the box of bandages and limped back to the bed with her big toe raised up away from the floor. She covered the injury and slumped in defeat.
The door was locked. I’m a prisoner. They locked me in to keep me from getting food. The window . . . I’ll climb out the window.

The thought of grabbing the cord and pulling up the drapes never occurred to her. Instead she fought with the fabric, tugging on it, pulling at it, fumbling with the folds until the gap revealed itself. She tunneled her way behind it but the big picture window defied her. It had no ledge to grab and lift, no seams to exploit. She thought about breaking the glass but the fear of a bad cut stopped her. She slapped the glass lightly as if she thought she’d hit a magic spot and slide through to the other side like Alice through the looking glass.

The bathroom window popped into her thoughts. Instead of pulling backward and letting the drapes slide over and off of her head, she fought with them, panicking when it seemed they were holding her captive. The fabric brushed against her face like bird wings. A vision of Tippi Hedren in Hitchcock’s
The Birds
filled her vision, cruel beaks pecking at her scalp, wicked claws grabbing for her face.

Sherry closed her eyes and flapped her hands around her head trying to chase away the imagined feathered demons. She squirmed in terror and, without knowing how she managed it, she broke free. Nothing touched her face, the birds’ screams faded away. For a moment, she dared not move – she stood still, panting and trembling. Slowly, she opened her eyes. The birds were gone. She scanned the room fearing she’d see one perched on her headboard, on a lamp, on the frame of a door. But not one was in sight.

The bathroom window
. She took a step in that direction and stopped.
What if the birds are in the bathroom? Waiting to attack me? But it’s my only way out.
She pressed her palms hard against her thudding heart. She took one tentative step after another until she reached the doorway. She peered around the room but saw no sign of them.
What if they’re hiding behind the shower curtain?

Cautious, she placed one foot after another until her shins touched the edge of the tub. She reached out one hand, grabbing the plastic covering. She inhaled deeply, held her breath and jerked back the curtain.

She choked out a sound halfway between a laugh and a cry. No birds. She steadied her breath and stepped one foot after the other over the edge of the tub. The window was set up high – she had to stand on tiptoes to reach the latch. She flipped it open, grabbed the ledge and pushed up but it wouldn’t budge.

She tried again and again – veins popping out on her neck, face flushing bright red – until her arms ached from the effort. She tried to wriggle her fingers around the sill and slip them under the sash but the gap was far too narrow.

She leaned forward pressing her hot forehead against the cool tile on the wall and sobbed. She slid down slowly, crumpling into a defeated heap. She lay on her side, curled up and cried herself to sleep.

Seventeen

Lucinda pulled into the driveway of the house belonging to Adele Kendlesohn’s son and daughter-in-law. She curled her lip in disgust. Another huge brick monstrosity with pompous two-story columns that she felt looked more like an institution than a home.

 Lucinda and Jumbo walked onto the porch and rang the bell. Dogs barked in response, while a fluffy black cat slunk up to the glass and stared through the side pane at the people causing all the commotion. A scowling Eli Kendlesohn opened the door, the cat darted away and the dogs bit at the air as they snarled.

“I recognize you,” he said, pointing at Jumbo. “But I don’t think I”ve seen
you
before.”

Lucinda flapped open her badge and said, “Lieutenant Pierce, sir. We would like to talk to you and your wife, please.”

“She’s not even downstairs yet,” he objected.

“Sir, it’s about your mother.”

“Oh, of course it is.” His face lengthened forming deep furrows downward from both corners of his mouth. He seemed to age before their eyes. “I guess I can assume this isn’t good news.”

“Sorry, sir.”

“Let me put these dogs out in the backyard so they don’t drive us all crazy.” He walked away with a Corgi, a Scottie and an unrecognizable ball of fluff at his heels. When he walked back up the hall, he stopped to shout up the stairway. “Honey, the police are here. It’s about Mom.”

He opened the door and invited Lucinda and Jumbo into the house. The ostentatious crystal chandelier hanging in the foyer annoyed Lucinda even more than the exterior façade. The scent of lemon furniture polish overwhelmed her nose causing it to crinkle and squirm involuntarily as if trying to escape her face.

Eli guided them into a formal living room with a grand piano in one corner by the entrance and a large, impressive oriental vase in the other. He stopped before a fireplace with a walnut mantle and slate hearth. Above the mantle hung an enormous oil painting of a woman in an evening gown smiling smugly down at one and all.

“Have a seat, please,” Eli said. “I’m going to get a cup of coffee; can I get some for the two of you?”

They both accepted the offer and when Eli vanished into the kitchen, Lucinda brushed off the back of her skirt before easing down on the stark white cushions of the sofa. Jumbo followed her lead, contorting his body to try to see if he missed anything before he, too, took a seat on the other end.

Eli returned bearing a tray laden with four steaming mugs, a pitcher of cream, bowl of sugar and four spoons. As he set it down on the coffee table, his wife stepped into the room. Lucinda looked from her to the portrait and noticed the resemblance. Not a good omen, she thought.

“Help yourself to the cream and sugar,” Eli said, picking up one mug, slurping and giving a satisfied sigh. Turning to his wife, he said, “You remember Sergeant Butler, don’t you, dear?”

 “Of course, I do! How could I possibly forget our Jumbo, working so hard to find your mother,” she said extending her hand and offering a condescending smile that looked very much like the one in the oil painting.

Jumbo stood and shook her hand. “Hello, Rachael. Sorry to bother you so early.”

“Think nothing of it,” she said before looking over at Lucinda. “And this is?”

Lucinda lifted up from her seat, leaned forward and stuck out her hand. “Pierce, Lieutenant Pierce.”

“Do you work for Sergeant Butler?”

“Darling,” her husband interjected with a chuckle, “she’s a lieutenant.”

“As if that means anything to me – I suppose, though, that means the answer is ‘no’.”

“They’ve come with news about my mother. I’d like to hear—” Eli began.

“Eli, please! Be a little patient. We aren’t in your boardroom. We can’t just get right to business – why, that would be rude.” She smiled at her visitors as if she knew there was no doubt in the world that they would agree with her. “We need to understand everyone’s place in this tableaux first. Now, don’t we? So what brings the two of you here together? And what are your roles in this case?”

“Mrs. Kendlesohn, we are here because of your mother-in-law. We have some news and a few questions. If you’d please—” Lucinda started.

Rachael spun around as if she hadn’t heard a word Lucinda said. “Eli! Where are Ginger, Scottie and Dandy?”

“I put them out so they wouldn’t bother—”

“Bother? They are wonderful little dogs.” She leaned forward and peered from Lucinda’s face to Jumbo’s face and back again. “You do like dogs, don’t you? I can’t say I trust people who don’t like dogs. And what happened to your face, Lieutenant? Are you a burn victim? In a car accident? Or were you actually born that way?”

Lucinda rose to her feet, straightening to her full height of 52113, and quite grateful she wore heels that morning because it helped her tower even more over the shorter woman. “Sit down and be still, Mrs. Kendlesohn. Or leave the room. We have important news to deliver to your husband. This is not a social visit.”

Rachael jerked her head back, pulling her chin into her neck. “Eli, did you hear her?” she said in an outraged tone.

“Rachael, please . . .” Eli entreated.

Finally, even the ever patient Jumbo had his fill. “Cut the crap, Rachael, and sit down.”

Rachael pursed her lips and slowly descended into a nearby chair. “Sergeant Butler, I am so disappointed in you. And you, Lieutenant, make sure you leave your badge number with me before you go.”

Lucinda ignored her. “Mr. Kendlesohn, we found your mother. Unfortunately, she was deceased when we located her. We are so sorry for your loss.”

“Where did you find her?”

“Down in Dinwiddie County. Do you have any idea why she’d be there?”

“I don’t think we know anyone in that area. Do we, Rachael?”

“Of course not. It’s all just army bases and wilderness down there.”

“Have you heard from your mother since Halloween?”

“No, of course not,” bristled Rachael.

“No, we haven’t, Lieutenant,” Eli said. “How did she die?”

“She drowned, sir,” Lucinda said.

“Dr.owned? An accident? Was she swimming? She hasn’t gone swimming in years.”

“Considering where she was found, sir, I doubt she was swimming. But beyond that, at this point, we just don’t know.”

“You don’t know? What do you mean, you don’t know?” Rachael snapped.

“Rachael, please,” Eli urged.

“We’re still investigating, Mr. Kendlesohn. I’m not sure when we’ll have the answers. Every possibility is under consideration.”

“Every possibility?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Accident? Even suicide?” Eli asked, wincing as he said the last word.

“Yes, sir.”

Eli’s eyes widened. “Murder? Someone may have killed my mother?”

“That’s a possibility, sir. I’m afraid we’re looking into that as well.”

“I can’t imagine why anyone would want to kill my mother.”

Rachael made a rude snort.

Lucinda glared at her. In that moment, her distaste for the woman turned into loathing. “It doesn’t always make sense, Mr. Kendlesohn. We’re trying to figure it all out but we do need your help. Tell me, did you have any plans to put your mother in a facility before she disappeared?”

“Well, I really didn’t like the idea all that much, but . . .” He faltered mid-sentence. “I’d considered it but although it might be a safe environment, it seemed so cold, so cruel, after all she’d done—”

“But I insisted,” Rachael interrupted. “Go ahead, tell them. Your dreadful wife just couldn’t stand that batty old woman around the house anymore.”

“Rachael, don’t—” Eli began.

“It’s true. You might as well say it. She roamed around in the middle of the night. She forgot where to put her toothbrush, her dentures – found them once in the refrigerator on top of the butter. And those flashes of anger she’d have. I had her on a half a dozen waiting lists. I was at my wit’s end.”