Window of Guilt (20 page)

“You help them prepare their lunches?” asked Laurie.

“Only if they ask,” said Sandy. She loaded used cereal bowls and utensils into the dishwasher. “Same choices every day. Peanut butter and jelly, cold meat, or cheese.”

“I noticed each person clears his or her own place setting.”

“Group A folks just need a helping hand every now and then.”

“Does Arnold Beckermann fall into that category?”

The supervisor nodded as she poured their coffee, then slipped into a yellow vinyl chair. “He’s a real sweetie, that one,” she gushed. “I can’t imagine why you need to interview him.”

“Camp Briarwood is having a staff reunion,” Laurie lied. “I just need to ask Arnold a few questions.” She could have waited until he visited his grandmother, but she needed answers now. Besides, Helga would question the reason for her visit.

“When I get his approval, I’ll put him in touch with you,” the supervisor said politely.

Laurie sensed the woman’s ambivalence. “His grandmother knows about my visit.”

Sandy leaned across the table. “Mrs. Beckermann didn’t place him here, you know,” she said in a conspiratorial tone.

“Place him here?”

“Parents petition the court to place their developmentally disabled young adult here. The majority of residents accepted into group homes exhibit severe medical conditions, lack verbal skills, and require total personal care.”

Goosebumps ran up Laurie’s spine. “Does Arnold share those same living quarters?”

The shift supervisor shook her head. “Arnold’s in the group who just came through the kitchen. Group A consists of our most independent population of eighteen- to forty-year-old residents. They’re able to exit the home without prompts, and staff need not be awake at night. We’re talking people who function up to the eighth grade level.”

“How did Arnold wind up here?” she asked.

“We only have seven group homes in Wisconsin. It can be years before their name comes up on the waiting list. But in an emergency situation, an individual’s name goes straight to the top of the list, no matter his or her financial ability to private pay.”

“Arnold’s enrollment was an emergency situation?” Laurie asked. Sandy nodded. “Arnold’s parents were killed in a boating accident when he was nineteen. Mrs. Beckermann was next of kin.”

Laurie remembered the horrifying event. The summer of her junior year at Bradley University, the political science major had convinced her parents to let her do an internship for Al Gore in Washington, D.C. She’d been in the midst of designing campaign brochures when her father had phoned.
Trauma and tests are inextricably woven into the fabric of my life,
mused Laurie. “Why didn’t Helga get automatic custody?” she asked.

“Helga was in her early seventies when Arnold’s parents died. In addition, she had a history of physical abuse.”

“Towards her grandson?” Laurie asked.

Sandy leaned forward in her chair. “Arnold was fortunate to be placed here. It’s odd that Arnold’s grandmother would okay your visit when she’s the one who requested he receive a two-week absence from work to assist his uncle up in Baraboo. The older gentleman had his kneecap replaced. Requires intensive physical therapy to recoup.”

“Arnold’s a physical therapist?” Laurie asked, surprised.

“Arnold assists his uncle with the constant motion exercises the therapist ordered.”

“What else does Arnold do?”

Sandy looked at her warily.

“I haven’t talked to him since we worked up at camp together.”

“Talked” was a euphemism, thought Laurie. But for polite phrases expressed at a smattering of barbecues, their verbal interactions had consisted of “hi” and “bye.” The words she routinely extended to him throughout countless summers of driving past his grandmother’s driveway.

“He works at an egg farm, extracting eggs from a conveyor belt, tossing the broken eggs, and placing the good ones in containers for market.”

“Sounds tedious.”

“Most of our young adults perform factory type jobs, either at a sheltered workshop or out in the community. They thrive on the constancy and repetition.”

“No problem with him taking time off to help his uncle?” Laurie
asked.

Sandy grinned. “Two weeks is nothing. When he moved in twelve years ago, Arnold worked at camp each summer. Every fall, we’d need to find him a new job. His supportive living manager and job coach both advised against the summer job; it really did a number on his work record. But Arnold seemed driven to work at that camp.”

“He used to sweep up after the kitchen staff,” said Laurie.

“Enjoyed it, too. Said he had a secret girlfriend at the camp.”

Laurie blushed.

Sandy’s eyes widened. Then she stood up, resolutely placing her palms on the kitchen table. “I’ve already said too much. A more in-depth conversation requires Arnold’s consent.”

Laurie pretended not to notice the supervisor’s abrupt attitude change. “Can you ring Arnold now?”

“I need to get approval from our supportive living manager before we can proceed. She doesn’t get into the office for another hour.”

Laurie hesitated. “Did Arnold ever mention he was a suspect in an arson case that took place at Camp Briarwood several years ago?”

Sandy looked her in the eye. “I need to leave for work.”

“You don’t stay here all day?”

“I work night shift, nine-thirty p.m. to eight o’clock a.m. During the day, I work as a one-on-one teacher’s aide for a physically handicapped sixth-grade boy.”

Just then, it dawned on Laurie that the vagrant lurking around her summer home property could have lived with Arnold in Group Home A. “Anybody at the group home dislike Arnold?”

“Goodbye, Ms. Atkins,” said the supervisor, ushering Laurie out the door.

25

“Pack the snow harder around his tummy,” directed Rory, his cheeks pink from the cold.

Laurie fruitlessly attempted to mold the first snow of the season around the snowman’s waist. Then she handed her son a cucumber and two golf balls. “Here’s the eyes and nose.”

“This snowman’s gonna be one ugly dude,” Rory commented. He pounded the eyes and nose into the flaky white face while Rocky ran circles in the drifting white powder.

“I’m going inside to make hot chocolate. Call you when it’s ready,” called Laurie, but her son had already abandoned the snowman to chase the dog.

Laurie shuffled to the front door. She and Ryan used to build snow castles before their son’s birth. She sighed. Fairy tales were meant to be lived by unencumbered souls. With children and pets came responsibility.

Laurie set her boots on the mat inside the kitchen doorway. Then she grabbed a gallon of milk from the fridge, measured two mug-sized portions into a pot and switched on the gas jet.

She was still in shock over Ryan’s sudden exuberance the night before. He’d swung her into his arms and told her he received a glowing reference from Brad Jr. One that he could use should he decide to go back into the insurance business.

Rory came stomping through the back door, their little dog in
tow.

“Whoa. This guy’s a mess.” Laurie scooped the Bichon into her arms. Then she lowered him into the kitchen sink and rubbed him down with a torn bath towel.

Her son plopped down on the kitchen floor and pulled, unsuccessfully, to free his feet from his high boots. Laurie plunked Rocky on the floor. “Okay, kiddo, let me give it a try.” She struggled to pull her son’s feet from the unforgiving boots. No way would Brad Jr. extend an olive branch to an employee he’d fired. Unless he had an ulterior motive. “What if Brad’s involved with the dead guy?” she muttered.

“What dead guy?” asked Rory.

“Someone in the newspaper,” Laurie said quickly.

“Does he live around here?” persisted Rory, his eyes tight with worry.

“Nope. Not even from Illinois.” Laurie gave a final yank on his boots. Then she looked towards the stove. “Oh my gosh,” she gasped, taking in the pool of chocolate spreading like a cloak across the stove top.

“It’s not my fault,” called Rory, hightailing it for the family room.

Laurie whisked the sponge from the sink and mopped up the stove top.

“Hey everybody,” called a tenor voice from the living room.

Laurie’s eye twitched. She needed to share her concerns with Ryan, just as Mitzy had advised. Yet she didn’t want to bring a tsunami down upon her little family.

Ryan vigorously rubbed his hands as he stomped into the kitchen. “As cold as a vampire’s kiss out there.”

Rory ran into the kitchen and threw his arms around his dad. “You kiss vampires?”

“How you doin’, dude?” said Ryan. “Nice start on that snowman.”

Her husband stuffed a handful of chocolate chip cookies into his mouth. “These are low sugar, right?”

“Ryan, we need to talk about T.G.” Laurie said quietly.

He ceased chewing.

“Do you know his identity?”

“Nope.”

“Todd Gray was denied a heart transplant by Great Harvest. You were the insurance adjuster who turned him down.”

Ryan froze. “Who told you?

“Mitzy said you suspected he was the kid who croaked on our property.”

“You mean Helga Beckermann’s driveway,” Ryan said uneasily.

“Looks like you’re the one who’s been hallucinating,” said Laurie.

Her husband gazed out the kitchen window.

“You discovered him on our front lawn and ran to get help. When you returned, the kid was gone. Why can’t you be honest with me? I’m sick of all these intrigues.”

Rory came rushing into the room. “Why you yelling, Mommy?” Laurie stared at her husband stonily. To her son she said, “Go back in the family room.”

“Yelling makes bad electricity.”

“Go!” yelled Laurie.

Rory ran from the room.

Ryan put his head between his knees. “Brad Jr. was the one who denied those claims. He wanted to save the company a shit-load of money and make daddy proud. When I approached him with my findings, he warned me to shut up or he’d fire me. Rather than have that on my record, I quit the company.”

“If your fantastical story’s true, why leave me in the dark?”

Ryan looked away. “I needed to protect you.”

“Protection isn’t leaving your loved one in ignorance, Ryan. You’ve been emotionally unavailable to me for a long time now.”

“I gotta go wipe the snow off the car.” Ryan stormed out the door.

Walk away, Laurie taunted him inside her head.

*

Arnold twisted a strand of red licorice and popped it in his mouth. Then he pulled a loaf of white bread from the pantry. “My grandmother said to not tell anyone about my camp job.”

“But you haven’t worked there for several years,” commented Officer Gomez.

“You must’ve talked to Debbie,” said Arnold. He buttered two slices of bread and set them down on the crumb-laden kitchen table.

Then he extracted a knife from the silverware drawer and started to separate the crust from the bread.

“Um, you might want to put your uncle’s sandwich on a plate before you go much farther,” suggested Carmen.

Arnold ran his hand across his eyes. “Whew. Lucky grandma isn’t here.”

“You’re taking care of your uncle, huh?” Carmen said in an encouraging voice. “Sandy told me your uncle had a knee replacement.”

“Yep. I change his sheets, bring him his food, help him with his exercises, and tell him stories so he don’t get bored.”

“Who’s Debbie?”

“My vocational counselor. She helped me get my job at Camp Briarwood.”

“You make any friends when you were working at camp?”

Chomping on the licorice, he seemed lost in thought. “I don’t know if I should tell you. My grandma gets pretty mad when I disobey her.”

Carmen consulted her notes. “Says here you’ve been living at the Lutheran group home for twelve years now. That’s a long time.”

Arnold smiled. “I turned thirty last May.”

“Okay then. Tell me about your camp experiences.”

His eyes took on a guarded expression. “Police are scary to talk to.”

“Why’s that?”

“They make you say things you’re supposed to keep secret.”

“Like what?”

Arnold shivered. “Bad things. Like the time I swept up an onion. The garbage can was outside and I didn’t want to go out there so I put the onion back on the kitchen counter. The cook chopped it, along with the rest of the vegetables. I was too scared to tell him it was dirty.” Silence filled the air.

“Did he peel the onion first?” Carmen asked kindly.

Arnold placed his thumb and forefinger beneath his chin and looked upward. “I think so.”

“All right then.”

“So it was safe to eat?” Arnold asked hopefully.

“Yep.”

Arnold let out a relieved sigh.