Window of Guilt (32 page)

“Nothing. I drive away.”

For the first time, Griselda spoke. “You left Gerald in the street, not knowing?”

“He not come after me before. He have no right to know.”

“He did come after you,” Griselda whispered over the car’s steady
hum.

Elizabeth looked at her strangely. “How you know this?”

Griselda enunciated each word. “There were letters.”

Elizabeth squinted at the secretary. “I not receive any letters.” Laurie gazed at the two women. The electricity between them felt palpable.

Griselda’s eyes sparkled. “Ten years’ worth of letters. I never mailed them.”

“No!” screamed the housekeeper. In a flash, she reached across Rory’s Xbox games and began pummeling Griselda on her head.

Griselda attempted to shield her head from the assault, yet made no move for the door handle. “I loved Gerald.” Her voice ricocheted off the ceiling of the minivan. “I thought if he never received a response from you, he’d love me, too.”

Her heart in her throat, Laurie slid to the carpeted area dividing the driver and passenger seats. Then she crawled towards the back of the minivan and reached for Elizabeth’s arm. “Stop!”

The housekeeper twisted away from Laurie and punched Griselda in the eye. “Beech!”

The car engine rumbling beneath her knees, Laurie traversed the final inches that separated her from the housekeeper. Then she grabbed her wrist. “Stop now, Elizabeth!”

Elizabeth crumpled to the floor. “All those lost years,” she keened.

“I did not set out to destroy your life,” said Griselda in a tight voice, still cradling her eye.

“You not think of me at all,” the housekeeper said, tears streaming down her cheeks.

Laurie sat on her rump and massaged her knees as she listened to the sad tale unfold. Here she thought she’d had it bad with Ryan.

“There were many women in Gerald’s life, yet you were my only contender for his love.”

“Did you ever tell Gerald how you felt about him?” Laurie asked
softly.

Griselda shook her head. “I waited for him to make the first move. He never did.”

Elizabeth breathed in deeply and swiped at her tears.

“Once you moved back to Chicago, he hired private investigators to observe your daily life,” Griselda continued.

Elizabeth trembled. “Gerald track me like animal?”

Laurie reached out and touched her quivering hand. “He loved you, Elizabeth.”

“None of my attempts could defeat that love,” Griselda whispered.

“If only I tell Gerald he have son,” Elizabeth lamented.

“He already knew,” said Laurie.

The housekeeper gaped at her.

“She is correct,” said Griselda, sitting tall. “Helga wrote him a confession letter,” said Laurie. “She needed to cleanse her soul.”

“She is ill?”

“That is why she is not here today,” said Griselda. “In the letter, Helga apologized for sending you away. Her last line was ‘Somewhere in this world, you have a son.’”

“It better he not know his Terrence dead.” Elizabeth lowered her head into her arms.

An awkward silence ensued.

“Or that he try to kill his Aunt Helga,” said the housekeeper. Laurie’s jaw dropped.

Griselda nodded. “The private investigator kept tabs on her son.”

“You said nothing about that during your home visit,” Laurie accused.

“That was none of your concern,” Griselda said huffily.

Laurie’s head was hurting like hell. She turned to Elizabeth. “When did your son attempt to harm his aunt?”

“After group home job,” said the housekeeper. “In August he quick leave Chicago and take Greyhound bus back to Wisconsin.”

Laurie gulped. “By any chance, did your son own a yellow sleeveless jersey with the initials ‘TG’ and the number ‘7’ on the front?”

“His favorite shirt,” Elizabeth wailed. “He like because all other jerseys have letters in back. ‘7’ his birthday day. He wear this shirt day he leave.”

Laurie cradled Elizabeth in her arms. “How did Terrence discover Helga was his aunt?”

“At group home, Arnold say she hurt him with her fists. Terrence say he confront grandma, make things better for Arnold. I plead with him not to harm her. I warn him he go to jail.”

“What did Terrence do?” asked Laurie.

“He pack bags. I beat on his back. ‘Arnold’s grandmother is your aunt!’ I tell him about love of birth father and me. I tell him Helga is sister of his father. He must not harm her.”

Laurie’s heart sunk. “Oh my G-d,” she said aloud.

Both women looked at her.

“Your son died on the lawn of my summer home,” she cried out.

“What?” Elizabeth asked fearfully.

“He had a napkin with my family’s Wisconsin and Chicago home addresses in his pocket,” said Laurie.

“But he not even know you,” Elizabeth protested.

“Years ago, Arnold and I worked at the same summer camp. He told your son he’d had a crush on me but I snubbed him. This incensed Terrence.”

“What mean ‘incensed?’”

“Your son became upset with Laurie,” said Griselda.

Laurie shot her a quick look. “Right. Anyway, he took the Greyhound bus up to Milwaukee and hitched a ride to Oconomowoc, preparing to knock me off.”

“Knock off?” asked Elizabeth, obviously perplexed.

“Kill. He wanted to kill me.”

“Or at the very least, teach you a lesson,” said Griselda.

Griselda was becoming a veritable chatterbox, thought Laurie. “It was a scorcher.”

“Very hot,” Griselda interrupted politely.

This time Laurie paid the secretary no heed. “Terrence hiked towards my house. He was dehydrated and stopped to take a breather at the overnight camp where Arnold and I once worked. By the time he made it to my property, the heat was too much for him. He collapsed.”

Tears ran down Elizabeth’s cheeks. “My poor, poor boy.”

“A nutshell was found in his pocket,” said Griselda.

“My Terrence allergic to peanuts.”

“Odds are, he found a peanut in his pocket and ate it, ignoring his own allergy, because he was so hungry,” said Laurie. “Even his canteen was empty.”

Elizabeth eyed her suspiciously. “How you know about canteen?”

“I moved the canteen to give your son mouth-to-mouth resuscitation, but it was too late. I ran inside the house to phone the police. By the time they arrived, your son’s body had disappeared.”

“His body disappear?” Elizabeth made the sign of the cross.

“Next morning, he turned up on Helga’s driveway,” said Laurie. “She never suspected the unidentified body was her nephew.”

“Bravo, Mrs. Atkins,” said Griselda. “However, one loose thread remains.”

No way could Griselda know about the videotape of Ryan removing the body. “What might that be?” she asked.

Just then, the driver’s door flew open. Laurie turned to find a gun pointed at her. A black gloved hand yanked her from the minivan.

*

Ryan sneered. “Find someone who deserves your help.”

Smiling gently, the bearded man placed his coat on a stool. “Every Jew deserves a second chance.”

“Who are you?”

“My name is Rebbe Shlmo Silverstein.” He removed a coiled leather strap from a plastic encasing. “Have you ever wrapped tfillin?”

“I don’t believe in that hocus-pocus.”

The rebbe chuckled. “Stretch out your strong arm.”

“Why?”

“Do it.”

Ryan rolled his eyes as he raised his right arm. “You got the wrong guy, Rebbe. I’m not into religion.”

Silverstein wound the leather strap around Ryan’s right arm. “’Ryan’ means ‘little prince’ in Hebrew.”

Ryan grimaced. Even in Hebrew his height was an issue.

The Rebbe slipped Ryan’s left hand through the loop and let the box dangle. Then he strapped a small box onto the prisoner’s upper bicep, slightly leaning it towards the heart. “Now your physical strength and your emotions are as one.”

Ryan mistrusted the zealots in all religions. “This is a waste of time, Rebbe.”

Silverstein failed to acknowledge his protests. “Repeat after me. ‘Blessed are you, oh Lord our G-d, King of the Universe, who has
sanctified us by commanding us to don tfillin.”‘ Ryan grudgingly did as he was told.

The Rebbe tightened the loop over the lip of the box, then wrapped the strap seven times around Ryan’s forearm. “Now you are bound to G-d.”

“Okay, this is getting weird,” said Ryan. Emotions he’d secreted away since childhood ruptured his consciousness. His heart racing, Ryan attempted to loosen the strap.

“Shush.” The Rabbi wrapped the remainder of the strap around Ryan’s palm. He positioned the head tfillin so the lower edge of the box rested on the upper edge of the hairline, with loops around the head and a knot at the base of the skull. He’d just opened his mouth in prayer when Ryan yanked free from his leather confinement.

All the tensions and fears he’d stifled since his heart attack burst through him like a volcano. “I can’t do this!” he screamed.

A guard rushed towards them but Silverstein waved him away. Then the Rebbe gently placed his hands on Ryan’s convulsing shoulders. “G-d is here in this place, Ryan. He will not forsake you.”

Ryan shuddered. “I’ve done bad things.”

“Do not be afraid. G-d will purify your soul.”

37

Laurie’s knees burned with frostbite as she crawled across the frozen cemetery ground. “Why are you doing this?” she called behind her. “Where’s Griselda and Elizabeth?”

She winced as the butt of a gun struck her shoulder. “My turn to
talk.”

“Can I get up first?” she pleaded, shivering in the cold December
dusk.

A boot stomped her back, forcing her chest to graze the ice. Then a foot flipped her face-up. A stocky-built man yanked off his purple ski mask.

Laurie blinked at the middle-aged man in the camel overcoat. She really must be hallucinating.

He stood over her, brandishing the gun. “What is it with you people? First you try to bring down my company, then you put my son in a coma.”

Laurie crossed her arms over her chest in fear.

“Brad tried to warn your husband off. We’re running an insurance company here, lady. It’s not my fault a handful of young people reached their lifetime caps.”

Laurie’s teeth chattered. “If there was…why…Ryan?”

“When the Insurance Board sniffs around, unhappy clients abound.”

A cultured English voice came from behind her head. “You are a poet, Mr. Hamilton.”

Laurie strained her neck backwards. A pair of sensible black fur boots glared back at her from beneath the frigid sun.

Brad Hamilton knelt at her side and gently repositioned her head so she was staring into his eyes. “Look, I apologize for my son attacking you,” he said, his voice filled with faux-concern. “Gerald advised me to get the boy into counseling. Anger management issues.”

“So I’m the fall guy?” Laurie said bitterly.

“You and several other ladies,” said Hamilton.

Laurie’s heart pounded in her teeth.

Now Griselda stepped into Laurie’s line of vision, a blindfolded, shivering Elizabeth at her side.

“You said Gerald had his PI tracking Elizabeth and her husband,” Laurie hissed.

“Love makes imbeciles of us all,” Griselda said harshly.

Brad Hamilton rose to his feet. “Well, love to chat, but I need to visit my comatose son.” He pointed a pistol at Laurie’s forehead.

Laurie shut her eyes and started mouthing the Yiskor prayer for G-d’s redemption.

“May I have the honor, sir?” asked Griselda.

“Sure.” Brad Sr. nonchalantly handed the pistol to his dead partner’s secretary. He gasped as Griselda aimed the death weapon at his chest.

Just then, Detective Maggie O’Connor appeared, her gun trained on the secretary. “Freeze.”

*

An icy wind tossed Laurie’s hair into a clump of cold spaghetti as the three bikes streamed past North Avenue beach. “I’m wiped out,” she yelled into the wind.

“Slow down,” Maggie called, her words getting lost in the air stream as they pedaled around the curve flanking Lake Shore Drive. “Don’t want you guys flipping over the meridian.”

Mitzy signaled east towards Michigan Avenue. “Water Tower Place!”

Minutes later the three women chained their bikes outside the upscale glass and steel shopping mall and pressed through the gliding doors.

Laurie yanked off her knit cap and touched her hair. “Ugh!”

“I gotta pee,” said Maggie.

“Hang on,” said Mitzy, steering her friends into an empty bathroom. Maggie entered the nearest stall.

Laurie winced as she ran a pik through her tangled locks. “Griselda was scary as hell at the cemetery. Hard to believe she was working undercover to expose Great Harvest.”