Mother's Day (14 page)

“What’s the matter?” she said. “You look awful.”

“I heard some bad news at the bakery.”

“What? Sam, don’t make me nervous. Tell me.”

“You better sit,” he said. “It’s about your old friend Linda Emery.”

“Our old friend,” she corrected him. “She was your friend, too, back then.” Sam glanced out the window again, as if pained by her remark. Mary felt a sudden chill run through her. She took her husband’s advice and sat down. “What is it, Sam?” she said. “Tell me quick.”

The Bayland Library was a Federal-style brick building,
surrounded by flowers and shrubs, which sat on the corner of an intersection across from the Washington Street Park. Jenny rode up on her bicycle and lifted the bike into the rack beside a bed of geraniums alongside the building. Peggy had called her from school and offered to meet her there after school got out. Jenny jumped at the chance to get out of the house and away from her parents. She needed to talk to a friend, someone she could confide in, anyone but her mother and father. Every time she thought of that interview with the police that morning, she wanted to hit something. Or someone. It was as if she were seeing a side of her parents that she never knew existed.

She sat down on a bench under a flowering pink dogwood tree to wait for Peggy. When Peggy called from the school cafeteria she said all the kids were talking about the murder. Of course none of them but Peggy knew about Jenny’s connection to the victim. Peggy had assured her that she didn’t mention anything about it. She was a good friend like that. Besides, she was someone you could really talk to. She had problems with her own parents that were pretty bad.

“Jenny?”

Jenny looked up, startled, and saw a woman she did not recognize approaching her. She had short, blondish hair and a friendly smile. Jenny frowned at her. Yeah?”

“Excuse me, Jenny,” said the woman. “I’m sorry to bother you. Your mom said I might find you here.” Oh,” said Jenny.

My name is Phyllis, Jenny. I…I was a good friend f Linda Emery’s from way back in grammar school days,” Phyllis Hodges said, lying with practiced ease. She was counting on the fact that Jenny would not be able to judge the age difference between herself and Linda Emery. All grown-ups looked alike to a kid, she figured. Phyllis had been watching the Newhall house ever since she talked to Glenda Emery, and when she saw Jenny pedaling away, she had followed her to the library. “Linda called me the other night when she got to town,” she went on in an unctuous tone, “and we had a great conversation. It was so good to hear her voice ‘ again.”

Jenny smiled wanly. “That’s nice,” she said.

L “She told me all about you, Jenny. About coming back here to find you and all.”

“She did?”

“She was very proud of you. She said she wanted me to meet you, but, well…you know what happened. I’m just so heartbroken.”

“Yes,” said Jenny glumly.

“Look, Jenny, I know you’re probably on your way into the library to study…”

“My girlfriend’s meeting me here, actually.”

Phyllis sighed. “Linda and I used to meet here when we were your age. We’d sit and talk, or go get a soda or something. Those were the days.”

Jenny felt awkward. “Well,” she said, “it’s nice to meet you.”

“I wonder, Jenny…I mean, if it wouldn’t be too much of an imposition…”

“What?” Jenny asked warily.

Phyllis pointed to the spot on the bench beside Jenny, as if requesting permission to sit down. Jenny shrugged. Phyllis perched gingerly on the seat beside her. “Well, it’s just that I never did get to see her, and I feel so bad about it. I feel like I missed my opportunity and now I’ll never have another chance to see her again. If you could spare a minute, tell me what she was like, fill me in a little on her life and all that. I mean, I know this is a bad time for you, but it would mean so much to me.”

Jenny glanced at her watch. Peggy wouldn’t be along for a little while yet. And the idea of sharing what she knew about Linda with this old friend was appealing. Here was someone who really cared. And Linda would want her to do it.

“Okay,” she said. “Sure.”

“That’s great,” said Phyllis. She exhaled a little sigh and sank back against the bench. Jenny gazed across the street at the park, abloom with azaleas and flowering fruit trees. Her eyes suddenly filled with tears. Sometimes she and Peggy would walk through the park and toss pebbles in the pond and talk about their deepest secret thoughts. She suddenly pictured Linda there, at her age. “Did you two tell each other your private secrets and stuff?” she asked Phyllis.

“Oh, sure,” said Phyllis. “We’d talk about our fantasies, what we wanted to be and all that. I didn’t even get around to asking Linda on the phone what she was doing.”

“She worked in a big store, in the clothing department,” Jenny said promptly. “In Chicago. She worked her way up to a manager.”

“That sounds like a good job. She always liked clothes,” said Phyllis blandly, taking a stab that seemed pretty likely to hit the target.

“That’s what she said,” Jenny exclaimed. Then she said warmly, “What did you become?”

Phyllis hesitated. “Well, actually, I became a writer.”

“That’s neat,” said Jenny. “What do you write?”

“All kinds of things. I’m working on a book,” said Phyllis airily. “But let’s talk about Linda. Did she look the same?”

“I don’t know how she looked when you knew her,” said Jenny.

“No, of course not. That was a silly question. I guess I just meant did she look healthy and happy.”

“I don’t know.” Jenny shrugged. “Everybody said she looked a lot like me. And she had pretty clothes.”

“Oh, it’s true. You really do remind me of her,” said Phyllis. “That’s how I knew who you were the minute I saw you.”

Jenny smiled, pleased.

“I’ll bet you were surprised to find out she was your real mother.”

Jenny nodded, a faraway look in her eyes. “I’d always imagined what she’d be like. But she was even better than I’d imagined.”

Good quote, Phyllis thought. This article was going to be a heart-wrencher. “So,” she said sympathetically, “it was a wonderful surprise for her to turn up. What did your parents think about her? Were they excited, too?”

Jenny snorted derisively. “Yeah, thrilled,” she said.

Phyllis’s antennae went up. Go slow, she thought. “Well, you know, parents can be touchy about certain things.”

“Touchy,” Jenny exclaimed. “My mother practically threw her out.” She shook her head. “It really made me mad. I mean, here she was, my real mother, finally showing up, and Mom had a fit over it. She didn’t even try to be nice to her.”

Phyllis proceeded cautiously. “Linda didn’t mention that. But, knowing her, it must have hurt her feelings quite a bit.”

•

“It did,” Jenny said, grateful for this sympathetic adult’s ear. “She tried not to show it, but I know it did. Me and Linda were a lot alike, and it made me feel horrible. But Mom didn’t care.”

“Well,” said Phyllis, “maybe she just felt a little jealous of Linda. You know, another mom on the scene.”

“It was a lot worse than that,” Jenny confided. “She didn’t even want me to see Linda or talk to her or anything.”

“She didn’t?” Phyllis felt a rising excitement. A good tear-jerking sidebar was one thing, but this was something else. Jealousy and hate were better than sentiment any day of the week. This had both. And there was no telling what she could make of it with the right slant. “You know, moms can be very protective. Especially if they have only one child. Or do you have brothers and sisters?”

“No,” said Jenny. “Well, my mom was pregnant, but she lost the baby.”

“Was that when you were little?”

“Oh, no, it was only about a month ago. And she’s been really bummed out ever since.”

“That’s too bad,” said Phyllis. Her palms were beginning to sweat. “Women can become very depressed, almost unbalanced, when they lose a baby.”

“Oh, yeah,” Jenny agreed. “Having this baby was going to be like a miracle. And then when she lost it, she became like a zombie. I was really sad for her when it happened, even though it wasn’t even a real person and I couldn’t really understand why she wanted a baby, being so old and all. But I tried to be sympathetic and help her out around the house and everything. And then, when my real, actual mother gets murdered, my mom can’t even pretend to be sorry. I almost think she was glad.”

“Oh, I’m sure that’s not so,” said Phyllis, squeezing the girl’s forearm. “Why would she be glad about such a thing?”

“I think she was afraid I’d like Linda better than her,” said Jenny bluntly.

Phyllis had all she could do to keep the elation she felt from showing on her face. This was beautiful. And the kid was just dropping it in her lap.

Just then a pudgy girl with glasses rolled up on her bicycle and came to a stop in front of them. “Hey, Jen, she said, looking owlishly at Phyllis.

Jenny’s face broke into a sweet smile. “Hey, Peg.” She turned to Phyllis, who stood up immediately. “This is my friend, Peggy. Peg, this is Phyllis. She was a friend of my real mom’s.”

“Nice to meet you,” said Phyllis.

“Hi,” said Peggy.

“Listen, I’m going to leave you girls. I know you have a lot to talk about. Jenny, this has really meant a lot to me.”

“It was nice talking to you,” said Jenny.

“I’m very sorry for your loss,” she said, extending her hand.

Jenny shook it and said gravely, “Thanks. I’m sorry for yours.”

Phyllis felt the smallest twinge of guilt at that. But it vanished as she headed for her battered Volvo parked around the corner. A good reporter does what she has to do, she reminded herself. She could hardly wait to get;

to her computer. Her fingers were going to make music on that keyboard.

Chief Matthews unrolled an antacid tablet, popped it in his mouth, and indicated the chair across from his desk. “Sit down, Walter,” he said.

Walter Ference sat and took out his notebook. Dale Matthews held up a form and then passed it to the lieutenant.

“Medical examiner’s report,” said the chief. Walter began to glance through the pages. “Let me cut to the chase,” Dale said. “No sexual assault.”

Walter raised his eyebrows and nodded. “So I see.”

“Pending confirmation by the coroner, of course, after the autopsy. But you know what this means,” Dale said.

“Well, it could mean any number of things,” said Walter cautiously.

“It means our killer could have been a woman.” There was a barely suppressed relish in his voice.

“It would have to be a pretty strong woman,” observed Walter.

“Or a pretty desperate one,” said Dale. “Now tell me more about this family that adopted the kid.”

Walter looked up from the report in surprise. “You think it might be her? The Newhall woman?”

“You have to consider that possibility. This Emery girl comes to town, announces herself as the child’s natural mother, and is murdered the next day. And it’s not a sex crime.”

“You have a point,” said Walter.

“Do you know where the Newhall woman was last night?”

Walter looked in his notebook. “She says she went to bed early.”

“Check it out,” said the chief.

Walter made a note. “What about the husband? You don’t think he might’ve—”

“I don’t think men get as worked up about this ‘biological mother’ business.” Dale leaned back in his chair. “It doesn’t make sense psychologically.”

“Probably not,” said Walter. “It’s just a little soon to be pointing a finger. Don’t forget—this child had a father, too. Probably somebody who lived in this town.”

“A point well taken,” said Chief Matthews. “He could be a man with a lot to lose by now. If she made contact with him, that is.”

“I just don’t want to jump to any conclusions,” Walter explained.

“Conclusions,” said Dale portentously, “are what we are seeking in this case. The people in this town have not forgotten about ‘Amber,’ and the fact that we still don’t even know who she was, never mind who killed her. We don’t want the same thing to happen with this Emery woman. Besides, we’re one step ahead of the game. We have an ID on this one.”

“No crime scene,” said Walter. “No weapon as yet.”

“We’ll get it,” said Dale irritably. “This one is not going to get away from us.”

“No, sir,” said Walter.

The two men were quiet for a moment, each ruminating on his own concerns. Finally the chief said, “Well, it’s been a long day.”

Walter stood up. “I’m going to look this report over again before I go home.”

Chief Matthews gave his detective an encouraging nod. Walter was not the most electrifying of thinkers, but he was thorough. Dogged, even. “We’re going to nail this sucker, whoever he or she might be,” Dale said, assuming his best Dirty Harry persona. But as Walter bade him good night and left his office, Dale opened his desk drawer and unrolled another Turns tablet. He tried to sound positive, but this case had his stomach roiling. Even the most diplomatic of officials couldn’t get away with zero for two when it came to murder. This time he needed a winner.

Walter closed the door to the chief’s office and managed a wan smile for Larry Tillman, who was still hanging around outside.

“What did he say?” Larry asked in a confidential tone.

Walter hefted the report. “It wasn’t a sex crime. The chief seems to think it might have been the Newhall woman.”

Larry made a face. “I don’t think that. Do you? Too bloody for a woman.”

Walter tossed the report on his desk and got himself a paper cup of water from the cooler. “Women commit bloody crimes, too,” he observed.

Larry folded his arms over his chest and gave it some thought. Being in on a murder case was nothing short of thrilling to him. He did not want to appear naive or impulsive in his opinions. “I didn’t think she was being completely honest,” he said. “You know, about how she felt about the victim.”

“No,” Walter admitted, crumpling his cup and tossing it in the basket, “but then, neither was anybody else.”

“So, you don’t think she did it.”

Walter sat down at his desk and looked up at him. “I didn’t say that.”