It was mid-morning, but Georgia didn’t dress up for work anymore. Her PI “uniform,” as she called it after she quit the force, used to be a pair of jeans, a T-shirt, and a blazer with lots of pockets, one of which hid her Baby Glock. Now she wore sweats and didn’t see the need to change. It wasn’t like she needed to impress a new client. She brushed her teeth, slashed lipstick across her mouth, and pulled her long blond hair into a ponytail, threading it through a Cubs baseball hat.
A sunny March day, the crocuses and daffodils were struggling to make their appearance, and the ground had that earthy fresh smell that promised spring. The change of seasons, as sure and predictable as a grandfather clock, provided a balm—a serenity of sorts—that Georgia hoped would soothe the world’s chaos.
Twenty minutes later, she pulled into the parking lot at Edens Plaza in Wilmette. A tiny Starbucks was wedged next to a department store that always seemed to be going out of business. On the other side of the coffee shop was a group of umbrellas, tables, and chairs. Susan sat primly in a chair under one umbrella. Her mother, an older version of Susan, with curly gray hair, a pair of fashionable pants with matching jacket, and excellent posture, sat next to her. Late seventies, Georgia thought.
Susan, like her mother, was smartly dressed in a beige designer pants suit, and her reddish auburn hair complemented the clothes. But Ellie, like Georgia, was in athleisure wear, slouched in the third chair. Four cardboard cups, steam wafting from their lids, sat in front of them. All three women were wearing masks. Georgia took hers out and put it on.
Georgia slipped into a chair beside Ellie. Ellie looked good, her dark curls wavy but not unmanageable, her eyes as gray as her sweats. She never seemed to age.
Ellie was appraising her, too, she noted. What did she see? A blonde, late-thirtyish woman, fit and trim, but a nose too big for her face, a chin that jutted out, and brown eyes to which she rarely added makeup. She wondered if she’d aged in the past year.
Ellie dropped her mask, broke into a smile, so broad and genuine that Georgia couldn’t help returning it. Ellie pushed one of the cups across the table. “Still a vanilla latte?”
“How did you remember?” Georgia lowered her mask too and took a sip.
Ellie shrugged, but that was the extent of their banter. Susan cut in. “Georgia, this is my mother, Evelyn.”
Georgia nodded. Should she get up and shake her hand? No. She’d wait until they left. If at all. No one shook hands during the era of Covid. “Ellie told me about your sister. That’s got to be hard. My condolences.”
Evelyn cupped her hands around her drink as if warming her fingers. “Thank you. It is hard. She’s…she was the only family I had left. We were twins, you know…” her voice trailed off.
“I understand.” Georgia said. So Evelyn was in her eighties. Looked good too. “How can I help?”
Susan sipped what turned out to be hot tea. “We want to know what happened to Aunt Emily. It’s just so weird that she didn’t tolerate the vaccine, when people much less healthy than her are doing fine.”
Georgia turned to Susan’s mother. “Have you been vaccinated, Mrs. Siler?”
“Call me Evelyn, and yes. I’ve had both. And a booster. I was sore for a day or so and had chills, but that was all.”
“So no reaction like your sister.”
“No.” A look of anguish came over Evelyn. “They did an autopsy but didn’t find anything out of the ordinary. The doctor said two to five people in a million die from a severe reaction.” She shook her head. “We just can’t figure it out. But I need to.”
Georgia understood. When someone close passed away in uncertain circumstances, the people nearest and dearest to them needed an explanation. They needed to make sure there was nothing they could have done to stop it. For their own peace of mind. For “closure.”
She hated that term, “closure.” A vague expression everyone was supposed to aspire to when grief struck. Why? Most people would never forget that someone close to them passed away. She knew from her days as a cop that if a person was missing, and the body finally showed up, knowing what had happened did help the grieving process. It was the word “closure.” An awkward word, devoid of emotion, that couldn’t possibly capture the storm of feelings unleashed by grief. Even when a relationship was toxic. Her late father had been a dysfunctional drunk, but Georgia still thought about him.
“Ellie said they’re checking with the manufacturer, right?”
Evelyn nodded. “The doctor said someone would. But he didn’t give me details.”
Georgia pondered it. “You know, it could be a health issue you don’t know about. Even Emily might not have known about it.”
“I doubt it. My sister could bench-press a hundred and fifty pounds. I can only do a hundred.”
Georgia almost smiled. Sibling rivalry? If so, it was gentle.
“And then when those other poor men died two days later… Well, I can’t help thinking all those crazy people who are against the vaccine—”
“Whoa,” Georgia said. “Speculation is way above my pay grade. At least at this point. I know how hard it is to accept a sudden loss.” Georgia’s father had dropped dead of a heart attack twelve years earlier. She had hated him when he was alive but was surprised how much she grieved. Matt, her boyfriend at the time, told her it wasn’t uncommon. “People used to being abused often miss their abuser.”
She pulled herself back to the present. “I haven’t seen anything in the media about this,” Georgia said. “Which is strange. A few months ago, when a few people got dizzy after getting their shots and went to the hospital, it was all over the news.”
Mrs. Siler shrugged. “I don’t know anything about that. Nor do I care.” She sat up stiffly. Her chest and her chin jutted out. “Susan told me what a good investigator you are. I would be more comfortable if you could look into it. I can’t sit around and do nothing. I just can’t. And of course, I will compensate you for your time.”
Susan shot Georgia an apologetic look that seemed to say, “Now you know what I’ve been living with all my life.” Georgia and Ellie exchanged a glance.