Father and sons sat on the taupe tuxedo sofa in Kerry’s living room while Trisha and I took our places in high-backed, armless, tightly-stuffed chairs covered in black, white and taupe-striped silk. The coffee table, with the new ring on it, was a galley door from an old ship, and had been covered in glass – so the ring was no problem.
‘If you’re sure you want to do this—’ I started.
Ken interrupted me. ‘I’m sure. Ask any questions. Our lives are an open book.’
‘OK,’ I said and looked at Trisha. She shrugged. So I asked what I thought was an important question. ‘Did you know Berta Harris?’
Ken frowned. ‘Berta Harris? Do you think she has something to do with this?’
‘No, not at all. We had her memorial service yesterday morning. I’m just wondering if you knew her.’
‘She’s dead?’ Ken said, standing up from the sofa. ‘How? Was she murdered too?’
I stood up and went to Ken, taking him by the arms and encouraging him to sit back down.
‘Ken, you need to calm down or this isn’t going to work. She may have been murdered, but there’s no proof yet. It’s all very confusing.’ I then went on to tell him about my encounter with Kerry and how she’d acted about the news of Berta’s death. I ended with, ‘How did you and Kerry know her?’
Ken shrugged. ‘I didn’t, not really. I came home from work early one day because I had the flu and Berta was in the living room. I had no idea who she was. But when she saw me she looked terrified. Then Kerry came downstairs and saw me and she looked terrified. And I asked them what the hell was going on, but then Kerry just laughed and said I’d startled her. Then she introduced me to the Harris woman, said she was a client, and then she walked her to the door. But the thing is, she tried to hide it but I saw that she handed the woman a wad of cash. I don’t know how much.’
‘Did you ask Kerry about it later?’ Trisha asked.
Ken shook his head. ‘No. I figured it must have been a refund or something. Maybe the woman gave her cash to hold a house before she made a bid or something. I don’t know. Real estate is not my thing.’
‘Did you ever see Berta Harris again?’ I asked.
‘No.’
‘Did Kerry ever mention her again?’ I asked.
‘No,’ Ken said.
One of the boys said, ‘I heard Mom talking to her on the phone once. It seemed like she was trying to calm her down or something. I know she said “Berta” because I remember thinking that was a weird name.’
‘Do you know what she was calming her down about?’ I asked.
The boy shrugged. ‘Naw, and I didn’t ask. Mom’s always on the phone with somebody.’ Then his head dropped. ‘I mean, was.’
I stood up and Trisha followed suit. ‘Ken, I’m going to keep looking into this, but I can’t promise I’ll do better than the police. Just tell them everything, including what you just told me. I did mention to Lieutenant Luna what I just told y’all about Berta Harris, so she might ask you about it.’ As we headed to the door, I thought of something else. ‘Oh, and, ah, don’t mention to Lieutenant Luna that I’m, um, looking into this, OK?’
Ken nodded. ‘Don’t tell Lieutenant Luna and don’t tell Willis.’
‘You got it,’ I said and hugged him goodbye.
‘So now what?’ Trisha asked as we got in the minivan. I so wished I already had my new two-seater. It would be so much cooler doing this in a sports car with the top down. My hair blowing in the breeze – forget it. It would be a tangled mess.
‘Now we go back to Berta’s house,’ I said, and held up a key card I’d found in Kerry’s top drawer. ‘I think this will get us into the lockbox on the door.’
Trisha grinned. ‘Way cool,’ she said, taking me back to tenth grade. God, if I only had my sports car!
The sign was still up in Berta Harris’s yard on Weed Willow. I pulled into the driveway of the single-story house like I owned the place and we got out. ‘Walk confidently. We belong here, in case the neighbors wonder. We’re with the new real estate company representing the property. Ah, Black Cat Realty.’
‘Is there a Black Cat Realty?’ Trisha asked.
‘We’re new,’ I told her.
‘Roger.’
So I marched confidently up to the front door and tried to stick the card key into the lock, but it wasn’t that kind of lock. You had to punch in numbers, not a card key. My confidence was ebbing when, just for kicks and giggles, I turned the knob. The door opened.
Trisha and I looked at each other and I wondered if I was the only one thinking about running back to the minivan and buying a nice conservative sedan. I took a deep breath and opened the door. Behind me, Trisha pushed and I found myself in Berta Harris’ foyer. To the left was a small formal dining room with nothing in it. Directly in front was a large living room with a fireplace and a glass wall looking into a sun room with a patio and pool beyond. It was also empty of furniture. A wet bar was just to the left of the fireplace and between that and the dining room was an opening that led to a large kitchen and family room, with the fireplace from the living room doing double duty in the family room. The kitchen had a breakfast area at the front of the house that was surrounded on one side by a large bow window. There was a card table and one folding chair set there. In the family room was a broken-down recliner and a fourteen-inch television sitting on a TV tray. Beyond that, towards the back of the house, was a hallway that led to a door to the laundry room and the attached garage at the back of the house (there was an alley entrance), another door that led to a bath with a large shower, and yet another door leading to a room set up as an office. There were built-in bookcases with nothing in them, and a folding chair in front of the built-in computer center with a laptop sitting there. Another door in the office led to the sunroom.
On the other side of the living room were two doorways – one an actual door, the other an entrance to a hallway. The hallway led to two empty bedrooms with a shared bath in between. The door in the living room led to the master suite, a large bedroom with his and her bathrooms and separate walk-in closets. There was an air mattress on the floor with a blanket thrown on top, and a box with clothes. The bathroom held a few toiletries in the female half (you could tell which was which because the female half had the giant sunken tub. What man wants that, right?). The tub, however, held something else.
Blood.
Not a great deal, but enough to shake up Trisha and myself. Not only that, but the tinted glass window that was one wall of the tub and looked out at the landscaped garden and pool of the backyard had been broken out. And not just a little break – a great big one. The only way I knew the window had been tinted was by the tiny shards still clinging to the window frame.
‘Don’t touch anything,’ I told Trisha. ‘Let’s just back out. We need to call the police.’
We moved into the living room where I dialed Luna’s private number at the police department.
‘What part of “stay out of this” did you not understand?’ Luna said, not even pretending to glare at me.
‘We were just driving by—’
‘Her bathtub?’
‘You know Kerry didn’t have a partner, and Ken asked me if I’d check Berta’s house to see if there was anything on next of kin. He wanted to notify Berta’s family.’
‘Did he give you a key?’ Luna asked.
‘The door was open,’ I said, not for the first time.
‘So that takes breaking off the table. Now let’s talk about entering,’ she said, giving me a look.
‘Ken said we could!’ I said, knowing how childish that sounded but unable to stop myself.
‘Ken had no right to say you could, if he really did, which I don’t believe for a moment. Meanwhile, we have break— Sorry, entering without permission and vandalism.’
‘This is all on me, Luna. Trisha had nothing to do with it,’ I said.
She turned and looked at Trisha. ‘And I thought you were sane,’ she said, sadly shaking her head.
‘We could have called you from a payphone,’ Trisha said, ‘and you would have never known it was us. But instead we do our civic duty and this is the way we’re treated?’
I was frantically making hand signals behind Luna’s back, but Trisha either didn’t see them or was ignoring them.
‘Civic duty,’ Luna repeated. She turned to me and smiled. It was a big smile. A big, phony smile. ‘Civic duty! My, my. Is that what we’re calling it? Civvv-ick dooo-ty. Hum. Kinda just rolls off the tongue, doesn’t it? Civvvvvv-ick dooooo-ty. Is that what you’ve been doing all this time, Pugh? Exercising your civic duty?’
‘Luna—’ I started.
‘Falling over dead bodies all the time – that’s your civic duty?’
‘I did not fall over anyone or anything this time!’ I protested.
‘Yet you felt a need to extend your civic duty to breaking and en— I’m sorry,’ she said, oh so sarcastically, ‘I just mean entering the former Berta Harris’s home.’
‘I think we’re forgetting the main thing here!’ Trisha said, little hands on little hips as she glared up at Luna. ‘There is blood in the bathtub and the glass wall of the tub is shattered! Someone did break in here but it wasn’t us.’
‘And how do I know that?’ Luna demanded, her face getting red. ‘So you broke the back window to get in and do whatever it is you did, then lied about the front door being open! Martinez!’ she shouted at the other plain clothes cop in the room.
‘Yeah, Lu?’ he asked.
‘You think maybe these two here,’ she said, pointing at us, ‘broke that tinted window, entered this home and then lied about the door being open?’
‘Well, now, Lu,’ Martinez said, scratching his head, ‘that could very well be! Ma’am, I think you done solved this case!’
Luna smiled brightly at him. ‘Thanks, Martinez, you got your cuffs?’
‘You betcha!’ he said, pulling out his handcuffs and heading toward me.
I backed away, saying, ‘No, oh no, get away from me!’
As I was being read my rights and Luna was cuffing Trisha, I heard Trisha say, ‘I have small children! My husband’s an attorney!’
And then we were stuffed into the backs of separate squad cars. It was going to be a long night.
I have never had any desire to run for office. Good thing. With my record, it could be problematic. I’ve never been actually tried for anything, have never even been before a judge, but I have been arrested a few times. OK, maybe more than a few. But the charges have always been dropped. Of course, not before Willis became involved. This time I didn’t call him to rescue me. I called my son Graham. OK, I agree, not a motherly thing to do. But having bailed him out of jail two months ago for dropping cherry bombs in the girls’ bathroom, I thought it was more or less tit for tat, so to speak.
Unfortunately, Willis was the one who showed up. Graham and I were going to have some serious words. But the first thing my husband (and I use that term loosely) said was, ‘Don’t blame Graham.’ He used his head to point at Trisha. ‘Tom called me.’ Tom was Trisha’s husband.
‘Is he mad?’ Trisha asked.
‘Concerned,’ Willis said. ‘But I’m afraid he’s not going to let you play with E.J. anymore.’
‘Willis—’ I started.
‘Trisha, please explain to your friend that I’m talking to you, not her.’
Trisha looked at me and opened her mouth to speak. I just said, ‘Don’t.’ So she didn’t.
‘I have bail money for both of you, although Lieutenant Luna is going to let you go, Trisha. Your friend, however, is another story.’
‘I can go?’ Trisha asked, jumping to her tiny little feet. ‘Right now?’
‘Yep,’ my husband said. He moved aside while a guard unlocked our cage and escorted Trisha out.
Looking back at me, she said, ‘Sorry, E.J.’
I shrugged. ‘Not your fault. Enjoy your freedom.’ I looked after her as she was escorted out of the jail wing. And for a while after she was no longer visible. It beat looking at Willis.
‘You’re going before a judge in the morning,’ Willis said. ‘This time Luna’s serious. There will be actual bail set; we may have to put the house up as collateral. You’ll have an actual record. You may end up going to prison. Have you reached your goal yet? Is this the ultimate thrill? Have you been all you can be?’
I didn’t look at him.
‘Answer me, damn it!’ he said in a very loud tone.
Finally I turned to face him. ‘I did not do what Luna has accused me of. I’m innocent.’
‘You didn’t go in Berta Harris’s house?’ he asked in a sarcastic tone.
‘Of course I went in her house! I just didn’t break the window to get in! The door was open!’
‘What difference does that make?’ he yelled at me.
‘I. Did. Not. Break. And. Enter!’ I yelled succinctly. ‘I just entered!’
‘Are you saying the window was broken by someone else?’ he yelled.
‘Yes!’ I yelled back. ‘I’m saying the window was broken by someone else! And that’s the truth!’
There was silence for a moment. Then he yelled, ‘I’ll be right back!’ and left.
It was a quiet ride home. Until I said, ‘Can you swing by Berta’s house? My car’s still there.’
‘Your car was towed to impound. That’s a hundred dollars we could have used towards Graham’s education.’
I laughed. ‘A hundred dollars one way or another will have no effect on Graham’s education. Stop trying to make me feel guilty for something I didn’t do. So where’s the impound?’
‘It closes at six. It’s now nine o’clock. I lost two hours of work, plus the hundred dollars plus the doctor bills for this ulcer you’re giving me!’
‘You gonna yell at me some more?’ I asked, rubbing his thigh.
‘Jeez, don’t tell me yelling at you turns you on now.’
‘That would be unfortunate,’ I said. ‘I’d stay horny constantly.’
‘I don’t yell at you that much,’ he said, his voice softening.
‘Yeah, you do,’ I said.
‘You yell back,’ he said.
‘I know,’ I said.
‘The kids are all home,’ he said.
‘Too bad we don’t have the minivan,’ I said.
‘I sorta know the guy who runs the impound,’ Willis said. ‘Maybe I can get him to open it.’
I continued to rub his thigh. ‘That’s the best idea I’ve heard all night.’
An hour later I was following Willis’s truck home in my minivan. It was true that I was slightly turned on, not so much by the yelling, more by being out of jail. Willis never needed to know that the real reason I wanted the minivan out of impound was to protect Berta Harris’s laptop. I’d moved it from her office to the van while waiting for the police to show up. Somehow, I think it might have hurt his feelings.
‘So what’s on it?’ Trisha asked. We were sitting in my office under the stairs while Megan watched Sesame Street with Trisha’s two daughters.
‘Nothing yet,’ I answered. I was trying to peruse Berta Harris’s laptop but was having no luck. I can write a book on a computer, find the internet, and turn it on and off. Other than that, computers are not my friend.
‘Let me try,’ Trisha said, shooing me out of my chair. She found a few more things than I did – mainly Berta’s email account. Her password had been simple: her first name.
There were emails to and from Kerry Killian.
The latest one from Kerry had a long history of former emails to and from. We scrolled to the bottom to the start of the message, which began in early November of the previous year, and ended about a month ago:
Berta: I’m scared. I heard someone walking on the sidewalk in front of the house! What am I supposed to do?
Kerry: Bert, honey, sidewalks are public property, remember? It’s OK if someone walks on it. You need to just calm down. Drink some warm milk and get some sleep, OK, sweetie?
Berta: OK, I slept OK last night. I took one of those sleeping pills you gave me. They’re the only thing that helps. Sometimes I feel like I’m coming out of my skin. I don’t think your plan is working! Nothing is coming to me. I went to a new group last night, MADD, but I don’t think I hurt anyone while driving drunk. I sure didn’t feel guilty when I went there. Nervous, but not guilty.
Kerry: Great! That’s something else we can mark off the list! Have you checked your weight? Gained a few more pounds?
Berta: Up to 145. Yea!
Kerry: You betcha yea! I’m proud of you.
That one ended. I looked at Trisha. ‘“Up to 145? Yea”? Since when do women go “yea” over gaining weight?’
Trisha shrugged. ‘Not in my lifetime,’ she said.
‘She joined MADD to see if she felt guilty?’ I pondered.
‘Yeah, to see if she’d run over somebody while drinking,’ Trisha said, wrinkling her pretty brow. ‘That doesn’t make sense,’ she said.
‘No, you’re right, it doesn’t. None of this makes sense. Kerry seems very close to her from these emails, yet Ken barely knew of her existence. What’s that all about?’
Again the shrug.
‘Can you get anything else?’ I asked.
‘There’s older email threads,’ Trisha said.
We looked and they were all basically the same. Berta frightened or upset, Kerry trying to settle her down. Berta conceded she probably wasn’t an alcoholic because she didn’t crave liquor, but she might keep going to AA because she thought one of the guys there was, as she put it, ‘super hunky cute.’ She liked going to Weigh In because she discovered lots of new places to go eat where she could, as she put it, ‘pig out like a real oinker.’ None of this made a lick of sense, and Trisha and I were about to give up when I heard Graham and the girls come in from various summertime activities.
‘Graham!’ I yelled.
‘What?’ he yelled back.
‘Get a snack and come to my office. I need your superior tech skills!’
‘Whatever,’ he yelled back.
‘He’s good?’ Trisha asked.
‘Yeah, got a couple of hundred bucks last year for changing the grades of half the football team. Of course, he got caught, and we made him pay the money back. But still.’ My turn to shrug.
‘It does show skill,’ Trisha conceded.
‘That’s all I’m saying.’
Graham wandered into my office with an apple between his teeth and a bagel in his hand. ‘Waa?’
‘We got the emails off here, but what else can we get that will tell us something about the owner?’ I asked.
Graham took the apple out of his mouth. ‘Who does this laptop belong to?’ he asked.
‘Does that really matter?’
‘Is it stolen?’
‘That doesn’t concern you. I just need you to—’
‘Does Dad know about this?’ Graham asked, hands on hips.
I stood up. ‘You are not playing that card, young man! How much stuff do I have on you that I haven’t told your dad? Or Luna next door, for that matter?’
‘So,’ he said, leaning over the laptop. ‘You want to see the history of where the owner’s been on the internet?’
‘Yes, that would be lovely,’ I said.
‘Ma’am,’ my respectful son said to Trisha, sliding her out of the chair and himself into it. He fiddled for a while, said, ‘Voila!’ and turned to me. ‘We’re even.’ He stuck out his hand and I shook it.
‘Even,’ I said.
He stuck the apple back in his mouth, picked up the bagel and left my office.
‘You have a strange relationship with your family,’ Trisha said.
I sat down in my office chair. ‘True, but it works for us.’