Chapter 31

Frances Noonan recommended that only two should go for the visit. Didn’t want a whole cadre of five old ladies descending on the poor woman. Since she had a car, it was understood that she would go. All the ladies were interested, but Enid Carmichael was desperate in her desire to meet the sister, Evelyn Ringley.

“Anything I can do to help the kid,” she said, but Frances didn’t think she even remembered Ben’s name. Be in on the action, first to meet this woman, hear the juicy details, that was what Enid was after.

Enid was her usual forceful self, complaining they always left her out of the loop and that she had as much right to go as anyone else, more so, since it was her idea. Mrs. Noonan couldn’t dispute this, and it was easier to say yes than continue to come up with excuses. Plus, in the back of her mind was a small thought that driving with Enid Carmichael might be preferable at the moment than driving with Alma Gordon and hearing happy stories about Mr. Glenn.

Mrs. Noonan had seen them standing hand in hand by the elevator, and then Mr. Glenn leaned in and gave Alma a peck on her cheek. It was so romantic, but so hard to watch. Bill had never been one to hold hands, but he did love those pecks.

So, against her better judgment, Mrs. Noonan set off with Mrs. Carmichael. Her misgivings were born out even before they were out of San Francisco. As they approached the Golden Gate Bridge, not ten minutes from home, Enid shifted her tall frame uncomfortably. She yanked the lever to shove the seat farther back, but it was at its limit. She blurted, “She better have something to say. I hope I’m not making this trip all the way up there for nothing.”

Mrs. Noonan bit her tongue. Bill would say she got what she deserved, avoiding Alma Gordon this way.

“She’s the sister, after all,” Mrs. Carmichael continued. “She must know more about this than she’s telling.”

“Yes, I certainly hope she can help us with Ben,” Mrs. Noonan managed.

They found the address without difficulty, thanks to directions provided by Andy’s cellular telephone map. He offered to let her take the phone with her, but even turning it on was tricky, especially with her arthritic, misshapen fingers. She copied the directions down instead.

The house was a one-story ranch, well kept, with a tricycle on the front porch and flowers along the front path. As they got out of the car, Mrs. Noonan wanted to tell Mrs. Carmichael to “be nice” and “contain yourself,” but you couldn’t say that to a grown woman, an eighty-year-old woman at that.

They waited a long time on the porch after ringing the bell. Mrs. Carmichael put her bony finger up to push the bell again, but Mrs. Noonan gently held her back. She sensed someone on the other side of the door, probably peeping through the peephole trying to decide whether to open the door or not. Mrs. Noonan stood up straight and put a pleasant smile on her face. She looked at Enid, who was scowling and picking her teeth with her fingernail.

They heard a commotion and a child’s cry and a hush, all from the other side of the door. Soon after, it opened.

Evelyn Ringley was petite, blonde, and about thirty years old. A towheaded boy held her legs, his face buried in her jeans. Her hand rested on his head.

“Yes?” she said.

“Hello,” said Mrs. Noonan. “I am Frances Noonan, and this is Enid Carmichael. We came from San Francisco hoping to talk to you. We don’t want to bother you, but we think you can help us. We are in a situation similar to yours, helping out with a little boy,” she dropped her voice to a whisper, “who lost a parent. We would like to learn from you, if possible, anything you can tell us to help the boy through this.”

Evelyn Ringley considered them, then glanced down at the boy by her side. “Is this about that man in San Francisco? That man who k-i-l-l-e-d his wife?” She spelled the word out.

“Yes,” said Mrs. Noonan. “The little boy is staying with his grandmother, a friend of ours. The boy is in trouble. We thought you might know something that could guide us.”

“Come in,” Evelyn Ringley said.

“Or know something more about anything else,” said Mrs. Carmichael hopefully as they followed Evelyn into the living room. Mrs. Noonan elbowed her in the arm and shook her head.

The house smelled wonderful, but almost immediately Mrs. Noonan’s throat tightened as she inhaled another delicious breath.

“We made cookies today. Molasses,” Evelyn Ringley said. “Would you like one?”

“No, no thank you,” Mrs. Noonan said quickly. Bill’s favorite cookies. That molasses smell brought him back, but he wasn’t there.

Enid Carmichael was quicker and louder. “Yes. Fantastic. I’m starved.”

Evelyn offered Mrs. Carmichael the plate, and she took two of the large cookies. “None for you, Frances? You always like baked goods.”

Enid grabbed a third cookie before Evelyn could set the plate back on the counter. Mrs. Noonan’s throat was so tight she couldn’t swallow a cookie if she wanted. She hadn’t been this way in years, so melancholy about Bill. All this romance between Alma Gordon and Mr. Glenn was just too much.

“It’s nap time.” Evelyn motioned them through to a child’s room. She lifted little Joey into the crib, and he lay on his back with a tiger under his arm. She bent over him, stroking his hair. Mrs. Noonan took some deep breaths, trying to ignore the molasses smell from Mrs. Carmichael’s cookies. In minutes, the little boy fell asleep. Mrs. Noonan composed herself as well.

“It’s been very hard,” Evelyn said, settling them in the living room. “I’m thankful that Joey’s so young. I think that makes him more adaptable. What a tragedy. Losing his mother, which he can’t understand. His father in jail. Moving all the way across the country. My husband thinks it’s good that I look like my sister. Joey knows I’m not Shelley, but sometimes he calls me ‘Mama.’ He actually seems to be doing all right, considering.”

“Well, that’s a tribute, I’m sure, to you and your husband,” said Mrs. Noonan. “I hope you can give us some pointers.”

“My husband and I have tried our best with him.” Evelyn’s eyes suddenly filled with tears. “I don’t know if a child can truly get past something like this. We think he was there, you know.”

Enid Carmichael perked right up. She dropped half a cookie on the rug in her excitement. “He was? He was there to see his father kill his mother?”

Mrs. Noonan shot her a look. But Evelyn seemed unperturbed, sitting quietly, her eyes closed now. Which was just as well because Mrs. Carmichael was attempting to retrieve her cookie piece with her foot but only succeeding in grinding it into the carpet.

Evelyn continued speaking. “Joey sometimes has nightmares. Not nearly as often as before, thank heavens. He wakes up shrieking, crying out for her. I can’t imagine what he’s dreaming, what horrors are in his memory. He never asks for his father. He actually doesn’t say much at all. We went to a child psychologist to find out what to do, but all he could say was consistency and love, which is obvious. He said children are resilient, that Joey can be a normal little boy. And, for the most part, he seems happy. He plays with the other children on the street, he smiles, he laughs.”

“He’s very lucky to have you,” Mrs. Noonan said. “I’m sure you’ve done everything you can.”

Evelyn stared at the cookies on the table. Her face crumpled. “He’s not lucky. I didn’t do nearly enough.”

“Oh, there, dear…” Mrs. Noonan said.

“I knew about the affair,” Evelyn said.

“You knew?” Mrs. Carmichael jumped right in. “You knew? What did you do?”

“Nothing,” Evelyn whispered. “I did nothing.”

Mrs. Noonan kicked Mrs. Carmichael in the ankles. Mrs. Carmichael glared back but kept silent.

“I overheard him on the telephone. I’ll never forgive myself for not saying something, for not warning her. I didn’t know what would happen.” Tears welled again in her eyes. “Poor Shelley, my poor, poor Shelley. Poor Joey. They seemed so happy. I didn’t know.” The tears rolled down her face. Her shoulders shook and she clenched her arms around her body.

Mrs. Noonan reached out to pat her knee. In a moment Evelyn could speak again, her voice still soft. Mrs. Carmichael leaned so far forward, Frances was afraid she would keel over.

“When they were first married, he had an affair then too. Shelley knew about that one. She thought it was her punishment because she started going with him while he was still living with his previous girlfriend. The affair devastated her. She truly thought she was the one for him, the one he had been looking for. She was heartbroken to find out he was just plain looking.

“They had a huge argument and Shelley slapped him and he slapped her back. A neighbor woman overheard and called the police. It was actually the same neighbor who found Joey in the lobby after Shelley was killed. The police arrested Joe because Shelley had a split lip. But she wouldn’t let them charge him. And she swore that was the one and only time he hit her. I believed her about that. What a fool I was.

“He did end that affair, and they really did seem happy. When little Joey came, Joe seemed so proud, I thought he had actually changed. I thought they had a chance. Joe talked about Joey nonstop, all the things they would do together. Joe played the lottery and was convinced he would win one day. That he wouldn’t have to work, and he and Joey would go fishing and play football and camp out. Shelley seemed so happy.

“But Joey was a hard baby. Joe didn’t have the patience for all the crying, all the diapers. Shelley did it all and worked too. She didn’t complain, just kept trudging along. When she was with us that last summer, she made excuses for Joe, for why he wasn’t helping more.”

Little Joey called out from the other room. Evelyn paused. Mrs. Carmichael noisily swallowed the last of her cookie. The boy didn’t call again, and Evelyn went on. “Joe had the gall to call his girlfriend right from this house. I heard him and I didn’t say anything, not to him, not to Shelley. I know I should have talked to her, told her right then about Joe. But I couldn’t bring myself to. She still loved him. I didn’t want to be the one to break her heart again.”

Mrs. Noonan could see Enid perched on the edge of her chair, barely able to contain herself. She tried to catch her eye, to motion her to keep silent, but to no avail.

“You probably could have stopped the whole thing, then,” said Mrs. Carmichael, “if you’d just said something.”

“Oh, no, dear, I’m sure that’s not true,” said Mrs. Noonan quickly.

Tears stained Evelyn’s face, but her voice was clear. “Yes, yes, she’s right. If I’d told Shelley about the affair, she would have left him. I know she would have. She might even have stayed in California with us. She was only in Philadelphia because of Joe. She loved it out here. And if Joe knew we all knew about the affair, he would never have thought he could kill her and get away with it, get the money.”

“It certainly is a lot of money,” said Mrs. Carmichael. “A million dollars.”

“Yes, a million dollars. My husband was astounded when Shelley told us about their insurance policies. We were on vacation at a place without internet and Joe was mad because he couldn’t look up the numbers for his lottery ticket. Shelley said if she ever died, he would never need a lottery ticket again. The irony is, the policy was so high because of Shelley. When she was pregnant with Joey, she made them get the extra policies. She had to hunt around to find a company to issue them. She had this idea that if a family loses a parent, it’s so devastating that the least you can do to soften the pain is to be rich. And the money would allow the living parent to stay home with Joey. Well, now look.”

“She sweetened the pot just too much,” said Mrs. Carmichael. “To think he could have his paramour and a million dollars. What a temptation for an unscrupulous man.”

“Yes, and now the money will probably come to Joey,” Evelyn said. “To us, if Joe gets convicted. Joe can’t collect, of course. Joey’s the contingent beneficiary on the life insurance, and we’re the guardians in their wills. Shelley made them get wills too. Joe must be furious.”

“It’s his own making. He’s a murderer, after all,” Mrs. Carmichael said.

“Oh, I know. Believe me, I know. When I think of what he did…to my sister…” Evelyn fought to control herself. “Shelley loved little Joey so much. She’ll never get to see him grow. He can toss a ball now. He can climb up on a chair. She’ll never see this. When they were here, we all went down to Big Sur. Joey was only six or seven months old then, and he had this game where he bounced up and down holding onto her knees, and he was so strong he could almost pull her over. They both loved it and laughed hysterically. Now he does it with us, bouncing up and down and pulling on our legs. He still laughs and laughs, but it’s all I can do not to cry.”

“Crying won’t help the tot,” said Mrs. Carmichael.

“You went down to Big Sur?” said Mrs. Noonan.

“Yes. It was the last vacation Shelley ever took. She and Joe came to visit us for two weeks, and we spent a week at a resort in Big Sur. A beautiful place.”

“Do you remember the name?” asked Mrs. Noonan.

“No, but I have the brochure right here. I saved it because it was such a nice place.” Evelyn stood slowly, as if she had aged with all this talking and was as old as Mrs. Noonan. She crossed to a desk in the corner and opened a drawer.

“Here.” She passed the brochure to Mrs. Noonan. “Paradise Cove.”