7 Madness in Miniature (20 page)

We filled a cart plus a basket with merchandise from every section of the store. I paused to admire the dollhouse display, of course, and couldn’t help tweaking a few pieces of furniture. We were ready to check out and I still hadn’t heard from Megan. With some reluctance, I wandered to the back of the store where Leo was dealing with one of the maintenance crew.

“Excuse me, have you seen Megan?” I asked Leo, giving the man in coveralls an excuse to tip his gray-and-white striped cap and leave.

“Far as I know, she’s gone.”

“On an errand, you mean.”

“Nope, she’s gone, as in back home. She had her luggage loaded in the rental when she got here this morning.”

“That’s strange.”

“It’s what she planned.”

“But she asked me to stay around for an hour in case Jeanine needed anything, and that was”—I checked my watch—“an hour and ten minutes ago. I assumed she was coming back.”

Leo shrugged, oblivious. “I have no idea why she gave you that impression. I don’t expect to see her again in California.” His turn to check the time. “She was scheduled for the twelve-ten flight. It’s a half hour to the airport, and she had to return the rental, so I assumed that when she left here around ten-fifteen, ten-twenty, she was headed there.”

There was no use stressing about it. “I’ll be leaving now,” I said to Leo.

“No problem,” he said.

I wished I could have said that it was the strangest thing that had happened in the last five days, but it wasn’t even close.

* * *

It
hadn’t been hard to talk Henry into meeting us at Willie’s Bagels. “Sustenance for the road,” I’d said, cell phone to cell phone.

“And for buying dresses, I’ll bet.”

“That, too,” I’d admitted.

The four of us were seated in Willie’s, made hungrier from the aroma of bagels, fresh out of the oven. I detected the aromatic presence of cinnamon, blueberry, and chocolate, and had a hard time deciding.

I related the Megan Sutley story to Henry, then posed my questions. “First, why would she be so obsessed last night with a single bead, crystal or otherwise? It’s not as though it was museum quality, though admittedly it was a cut above the crafts beads in those packages on the SuperKrafts racks. And then today, she acted as though it was nothing, until Maddie produced the bead.”

“If you say so.”

“And second, why did she lie to me today? If she had a twelve-ten flight, then her so-called errand when she left me at SuperKrafts was to get to the airport.”

“Maybe she didn’t want you to know how long you’d really be covering for her. Or maybe it was Leo who lied?”

I thought about it. “I should call Loretta,” I said. I pulled my phone out. “Do you mind?”

Henry gave me a head shake that said he wanted the answer, too. The girls were occupied, head to head, with some app on their phones. I punched in the number.

“KenTucky Inn. How can we help you?” I was happy to hear Loretta’s voice. I wasn’t ready to deal with Jeanine’s friend Dana until I knew she’d cleared herself in the eyes of the law.

“It’s Gerry, Loretta. I have a quick question for you.”

“Yes, we’re available for your wedding.”

I acknowledged my friend’s clever opening, hoping Henry didn’t notice the flush it brought to my face. “Did Megan Sutley check out this morning?”

“Yes, she did, as planned. First thing. Paid in full. Is there a problem?”

“No, and thanks for letting me know about the glass, or lack of it, after the earthquake.”

“Okay, and hey, make sure you keep that wedding guest list down to one hundred or less so we can handle it. Ha, ha.”

“Ha, ha to you, too, Loretta.”

“What’s that about?” Henry asked.

Our bagel orders arrived just in time for me to avoid his question.

“Good to have confirmation,” I said when we’d thanked our waitress. “Megan checked out first thing this morning.”

“Well, that’s the end of it, then, right?”

“Right,” I said. But it didn’t feel right.

Henry took off
for his own errands (not involving a cross-country flight, I hoped) while the girls and I discussed ordering brownies to go and taking them on the shopping trip. We got one for Aunt Bev, of course.

Dum dum, da da dum, da da dum.

The LPPD on my cell phone. Not Skip’s number, however. “Mrs. Porter?” A young woman’s voice. “This is Pam Blake from the LPPD.”

“Yes?” My heart pounded as I thought first of Bev. Was it her heart? Had the stress of the wedding gotten to her? Was I to blame for postponing and rescheduling over and over?

“Mrs. Porter, we had a report from a neighbor of someone leaving your home, possibly after breaking in. We’ve sent a car and we’ve just reached Skip, also, but you might want to check it out.”

“Uh, thank you very much. I’ll do that.”

I tried to keep my voice level for the sake of the girls. I was never so glad Maddie and Taylor had each other and their electronic baby-sitters. On the other hand, I had to deposit them somewhere safe while I went home. I tried Henry’s cell and got no answer; the same for June’s. My third idea worked, as Rosie, my friend and the owner of Rosie’s Books, just down the street, agreed to have preteen company.

“Of course, Gerry,” Rosie said. “You can drop Maddie off any time, you know that.”

I sent effusive thanks her way. “This is a bit of an emergency. And she has a friend with her.”

“Any friend of Maddie’s…”

I pulled money from my wallet and dropped it on the table. “Something’s come up,” I said to the girls and led them out the door before they could question me.

Following only a moderate grilling on the way to Rosie’s, Maddie was astonishingly cooperative about staying put, and I attributed her compliance to the reunion with Taylor. After nearly a week apart, there were endless things to talk about and an infinite number of games to play. The other reason she wasn’t making a fuss might have been that my face, as I saw it in my rearview mirror, was as white as the cheapest vanilla ice cream.

Rosie was waiting at the door to her shop, as planned. I let the girls out of the car, gave Rosie a quick wave, and drove in the other direction toward my house. I wished I’d thought to ask Pam, whom I knew from the LPPD reception desk, a few questions. Who had called in the report? What did the burglar look like? What kind of car was he driving? And about a dozen other things. Burglaries were not at all common in my Eichler neighborhood where neighbors looked after each other. My own home did not present a great challenge to someone who wanted in. My spare key was tucked into a tiny space under a large planter near my front step. One of the three most common places anyone ever kept an extra key, I imagined. High on the list with “under the welcome mat” or “at the top of the doorframe.”

I tried to stay at the speed limit, but it was difficult not to race through the streets to my usually peaceful neighborhood.

Blare, blare. Blare, blare.

A car, rightfully honking at me as I nearly missed a stop sign at the bottom of my street. What was I doing? When had my life gotten so out of control? There was nothing in my home of great value, except to me—pieces of china that were my mother’s; a brooch given to me by Ken’s mother at our wedding; various drawings and crafts from Maddie from kindergarten on; photos, of course. I certainly valued all my crafts supplies and ongoing projects, but not to the point of being devastated if they were stolen. Then again, who would steal crafts projects?

I slowed down as I approached my house, breathing better when I saw a patrol car, and one other, parked in front of my house. The beige sedan looked like it could have come from the police’s small fleet of unmarked cars. Should I consider it good news or bad that Skip might be here? I parked in my driveway and walked to the door, now held wide open by Skip, with Henry at his side.

* * *

The
next half hour went by in a blur as I sat in my atrium with Henry and Skip while uniformed cops wandered about my home, in and out of doorways, looking for trouble. “We’ll go through it when they’re done,” Skip told me.

“Who called the station?” I asked. “Esther Willoughby?”

“Beige with brown trim,” Skip said, up to the minute on Eichler shorthand.

Esther, a lovely woman in her nineties, lived across the street. Everyone within a couple of blocks in either direction counted on her to take a delivery if we were away, to tell us if children from the nearby grammar school were eating lunch on our lawns, to make sure everyone’s garbage was picked up when it was supposed to be. Esther kept track of new owners and reported anyone who didn’t belong. We all loved Esther.

“The trouble is with her eyes,” Skip said.

“I know. Did she describe the person?” I asked.

“According to Pam, Esther first reported that it was a young boy, but she told the uniforms who responded that it might have been a short, thin woman. And the car has gone from blue to black.”

The uniformed officers came back from their tour of my home. “Nothing,” said one of the young cops, by which I hoped he meant, “Nothing has been disturbed” and not, “There’s nothing left.”

Once the officers were gone, Henry and Skip walked me through the rooms. I checked my jewelry boxes, the drawer where I keep a small reserve of cash, Maddie’s laptop and my computer. Nothing was missing that I could see. My furniture hadn’t been moved, and neither had my books. My closets were intact, some less neat than others, through no fault of the maybe-burglar.

Back in the atrium, we analyzed what we knew and tossed around all the possibilities in rapid fire.

“A kid from the school up the street?” from Henry.

“Not if he was driving,” from me.

“Esther didn’t necessarily see the person get in the car,” from Skip.

“Why would someone break in and not take anything?”

“You don’t know that for sure.”

“It’s possible something will turn up. Or not turn up.”

“We could sweep for a bug.”

“Know any national secrets?”

“How about SuperKrafts secrets?”

“I know what color balloons are ordered for Saturday.”

“Maybe one of those door-to-door people found your door open.”

“And thought, ‘Why not?’ ” from Skip.

“They usually travel in twos,” from me.

“True,” from Henry.

“Did you lock your door when you left this morning?” from Skip.

I wanted to block my ears. My head was splitting. “Yes, I always lock my door. Does any of this matter?” I asked. “I should just be grateful that no one was hurt and nothing was taken.”

I should have been grateful, but I wasn’t.

* * *

By
the time I recovered from what was apparently not a burglary, it was midafternoon and I had no heart or energy for shopping or for much of anything. I should have known my wonderful family and friends would come to my aid.

Henry offered to pick up the girls and take them to his house. “They’re due for a sleepover,” he said.

“If you’re sure—”

“Kay and Bill love having them. Why don’t you take a little down time?”

Nothing sounded better. And between Bev and June, I had more casseroles and take-out than I could eat.

Skip promised to go back to talk to Esther himself to try to psych out what aspects of the incident stayed in her mind in a consistent way.

“Are you sure you’re okay by yourself?” each one asked in one way or another.

“Yes, it was a non-burglary, remember? Just like the non-earthquake.”

I suppressed the fact that someone had been murdered during the most recent non-earthquake.

I puttered around my house, still checking for signs of a stranger’s presence. I looked through my shelves for bookmarks or notes that may have fallen from books that were tampered with. I opened each kitchen cabinet and studied the arrangement of the mugs, the spices, and the boxes of crackers. I opened dresser drawers and counted my pajama sets and pairs of sandals. For a moment, I felt my heart skip—where were my blue terrycloth slippers?—until I remembered they were in the wash. I wished my furniture and rugs could speak to me and tell me if anyone undesirable had passed through today. I wished my clocks would stop ticking.

Finally, with not another inch of my house left to scrutinize, I poured a large glass of iced tea, gathered up loose periodicals and mail and took everything to my atrium. I seldom allowed myself such a treat, to sit and leaf through magazines and catalogs, to play with the crossword puzzle in the Sunday (it didn’t matter from which week) newspaper. I browsed through catalogs from a kitchen store, a museum, and a “creative toy” company, sipping tea in between.

Ring, ring. Ring, ring.

A call from Bev on my landline, checking in. “I figured if you were sleeping, you wouldn’t hear the phone,” she explained.

I pulled the phone back to my chair, as far as the cord would reach. “I was just reading, feeling a little sleepy.”

“Good, that’s good. Let yourself sleep. But I have to tell you, the funniest thing happened. Megan Sutley’s car was stolen. Either that or she just dumped it instead of turning it in.”

“Strange. So you guys are looking for it?” I knew that in her capacity as civilian volunteer, Bev worked on all matters related to lost, stolen, and abandoned cars and was closely connected to leasing and rental companies.

“No, they found it. It was a rental and they found it even before Megan could report it missing. The car was at the San Jose airport. Where it belongs, sort of, but it wasn’t turned in to the company. You know how the rental companies cruise the lots in case someone abandoned one of their vehicles or dropped it at the wrong spot.” I did now. “So, Megan’s car was just sitting in one of the private lots off the freeway and they tried to call her. But, of course, she’s in the air on the way to JFK. I’m sure they don’t really care since they must have her credit card number and that’s all they care about.”

“The weirdness won’t quit.”

“No kidding. Well, I’ll let you rest.”

We signed off but the call had wakened me a bit. I left the phone on the floor and my mind wandered back to Megan and her strange lie about the errand and her important bead. My head was fuzzy, in the middle ground between sleeping and waking. I took a gulp of tea. It tasted less fruity than usual. Maybe I’d mixed in a caffeinated brand by mistake and the stimulating properties were fighting with the relaxing effects.

My mind drifted to the start of the day, in SuperKrafts, and my surprise that Maddie had taken Megan’s bead. I floated back, all the way to my first encounter with the shiny crystal. I’d been summoned to a meeting at the last minute, around three o’clock on Sunday. I became bored, or annoyed, or both, and left. I wandered through the store and saw the bead. I seemed to see it now. On the floor. In the retail section. At the border of the area where Craig Palmer was murdered.

Another neuron (not that I knew what that meant) kicked in. My head snapped up and I remembered with clarity hearing Megan tell Jeanine and me that she’d never been in that part of the store.

My head fell forward. Confused again. How did the bead from Megan’s cell phone case get into a part of the store where she had never been? Unless she was lying. And unless she had entered the area on Saturday evening, arguing with Craig.

I heard noises in my atrium. My front door opening and closing. A chair scraping. An earthquake? Another three-point-one? I tried to stand but my legs were limp. I slammed back down on the cushion. Now someone was sitting in front of me. A scent of lavender. Megan? Had she landed already? Was I in New York with her?

No.

As muddled as I felt, it became clear to me that Megan Sutley was in my atrium. And it wasn’t good.

What time was it? I couldn’t keep my head up. I tried to focus on Megan, but I was disoriented.

Now she was holding up a key. My key. I reached for it, but my arm flopped down on the table.

“Nice of you to make it so easy, Gerry. Leaving the key in an obvious place.” My head fell again. Megan lifted my chin. “Don’t fight it, Gerry. Have some more tea.”

The tea. Something in the tea had clouded my brain.

“Why…” I had a question for my guest, but I couldn’t get the words through my thick lips.

I heard Megan’s voice. “Why? Because you’re too nosy, Gerry. And too smart. Talking to Loretta, asking about broken glass. At first, I thought if I got out of town with the bead, you’d forget about everything and it would be all over, but I realized that, sooner or later, you’d put it together. I’d be worried about you for the rest of my life.”

Megan’s voice was sharp. Why wasn’t mine sharp? I tried again to speak but my head and everything in it was heavy. My thoughts were feathery and sticky at the same time. Was Esther on duty? Where was Maddie? How soon would Skip get here?

Megan’s voice droned on. “Or maybe you want to know why I killed Craig? I’ll tell you. Craig wanted to leave me here. In Lincoln Point. It’s a point all right, like the dot at the end of the world. He knew I loved him and this was his way of rejecting me. A double rejection. A twofer. He wanted to destroy both me and my career. Well, California came through for me.” She laughed. “An earthquake just when I needed one. At least I could salvage my career.”

“Not from prison,” swam around in my head. I didn’t think I should say it, even if I could have overcome the puzzling lump in my throat. Something must have come out, however, since Megan got angry.

“You need to drink more tea,” she said.

She stood and picked up the glass. She came around to my side of the table and aimed the glass at my mouth. Her face was close to mine. More lavender invaded my nostrils. I shouldn’t do it. I shouldn’t drink more tea. I summoned all of my strength and raised my arms. I grabbed the glass with both hands and poured whatever strength I had into pushing it toward Megan’s face. I hit her nose and sent tea splashing into her eyes.

“No,” she screamed. “Look what you’ve done.” She grabbed a napkin and wiped her face. “What have you done?” She ran behind me, toward my kitchen. I heard her mumble, as if her mouth were as clogged up as mine. “Have to wash my eyes…need to get more tea…in the fridge…finish this job…meet this goal. My eyes…can’t see.”