An Affair to Dismember (20 page)

I wasn’t exactly sure what crank was, but I guessed it wasn’t organic wheatgrass. The bit of information that she was tweaking balls didn’t seem to bother Rob. He was stating it merely as fact. I couldn’t keep my eyes off Christy, who was literally bouncing off the walls. She was a sight—a wild banshee. Next to her, Spencer seemed small and defenseless.

“Is she dangerous?” I asked Rob.

“Yep,” he said.

Spencer took a few tentative steps deeper into the room, and Christy stopped screaming. She noticed Spencer for the first time and studied him like a lion studies a gazelle. Or like a crazy drug addict studies a cop who walks within arm-swinging distance.

“I called for help,” he told her calmly. “Help is coming. They’ll make you feel better. You’ll come down, gently. I promise.”

This was the wrong thing to say. I don’t think Christy wanted to come down, gently or not.

“No! No! No!” she screamed. She bent down, scooped up an armful of clothes, and threw them at
him. She ran around in circles, sidestepped Spencer, and ran out of the room past Rob and me and into another room, where she continued opening drawers. Spencer knocked the clothes off his head and ran after her. It was too late. Christy had found something in one of the drawers and pointed it at Spencer.

“Say hello to my little friend,” she announced in her best Al Pacino
Scarface
voice. She held up a long black rod in a threatening manner. The rod was making a familiar whirring noise.

“What the hell is that?” asked Spencer derisively.

I knew what it was, but I had never seen it used offensively before.

“She looks like she means business,” I said.

“Lady, whatever that is, you better put it down,” he said.

She hit a switch, and the whirring noise intensified. She had locked it in for maximum sensation. She raised it above her head in a threatening manner, as if she was going to stab Spencer with it.

“Lady, I will take great pleasure in shooting you,” he said. “Put. It. Down.”

“Take pleasure in this,” she screeched, and leapt onto him, her legs wrapping around his waist. She pummeled the weapon against his chest, trying to stab him, I imagined. Spencer wrestled it away from her with his left hand. I could tell the moment he figured out exactly what it was. It registered on his face. Disgust. Shock. He subdued and handcuffed Christy with his right hand, holding his left hand out in the air like it had been infected by the world’s biggest case of cooties.

“Was that—?” he asked me.

“A vibrator,” I said.

“She stabbed me with a vibrator?”

Just then the house was invaded by police and firefighters. Right behind them was Peter, who was fighting
mad. He was also black and blue with a swollen eye and a cast on his left arm.

“What are you doing to my sister?” he spit at Spencer, standing way too close and thumping him on his chest with his good hand.

“Cool your jets,” Spencer said. He removed Peter’s finger and twisted his hand back with some kind of martial arts move. “Your sister took a little too much meth. We’re treating her. She’s going to be fine. If you calm down, I’ll give you your finger back.”

“She would never have done that. She’s clean. She just got out of rehab,” Peter yelled. “Rob, you son of a bitch, you set her up. Rob!” He grew even more agitated when Rob didn’t answer. The sound of a ballgame came from another room.

“I think he went to watch TV,” I said. Hard to imagine he could find something better to watch than his siblings attacking Spencer, but men act strange during baseball season.

“Shut up! What do you know?” Peter shouted. Spencer twisted Peter’s arm, making him buckle down to his knees. It didn’t stop Peter from taking a swipe at Spencer with his leg.

“That’s assaulting an officer, pal,” Spencer said, handcuffing him as well, careful to bind him around his cast. “I would have rather busted him for kidnapping, but this will do,” Spencer remarked in my direction.

The firefighters gave Christy medical treatment. I gave her privacy and went out on the porch for some fresh air. Betty drove up and spoke to the authorities before joining me.

A policeman I vaguely recognized came out with a bag of pills. “Mrs. Terns, can you identify these pills as yours? Otherwise we’ll need to take them in as evidence.”

“That one is for my fibromyalgia. The others are for
sleeping, anxiety, and some personal hygiene concerns,” she said.

He handed her the bag and went back inside. Betty looked downtrodden, and I held her hand.

“I take a lot of medicine,” she said. “Jane calls me the zombie. I sleep most of the time. At night it would take a bomb to wake me.”

I gave her hand a small squeeze. “I’m sorry.”

Betty lit up a cigarette and took a long drag. “Randy was so proud of me,” she said. “Giving him all those kids. Each time he would marvel how I carried them, birthed them, and reared them without stopping what I was doing. I never let a speck of dust fall anywhere in the house. No matter what.”

“That’s commendable,” I said. Across the street, my grandmother was making a poor show of sweeping the driveway. It might have been the first time she had ever picked up a broom. She shook it with one hand, barely grazing a square inch of pavement. It was clear her attention was elsewhere—on us, to be exact.

“It didn’t matter. None of it mattered,” Betty continued. “I gave him children, kept the house clean, made him his favorite cake every week, kept my figure. What did it matter?”

“I’m sure it mattered to him, Betty. I’m sure he loved you very much.”

“You’re such a sweet girl,” she said. “I feel like I can confide in you.”

“You don’t have to.” And I meant it. I felt indescribably sad at Betty’s life with her horrible children. Even though she was surrounded by her family, she was truly alone.

“I want to,” she said. “I need to get it off my chest. Especially now when everything is falling apart. My marriage with Randy was a beautiful marriage, don’t
get me wrong. But there was this indiscretion. A woman. A terrible, terrible woman.”

Betty took a deep breath, as if it took extra oxygen to divulge her secret. I gave her hand another little squeeze.

“He had always been faithful before that,” she said. “Devoted. That’s how everyone described him. I don’t know what you heard, but not all his friends were devoted family men like my Randy. Randy wasn’t like them. Family was important to him. He might not have coached Little League, but he showed it in other ways.

“It was after Cindy’s accident that I noticed a difference. He wasn’t staying home at night to watch TV. He went out of town on business more than usual. And he acted different. Like he was better than me. Like I didn’t deserve him.”

“That’s horrible. I’m sorry you went through that. But remember, Betty, you got through it. Your marriage survived,” I said.

“No, you don’t understand. The woman,” she started, but was cut off by Holden’s appearance. He had showered and was wearing slacks and a button-front shirt. He cast a long shadow over us. He nodded to Betty and took my hand, helping me up.

“You didn’t call me. I would have come. Are you all right?” Holden asked me.

“Yes. I’m sorry I didn’t call. I know we had a deal.”

“What deal was that?” Spencer walked out of the house with a gaggle of cops behind him. “You come save her when it’s convenient for you, and you don’t bother reporting her kidnapping to the police? That kind of deal?”

“Holden was looking out for me,” I said. “He wanted to make sure I stay safe.”

“Maybe he should pick a new hobby. He sucks at this one. She was with me this time. She was safe,” Spencer said.

“You want me to arrest him?” asked one of the cops.

“We were just leaving,” I said. “Holden was going to buy me lunch.”

I took his hand and tugged, but he resisted. The field of testosterone built up around Spencer and Holden again. I could almost see the hormone swirling in the air. The porch was getting smaller as the men’s chests puffed out.

“I’m really hungry, Holden,” I said, tugging a little harder.

“She’s hungry,” Holden said to Spencer.

I heard Spencer’s molars grind together and his blood pressure rise.

Holden was calm, but his attention shifted when another police officer brought out Peter in handcuffs. A glimmer of recognition passed between them. Peter flinched and took a step back before the officer pushed him forward again. Holden raised an eyebrow and smiled. A terrible thought flashed through my head, but I discarded it quickly.

Just when I thought the porch couldn’t get any more crowded, Sergeant Fred bounded up the stairs in his uniform, carrying a clipboard. He saw me and broke out into a wide smile. “Hi, Gladie. You look nice.”

“You saw me thirty minutes ago, Fred. I haven’t changed.”

“You still look nice to me. You wanna meet up later? I have a half day today.” Fred was a little thick, but I thought that could work to my advantage.

“Sure, Fred. I’d love to,” I said. “Let’s meet at Tea Time at two. How does that sound?”

“That sounds great.” He bounced up and down a couple of times, wrote something down on his clipboard, scooted around the group of cops, and went in the house.

Spencer turned to me. “You’re killing me,” he said.

Holden held my hand as we walked across the street. Grandma stood waiting for us in the driveway, her broom forgotten, tossed to the side.

“I told you those people were no good,” she said as I approached.

“They arrested Peter and Christy,” I said.

“Losers, the lot of them. If you’re going out to lunch, bring me back hamburgers. No, scratch that. Tacos. It’s a taco day.”

“Tacos mean—” I began.

“I know, but I have a hankering. At least two are gone now,” she said, looking at the Ternses’ house. “Four more to go. The sooner the better. I don’t know how this is going to turn out, Gladie. Best to stay away from them. All of them. No good, the lot of them.”

“TACOS,” I muttered as Holden drove us down the street in his truck.

“Do you mind if we stop someplace before lunch? Are you very hungry?” he asked.

“For tacos? No. What did you have in mind?”

“I have a surprise for you.” Holden downshifted and turned sharply onto Farmer Way in the direction of the old mine.

“Holden, my tolerance for surprise is waning. I’ve had a lot of surprises lately.”

“Okay, you’ve dragged it out of me. I found the third gang member. I found Chuck Costas.”

Stuck in the midst of the craziness of the Terns family, I had forgotten about the gang and Chuck Costas. I had been distracted by blondes and knishes, and I had gotten thrown off the most obvious path.

Spencer could have been right and the deaths were natural and not murder, but I wasn’t a huge believer in
coincidences. Two dead gang members within a week of each other was too much for me to swallow. I was sure Chuck Costas was the key to the mysteries of their death and the missing bank robbery money. And with the mysteries solved, perhaps the drama with the Terns family would die down.

“So soon? How did you find him?” I asked.

“I was motivated. I didn’t want you to cancel any more dates with me on account of kidnapping. So, I looked around, did some research. And I found him.”

“That’s better than the police. You amaze me.”

“Amazement. Well, that’s a start.”

“So where are we going?” I asked.

“We’re going to see him.”

“Just like that?”

“I made an appointment. We’re expected in twenty minutes.”

“Wow, an appointment. Should we call Spencer? Get backup?”

Holden shifted in his seat. “I’ll protect you,” he said.

“Speaking of protecting me,” I began, “you wouldn’t know anything about Peter Terns’ black eye and broken arm, would you?”

“It looked like it hurt,” he said.

“Yes, it did. He was in perfect shape last night.”

“When he was kidnapping you.”

“When he was kidnapping me,” I agreed.

“He must have slipped,” Holden said. He gave me a pointed look. “I don’t like to see you hurt, Gladie.”

I didn’t know what I thought about that.

“You don’t look any worse for wear,” I said. “Hey, I know this is a silly question, but you didn’t shoot Osama bin Laden, did you?”

“What?”

WE DROVE past the old mine through a vast area of sagebrush until I saw a familiar sign. “Why are we here?” I asked.

“This is where our appointment is. You know this place?”

I knew it. My father was buried there. I hadn’t visited since his funeral years before, when my life changed.

“The Cannes Serenity Cemetery,” I said. “I know it. Kind of creepy meeting place.”

Holden patted my leg. “It’s going to be fine.”

We wound around the cemetery. It was as old as the mine with its first residents victims of various mining accidents and bar fights. The cemetery was almost as big as the town, housing so many generations of Cannes citizens.

“Here we are,” Holden announced.

He parked and guided me up a hill, his large hand on the small of my back. I felt safe with Holden. He had a calming effect on me. He walked with complete confidence, sure of himself without a hint of arrogance.