Dark Corners READY FOR PRC (10 page)

Danny sighed.  “If you don’t like it any better in a year then we'll leave. I’ll sell the house and we’ll be back in Chicago in the blink of an eye. Life’s too short for you to be miserable.”

I appreciated Danny’s willingness to leave what was left of his family history, but couldn’t ask him to do that. On the other hand, I also had no idea how I could survive a full year there. I resolved to try harder to adjust.

“Maybe it's time to get Piper a friend—and you certainly need to start writing again. You can only dodge your publisher’s calls for so long. I have a handle on the renovations.  You have a deadline. One of us needs to be working.”

“I know you’re right. I just can't focus. Maybe I’ll try writing in the library. This town does have a library, right?”

“Ha. Ha. Ha. You’re so freaking funny.”

“You love me, baby.”

“Yeah, you're ok.” His smile warmed my heart.

We arrived back home about four in the afternoon. The sun was setting and shadows covered the yard. The house resembled a mausoleum right down to being every bit as inviting as one. We burst through the door, our bags in tow, and I stopped in my tracks. Something was missing.  I just couldn't put my finger on
what
.  I looked around the house to see if I could discover what was setting me off, but found absolutely nothing.  I went back to the car to see if we’d forgotten something, but it was empty and tidy. 

Entering the house again, it dawned on me. Piper hadn't come out to greet us. She’d normally be chasing us from room to room by now, demanding our attention with each step. I searched the house, top to bottom. Danny and I looked in all of her usual hiding places, but couldn't find her anywhere. Finally, I called Susan and was flooded with relief when she said she’d brought Piper home with her. Susan said Piper was acting strange like she didn't want to stay in the house so she brought her to the store. Danny went over to get Piper while I started dividing the clothes into piles for laundry. When they got back, Piper wasn’t herself. She sat at the bottom of the stairs, looking up the staircase, whining. We tried to distract her with her favorite toy and food, but she wouldn’t budge—all day. Occasionally, she’d growl at something unseen by us.

Only later that evening while Danny and I were watching TV, did she finally move from her post. She took off growling and snarling, running back and forth along the bottom of the stairwell. She barked a few times, then yelped and ran into the room with us. Danny got up to check things out, but found nothing. He figured it was a mouse that had her attention all afternoon. She refused to come upstairs to bed, so we let her stay downstairs. I slept well that night exhausted from the drive and the weekend festivities.

The next morning Danny and I woke a bit later than normal. I went downstairs to take Piper for a walk. I found her lying at the bottom of the stairs where we left her the night before, still sleeping.

“Wake up, baby. Want to go outside?”

Piper didn't even twitch. My stomach sank as I looked at her. I covered my mouth with a shaking hands and knelt down. Her small body was cold to my touch. I backed up against the wall and called for Danny. He came bounding down the stairs.

“What’s up?”

Tears started.  All I could do was point.

He looked at our dog, then back at me. Understanding immediately, he wrapped me in a tight hug.

“It’s okay. I'll take care of her,” he said trying to soothe me.

“But what happened?”

“What do you mean? She died, Ella.”

“But from what?

“I don't know. Maybe she got into something in the hardware store yesterday. She was acting weird last night.”

“Aren't we going to find out?”

“She’s just a dog. I don’t think they do autopsies on dogs.”

“Damn it, don't be glib! She was not just a dog, she was our dog. I shouldn't be the only one who cares.”

“That’s so unfair. What do you want me to do? Maybe she got into the mouse poison I put down or the insulation. She died. I care. I just don’t have any answers for you.”

I fought against the memory and whatever had a hold of me. Strong hands clasped my shoulders and shook me. Eyes squeezed shut in terror, I kicked and flailed, desperate to free myself.  My fist connected with something that felt human. It let me go and I scrambled across the floor. Detective Troy was hovering over me, perplexed and cautious, when I finally looked up. He held his open hands out in front of him and maintained firm eye contact.

“What the hell are you doing?” I asked, continuing to slide myself across the kitchen floor.

Detective Troy seemed shocked at my continued reaction to him. He took a couple steps back, but held eye contact. “It's okay. I came over to see you. I called, but my phone was acting up. I could hear you, but you couldn’t hear me. When you didn’t answer, I was concerned. . . .”

Relaxing a little, my mind began to process the situation better. “How did you get in?”

“The front door was unlocked.”

I pushed my hands through my hair, shaking my head.  I remembered locking it clearly.

“What happened?”

“My imagination was picking on me.” I felt close to tears.

“What?” Detective Troy truly sounded confused.

“I just … I had …” I sighed, trying to get the words out. “It’s been a bad morning.”

He looked like he wanted to call an ambulance. “I thought you were dead.”

“Not dead, just very, very confused. I think I had a panic attack.”

“What are you confused about?”

I picked myself up off the floor and paced around the kitchen.

“If I tell you, you can't judge me. Or make any inferences about me from it.”

“No  promises . . . but I'll try.”

“Not good enough.”

“That’s the offer. Who else are you going to tell? Not a lot of friends hanging around you. I'm probably your best bet.”

Ouch, that was harsh.  True, but harsh. “I can take care of myself. I don't need friends.”

“Maybe. But telling yourself secrets will only get you an embroidered straight jacket."  He sighed. "I won’t judge you—.”

“Much better,” I said, but the moment had already passed. I no longer felt like talking about the incident this morning. “You know, looking back, it really isn’t that big of a deal. I couldn’t remember what happened last night, then I had a hang up prank call. It all ended in a completely disproportional panic attack.”

“That’s not so bad. I thought you’d blacked out. Maybe you if drank a little less it would help with loosing time.”

“Drinking is not my problem—.” Something suddenly dawned on me.  “That reminds me though—I'll be right back.”

 If last night happened, I wouldn’t still have the bottle of Merlot. I dashed down to the wine cellar. The bottle was sitting on the shelf exactly where it had been. Certain of my insanity, I started back upstairs—then stopped cold again. Something caught my eye. An inconsistency. I turned back around to look more closely. The bottle in question wasn’t dusty like the other ones. I picked up the bottle and it was empty.

“What's going on?” I wondered aloud, more perplexed than ever.

“That's exactly what I'm wondering.” Detective Troy’s voice, right behind me, startled me so badly I let go of the wine bottle. It slipped through my fingers and shattered on the floor.

“Have the sudden urge for wine?” he asked looking at the glass scattered at my feet.

“No, I actually haven’t had wine since Danny died. This cellar was more his thing than mine.” I made a quick decision to explain what had happened last night, because I desperately wanted an outside opinion. “I wasn’t completely honest with you. I do remember last night, but I had a reason to believe this morning that what I remembered didn’t happen.”

“I'm not really following you.”

“The wine answers a lot of questions.”

“How does an empty bottle of wine prove anything?”

“I'll explain.” I told Detective Troy what happened the night before, then what happened that morning. He listened, but I could see doubt and confusion in his eyes.

“Why don’t you call and ask Susan?” he asked, as if it were all really that simple.

“She already thinks I’m crazy.”

“Then you have nothing to lose.” He shrugged.  He was such a guy.

“I can’t.”

“Why not?”

“You were right. I don’t have many people who care about me. I would prefer those who do to not think I am completely insane—well, not any more than they already do.”

Detective Troy looked at me for a few moments. “Am I one of your friends?”

“I don’t know.”

He sighed. “That bottle isn’t proof of anything except you—or someone else— drank a bottle of wine and put it back on the shelf. You could have gotten drunk last night and came down here and drank a bottle of wine then had a dream that Susan came to visit. Stranger things have happened.”

“Well, thanks for bursting my bubble.  That was helpful. I may still have some childhood hopes and dreams left, would you care to take a crack at those as well?”

“I have an idea. What's Susan’s number?”I rattled off her number and we went back to the kitchen.  Detective Troy dialed the number.

“Mrs. Daniels? This is Detective Troy with the Montgomery Police Department.  I need to verify your whereabouts last night. … Were you in the company of one Ella Reynolds? . . . That is a matter of police business . . . I see . . . Is that right? . . . Well, thank you for your time and input. You have a nice day.”

"So what did she say?”

“I can’t tell you. Police business,” he said, his eyes twinkling slightly.

“What? This isn’t police business.  It's
my
business—”

“Does her answer really matter?”

“Of course.”

“How?”

“If I can’t distinguish my dreams, writing, or imagination from reality then I'm crazy and can’t trust anything that I think happened. That's sort of a big deal, given I’ve been operating under the notion that I’m right and everyone else is wrong.”

He studied my face, then confessed.  “You dodged the bullet this time. She was here last night.”

“She was?” I breathed a sigh of relief and reflexively hugged Detective Troy. “That’s the best news I’ve had in a long time.”

The hug seemed to catch Detective Troy off guard almost as much as it did me.   Then a slight smile touched his serious mouth. “She also said that our police department is full of small minded assholes, and we should leave you alone because you’ve been through enough.”

I smiled. “That's sort of sweet.”

“Depends which end you fall on,” he muttered. “But let’s not call this solved so fast—I have questions. Who was in your house? Why would they do something so strange?”

“I don’t know. I'm just glad someone actually did it.”