Full Circle (16 page)

She tried to think of her time here, with Mama E.J. and Daddy Willis. They’d been good times. So many more years with them than with her real family – make that other family, birth family, whatever. Real family didn’t sound right. The Pughs were her
real
family – legally adopted. That made it real. And they loved her. That made it real.

She began to cry, the first time she’d cried for her forgotten family since she was a little girl.

BLACK CAT RIDGE, TEXAS, 1999

We got a name from a neighbor for a counselor for Bessie and she suggested, under the circumstances, that I come in to see her alone right away. Her name was Elaine Comstock and she was a five-foot seven-inch blue-eyed blond. She definitely wasn’t toothpaste-commercial pretty, but she had a face full of intelligence and strength. I liked her immediately. We went into her office and sat.

‘Usually I like to give my clients a little breathing space, but I don’t think we have time for that,’ she said with a smile.

‘I understand and I appreciate your seeing me on such short notice.’

‘Dorothy said you’re burying the child’s family tomorrow?’

‘Yes. I’m not sure at this point if Bessie even knows they’re dead. She can’t speak, as I said, so I have no idea what she knows or thinks or feels.’

‘I wouldn’t be surprised if she’s suffering a little amnesia right now. A form of blocking. Usually, if a child is old enough, I feel they should go to the funerals of their loved ones. It’s a closer, a way of saying goodbye. But under these circumstances, I’d say no, wait. The lack of speech is a fairly serious development. I’d like to work on that a while, letting her tell us finally what’s going on. Do you understand?’

I nodded my head.

‘Later, when she’s ready, she can go to the cemetery and have her own goodbye ceremony with her new family.’

Again I nodded.

‘Now, how are your other children handling her?’

I shook my head. ‘I think Megan’s mad because Bessie won’t speak, but she won’t say anything to me because I told her not to be mad. Dumb, huh?’

Elaine smiled. ‘Not dumb,’ she said, ‘ill-informed. Megan is probably not reacting to Bessie as she normally would, and that’s not helping Bessie. I understand your wanting Megan to be sensitive to Bessie’s needs, but a four-year-old is not necessarily capable of that kind of compassion without getting a little bit miffed.’

Light dawned. Megan wasn’t an unusually rotten child! She was normal!

Elaine stood up and I followed her out to the reception desk. To the receptionist, she said, ‘Dorothy, set Bessie up for a play session as soon as possible.’ To me she said, ‘I’d like to set one up with Megan, too. These two are very connected, from what you tell me. They’ve been best friends forever and now they’re going to be sharing a room. They’re going to be sisters. We need to make sure there aren’t any hidden problems that could backfire later.’

I nodded. I didn’t want to ask, but I had to. ‘How much?’

‘Seventy-five dollars an hour.’ Elaine smiled. ‘But most insurance companies pay for it now. Check with yours.’ She put her hand on my arm and squeezed. ‘There’s no charge for today, of course. And we’ll defer any payments over the insurance coverage until after the estate is through probate.’

I almost burst into tears. ‘Thanks,’ I managed to get out.

‘Dorothy will give you the times for Bessie and Megan’s play sessions. Good luck.’

NINE

T
here’s a squad car parked –
parked –
outside Bessie’s house. I thought at first it was just one of their older cars, just parked there to scare me – as if – but I used my binocs to look in the windows and I saw some asshole in uniform sitting at the old bitch’s table filling his pie hole!! They think this is going to keep me from her??? They’re crazy! All of them. Bessie is mine and she’ll be with me while the others rot in hell!

Having never lived with Elena Luna, there were things that I didn’t know about her, even though I’ve known her for ten years. Things like the fact that she actually wears rollers in her hair to sleep, plays with her toenails when she watches TV, and thinks atlases are great bedtime reading material. And, if anyone had asked me, I would have said without thinking and without a doubt that Elena Luna of the Codderville Police Department wore a T-shirt to sleep in. I would be wrong. To Willis’s chagrin he discovered, as he headed to the kitchen for a midnight snack, that Luna, on her way to the kitchen for the same purpose, wore a black lace teddy to slumber land.

My first thought upon hearing this was that Luna, alone now for fifteen plus years while her husband whiled away his time in Leavenworth, was going after my husband. And who could blame her? Even in his mid-forties, my Willis was seriously hot. Shortly after Mr Hot Stuff left for work, I bounded – OK – I trudged up the stairs to Bessie’s room, now designated the guest room, and burst in. Luna was awake, sitting up in bed, feet on the floor, and wearing the seductive teddy. Except it wasn’t all that seductive. Except maybe to a man who never saw his own wife – EVER – in a black lace teddy. The one that adorned Luna was probably twenty years old or older, had rips in the lace and bleach stains on the faded black body, and was obviously entirely too tight for the good detective.

‘Hey,’ she said, looking up at my abrupt entrance to the room. ‘Sorry about last night. Did Willis swear off women forever?’

‘I think he thought you were hot,’ I said, sitting down beside her on the bed.

She hooted with laughter. ‘Why in God’s name would he think that?’

I shrugged. ‘I doubt he’s ever seen a real live woman in a teddy before. I don’t own one. Never have.’

‘Hum,’ she said, looking down at herself. ‘Eddie bought this for me on our last anniversary before he was arrested. It was like a week before. When he got convicted, he asked me to wear it every night so he could go to sleep seeing me in it and knowing we were connected. I started to give it up when I started showing with Ernesto, but Eddie would comment on it and so I kept wearing it. I don’t know now if he envisions me in it as I look now, or if he still sees me the way I looked when he gave it to me.’ She shrugged. ‘Leavenworth doesn’t give conjugal visits, so he doesn’t know.’

Impulsively I hugged her. ‘I don’t know how you do it,’ I said. ‘I think maybe you’re a better wife than I could ever be.’

‘Yeah? You think if Willis was away for twenty years you’d dump him? Start sleeping around?’ She shook her head. ‘You wouldn’t. You’d just bitch about it.’

I laughed. ‘Yeah, I would. I’d bitch about it a lot.’

BLACK CAT RIDGE, TEXAS, 1999

I called the church office. Instead of getting the secretary, Berry Rush himself answered the phone.

‘Reverend Rush,’ he said.

‘Hi, this is E.J.’

‘Hello, E.J. How are you holding up, dear? I was happy to see how the congregation rallied round yesterday.’

‘Fine. I’m fine. And yes, they were wonderful. Look, I’m at a pay phone. I need to see your sermon before tomorrow.’

‘I beg your pardon?’ he said.

‘I’ll be by in a few minutes to get a copy. Bye.’ I hung up. I had my reasons. I didn’t want any reference made to the erroneous assumption that Roy Lester had killed his family. I didn’t feel I could trust Berry Rush not to do that. I stopped by the church on the way home and walked into Reverend Rush’s office. He stood up upon seeing me, his hands outstretched. I shook one briefly.

‘Do you have that copy for me?’ I asked.

‘E.J., please sit down,’ he said, expansively waving toward a chair.

I shook my head. ‘I really don’t have time. I have a million things to do. Do you have that copy?’

‘E.J., you must admit that’s a rather unusual request. I don’t believe in my twenty-one years of serving the Lord I have ever been asked by a member of my congregation to view any sermon I’m to give. Wedding vows some couples feel are open to interpretation, but of course, you know I don’t allow that in weddings I perform. I certainly don’t feel I need a critique on a sermon for a funeral. Even the most liberal of the clergy don’t allow their sermons to be rewritten by members of their congregation.’

Nothing to it but to do it, I thought. I sat down. ‘Berry,’ I said, too tired to play the little games he liked so well, ‘let’s cut to the chase.’

His response was total silence. I don’t think that’s ever happened before. He sat down in his large, throne-like chair.

I continued. ‘I don’t want any references at all to the general assumption that Roy killed his family. He didn’t. It will soon be proven he didn’t, and I don’t want the family going to their final reward with gossip and innuendo at their funeral.’

‘I see,’ he said.

‘I have no idea, of course, what you intend to say at the service, but I’d prefer it if you kept it to mostly Biblical readings and short personal remembrances. Willis has agreed to do the eulogy. At what point do you feel that should take place?’

‘I’ll discuss that with Willis.’

‘When?’

‘Tomorrow, right before the service.’ He stood up. ‘If that’s all . . .’

Dismissal is a nasty thing, but I was ready to leave anyway. ‘You understand about the sermon, Reverend Rush?’

‘I had no intention of saying what a naughty boy Roy was for killing his family,’ he said, sarcasm apparent and not a pretty sight on a preacher.

I’d hurt his feelings. ‘I know that. I’m sorry if I’ve offended you. It’s just that I don’t want any references made to that . . .’

He nodded. ‘I understand. Good day.’

He sat back down at his desk, his head bent toward the papers spread before him. Well, I wouldn’t be winning any Member of the Year awards, that’s for sure.

GRAHAM, THE PRESENT

Because of Lotta, I haven’t been seeing a lot of my boys this summer, but all this shit going down made me think now would be the right time to let them know what’s been going on. Together we could go after the pervert, find him, and come up with a clever idea of what to do to him. I called them all up and, because I’m the only one with my own wheels, went and picked them up. Hollister’s dad, a half-assed alcoholic, always had a lot of beer in the fridge, so Hollister grabbed a six pack of cold ones and we headed to the stadium.

Surprisingly the high school stadium’s fairly crowded in the summertime. Used to be a place where couples could sneak off and do the nasty without getting caught, but now so many kids hang out there, it’s kinda not private anymore. Right now there were some guys playing drunken tackle down about the fifty-yard line, some girls drinking wine coolers at the top of the stands and laughing like idiots – or girls, same thing – a mixed bunch of boys and girls smoking pot under the bleachers, and a guy sitting by himself at the tip-top of the bleachers, looking like he was gonna jump. He reminded me of the stalker. Not that I recognized anything specific, just the general demeanor. And, I hate to admit it, I kinda wished he
would
jump. That he was the stalker and he’d take himself out of the equation. Then one of the pot-smoker girls crawled up the stands, yelling, ‘Gaaaarrrry! Come on, baby! I’m sorry!’ After some mumbled words, he followed her back down the stands to the underbelly.

My guys and me took the stands opposite the girls with the wine coolers and at the opposite end of the field from the drunken football game. Hollister, of course, wanted to go meet the girls, but I told him and the rest of ’em how important this was so he shut up. I’ve known Hollister since freshman year and we’ve been running buddies since maybe the middle of sophomore year. He’s a big guy with curly hair and when he laughs he sounds like a snake. Seriously. Tad, on the other hand, has a serious case of short-guy syndrome. It’s not his fault, he says, it’s society. Whatever. He’s like five-five and skinny – like he’s so skinny if he turned sideways and stuck out his tongue, he’d look like a zipper! I’ve got a million of ’em! His short-guy syndrome is responsible, I think, for him talking like and acting like an African-American most of the time. It’s annoying to us and it seriously pisses off the black guys at school. Anyway, I’ve known him since junior high and been running with him about that long. The last guy was Leon, my best bud since first grade. Leon’s not one to pull in the chicks, but he’s a good wingman. He’s a serious geek – keyboard for a brain, I swear to God – but he only hangs with the other geeks in school or extra-curricular, the rest of the time he hangs with us.

So I told them what had been going on. Tad went to the same church as me and knew about Myra, but not the details.

‘Christ on a crutch, man!’ Tad said. ‘That was that guy? The one who stole Liz that time?’

‘Yeah,’ I said.

‘Dressed like a girl?’ Hollister said. ‘Damn, that’s some shit! What serious hetero stalker-dude dresses up like a girl?’

‘Most transvestites are heterosexual,’ Leon said.

Hollister gave him a look. ‘TMI, geek-breath.’

‘Why I’m bringing this up,’ I said, giving them all a look, ‘is this shit’s got to stop. Liz is in her room in the fetal position and has been for days. Meg’s roaming the house like a ghost, Mom’s totally freaked and Dad, as usual, is out of town. So it’s up to me, and, I hope, you guys. The police aren’t doing shit. I wanna find this guy and turn him over.’

‘After we beat the ever-lovin’ shit out of him, right?’ said Hollister, punching a fist into an open palm over and over.

I smiled. ‘We might take a few minutes with him,’ I said, liking the sound of it.

ELIZABETH, THE PRESENT

I don’t know why this is happening to me. Haven’t I had enough horror in my life? Oh, Jesus, Elizabeth, woman-up! Are you going to just sit around feeling sorry for yourself? This asshole killed Myra! Killed her!!! Slit her throat! I heard Mom telling Dad on the phone that there was blood everywhere. And the person who did this wasn’t my friend Christine. There never was a Christine. And that THING was never my friend! Why couldn’t I see that it was that THING that grabbed me last spring? I don’t know, maybe it was the make-up, the glasses, the wig. I don’t know. I’m too trusting. I see a girl, I believe it’s a girl! So shoot me! OK, never mind, I didn’t say that. I have to do something! I have to find this THING!! But not by myself. I’m beginning to form a plan.