Full Circle (25 page)

‘We can’t go back to the house!’ Willis said as he drove in that direction.

‘We have to!’ I said.

‘Why?’ he demanded.

‘Because I think there’s something there that could explain what’s going on.’

‘Then let’s stop right now and call Luna and have her meet us there.’

‘No! What if I’m wrong? I couldn’t stand that again with Luna. She gets so uppity!’

‘Well, I couldn’t stand it if one of us got killed!’ He sighed. ‘What do you think’s there?’

I sighed right back. ‘You know when I told you last year that Monique was getting letters at our house from that boyfriend of hers who joined the Marines?’

‘Yeah, and I told you that was a total betrayal of your friendship with Terry and you said you’d tell Monique not to do it!’ he said.

‘Well, I didn’t have to. They broke up and the letters stopped.’

‘OK . . .’ He motioned with his hand for me to go on – and be quick about it.

‘A few days before . . . before it happened, Monique brought me a manila envelope.’

‘What?’ Willis said, looking at me and not the road he was taking at close to ninety miles an hour.

I pointed at the road and he turned his eyes back to driving. ‘She asked me not to look in it but to hide it.’

‘Jesus, E.J.! It could be drugs, or some other contraband for all you know!’ Eyes darting back to me. I pointed ahead again.

‘I thought it was boy stuff! It could still be! I thought it was just Monique stuff. You know how dramatic she gets— got,’ I said, tears springing to my eyes. I wiped them with the back of my hand. ‘And that’s probably what it is, I don’t know. But Willis, that school counselor . . .’

‘Mrs Olson,’ he said.

‘Hurry,’ I said.

E.J., THE PRESENT

‘Can you think of anybody else?’ Luna asked me as she slouched down in the couch with her second glass of wine.

‘Most of the guys the age of the stalker are young marrieds. I mean, we don’t have a lot of single guys in their twenties hanging around the church.’

‘What about people who work there?’ she asked.

‘OK, we’ve got two clergy, the music director, the youth director, the children’s director, the church secretary—’

‘Could that be our guy dressed up again?’ Luna asked.

I shook my head. ‘No. I’ve known Candy since we started going there. She’s my age. Her kids go to youth group with my kids.’

‘Anybody else?’ she asked.

‘Just maintenance. A cleaning lady and a maintenance man.’

‘What about the maintenance man?’

I shook my head. ‘He’s new, but he’s Hispanic and about sixty. Don’t think he’s our guy.’

‘What about anybody involved in any of the cases you’ve helped me with?’

‘
Helped
you with? You mean
solved
for you?’ I said.

‘Actually, no I don’t. I mean
helped
. Don’t get full of yourself, Pugh. Any ideas?’

I shrugged my shoulders. ‘Not that I can think of.’

‘This is getting us nowhere,’ Luna said as she put her empty glass down on the coffee table and picked up the bottle of white. She left the glass where it was and upended the bottle, taking three big gulps before it was empty. ‘Got any more? I prefer red,’ she said.

GRAHAM, THE PRESENT

When we got home, Mom was in the living room with Mrs Luna from next door, a couple of empty bottles of wine in front of them.

‘Where have you been?’ Mom asked.

‘Out,’ I said as we headed for the stairs.

‘Out where?’ she said, her head lolling to one side.

‘Just riding around,’ I answered, almost to the top.

‘With who?’ she asked, then seeing my buds trailing me said, ‘Oh. Never mind.’ Then she giggled, I shook my head, and we were in my room.

Once in my room, Leon said, ‘I thought your mother was a writer! It should be “with whom” not “who”.’

‘Are you sure about that?’ I said skeptically.

Leon frowned. ‘Well, I’ll admit that’s a hard one.’

I gave him the eye, just grateful I could come to my mother’s defense about
something
, after having walked in with my buds to her drunken debauchery with another woman.

‘Where’s the computer?’ Leon said, changing the subject lest I pull out an English book and prove him wrong – like I could.

I showed him the computer and he sat down and demanded paper and pen. ‘Hell, you’ve got my computer.’

‘Shut up and give me dates, times, and places!’ Leon said.

And so we began.

ELIZABETH, THE PRESENT

I was scrambling to get back into the bathroom, the stalker was screaming on the sidewalk, and Grandma was not responding to my pleas of help.

I shouted for her one more time then saw my sister’s head. ‘What the crap are you doing?’ she demanded.

‘Help me get back in! Ingrid’s sitting on the stalker! Call the police!’

‘You want me to pull you in first or call the police first?’ Megan demanded, reaching down to grab my arms. ‘And what the you-know-what are you doing outside anyway?’

Then Grandma was in the room. ‘I called the cops,’ she said. ‘They’re on the way. You need help, Megan?’ she asked.

‘No, thanks, Grandma. I think I can handle this,’ she said as she pulled my top half into the bathroom. With one jerk I was on the cold linoleum of Grandma’s bathroom floor, the breath knocked out of me.

‘Is Ingrid still sitting on him?’ Grandma asked, she and Megan both ignoring my struggle to breathe.

I could feel Megan walking over me, not being at all gentle about it. ‘Yeah, she’s still got him. And seems to be enjoying it.’

‘She always does,’ Grandma said.

I felt Megan’s foot on my head as she and Grandma left the bathroom. I gingerly got to my knees, wondering what was broken, and finally managed to get up and look out the window myself. It was a pleasant sight. The man was wiggling and kicking his legs, his arms flailing, as he screamed for help. Unfortunately, lights in the neighborhood were coming on and I was afraid someone would come out and help him. I ran into the living room to Grandma’s coat closet to get the baseball bat. Grandma and Megan were on the front porch, watching him.

‘Where are you going, young lady?’ Grandma asked as I ran past her with the baseball bat.

‘To make sure nobody lets him up!’ I shouted.

‘Good thinking!’ Grandma said and I could hear her and Megan running behind me.

I got to him just as the first squad car pulled up.

‘Mr Chang?’ Grandma said.

I looked at the man lying on the ground under Ingrid. He was definitely Asian. ‘Well, shit,’ I thought. I couldn’t figure out a way the stalker could fake what appeared to be a middle-aged, five-foot two-inch Asian man.

‘Ingrid! Off!’ Grandma said, pulling at the two-hundred-pound dog’s collar. Megan and I helped by pushing from Ingrid’s bottom. She got the idea and began to move as Grandma led her by her collar to the back gate.

The police officer helped Mr Chang to his feet. Mr Chang turned to Megan and me, as I suppose Grandma’s emissaries at this particular time. ‘What in the cornbread hell was that all about? Cain’t y’all keep that beast locked up?’

‘Mr Chang!’ Grandma said as she scurried back to the . . . well . . . scene of the crime. ‘I’m terribly sorry about what happened, but I’ll insist that you do not speak to my granddaughters in such a manner!’

Yeah, Grandma to the rescue!

‘You mind telling me what’s going on?’ the police officer asked. ‘You Mrs Pugh?’

‘Yes, Officer, I am and I’m the one who called y’all. Unfortunately it was a misunderstanding.’

‘You called the cops on
me
?’ Mr Chang yelled. ‘Why’d you do such a thing? A man can’t walk down his own street—’

‘In the middle of the night!’ Grandma yelled.

‘Yes, ma’am, in the middle of the night!’ Mr Chang yelled back. ‘’Sides, its only half-past midnight! How’s that the middle of the night, I ask you?’

‘OK, OK, you two. Ma’am, that your house?’ the cop said, pointing at Grandma’s house.

‘Yes, Officer, it is.’

‘Why don’t we all go in there to discuss this and let the neighborhood get back to sleep?’ the cop suggested.

That’s when I looked around and saw a sea of people in PJs and robes watching us. There was a slew of ten to twelve-year-old boys hanging to the side where my sister stood in her shorty PJs and no bra. Men, I swear!

So we all trooped inside, two police officers, Mr Chang and his bag that really
did
look like that assault rifle the stalker had when he shot at us, and Grandma, Megan and me.

‘Please let me explain,’ I said, when everyone was sitting in the living room and a pot of coffee was brewing in the kitchen.

And I did, leaving out the part where I was actually trying to escape the house when I saw him.

‘Coffee’s ready,’ Grandma said when I’d finished, and led everyone into the kitchen where we sat at her large kitchen table with coffee and fixin’s (as Grandma says) and some microwaved frozen coffee cake. Megan and I had coffee – well, half coffee, half milk, like we’d been getting at Grandma’s house since we were six (don’t tell Mom).

‘May I ask, Mr Chang,’ I said, ‘what’s in the bag?’

He put down his coffee cup and picked up the bag, unzipping it. Out came a beautiful mahogany-like stick, the pointy end carved with Asian figures, the tip a gold cap.

‘It’s beautiful!’ I said.

‘Man o’ man,’ said one of the officers. ‘Can I hold it?’

‘Sure, just be careful,’ Mr Chang said.

The officer put the thing in position, at which point I realized it was a pool cue. The prettiest one I’d ever seen.

‘Where’d you get this?’ the officer asked.

‘It was my grandfather’s. His father had it special made for him when he left China. He paid for his passage with his pool winnings, got to San Francisco, ended up marrying and buying a house from his winnings there. Then somebody figured out he was a shark, and luckily he had enough stashed to get Grandma and my dad and his siblings out of San Francisco to Texas.’

‘You a shark?’ the cop asked with a grin.

Mr Chang grinned back. ‘I play for money occasionally, but mostly I like to enter tournaments and show up the kids. They get so pissed!’

‘Hell, man,’ the other officer said. ‘If I saw that cue coming at me, I’d figure shark and crap out.’

At that point, everyone thanked Grandma for the coffee and cake and got up to leave.

‘No hard feelings, Mr Chang?’ Grandma asked, holding out her hand.

‘You make a darn fine cup of coffee, Mrs Pugh. Can’t hold a grudge against a woman who can do that,’ he said, taking her hand and bowing slightly over it.

Grandma walked her company to the door. ‘Come back any time for a cup, Mr Chang,’ she said.

‘Thank you kindly, ma’am,’ he said, tipped an imaginary hat and followed the cops out the door.

FIFTEEN

E.J., THE PRESENT

I woke up the next morning hungover. It had been a while since I’d drunk that much, and I felt sick as a dog. I crawled into the bathroom and splashed water on my face. It hurt. I went back in the bedroom and looked at the clock. Correction: I woke up the next
afternoon
. It was after twelve. I hadn’t slept this late since before Graham was born! Speaking of Graham, I thought, panic setting in, where were my kids? Then I remembered: the girls were at Vera’s, but Graham was here – hopefully.

I bolted out of my room on the first floor – in my mind I bolted, in actuality I walked gingerly – to find Graham in the family room, playing games on TV, the volume blessedly turned low.

‘Morning,’ I said, my first utterance that day. I sounded like a frog.

‘You and Mrs Luna have fun last night?’ Graham asked, looking at me with what appeared to be pity in his green eyes.

‘No!’ I said defensively. ‘We were trying to figure out who this stalker is that’s after your sister! It is no time to be having fun.’ I sat down gently on the couch. That long a speech made me queasy.

Graham stopped his game and turned to me. ‘So, did y’all figure anything out?’

‘Yes. It’s not the new janitor at the church.’

Graham turned away from me with disgust. ‘Jeez, Mom, great work! Mr Garcia’s son Robbie’s in my AP algebra class. Like the stalker has a robot son or something?’ He shook his head, again in disgust, and turned on his game. And upped the volume.

‘We think it’s Thomas Marsh!’ I shouted over the noise of the game. Then thought I might pass out from the effort.

Graham turned off the TV, looked at me and said, ‘Jeez, Mom, get some coffee or something. You look like sh— Ah, you don’t look so good.’ He went in the kitchen and came back with a Coke. ‘Try this. At least it’s got caffeine. Who’s Thomas Marsh?’

‘What?’ I said, gratefully swigging the Coke. Nothing ever tasted so good. All that fizz, and the caffeine, and the sugar. Oh, my God.

‘Is that who you said? Tom Marsh?’ Graham repeated.

‘Um,’ I said, having consumed at least half of the can of Coke. ‘Thomas. But I don’t think it’s him.’

Graham let out a long-suffering sigh. ‘You just said you and Mrs Luna thought it
was
him.’

‘Well, until Bess – Elizabeth – rules him out.’

‘Who is he?’

‘You know, Mrs Marsh’s son,’ I said, holding the still chilly can of Coke to my forehead.

‘Oh.
That
Thomas Marsh,’ he said. ‘I thought you meant Mrs Somebody Else’s son!’

‘Don’t get sarcastic with me, young man,’ I said.