Light from a Distant Star (29 page)

“Like Mr. Cooper, he’s not even nice to her, her own father.” Nellie watched from the corner of her eye. She wanted to share her suspicions with him. With someone. But what if she was wrong? “He’s not—”

“Remember that day at Charlie’s?” Henry interrupted. “The time the dog bit me? Well, she thought it was funny. The whole time, Jessica, she was, like, smiling.”

“She was just nervous. That’s what she does.” She was surprised to hear herself defending Jessica, but she’d known her since kindergarten, and it was true.

“Max
saved
me,” Henry countered as if arguing with someone.

“Yeah, I know.” Talking about Max was hard. The thought of him locked up in jail made her feel helpless. Weak for not saying anything. Cowardly. But then again, what if Mr. Cooper really had been looking for her father that day? What if he had tried the store first, but the door had been locked? Her father did that sometimes, especially when he was writing. Maybe she just liked Max better than Mr. Cooper. And when it came to the darkness in a man’s heart, what more did she know of Mr. Cooper than she knew of Max Devaney? After all, she’d
known Mr. Cooper practically her whole life. And Max Devaney only a few weeks. But there’s knowing a person in the way they want to be known, every detail letter perfect, and then there’s the kind of knowing that’s all inside, like still feeling ripples in the air even when that person’s gone.

“You think he did that? Killed Dolly?” Sometimes, she thought Henry could read her mind.

“I don’t know. He killed that dog, don’t forget. Some people, killing’s not a problem for them. I mean, his own family, they blamed him for his brother dying. Maybe that’s what happened.” There. She’d said it. And now, on board with everyone else, maybe she’d feel better. “Probably just got easier, that’s all.” She even yawned.

“What? Killing people?”

“Maybe.”

“Yeah, well.” He seemed troubled. “He’s still a hero though, right?”

“I guess.”

“Can you be both?”

“What do you mean, both?”

“A hero and a killer.”

No, she wanted to tell him. You couldn’t be both. And Max wasn’t. She just knew he wasn’t.

“W
E HAD THAT
stuff last night!” Henry groaned as her mother uncovered the steaming blue casserole dish, almost dropping the lid.

“Stuff?” her father warned peering over his glasses.

Her mother had come home from work in a bad mood. Speaking louder than they realized, two women under the dryers had been discussing the murder in “Sandy’s house and how the killer’d lived in the junkyard with her father. Charlie.”

“It’s called leftovers,” Nellie told her brother with a long nudge of her foot.

“Shepherd’s pie” her mother said, glowering at him. “And if we don’t finish it tonight, then we’ll have it tomorrow night, too.”

A grim prospect, given the lumpy, gray mass, corn and peas being the most recognizable ingredients. It was her father’s favorite meal,
which he’d missed last night because he’d worked late at the store, and Ruth’s, too, but tonight she was at work. Nellie usually ate it out of cowardice, loyalty, and hunger—in that order.

“I’m not hungry.” Henry sulked in his chair, empowered by the day’s rejection.

“Fine!” her mother said with surprising bitterness. Halfway through dinner last night she’d let him leave the table when he said his stomach felt sick. “But tonight you can just sit here and watch the rest of us eat.”

He wouldn’t be seeing very much, though, with the kitchen getting so dark. Outside, the twilight sky had turned almost black with a far-off rumble of thunder. Her mother reached back and switched on the light over the table. Her father started to get up to close the windows, but she said not to. It was too hot and muggy and, besides, it still hadn’t rained. He didn’t say anything, just looked at her. Usually, the minute there was thunder she’d run around shutting all the windows. She was terrified of lightning, though she’d always tried to hide it from her children. She didn’t want them burdened by her fears.

“Can I have some cereal?” Henry asked as they began to eat.

“I thought you weren’t hungry,” her mother said.

“I am, but not for
that
!” Henry pretended to gag.

“No, Henry,
that
is dinner,” Benjamin said with a rare scowl. “You either eat it or you don’t.”

“But—” Henry began.

“No! And not another word!” he barked, pointing his fork—at their table, pointing one’s fork was an unforgivable gesture.

Nellie could tell by the sag of her mother’s shoulders that she felt terrible. Nellie continued eating, swallowing dryly and clearing her throat. Henry sniffed, eyes quickly red with tears he was struggling to contain. Knowing what a lousy day he’d had, she felt bad for him but worse for her mother.

In the close and perfect stillness, Nellie was conscious of how fragile she looked, how her father’s eyes seemed to avoid her mother’s. They ate in silence, as if one wrong word might unleash the looming storm. Even the thin curtains did not stir against the sill. After a while the sky began to turn a heavy, bruised yellow from which rain seeped gently
but steadily. Henry concentrated on placing his flatware at various angles.

“Thanks, Sandy, that was delicious,” her father said, getting up. He had to go back to the store, where he’d been cleaning out the cellar for the last two nights. The young fellow he’d hired to help was coming back at seven. He told Nellie to clear the table and put the dishes in the dishwasher. Henry could get up, he said, after he apologized to his mother. Her father left and Nellie began rinsing the plates in the sink, while at the table the uneasy stalemate continued. A part of her was enjoying Henry’s fall from his usual high perch.

“Well?” her mother finally said.

“I’m sorry,” Henry said bursting into tears.

Holding out her arms, her mother pulled him close. Now she was crying, too. Lulled by the running water in the sink and their murmurous apologies, Nellie kept loading the dishwasher. Conflicts just about always involved Ruth. But in the last few days she’d been the perfect daughter and sister, which surely meant trouble ahead. But at least she wouldn’t be running away. Her daily check of the mailbox had yet to turn up anything from “the land down under.” She turned off the water, stunned to hear Henry describing his eviction from Jessica’s house. Not only hadn’t Nellie done a thing to stop it, but she’d stayed there playing with her after he was gone.

“Because I didn’t even know! I thought he was downstairs,” she insisted, but her mother wasn’t buying it. As the older child it was her responsibility to know where her brother was at all times.

“I trusted you, Nellie. And you let me down, and you let your brother down. It’s that simple,” she added as she got up from the table. She filled a bowl with Cheerios and set it in front of him. Nellie leaned against the counter, glaring, while he shoveled spoonfuls of cereal into his mouth, but he never looked up. A dangerous game. He had a lot more on her than she had on him. She waited until he’d finished eating and had left the kitchen before she told her mother exactly what had happened. Everything, even about Jessica eating her brother’s pot. She was never, ever going over there again, and she wanted her to call Mrs. Cooper.

“She was probably just showing off in front of you. And besides, I’ll bet it wasn’t even pot,” her mother said.

“Then what was it?” she demanded, indignant at the double betrayal, first by Jessica and then by Henry. Triple betrayal, really, because her mother had forced her to go there in the first place.

“It could’ve been anything. You know Jessica.” Once again, she checked her watch. A woman was coming to see the apartment tonight, Miss Schiff, their first prospective tenant, and she was twenty minutes late. The ad had run in the paper for two weeks, but as soon as people heard the name and address, they weren’t interested. Lazlo had called last week about getting his old apartment back, then called the very next day to say he was looking for something a little bigger. Maybe even with a studio. And who could blame him, her mother had said. He didn’t want to live in a crime scene either.

“Yeah, and because of her, Henry might’ve gotten lost or kidnapped.” Point by point, she was brilliantly building the case both for her innocence and for never having Jessica forced on her again.

“But he didn’t,” her mother said.

“But he could have! And if nobody tells them, then how’re they supposed to know what’s going on? And what if it happens again? To some other kid? Think about it, how guilty you’d feel. I would, anyway.”

“Oh, Nellie,” she sighed. “They know what’s going on, what they’re dealing with. Believe me, they know. Especially Claudia. She’s such a good mother.” So here they were again, same full circle: The Coopers were wonderful and Jessica needed a friend.

“What about Mr. Cooper? You think he’s a really good father?”

“Yes. Of course I do.”

“Even if he had a girlfriend? If he cheated on his wife?” Nellie held her breath.

“Where did you … What’re you … Nellie! That’s a terrible thing to say.”

“But it’s true. And you wanna know how I know? Because I saw him. He used to go see Dolly. And you know the day of the murder, well, he was there then, too. He was out back by the bushes and his face was all scratched and he was really nervous, like, he couldn’t believe it. Like, oh, my-god, after what’d just happened, and there
I
am, this kid he knows, talking to him.”

Her mother looked puzzled, as if she’d heard every single word but in another language.

Nellie tried speaking slowly, but couldn’t. “Max didn’t kill Dolly. Mr. Cooper did.” With the terrible weight lifting, she felt lighter inside. Free.

“Nellie!” She kept shaking her head. “I’m sure you
think
it’s true. I mean, I can’t imagine you’d make up something like this up just to get back at Jessica so you don’t have to go over there.” Her eyes widened. “You wouldn’t, would you?”

“No! It’s the truth. Really! I swear it is!”

The doorbell rang, and she jumped up.

“Now listen to me, Nellie.” She leaned close, talking fast. “Sometimes we want things to be a certain way so we start questioning everything. Especially if we’re mad or we don’t like somebody.” She started for the front hall. “Then that just makes it all the easier,” she called back, then opened the door. “Hello!” she greeted the soaking wet woman on their doorstep.

Miss Schiff was a fashionable older woman in a belted black raincoat. She gave her umbrella a vigorous shake, followed by a sharp rap on the step before coming inside. “Yes,” she said with a distracted nod when Nellie was introduced. Was this also the entrance to the apartment, she asked uneasily. No, that door was on the other side of the house, her mother said, then suggested they go down through the cellar instead of out into the rain again. Miss Schiff followed her into the kitchen. “It’s just been painted,” her mother said in a high, forced lilt of breaking-point nerves. “Moonbeam cream, I think it’s called. Actually, it’s the same as this.” She pointed to her own walls. “But you could always paint it another color,” she said when Miss Schiff made no comment.

“Oh, I’m not much of a painter,” Miss Schiff said.

“No, not you. I didn’t mean you. We would. We do all that,” her mother said, turning back.

“All right, but first I … I mean, I should’ve told you on the phone; I was going to, but then I didn’t think of it until afterward. The thing is, you see, I have a cat.”

“A cat,” her mother repeated.

“Yes, and if that’s a problem, then I won’t take up any more of
your time. He’s ten years old, an indoor cat. He’s declawed,” she added weakly.

“Oh,” her mother said. “Well, I hadn’t thought of that. Of a cat.”

“The ad didn’t say anything about pets.” Miss Schiff sounded nervous.

“No, that’s right, it didn’t, did it?”

“So,” Miss Schiff said, frowning, “do you not rent to pets?”

Not to pets, just to people
, Nellie thought wanting to clarify what was becoming a strange conversation.

“Well, I don’t know … I mean, I never have.”

“Well, then, I’m sorry. I should’ve said something before. It’s just that the ad didn’t—”

“But that doesn’t mean I wouldn’t,” her mother said quickly. “It just never came up, really, but I suppose if it’s a nice cat, well … and I’m sure it is.”

“So does that mean you would?” Miss Schiff gripped her umbrella close to her chest.

“Yes. A cat. That’s fine.”

“What’s—”
the cat’s name
, Nellie was about to ask before being interrupted.

“So why don’t we go see it now.” Her mother reached for the cellar door knob and their eyes met.
Don’t say another word
, hers warned.

She could hear them perfectly through the bathroom wall. With the matter of the cat settled, Miss Schiff sounded much friendlier. She had grown up here in town, but had lived the last forty-two years in Seattle, working in a doctor’s office. A dermatologist. When he retired and closed the practice, she decided to move back even though she had no family left here. They were next door for about twenty minutes. Miss Schiff wanted the apartment. She’d said it was perfect for her, her mother told her father later, when he came home from the store.

“She said she likes having a family in the same house,” she said from the couch, her legs curled under her. She was in her nightgown. She’d been waiting to tell him the good news. Henry had fallen asleep earlier, and Ruth wasn’t home from work yet. Ordinarily, Nellie would have been in bed, but she’d been writing a long letter to Max at the wobbly, old Hitchcock desk in the living room. It had occurred to her
that he probably wasn’t getting any mail. His family didn’t care what happened to him, and she couldn’t picture Charlie writing back. She didn’t mention her suspicions about Mr. Cooper. In fact, her only reference that came close to the murder was telling him about Miss Schiff maybe moving into the apartment and how excited she was about having a cat in the house, even if she probably wouldn’t get to see it much, she added, then told him she’d seen Boone quite a few times,
not true
, but she knew he’d like hearing it. She ended the letter by asking when visiting hours were. “Your good friend, Nellie,” she signed it. After she’d sealed the envelope, she realized she didn’t know the exact address of the jail. But tomorrow she’d go see Charlie, get it from him, and that way spend time with Boone.