Mourning In Miniature (37 page)

One by one, I had my crafter friends check out the glue, with and without the magnifying lens, with toothpicks, fingers, and noses all brought to bear.

“Is that a glue Rosie would use?” I asked.

“Not hardly,” said Mabel.

“Nuh-uh, y’all,” said Susan.

“No way, Jose,” said Karen.

“Why does it matter?” Maddie asked.

“I think I know,” Linda said.

I worked out the scenario in my head, over and over,
after the group had left and Maddie was fast asleep.

Skip had as much as admitted that the test for matching the glue on David’s dead lips to the glue on Rosie’s locker room box had been hurried and inconclusive. It had been done by a rookie, he’d said. Preliminary, he’d said.

I was convinced that with this sample from Cheryl’s glue and a credible test, we’d have incontrovertible evidence that Cheryl had murdered David and then done everything she could to direct the police to Rosie. She’d even glued his lips together to indicate that a crafter had been at work. Her desire to humiliate Rosie, and even destroy her life, seemed to have no bounds.

It had been a long day, starting with my meeting with Lourdes and ending with Allison (truthfully, ending with sweet potato pie), with a lot of stress at the LPPD in between.

Tomorrow morning, first thing, I’d take the sample photographs to Skip. Then maybe I’d see about arranging a date to finish the witch joke with Henry and Taylor. I’d probably have to promise Henry that I’d never bother him again afterward.

For now, I needed to sleep.

 

 

My head couldn’t have been on the pillow more than a
minute before a loud thumping noise startled me. It came from the direction of the atrium. June Chinn, next door, had been having problems with raccoons on her roof on a regular basis. Most of the Eichlers in our neighborhood were flat-roofed and easy for an animal to reach. Had the raccoons finally found my roof?

I couldn’t remember whether I’d fully closed the skylight before coming to bed. What a nightmare it would be if an animal had climbed up and then jumped onto my atrium floor and was now trapped inside.

A quick contingency plan formed in my mind, to call animal control if there was a raccoon or other creature in my home. The atrium was closed in, mostly by glass doors that led to the other parts of the house, which surrounded it. To let anyone into my house, I’d have to either enter the atrium and cross it, to the front door, or exit by the patio door from my bedroom and walk all around the side and use my key to let in an animal handler.

I got up and trudged across my bedroom to the small hallway between the living room and the atrium. As soon as I rounded the corner I could tell that I’d left the roof open. The skylight cover was not transparent, but cast diffuse light into the area, with colorful patterns, due, I supposed, to the texture of the acrylic material. Tonight I could tell my house was open to the stars. And to other elements of nature.

I looked through the heavy glass doors to the atrium, scanning carefully for unwelcome signs of life. All seemed quiet. I’d been lucky, but I needed to go out there and close the roof. No sense in tempting nature.

I unlocked and pushed open the glass door. I tiptoed down one step onto the atrium floor. Maddie hadn’t been awakened by the original noise; I didn’t want to disturb her now.

I headed for the button to slide the roof into the closed position.

I was knocked to the floor, facedown. I felt my nose crack and I knew I’d broken it. The idea that I’d tripped on a loose piece of slate was short-lived.

“You couldn’t let it go, could you, Gerry?”

The feel of a heavy boot in the small of my back conflicted with the sound of a woman’s voice.

Cheryl Mellace had jumped into my house.

In spite of the pain as my face ground into the floor, I had to gather my wits.

“The police know you killed David, Cheryl. It won’t do any good to hurt me.” I could barely understand my own words, coming as they were from lips scrunched together and twisted to the side, and a bloody nose that was throbbing painfully.

“I was ready to give up my life for him.” Cheryl’s breath came in short spurts.

I knew I was taller and heavier than Cheryl, but I had no idea whether she had a gun. I didn’t dare move. All I could do was look at my beautiful ferns, bamboo, and blooming begonias from a different angle than usual.

I felt I could easily throw off Cheryl’s foot and tackle her, but what if she had a weapon? On the one hand—why would such a petite woman enter my home without one if her plan was to do me harm? On the other—she’d done a good job on David using only a weapon of convenience.

“Cheryl—”

“You’re not in front of the class, Gerry. This is my story. You’re like David. You think you’re the only one who calls the shots.”

At this moment I didn’t want to be thought of as “like David.” I wondered what kind of magnetism he possessed that was lost on me—two women, at least one of them quite intelligent, were willing to throw themselves at him, one humiliating herself in the process, the other killing him.

I shifted under Cheryl’s boot and tried to make out from her weak shadow whether she was holding anything. She pressed down harder on my back. My nose, already beating pulses of pain, took another hit.

“Stay down,” she said. I smelled alcohol on her breath. I couldn’t decide whether that was good news or bad for me. Could she be more easily thrown off balance? I hoped so. I needed something to make up for the age difference between my attacker and me.

Her voice was loud and my greatest fear was that Maddie would wake up. I tried to recall whether Cheryl had ever met Maddie, whether she knew Maddie was in the house. Cheryl might have seen Maddie at the groundbreaking ceremony or at the reunion banquet on Saturday night, but she’d have no way of knowing that she was staying with me. Maddie had been asleep when Cheryl came by last night. I could only hope that my granddaughter’s presence in the house tonight would never enter Cheryl’s mind.

“Let me explain—”

Another slam of her boot. If only I could get a word in, I’d let Cheryl know that my whole crafter’s group had seen the kind of glue she’d used on the posters, and Linda knew more—thanks to her EMT friend, Linda knew about the glue that sealed David’s lips.

“After all we’d been through, David cared more about my husband’s money than I did,” Cheryl continued. “He’d rather give me up than get cut out of his little scam with Walter. We were supposed to be reliving our senior year at dawn in the woods on that Sunday, the day after David won his trophy.”

Something was off. David had been killed at dawn on Saturday, not Sunday. I realized Cheryl had intertwined the events of thirty years ago with those of four days ago. A common occurrence among her classmates. Maybe I could take advantage of Cheryl’s confused state to best her.

Physical combat was not in my skill set, but I had to do something or I’d bleed to death through my nose. I wriggled, but only slightly, not to upset Cheryl, to determine on which side I had more freedom of movement. I was glad for my lightweight summer pajamas, which were less likely to get tangled than one of my oversize winter nightgowns.

My left side, toward the patio doors to the hallway, seemed my best shot. Mustering all my strength, leveraging my arms, I made a sudden turn, rolling to my left.

One of my clay planters shattered on the floor next to me, where my head had been. Cheryl had missed, but recovered quickly, picking up another planter, this one with blooming mums. Again she hurled and missed.

I stood up, finally, perspiration running down my back. My attention shifted to a shadow behind Cheryl, in the glass doorway to the hallway outside Maddie’s room. The crashing pot must have wakened Maddie.

I panicked.

Though I averted my eyes so Cheryl wouldn’t follow my gaze, I caught a flash of neon green. Maddie’s pajamas. I was sure she’d fled to summon help; I wasn’t sure I could last as long as it took for help to arrive.

On my feet, I had the advantage now, unless Cheryl had an ace up the black sleeve of what looked like a Catwoman outfit.

She did.

She reached back and pulled a tire iron from my planter bed. Her tool, not mine. She came at me as if she were gathering momentum to jump on my shoulders. She held the tire iron like a baton.

Cheryl slipped a little while she swung the iron. More and more I had the sense that the effects of alcohol were working in my favor.

We grappled with it for what seemed like ages, switching positions of advantage. Finally the iron flew across the slate floor, sending scraping sounds up into the night sky.

The front of my pajama top was covered in blood pouring from my nose. Cheryl must have had some of it on her rappelling suit also. It was little comfort, but at least I knew a DNA match was possible should it come to that when Cheryl was tried for my murder.

I took a needed but dangerous breath and saw Cheryl headed for me. She’d retrieved the tire iron and had gained amazing speed, given that she had less than twenty feet of runway. I waited until she was almost on top of me, then swung my body down and away from the attack.

Cheryl hit the glass doors to my family room head-on. She lay crumpled, writhing in pain.

I guessed she was used to having a formation stand in place while she jumped on them.

The sound of sirens and the flashing of red-and-blue lights filled the open space in my atrium roof. I ran down the entryway and let in what seemed like a squadron of uniformed officers.

Then I ran back and into Maddie’s bedroom. I held her shaking body and rocked her until Officer Lavana Rollins found us and joined us for a three-way hug.

It took a couple of days for Maddie to leave my side. She
was as concerned about me as I was about her. All there had been between Maddie and Cheryl was a locked glass door, which seemed entirely too flimsy to me. I hoped this was the closest she’d ever be again to the kind of ugliness that had taken place in my atrium. I finally got her to class the Monday after her dramatic rescue call. I worried that she wouldn’t finish her project, but she assured me she was way ahead and would be ready on Labor Day. One week from now, she’d demonstrate her masterpiece to the throngs who were due at my house for the annual barbecue.

 

 

Many of the calls and visits I received during my brief
recuperation period included apologies. Allison Parker’s was first.

“I can’t believe what happened, Mrs. Porter. I feel so guilty. I called Cheryl when I got home and told her you were interested in where she got the glue and what brand it was. I thought I was helping you because you said you liked to collect that kind of information for your crafts classes.”

For Allison, it was a short apology. I assured her that I in no way blamed her for my bruised face, raccoon-like black-and-blue-rimmed eyes, sore back, and broken nose. Not to mention my destroyed atrium.

Skip and June took immediate charge of restoring my planter beds and adding a new, magnificent fern to change the look of the atrium.

June felt she should apologize, too. “I didn’t see or hear anything, Gerry. Someone was on your roof and I slept through it all. What kind of neighbor am I?”

“You’re a wonderful neighbor,” I said. “I’m sure Cheryl was visible only for a minute or so.”

“It was quite an impressive performance for a woman her age,” Skip said.

“Do you mean Cheryl or Gerry’s?” June asked. A nice gesture that caused Skip to stammer, “Both, I guess.”

“It’s a piece of cake to get to a roof in this neighborhood,” June said. “The roofs are low and flat and scaling the wall is not that big of a deal. I could do it.”