Peony Street (37 page)

“Do you know who that kid is?” Sarah asked. “That’s Peyton Stanhope Huckle.”

“I thought it might be,” Claire said. “That should make things interesting.”

“I’ll need you to come down to the office and give me your statement,” she told Claire, and to Hannah and Hatch she said, “You two can go.”

“Thank you, Ms. Albright,” Hannah said in her best Sunday school voice.

“That’s Detective Tiny Crimefighter to you,” Sarah said. “And don’t you forget it.”

Scott held Maggie’s hand as the Hospice nurse gave him and his sister the latest update. They were sitting at the kitchen table with Penny, her recently-arrived husband Kyle, Doc Machalvie and Father Stephen. Sister Mary Margrethe and Claire’s mother Delia were hovering nearby.

“It won’t be much longer,” the nurse said. “You should say what you need to say.”

“They’re killing her,” Penny said to Scott, “and it’s all your fault.”

Penny fled sobbing down the hall to the bedroom with her husband right behind her. Scott felt his eyes fill with tears and his vision blurred. Maggie squeezed his hand, but he didn’t look at her for fear that he might lose what composure he had left.

“I want to thank you all,” he said to the room full of people, after clearing his throat and wiping his eyes, “for everything you’ve done for my mother, my sister, and me.”

Everyone made the appropriate noises but to Scott they sounded very far away and he didn’t really listen; he just nodded, clasped the hands that were offered, accepted the hugs and the words meant to comfort. After they left he sat there for a while, he didn’t know how long, before he realized everyone was gone; everyone but Maggie.

“What time is it?” he asked her.

“It’s after three,” she said. “Sister M Squared is in with your mom and Delia went home to make you guys some supper. Doc said he’d be back later, and Father Stephen went to get his last rites … kit, I guess. I don’t know what they call it.”

“I was ten when my dad got sick and died,” Scott said. “They sent me to Ed’s house to stay until the funeral was over; they didn’t think I should go. Ed’s mom was still around then. She said I should always picture my dad doing something I loved doing with him. We used to toss a baseball for hours in the backyard; that’s how I remember him.”

“Your dad was so fun,” Maggie said. “He was always smiling.”

“After going through this with her I don’t know how I’ll remember my mom any way except how she is right now.”

“It will take time,” Maggie said. “My memories of Grandpa Tim are of when he was much younger, not how he was at the end.”

Scott felt his mind wander, and it was some time before he felt present again.

“I’ve always taken for granted that we live in a town where people help each other; where, if you fall down, someone will come along and pick you up,” Scott said. “I do realize how lucky I am to have all these people who are willing to help.”

“It’s the flip side of everyone knowing your business,” Maggie said. “Assistance paid for by the loss of any kind of privacy.”

“It feels worth it today,” he said.

“It’s what church people are supposed to do,” Maggie said. “It’s what friends and neighbors are supposed to do. When Grandpa Tim and Brian died lots of people were kind to our family. It even restored my faith, in a way.”

“I’ve been wrestling with this idea of expecting God to solve my problems if only I’m good enough,” Scott said. “After what I’ve experienced over the past few days I don’t think it works that way. I think God must not be able to do anything on His own, that He can only inspire people to act on His behalf. I think God makes His presence known through the kind acts of people, and we decide whether to invite His presence or send it away through how we treat each other.”

“You’ve been spending way too much time with these religious people,” Maggie said. “I’m going to have to take you down to the Thorn to get you some perspective.”

“It’s not easy to do the right thing all the time,” Scott said. “It’s not easy to love thy neighbor.”

“You’re awfully good at it, though,” Maggie said. “I mean, you’re almost sickeningly generous and kind. Plus you’re so damn helpful I can hardly stand you half the time. Hannah’s comic book name for you is Nicely Super Scout.”

“I find it hard to be kind to people I don’t like, and people I don’t approve of,” Scott said. “I judge everyone all the time.”

“I don’t like 99.9 percent of the people I meet,” Maggie said. “I can count the people I like on one hand and still have a middle finger left over to show the rest of them.”

“Everyone in this town could show up here tonight to help me and I would be grateful,” Scott said, “but not as grateful as I am to be sitting here, holding hands with you.”

“You know how I hate it when you get squishy,” Maggie said. “It makes me want to pinch you.”

“I hope you never get tired of pinching me.”

“I hate to tell you this, Saint Scott of Rose Hill,” Maggie said, “but I really have to pee.”

“Alright,” he said. “If you really have to.”

Maggie got up and went down the hall just as Scott’s brother-in-law Kyle came out of his sister’s bedroom.

“How’s she doing?” Scott asked him.

“She’s resting,” Kyle said. “How are you holding up?”

“It doesn’t seem real,” Scott said. “A week ago she had a bad cough, and now she’s dying.”

“Penny thinks the Hospice people are killing her.”

“I know.”

“I don’t think that,” Kyle said. “Penny’s just upset.”

“I know,” Scott said. “It’s okay.”

“When Penny’s upset she says awful stuff,” Kyle said. “She doesn’t mean to hurt you.”

“I know,” Scott said. “I love Penny; we’ll be fine, eventually.”

As Maggie walked back down the hall toward Scott he thought to himself that she was the reason he could get through this; she was why he knew he would be okay. Maggie was giving him the extra strength he needed. He couldn’t imagine she needed God’s inspiration to do that. She was too pigheaded to let anyone tell her what to do. No, if she was here it wasn’t divine intervention, it was because she cared.

“I’m going to run over to Delia’s,” she said. “I’ll bring your dinner back here in a little bit. Call me if something happens.”

“Thank you,” Scott said, rising from the table to embrace her, “for everything.”

Maggie pinched him really hard on the arm and he said, “Ow!”

“What did I tell you ‘bout that?” Maggie said, and then kissed his cheek.

Kyle waited until Maggie left to ask, “What did she do that for?”

“She loves me,” Scott said.

When Claire stopped by Denise’s house to drop off the week’s deposit, Denise immediately handed her a sleeping baby swaddled in a flannel blanket.

Claire looked down at the little old man face of Dom Jr. His lips were very thin and he had flaky, blotchy skin all over his scalp and face. It was all she could do not to whip out something with which to exfoliate the child. She didn’t feel all ooey-gooey inside like she thought she would. He didn’t smell very good, for one thing.

“He has cradle cap,” Denise said. “I’ve been picking at it all morning.”

“He’s so big,” Claire said. “It’s hard to believe he was just inside your belly.”

“Nine pounds eight ounces,” Denise said. “Took to the bottle like a champ. I’m not nursing this one, and his two nonnas are having a fit over it. ‘They’re my boobs,’ I told ‘em. ‘Not yours; so lay off.’ They’re relentless.”

“I’m so happy for you,” Claire said.

“Let me ask you something,” Denise said. “I’ve been looking for somebody to buy the salon. What do you say?”

“I don’t think so,” Claire said, and handed the warm bundle back to his mother. “My life is in serious disarray right now. I can’t commit to anything.”

“Someone called us with an offer,” Denise said. “It’s from a company in New York. I thought maybe you had something to do with it.”

“No,” Claire said, although she had a good idea who had.

As Claire was walking home from the Delucas’ house her phone rang.

“Miss Fitzpatrick,” a man said. “This is Morton Devorah. I was the late Mr. Tupworth’s literary agent.”

Claire listened, fascinated, as Tuppy’s agent outlined a publisher’s six figure offer for her to contribute additional material to Tuppy’s book.

“That’s a huge advance these days,” he said. “Unfortunately murder and scandal make excellent bargaining tools.”

“I have a confidentiality agreement,” Claire said. “I can’t divulge any information about Sloan.”

“According to Mr. Tupworth those documents were all lost during the transfer of Ms. Merryweather’s legal files from one firm to another.”

“I can’t comment on that,” Claire said.

“The Tupworths have expressed interest in publishing on their son’s behalf,” he said, “but you’ve known her for 20 years; that would give the book more credibility.”

“Thank you, but no,” Claire said. “I’m ready to leave all that behind me.”

Mr. Devorah assured Claire he would try again. Claire assumed he thought she was playing hard to get in order to push the price up.

Scott was surprised to see Sarah at his mother’s front door.

“Skip and Frank are on duty today,” Scott said, stepping outside rather than inviting her in. “Was there something you specifically needed me for?”

“I just wanted to let you know we caught the hit-and-run driver who killed Mr. Tupworth.”

“That’s good news,” Scott said. “Who was it?”

“A couple of college kids were drag-racing,” Sarah said. “I got a tip they were attempting to move the car to another location and was able to get there before they did. The damage to the car is consistent with what we thought happened, plus I have a recorded conversation of the driver admitting he did it.”

“That’s certainly another feather in your cap,” Scott said. “Congratulations.”

“How’s your mother?” she asked.

“Not well,” Scott said.

“Is there anything I can do to help?” Sarah asked.

Scott must have conveyed his disbelief in her sincerity through his facial expression because she said, “I mean it; I want to help if I can.”

“Thanks, Sarah,” he said. “I’ll let you know.”

She started to leave and then turned back.

“If you got any complaints about me you’d let me know, wouldn’t you? I mean, before you passed them on to my supervisor?”

“What did you do?”

“Nothing,” Sarah said. “I’m just reminding you that we need to have the kind of professional relationship where we watch out for each other. I make you look good and you make me look good.”

“I’ll let you know if I hear anything,” Scott said.

“Good,” she said, and left.

“I wonder what she’s done now,” Scott said to himself as he went back inside. “Although I’m sure I’ll hear about it before the day’s over.”

When Delia got home Claire was in the kitchen cutting her father’s hair.

“Your hand still looks awful,” Delia said, “although the swelling is down.”

“It looks worse than it is,” Claire said.

“What’d you do to your hand?” Ian asked, and grabbed it to take a look.

“She accidently slammed a door on it,” Delia said.

“The hell you did,” Ian said. “Who’d you take a poke at?”

“Knox,” Claire whispered in his ear, “but don’t tell.”

Ian laughed.

“I wish I’d seen that,” he said. “My darlin’ girl decked that insufferable bastard.”

“Ian!” Delia said. “Claire would never hit someone. And don’t curse in my house.”

“Good for you,” Ian said to Claire. “Don’t let anyone give you any guff.”

“Did you see your boxes arrived?” Delia asked her daughter.

“Yes,” Claire said. “I’ve only been here a week but none of my pants fit.”

“You should have seen her eating biscuits and gravy at the depot,” Ian said. “She needed a shovel.”

‘Thanks, Dad,” Claire said.

“Kay wants to know if you’ll sing at church this Sunday,” Delia said. “Her daughter’s got a bad sore throat and doesn’t think she’ll be able to do it.”

“What’s the song?”

“The Lord’s Prayer.”

“I’m ashamed to admit I may not remember the words.”

“I can’t remember lots of things,” Ian said.

“We’ll practice until you do remember,” Delia said. “Think how it would look if you needed to read the words to ‘The Lord’s Prayer.’”

“Is this going to be a thing now?” Claire asked. “Where I have to sing in church every Sunday?”

“It would be nice,” Delia said, “if you thought of it as something you wanted to do and not a chore.”

“Just this once,” Claire said. “That’s all I’m promising.”

Claire’s mother smiled in a way that showed she had got her way, and Claire knew this would indeed become a regular thing.

“I saw Scooter Scoley over at Curtis’s station the other day,” Ian said. “He said you were going to sing with him, but I don’t remember where.”

“That would be fun for you,” Delia said.

“Tomorrow night in the Thorn,” Claire said. “I’m getting butterflies just thinking about it.”

“All the more reason to practice,” Delia said. “I need to get our piano tuned.”