The Busy Woman's Guide to Murder (24 page)

The group was divided neatly into harried moms and women who could probably scale Mount Everest on a weekend and create the corporate five-year plan on the Monday after. There were two men, one in his twenties, and one in that uncharted territory between sixty and seventy.

Almost everyone raised their hands when I asked who felt guilty saying no. The younger man just shrugged. I suggested that people were better off feeling guilty than carrying a lifetime of regret. We all shared stories of the things we’d said yes to and regretted.

The class favorite was the wife whose mother-in-law insisted on having a key to her daughter-in-law’s home and who let herself in without warning any time of the day or evening. On one excursion, she reorganized the daughter-in-law’s lingerie drawer. We all gasped at that.

“What can I do? I tell her no and she just doesn’t listen.”

Of course, this was much more of a boundary issue than a time-management one, but we were all in agreement. A line needed to be drawn in the sand. Most people were in favor of changing the locks.

“Easy for them,” the young wife said. “You can’t say no to your kids or your bosses or your dogs, but you think I can just do that? This woman is a family member.”

We role-played that one. The younger man enjoyed playing the part of the mother-in-law. At the end of a number of scenarios, we’d reached a plan that would allow the mother-in-law from hell to save face, and for privacy to be restored. I sure hoped that husband would be on board. Of course, the doors would be rekeyed after an expression of thanks for all the help, and the request to knock and not use the key. Time would tell.

“Let me know,” I said, as we moved on to the neighbor who borrowed and never returned, the school committee’s endless request for baked goods, and the boss who didn’t believe in weekends.

By the end, everyone had a couple of practiced comments and strategies to avoid yes. “I’ll think about it and get back to you.” “I’d love to but I have no time left.” And just plain no.

Everyone said that they’d let me know how it worked out. In the case of the boss from hell, there were three offers of help with a job search to find a better place to work.

“I’m living proof that you can ditch a lucrative career and find happiness being your own boss. Less money, more happiness. That frequently comes from saying no.”

This group apparently hadn’t seen my multiple arrests on television, so they took me seriously. I was glad they hadn’t managed their time well enough to catch the local news on a regular basis.

After we all departed from the library, most of us still chuckling, I tried Pepper’s cell and home phones with no luck. Mona’s dissociative identity disorder was the subject. Of course, they weren’t the first messages I’d left Pepper on that subject.

I thought it might be worth trying Haley again, just to warn her. Of course, there was no answer at her home either. I had no idea how to track her down. With an office cleaning business, she and Randy could be anywhere. As it was after hours, they’d be out somewhere working hard. The question was, were they in danger from Mona? I didn’t want to believe it, but I had to consider that it could be the truth. I had no choice but to take action. And I didn’t have much choice about what.

What the hell. I tried dialing 911 once again. I figured Mona wasn’t there. I hoped for her friend Brian.

A male voice answered.

“Brian?” I said.

“Nine-one-one,” he repeated. “We don’t do first names here.”

“Mona always did. Is that you, Brian? Because if it is I need to talk to you about her.”

“This line is for emergencies.”

“Come on, Brian. It
is
an emergency, for Mona. I think you must have figured that out.”

He gasped. “Have you seen her?”

“No and I need to find her. Can I meet with you?”

“I’m off at eleven.”

“Sure. Where can we connect?”

“Not much is open at that time around here, but there’s Al’s All Night. Right by the station. I’ll be there by ten after.”

“That sounds fine. I’ll see you at Al’s then. I’m buying.”

I trotted the reluctant pooches out for their walk, trotted them back in again, and hit the computer. I spent the time well doing as much research as I could into dissociative identity disorder. It’s a controversial diagnosis at best, but, if you bought into it, could result from trauma. Mona was right, if she did have more than one personality vying for her head space, she would have no memories of that person’s activities.

Jack was snoring softly on the sofa. Even Mona’s tale of her multiple personalities hadn’t kept him awake. I left the sleeping dogs and Jack and headed out into the blustery night. I wanted to be curled up on the sofa with Jack, wearing my frog pajamas and pink fluffy slippers. I sure hoped that my meeting with Brian would pay off. I drove down Long March Road toward downtown and the police station. Al’s All Night was the only pink neon-lit spark in the gloomy swirl of snow. I pushed open the door and inhaled the aroma of coffee and fries and hamburgers. Two uniformed police officers who must have just finished a shift were starting on coffees. One of them spotted me and gave the other one an elbow in the ribs. His friend turned and I recognized that smart young cop Dean Oliver. He nodded and gave me the slightest of grins. What can I say? We have a complicated relationship. I waved back and hesitated. Dean owed me. Could I fill him in on this situation with Mona? Would that be a betrayal of Pepper? Or an unfair and useless burden on him? I am not at my best at this time of night, so I found myself dithering. Before I could make up my mind about the right thing to do, the door opened and Brian blew in along with a gust of wind and a puff of snow.

I waved again to Dean—whose eyebrows rose—and joined Brian in one of the battered booths. He signaled the waitress, who arrived on the double. Brian went for Sleepy-time herbal tea and apple pie à la mode. I know a winning combination when I hear one and ordered the same.

“Thanks for seeing me, Brian.”

“Anything for pie,” he said.

Up close I could see the circles under his eyes. I imagined an extra 911 shift, even in sleepy Woodbridge, could leave you exhausted.

I smiled. “I am hoping you can help me with Mona.”

“Mona is my friend,” he said, a hint of warning in his voice.

“Mine too, although I know you are much closer. I want to help her and I think she’s in big trouble.”

A guarded look crept over his face.

I kept talking. “Mona believes she might have dissociative identity disorder and maybe one of her other personalities is behind these hit-and-runs.”

“That’s crazy, but in a totally different way.”

“Exactly. I doubt if that’s the case, especially as the police believe she is covered for the murders, but the point is that she thinks it is and that’s causing her to behave in bizarre ways.”

He lowered his eyes, not sure of how to deal with me, I figured.

“Here’s what I know,” I said. “Mona was bullied, brutally, by this cabal of girls who were in high school at the same time Mona and I were. The ringleader is back, and that seems to have set Mona off.”

“That would be Serena.”

“Right. I see that you know about her.”

“Mona talked about her returning. Talked about hating her and how she was back and it was causing her a lot of stress.”

“I know. In case you think she was overreacting, I do want to say that this bullying was cruel and unrelenting for years, I guess.”

Brian’s eyes flashed. “I don’t think she was overreacting. I’m a gay man from a small town. Do you think I didn’t get bullied in school? Do you think I wouldn’t recognize how she felt? It’s taken me ten years of therapy to just start to get over it.”

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean that. I didn’t realize at the time how bad it was. I let her down when we were in school and I don’t want to let her down this time.”

“Okay. I get that.”

“Good. She called me and said she was fantasizing about running Serena over and seeing her splatter all over the windshield. Her words. Then the same night, Bethann Reynolds was killed.”

“Oh boy.”

Our Sleepytime tea and apple pie arrived just at that moment. I waited to finish talking until our waitress sauntered past the two police officers, swaying her hips. Dean turned back and gave me a look. I had no idea what that look meant.

“I’m asking myself what triggered all this emotion. Do you know exactly what happened when Serena got in touch with her?”

He took a long sip of his tea and then seemed to make a decision. “I guess it’s okay to tell you.”

“Tell me what?”

“She came in to work the other day and she was in total distress. Her face was beet red and she was sputtering. I mean totally enraged. She wasn’t in any shape to go on the phones.”

I nodded. “What was she so upset about?”

“Seems this Serena had called her to tell her she was back. Made a big deal about the good old days and how she wanted to see Mona again. She was trying to set up friend dates.”

“I can see where Mona would be upset about that.”

“An understatement. I had to cover for her when she was freaking out in the ladies’ room. She wore her sunglasses for the rest of the morning and, so help me, her hands were shaking. I told her to go home, but she said work was the only place she could feel safe now.”

“Wow. That’s awful. So Serena actually got her all riled up again.”

Brian said, “Yup. Nasty lady.”

“Or stupid perhaps. Maybe she didn’t even realize the impact she’d have.”

Brian’s face hardened. “I bet she couldn’t wait to start playing those same old head games again. What?”

I shook my head. “Nothing. Just reacting to the whole horrible scenario.” But I was also asking myself if Mona, Kristee, and Bella’s cousin were the only former victims that Serena had contacted. Probably not.

“It is horrible. Serena’s the one who should have gotten hit. The other two bitches got killed. Tiffanee and Jasmin. They probably deserved it too.”

I didn’t make any comments about remarks unbecoming to a 911 operater. “Bethann Reynolds didn’t deserve it though. She was just an innocent person crossing the street, searching for her cat. And she’d been bullied too. She was quite reclusive as a result. It’s all very unfair.”

His shoulders slumped. “As horrible as Serena was and even though I know she had an alibi, I can’t believe that Mona would ever run over Serena and the others.”

I said, “I agree. In fact, the only person who seems to believe that Mona could have done it is Mona herself.” I didn’t let on that I’d actually worried a lot about that. “She
suspects
that she has alter egos who may have done it.”

He said, “I’ve been working with Mona since she joined 911 ten years ago. We’ve stuck together. We’ve been friends, colleagues. We’re tight. Mona’s always the same. I don’t see how it’s possible for her to have alternate personalities with no sign of that over ten years.”

I nodded. “Good point and I’m glad to hear that.”

He frowned. “But?”

He must have read my mind. I hesitated. “I’ve read that dissociative identity disorder can be triggered by a traumatic event. And retriggered as well.”

“You mean the phone call from Serena might have sent her over the edge?”

“Yes. I can’t imagine how awful it would have been for Mona to pick up the phone and hear her tormentor’s voice after all these years.”

“She worked hard to get over her teenaged trauma and have a normal life. It’s not fair. I think if I’d seen that Serena, I might have run over her myself.”

“Except, it wasn’t Serena. It was another victim. We have to keep that in mind.”

“I don’t buy into this multiple personality crap, but I understand that we do have to help her.”

“I agree. She needs help. But first we have to find her. She’s not at home. Do you have any idea where she could go?”

He shook his head and his sandy hair flopped over his eyes. “She never went anywhere. Home. Work. Here sometimes after work with me. To the movies. The grocery store. The drugstore. The vet with her cat or dog. She could hardly be hiding out at any of those places. Right?”

“Family?”

“Her parents retired and moved somewhere south, Georgia maybe.”

“Could she have gone to see them?”

“I don’t think so. She didn’t get on well with them. Held them responsible for not standing up for her. I don’t think she’s seen her parents in five or six years. So she probably wouldn’t turn up on their doorstep to ask them to let her hide out because her alter egos were running people down.”

“Good point.”

He shook his head vigorously. “I’m sure she wouldn’t go to them. They never made her feel safe.”

“And she wants to feel safe now. Needs to. But where?”

“Search me.”

“I’m going to give you my cell phone number and I want yours too. Call me if you think of anyplace else that she might have mentioned. Or if she calls you, listen for background noises.”