The debate soon swelled to such a clamor that Herb Pelzer, the land use commissioner, a portly man with a fringe of light brown about his shiny dome, moved for a referendum. The public works commissioner, Donald Richter, quickly seconded the motion, and the council voted unanimously that a special ballot be drafted, to be cast in six weeks’ time.
Moments later, Charlie caught up with Mary and Trish on the steps outside. Mary glowed with sisterly pride. ‘Oh, Charlie, wasn’t she wonderful?’ Turning to Trish, she added, ‘I swear, if it’d been an election you’d have won by a landslide.’
Charlie smiled easily at Trish. ‘Actually, it’s not a bad idea.
Have
you ever considered running for public office?’
‘Heavens, no. I’d be hopeless.’ Color rose in her cheeks, and in the blink of an eye, like Cinderella at the stroke of midnight, the impassioned zealot was transformed back into Mary’s self-effacing younger sister.
‘That’s not how it sounded back there.’
‘Oh, that was different. When I really care about something, I tend to get a little carried away.’ Trish beamed at the small crowd gathering about to congratulate her.
Charlie felt a moment of anxiety when she drifted off into the huddle of supporters, leaving him alone with Mary. Would she tell him she’d thought it over and decided it would be best if they remained at arm’s length? Worse, would she say nothing at all?
‘I’ll be quoting your sister heavily in tomorrow’s edition.’ He flashed the mini recorder in his hand.
‘Well, if it’s anything like today’s editorial I’m sure the town will be buzzing. According to Elaine Richards down at the post office, it’s been the main topic of conversation since early this morning.’
‘Being an overnight celebrity isn’t all it’s cracked up to be.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘This afternoon I got a call from Robert’s attorney—not Beale but his corporate flunky, Brett Jordan.’ Charlie lowered his voice. ‘Let’s just say I was warned … and not too subtly.’
Mary looked mildly alarmed. ‘He threatened to sue?’
‘That, and worse. He hinted the fire department could shut me down for violations.’
‘What violations?’
‘In an old building like mine, believe me, they’d find some,’ he said. ‘But that’d be more of a nuisance than anything. What I find most interesting is that Robert didn’t waste any time in lashing back, which makes me wonder if we’re sitting on an even bigger powder keg than we thought.’ They started down the steps, Mary maintaining a decorous foot or so of space that felt more like a mile. ‘How about Jordy Lundquist? Did you get anywhere with him?’ He’d spotted Corinne’s brother at the meeting and recalled her mentioning having run into Jordy the other day at Nora’s. Jordy, she said, had seemed a little nervous when the subject of Corinne came up. Mary had planned on doing some further investigating.
Mary shot him a rueful look. ‘I stopped by his house yesterday. He and his wife couldn’t have been nicer, but if he’s hiding anything about Corinne I didn’t get to first base,’ she confessed. ‘I was hoping he could at least shed some light on who the mysterious J was—you know, that guy Corinne mentioned in her diary. But he didn’t have a clue.’
‘If you feel like kicking around any more ideas, stop by the newsroom tomorrow. I’ll be around all day.’ Charlie kept his voice casual, arranging his face in a pleasantly neutral expression.
She stepped back to avoid being jostled by a boisterous group making its way down the steps, inadvertently brushing up against him. Charlie caught a trace of her scent: no perfume, just soap and clean clothes, the delicate kind you wash by hand and hang on the shower rod to dry. He could see a faint band of moisture glistening on her collarbone, and the memory of how she’d felt, naked in his arms, rose up to taunt him. He remembered the countless nights of his youth, drifting to sleep with something of hers clutched to his chest—a dress or a slip, once an old sweatshirt he’d found stuffed in the back of a drawer. Even her hairbrush, tangled with auburn strands, had been an instrument of sweet torture.
But if she was aware of the effect she was having on him now, she showed no sign of it. She paused on the bottom step to flash him her best PR woman’s smile. ‘Tomorrow? I have to make a run into the city. If I get back at a reasonable hour, I’ll give you a call.’
Charlie shrugged agreeably. ‘You have my number.’ Mary glanced up at Trish, who stood chatting with her supporters, oblivious of the fact that she was keeping her sister waiting. ‘Too bad her so-called fiancé couldn’t make it tonight. I wonder if he has any idea what a terrific performance he passed up.’
Charlie detected a note of irony in her voice and wondered if it came from personal experience. He felt a stab of jealousy at the thought of a lover, however feckless. ‘Probably not,’ was all he said. He saw no reason to mention Gary Schmidt’s reputation for catting around. Carefully, he ventured, ‘She could be a while. It doesn’t look as if her fan club is in any hurry to let her go. Can I give you a lift?’
Mary hesitated before replying, ‘No, better not.’ He might have gone home believing it was out of loyalty to Trish—if not for the meaningful look she shot him from under lowered eyelids. He was grateful for that much at least. ‘We’d just end up doing something I’d wish we hadn’t. Not’—she touched his arm—‘that the other night wasn’t wonderful. It’s just that I need time to think this over before we go jumping into the deep end.’
Charlie didn’t need to think it over. Like it or not, he was already in up to his ears. ‘Take all the time you need,’ he told her, his words sounding false and fatuous to his ears. She studied him for a moment. ‘You got your hair cut.’
‘Today, as a matter of fact. It shows, huh?’
‘Only if you look close.’ There was a beat in which he caught a flicker of regret in her eyes. Then she stood on tiptoe to kiss his cheek, a brush of lips so soft it might have been a whisper. A second later she was trotting over to retrieve Trish.
For a brief moment he indulged in a favorite fantasy, imagining what it would be like had they remained together all these years. Would they be like the couples strolling home through the park, arms linked, two shadows blending into one? The kind of couple about whom people were fond of remarking,
Aren’t they cute? Still crazy about each other after all these years.
His heart caught as if on something sharp.
In the parking lot it wasn’t hard to spot his Blazer. The lot, which had been full when he arrived, was nearly empty now. Shadows stretched in long furrows between the sparsely planted streetlights. Charlie was fumbling with his car keys when he felt something slam into him. The air left his lungs, and the pavement abruptly slid out from under him. He landed hard, breaking the fall with his right shoulder, a bright burst of pain that left him gasping.
A dark figure loomed over him.
Charlie sucked in a breath coppery with the taste of blood. ‘Christ, man. Why don’t you look where you’re—’
He was cut off by a throaty voice rasping, ‘Next time, Mr Newspaperman, you better think twice about what you print.’
Charlie struggled to make out his face, but it was too dark. He caught only the faint glimmer of an earring, the outline of a jaw that could have been a prizefighter’s. In that first disjoint moment his only thought was:
Damn, you’d think those idiot councilmen could have voted in a few more streetlights.
Then the loose connection in his brain ratcheted back into place, and he thought,
Robert. This is Robert’s doing.
He opened his mouth to croak, ‘You can tell that son of a bitch—’
But the shadowy figure had vanished.
Charlie dragged himself to his feet. His shoulder hurt, sending hot, pulsing waves down his arm. His elbow stung where it had been scraped raw. But the pain was muffled, like something sharp poking him through several layers of clothing. Adrenaline had taken over, downloading through his system in a sizzling rush.
He squinted in the direction the guy had run. Maybe he could still catch him. It didn’t occur to Charlie that he was in no shape to run, much less tackle a man who outweighed him by at least fifty pounds. Fury had eclipsed good sense. He’d run several dozen yards when incredibly he caught up with his attacker, a big blond man climbing into a red Bronco.
Charlie was pulling back to take a swing when the man turned, his stunned face flaring into view.
‘Jesus, Charlie.’
Not his attacker but Jordy. Big, sweet Jordy Lundquist, who faithfully chauffeured his widowed mother to the Shop ’n’ Save every Wednesday afternoon; who coached his daughter’s hockey team, and served as a deacon at their Lutheran church. Jordy’s mouth hung slack, and in an odd high-pitched voice he repeated, ‘Jesus, Charlie, you scared me.’
‘Not half as much as
you
scared me,’ Charlie wheezed.
It hit him then, like an aftershock. Rocked by a wave of dizziness, he swayed on his feet. He might have collapsed if Jordy hadn’t reached out to grasp his elbow firmly.
‘Hey, Charlie, you don’t look so good.’ Jordy’s concerned voice seemed to float down from somewhere above his left ear. ‘What happened to you?’
‘I just got blindsided,’ Charlie managed to gasp.
‘Big guy? Navy windbreaker?’ Jordy frowned. ‘I saw him run past just a minute ago. Looked like he was in a hurry.’
‘Did you see his face?’
Jordy shook his head. ‘I didn’t get a good look.’
Charlie sagged against the Bronco, letting out a ragged breath. ‘Neither did I. Sorry, Jordy, I didn’t mean to come after you like that. I thought you were him.’ He gingerly probed his shoulder, assessing the damage.
‘You okay?’ Jordy asked.
‘A little bruised, but I’ll live.’
Satisfied, Jordy relaxed. ‘Hey, you know something, it’s really weird running into you like this. I was looking for you at the meeting.’
‘I was all the way in back. The guy with the fake mustache,’ Charlie joked feebly in reference to his new notoriety. Right now the last thing he needed was to have his ear bent with some well-meaning but useless offer of support. Nevertheless, he found himself asking, ‘What did you want to see me about?’
Jordy reached inside his denim jacket and withdrew a manila envelope. ‘It was Mary’s stopping by the other day that made me think twice. Dad didn’t want my mom to know about this; he gave it to me just before he died. But when Mary told me about your daughter, I figured the secret had been kept long enough.’ He handed the envelope to Charlie.
‘What’s in it?’ Charlie straightened with sudden interest, his pain forgotten.
‘A copy of the coroner’s report.’ In the harsh glare of the Bronco’s interior light, the big flaxen-haired man looked troubled. ‘You’ll understand once you’ve read it.’
Initially the thought was just a vague, shifting grayness in the back of Charlie’s head; then it burst into full, living Technicolor. Jesus, what if it was true? What if Corinne
had
met with foul play? That would explain why Robert was so hell-bent on shutting him up.
He stared at the envelope in his hands. Whatever it held, he thought, one thing was for sure: Compared with the can of worms he’d pried open already, this was going to look like a nest of rattlesnakes.
CHAPTER 10
J
ULY WAS DRAWING TO A CLOSE,
but Noelle scarcely noticed. She’d taken to avoiding calendars. She couldn’t bear looking at all those neat little squares, each one as empty as the next. Better to do as she’d been taught in AA: Take it one day at a time. She could manage that, couldn’t she? Yes, if she didn’t think too hard about what might lie ahead. If she refused to let herself imagine,
even for one minute,
the possibility of losing her daughter for good.
Instead, she focused on their precious time together, on putting up a good front for Emma. It worked … most of the time. But Emma had started to come unglued as well. Yesterday she’d begged for an ice cream cone, then wept disconsolately when it became apparent that Noelle was going without her. ‘I want to come
with
you, Mommy. I don’t
like
Mrs Scheffert,’ she’d wailed. ‘I want to see Bronnie. I want to pick my
own
ice cream!’ In Scoops, watching her sister sprinkle chocolate jimmies over Emma’s mint chip cone, Noelle had broken down herself.
Bronwyn had had to take her in the back room, where she’d dried her eyes on a paper towel that felt like sandpaper. Her little sister was the only one besides Hank who hadn’t offered false assurances. She’d said the exact right thing: ‘I don’t know how you stand it, El. I’d go crazy. I swear I would.’
Noelle found her honesty oddly refreshing. With Bronwyn she didn’t have to smile and make show of bucking up, as she did with others. It was a relief, frankly, to admit openly that
she
didn’t know how she stood it either, and yes, she
was
going a little crazy. At times she felt as wobbly as one of Emma’s preschool projects. Popsicle sticks glued together precariously and stuck with bits of colored yarn.
Today she would have to apply extra glue. For today was Tuesday, and the court-appointed psychologist, a woman by the name of Linda Hawkins, was coming to evaluate her. After a sleepless night she’d awoken with a cold heaviness inside, like an iron weight pinning her to the mattress. ‘Just be yourself,’ Dad had advised. But Noelle had lost sight of what that was. These days a stranger, someone who jumped like a spooked horse at every loud noise and burst into tears at the slightest provocation, lived inside her skin. A person who occasionally had to hide out in the bathroom when it all became simply too much. What if she was deemed unfit? What then?
She was dragging herself out of bed at half past seven when her mother poked her head into the room. Mary, on her way into the city, was already dressed to the nines in a beautiful fawn-colored suit and cream silk blouse. Yesterday, when Lacey called with the news that a date had been set for the home visit, Mary had insisted on changing her plans. Noelle had been equally adamant that she not. Now she wondered if she’d spoken out of habit more than anything else. After all, when
had
she been able to count on her mother? Perhaps she’d learned too well that the best way to avoid being disappointed was not to expect too much in the first place.