Chapter 7
I’M SHAKING WITH COLD AND EMOTION. I CAN’T BELIEVE THAT THIS has happened.
I know Simon wasn’t well, but he seemed healthy enough at dinner last night.
I stand close to Noah, trying to stay warm.
No one’s had much to say, except for Aubrey, who’s been babbling nonstop since she joined us on the side of the road.
Sirens become louder as emergency vehicles draw near.
An ambulance, lights flashing, grinds to a halt.
Two EMTs jump out and a fire truck pulls in behind them.
A husky, female EMT, her dark hair slicked back into a tight bun, tells us to step away from Simon, and they drop to their knees, throwing open a satchel of instruments.
But they pretty quickly sit back on their haunches.
There’s nothing they can do for poor Simon.
Two cop cars have arrived as well and after a brief discussion with the EMTs, they stride over to where we’re huddled.
They ask Ruth to step over to the patrol car.
While they talk to her, as much as I don’t want to look, my eyes keep wandering to the body on the pavement.
Simon’s glasses, broken and useless to him now, seem to make the whole scene more tragic somehow, attesting to human frailty maybe.
A stopgap, a way to cope with the aging body.
As we get older, we rely on mechanisms: glasses, canes, hearing aids, and more to compensate for the ravages of time. But time wins out in the end.
I wonder how Simon got that wound on the back of his head. Did he fall backward somehow and then get up and stagger forward? It doesn’t seem to make sense.
“You okay?” Noah asks.
I nod. “Just cold.”
“I’d give you my coat but …” His coat is sitting next to Simon’s body, having been removed by the EMTs, its collar bloody where it had covered Simon’s head. One of the cops is snapping pictures while the older cop talks to Ruth.
It looks like they’re done, and Ruth walks over to where her husband lies. She stands at a slight distance and wipes tears from her cheeks. Larry goes over to her and puts his arm around her shoulders. The cop calls Noah over.
Aubrey squeezes my arm in a grip that almost hurts. “What do you think happened?” Her lips tremble, her coffee-laden breath in my face. Her cheeks are pale and she’s devoid of makeup, making her look a little older here in the morning light.
“I don’t know. Ruth said he wanders sometimes.”
Aubrey nods. “This is just so awful. Poor Simon. I don’t know how Ruth will get along without him.”
“He was in his eighties, Aubrey,” Dale says. “It’s not totally unexpected.” He pulls his belt more tightly around his monogrammed robe. It’s identical to his wife’s except the color. Hers is pink; his is dark blue.
“He seemed okay at dinner last night,” Aubrey says. “What do you think the cops are asking Noah about? Simon probably just fell or had a heart attack, don’t you think? Or maybe hypothermia. It’s really cold and who knows how long he was out here.”
I try to shut out their voices as I keep my eyes on Noah and the cop. Aubrey and Dale chatter back and forth and sound like buzzing bees at my side. When Noah heads back, he tells me that I’m up next.
My legs tremble as I walk over to the patrol car where the cop stands.
He’s tall and muscular and looks like he hits the gym regularly.
And he looks none too pleased to be standing out here in the cold so early.
His name badge says: TILDEN. He asks me my name, address, etc.
I run through the last hour or so, from the time Ruth knocked on my door.
“So, Ms. Shrader, Mrs. Harwood tells me that she had all of you at the house last night for a dinner party. You notice any tension or problems between anybody?”
I shake my head. Was there? My heart hammers. I feel like I’m being tested, and my mind goes blank. But there was a feeling beneath the polite conversation that was like a dark cloud, not a storm, but brewing maybe. Or was it my imagination? “No,” I say. “I didn’t notice anything.”
As we’re talking, a van pulls up. CRIME SCENE INVESTIGATIONS is printed on its side. Obviously, the cops think there’s more to Simon’s death than a simple fall or a heart attack. The blood on the back of his head is certainly suspicious.
I shudder. I thought I was safe here in this charming little enclave with these nice people.
Could someone have come from the outside and hidden in the trees?
How did they get through the gate? Maybe they walked in through the woods, but we’re pretty isolated out here.
It would be a very long walk from town. I glance at the others, standing in the cold.
Or could one of them possibly be a killer?
“Thank you, Ms. Shrader,” Officer Tilden says. “We’ll be in touch.”
God, I hope not. What more can I tell them?
I nod and head back to the group.