Chapter 14
I feel happy this morning, and as someone who is never happy, it’s a welcome change. I won’t lie. I was getting worried that after almost five weeks, I was getting nowhere.
But finally, I’m getting close. The irrefutable proof that my sister was murdered is in the office. I know it. I can feel it calling out to me.
And now I have the key.
Later, I find that Erin texted me her number. I suggest we meet for coffee the following day so I can pay her back. Then I add:
I can meet you near your house. Whatever is easy for you. Or even at your house if you prefer. I could bring cake.
She types her reply:
I live miles away. I can give you my banking details instead, save you the trip.
I think of my mother, bent down, her hands braced against her knees, her face an inch from mine. She is smiling, showing a row of yellow teeth. “Nobody likes you, Joanne. Do you know why?”
I shake my head.
“Neither do I. But nobody does. Not even God.” Then she straightens and walks away, laughing.
I don’t know why I’m even thinking about that now. Erin barely knows me.
I type my reply.
Why don’t I take you out for coffee? Just say when and where.
She replies:
Sure! tomorrow at 1pm at The Slate? It’s a café, corner of Calabasas & El Canon rds.
I imagine Deb smiling at me. See? That wasn’t so hard, was it?
I reply with a thumbs-up emoji.
I wanted to go back to Roy’s office last night, but Roy was unwell during the night.
He had to go to the bathroom twice, and stayed there for longer than usual, and I wondered if Marie had sabotaged my dinner after all.
Anyway, it didn’t feel safe going into his office.
And it doesn’t feel safe going in during the day, when Marie could walk in any second, even if only to make sure I haven’t pocketed the Fabergé egg.
This morning, I get up and go through my usual routine, but as I moisturize my face, I notice another blemish. This time, it’s a wrinkle on the corner of my mouth. I study it in the mirror. It makes my mouth a little droopy on one side.
I grab a washcloth and press down on it, pulling at the skin this way and that, trying to lift that corner of my mouth back into place. And to make matters worse, the swelling below my right eye is still there.
I tell myself it’s nothing, but I put on even more makeup than usual. By the time I’m done, you can’t see a thing.
Roy is in the shower, and I think of what I might do today, and I remember that I have the name of Deb’s doctor from her appointment book: Dr. Kowalski. Maybe he will know something about the clinic. Heck, maybe he will know something about what happened to Deb. No stone unturned. That’s my motto.
While Roy gets dressed, I call Dr. Kowalski’s office. I give the receptionist my name and address.
“Oh…you’ve been here before?” she says.
My heart gives a little squeeze. “That would be the first Mrs. Davies,” I say.
She apologizes profusely and gives me an appointment for the following Monday.
Like me, Roy is in an excellent mood this morning. He hums to himself at the breakfast table. By now I have forgotten about the blemish on my face. I’m too excited about the key.
I gaze at him as he stirs cream into his coffee. I can picture him in the electric chair, moments before his executioner flicks the switch. Do you have any last words, Dr. Davies?
He would be so overcome by emotions that he wouldn’t be able to get the words out, even though he’d be trying, mouth opening and closing like a dying fish.
I would be watching from behind the glass, and I would laugh and laugh and laugh while he sobbed so hard he wouldn’t be able to breathe, and the executioner would get tired of waiting so he’d flick the switch anyway.
Roy grins at me. “You’re very cheerful this morning!”
I smile back, tilting my head. “I’m just happy.” He caresses my cheek, and it occurs to me that if anyone walked in right now, they would undoubtedly think, “Now look at those two lovebirds.”
Which goes to show, you never know what goes on inside a person’s head.
“And what are you up to today, sweetheart?” he asks.
“Shopping mostly, then I’m having coffee with a friend—”
He looks up sharply, eyes narrowed. “A friend?”
“Her name is Erin,” I say lightly, buttering a piece of gluten-free toast. He waits a beat, then relaxes.
“Do I know Erin?” he asks.
“You haven’t met her because I only met her yesterday for the first time, but she’s very nice.”
Roy smiles. “That’s wonderful, sweetheart. I’m pleased to hear that.”
I steal a glance at Marie who has come in to clear some of the dishes. I flash my sunniest smile at Roy. “Thank you, darling,” I say, even though I never call him that. “It pleases me that you’re pleased.”
He gives me that smile, the one that tugs on one side only, and I catch a strange look on Marie’s face, like a shadow.
“And by the way, I have a doctor’s appointment on Monday,” I say after Marie leaves.
“A doctor’s appointment?” He frowns. “What’s wrong?”
I was taking a bite of my toast so I have to wait and chew.
I pat my mouth with my napkin. “Nothing,” I say finally, one hand in front of my mouth in case some piece of bread got lodged between my teeth.
“I was thinking about what you said, and you’re right, Roy.
I should get help. I’m going to talk to my GP—Dr. Kowalski, do you know him?
Meredith recommended him. Anyway, I’ll see if he can recommend someone. ”
He puts down his coffee cup. “Well, if you want to… I mean, I do think it’s a good idea. But you don’t need Dr. Kowalski to recommend someone. I’ll give you some names.”
“Thank you, Roy. That would be very kind.”
He leaves for work, and I put the breakfast things away. I open the cupboard to put back the jar of chia seeds and glance at Deb’s shelf.
My heart stops. The note I put in the jar of cookies is gone. I grab the jar. There are three cookies in it. But I know, I know that I put four. I turn to Marie who isn’t even pretending to be busy. She’s leaning against the counter, drinking her coffee, watching me clean.
I hold up the jar. “You didn’t have one of those, did you?”
She gives a look, a quick roll of the eye. “I’m a diabetic.”
“I know. I was just wondering.”
She shrugs. “I didn’t touch them.”
She turns around and puts her cup in the dishwasher.
I put the jar back on the shelf but I leave my hand on it for a moment, feeling the sting of tears behind my eyes. I don’t believe in ghosts—for good reasons, considering all the people I… Anyway, my point is, if ghosts were a thing, let’s just say, I would know.
But still.
I swallow a lump at the back of my throat and close the cupboard door.