Chapter Fifteen
A team of three people had entered the house. A tall, lanky man in khakis and a blue-and-white-striped shirt under a puffy vest identified himself as Ralph Longo. He and the others were part of the team sent to collect whatever evidence there might be to be collected.
“Good luck,” Kit told them and pointed to the steps. “Everyone’s upstairs.”
Detective Stevens and Greta came into the front hall from the living room.
“I’ll call you if I think of anything else,” Greta was telling the detective.
“I’m sure you will.” Stevens smiled.
“Some of your evidence people just arrived,” Kit told her.
“I heard them come in. I’ll check in with them.” She nodded to Kit and to Greta, then disappeared up the stairs.
“Wonder what they’ll be able to collect at this late date,” Greta said.
Kit shrugged. “I guess we’ll know if and when they do.”
Greta went back into the library corner, then called to Kit, “Is there any chowder left from lunch? I’m starting to get hungry again.”
“I don’t think there is. But I did buy a couple of cookies at Ruthie’s and forgot about them. You’re welcome to have them.”
“Thanks. I think I’ll make a cup of tea to go with them.” Greta headed toward the kitchen. “Want one?”
“Sure. Thanks.” Kit stood for a moment looking out the front door, wondering how long the investigation was going to take. It was dusk, and she was beginning to think she’d be stuck out there at the camp all night.
As it turned out, she was right. There were still people coming and going for the next several hours, and finally Kit realized they weren’t going anywhere anytime soon. She called Elly and told her she wouldn’t be back that night.
Next Greta called her daughter, after an admonition from Kit not to tell her what was going on, but of course, Greta being Greta, it somehow managed to slip.
“Greta! I told you not—” Kit stage-whispered.
“Oh, crap. Jodie, forget I said all that. I wasn’t supposed to talk about it.
” Greta became uncharacteristically flustered.
“No, you can’t call your sister. Not till the chief says it’s okay.
Sure, I’ll let you know, but until then, you just keep it zipped.
People will start driving out here and no one wants that. ”
After she hung up, Kit said, “The way you kept it zipped.”
“I’m sorry. It just came out.”
Kit wandered into the library section and smiled when she found one of Miles Easton’s books she hadn’t read.
“A Morning in September: A Novel by Miles David Easton,” she read aloud as she pulled it from the shelf. She turned and looked at Greta, who’d followed her. “Since we don’t know how long we’ll be here, I might as well get reacquainted with my almost-uncle Miles.”
“Maybe I can find something to read, too. Maybe something a little less . . . um, highbrow than Miles,” Greta said as she searched the shelves and selected a romance from the late 1990s. “I think I read this one back in the day and I’m pretty sure I loved it.”
She went into the living room, sat on the sofa, and opened the book.
“Why not read something you haven’t read before?” Kit asked.
“Because this author always makes me feel good, even if she makes me think too much.”
Kit smiled and settled into one of the wingback chairs near the bookshelves.
From time to time, newer members of the law enforcement team arrived and others left.
At one point, Greta turned to Kit and said, “Don’t these people ever leave?
Why can’t they come back tomorrow and finish up if they’re not done now? ”
“I think their job is to stay with it until whatever evidence is to be found, is found.” Kit turned the page and kept reading.
“Hmmph.”
Moments later, a tech came in and asked Kit for a cheek swab, which she’d been expecting. Later, Hal Anderson walked into the living room.
“I apologize for the fact that you’re both still here. I think the detective will be down shortly with a few additional questions. I’m assuming you’ve both had dinner.”
Kit shook her head. “I don’t keep food here since no one’s living here, so no, we haven’t.”
“I’m surprised you can’t hear my stomach complaining about that from over there.” Greta was getting grumpy. “Or maybe that’s what brought you down here to ask.”
“If you’d like, I can call my son and ask him to run out some dinner for the two of you.”
“From where? You know every place in town is closed by now.” Greta was getting grumpier by the moment.
“I think we can arrange something.” He appeared to be thinking for a moment. “Pizza okay?”
“I would love pizza,” Kit said. “I haven’t had pizza in probably a month, and the only pizza place in town here has been closed every night.”
“Pepperoni? Plain? What’s your preference?” Hal took his phone out of his pocket.
“Pepperoni and mushrooms and onions.” Greta barely looked up from her book.
Hal looked at Kit, who nodded. “That would be fine, thank you.”
Phone in hand, Hal left the room, and both women went back to their books. Thirty minutes later, Liam came in, carrying two pizza boxes.
“The top box is for you guys,” Liam told them. “The bottom one is mine.”
“Thanks. How’d you manage to drive all the way on that dark, winding lane?” Kit asked.
“Very, very, very slowly,” he replied as he took a seat on the sofa next to Greta. He placed the pizza boxes on the coffee table in front of them and glanced at the cover of the book she was reading. “Hey, I saw that author on TV a few weeks ago. She’s an older lady but she’s a real fox.”
Kit smiled and left the room in search of napkins and plates.
She found the former in a drawer in the dining room (where there seemed to be an endless supply of table linens) and the latter in a kitchen cupboard.
She carried them into the living room and set them on the table next to the pizza boxes, which were already opened, the aroma of which reminded her that she hadn’t eaten since lunch and was probably closer to being hangry than she realized—not as much as Greta, but she could get there if she didn’t eat for another hour or so.
She dragged a chair closer to the table and was about to pass around the plates when she realized they’d already been scooped up and both Liam and Greta were enjoying their meal.
“Liam, thanks for picking up the pizza for us,” Kit said as she selected a slice and slid it onto her plate.
“No problem, Mrs. P. My homework was done and I was just thinking about a snack and how good a pizza would be but I knew they were closed, but then my dad called. He got Mr. Diamato to go downstairs and make us a couple.” He glanced at Kit.
“Mr. Diamato and his daughter and son live upstairs from the shop. His wife died about nine years ago.”
Kit nodded and let Greta and Liam chat about Mrs. Diamato and how sad her passing had been.
She realized Russ had not called her back after she’d hung up on him earlier, so she finished eating and excused herself.
She went into the kitchen and dialed the house number but got the voicemail prompt.
Next she tried his cell phone with the same result.
Maybe he was in the shower, or outside walking Wally.
She hoped he was. Wally was really Kit’s dog and she feared he was only being fed and let out at the appropriate times, without the belly rubs and hugs and nice long walks to which he was accustomed.
She was pretty sure Abby gave the dog attention when she could, but she was accepting as many substitute-teaching assignments as she could get.
Kit called Abby back to resume their earlier conversation.
“So what’s happening there?” Abby asked.
“Still investigating. This house hasn’t seen this much coming and going since—I guess since the camp was last active. They sent in a team to collect evidence, so we’re just sort of stuck here for a while,” Kit told her. “But what’s going on with you? Bring me up to date.”
“We’ve been talking mostly through our lawyers, about the property split, which will be basically fifty-fifty with the exception of personal items and our cars.”
“What about the furniture and the artwork?” Kit asked. “Some of those antique pieces are worth more than a little something, and we never did have those paintings your granddad left you appraised.”
“Those things are all included under ‘personal items,’” Abby told her.
“Evan wants this over and done with quickly. I mean, he’s agreed to everything I asked for, hasn’t contested a thing.
I think his acquiescence is the result of his desire to be done with me so he can focus his attention on his ‘career’ and his stage manager.
But Mom, Evan has opted out of visitation rights with Benny.
He passed completely. But can you imagine a father not caring if he ever saw his son again? ” Abby started to weep.
“How is Evan’s family going to feel about not seeing Benny, about having Benny cut out of their lives?” Kit wondered aloud.
“His parents are lovely people, and if they ever want to see their grandson, they are perfectly welcome to visit.”
“Make sure they know that.”
“I will, but I will make sure that they know that Evan gave up his right to visitation, that it wasn’t my idea.”
“Evan has already established himself as an ass. What’s worse than an ass? That’s what he is. And maybe Benny’s better off being surrounded by people who adore him than someone whose negativity is bound to rub off on him sooner or later.”
“I was speaking with the school counselor at lunch the other day and she said exactly that.” Abby sniffed. “That chances are if Evan did have Benny for the weekends or whatever, he’d ignore him or let him know how he really feels about being a father, so there’s that.”
“We won’t let that happen.”
“Well, no, not when you’re here. Dad loves Benny, I know, but he’s never here anymore.”
“Where’s he been?”
“I don’t know. He always just says he’s been ‘out and about.’ Whatever that means.”
“Probably getting in a few last happy hours with his friends from the office.”
“I don’t remember Dad ever doing a happy hour after work.”
“Well, no, he didn’t, but after tomorrow, he won’t be seeing most of them again, unless he meets up with someone for lunch or for dinner. Which I doubt he’d do.” Kit frowned, trying to think of who Russ was friends with at the office. Most of his old cronies had left for other jobs or retired.
“In any case, we’ll all be happy when you’re back home again. Though I wish I’d gone with you. I’m dying to see that place. Maybe you can hold on to it for a while, till I can go to Maine and see that old house and those cabins.” She sighed heavily. “It was always my dream to live in a cabin.”
“Yes, but not these cabins. I think these are small and probably don’t have running water, maybe, and maybe no electricity.”
“Maybe? You don’t know?”
“I haven’t had time to walk down to the cabins this week. It’s either been too cold or I got involved in other things.”
“Like finding remains in the house.”
“Yes. Like that.”
“No idea yet who the baby was?”
“I don’t expect we’ll know anything until the DNA results are back.
And that’s only if there’s a match to me, which could take a few weeks at best, though the police chief here in Tolerance thinks he can talk the state lab into speeding up the process.
Which would be nice. I’m not sure I can leave before that.
” Kit lowered her voice. “I’m wondering if they suspect the child was mine and I’m lying about never being here before, or maybe that I brought it with me. ”
“Mom, that’s ridiculous.”
“But not beyond the realm of possibility. If I’d had it when I was in my teens, for example, and—I don’t know, brought it up here to my aunt, who I claim to never have met, but how do they know I’m telling the truth about that?” The more Kit thought about it, the more anxious she became.
“Let it go, Mom. Don’t look for trouble. They’ll know when the results are back that the baby wasn’t yours. In the meantime, I suspect you have lots there to keep you busy.”
“Well, yes, I do.”
“Then focus on that and forget the other. Just do what you always told me and Ned to do: Put your head down, dial off the noise, and get to work.”
“I don’t know whether to feel proud that you not only listened to advice I gave you but actually remembered it or annoyed to have my own words tossed back at me,” Kit mused.
“Take the win, Mom.” Abby laughed. “We’ll call you from the party. Maybe you can say a few words to the people you still know there, and you can watch Dad’s speech for his big announcement.”
“What do you suppose that is all about?” Kit asked.
“No idea, and I’ve never known Dad to hold anything so close to his vest. He’s never liked surprises.”
That was certainly true, Kit thought after they’d said their goodbyes.
Russ had never liked anything sprung on him.
Kit had figured he lacked the whole surprise gene.
She always hinted heavily about birthday and Christmas gifts and Russ was then left to find and purchase the items. He said he lacked the imagination to come up with something unique, but since she never asked for anything unique, Kit suspected it was more likely he disliked the part where he had to figure out where to find whatever it was she’d asked for.
She went into the living room, where she found Greta sound asleep on the sofa and Liam and the pizza boxes gone.
She looked around for a blanket to toss over Greta, but didn’t know where to find one, and hadn’t seen any others than the ones on the beds upstairs and those in the blanket chest. Kit was pretty sure that was off-limits.
The plates were stacked and the napkins had been used but refolded, so she carried everything into the kitchen and placed it on the counter.
Returning to the living room, she turned off the overhead light, leaving on one lamp in case Greta was disoriented once she awakened, then went back to the wingback chair and her book.
Reading words Miles had written, the story that his mind had conceived and then woven in the compelling characters, left Kit in awe.
He was clearly gifted, a true wordsmith, and she tried to think of contemporary writers for whom the same could be said.
Surely S. A. Cosby and James Lee Burke, but there were others, and she ticked their names off in her head.
It was so odd to realize she’d almost been related to this amazing man, if only by marriage.
She turned the page, and read on into the night, until she nodded off.
At one point she woke and found she was cold.
She stood at the foot of the stairs and listened.
There were still voices coming from the second floor, so she grabbed her winter coat from the chair in the front hall and went back to her reading chair.
She curled up in the chair and wrapped the comforting puffiness around her, her eyes heavy, and she slept once again.