Danger Comes Home (Kelly O'Connell Mystery) (5 page)

When I went back into the living room, Otto had seated himself next to Mona and was plying her with questions. “You’re new,” he said. “Tell me who you are and how you came to join this lovely group.”

Mona hesitated only a moment and then she opened up. In her cracked and scratchy voice, she said, “My daughter, Jenny, goes to school with Maggie, and Maggie’s been good to her, especially when Jenny needed some help. I’m grateful to the whole family.”

Otto began with the questions: where were they originally from, what did her husband do, how did she like Fairmount? I thought he got a bit too personal, but Mona was cleverly evasive so that in the end Otto knew no more than he had before he began his questioning. He then began to tell Mona some of his stories, and she laughed appreciatively. A new audience for him!

I went on into the kitchen, where Mom demanded, “Who is that woman Otto is talking to?”

“Mom, are you jealous? She’s the mother of one of Maggie’s classmates, a girl who needs some joy in her life, and Maggie has reached out to her. The mom’s married, and you don’t have to worry about her as a rival.”

“Kelly, that’s not at all what I was thinking. I just wondered who she was. I’ll wander over and say hello too.”

Admit it, Mom. You don’t want to share Otto.
So far, I wasn’t doing well with my promised prying into Mona’s life. Too many other people talking to her.

The men and boys were still outside playing ball, talking, and watching while Mike cooked. Every once in a while one stuck his head in the door for another beer or soft drink (depending on age) but not Joe. Once, Emil came in with an empty Coors bottle and said Joe asked him to bring a refill. Joe really was trying to avoid Theresa—and maybe the rest of us.

Keisha hadn’t arrived, and she rarely liked to miss a minute of a party. She finally breezed in, trailed by José who carried the grits. Keisha stopped in front of Mona, stuck out her hand, and said “I’m Keisha. I keep all these people in line—when I can.” She was wearing a turquoise muumuu this time, with turquoise sandals with her trademark spiked heels, lots of turquoise at her neck, on her wrists, in her ears. Luckily, she had not tinted her hair turquoise—tonight the spikes were blonde.

Mona stared as though she were seeing someone from another planet. Finally, she managed to hold out her hand and mutter, “I’m Mona Wilson.”

Keisha smiled benevolently. “I know that darlin’. You’re the mother of that sweet Jenny. I got to meet her the other day, and she is a love. You take good care of her now, you hear?” and she sailed off to follow José who had put the grits in the oven, grabbed a beer, and headed outside. Keisha poured herself wine and went outside.

Wishing Otto would join the men, I went over the couch where Mom and Otto had Mona cornered. “Okay, you two, skat. I want to visit with our new guest.”

Mom looked startled, but Otto seemed to understand. “Of course, Miss Kelly. You sit right here. I’m going over to that comfortable chair and put my feet up. Miss Cynthia, would you get me another dark beer?”

She hopped up. “Of course, Otto,” and she headed for the ice chest on the back porch.

Bless Otto!
I liked him more and more as time went by, and I seriously doubted either of them could convince me the relationship was not serious. I didn’t think Mom would ever marry again, but she loved having a man to take care—and Otto loved being taken care of.

I sat beside Mona. “This bunch can be pretty overwhelming. I understand that. But they’re all good people. Are you sure I can’t get you a glass of wine? I have chardonnay, pinot grigio, and I think Mike opened a cabernet.”

She looked wistful. “A glass of cabernet would be lovely. Can’t I get it?”

“Not at all. I’ll be right back.”
Good move, Kelly. Use wine to loosen her tongue.
I was back in no time with a generous pour of cabernet, which she sipped and then closed her eyes in enjoyment. She knew how to savor wine, because she’d smelled it first, then for a fraction of a second swirled it in her mouth. Not many people have that sophisticated approach to wine. I thought there was probably little enjoyment in her life and she deserved a moment to savor the wine, so I was silent for a moment.

Stop it, Kelly. You’re stereotyping the woman when you know nothing about her. Well, almost nothing. Mostly what Jenny said, which suggests she’s a passive doormat for an abusive husband. And the fact that you’ve decided she’s educated and has some training in manners, culture, whatever you want to call it.

I jumped in. “We’re sorry your husband couldn’t be with us tonight. He might have enjoyed that ball game in the back yard.”

She shook her head. “Todd’s not much on sports or spending time with, how do you say it, with the guys? His work gets busy at night.”

“Really? That must make family life difficult. What does he do?”

She had her pat answer ready. “He cashes paychecks. That’s why we have all the security stuff around the house.”

On a Sunday night? Between ten and two? Come on, Mona.

“Does it worry you, having all that money in the house? I mean, don’t you feel like a target?”

“Sometimes I worry a bit about Jenny, but she’s usually asleep when people come with their checks. We’ve had no trouble so far. Except that night, of course, when Jenny got scared and ran away. I wonder if she didn’t have a nightmare.”

I gave her credit—she was looking at me levelly, not darting her eyes around or avoiding contact with me, which is sort of what I expected. I pushed harder. “Jenny is afraid of her father.”

Her gaze never wavered, and her voice was firm. “He has a temper, but I can handle it.”

Handle it? By being a punching bag? This woman was in denial.

“But, as I said, sometimes I worry about Jenny. That night, I thought he was going to confront some people who owed him money. As it turned out, nothing happened.”

So maybe she told Jenny to leave, and Jenny just didn’t want to admit it. And nothing happened except Mona got a black eye!
She was sticking to her story, so I gave up. “Let’s go see what the girls are up to.”

We found a transformed Jenny, her hair clean and fluffy, falling softly just above her collarbone—Theresa had cut a bit more than she promised. Jenny wore one of Maggie’s cuter knit shirts, a big improvement over her own drab T-shirt. Theresa had applied just a bit of blush to her cheeks and lips—I often let the girls do that on weekends. School days demanded clean faces.

Mona’s first words were, “We’ll have to wash your face before we go home.”

Jenny hung her head. “I know. But just for a little while, I feel pretty.”

My heart ached for this child. “You are pretty,” I said, giving her a huge hug. I turned to look at Mona, but she was staring transfixed at her daughter. After a long pause, she too hugged the girl and said, “Jenny, you are always beautiful to me. But, yes, you look special tonight. Maybe I can help you learn to do that to your own hair.”

We ate inside, as the evening was beginning to turn cool. Mike’s hamburgers were wonderful as always, and Mom had made her potato salad with lemon and oil instead of mayonnaise—delicious and healthier. The girls loved it. Mona’s cookies were as soft and good as they looked.

Gus made a pest of himself, going from one to the other, wagging his tail and looking pitiful. Even Otto knew to wave him away with, “No, Gus. I cannot feed you. If I did, Miss Kelly would not feed me again.”

Keisha and Joe were off in a corner in earnest conversion, while Theresa entertained the girls, casting occasional nervous looks at Joe, and José talked sports with Stefan, Emil, and Brandon Waggoner, who had just arrived with Megan. Mike and Claire were chatting kind of casually but every once in a while I saw Mike glance worriedly in the direction of Keisha and Joe. I guess both Mike and I were afraid Keisha would be too blunt with Joe and demand to know what was going on. I saw him look down at his hands and shake his head a couple of times.

Mona broke up the party, announcing softly to Jenny that it was time to go home, although it wasn’t quite eight yet. “Run scrub your face thoroughly,” she said. Jenny obeyed, and they left after a proper round of “thank you” and “come again any time.”

Keisha was the last to leave. As she helped us put the kitchen to rights, she announced, “Something’s really bothering Joe, and it doesn’t have anything to do with Theresa. He wouldn’t tell me, and I’m sure he won’t tell Theresa, but it’s something big—and we got to find a way to help those kids.”

Mike froze, a dish mid-way to the cabinet shelf. “You two are setting out to save the world again. First Jenny and her mom—ah, Mona—and now Joe and Theresa. You going to have time to run that real estate office? We need the income around here, Keisha.”

“Don’t get smart with me, Mike Shandy. I can whip you if I have to.”

Mike tried to make light of it. “Probably can, and I promise to behave. But what’s telling you this about Joe. Your sixth sense again?” It wasn’t quite a barb, but then again it was. Mike was always a skeptic about Keisha’s sixth sense, though Lord knows there were a couple of times when he had the grace to be most grateful when Keisha saved me from situations beyond my control.

Keisha pretended to swat him with a towel. “Don’t you joke about that, Mike Shandy. I’m dead serious here, and I care about both of them, that boy and that girl. I’ll know what’s going on sooner rather than later.”

“We will take care of him and Theresa,” I assured her, but I was troubled.

“I never did get to visit with Jenny’s mom,” Keisha said, “but I did watch her some. And I’ll tell you what I think: That woman is strong.”

“Then why does she let herself be a punching bag?” I demanded.

Keisha gave me the kind of look you give a person who is slightly short of understanding things. “She’s protecting that child. I don’t know why Jenny’s in danger, but Mona knows. And she’s taking those beatings so Jenny won’t have to.”

I stared at her. If Keisha’s sixth sense was right, there was a whole deep story we hadn’t unraveled.

Late that night, as we sat reading in bed, I asked Mike, “What do you really think is going on with Joe?”

“All I know is you can’t listen to Keisha all the time, not about Joe and not about Mona Wilson.”

A bit huffily I said, “There’ve been times, Mike Shandy, when I was glad I did and you wished you had.” I closed my book, then his, and turned out the light—and turned my back to him. He was asleep in an instant, while I stewed. I tried to distract myself by thinking of something pleasant. My thoughts landed on Lorna McDavid, not exactly a pleasant subject. Was she to be my insomnia companion? I began thinking about her house again, a topic I’d put out of my mind since the appearance of Jenny and the worry over Joe.

Anthony’s report on the McDavid house had not been positive. There was more wood rot than I suspected, and he saw foundation problems that accounted for the uneven front steps and sloping front porch. The roof was in an uncertain state at best, and the garage would have to come down. In other words, the house was a maintenance disaster; without attention it would be beyond repair in two or three years. And that didn’t take into account the inside, which of course he hadn’t seen. That part was my responsibility.

“But, Miss Kelly,” he’d said, “that old lady is crazy. She came out on the porch dressed in some kind of robe—I don’t know what. It trailed behind her and one time I thought she’d trip over it. But it wasn’t your typical old-lady robe—I mean pale pink with ruffles.”

I wondered where he’d gotten that idea of typical, but I smiled and said nothing.

He went on, “This was bright red and had a dragon embroidered on it. I recognized the embroidery because my grandmother, bless her soul, used to do that. But she did angels, never dragons.” He paused. “I hope you don’t want me to fix up that house while she’s still there. She’d drive me crazy.”

“No, Anthony,” I’d assured him. “I can’t afford to fix it up while she’s still there.” But there was an idea brewing in the back of my brain.