Design on a Crime (17 page)

Ms. Tsu and I took our places in the center of the room. I
don't know if the rest of our classmates could sense the tension between us, but the air seemed to bristle with something
tight, something that challenged me for every breath I took.

I met Ms. Tsu's hazel gaze and, without looking away, I
bowed.

She did the same.

We'd both thrown an invisible gauntlet. Everyone knew it.

Even Tyler, the wretch.

We slowly, warily circled each other. I riveted my attention
on my opponent. More than a sparring match was taking
place.

I felt as though my future was at stake.

Step ... sidestep ... another one. Ms. Tsu's graceful movements might have lulled me into a sense of superiority; I was
taller, more muscular. But this wasn't that kind of a match.
Martial arts are about the mind, understanding human nature,
thinking ahead of the other person's next move.

She made her move.

I anticipated and blocked it.

We resumed our circling motion, silent, focused,
determined.

With Tyler's lessons in mind, I paid attention to the detective's breathing, even the rhythm of the opening and closing
of her eyelids. After eons of this, I waited for the moment
when her lids dropped a fraction slower than before. Then
I lunged.

She parried.

I backed away.

The tension grew.

My heartbeat sped, but I made my breathing even, measured, controlled. I couldn't let fear get in my way. I couldn't
let her psych me out.

She attacked.

I thwarted her.

I pounced.

She repelled me.

Sweat beaded my forehead. A drop rolled by millimeters
down my spine. I took note and let the sensation pass. I had
to focus on the detective, the woman whose efforts would
either clear me or condemn me to an unthinkable future.

The dangerous dance went on for what felt like hours. I had no notion of time, no sense that anyone else existed. My
world had shrunk to encompass only a cop and me.

Tyler finally brought things to an end. "Enough! It's ten
fifteen and way past my bedtime."

I blinked.

Ms. Tsu shuddered.

We both faced Tyler.

"Go on. Bow, then head to the shower. Everyone left about
forty-five minutes ago."

I looked around. The three of us stood alone in the large
room. I hadn't noticed anything, anything but Detective Tsu.

Cold suddenly overtook me. I shivered, then faced my foe
and bowed. "Thank you."

She bowed as well. "You're a worthy opponent."

Tyler snorted. "I wish you'd both just knock it off already.
Lila, she didn't kill Marge. And you, Haley, had better get that
cop chip off your shoulder. Lila had nothing to do with what
happened four years ago."

I gasped. "How ... how could you?"

"I can because I've watched you, and I know you better
than you think. I also know Lila, and I know Marge's killer
won't go free. Not like-"

"Don't," I said through clenched teeth. "Don't even say it.
As long as she's working so hard to prove I killed Marge, I'll
reserve the right to doubt."

My attacker was given a brief probation and forty hours of
community service, thanks to the Mickey-Mouse investigation
the police conducted. Is it any wonder that I couldn't make
myself trust homicide detective Lila Tsu?

Little by little my world had started to peel apart. I'd worked
so hard to overcome the devastation of four years ago, and
now I felt as if I was being shoved right back into the pit.

This time I didn't have Mom or Marge, and Dad spoke
only of God, that God who let the chaos happen in the first
place.

I left the practice room with what dignity I could muster,
went to the locker room for my duffel bag, and left the dojo
as fast as I could. The drive home was an exquisite form of
torture. Painful memories tangled with rioting emotions.

The idea that one person could wield power over another,
enough to ruin or take a life, seemed contrary to all I'd learned
in Sunday school about a loving, generous God. Now I was
stuck in a hole of someone else's digging, unable to catch a
foothold and pull myself out. How could I square that with
a benign God? How loving could he be if he abandoned the
children he called his own to such a rotten fate?

I didn't see it.

I loved Midas. I'd never leave him so that someone more
powerful could abuse or destroy him. I'd protect him with
all I had.

If God was all-powerful, why did he abandon me? Why
did he abandon Marge? Why did he continue to leave me at
the mercy of merciless vultures?

As I drove up the manse's driveway, I knew I had to pull
myself together. I was headed down a familiar, frightening
road. I'd already traveled that nightmare, and I couldn't do it
again. I couldn't drag Dad down it either. The first time had
been almost more than he could bear.

I'd seen in him the pain of a father whose child had been
harmed. I'd have to put on a happy face. I'd have to smile
and kid around, at least until I could escape to the freedom
of my room.

But exhaustion claimed me. I felt beaten, tired, drained; I
wondered how I could pull off any charade. From the recesses
of my memory, those dust-bunnied corners I avoided like the
plague, my mother's voice whispered, "He'll never leave you
nor forsake you. "

Hunger gnawed at me, and it had nothing to do with the
dinner I'd missed. It was hunger for the assurance I'd once
had in God's provision, the assurance that he'd be there to
catch me if I fell.

At the same time, I felt as if I'd plummeted down a black
void where every inch I traveled, new and riskier traps reached
out to snag me. I was so alone.

Midas's exuberant barks pierced my desperation. I couldn't
stay in the car all night. Sooner or later Dad would worry enough
to come for me, and I couldn't let him see how far I'd relapsed.

I took a soul-deep breath and opened the Honda's door.
Once inside, I fended off my dog's ecstatic welcome. "It's not
as if you hadn't seen me for years, you big goof!"

The best thing about a dog is that no matter what, he always welcomes you home. Tonight, Midas helped me mask
my dismal mental state.

"Did you have a good class?" Dad asked from behind his
newspaper.

Swell. 'Ah ... the usual. We worked on strength moves,
and then Tyler had us spar."

"How'd you do?"

How did I do? Not well. "He called it a draw. Neither one of
us would concede the match, and we'd already gone an hour
and a half past the end of the lesson."

"It did seem late. With all that's happened lately, I wondered if I'd have to call that lovely lady detective to see if she
could find you."

Hah! If he only knew. "I'm fine, Dad, but the lesson wiped
me out, so I'm off to bed." I dropped a kiss on his balding
head, and before he had a chance to get a good look at me,
I ran upstairs.

"Good night, dear." I heard him rummage through
the sections of the newspaper, and then the TV went on.
Good. His news program would keep him busy until I fell
asleep.

I dragged myself through a lick-and-a-promise bedtime
wash and was about to crawl into bed when Dad's yell jolted
me to army-recruit attention. "What's up?"

"You'd better hurry down here and listen to this. I'm not
sure what it might mean for you."

Dad was no alarmist. That much worry made me run.

"It would seem," the newscaster's resonant voice boomed
out, "that murder's tentacles spread farther than most would
think. A source under promise of anonymity tells us that
socialite Noreen Daventry is involved, indirectly perhaps,
in the murder of local businesswoman Marge Norwalk. At
first, authorities discarded her as a potential suspect, but
word of an affair with the deceased's husband has made the
investigators take a second look."

"Is that true?" Dad asked, his voice quiet, distressed.

"That the cops are looking at Steve and Noreen?"

"No. That Steven committed adultery with that woman."

I had no patience with deception in general and sexual sin
in particular, but Dad saw things in an eternal light. "I saw
them together the other day. It was disgusting, especially
since Marge had only been dead a couple of days."

"So he'd been unfaithful to her."

"It would seem so."

"Your mother was afraid of that."

"I remember, Dad. You agreed."

He shook his head, sadness on his face. "It's beyond me
how people can hurt others so easily."

It wasn't beyond me. I knew all about it. But before I had
to respond, the commercial was over, and the news anchor
was back.

"Another element in this case," he said, "is the widower's
sudden unemployment. A teacher at the Carleton-Higgins
Academy in Wilmont, Mr. Steven Norwalk, was relieved of
his duties when the headmaster learned of the math teacher's
romantic escapades. It seems he figured in a recent messy divorce, and students have linked him to one teacher and at
least one former student. Now there are questions about the
widower's innocence. And if he had something to do with
his wife's death, was Mrs. Daventry involved too?"

My stomach churned. I couldn't listen to another word. I
stood. "Sorry, Dad. I can't sit through any more. Gotta go."

This time I burrowed under my blanket, and Midas took up
his spot at my feet. Nothing would get me out of my cocoon
before daylight. Sleep was no longer a possibility.

I had too much burning up the synapses in my mind.

Saturday morning dawned clear and warm. Unfortunately,
a phone call dragged me awake a brief hour and forty-five
minutes after the last time I'd checked the clock.

"H'lo?"

"Haley, honey," Gussie said, her voice strained and full of
apology. "I'm so sorry to do this to you, but I'm afraid I can't
get out of bed this morning. Tom is preparing my morphine
pump, and you know how that knocks me out. I won't be
able to help you with today's meeting."

Great. I'd forgotten that the second episode of "Haley
Trashes the Missionary Society" was slated for this morning. And now I wouldn't have Gussie to count on. But what
could I say?

I sat up. "Don't worry about it. I'll figure out some way to get
through it without making too much of a mess of things."

"Give yourself some credit, dear. I know that if you set
your mind to it, you'll succeed. You have enormous energy
and far more talent than any of the rest of us. Use your gifts
wisely, and the Lord will see you through."

Yeah, sure. "Ah ... I'll call you after we're done to see how
you feel and to bring you up to date on what the ladies
decide."

"You might wind up talking with Tom, you know. I'll sleep
on and off for the rest of the day."

"That's fine. He can tell me how you're doing, and I can
tell him what kind of hash I made of things."

"Stop that, Haley," Gussie scolded gently. "You can do far
better than you give yourself credit for. Now head on out,
and don't let Penny steamroller you."

Boy, did I ever do a great job of reassuring the woman.
"Don't mind me, Gussie. I just made some lousy jokes. I'll
be fine-the missionary society will be fine. You'll see. You
just take care, and get the rest you need."

After I hung up, Midas came and nosed his way into an ear
scratching. "Yep, big guy, I sure do have talent, don't I?"

But time wasn't on my side, so I threw on a long denim
skirt and an embroidered cotton blouse and reined my
hair into a braid. Birkenstocks in hand, I flew through the
kitchen.

"I'm on my way to a missionary society meeting, Dad. If
I'm not back by twelve thirty, send out the troops. Penny'll
probably have fed me to cannibals somewhere in the deepest heart of ... of ... well, I don't know where, but you get
my drift."

Dad just shook his head, his attention on the batter in his
tub-sized yellowware mixing bowl.

I darted into the meeting room just as the light on the coffee
urn turned red. I smiled at Ina. "Bliss is forthcoming."