Mixed Messages (A Malone Mystery) (5 page)

Like this last call today
:
Marion Bean
.
What a name
!
Sounded like a little old lady, probably already insured to the hilt and not interested in any more
life
insurance
.
But, what the hell
.
A man’s got to do what a man’s got to do,
he
had thought as he rang the doorbell
.
He’d waited a couple of minutes before ringing the bell again
.
She was
most likely
hard of hearing or using a walker to get around, he figured
.
But, instead of an elderly woman, a big, burly guy with a full beard and an equally hairy chest opened the door, wearing only a pair of boxer shorts with tiny hearts on them
.

“What?” he’d asked David in a husky voice.

Oh crap, David thought, I woke him up
.
“Is Marion Bean here?” he asked.

“I’m Marion Bean
!
What the
hell
do you want
?
If you’re selling something, get lost!”

David could feel his face turning red as he headed to his car
.
Yeah, names can definitely be deceiving, he thought,
as he drove away
.
He’d decided a long time ago that it was much easier for him to sell to a woman than to a man
.
Most of the guys in the office had the gift of gab; they were natural born salesmen
.
But
he
was quiet by nature; he had a difficult time making small talk and
, although he worked hard at appearing confident
, he
lacked the
self-confidence and
assertiveness it often took to close a tough sale
.

He knew that women found him attractive and,
even though he didn’t like doing it, he
figur
ed
that he had to use whatever attributes he had
.
He knew
exactly
how to play them
.
Turn on the charm
.
Big smile
.
Compliment them
.
Not so easy sometimes to find beauty or even prettiness but he always managed to find something
,
even if it was bright, blue eyes in an otherwise plain or even homely face
.
And they bought it
.
Usually
.
Well, okay, sometimes
.
A lot more frequently than men anyway
.
So most of his clients were women
.
Before the damn list, that is.

It was all so frustrating
.
Trying to support a wife and two kids wasn’t easy these days
.
They always needed something
.
You worked your ass off and what did it get you in return
?
Nagging, that’s what
.
Ann just didn’t get it
.
She always wanted to talk about their relationship
.
She said she wasn’t getting what she needed
.
He was never there for her
.
Bullshit
!

He decided to stop by to visit his mother
.
Now there was a woman who understood
and appreciated
him
.
She listened to
him
.
She cared about
him
.
As he pulled into the driveway of the
one-story bungalow
, the rain started coming down harder
.
“Figures,” he muttered as he slammed his car door and dashed for the shelter of the front awning
.
His mother opened the door before he even had a chance to knock and ushered him inside
.

As soon as she’d closed and bolted the door, she held out her arms
.
“Give your mother a
hug,” she said, pulling him toward her
.

“Easy,
Mo
ther
,”
he
said, pulling away and looking directly into her eyes
.
“You don’t know your own strength.”

She laughed. “I’m just so happy to see you. You haven’t been stopping by as often as you
used to
and I’ve missed you
.
” She reached out toward him.
“
Here, let me take your coat.”

While she hung his coat in the closet,
he
looked around the living room
.
Nothing had changed since he was a small boy, growing up there
.
There was t
he same old upholstered furniture with white, crocheted doilies on the arms and headrests, the same pictures on the walls, most of them religious
:
pictures of Jesus on the cross and a manger scene
.
As always, the place was immaculate
.
There wasn’t a speck of dust on the mahogany tables or
the upright piano in the corner and not
so much as a piece of lint on the worn Oriental rug
.
Every item in the room was in its proper place
.

“Sit down
.
Sit down
.
Tell me how you are,” she said, walking toward him
.
“You look tired.”

He sighed as he sat down and rested his head against the back of the armchair.
“Well, I am tired
.
Tired of the same old drag, tired of everything
.
Sometimes, it’s all just too much,”
he
said.

“David, what is it
?
What’s wrong?” she asked.

He
sighed again
.
“I don’t know, it’s everything
.
It’s my job, my marriage, my
life. No
matter how hard I try, I can’t seem to get any of it right.”

“Maybe you’re working too hard, son
.
Maybe you need to slow down a little.”

“Yeah
.
Work is part of the problem,” he said.

“Well, how are the kids
?
They’re such angels
.
They love you so much, you know.”

“The kids are great
.
I
see
them growing up so fast
.
Can you believe Danielle’s in
the third grade already and Davey’s in first grade? The time’s going by so quickly. They’ll be teenagers before you know it. I want to be able to give them everything but, with this damn job, I
don’t make enough money
.
We can’t seem to get ahead.”

“Son, you know I’m always here for you
.
If you needed money, why didn’t you ask me
?
I’d never refuse you, you know that.”

“I can’t keep taking money from you
.
You’re not rich
.
Anyway, sure, money’s a big part of it but there’s so much more
.
I need a partner, someone who will contribute, financially and, well, otherwise, if you know what I mean,” he said, averting his eyes from her
.
“Ann hasn’t been much of a wife to me for a while now
.
She’s always busy with the kids or the house
.
She never has time for
me
.”

“Well, she’s lucky to have you
.
I hope she’s smart enough to realize
it
.
Have you told her about Father Andrew’s offer
?
Maybe a job would be good for her and for you.
It doesn’t pay a lot but, these days, every little bit helps.
”

“Oh, I told her
.
We argued about it, as a matter of fact
.
She has some misguided idea
that she needs to be there for the kids
.
But the kids are both in school now.”

“Would you like me to talk to her
?
I can explain about the job at the church, that it’s only part-time
and
… .
”

“I don’t know
.
I don’t know anything anymore.”

“Well, how about some nice apple cider and
some
freshly baked
peanut butter cookies
?
I made them yesterday. They’re y
our favorites.”

He
laughed
.
“Sure,
Mother
, why not
?
A snack or a prayer solves everything
.
Right?”

He
followed his mother into the dark kitchen
.
“
Why
is it so dark in here?
I don’t know how you can see to do anything without
some
light,” he said, flipping on the wall switch
.

He stood at the counter,
watching
her as she poured cider into two glasses
.
She
reached up to retrieve a small platter from the top shelf
of the cupboard
and
arrang
ed
several cookies on it
.
The house hasn’t changed and she hasn’t changed all that much either, he thought
.
Her hair may be gray and thinning and she may need glasses now but she still has the strength and energy that she’s always had.

They sat down at the gray and white Formica table where he’d spent his youth, eating meals and doing homework
.
As
he
munched on the homemade cookies and washed them down with cider, he began to relax
.
It was comforting to sit there with his mother, making small talk and listening to the raindrops pelt the window
.
He started to feel a lot better
.

“You know, maybe it would be good if you did talk to Ann,” he said. “I can’t seem to get through to her. All we do anymore is argue. Sometimes, I don’t even want to go home.
Maybe, coming from you
…
”

A little while later, when
he
stood at the front door, ready to leave, his mother
grasped
his
hand and thrust a crumpled
twenty
dollar
bill into it
.
She kissed him on the cheek
and
whispered, “I want you to stop worrying
.
It will all work out, you’ll see
.
Mother will take
care of everything.”

Chapter
8

OLIVIA BERGER SAT IN HER WHEELCHAIR
,
looking
out the living room window of her second floor apartment in the old Victorian house
.
At first, when she’d had the house converted
from a single family home
to two apartments, she’d considered taking the first floor apartment because, with her disability, it would have been easier to maneuver
.
But she enjoyed the view from the second floor so much and, with the electric lift
that
she’d had installed
, she was able to move freely through the house
.
She was born in the house and she’d lived there ever since
.
At seventy-
nine
, she’d seen
many
changes in the house and
in
the neighborhood and she’d seen
many
people come and go.

Light rain splattered against the windowpane as she watched an elderly woman make her way slowly down the
sidewalk
, pulling a two-wheeled shopping cart behind her and struggling to keep an umbrella over her head
.
The woman would take a few steps, then stop, as if to catch her breath
.
She
watched her until she was out of sight
.
Something about her tugged at
Olivia’s
heart
.
It’s tough getting old, she thought, especially if you’re all alone
.
Thank God, I have Lawrence.