Mother (36 page)

And apparently, you still are.
Clyde was almost certain he’d never heard the name before in his life, but nodded and tried to appear in the know.

“She just isn’t going to believe this.” Her face crumpled. “I think I’m in shock, Clyde.”

“Now, now, dear.” Clyde handed her the phone.
 

“No, Prissy, I’m sorry, but I’m not going to come over.” Babs Vandercooth’s heart pounded at the very thought of walking past the bodies of Geneva-Marie and Burke Collins. She’d lived her entire life without seeing a dead body and she wasn’t about to change that now. Prissy’s earlier call, detailing the horrible death of the couple, had not been welcome.

 
“I
need
you to come over, Babs. I
need
to talk to you.”

In the past, Babs would have gritted her teeth and gone, but lately, she’d found great satisfaction in standing up to Prissy; today, of all days, she wouldn’t knuckle under. She glanced at the drawn drapes and blinds. She hadn’t even peeped out, had no desire to, and couldn’t understand why anyone would. Yet, she could imagine most of the neighbors doing just that, especially Prissy, Aida, and Phyllis. They were the eyes and ears of the neighborhood.

“If you need to talk, Pris, you are welcome to come over. Carl is on a business trip, so I’m alone.”

Prissy huffed. “Claire is upstairs. And Frederick. I can’t leave them.”

Bullshit. When has that ever stopped you?
Overhead, a helicopter swooped over the cul-de-sac and brilliant white light briefly glowed against the covered windows. “I’m sorry, Prissy, but I’m not coming over tonight. Not until all the … all the horrible things out there are gone. In the morning, I would be happy to come and visit with Claire, though. If you want, you could even go shopping while I’m there. I’ll keep her company.”

“I thought you were a real friend, Barbara. A real friend would come here tonight, when
I
need you. You can just turn your head away when you pass. You won’t see a thing.”
 

Babs heard Pris’s doorbell start chiming out the national anthem. Prissy ordered her to hang on, and an instant later, she heard Prissy greet Clyde Stine. She couldn’t understand what he said, but Prissy was loud and clear: He was looking for Valium for Phyllis and Pris was happy to oblige.

“Babs? I have to help Clyde with Phyllis. She’s terribly upset; we all are. I hope you’ll take that to heart and come see me now.” She heard Pris tell Clyde to wait, then the connection ended. Babs shook her head. While she didn’t approve of Pris’ role as the Morning Glory Circle pharmacist, she knew she was only trying to help.
Maybe I can get past the horrors by now - it’s been hours - and what about Claire?

She went to get her coat.

Ace Etheridge sat in his office, staring at the wall. His daughter, Iris, had called a couple of hours ago, telling him what had happened, but he already knew via the newspapers’ police scanner. He’d told Iris not to wait up and had been sitting here since, not bothering to leave work on time and fight the crowd of emergency vehicles and reporters that Iris had told him were blocking the street. Instead he sent a reporter to cover it.

He shifted his gaze to the window and thought about going to get something to eat, but his appetite was MIA, his guts too tight with anxiety.
 

Right on Morning Glory Circle.
He couldn’t wrap his mind around it.
Morning Glory Circle, where the sun always shines, and everyone knows who their neighbors are.
Though apparently, no one really knew Burke Collins.
 

Everyone has two faces. The one we see, and the one that’s hidden from view.
It astonished him how different these two faces could be. He couldn’t help wondering how well he knew his other neighbors - what dark secrets lurked beneath the surface of Morning Glory Circle.

What kind of face it hid from the world.

Roddy Crocker stood guard at the barricade that kept the TV vans and reporters off Morning Glory Circle. The police line was right beside his own house, and Bettyanne had come out twice now with paper cups of coffee for him and the other two cops assigned to guard the street. That had been sweet, but he’d noticed a new gold bracelet around her wrist that he’d never seen before and hoped to God she wasn’t slipping back into her old ways. Last week, she’d shown off a pair of earrings she claimed her sister had sent her, and Roddy hadn’t had the heart to check out the story.
 

He wanted to trust his wife. He wanted her to be happy and well. He wanted her never to steal another thing in her life. When they met a dozen years ago, he’d been called to pick her up for shoplifting at Dudley’s Department Store. She’d been caught lifting an inexpensive piece of jewelry and, after chatting with her a few minutes, he’d gone in and talked the manager out of pressing charges. She willingly went into therapy for her kleptomania and they’d married six months later. She’d only had a few slips over the years, a few clusters of minor thefts, but he always kept his eye on her. It wouldn’t do for a police officer’s wife to be arrested for shoplifting.
 

“Roddy?”

Roddy looked up and saw Duane Pruitt and his partner Jerry Park approaching him from the sea of reporters and gawkers. The captain had told him to keep an eye out for Pruitt. Roddy motioned the pair through the police line.
 

“What’s going on?” Duane asked, his handsome face concerned, Jerry’s frightened.

Roddy walked them out of earshot. “Burke Collins went on a rampage. He killed his wife-”

Duane turned white. “Geneva? Geneva is dead?”

Roddy nodded. The horror on Duane’s face verified Roddy’s suspicions that Burke had intended to kill Duane, too. But Roddy didn’t know why.
 

Duane was craning his neck, trying to see the crime scene, but it was impossible now. Roddy didn’t know if the bodies were bagged yet, but there was a three-sided canopy set up around the scene. Duane turned to Roddy. “She’s dead? Are you sure?”

“Yes. So is Burke.”

Duane paled even more. “What about the boys?”

“I don’t know yet.” It was a lie. “But Burke tried to break into your house and we need to talk to you about that.” He palmed his walkie-talkie. I’m going to tell them you’re on your way. Detective Logan will meet you in front of your house - unless you’d rather talk at the station.”

“My dog-”

“He’s fine.”

“Thank heaven.” He looked at Jerry, then back at Roddy. “Let’s go talk to the detective. We’ve got nothing to hide.” He squeezed Jerry’s hand and fought back tears as they began walking toward their house.
 

It was cold out. Babs kept her eyes forward as she crossed Morning Glory Circle. There was no way she was going to stay on her own side of the street. The Collins house, next door to hers, was wide open with police cars, a coroner’s van, and ambulances lined up. There was a tent in the middle of the street and it was open, facing the Collins house. Police were everywhere, like ants, crawling over the crime scene.
 

Nellie Dunworth was on her scooter, heading toward the Portendorfers, who stood on the sidewalk behind the tent. Bertie walked behind her. The Dean twins - those creepy little girls with skin so white that their faces glowed in the dark - stepped out in front of the scooter and Nellie laid on the horn and yelled something Babs couldn’t hear over the din of the helicopter and radio noise. The girls stepped back and, after Nellie and Bertie passed them, both solemnly gave the Dunworths the finger.
 

Then Babs’ attention was back on Aida, who waved to her. A man in black joined them and she recognized Father Andrew from church. Babs approached and Aida took her in a warm embrace. “I wondered if you were home.”

“I was. I haven’t been out until now” Babs nodded at Father Andy. “Prissy called and told me what happened hours ago. Then she called again - she wants me to come over.” She locked eyes with the priest. “I didn’t want to, but decided to, for Claire’s sake.”

He cocked an eyebrow and gave a bare nod.
 

Babs glanced toward the tent and was relieved to see it hid everything from view. Well, almost everything. The helicopter’s spotlight passed over and she saw blood drying on the ground. She looked away. “I’d better get to Prissy’s.”

“Give her our best,” Aida said, then turned to talk with the Dunworth sisters.

As Babs approached Prissy’s door, she paused, unable to look away as several men exited the Collins house, pushing a gurney holding a black body bag.

“Oh, Holy God, no.” The whisper slid from her lips without any effort. It had to be Barry, the Collin’s oldest son, wrapped in there. When she saw more men exit with a much smaller bag, her throat tightened and her eyes blurred with hot tears as she thought of Chris Collins, who was little more than a baby.

A tear slipped down her cheek.
How could he? How could he have murdered his own children?

Her fingers trembled as she reached for Priscilla’s doorbell.
 

The anthem rang out and when Prissy answered, all smiles, Babs had a moment of sensory confusion - as if she’d dreamed the whole thing and it was just another day on Morning Glory Circle.

“Come in.” Prissy, still beaming, stepped aside.
 

Babs had a feeling of unreality, as if the whole scene were something she was witnessing in a theater. Her feet carried her into Prissy’s living room, but Babs was unaware of walking - the earth seemed simply to be moving her, pulling her after Prissy, into the kitchen. The Andrews Sisters were singing
Don’t Sit Under the Apple Tree.
It was surreal.

“The children,” said Babs, taking an unsteady seat at the table. “He shot the children.”

Prissy brought a hand to her throat.

“I saw them. The body bags.” She stared at the white tablecloth, embroidered with American flags and soaring eagles, barely aware of the steaming cup Prissy placed in front of her.

“If you ask me.”

Babs looked at Prissy, who now sat across from her. She’d been speaking. “I’m sorry, what?”
 

Prissy sighed. “I said Geneva-Marie should have gotten herself and those children away from Burke Collins a long time ago, if you ask me.”

Babs nodded.

“Drink your tea, Babs. You look like you’re pretty shaken up.”

Babs sipped the hot sweet tea. “Yes. I am.” And it was Priscilla’s fault.
If she hadn’t coerced me into coming, I wouldn’t have seen that …
Anger flared, but Babs bit it down.
No. It’s not Prissy’s fault. None of this is anyone’s fault.

Prissy sighed. “Apparently, Phyllis is having a meltdown over the whole thing.” She looked at Babs and sipped her tea. “You know what a drama monger she can be.”

Babs blinked. “What did you want to see me about, Pris? You said you needed to speak to me.”

“Oh,” said Prissy. “Of course.” She leaned close. “I wanted to talk to you about the Ladies’ Auxiliary campaign. With Geneva-Marie no longer in the running, there’s no question I’ll be retaining my presidency, and I think we still have a long way to go to convince the other members to see the wisdom in moving the homeless shelter. Can you believe that Lizzie Knudsen had the nerve to go behind my back and tell several of the other ladies I’m trying to move the shelter so we can use the old one for more sales and events? We really need that space. This is all such nonsense.”

Her words were a barrage of sound - the rumbling of a train on its tracks. Babs had stopped listening at the mention of Geneva-Marie’s no longer being in the running. “People are dead, Prissy.”
 

Prissy blinked, then patted Babs’ hand. “I know. And it’s such a terrible, terrible tragedy. I’ve just been beside myself with worry over those kids.”

Babs was stunned. Despite Prissy’s words, her eyes gleamed with the spark of victory. She’d remain president of the Ladies’ Auxiliary and that, Babs could plainly see, was all she cared about. She wanted to spit fire at Prissy Martin, to ask her how she lived with herself. But like a raindrop on a hot sidewalk, her words dried up. There was nothing she could say. She sipped her tea and listened as Prissy regaled her with the plans for the next term of her presidency.
 

Despite herself, Claire had fallen asleep; now she awoke, and took a moment to get her bearings. Through the vent, she could hear Mother talking with another woman and quickly recognized Aunt Babs’ voice. She wanted to see Babs.
 

Claire sat up and carefully moved her injured leg over the edge of the bed, then slipped on her robe. She situated the crutches under her arms so she could go to the bathroom.
And then, I’m going to call downstairs and ask Babs to come up and visit me.

Claire was getting good with the crutches, even though her arms were sore. She hobbled to the bathroom and opened the door.
At this rate, I’ll be able to stay home alone in my own house in a week or two!
The thought made her giddy with joy.
 

Inside the bathroom, she stopped cold. Her brother’s little green soldiers were lined up on the edge of the sink, all facing her, weapons raised and aimed at her.
 

How? How could they be there?
 

She nearly fell in her haste to get to them. She grabbed the soldiers and swept them into the pocket of her robe. Ever since that first time she’d seen them in Tim’s room, they’d haunted her.
 

She relieved herself then went straight back to her room instead of calling for Babs. She’d stuffed the defaced teddy bear in a Wokamundo bag and put it in her trash as soon as Father Andy had left the room. She had no explanation for that, any more than she had for the toy soldiers.
Because Mother did it.
She couldn’t envision it - it was too crazy, even for Mother - but there was no other explanation.
 

She looked in the trash where she’d hidden the bear, Mr. Anton; that wasn’t a good spot - Mother loved to go through the refuse. Her thoughts raced, collided, and tangled. She had a hard time breathing, as if her lungs simply wouldn’t expand. She paused, closed her eyes, and took a deep breath, clearing her mind.