Over the Edge (18 page)

I nodded, my thoughts lingering on Brock. "Still empty."

Oh good, how smart that sounded. What did I expect—the tick to morph back inside through the plastic? My eyes shut. This was a mistake. I never should have called the detective. He'd walk out of here thinking worse of me than before.

Jud opened the kit and pulled out a small paper bag. He dropped the vial inside, folded over the top and pulled a pen from his pocket to label it. He set the bag on the table. "I saw your daughter's backpack. You said the bottle was in there?"

"In the . . . small zipper part in front."

"Did you look through the rest of her pack?"

I blinked. Why hadn't I? "Once I saw the tick I—"

"Understood. Let me bring it in here, and we'll go through it, okay?"

"Okay."

Jud went to the kitchen and returned, carrying the backpack with both hands. Moving the paper bag and recorder to the floor, he set the pack on the table. Squatted down. One by one he pulled out the items that symbolized my Lauren. Textbooks, notebooks. Pens. A tiny stuffed animal. An old invitation to a birthday party she'd already attended. A hair clip, notes from her friends. Half a candy bar in its wrapping. An old test, graded
B.
My heart clutched at each item. Every one spelled trust and innocence, my daughter's life now strewn in pieces on the floor.

Brock, how could you leave her?

The backpack lay empty. Jud ran his hand inside each zippered section. He stood, arching his back, and spread his hands. "Nothing else out of the ordinary."

"No."

Jud thought for a moment. "You say you dropped the tick. In what area?"

"The kitchen. By the table. W-would you look?"

"Yeah."

Once again he disappeared. After a time I saw him through the pass-through window, bent low. I sagged on the couch like a half-stuffed ragdoll, my thoughts bending from the tick to Brock and back again. Sudden anger steamed up inside me, rattled around my ribs, then petered away. No energy to sustain it.

I don't know how long I waited. My eyes found the clock twice, but they looked through it, the time not registering. What did it matter anyway?

Jud appeared. "I've looked all over and can't find it."

Of course he wouldn't. Why should anything go right for me today? "It's really small."

"Yeah. Easy to miss."

I raised my eyes to his. Did he believe me?

"You'll keep looking for it?"

I nodded. You bet I would.

"If you find it I want you to put it in something and call me right away."

"I will."

Jud took off the gloves and put them in his kit. "Where's your daughter?"

"Upstairs. Watching TV in my room." I rubbed my chin with the back of my hand. My knuckles twinged, making me wince.

He sat down in the armchair. "I need you to tell me everything about the tick. When you first saw the bottle. How you dropped it. Everything. I'll record your story. All right?"

My
story.
Not
the facts.
A Freudian slip? I nodded. Waited in silence while he readied the recorder and spoke our names and the date into it.

"Okay, tell me what happened."

I told him. With halting words and a mind that twisted and stuttered, I related finding the bottle, then dropping it. My falling down. Lauren's and my desperate search for the tick. "But I didn't tell her what it was. Just called it a b-bug." I swallowed. I couldn't talk much more. It was so
tiring.
"Sh-she wanted to know if it would . . ." My eyes fell to the recorder. I could feel my lungs struggling to suck in air. "When they . . ." I floundered, then tapped my teeth. "Bugs that . . ."

Jud frowned. "Bite?"

"Yes. Bite. I said it could. So we had to find it."

He nodded. "All right. Anything else?"

My gaze drifted to the fireplace. How long since we'd had a fire? Last winter. Brock had made it.

Brock. Come back to me. I have to get you back.

I shook my head.

"Okay." Jud leaned over and turned off the recorder. "Thanks. Now I need to talk to Lauren."

My muscles tensed. "Why?"

"I need to hear her side of the story about the bottle. And I need to ask her if she saw anyone she didn't know around her backpack today."

"But she's already scared enough. I don't want her . . ."

He looked at me, an unreadable expression on his face. Compassion? A blend of pity and judgment? "I understand. But you've called me with this news, and now I have to follow it through."

"Don't tell Brock." The plea just blurted out. "Please."

Jud's eyes held mine. He tilted his head in a half nod. "I'd like to take her in the office where I met with you and your husband, if I may."

"Not here? With me?"

"I need to talk to her alone."

I focused on my lap.
Alone.
Of course. To see if her answers corroborated her crazy mother's story. "Would you call her down? I can't . . ."

He walked behind me into the hallway, to the bottom of the stairs and called Lauren's name. After two tries I heard the door to my bedroom open, sounds from the TV waft out.

"What?" Her response was clipped, wary.

"It's Detective Maxwell, remember me? I was here the other day to talk to your parents. I'd like to talk to you now, all right?"

A long pause. I could feel Lauren's hesitation. Here was one more thing in an already strange day. A strange week. "Okay." A moment later her feet hit the hall floor.

"Let's go in your dad's office, okay?"

Another pause. "Mom?"

The discomfort in her voice pierced me. I should get up, demand to be with her. "It's okay, honey. You go talk to him."

Their footsteps faded behind me. I heard a door shut. Once again I waited, my body listing over, my mind at half-stun. I longed to return all of Lauren's things into her pack. She would not be happy to see them gone through like this, so scattered. But I couldn't get down to the floor. And my last bit of energy was waning.

I moved my cane to the floor. Lay down and closed my eyes. How was I going to take care of Lauren by myself, day after day?

About twenty minutes later Lauren and the detective emerged from the office to stand over the back of the couch, gazing down at me. I tried to sit up, embarrassed to be lying down in Jud's presence. But my body wouldn't budge.

"It's okay." He waved a hand at me. "Stay where you are."

I looked at Lauren. "You all right?" She was eyeing her possessions on the floor without an ounce of surprise. "We had to—"

"It's okay, he told me." She shrugged. "I'll put them away later."

I turned a questioning gaze on Jud. He lifted a hand as if to say
I have a way with kids.

"Mom, can I go back upstairs and watch TV?"

My eyes searched her face. Was this stoicism, or had Jud truly put her fears at ease? "Sure."

Lauren trotted off. Jud came around the couch. "Please." I gestured toward the armchair. He took it. With great effort I pulled myself to sit up. "Well?"

He leaned forward, legs apart, hands clasped between his knees. "She told me what happened. She told me everything you did. Except, of course, she came on the scene after you'd dropped the bottle. So she never actually saw you pull the bottle from her backpack."

Point taken. Once again my story could be suspect. "Did she see anyone at school?"

"No. But when I pressed her she did remember that she'd left her backpack lying on the grass near the parents' pick-up area. She happened to find a cell phone lying on the grass and ran to turn it into the office."

That was Lauren. Ever honest. Caring about someone else's loss. I shook my head. "If she hadn't done that, he maybe couldn't have—"

"True. Or maybe he'd have tried some other way."

I fixed Jud with a look. "You believe me? About all this?"

"There's no doubt in my mind you're very sick. And I haven't been happy about not being able to spend more time on your case. I've done some research online about this disease and the so-called Lyme wars. Just so I could understand the context. I've also checked into Lyme symptoms. Yours seem right on the money."

He'd taken the time to research? My eyes welled, I couldn't help it. "Thank you." The words came out a raspy whisper.

Jud hesitated, as if searching for delicate words. "However, I still don't have much to go on in this case. And meanwhile we're getting all this pressure on the local burglaries. I'd love to have a bit of hard evidence so I could show my superior this case deserves more of my attention."

I could only nod. At least . . . this.

He pointed toward the bag. "I'm going to take that vial to be tested for fingerprints. I'll let you know what we find. Which reminds me, I need to get yours and Lauren's prints so we can rule them out. I brought what I need to take them in this kit."

My relief fizzled. "Lauren's prints? What do I tell her? What did
you
tell her?"

He tapped his thumbs together. "We all want to shield our kids. I understand that. I got two of my own. But in this case, Lauren already knows funny things are going on. I think it's better to tell her the truth than allow her imagination to run wild. Kids know when you're lying."

I thought of my childhood. Yes, they did.

"I'll be going to Lauren's school tomorrow. I want to alert her principal about the possibility of someone harassing her. I don't need to tell them the whole story. But if this guy's really out to harm Lauren, we need to have precautions in place."

"Yes. Good. Thank you."

Jud rose. "Let me call Lauren back down for the prints. I should have done that a minute ago." He scratched his jaw. "Is Dr. McNeil coming home early tonight? You look like you could really use some help getting around."

His offhand remark slapped me in the face. I looked away, shame curling through me. Brock wasn't heartless, yet he'd left me in this state. I must have caused him to want to leave. Somehow. Some way.

But wait a minute—Jud already knew about this.

"He's moved out. Just like he told you he was planning to do."

Incredulity swept over Jud's face. "When did this happen?"

"Last night. Why are you acting like you didn't know?"

Jud made a sound in his throat. "Your husband told me he'd been planning on leaving. But the way he talked, I figured after you got sick he put it off."

Wasn't his judgment of Brock just a little late? I turned my head to look up at him. "You knew about the affair for m-months, didn't you? Your wife knew. Nobody told me. Now he's gone."

Jud's head drew back. "Actually we didn't, not for sure. Not until your husband came to see me on Saturday." His hand found his tie and smoothed it. "But Sarah suspected."

My lips pressed. "And at the Christmas party neither of you said a thing."

I knew I was being unfair. I didn't know Sarah and certainly not Jud well enough for either of them to voice a mere suspicion. But I didn't care. Right now I needed the detective to stand by me. "Just don't . . . abandon me now."

Jud gazed at me for a moment, then gave a curt nod.

He turned away to call Lauren.

When she came down Jud took her fingerprints first. Lauren was fascinated but full of questions. "You're not doing this just because you think somebody at school gave me that bottle, are you?"

Jud glanced at me. "No."

"Then who do you think did it?"

"Lauren." I shook my head at Jud. "We'll talk about it after the detective's gone."

"But—"

"Later."

Lauren gave me a long, hurt look. "Well, fine. I need to put my stuff away." As Jud and I watched she busied herself replacing all the items in her backpack. Had I been able to supervise, I'd have nudged her to throw out the old notes, the half-eaten candy bar. But to a nine-year-old, every item was precious.

When done she lugged the pack into the kitchen. I heard it land on the table. Wordlessly, she retreated upstairs.

When Jud reached for my hand to take my prints, I flinched. My fingers were so tender.

"That hurt?" He let go of my hand.

"Yeah. The joints."

He touched me again gently. Still the procedure hurt. He had to press on my fingers and move them side to side to make sure the prints were complete. I said nothing, but my jaw clenched, and a single tear rolled down my cheek. The pain in my body, the pain in my heart—together they were too much. I just wanted to hide. To sleep and not feel anything.

Jud saw the tear but pretended he didn't. I wiped it away with the back of my hand, too tired to feel ashamed for crying.

He packed up his things and prepared to leave. "I'll let you know if we find anything on the bottle."

"Thanks."

He shifted on his feet. "Mrs. McNeil, I'm really sorry all this has happened to you."

I nodded. "Thanks for coming."

He gave me a tight smile, then headed for the door. I listened to it open and close. A moment later a car started up outside. Drove away.

Now what?

I would have to talk to Lauren. Tell her we suspected an unknown man had left that bug in her backpack. She would want to know why. And I would say . . . ?

Not now. Too much for me to face. I lay back down.

"Mom!" Lauren's feet pounded down the stairs. She appeared at the back of the couch, holding out the phone receiver from my bedroom. "Dad wants to talk to you." She screwed up her face and whispered, "He sounds mad."

Something deep within me clunked, like a metal door slamming shut. "You called him?"

She pushed up her bottom lip. "I told him about the detective and the fingerprints, thinking maybe he'd explain. Since
you
wouldn't tell me what's going on."

Oh, Lauren, no.

She thrust the phone toward me.

"Janessa!" Brock's voice spat from the receiver. He hadn't called me my full name in years. "Come to the phone right now!"

Lauren's lips pulled wide in a
yikes
expression. Her eyes rounded.

All thoughts I'd entertained of Brock listening to me, of him coming back, dropped through my stomach like a stone.

"Janessa!"