Secrets in the Attic

  "Go ahead, Cooper," Chief Keiser pressed.

  "All right. Tell us what you told your father Karen said was happening."

  I began, describing the first incident as detailed as I could manage without blushing and being embarrassed myself. As I spoke, they all stared at me, only Chief Keiser looking shocked.

  "How many of these incidents occurred? To your knowledge, that is?"

  "Nothing she has said so far is to her knowledge," my father corrected. "She is telling you what she was told, not what she witnessed. I just want to make that clear."

  "Right. How many incidents like that did Karen Stoker describe?"

  "I don't remember any number. She just said it was getting worse and worse, and when I asked her to explain, she was too embarrassed to get into any more detail about it. One time," I added, "I came into town to buy an ice cream, and I saw her walking and crying. She didn't want to talk then, but later, when I asked, she told me it was because of what was happening. She told me she was having headaches because of it, too. I already told you about the headaches."

  "Right. Okay, let's get to what you claim she said about her mother's involvement or lack of involvement in all this. Did she tell you she told her mother about any of it?"

  "No, she didn't tell me of any specific conversation, but she said her mother knew. She said her mother knew about her bruise, and she said her mother ignored it."

  "What bruise?"

  "She had a bruise on her shoulder one morning. I asked her about it, but she was too ashamed to tell me about it then. Later, she told me Harry would often get violent, frustrated with her, and do things like push her or pinch her too hard."

  "And her mother knew about this?"

  "She said she did but ignored it."

  "And the reason she ignored it? Did she tell you?"

  "She said her mother thought that she was making things up because she just didn't like Harry or her marrying him. She said it was always worse when her mother was away and she was alone with Harry."

  "To your knowledge, did she tell anyone else about these incidents?"

  "No. I mean, I don't know if she did or didn't."

  "You mentioned her telling you that she spied on Harry when he went to his mother's apartment, that she saw him talking to a manikin head in the bed with a wig on it?"

  "Yes. Karen said his mother wore wigs because her hair was getting too thin," I said. I wondered now if they would think about the wig found with Harry's body in Karen's room, but they said nothing or asked nothing about it.

  Instead, the detectives looked at each other for a moment before Lieutenant Cooper flipped open a small pad he had in his hands and read something Then he looked up at me.

  "We're kind of intrigued by the fact that Karen called her mother from New York City the same day you were in New York City. We've followed up pn that with the phone company. Did you see her there?" he asked.

  "No," I said. I looked at my father.

  "She was with my wife all the time and never out of her sight. You were told that the other day."

  "Remarkable coincidence," Lieutenant Cooper muttered.

  "Still a coincidence?'

  "What makes it even more remarkable is that the pay phone we traced back to is maybe a minute from the hotel you were at."

  My father just stared at him for a moment and then looked at me. "Did Karen call you at the hotel, Zipporah?"

  "No," I said.

  "Did she come to the hotel?"

  "Did you in any way know she was in New York at the time?"

  "No."

  My father sat back.

  "Thanks," Lieutenant Cooper told him "I'll send you part of my paycheck."

  "When you get my bill, it might be a bigger part than you anticipated," my father responded, not waiting a beat.

  Chief Keiser laughed.

  "So, all you're telling us here about Mr. Pearson, you heard from Karen Stoker herself? You never witnessed anything, nor were you present when Karen spoke to her mother about it or tried to speak to her about it?"

  "That's true," I said. "Correct," I added, trying to sound more like my father now. I caught a slight smile on his lips.

  "Okay," Lieutenant Cooper said after a deep sigh. "More than likely, we'll be talking to you again, Zipporah. You'll probably be a major witness at a trial. For now, we would rather you don't discuss this interview or any of this information with anyone else besides your father."

  "Anything new on Karen's whereabouts?" my father asked.

  "We're working on it," Lieutenant Cooper replied. He looked at me for a long moment, his eyes narrowing, and added, "She can't hide forever."

  After a pause, he added, "No matter who helps her."

  17 Protecting Jesse

  This time, after my interview with the police, Daddy was silent most of the ride home. If he were angry at me, I'd much rather he would show it, and if he were afraid of something, I wished he would tell me what it was. My brother and I knew that whenever Daddy was so pensive as to make you feel you weren't even there, he was worried about something very serious. We would tiptoe around him, stealing glances but avoiding his eyes, as if he were on the verge of some explosion and merely looking at him the wrong way would set it off.

  Finally, just before we arrived at the house, he turned to me.

  "The stuff about the pay phone is troubling, Zipporah. It's too much of a coincidence for Karen to be making that call so close to where we were, where you were. If you knew for sure she had gone to New York City, you should have told us, told me. That is technically holding back pertinent information."

  I started to cry.

  "Well, what's done is done, but if it comes up again, I want you to tell the absolute truth," he said. "Okay?"

  I nodded, and we drove on.

  Jesse was waiting for us in front of the house, where he was whitewashing the porch railing. He turned as soon as we pulled into the driveway. I got out before Daddy pulled into the garage and held my breath in anticipation. Had Jesse discovered anything?

  "How did it go with the police?" he asked.

  "They weren't too nice. They were angry I hadn't told them all this before."

  "Not too nice? They should have been happy you came forward with the information. Most people never tell what they know, because they don't want to be involved."

  "They didn't act grateful. That's for sure," I said. "I felt like I was the one going on trial, not Karen."

  "Why? Didn't they believe you?" he asked me.

  "I'm not sure," I said.

  Daddy came out of the garage.

  "What happened?" Jesse asked him. "Zipporah makes it sound like they weren't appreciative. Didn't they think what she had to say was important to the case? Aren't they going to use the information she gave them?"

  "Well, she told it just as she heard it from, Karen. They recorded her testimony."

  "What do you think?"

  "I think they have trouble with the story," Daddy said, glancing at me.

  "Why? Why do they think it's untrue?" Jesse demanded, as if Karen were his sister and not me.

  "For one thing, I imagine they've heard only good things about Harry Pearson from everyone they've interviewed so far, including Darlene Pearson. Other than Zipporah here, Karen apparently told no one, and Zipporah admitted she had never witnessed anything herself."

  "That doesn't necessarily mean it wasn't true:' Jesse said, with more passion than either Daddy or I expected.

  "No, it doesn't mean that, but it does mean that it needs more collaboration. Also, according to what your sister said she was told, Harry Pearson starts to resemble Norman Bates in Psycho."

  "Maybe he did," Jesse said, without hearing any details. "You didn't really know him that well, did you, Dad?"

  "No, but you don't know the rest of it."

  "Well, what was the rest of it? What about Harry Pearson?" Jesse asked.

  My father glanced at me again. "This is very upsetting for Zipporah, Jess. I know
she would like it all to end. She hasn't had an easy day since."

  "It's okay," I said. I wanted the story out in the open now. I wanted the world to know what Karen had been facing and suffering.

  "You want to tell him the rest of it?" my father asked me.

  I nodded. "Fine, go ahead."

  "Karen told me Harry Pearson wouldn't give up on his mother, wouldn't believe she was dead. He would go to her apartment at the rear of their house and sit by her bed and talk to her wig. It was on a head like they have for wigs. It was also made up like his mother made up her face, with lots of makeup, clownish."

  Jesse nodded, his face thoughtful.

  "So what do you think of all that?" Daddy asked him

  "Who knows? It could have been true. No one suspected Norman Bates, did they?"

  "That's a movie, Jess."

  "All I'm saying is, could be."

  "Did you hear what she's saying . . . talked to a wig, made up a head, and who knows what else? We're talking about the pharmacist, a man who had contact with most of the village residents."

  Jesse shrugged, as if he had heard similar stories all his life.

  "I don't know what's with you kids today," Daddy said. "In my day, a story like that would turn my bones to ice. Anyway, let's put it aside." He checked his watch. "I'm taking us all out to Frankie's for dinner. I've already told your mother, so clean up," he added, nodding at the paint. "We're going shortly after she comes home." He gazed around. "Nice job on the lawn, by the way."

  "Thanks," Jesse said. He looked at me, and I dropped my gaze to the walk. "You did the right thing," he said as soon as Daddy entered the house. "Whether the police appreciate you and believe you or not."

  I glanced up at the attic window in front. There was no sign of Karen, but I felt her presence as I would if she had been standing right beside me.

  "I hope so," I said, and walked into the house. My brain felt as if it was bubbling in my head. What had Karen done all day while Jesse was there? What was she doing now? Was it possible she had been unable to get herself food and water?

  "Let's get ready to go out," Jesse said, passing me on the stairway. "Dad's right. We need a night out together," he added, and hurried up the stairs to his room. I followed slowly.

  I felt drained, exhausted, and very worried about Karen, but at least when we all went out to dinner, she would have the house to herself, and she could fetch whatever she needed. I thought I would leave a note in The Diary of Anne Frank for her, not only about Jesse's earlier arrival but briefly what had occurred at the police station. Surely, she was on pins and needles about it. I made sure to tell her that Jesse supported her story, gave it credence. She needed cheering up as much as I did, if not more. I stuck the note in the book and placed it on the shelf, sticking out an inch or so as usual, so she would know something was in it for her.

  While I was getting dressed, my mother came home and came directly to my room. I was just finishing brushing my hair but hadn't yet picked out what I would wear.

  "Hi," she said, looking as if she had expected to find me brooding in the corner or something. "Hi."

  "Your father told me about the police today and how unpleasant it was for you."

  "They were terrible. Even Daddy got angry."

  "You should have told them it all the first time, Zipporah. It didn't do Karen any good. But," she quickly added, "I understand why you felt the need to keep it to yourself. It's just that . . . well, after what had happened, why worry about her being

  embarrassed or her feeling betrayed? It didn't help matters, as you saw."

  I turned away, the tears burning at the rims of my eyelids. What was I going to tell her? Karen's not gone; it's not over? I'm still her best and only friend? And what about what Daddy had told me about, not betraying a friend? I didn't say anything in my own defense, however. If I were too adamant about it, she might suspect something more, I thought.

  "Her mother should have been the one to tell them," was all I could think to say.

  "Yes, she should have. You're certainly right there. What a horrible mess. Anyway, your

  involvement in it all is over. There isn't anything more you can do or tell them," she said, mostly for herself, it seemed. "It's up to them now. I'd better get changed," she added, and hurried out.

  Later, at the restaurant, my parents did all they could to keep the Pearson tragedy out of our conversation, but unfortunately, there were people at the restaurant whom my father knew, and when they stopped to say hello, they had to make reference to the news in Sandburg. One man, another attorney named Clarence Hartwick, thought he was amusing telling my father he had picked the wrong small town to settle in, a town full of Lizzie Borden's relatives.

  "He's a sick S.O.B.," my father muttered to us as soon as Hartwick walked away. "I never liked him in court or out."

  "I don't think it's fair comparing Karen Stoker to Lizzie Borden anyway," Jesse said. "There's quite a difference in what motivated each."

  "Let me give you a little advice," Daddy said, sitting back. "Be miserly when it comes to just how much faith you spend on your clients' honesty. You'll be far less disappointed in the end, even if you win your cases."

  "What are you saying, Dad? Zipporah is lying about what happened to Karen?"

  "No, of course not. Why should Zipporah lie? But we're going completely on hearsay, Jess. Don't fault the police for being skeptical. They won't do a good job if they're not skeptical."

  "Yes, well, I just can't imagine a girl like that doing something like that out of the blue," Jesse insisted.

  A girl like that? I had mixed feelings about his support for Karen. On the one hand, it made me feel better about myself and my own investment in her, but on the other, it made me uneasy, even a little jealous, to see him come so vehemently to her defense. He didn't know her as well as I did, and if he knew how she had found his journal and read it, he would not be so eager to come rushing to her aid. These contradictory feelings I had confused and disturbed me. I must have been showing it, too. I saw my mother staring at me, her face molding into an expression of deeper and deeper concern.

  "Can we change the subject?" she asked. "I'm so tired of this. It's running away with our lives."

  "Absolutely. So, Jesse, you're coming to the office tomorrow, right?" Daddy asked him. "I'd like you to meet everyone and work out how you're going to help out there this summer. I have an interesting case, too, and you'll be of real assistance with the research."

  "Not tomorrow. How about the day after? I have a few more chores to do around the house."

  "Chores? You keep surprising me, Jesse, but don't be a better handyman than your father. It makes him look bad," Daddy told him.

  "I won't. No worries there."

  "We might have a surprise or two in store for you before the week's out," Daddy told him, and winked at me.

  "What surprise?"

  "Wouldn't be a surprise if we told, would it, Zipporah?"

  "No."

  "You're finally going to break down and get us a dog, is that it, Dad?"

  "No clues," Daddy said. "And don't try to trick your sister into telling you, either. She's sworn to secrecy, a blood oath."

  The laughter and teasing helped us all ease out of the tension. By the time we were on our way home, we were all in a lighter mood, and once again, I felt as if I were back to a time before the Pearson tragedy. In the morning, I would get on the school bus and wait for Karen to board. We would play our mind games and laugh about some of the other students. Our conversation would be light and airy and full of silliness. Oh, how I wished that would be. Why couldn't we just close our eyes and wish really hard for good things? How easy it used to be to imagine and pretend. There wasn't anyplace Karen and I couldn't go, any world we couldn't enter through the magic of our own fantasies.

  However, as we drove up to the 'house and into our driveway, the darkness of the attic windows brought me quickly back to reality. I hoped, Karen hadn't done anything to leav
e any traces of herself or any clues to her presence in our home. I rushed into the kitchen ahead of my mother to check the countertops and table, to be sure every cabinet door was closed and there were no crumbs or wrappers, anything that would draw attention and curiosity, as she had done the first time. Fortunately, the kitchen was as spotless as we had left it.

  Daddy went to his home office for a while, and I went up to my room. Jesse remained below watching television with Mama. I felt so helpless just sitting there and, again, so guilty because of the good time I had just had with my family while Karen sat in the attic darkness. I just had to chance it. It had been too long, and too much had happened since Karen and I last spoke to each other. I had to know how she was doing. Once again, I tried to fly up those noisy attic steps unnoticed. I paused at the door and listened. The television was on below, and I could vaguely hear Mama and Jesse talking.

  I opened the attic door and slipped in, closing it softly behind me. For a long moment, I stood there with my back against the door, panning the attic. The clearer night sky painted everything in a skeletonwhite illumination. It looked like a room full of ghosts. The far wall creaked.

  "Karen?" I called in a loud whisper. "Come out. Speak to me," I said. "It's all right. We have a few minutes. It's safe. Karen, where are you?" I

  demanded, more forcefully.

  "Why did you come up? They're all in the house," I heard her say right beside me. She had pressed her back to the wall just behind a cabinet. She didn't move forward, however. She remained there as if she had been hung along with some of the old pictures and frames.

  I stepped further into the attic.

  "It's all right. My brother and my mother are watching television, and my father's working in his office. How are you? When did you realize Jesse was back? How have you managed with such little time?"

  "Just go back out and down to your room," she said. "I'm fine."

  "But . . . food, water. Did you get what you needed when we were out?"

  She was silent, and then she stepped away from the wall and walked softly into the dim pool of light. She was wearing one of my nightgowns. Her hair was down. She had a smile on her face, a smile I didn't expect. She looked happier, comfortable, content. How could she be?