Chapter 24
Alex was called out of town on company business late Monday night, something to do with the computer guru.
For the following three mornings, I opened the Sheffield Public Library. Not literally, of course, but I arrived long before any employee or patron. Today was no exception. I was desperate to learn Irwin’s identity and how he'd died. Maybe then he would find the way to his final resting place. Maybe he was caught on the earthly plane because he hadn’t turned toward the light when it was time for him to make the transition. Why hadn’t he? Maybe his mind had been filled with negative things or death took him by surprise. Listen to me. I sounded like someone who knew what they talked about.
There was a lot to be learned from reading old newspapers. How else would I have known that on Halloween of 1965 the police discovered a newborn baby in a dumpster behind the Sheffield High School. Dorothy Melvin, a forty-five-year old spinster, gave birth to a stillborn baby girl and placed her where she hoped the police would think it belonged to a high school student.
How would I have learned, too, that on that same date the mayor’s wife had been admitted to the hospital “for a much needed rest” after she sang O Canada at the graveside of dearly departed alderman, Kenneth Waters.
I made a list of everything even remotely connected to my house and its prior owners and cross-referenced the births with the deaths, but no connection jumped out at me.
I was about to call it a day when a small article in the lower right-hand corner of the Sheffield weekly newspaper caught my eye: Wife shoots her husband, then turns gun on herself.
Detective Thomas McArdle investigates.
What made her lose it like that? Was it something like what happened to me Friday night when I eyed Jonathan’s gun in his shoulder holster? Would I have used it on him if he had hurt Katie? Without a doubt.
I wondered who the woman was and what happened to her. If I really wanted to know, I could call Jonathan and find out. I would love a peek at the police file. Curiosity almost made me pick up the phone. If I could stand the sound of his voice right now, it might have happened.
Growing frustrated with my findings and the lack of progress, I decided to pay a visit on Leroy and present him with everything and let him sort through it. And maybe, just maybe ....
After making photocopies of the birth announcements and the obituary columns, I decided on impulse to photocopy the article about the shooting. I stuffed everything into my oversized handbag, hurried from the library and to my car. I made it home in seven minutes.
I grew terribly fond of Leroy and Clara over the last few weeks and went over for tea three times a week, sometimes more if time allowed. The tidbits of information Leroy sometimes fed me about the previous owners of my house intrigued me. Once I learned the whole story, maybe I’d write a book about it.
I walked in without knocking — Leroy said friends don’t ring doorbells. “Hello, hello, anyone home?”
“We’re in the kitchen, dear,” came Leroy’s whiskeyed voice.
I shrugged out of my jacket and draped it over the vacant chair at the kitchen table and looked from Leroy and Clara. “How’ve you both been?”
“We missed you on Monday.”
“I’m sorry, Clara. I should have called. I got tied up.” Now that was something Alex and I didn’t do. Maybe Jonathan would loan us a pair of his handcuffs. I pictured shackling Alex to the bedpost, ripping his shirt open, pouring wine down his chest and following the trail with my tongue. I came to his navel —
“Susan.”
Distantly, I heard Clara’s voice. “What?” I looked at her. “Sorry. My mind drifted for a moment. What did you say?”
She looked at me strangely.
Was I drooling? “What’s the matter?” I wiped the corners of my mouth, just in case.
“If I didn’t know better, I’d say you’re in love.”
Love? No way. In lust, maybe. “Sorry to disappoint, but I’m just excited about what I uncovered at the library.” A little white lie. How would these ol’ folks know? I patted my handbag and risked a peek at Leroy, hoping he didn’t share his wife’s observation. He would tease me relentlessly.
“I think you’re right, sweet pea. Our dear Susan is in love.”
“No, no ....” It was true I had never been happier in my life. But was this feeling love or was I loving the fact that I discovered the joy of sex, something I never experienced with Jonathan?
Clara giggled, that sweet silly laugh that never failed to make me chuckle.
Both Leroy and Clara questioned me mercilessly. The dirty old man in Leroy asked if Alex lived up to his size twelve shoes. I could only stammer. The romantic in Clara, on the other hand, preached the wonder and beauty of true love. Take her and Leroy, for instance. Their love was as strong today as the day they married sixty-five years ago.
“Have you two had enough fun?” I asked at the first pause, forcing a serious tone.
“Clara, I think we embarrassed her.”
I wiped sweat from my upper lip. “I’m not embarrassed. Not in the least. No sirree. Surprised, maybe.” Who would have thought eighty-year-olds would think about sex, much less discuss it. Not me.
Anxious to get off the subject of my love life, I shoved my notes and photocopies in front of Leroy. Clara placed a cup of tea and a raspberry danish in front of me. I stared at the sweet pastry and considered refusing it. “I shouldn’t.” I took a generous bite, chewed and swallowed.
“I’m going to have to start exercising. I gained five pounds in the past month. My good butt jeans are fitting my butt a good deal better than they should. Wow, that was a mouthful.” Okay, Susan, shut up.
I pushed the papers closer to Leroy. “Here’s everything I found.”
“How did your kitchen turn out?” Clara asked.
“Like I pictured it. Once I send my unwanted house guest to his final resting place, maybe you’ll come see it.”
“Maybe.”
The lack of conviction in her answer told me neither of them would ever set foot in my house again. That saddened me.
“What do you want me to do with these?” Leroy raised an eyebrow and pointed at the articles.
I stared at him, waiting for him to grin. He didn’t. “Are you serious?”
He crossed his arms against his chest. “Yes.”
“Leroy, how can you do this to me? I did everything you told me to do. I was patient. You said you’d help me put the pieces together.”
Leroy and Clara erupted into laughter.
I stared at them quizzically.
“What can I say?” he said. “We’re old and get our kicks any way we can.”
The old coot put one over on me. I wouldn’t forget it. “Happy to oblige." I scratched my head. "I guess.”
Leroy pulled his chair closer and cleaned his glasses on his flannel shirt. “Now tell me what you know.”
“There were eight births that day — six girls and two boys — and three deaths, two men and one woman. The time frame’s right, but I can’t link them to each other or to my house. That’s odd, considering what you told me, don’t you think? But what’s even odder is that there’s no birth announcement for Alex. There should be an announcement even if he was given up at birth.”
“There is. You’re just not seeing it.” He sifted through the photocopies and aligned four articles on the table.
The first was the death of the little boy. I fought the image of a six-year-old being struck by a pulp truck and mentally blocked my ears to his mother’s anguished screams.
The second was the article I deemed irrelevant, but copied it anyway.
The third was the obituary column.
The fourth was the birth announcements. Leroy circled in red the last announcement.
I studied it, then the articles. My eyes darted back and forth across the sheets of paper, my mind desperately trying to put everything together. T
hen it hit me. I leaned back in my chair.
“Leroy, are you saying that ....” The truth was too horrible for words.
He closed his eyes. “Uh-huh.”
“Then that means ....”
“Uh-huh.”
“And that would explain Irwin’s presence. Oh my God.”
“You wanted to know.”
I wanted to know.
Those words kept repeating in my head.
I had wanted to know.
I had wanted to find Alex’s biological parents.
Now I wished I'd minded my business.