Sleep Like a Baby

  I’d figured in the book about the murders in Lawrenceton, simply because I was part of the Real Murders Club, and I’d been able to tell the police that each murder was staged like a famous homicide. Tracy had thought of me, perhaps, as someone who’d sparked Robin’s interest in true crime. If Tracy had known that Robin and I would become a couple, maybe she would have leaped across the craft service table with a knife.

  She’d done the leaping and stabbing later, in my home.

  When Tracy had tried to kill me in my own kitchen, I had grabbed her ankles and toppled her to the floor. In the process, she’d fallen on her knife. Her injury had been serious, but she had recovered.

  Now, when I thought of the image of Tracy standing in the same room where my helpless child lay sleeping, I wished that I had killed her that day in my kitchen.

  It was not the first time I’d thought that.

  The maids rang the doorbell then, and I let them in.

  “I’m calling a security company,” Robin said suddenly, and rose to his feet. When he’d made a decision, Robin moved quickly. By the time I’d had a quick discussion with our mother-daughter cleaning team, the telephone book spread on the kitchen counter was open to “Security,” and Robin was having a conversation. “Then we’ll see you later today,” he said, and after a second of listening, he hung up. He nodded at me, satisfied with his progress. “Spartan Shield Security is coming around two o’clock,” he said.

  “That was quick.”

  “He had a cancellation,” Robin said.

  Sounded like a standard face-saving strategy. “How’d you pick that one?” I said.

  “I remembered the Finstermeyers got their system from Spartan.” Robin went off to his office, whistling. He’d made a solid move toward protecting his woman and his baby. He felt strong.

  I smiled as I sat down at the counter to plan my day.

  At least I could do so with a pleasant sense of relief.

  It’ll be good to have an alarm system, I thought, as I put my library books in my cloth bag. Swapping day was always fun. It was so pleasant to come home with books I’d selected, like the prospect of diving into a cool pool on a hot day. I’d topped off Sophie, so to speak, so I could stay away longer. I needed some “me” time. I put the monitor on Robin’s desk and waved almost cheerily.

  The maids were working on the kitchen and it was beginning to look orderly and shining. They certainly didn’t need my supervision.

  I’d wondered if my first trip to the library as a civilian would be a little awkward, but I had no way of anticipating how very awkward it would be.

  Perry Allison was at the desk, busy with a line of patrons. Perry gave me a little wave, but he also looked as though he wanted to tell me something pretty urgently. He couldn’t leave his post with patrons standing there, so after I set my books in the return bin, I went over to the “New Books” shelves, ready to browse. Just as I began looking (would the new Karin Slaughter be in?), the media specialist, Janie Spellman, strode around the end of a set of shelves and almost collided with me.

  This would not have been notable—Janie was always in a hurry—but she made it an incident by flinching away from me as if I had cooties. Killer cooties.

  “Why are you here?” she gasped.

  “To check out books,” I replied. I could feel my eyes narrowing. I had what Robin called my “about to be mad” face on.

  “But weren’t you arrested?”

  I was genuinely confused. “I got robbed. Why would I be arrested?”

  “For that woman.”

  I spread my hands, to tell her she’d have to give me more information.

  “Since that woman … ah, died in your house.”

  I was exasperated and I didn’t try to hide it. But I kept my voice low, because I was in the library. “Janie, could you have worked with me even a week, and not known I would not kill someone? Can you possibly imagine that I would bash in someone’s skull? Also, the body wasn’t in our house, but in our backyard. Believe me, we’d like to know who killed Tracy just as much as everyone else. Maybe even more.”

  Janie seemed flustered by my counterattack, so she simply didn’t acknowledge it. She did a little sidestep to get around me with no touching (murder cooties!) and then she zoomed over to the door to the employees’ break room.

  I was disgusted to discover I was so angry there were tears in my eyes. It makes me even angrier when I feel the prickle of tears. It sends the wrong signal.

  I dabbed my eyes surreptitiously, kept my back straight, and finished picking out my books. I felt that every eye was on me, weighing my guilt or complicity in the death of Tracy Beal and the disappearance of Virginia Mitchell. I knew I’d been an innocent bystander, and I knew Robin had been in another state. Now I realized the gossip mill was grinding overtime.

  My dignity was intact when I put my books on the checkout desk. Perry said, “Don’t pay any attention to Janie. She’s a drama bitch, and she’s never been your fan.”

  “Why?” I asked, because I couldn’t stop. “I never did anything to her.” I winced when I heard myself whining like a child.

  “Robin,” Perry said, looking at me as if I should have known.

  “What about Robin?”

  “She wanted him. Famous novelist? Right up her alley.”

  “But he was already dating me when she began work here. I don’t believe he ever even looked in her direction.”

  “I think she’s starring in her own movie,” Perry said. “Everyone looks at the heroine.”

  “Huh. Well, sorry, Janie, but Robin is mine forever.” The idea of Janie being motivated by envy was (I’m ashamed to say) a real boost to my spirits.

  I was smiling when I got in my car, but I wasn’t a few minutes later when I picked up Robin’s suit at the dry cleaner’s. Mrs. Sung served me with great speed, as if she wanted me out of there. When I got cash from the ATM at my downtown bank, the drive-in teller was looking out her window with her eyes wide. I took the scenic route home, because it felt so good to be somewhere besides our house and the hospital.

  The shooting had not diverted public attention as much as I had hoped. I should have figured we’d come in for our share of suspicion.

  My childhood friend Amina was sitting in the park behind our little civic center. The moment I saw her, a memory I’d been groping for snapped into focus. I pulled into the parking area and walked over to Amina’s bench. She looked up when she saw me approaching, and pointed proudly to her daughter, who was going down the slide all by herself. Megan, now three, was adorable, with Amina’s clear complexion, shiny hair, and big smile. I was Megan’s godmother—and Amina’s friend—though my relationship with Amina had hit some speed bumps.

  I wasn’t sure my schoolmate was willing to put in the work to relaunch our friendship. It was time to find out.

  “Hi!” I called. Amina gave me a reserved sort of smile, but Megan waved with enthusiasm. “Miss Roe! Look at me!” After she went down the slide, she swung herself along the low monkey bars, three in a row.

  I was duly impressed. “You’re strong, Megan,” I said.

  “There’s Susie!” Megan ran over to play with her newly arrived friend at the sandpit. Susie’s mom sat down by the girls. I joined Amina on the bench, and for a moment I simply enjoyed the sun and the quiet.

  But I had to open the conversation, to begin to work my way around to my goal. “How are you doing, Amina? What’s the progress on the divorce?”

  “Hugh’s hired a lawyer from his firm, one who specializes in divorce litigation,” Amina said, her voice bitter.

  What else did you expect? “Did you think he’d do anything different?” I said, as gently as I could.

  “I hoped we could sign forms online and get it over with, for a couple of hundred bucks,” she said. “After all, I agreed to share custody of Megan with him, and I thought the alimony I asked for was reasonable.”

  I was doubtful that a couple could get a quick online divorce if
there were children or alimony involved, but what did I know? “I guess lawyers are allergic to filing cheap online forms,” I said. “What are you going to do?”

  “I’ve talked to Bryan Pascoe,” Amina said.

  “He’s got a great reputation. He’s who I’d go to.”

  “He said he was a friend of yours.”

  “That’s stretching it a little, but we’re friendly.” Bryan was sharp as a tack and very aggressive. He was exactly who Amina needed.

  “Megan, do not pick up that stick!” Amina yelled, so suddenly I jumped.

  Megan looked guilty and dropped the offending stick immediately. Susie’s mother looked up from her cell phone. “Sorry,” she called. “I’m putting it in my purse! Phones are an addiction!”

  Amina waved back in acknowledgment. “Got to watch out for sticks,” she said quietly. “Or…”

  “You’ll put an eye out,” we said simultaneously, and we laughed. That had been the standard opinion when we’d been young.

  “Do you think you’ll stay here in Lawrenceton?”

  “I haven’t decided,” Amina said heavily. She looked depressed. “I have help with Megan here. My mom just loves her to death, and now that Mom’s sold the shop she and Dad have a lot of time to spend with Megan. She’s got ’em wound around her little finger.” Amina’s smile looked both fond and proud.

  “Sure she does,” I murmured.

  Amina resumed her train of thought. “If I moved to Atlanta, I could get a good job at another legal firm. My former boss said he would give me a great recommendation. But that would be too far for my parents to commute to babysit every day. I’d have to put Megan in a day care, and that’s really expensive.”

  “Could you find a job locally?” I had no idea what the job market in Lawrenceton was like. I’d held the library job since I’d graduated from college, a long, long, time ago.

  “There’s an executive secretary job open at Pan-Am Agra and I’m really qualified for it,” Amina said. “And there’s day care there. As you know, of course.” Amina looked self-conscious. My first husband had instituted the day care. “I’m just not sure I want to become a small-town girl again.”

  I had nothing to say to that. If the choice had been mine, I would stay local in a second, especially with day care provided at my place of work. But that was me, and as I’d learned when I was pregnant, Amina and I were nothing alike any longer, if we’d ever been.

  I began carefully framing my next question, which had been my purpose when I’d seen Amina. But she forestalled me.

  “They find that Virginia Mitchell?” she said, so abruptly that I jumped a little.

  “Not yet.” So we were on-topic, unexpectedly, courtesy of Amina. “Your mom recommended Virginia to my mother, and I couldn’t remember how your mom had met her.”

  “Virginia specializes in new moms now, but she used to sit for the elderly, too,” Amina said. “For a while, Virginia sat full-time with Mimi Day.”

  Patricia Day (called “Mimi” by her descendants) had been a very exciting grandmother. She’d cursed in front of us children, she’d worn dangly earrings, and she’d smoked like a chimney. Volatile but funny, she’d been an exclamation point in my traditional childhood. I’d never met anyone like Mimi, who’d been married three times. I was sad when a stroke laid the grand old lady in bed forever.

  “I was a new widow then,” I said. “I guess that’s why I didn’t remember the details.” I’d dropped in to Miss Patricia’s house a couple of times, but the visits were hazy. I’d been too grieved to take on any more sorrow.

  “Right,” Amina said, and was silent for a moment to acknowledge my hard time. “Well, I couldn’t come too often, but I do remember Virginia. She was good with my grandmother, put up with all her bad language and temper. The boyfriend was the big problem.”

  “Your grandmother had a boyfriend?” I was startled. Sure, Miss Patricia had been a firecracker, but I’d hardly have thought …

  Amina laughed long and hard. “No, no! Virginia’s boyfriend!”

  “He came by the house? Or called her too much?”

  “He went to jail. It was a big drama.”

  I could sure understand that. “For what?”

  “Burglary, I think. From a toolshed, but it was expensive stuff. A circular saw, a jackhammer, things like that.”

  As far as I knew, my father had never lifted a finger to do a home repair, but I knew Amina’s father had. So I took her word for it that tools could be worth stealing.

  “And that was while Virginia was actually working for your grandmother?”

  “You bet. It was the most interesting thing that had happened to Mimi in a year. She ate it up.”

  “So what was Virginia’s reaction?”

  “She was really upset, of course. She went to bail him out, so she called my mother to sit with Mimi. I don’t know what happened after that.”

  “She came back to work, though?”

  “Yes. But after another month, Mimi died. So Virginia was out of a job. But my mom thought the world of the woman, and she gave her a good reference any time she was asked.”

  “Virginia’s mother told the police Virginia’d broken up with her boyfriend three months before,” I said. “I guess he’s out of jail?”

  Amina shrugged. “I have no idea. He had an old ‘movie’ name … maybe Harrison Ford? Like the Star Wars guy? Something like that.”

  I nodded, wondering how close she’d gotten to the correct name. I made myself remain five more minutes, talking about this and that, until I glanced at my watch and told Amina it was time to feed Sophie. “Come by to see her,” I said, and Amina looked pleased.

  “Megan loves babies,” she said. “Maybe we will.”

  Chapter Eighteen

  When I got home the maids had left. It was time to take care of Sophie. When that was done, I told Robin everything Amina had said. “Do you think the police know all this?” I asked him. “Because they haven’t said a word about the boyfriend except to say Mrs. Mitchell said they weren’t together anymore. Moms don’t always know.” I tried not to think about what that might mean for my future with Sophie.

  Robin didn’t get as excited as I’d thought he would. “The boyfriend may still be in jail,” he pointed out. “Or they may have truly broken up after the arrest. The police said so, right? That she’d dated some new men?”

  I was sure I’d learned a vital clue. I was reluctant to hear anything different. I turned to fill my glass with water. I had to remember to keep pouring the fluids in, since so much fluid was going out of me.

  “It would be great if we could know exactly what had happened, and where this guy is now,” Robin said. “I wish Amina had been more certain about his name. But since the police have Virginia’s phone, they’ll know if Virginia was still talking to this man. By the way, I had a strange phone call from the program chair at the Uppity Women club.”

  My face flamed. “Strange? How so?” I was an Uppity Woman, though my life hadn’t permitted me to attend the last few meetings. Up until this moment, I’d been proud to be part of a group of openly active, smart, and assertive women, a revolutionary basis for a club when it had been founded.

  I could only think of one reason the program chair would call: to cancel Robin’s talk. I had to fight the impulse to track down the women involved and beat them up. I was snarling inside with rage at the very idea. When I was sure my voice would be normal, I said, “Why did she call?”

  “She called to emphasize the fact that I was very welcome to come to the club to speak. As if I’d heard otherwise.”

  Enormously relieved, I downed a large glass of water and took Sophie back to her changing table. Her face was so innocent, so guileless. I felt like a traitor for thinking about anything but her. “Sophie, your mom and dad are between a rock and a hard place,” I told her. “But don’t worry, we’re going to come out of it okay.”

  With Sophie settled on the kitchen island in her infant seat, Robin and I
ate tuna salad and three-bean salad for lunch, with a sleeve of Ritz crackers lying on the counter between us. Robin abandoned thinking about Virginia Mitchell’s (possible) boyfriend to descend deep into book-thought, so he didn’t say much while we ate. That left me free to read the newspaper. After we’d finished, Robin cleaned away the leftovers and shot off to his office. I put Sophie to bed, and then I returned to wipe off the island.

  I picked up one of my library books with a sense of happy anticipation. The novel was so immediately intriguing I was startled when the doorbell rang. Who now?

  Then I remembered that the Spartan Shield representative was supposed to give us an estimate for an alarm system plan. “Robin, the security people are here,” I called as I went to the door. I felt this was his project, so he should be on hand to answer questions.

  Robin was obviously excited and interested about this new toy, and he was halfway to the door when I opened it.

  “Mr. Petrosian!” I was dumbfounded to recognize the coroner, now wearing a khaki shirt with a golden shield on the left side of the chest and “Arnie” embroidered on the right.

  Robin looked from Arnie to me.

  “Robin, Mr. Petrosian is also the coroner,” I explained. “He was here the other night.”

  There was an interesting moment while Robin absorbed this startling fact.

  “Please call me Arnie,” Petrosian said. He stepped forward with a smile and a handshake for both of us. “Being the coroner is only a part-time job. Installing security systems is what I do for a living.”

  “I guess it ties in together,” I said.

  Robin said, “Arnie, tell me what you think we need. Under the circumstances, I know we don’t have to explain why we want the system.”

  “First I’m going to have a look at your house, your grounds, your windows and doors, and then we’ll sit down to talk about what you really need,” Arnie said briskly. “Anybody else in the house? I don’t want to walk in and scare someone.”

  “The baby,” I said. “She’s asleep in her room, the last one on the right down the hall.”

  “I won’t wake your little girl, I promise,” Arnie said, with a gleaming white smile as he began making a circuit of the doors and windows. We seemed to have an abundance of both; I’d never remarked on that before.