“That’s my opinion, too. I just don’t get it.”
“Maybe we’re just too middle-class?”
I laughed. “Maybe so, Melinda. Maybe so.”
I called my house to see if Phillip had returned. When he didn’t answer, I called the Finstermeyers and got Josh’s mom, Beth.
“We were just trying to call you,” she said. “Listen, would it be all right if I took the boys Christmas shopping with me? The Bodine mall is having all kinds of after-Thanksgiving sales, and with these two guys for bodyguards, I thought I might come out of it alive. I’d have them back by seven or eight tonight.”
“Sure, that’s fine with me.” Phillip seemed to be really clicking with Josh. I felt quite pleased about that. “Um, could I speak to Phillip for a minute?”
“Sure.”
“Hey, Sis.” Phillip’s voice was deeper and more relaxed than I remembered it.
“Listen, Phillip, do you have enough money for a trip to the mall?”
“Well, I am sort of broke.”
“On your way out of town, why don’t you swing by Poppy’s house-Mrs. Finstermeyer will know where that is-and I’ll spot you some cash.”
“Thanks!” Phillip sounded quite enthusiastic. “Oh, and Roe? When I went to your house to get my coat, I saw you had a few messages on the answering machine. I didn’t listen to them, because I was in a big hurry.”
“Thanks back at you,” I told him. “I’ll check them before too long.”
In a few minutes, I’d handed Phillip the entire contents of my billfold, and Melinda and I went back to work.
Two hours later, we were tired and rumpled. Melinda had started sneezing from breathing so much dust. And we had found only one more memento, a stained male bikini. When I held it up, Melinda said, “I don’t even want to think about that.” I could not have agreed more. I dropped the shiny black thing right into the garbage bag-the third one we’d filled with the odd trash that everyone accumulates. Melinda and I were just not capable of returning 1998 sales slips, old tissues, and outdated catalogs to their original places, especially since we had no idea where those places had been.
We lifted the bare mattress and the box spring, we checked under the bed, and we shifted all the furniture slightly. We looked over, under, and inside everything.
After a vacuuming and a final look around, Melinda and I agreed that the bedroom was cleaner and more orderly than it had been before someone came into the house on Tuesday. For our grand finale, we remade the bed. The police had taken the linens to the lab.
We trailed wearily downstairs and sat at the table beside the glass doors. With the stained rug gone and all trace of the blood removed, it was a lot easier to forget what had happened on this spot. Since John David had never seen Poppy’s body, I hoped he might be able to tolerate staying in the house.
“I wish we could tell some of the other Uppity Women what we’re looking for. They’d help us,” Melinda said.
“Yeah, it’s too bad we can’t tap into that energy,” I said, leaning my head on my folded arms. I could not remember ever having felt so tired in my life. I must be getting old, I thought, to let some housecleaning exhaust me to such an extent. “But it would defeat the purpose of us searching if we let everyone in on why we needed to do it.”
“Listen. Cara Embler’s out swimming. In this weather!” Melinda shivered. It had turned into a raw day, and Cara was either dedicated or an utter fool to be out swimming in the cold, wet air.
“Better her than me,” I muttered. “You know she’s going to be the next Uppity Woman?”
“Oh?”
“Yes, she was next on the list after Poppy.”
“And she’s so energetic.”
“All that exercise. She has to do something to keep busy, since she doesn’t work, I guess.”
“I’m glad Avery isn’t a doctor. They’re gone so much. Swimming is lots better than eating when you’re lonely, like I do.” Melinda cast a disparaging eye down at her own somewhat-rounded stomach.
“You look great to me.”
“Well, I can hardly fit into the size I was wearing before I had Charles,” Melinda said frankly. She was punching buttons on the phone. “I have to check in at home.”
I was left staring at a wedding picture of John David and Poppy. I tried to imagine maintaining a marriage so screwed up that the partners would not be interested in each other’s infidelity. My mother had certainly cared when my father had been unfaithful. Boy, had she cared! Though they would never have fought in front of me, I’d been a teen, and I’d been aware of the thick tension in our house.
I recalled John David crying that morning in the motel room, and I tried to grasp what people could do to each other short of killing each other. In the background, I heard Melinda’s voice as she talked to her baby-sitter, her laughter as the girl probably passed along something cute Marcy had said.
My mind wandered back to the previous Monday, the day of Poppy’s death. My phone call from her, our conversation. How irritated Melinda and I had been with our sister-in-law.
Our drive over to Swanson Lane, my march into the house. The unlocked front door.
I wondered if Poppy usually kept it locked, or if her mother had surprised her by just walking in. My eyes opened wide as I considered this new idea. Why had Sandy picked that particular time to try to retrieve the letter? It had been dated a year and half ago. That meant that when Poppy had been pregnant, she had demanded that letter from her father in exchange for-what? Marvin’s never seeing his grandchild? Poppy wouldn’t have known then that she’d have a boy.
Okay, back to the basic memory, I told myself. The front door had been open. I had walked in. I had called up the stairs. I had walked up the stairs. The shower had been dry, so I’d known Poppy had been out of it for a while. The room had been neat; the bed had been made. The closet door had been shut. I could even picture my feet moving downstairs in those shoes, my favorites. Then I’d seen Moosie, right? (Who was still missing, incidentally. I made a mental note to check on that.)
The cat had stropped my ankles, then run ahead of me into the kitchen. I’d felt the cold air keenly, the closer I got to the back of the house. When I’d come into the kitchen and looked over the breakfast bar to my left, I’d seen the glass door open.
I hadn’t been able to see Poppy’s body until I’d come around the end of the breakfast bar with its high stools. There was Poppy’s body, sprawled on the floor. She lay half in and half out the door, partially on the rug under the dining table, partially on the linoleum. I’d heard Cara splashing in the pool. I’d looked out into the backyard, over Poppy’s body, and seen the concrete around Poppy’s own pool dotted with darker water stains. Looked down again at Poppy, horribly dead, her hands… I had to gulp back my nausea.
Could Sandy Wynn have done that to her own daughter?
The older I got, the less I seemed able to understand or predict the behavior of those around me. Instead of gaining wisdom, so that people seemed simpler, I learned more about the complexity of human nature.
“So, what do you think?” Melinda’s voice made me jump.
“I think that we’ve probably found everything there is to find,” I said. “I may be wrong, and if I am, there’ll be hell to pay. We didn’t find anything of Arthur’s, for example, and we know he was one of Poppy’s lovers. Maybe that means he was already here, searching. Maybe he’s the one who trashed the bedroom. Maybe he just wouldn’t let her photograph him, or he was too alert for her to risk taking some little memento. Or maybe that black underwear was his.” Melinda and I wore matching expressions of disgust as we considered that.
“You sure he wasn’t the one in the, you know, the picture with Poppy?” She carefully found something else to look at while I tried to remember. It wasn’t that Arthur had looked awful naked-quite the contrary-but I just couldn’t remember. There hadn’t been anything outstanding in the pertinent department.