After pizza and Coca-Cola, consumed around the big coffee table in the living room, talking of everything else but, the children entertained us with a corrupted version of Monopoly. Even though they made up their own rules, which the boys kept changing to benefit themselves, it was Julie, I noticed with satisfaction, who ended up owning all the railroads, with hotels on both Boardwalk and Park Place. Paul eventually settled the kids in the basement recreation room with a bag of videos he had rented from Blockbuster, while the grown-ups waited upstairs for news from Scott. Mother sat in an upholstered Queen Anne armchair and kept trying to smile and make small talk-“I think the garden is going to be lovely once I get my roses in”-while Daddy busied himself between mugs of coffee by taking books out of boxes and arranging them in order by size on the bookshelves. How much coffee could my father drink before his blue eyes turned brown, I wondered.
Sitting next to Paul on the sofa, I threw out conversational tidbits-jokes I had read on the Internet-that glowed, then quickly died, like sparks from a campfire.
My mother laid aside the magazine she had been flipping through without actually reading anything in it. “Why doesn’t Scott call? He’s got to know that we’re worried sick.”
“I guess he’s got a lot on his mind right now, Mom.”
“But you’d think he’d at least check in to make sure the children are OK.”
“He knows the children are OK. They’re here with us.”
Mother sighed. “I suppose so.” She chewed on her thumbnail, a habit she had recently acquired when she finally gave up a two-pack-a-day cigarette habit.
I didn’t think I could stand one more minute of not knowing. I had to do something. Anything. Surprised I hadn’t thought of this before, I excused myself, went into the kitchen, and picked up the phone. My sister-in-law’s boyfriend, Dennis Rutherford, was a Chesapeake County police officer. Although Chesapeake was several counties to the south of Annapolis, I was convinced Dennis would have an inside track with his colleagues up in Baltimore. But Dennis wasn’t home. Disappointed, I left a detailed message, then rejoined the family broodfest.
When the phone finally rang, it wasn’t Dennis, just somebody selling a lawn care service. Mother screamed into the receiver, “We don’t want any!” slammed it back into the cradle, and burst into tears. Dad stood by the fireplace with a book in each hand, staring helplessly at his sobbing wife.
It was Paul who saved the day. “C’mon, Lois. I’m taking you shopping.”
Mother and I always enjoyed a little retail therapy now and then, but this was a new role for Paul.
Mother pulled a fresh tissue from the box on her lap, dabbed at her eyes, and looked up doubtfully. “Where to?”
Paul shrugged, palms up. “Home Depot?” The giant do-it-yourself store would carry many of the items on Mother’s list, things she needed for the house, such as towel bars, curtain rods, and lightbulbs. I was amazed at what the previous owners had taken away with them. My parents had been operating for almost a week without toilet-paper holders. First things first. No wonder Mother had sent Ruth and her dandy little mirrors and wind chimes packing.
After Paul had helped Mother into her coat and the door had slammed shut behind them, Daddy flipped on the TV, and we caught the five o’clock news. The anchorman on Channel Two, with hair so sculptured his hairdresser deserved a line in the scrolling credits, didn’t tell us anything we didn’t already know. Dr. Sturges had fallen or been pushed over the balcony during an apparent struggle. Robbery had been ruled out. The police were still waiting for the medical examiner’s report. My father must have been listening to the broadcast, although his eyes weren’t on the TV. Suddenly, the pile of books he was holding teetered, then collapsed into a heap on the floor. “Dammit to hell!” he muttered, just loud enough for me to hear. Without picking anything up, he left the room, smack dab in the middle of the report. “I don’t want to hear it.”
I watched, puzzled, as he threaded his way through a maze of packing boxes on his way to the kitchen. What had upset him? Something the reporter had said? Or maybe he was just sick to death of unpacking books and wired from too much caffeine. Whatever, I was relieved when he returned a few minutes later looking normal and holding a cold bottle of beer. Coffee and beer. Uppers and downers for the masses. Daddy perched on the arm of the sofa and took a long drink, then turned his attention to the TV. But now the reporter had moved on to describe a fire that was burning out of control in a warehouse near Fells Point. Daddy grunted.
“They didn’t mention anything about Georgina, Daddy.”
He set his beer down on top of the Capital. I watched as the moisture from the bottle slowly soaked into the newspaper. “That little girl doesn’t have her head screwed on straight, but there’s no way in hell she could have killed anybody. What can the police be thinking?”
They’re thinking they don’t like to be lied to. I didn’t tell Daddy about that. I couldn’t predict how he’d take the news that I ratted on Georgina. If he found out about it later, it wouldn’t be from me.
Leaving the TV playing on low volume, I helped Dad unpack books, fighting the old librarian’s urge to put them in alphabetical order by author and title. Size is good. So is color. I rearranged a shelf so all the blue bindings were together, then ended the row with a two-volume set of yellow-bound essays. The complete works of Patrick O’Brian, my father’s favorite novelist, went on the next shelf down. I left him to check on the children from time to time, finding them happily eating popcorn and watching The Lion King for the umpteenth time.
When the doorbell rang, I was thumbing through an ancient paperback copy of Thunderball. I rushed to the door, thinking it might be Dennis, but the officer with her index finger on the button wasn’t Dennis. She was Sergeant Williams, with her partner, Detective Duvall. It didn’t compute. What the hell were they doing here in Annapolis?
Suddenly I panicked. “Where’s my sister? Has something happened to Georgina?”
Officer Williams didn’t answer. “May we come in, Mrs. Ives?”
I stood in the doorway like a stone fool, one hand grasping the doorknob, the other balled into a tight fist. My heart was pounding. Something must be wrong with Georgina! I took a ragged breath. “Not until you tell me why you’re here.”
Officer Williams shifted her weight from one foot to the other, then ran her short, stubby fingers through her light brown hair. “There’s no need to worry. Your sister’s fine, under the circumstances. We sent her home with her husband over an hour ago.”
An hour ago? I couldn’t believe Scott hadn’t called. What a selfish clod!
I continued to block the door. “Then why are you here?”
“We’d like to talk to your father.”
Daddy appeared suddenly at my shoulder. “What about?” The deep, confident voice that had caused many a young sailor to quake in his deck shoes had no perceivable effect on this lady. She didn’t even blink.
“Is there someplace we can go where we won’t be interrupted?”
That was odd. It wouldn’t have surprised me if they’d come to talk to me after everything I’d blabbed to Officer Williams. But Daddy? What could they want with him? I glanced quickly at my father, hoping for a clue. He looked bewildered and didn’t answer right away, so I blurted out, “We can go to the kitchen, I suppose.” I tugged on his arm.
My father led the officers down the hall with me following close behind. Once in the kitchen, Daddy leaned against the dishwasher and waved the officers toward the table. “Have a seat.”
Officer Duvall turned to me and drawled, “We’d like to speak to your father alone.”