Unbreathed Memories Page 4

  “In a fall off her balcony.” Officer Duvall cleared his throat. “That’s why we’d like to talk to your wife. We understand she had an appointment with the doctor yesterday afternoon.”

  “Surely the fall was an accident.”

  Officer Duvall started to say something, but Sergeant Williams cut him off. “The case is still under investigation.”

  “My wife would hardly have had anything to do with Diane’s death. Diane was the thread that kept Georgina tethered to reality.” Scott’s voice was edged with concern.

  “There’s no need to get upset, Mr. Cardinale. We’re talking to all her patients.” Sergeant Williams’s voice oozed Southern comfort.

  “You don’t understand, Officer. This news is going to come as a great shock to my wife. She’s not at all well. I’m afraid this may send her right over the edge.”

  “May we speak to your wife, sir?” Sergeant Williams addressed my brother-in-law as if he were a second-grader.

  “Like Hannah said, she’s still asleep.”

  “Then I’m afraid you’ll have to wake her up.”

  “I’d rather not.”

  “Most people would rather not deal with the police, Mr. Cardinale, but my partner and I are here. Your wife’s here. So the way I see it, she can cooperate with us now, or talk to the grand jury later. Her choice.”

  “How did you find out my wife was a patient of Dr. Sturges’s, anyway? I thought a doctor’s files were supposed to be confidential.”

  “Dr. Sturges kept her appointments on a computer,” Officer Duvall explained. “We have all her patients’ names and telephone numbers.”

  “Duvall!” Sergeant Williams’s voice had a sharp, elbow-in-the-ribs edge to it. Duvall will get his knuckles rapped good for letting that bit of information slip out, I thought.

  Scott grunted and the chair springs creaked a warning as he stood up. I scurried toward the kitchen, where he found me seconds later noisily tapping used coffee grounds into the trash from a gold-mesh filter. “The kids are fine,” I told him, having absolutely no idea whether they were or not. They could have been building campfires in the middle of their bedrooms and I wouldn’t have known.

  Scott smiled wearily when he saw what I was doing. “Make that a big pot, Hannah. I think we’re going to need it.”

  I filled the coffeemaker with enough water for twelve cups, my hands shaking. Why had Scott lied to the police about yesterday? More importantly, what was I going to do about it? I opened several cupboards before I remembered that Georgina kept the mugs in the cabinet over the microwave. I picked out five at random and set them on a hand-painted tray. As I opened the refrigerator looking for the milk, I realized that if the police had the doctor’s computerized files, there was no need for me to volunteer the calendar pages that Georgina had stolen. I could save her that embarrassment, at least. I found the milk easily—two gallon jugs stood on the bottom shelf—and only spilled half a cup on the counter when I tried to transfer a small amount of the liquid into a pitcher. From a glass canister on the counter, I filled the sugar bowl and set it on the tray with several spoons and a handful of paper napkins. Should I tell the police what I know? Should I tell them now? I decided to wait and see what Georgina had to say.

  I was serving coffee to the two officers when Scott arrived a few minutes later with Georgina in tow. Literally. He held her hand and dragged her into the living room behind him. She wore a long, plush bathrobe, loosely belted, and her slippers were on the wrong feet. Her glorious hair was caught behind her head in a careless ponytail with a fat red rubber band. She looked sleepy and confused, as if she had awakened in a strange hotel room in a foreign city where everyone was speaking Hungarian. Scott led her to the chair he had recently vacated and held on to her hand until she was comfortably seated. Then he perched beside her on the arm of the chair. “Georgina, these people are from the police. They want to talk to you about Dr. Sturges.”

  Georgina looked from Sergeant Williams to Officer Duvall with wide, frightened eyes. Her lips formed a tight line and she shook her head back and forth like a reluctant child.

  “I’ve explained to my wife that her doctor is dead,” Scott said. “I’m afraid she’s in shock.”

  Georgina stared at her hands, which were folded tightly together in her lap.

  “Tell them what you told me, honey.” Scott’s voice was soft, almost a whisper. His big hand reached out to envelop hers.

  Georgina glanced from my face to her husband’s and back again, as if she were watching a tennis match.

  “Come on, baby.”

  Georgina bowed her head and gazed up at her husband through lowered lashes. When she spoke, it was to Sergeant Williams. “I went for my regular appointment at three. It was at three, wasn’t it, honey?”

  “Yes, at three. I drove you there myself.”

  “I opened the door, went up the stairs, and sat down on the couch like always. But she never came.” Big tears coursed down my sister’s pale cheeks. “Diane never came.”

  “Did you notice anything unusual while you were waiting for the doctor, Mrs. Cardinale?” Officer Duvall leaned forward, his elbows resting on his knees.

  Georgina shook her head.

  “Anybody coming or going?”

  “No.”

  “What did you do when the doctor didn’t show up?”

  “Walked.”

  “Walked? Walked where?”

  Georgina raised her head. “Home, like I always do.” She glared at me as if daring me to contradict her. I was beginning to suspect she wasn’t as out of it as she seemed.

  I opened my mouth to reply, then thought better of it.

  “Walking relaxes her,” Scott volunteered. “Sometimes if it’s been a difficult session, she’ll call me for a pickup, but this time, she walked.”

  Now Scott was lying, too. I couldn’t figure out what was going on. Why was Georgina afraid to mention that she had discovered the doctor’s body? True, we had run off without calling 911, but that wasn’t a crime. Not that I knew of, anyway. Besides, we had made that call. Eventually.

  I was leaning back against the mantelpiece digesting all this when it suddenly came to me. My God! Scott must think Georgina did it!

  Georgina began to sob, shoulders shaking. I reached out to smooth her hair while Scott sat silently, holding her hand in both of his. “I think my wife needs to go back to bed now, Officers. She’s on medication.”

  Officer Duvall set his coffee mug down on the tray and stood up. “Fine. But we will want to talk to her again later.”

  Scott led a dazed Georgina away, leaving me alone with the officers and in a fine pickle. I knew I had to say something, but was paralyzed with indecision. I had been at the scene, after all, and I hadn’t been wearing rubber gloves. It would be hard to explain away my fingerprints if I didn’t tell them what I knew about Georgina.

  I began to gather up the dirty mugs.

  “Here, let me help you with that.” Sergeant Williams slipped her notebook into the pocket of her blazer and picked up the tray.

  “Uh, thanks.”

  Sergeant Williams followed me to the kitchen. As we passed the TV room, I could hear the blare of early-morning cartoons. I peeked in. Sean and Dylan lay on my unmade bed, chins cupped in their hands, watching Spider-Man. Julie sat cross-legged on the floor, drinking juice from a sippy pack, Abigail Rabbit resting between her knees.

  “The children should be getting ready for school,” I said.

  “It’s Saturday,” Sergeant Williams reminded me.

  I slapped my forehead with my palm. “So it is! All this has got me completely discombobulated.”

  In the kitchen Sergeant Williams set the tray down next to the sink, then leaned against the counter. “I’ve been watching you,” she said, “and I have the feeling there’s something you’re wanting to tell me.”

  I was dizzy with relief. “That obvious, huh?”

  She nodded. “I could see the war going on all over your face.�
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  I paced back and forth between the stove and the refrigerator. “I don’t know quite how to put this …”

  Sergeant Williams simply stared at me, breathing evenly. I watched the gold necklace she wore move slightly with each throb of the pulse at her throat. I’d read about this technique. Keep your mouth shut and the suspect will keep talking just to fill the void.

  It worked. My brain churned through the silence, worrying about my sister, who appeared determined to paint herself into a corner with lies she’d never be able to explain away once the truth became known. I was little Miss Goody Two-shoes, about to spill the beans. Tough love, Hannah. You’ll have to do it.

  “I’m afraid my sister didn’t tell you the full truth just now.” My stomach lurched. I paused to take a deep breath, stalling for time. I wanted to put what we had done in the best possible light. “Georgina called me from Dr. Sturges’s in hysterics,” I babbled. “When I got there, we saw Dr. Sturges lying on the rocks. I was going to dial nine-one-one, but Georgina panicked and ran away. I found her by my car. After I managed to calm her down, we called nine-one-one from a nearby pizza place.”

  “What time was this?” As if she didn’t know.

  “About five o’clock.”

  Sergeant Williams made a notation in her notebook. “If your sister’s appointment was at three, that means she was alone in the doctor’s office for two hours.”

  “It took me almost an hour to get there.”

  “An hour?”

  “I live in Annapolis.”

  Sergeant Williams raised a suspicious eyebrow. “Why didn’t she call her husband?”

  I shrugged. “He was watching the children.”

  Sergeant Williams slipped her ballpoint pen into her purse. “Thank you for telling me, ma’am. I know how difficult it must be for you.”

  “I honestly can’t figure out why Georgina didn’t tell you about this in the first place. She didn’t commit any crime.”

  Sergeant Williams’s face gave nothing away, so what she said next took me completely by surprise. “You’re not going to like this, but we’ll need to take your sister down to the station for questioning.”

  Tears pricked the corners of my eyes. “Oh, God! Please don’t tell her you learned anything from me! She’ll never forgive me.” I felt like Judas Iscariot.

  “I realize your sister’s not well. We’ll make it as easy on her as possible. We’ll need to take her fingerprints anyway, for purposes of elimination.”

  “But Georgina’s fingerprints will be all over the place! She visits Dr. Sturges two times a week.”

  “Then they won’t turn up where they shouldn’t,” she said reasonably. “Now, would you call your brother-in-law for me, please, Mrs. …?”

  I filled in the blank. “Ives. Hannah Ives.” When she asked, I gave her my address and telephone number. I felt like a worm. A low-down, sludge-crawling, big-mouthed, mud-eating worm.

  I found Scott in the bedroom holding a glass of water for Georgina, who sat on the edge of the bed in her nightgown, knocking back pills. In another thirty minutes she’d be a zombie. Good luck getting anything out of her then, Sergeant Williams! I told Scott the police needed to speak to him again. I didn’t say about what. Then I skulked away to hide out in the TV room with the children.

  “Hi, Aunt Hannah.” Sean looked up as I entered, but Dylan’s eyes remained glued to the TV set where an armada of cartoon tanks was flattening an invading army of robot mice. The sound track was deafening.

  “What’cha watching, kids?” I shouted.

  “Some stupid boy show.” Julie had laid Abby aside and was using blunt-nosed scissors to cut pictures out of an old National Geographic magazine. At least I hoped it was an old one.

  “Can I help you, Julie?”

  “Grown-ups don’t like to cut out.”

  “This grown-up does.”

  She grinned and handed me the scissors. I was in the middle of trimming neatly around the whiskers of a satin-eyed baby harp seal when my brother-in-law’s voice exploded behind me.

  “You are not going to take my wife with you!”

  The children, lost in their own worlds, appeared oblivious.

  “I’ll be right back, kids.” I backed out of the den, pulling the folding doors shut behind me.

  Georgina and Scott stood in the hallway just outside the kitchen. Still in her nightgown, Georgina shrank against the wall while Scott stood protectively between his nearly comatose wife and Sergeant Williams.

  “I’m afraid we are, sir. You may come with her, if you want.”

  “If I want? Of course I want! And I’m going to call my lawyer, too.”

  “That is your prerogative.”

  Scott faced Georgina, took her by the shoulders, and spoke to her softly. I didn’t hear what he said. My sister nodded mutely. With Scott’s arm around her, they shuffled into the bedroom, emerging five minutes later with Georgina dressed in a loose-fitting pair of tan slacks, a red cable-knit sweater, and clean, white tennis shoes. His hand rested lightly on her back as he guided her down the hall.

  Suddenly Scott seemed to notice me. At first he looked puzzled and I panicked, thinking it might have occured to him who was responsible for Sergeant Williams changing her mind about questioning Georgina at the police station. But the puzzlement quickly evaporated, to be replaced with wide-eyed distress.

  “The children!” Scott’s face was flushed; he wiped his forehead with his hand. Tears pooled in his eyes. “What about the children?”

  I rushed to his side. “Scott! Don’t worry. I’ll take care of the kids.” I hugged him hard and he clung to me, breathing heavily and raggedly into my hair. He kissed my forehead. Then he kissed Georgina and watched, grief-stricken, as she was escorted down the front walk to the officers’ car. He followed in his burgundy SUV, reversing out of the drive in a spray of gravel and squealing tires.

  I watched from the front porch, the door standing half open behind me, until both vehicles disappeared over the hill at Church Lane. When I turned, Dylan and Sean stood framed in the doorway. “They’re taking Mommy to jail!” Dylan wailed. His brother’s lower lip trembled and he, too, burst into tears.

  “That’s nothing,” Julie proclaimed, elbowing her way between the boys. She laid her cheek against the sparse fur of her toy rabbit. “Abby’s been to jail hundreds of times.”

  chapter

  4

  “Julie! Where’s your hairbrush?” I was helping the children pack a few of their belongings and had given them each a plastic grocery bag from Giant to put them in.

  “I want my suitcase,” declared Dylan.

  “Me, too. The red one.” Sean slouched in the doorway of the bedroom he shared with his brother, pouting.

  “I have no idea where your suitcases are, kids. Besides, we’re just going to be gone for a little while. Maybe only one night.”

  Sean folded his arms across his chest. “I don’t want to go.”

  “Me, neither,” Dylan agreed.

  “You are silly boys,” announced Julie. “Granddaddy has a pool table.” That seemed to make all the difference. Julie, I decided, had a future in politics.

  I left the boys arguing over which of their Star Wars action figures to pack in their bags while I wandered into my sister’s bedroom. I told myself I was searching for a hairbrush for Julie, but to be honest, I was snooping. As I expected, the room was a mess. The clothes Georgina had worn the day before were heaped in a corner next to the dirty clothes hamper, as if someone with very poor aim had tossed them there. A dresser drawer stood open; another drawer had been hastily closed over some item of clothing, probably the corner of a T-shirt. Compulsively, I picked up the scattered clothing and laid it on the bed, then looked around the room for the missing hairbrush. I was about to give up when something caught my attention, propped up on my sister’s side of the bed between the box springs and the leg of her bedside table—a framed photograph of Georgina at the age of three. I recognized the pose. I
t was from a snapshot of us girls Dad took for our Christmas postcard the last year we lived in Sicily. But Georgina had cropped Ruth and me out of the picture altogether and blown herself up to a fuzzy eight-by-ten. I tried not to feel annoyed.

  I studied the picture and was struck by how much Julie now resembled her mother at that age. I stroked the smooth mahogany of the frame with my fingers. The kids had certainly been handling the picture, poor little tykes. I hadn’t seen picture glass so smudgy with fingerprints since my photograph of Paul McCartney, the love of my life in junior high school.

  I placed Georgina’s picture between a lamp and an alarm clock on her bedside table, then made a valiant stab at tidying up the rest of the room, but the clutter of soaps, cleansers, cosmetics, and vials of prescription drugs from three or four different doctors defeated me and I moved on to the less personal and more familiar territory of the family room and kitchen. While the kids took their sweet time packing, I folded up the hide-abed, reduced the scattered magazines to a single pile on the coffee table, moved the children’s breakfast dishes from the sink to the dishwasher, and gave the kitchen table and countertops a badly needed swipe with a damp rag. Around eleven, I got the house locked, the kids loaded into the car, and my Le Baron headed east around I-695 toward Annapolis. On car trips when we were small, my sisters and I used to dream up irreverent lyrics to “Over the River and Through the Woods to Grandmother’s House We Go,” until Daddy, laughing, would threaten to pull over and leave us by the side of the road. Kids haven’t changed all that much. While I drove, Sean and Dylan lounged on one side of the backseat and butchered “Grandma Got Run Over by a Reindeer,” while Julie, belted in behind me with Abby, pretended to ignore her brothers and wondered aloud why we couldn’t put the top on my convertible down.

  “It’s winter,” I told her. “There’s snow on the ground.”

  “The sun’s out,” she said, reasonably.

  “It’s too cold.”

  “You could put the heater on.”

  I took my eyes off the beltway traffic for a second and looked at her in the rearview mirror. “I could, but our heads would freeze off.”