Collapsible Page 9

  “Probably happier,” Ann told Lynn, “since clams don’t have any arms.” She paused. “I don’t think.”

  “That’s different!” Rachel exclaimed, almost choking. “You and Alex met after he was already out of college, so it doesn’t seem weird!”

  “It was a little weird.” Lynn said, smiling, her eyes looking off into the middle distance. “He was young then, and looked even younger. People used to ask us if he was my nephew. And my mom almost fainted when I brought him home to meet her. She said he looked like Opie.” Lynn laughed. “Which he did.” She waved her hand through the air as if to brush all argument aside. “But that kind of stuff only matters if you let it.”

  Rachel felt the pressing need to set something straight. “Your theory’s wrong. I have no feelings for Lee in that way.” She took up her silverware again, but more for the need to do something with her hands than anything else. She stabbed her fork into her eggs with more force than necessary, considering that they were eggs. The fork scoured across the plate with an uncomfortable shriek. Diners at surrounding tables turned to look. Rachel slowly put down her silverware.

  “Fair enough,” Ann said mildly. “Just remember that you’re only speaking for yourself, though. Our theory isn’t that you like him. It’s that he likes you.” When Rachel fixed her with a furious glare, Ann held up both hands as if to fend off an attack. “I’m just saying!”

  “Well stop ‘just saying.’”

  Ann snorted. “Quit being so dramatic.”

  “Rachel,” Lynn soothed. “It’s OK. We just thought that one of us should say something.”

  “No,” Ann shook her head. “You thought one of us should say something. I thought it would be pointless to bring it up.” She gestured lazily toward Rachel as if she were a poorly-trained zoo animal. “You see what she’s like.”

  “You guys are ridiculous,” Rachel said grumpily.

  “We’re ridiculous?” Ann challenged. “You’re the one who spent her whole Friday afternoon on the phone convincing people that you’re a lunatic.”

  ~*~

  On Sunday, Rachel stayed home from church. She was tired from cleaning all weekend, her back hurt, and she dreaded being further stalked by Call-Me-Matt, who was sure to ask her how she liked the roses.

  “You missed a good sermon on the healing of Blind Bartimaeus,” Ann said when she came home.

  “Was Matt there?” Rachel asked.

  “He was. He wore a three-piece suit.”

  “He did not.”

  “He did. And he carried a giant Bible.”

  “How giant?”

  “Pulpit-sized.”

  “Oh my word.”

  “I know.”

  “Did you ask him how he got our address?”

  “Are you insane? He doesn’t even know who I am.”

  “Oh, right. Maybe Lynn asked him.”

  “I’ll ask again. Are you insane?”

  Rachel leaned her head against the sofa cushions and sighed. She looked across the room at the vase of drooping roses sitting on the counter. Surely by next Sunday, she would have worked out exactly what she was going to say to Matt that would convince him once and for all that his pursuit of her was pointless. Then everything could go back to normal. She would be able to concentrate on the real problems in her life, such as how she was going to survive the rest of the school year and the upcoming move without the ability to walk, and whether or not she was going to be murdered in her bed.

  And Matt would go back to being just another person she met one time in a waiting room.

  ~*~

  That night, Rachel woke to repeated pings from her phone, which for some reason she had forgotten to silence before sleep. She rolled over without turning on the light, squinting blearily at the over-bright blue glow of the screen in the dark room. As the words slowly swam into focus, she bolted upright. The alert on the Memento Killer had suddenly kicked into overdrive.

  Sarafina Monroe, 42, reported missing over two weeks ago, had finally been found. Although her house was still being searched and her family members interviewed, news outlets were already speculating that she could be the Memento Killer’s latest victim. Her body had finally been discovered in an abandoned car along a dark stretch of State Road 47, the long straps of her handbag knotted firmly around her neck.

  13

  By some miracle, Ann and Rachel had the apartment packed, emptied, and cleaned by May 1. It wasn’t exactly a miracle. Lee had stopped by one afternoon to clean the blades of the ceiling fans and wipe down the top shelves in the kitchen, since nobody trusted Rachel to perch one-legged on top of a step ladder. Sharon Day had offered to come over and help several times, but Rachel knew she was just offering to be polite; even if that weren’t the case, Rachel still would have turned her down. She didn’t feel that she could handle any more of Sharon’s stammering and blinky-eyed astonishment than she already endured every afternoon during car line.

  Lynn and Alex pitched in, of course, as did Ethan. Everyone agreed that Rachel’s books were the biggest hassle.

  “My back can only take so much,” Ann complained. Given Ann’s physique, this may have been an exaggeration. Still, Rachel admitted that everyone had a point with their complaints. She worked hard to share the load. She resorted to filling gift bags and plastic bags, praying that the sharp corners would not tear through the sides. Early on, she’d discovered that packing many small bags instead of only a few large boxes in the course of a packing session gave her a distinct sense of accomplishment. Best of all, once the small bags were packed, she could move them by herself. She accomplished this by working the bag’s handles around her wrists—two bags at a time, of course, for counterweight—before jamming her crutches under her armpits and lurching to her feet.

  She lost count of the number of times she crutched back and forth from the apartment to the truck, bags of books knocking against the crutches. But at least she felt busy, and all of the jokes about how she had broken her ankle at the “perfect time” and how she had “planned this so well” lost some of their sting.

  Ann’s new position as full-time groom for the improbably-named VanSmythe family afforded her a new home in a carriage house on their estate, although Rachel thought “carriage house” was a bit of a misnomer in this particular instance. Ann’s new place was a definite step up from the apartment that the two sisters had shared for the past few years. In fact, if it weren’t so much further from school than their last place had been, Rachel would have been happy to move in permanently.

  Not only would Ann now live rent-free in exchange for taking care of the VanSmythes’ three horses, she’d still be able to keep her day job at Cherrywood Farms, significantly increasing her amount of expendable income. The VanSmythes assured Ann that not only was Rachel welcome to stay as long as she’d like, but she could also store her stuff in one of the empty sheds on their property until she moved to her new place. “We want you to think of this as your home too,” they told Ann. “So of course you’re free to invite your sister or anybody else to stay with you as long as you’d like.” Since Rachel’s new apartment would not be available until the mid-summer, she would have been temporarily homeless from May until July without the graciousness of the VanSmythes.

  This was also why, although Rachel had made a big deal about how she and Ann would be moving apart, they wound up moving all of their possessions to the same place on moving day, out to the western part of the county down State Road 47.

  ~*~

  “Why do you have so much stuff?” Ann wheezed as she passed Rachel on the sidewalk. Ann carried two large boxes stacked atop one another while Rachel swung slowly along, plastic bags of books thunking against her crutches.

  “I don’t have that much stuff,” Rachel panted back.

  “Yes you do.” Lynn passed in the other direction.

  “Not compared to some people.”

  “Compared to Ann, you do.” Alex gestured toward the vehicles as if to prove his point
.

  They all stopped to consider the evidence before them. All of Ann’s worldly goods filled less than half of the back of her pickup, while Rachel’s boxes filled the rest of the pickup, all of her own car except the driver’s seat, the inside of Lynn’s SUV, the back seat and trunk of Alex’s town car, and a trailer they’d borrowed from someone at church.

  Upon arrival at the VanSmythes’, the group offloaded Ann’s things in under twenty minutes. Rachel’s items took considerably longer. They were to be stored in what Ann referred to as the “green shed” but what the rest of them quickly dubbed the “spider shed” for obvious reasons.

  “My stuff’s going to be full of brown huntsmen,” Rachel lamented as she stood leaning on her crutches and watching Ann, Lynn, and Alex unloading boxes and crates from the trailer. Meanwhile, Ethan perched nearby on the tailgate of Ann’s truck, lying back against the now-empty truck bed and kicking his feet back and forth. “I’m going to have to unpack it all while wearing a HazMat suit.”

  “At least you won’t have to pay hundreds of dollars in storage fees,” Ann commented.

  “I’d almost rather.”

  “I’m with you,” Lynn told Rachel.

  “At least you’ll be on your feet again by the time it gets unpacked.” Ann tossed the last few bags of books to Lynn. “So you’ll be able to move quickly enough to kill them.”

  “Theoretically,” Alex said.

  Rachel eyed the spider shed with thinly-veiled disgust. “You guys,” she said. “I don’t know about this. My stuff’s going to be in here all summer. Isn’t it going to get really hot in here? I hope it doesn’t warp my records.”

  Alex swiped a dirty hand across his forehead, leaving a smudge. “Good call. I’ll move these up to the house.” He lifted Rachel’s two crates of vinyl, hitched them up, and began walking toward the carriage house. “Give me a hand,” he said to Ethan.

  “Thanks!” Rachel called before turning to Lynn. “He’s the best.”

  “He really is,” Lynn agreed, watching her husband’s retreating form with appreciation. “Even though sometimes he is kind of a huge dork.”

  As if on cue, Alex stuck out a foot to trip Ethan. Ethan stumbled forward with a little cry before turning to swipe a roundhouse kick at his dad’s butt. Alex broke into a slow run, holding the crates of records out in front of him, with Ethan in hot pursuit.

  Ann slid the doors to the spider shed shut. “But the rest of this stuff is staying here, spiders or no spiders.” The shed shuddered ominously. Everyone stepped back and waited to see if the whole thing would collapse. When it didn’t, they turned to make their slow way back up toward the carriage house, Ann and Lynn walking in step with Rachel. Lynn offered to piggy-back her up to the house, but Rachel turned her offer down.

  Lynn regarded the carriage house thoughtfully. “It’s going to be a very different kind of life for you,” she said to Ann, “living way out here.”

  Ann nodded. “Who would have thought it would be so easy to trade up?”

  “Are you allowed to call it a carriage house if it has a wrap-around front porch?” Rachel asked.

  “It doesn’t wrap all the way around,” Ann corrected her. “Look—it stops just there at the corners—”

  “It’s probably as close as we’ll ever get to having a house with one,” Rachel said. “Let’s just enjoy the moment.”

  “Speak for yourself,” Ann sniffed.

  They found Alex sitting on the non-wrap-around front porch, flipping through Rachel’s record collection. Ethan sprawled nearby in a wooden rocking chair, looking comatose from the heat.

  “You have a lot of Neil Diamond,” Alex said as Rachel negotiated the three shallow steps.

  “Don’t judge.”

  “I’m not judging.”

  “And Neil Diamond isn’t all I have.”

  “I know, but it’s still weird.”

  “You’re weird,” Rachel said.

  “Your mom’s weird.”

  “Oh my word, you two.” Ann unlocked the front door. “How old are you? Knock it off and come inside so we can have some dinner already.”

  “And stop talking about their mom.” Lynn took her husband’s arm and patted it. “We love their mom.” Alex reached over and swatted her across the flanks, then dodged a swift kick Lynn aimed at his backside as they passed through the entryway and a short hall on their way to the kitchen. This was so out of character for her that she actually caught him unaware and he stumbled forward, catching himself against the doorjamb.

  “Nice one,” Ann said approvingly.

  “We need to get you some new friends,” Alex said, somewhat breathlessly. “I don’t think these two are such a good influence for you.”

  Lynn smiled and kissed his cheek as she stepped around him and into the kitchen.

  “Mom,” Ethan said, obviously scandalized, “we’re not allowed to kick dad’s butt!”

  Lynn reached out to ruffle her son’s hair. “No, dear,” she said. “You’re not allowed.”

  “So,” said Alex, turning to Rachel. “How’s Matt?”

  Rachel blinked. “You’re asking me?”

  “Of course I’m asking you. Who else would I ask?”

  Rachel wondered if Lynn had told Alex about the roses. Surely she had. Alex sat on a bar stool at the island in the middle of the kitchen. Ann leaned into the freezer and pulled out a frozen lasagna and two loaves of garlic bread. Lynn turned a chair at the kitchen table sideways for Rachel’s leg before sitting down across from her.

  “There’s nothing to tell,” said Rachel. “I just see him on Sundays.”

  “When you show up,” Ann put in from across the room.

  “Oh my word. I’ve missed one Sunday since I broke my ankle. Maybe two. I know I should be glad he’s coming to church, since I don’t think he’s really had much of a spiritual life up to this point, but I have to say that I still feel a shock every time I see him.”

  “And what a fine sight he is,” Lynn mused.

  “So what do you think?” Alex pressed Rachel.

  “About what?”

  “About Matt. Are you into him?”

  Lynn frowned at her husband. “Alex, leave her alone.”

  “Why? I’m just wondering. You know she’d ask if our roles were reversed.”

  “You mean if you had a handsome man following you around?” Ann asked as she slid the lasagna into the oven.

  “—stalking you?” Rachel put in, ignoring how Lynn and Ann exchanged looks.

  “Go ahead and mock,” Alex said, “but stranger things have happened.”

  “It’s not nice to joke about me being stalked,” Rachel informed him.

  Ann set the timer on the oven with a little more force than was needed. “For the last time,” she said. “You’re not being stalked. You invited a nice guy to church, and he came. End of story.”

  “I hope that is the end of the story,” Rachel said with the foreboding tone of one expecting the worst.

  Only after Alex had taken Ethan out to pull the car around did Lynn address the elephant in the room. “I know it’s not even proven yet, and I know it’s just coincidence that you both moved out here the week that woman was found”—Lynn gestured in the direction of State Road 47 and frowned—“but I want you both to promise me that you’ll keep the doors and windows locked at all times.” She looked meaningfully at Rachel. “And you won’t go out to the barns alone at night in the dark,” she said, looking at Ann.

  “Lynn,” Ann said, “I know we’re remote out here, but this whole area is very safe. Besides, I can’t not go out to the barns alone at night. It’s sort of my job.”

  “Take Rachel with you,” Lynn said.

  Ann looked dubious. Rachel was appalled. “I’m not crutching out in the fields at night in the dark!” she exclaimed. “I’ll trip in an armadillo hole and die!”

  “Fine,” said Lynn. “Use the buddy system.”

  “I’m sure it’s fine,” Ann soothed. “The Memento Kille
r doesn’t attack random women. If anything were to happen—and I’m not saying it would—but if anything were to happen, we’d have plenty of warning first.”

  14

  Chris tapped the copy of Romeo and Juliet that lay face-down on his desk. “I just think it’s really messed up that Romeo kills Tybalt.”

  “Of course it’s messed up,” Carl said, scratching one of his round cheeks. “It’s a tragedy. What do you expect?”

  Chris glared at Carl. “We’ve been through this already.”

  Rachel sighed and rubbed her eyes. “Let’s not get into the whole comedy and tragedy thing again.” She loved Chris, but some days she found him to be a bit much. Couldn’t he ever just listen to a lecture, take notes, and stare at the clock like a normal student?

  “It’s messed up any time somebody kills somebody else,” Shayla put in virtuously.

  “But I can sort of understand it,” Ryan said from the back of the room. “I mean, Tybalt did kill Mercutio first. So it’s only fair.”

  “It’s only fair?” Rachel countered, raising her eyebrows. “Since when is life fair?”

  Ryan ducked his head, embarrassed that he’d been caught using one of Miss Cooper’s four-letter words. Fair.

  Denise turned to shake her head at Ryan, dark hair swinging. “Now you’ve done it,” she muttered.

  “What do we know about the word fair, class?”

  “Life is not fair,” they intoned solemnly.

  “That’s right. Life is not fair.” It wasn’t fair that she had broken her ankle right before she had to move. It wasn’t fair that the first attractive guy who had hit on her in ages turned out to be sort of stalkerish and creepy, although handsome. It wasn’t fair that nobody seemed to understand the nature of her relationship with Lee. It wasn’t fair that the Memento Killer felt that he could take the life of any woman he wanted. It wasn’t fair that Rachel had to pee, and there were still ten minutes left in class.

  “I didn’t mean fair.” Ryan scratched at the back of his neck and looked off into space, obviously thinking deep thoughts. “I meant…”