spent three minutes in this blue-tile dungeon, but it felt like a
weekend. Unlocking the door, I padded across the threshold into the
bedroom, grateful for thick, tight-weave carpeting that swallowed my
footsteps.
The room was darkened by drawn shutters and furnished with a king-size
bed and clumsy Victorian furniture. Books were stacked high on one of
the nightstands. A phone sat atop the stack. Next to the table was a
brass-and-wood valet over which hung a pair of jeans.
The other stand bore a Iiffany revival lamp and a coffee mug. The
bedcovers were turned down but folded neatly. The room smelled of the
pine disinfectant I’d found in the bathroom.
Lots of disinfectant. Why?
A double chest ran along the wall facing the bed. I opened a top
drawer. Bras and panties and hose and floral sachet in a packet. I
felt around, closed the drawer, got to work on the one below, wondering
what thrill Dawn Herbert had gotten from petty theft.
Nine drawers. Clothing, a couple of cameras, canisters of film, and a
pair of binoculars. Across the room was a closet. More clothes,
tennis rackets and canisters of balls, a fold-up rowing machine,
garment bags and suitcases, more books-all on sociology. A telephone
directory, light bulbs, travel maps, a knee brace. Another box of
contraceptive jelly. Empty.
I searched garment pockets, found nothing but lint. Maybe the dark
corners of the closet concealed something but I’d been there too
long.
Shutting the closet door, I snuck back to the bathroom. The toilet had
stopped gurgling and Cindy was no longer talking.
Had she grown suspicious about my prolonged absence? I cleared my
throat again, turned on the water, heard Cassie’s voicesome kind of
protest-then the resumption of mommy-talk.
Detaching the toilet paper holder, I slid off the old roll and tossed
it into the cabinet. Unwrapping a refill, I slipped it onto the
dispenser. The ad copy on the wrapper promised to be gentle.
Picking up the white box, I pushed open the door to Cassie’s room,
wearing a smile that hurt my teeth.
They were at the play table, holding crayons. Some of the papers were
covered with colored scrawl.
When Cassie saw me she gripped her mother’s arm and began whining.
“It’s okay, lion. Dr. Delaware’s our friend.” Cindy noticed the box
in my hands and squinted.
I came closer and showed it to her. She stared at it, then up at me.
I stared back, searching for any sign of self-indictment.
Just confusion.
“I was looking for toilet paper,” I said, “and came across this.
She leaned forward and read the gold sticker.
Cassie watched her, then picked up a crayon and threw it. When that
didn’t capture her mother’s attention, she whined some mor “Shh,
baby.”
Cindy’s squint tightened. She continued to look baffled. “How
strange.”
Cassie threw her arms up and said, “Uh uh uh!”
Cindy pulled her closer and said, “Haven’t seen those in a long TIME ”
“Didn’t mean to snoop,” I said, “but I knew Holloway made equipment for
diabetics and when I saw the label I got curiousthinking about Cassie’s
blood sugar. Are you or Chip diabetic?”
“Oh, no,” she said. “Those were Aunt Harriet’s. Where did you find
them?”
“Beneath the sink.”
“How odd. No, Cass, these are for drawing, not throwing.” She picked
up a red crayon and drew a jagged line.
Cassie followed the movement, then buried her head in Cindy’s blouse.
“Boy, I haven’t seen those in a really long TIME I cleaned out her
house, but I thought I threw all her medicines out.”
“Was Dr. Benedict her doctor?”
And her boss.”
She bounced Cassie gently. Cassie peeked out from under her arm, then
began poking her under the chin.
Cindy laughed and said, “You’re tickling me. . . . Isn’t that odd,
under the sink all this time?” She gave an uneasy smile. “Guess that
doesn’t make me much of a housekeeper. Sorry you had to go looking for
paper-I usually notice when the roller’s low.”
“No problem,” I said, realizing there’d been no dust on the box.
Pulling out a cylinder, I rolled it between my fingers.
Cassie said, “Peh-il.”