As soon as I got to her house and was settled with a glass of wine, I told her as much as I knew about what was happening in Virginia. While she nursed the baby, we ran through all the scenarios we could think of, including the possibility that Jonna had decided to run off with someone so totally messed up that any court in the country would immediately give Dwight full custody of Cal.
By the time we were finished, I was back to being angry.
After all, even though Shaysville wasn’t as big as Dobbs, Jonna probably knew all the good hiding places.
Little Carolyn Deborah made soft piglike snuffling sounds and my anger eased off as I watched her.
Avery came home, did his daddy thing, and agreed with Portland and me that Jonna’s behavior was outrageous, but he was more concerned that I write down the numbers for both their cell phones in large numerals and keep them beside my chair. Portland handed me the baby to finish burping her and Avery gave me his now- this-is-serious-so-pay-attention look that he usually reserves for instructing juries.
“When you put her down in her crib, be sure and lay her on her back,” he said, and Portland paused in the doorway to tell me how to warm the bottle of breast milk in the refrigerator should their daughter not be able to hold out the whole three hours they planned to be gone.
“Will you people just go?” I said. “We’ll be fine. I promise you she’ll still be alive and healthy when you get back.”
After a couple of satisfactory burps, the baby gave a big yawn and fell fast asleep. I held her for nearly an hour just to watch her delicate brows arch or knit, as if her dreams alternately astonished or bewildered her.
Eventually, my arm went numb, so I carried her up to her crib and carefully eased her in without waking her.
And yes, I did put her on her back. I’m not comfortable sleeping on mine, but this is the current baby-rearing wis-dom, and who am I to argue what’s comfortable for a one-month-old with a super-cautious tax attorney for a father?
As I settled into the book I’d brought along so I could look intelligent when my book club meets next week, my phone rang and my brother Seth’s wife, Minnie, asked if she was interrupting anything.
I explained that I was babysitting for Portland and she 7 very nicely inquired about my little namesake’s progress before she came to the point of her call. “Doris says the Weather Channel’s prediction is for that cold front to pass north of us and we’re due for sunshine and mid-fifties tomorrow, so we’re calling around to see who can help us clean our road. You and Dwight free tomorrow morning?”
“I am, but Dwight’s gone up to see Cal and I’m not sure when he’s getting back.”
“Nothing’s wrong, is there?” she asked perceptively.
Minnie’s one of my favorite sisters-in-law, and she would be discreet if I asked her, but I wasn’t ready to start this story around the family. Instead, I told her how Cal had persuaded Dwight to drive up and be his show-and-tell. She laughed and invited me to come for breakfast. “If we get started by nine, we should be done before noon. Remember to bring a pair of old gloves.”
I promised I’d be there.
I roamed the house, poured myself a second glass of wine, and tried to settle back into the book, but it was a pompous tome full of coming-of-age angst, and when my phone rang again I snatched it up eagerly.
“Still no word,” Dwight said. He sounded drained and exhausted, and after hearing the nonproductive details of how and why there was no word, I asked him if he’d had any supper.
“Paul brought me home with him,” he said.
I heard a woman’s voice in the background.
“Sandy says tell you hey. They want you to come up next time so they can meet you.”
“Tell her hey back and anytime. Are you spending the night there?”
“No, I’ll go back to Jonna’s house and crash on the couch in case they come back tonight.”
I told him that the family would be picking up road litter the next morning, which reminded me of J.D.’s death. “Did the autopsy tell anything?”
“Nothing useful. I spoke to Richards about an hour ago and she says there wasn’t enough deviation to tell which side of the road it came from. The bullet entered almost at the center of the nape of his neck and lodged in his skull just below the hairline of his forehead. The ME
thinks he might have been looking down a little, but hell, Deb’rah. He could have had his head turned to either side just as easy. They’re checking the alibis of all his known enemies. Sounds like there’s a line of ’em.”
“I miss you,” I said.
“Yeah, me too. Our first night apart.”
“Bound to happen sooner or later.”
“I guess. But let’s not make a habit of it, okay?”
“Okay,” I said.
C H A P T E R
8
Friday night, 21 January
