”We ran,“ Pam said. ”Another woman, Grace something, I never knew her last name, was waiting for us in her Volkswagen station wagon, and we got in and drove back to the house.“
”The one on Centre Street?“ I asked.
She nodded. ”And we decided there that we better split up. That we couldn’t stay there because maybe they could identify us from the cameras. There were two in the bank that Rose spotted. I didn’t know where to go so I went to the bus station in New Bedford and took the first bus going out, which was coming to Plymouth. The only time I’d ever been to Plymouth was when we took the kids to Plimoth Plantation when they were smaller. So I got off the bus and walked here. And then I didn’t know what to do, so I sat in the snack bar at the reception center for a while and I counted what money I had, most of the hundred dollars you gave me, and I saw your card in my wallet and called you.“ She paused and stared out the window. ”I almost called my husband. But that would have just been running home with my tail between my legs. And I started to call you and hung up a couple of times. I… Did I have to have a man to get me out of trouble? But then I had nowhere else to go and nothing else to try so I called.“ She kept looking out the window. The butter in her lobster stew was starting to form a skin as the stew cooled. ”And after I called you I walked up and down the main street of the village and in and out of the houses and thought, here I am, forty-three years old and in the worst trouble of my life and I’ve got no one to call but a guy I’ve met once in my life, that I don’t even know, no one else at all.“ She was crying now and her voice shook as she talked. She turned her head away farther toward the window to hide it. The tide had gone out some more since I’d last looked and the dark water rounded rocks beyond the beach and made a kind of cobbled pattern with the sea breaking and foaming over them. It had gotten quite dark now, though it was early afternoon, and spits of rain splattered on the window. ”And you think I’m a goddamned fool,“ she said. She had her hand on her mouth and it muffled her speech. ”And I am.“
Susan put her hand on Pam Shepard’s shoulder. ”I think I know how you feel,“ Susan said. ”But it’s the kind of thing he can do and others can’t. You did what you felt you had to do, and you need help now, and you have the right person to help you. You did the right thing to call him. He can fix this. He doesn’t think you are a fool. He’s grouchy about other things, about me, and about himself, a lot of things and he leaned on you too hard. But he can help you with this. He can fix it.“
”Can he make that old man alive again?“
”We don’t work that way,“ I said. ”We don’t look around and see where we were. And we don’t look down the road and see what’s coming. We don’t have anything to do but deal with what we know. We look at the facts and we don’t speculate. We just keep looking right at this and we don’t say what if, or I wish or if only. We just take it as it comes. First you need someplace to stay besides Plimoth Plantation. I’m not using my apartment because I’m down here working on things. So you can stay there. Come on, we’ll go there now.“ I gestured for the check. ”Suze,“ I said, ”you and Pam go get in my car, I’ll pay up here.“
Pam Shepard said, ”I have money.“
I shook my head as the waitress came. Susan and Pam got up and went out. I paid the check, left a tip neither too big nor too small—I didn’t want her to remember us—and went to the car after them.
Chapter 15
It’s forty-five minutes from Plymouth to Boston and the traffic was light in midafternoon. We were on Marlborough Street in front of my apartment at three-fifteen. On the ride up Pam Shepard had given me nothing else I could use. She didn’t know where Rose and Jane were. She didn’t know how to find them. She didn’t know who had the money, she assumed Rose. They had agreed, if they got separated, to put an ad in the New Bedford Standard Times personals column. She didn’t know where Rose and Jane had expected to get the guns. She didn’t know if they had any gun permit or FID card.
”Can’t you just go someplace and buy them?“ she said.
”Not in this state,“ I said.
She didn’t know what kind of guns they had planned to buy. She didn’t really know that guns came in various kinds. She didn’t know anyone’s name in the group except Rose and Jane and Grace and the only last name she knew was Alexander.
”It’s a case I can really sink my teeth into,“ I said. ”Lot of hard facts, lot of data. You’re sure I’ve got your name right?“
She nodded.
”What’s the wording for your ad,“ I said.
”If we get separated? We just say, ‘Sisters, call me at’—then we give a phone number and sign our first name.“
”And you run it in the Standard Times?“
”Yes, in the personal column.“
We got out of the car and Pam said, ”Oh, what a pretty location. There’s the Common right down there.“
”Actually the Public Garden. The Common’s on the other side of Charles Street,“ I said. We went up to my apartment, second floor front. I opened the door.
Pam Shepard said, ”Oh, very nice. Why it’s as neat as a pin. I always pictured bachelor apartments with socks thrown around and whiskey bottles on the floor and waste-baskets spilling onto the floor.“
”I have a cleaning person, comes in once a week.“
”Very nice. Who did the woodcarvings?“
”I have a woodcarver come in once a week.“
Susan said, ”Don’t listen to him. He does them.“
”Isn’t that interesting, and look at all the books. Have you read all these books?“
”Most of them, my lips get awful tired though. The kitchen is in here. There should be a fair supply of food laid in.“
