family room. In the more established beds, the bushes were high and thick. There were a couple of beds that looked newer, because the brick edging looked brighter and the plants smaller. I was seeing this garden in November, when it was not flourishing, but I was deeply impressed. Maybe this was why Fred had held on to such a house after the deaths of his wife and daughter.
On a wrought iron table on the flagged patio right outside the windows, I saw gardening gloves, some kind of spray device, and a gardening hat. These things were laid out with precision, and a folded newspaper by them with today's date indicated Fred had been working in his garden this very morning.
Leaning against the table was a spade, covered in dirt. Digging a new flower bed in November? He was enthusiastic. I wondered why he'd left the spade dirty, when everything else was so clean. Maybe he'd intended to finish some job when he'd put it down.
I didn't know much more about gardening than I did about astrophysics. I shrugged. Maybe November was a good time to turn the dirt over so it breathed all winter, or something esoteric like that. To my right, just where the brick wall ran up to the wall of the garage, was a wooden gate. It was placed there so Fred could wheel his gardening stuff back to its place in the tool closet in the carport, I figured.
Tolliver was using our cell phone. 'Hey, Felicia,' he said. 'This is Tolliver. I don't like to leave this as a message on your machine, but I guess I better tell you that your dad is at home, and he could probably use some company. He was feeling kind of sick when he came to see us at the Cleveland, so we brought him home. He seemed pretty upset about something. He's asleep right now.' And with a snap of the phone, Tolliver ended his message without a goodbye.
'Good idea,' I said. 'She should come by and check on him. I wonder if they see each other very much, in the normal course of things. It's quite a drive out here from mid-town, and apparently she has a really high-pressure job.' My voice trailed off. I should shut up.
Tolliver looked at me without expression. He didn't want to talk about Felicia. Okay. I got that.
A final glance around left me feeling more than ever like a ragged orphan in a Dickens novel. We left through the kitchen, locking the back door behind us. Considering the cold weather, it wasn't too surprising that we didn't see a soul as we backed out of the garage and drove to the end of the street to turn right, to get back to more familiar territory.
We had to stop at a Walgreen's to buy a few things, and we filled the car's tank with gas while we were taking care of odds and ends. We'd gotten tired of room service, not only the menu but also the expense, so we had a leisurely meal at a chain restaurant. It was a simple pleasure, doing something so regular and normal. The cell phone didn't ring and there were no messages for us at the front desk or on our voice mail when we finally went back to the Cleveland. The day had sped by.
'You know, now that we've gotten the check, would the police really need us any more?' I asked. 'I don't think so. I know we don't have anything on the schedule until next week, but we could leave Memphis. Stay somewhere cheaper. Maybe get to Texas to see Mariella's basketball game.'
'We should stay here a day or two longer,' Tolliver said. 'Just to see.'
I bit my lip. I'd like to take a big bite out of Felicia Hart, whom I blamed for Tolliver's preference. The bitch was stringing Tolliver along, I just knew it. Now that I'd seen the house she'd grown up in, I was sure. Women like that don't bond with guys like him, not in real life. He'd denied any real attachment to her, but here we were.
Then the cell phone rang. Tolliver made a big deal out of answering it casually, but I could see that he was tense.
'Hey,' he said. 'Felicia… oh, how's he doing? He what? Okay, I'll come.'
He listened for a few seconds. He looked unhappy, puzzled.
I could kill her.
'But she…' Tolliver covered the receiver. He looked at me, his face dark and troubled. 'She wants us to come back out to Fred's house,' he said. 'She says she has some questions she wants to ask us about his condition and what happened today.'
'He got here drunk and we took him home,' I said. 'What more is there to say? You can tell her that over the phone. You are telling her that over the phone.'
'She seems pretty insistent,' he said.
'I don't want to go. If you have to talk to her, you go.'
'Harper isn't here,' he told the telephone. 'No. She's out on a date. What difference does it make, with who? All right. I'll be there in a little while.' He ended the call, and went to his room to get his coat without a word to me.
I made a face at the mirror by the door.
'Here, keep the cell.' He tossed it onto the table. 'I'll call you from the house if I need to tell you anything. I'll be back before long,' Tolliver said briefly, and he left.
The room felt very empty when the door closed behind him.
I don't often do this, but I cried for a few minutes. Then I washed my face, blew my nose, and slumped on the love seat, my head empty and my heart sore.
Too much had happened to us in the past few days.
I remembered when I'd first searched for Tabitha Morgenstern. I remembered the stale feeling of the Morgenstern family, the feeling that they could feel nothing new, nothing vital.
They'd recovered, to an amazing extent. They'd started a new life. They'd moved to a new location, reestablished ties with Joel's family that had never been weak, since Nashville and Memphis aren't far from each other. Victor had started at a new school and found a new friend, Joel had worked at a new job, Diane had created a lovely home.
Now, what would happen? Of course, Diane would give birth, and maybe this baby would help them to heal. Maybe knowing what had happened to Tabitha would, too. In time, maybe Victor would be able to share his big secret with his parents, and possibly they'd understand.
