I nodded, although I certainly didn’t like the idea of keeping whatever bad news was coming to myself.
“We
The huevos arrived; we ignored them.
After the waitress left I said, “
“Yes.” She drained her glass. “The year before my daughter died, a couple of Fritz’s patients reported him to some state board. Not only that, but there was a trial coming up. That’s when Laura Smiley first got involved. Oh, hell.” Another sigh. “My daughter… said they’d had relations.”
“Who had?” I asked.
“Fritz and my daughter,” she said, just above a whisper. “She was sixteen.”
“What?” said Patty Sue as she returned to the table.
Vonette’s voice turned fierce. “I thought about divorcing Fritz then, when John Richard was nine. But he kept saying how much he needed me, and I already felt so guilty about my daughter. Well, I just couldn’t leave my son without a father. I felt so confused, and then my daughter began to run with that fast gang and to drink a lot—I thought, you know, to forget—and then she passed away. I was having these terrific headaches, and Fritz was so helpful with that pain. He was so eager to make amends. It was real tragic. He said he could get certified in another state with no problem, so a month after my daughter’s funeral, we came out here.”
We were all silent for a moment.
I said, “What was the trial going to be about?”
Vonette shrugged her shoulders. “It doesn’t matter, does it? He helps so many women with their babies, and with their problems. I don’t like to think about the bad.” She nodded benevolently in Patty Sue’s direction. “He does seem to be such a good man that usually I just don’t know what to think, so I don’t. You know.”
She gave me a helpless look.
She pressed on, “I don’t want to know. It gives me too much of a headache, having a lot of hate inside me.” She stopped talking, then started again. “Sometimes I think,
Patty Sue and I looked at each other. Her bottom lip was trembling.
The new pitcher of margaritas arrived. Vonette gave the waitress a grateful look.
Vonette said, “I don’t want to burden you girls with this.” She picked up her fork and leaned over her plate.
“It’s okay,” I said.
Patty Sue slowly began on the cold eggs. I started to do the same but stopped when I saw tears falling onto Vonette’s plate.
“Vonette,” I said, “listen. Come over to my house on the thirtieth, after dinner. I’m having some friends over to talk and have dessert. We can talk some more then. You might feel better.”
She sniffed and said, “The thirtieth? I don’t know. Call me about it.” Patty Sue reached over with her good arm and patted her on the shoulder.
“Oh girls,” Vonette said, “it’s okay. It was all a long time ago. I’m all right now.” As if to demonstrate how all right she was, she lifted her glass in a mock toast.
I said, “Just tell me one thing. You never told us your daughter’s name. What was it? I’m curious. John Richard never mentioned her.”
Vonette put her glass down and looked at me. Her cheeks sagged; her mouth turned down at the edges. Her eyes were solemn and tired and indicated a sadness belied by the wild orange hair and made-up face.
She said, “Joe and I had thought since my name was French we should give her a French name. She was such a cute baby, that’s what we called her. Baby. Only in French it’s spelled different. So she was our Bebe. That’s what I had put on her gravestone, too. Bebe Hollenbeck, 1950 to 1967.”
CHAPTER 18
Who said a little learning was a dangerous thing? Was knowledge dangerous, too? If so, what was a lot of knowledge, more or less dangerous? And if the knowledge was related but disconnected, what good was it at all?.
I clutched the keys Vonette had given me and slumped behind the wheel of the Kormans’ old green Chrysler station wagon, trying to put things in place. Vonette’s first child had been Bebe Hollenbeck. Bebe had also been a student of Laura Smiley’s when the Kormans and Laura had lived in Illinois. According to Vonette, Fritz Korman had seduced Bebe when she was sixteen. And Bebe had drunk herself to death.
Then, Fritz Niebold Korman had moved to Colorado, bringing with him Vonette and a young John Richard. Was the practice the reason? According to the torn newspaper account in Laura’s locker, there had been a mistrial. I had to get home to get the article and give it to Schulz. He’d be able to follow up on it. Whatever Laura’s involvement had been in all this, it had ended in her feeling alienation that had not subsided in twenty years of living in the same small town. But why had Laura overcome her alienation—or had she? This was the most puzzling aspect of all. What did she have to say to Fritz Korman that morning? And even if hostilities had erupted, how could she have put rat poison in Fritz’s coffee after she was dead?
And how and why had Laura died, anyway?
“Um, Goldy,” said Patty Sue. “What are we waiting for?”
I stared at the keys. It looked as if the only thing that was going to go into place was one of them. Vonette said she had cables if we needed a jump. I had had my share of bad luck with American cars and thus had no hope for a Chrysler. I thrust the key into the ignition, pumped the gas, and turned the key.
It started right up. For once, something went right.
Our first stop was Aspen Meadow Drugstore. The hospital had given me a prescription for pain medication. George Morgan, the pharmacist, looked as old as Gabby Hayes in his last picture. He was reputed to have been in Aspen Meadow since the gold rush in nearby Central City. I noticed with some satisfaction that he finally had hired a new female assistant. As I handed George the prescription I had a thought.
“George, did you fill any prescriptions for Laura Smiley?” I called after him as he was about to disappear between shelves. He turned and shook his head at me like a wise gnome.
“This’ll be ready in ten minutes,” he said.
I went off to call Arch, whom I had missed more than I would have thought possible. One night away from home felt like weeks. Worse, the doctor had recommended that I spend the rest of the weekend in bed, and that Arch stay elsewhere at least until the end of school Monday.
“Not to worry,” Marla assured me over the phone. “He loves it here. He keeps telling me how cool all the insects are in my greenhouse. He wanted me to help him with this crazy Halloween costume, but you know sewing’s not my thing.”
“What Halloween costume?”
“Oh, something from one of those crazy games. Sounds like leech. Wait. Lich. Anyway, I told him to forget it, his mother could handle the seamstress routine. If you pick him up Monday afternoon when the bus comes, I can tell you all the latest news. And not just about bugs.” She laughed and hung up.
Back at the prescription counter the new assistant eyed me vaguely. She said, “Did you say your name was Laura Smiley?”
I blinked. “Did you hear me say that?”
She wrinkled her nose at me and looked through the
“Really,” I said, “what did I have the time before that?”
“Can’t you remember what your prescription was for this time?”
I shook my head.
This soul sister of Patty Sue punched some more buttons. “Organidin? You had a cough?” I shook my head. “Ornade?” she asked. “Colds?”
“Don’t have one now.”
More punching.
“Looks like that’s all you’ve ever had. Let me go find George.”
“No, no,” I protested, backing away. “Let me call the doctor. He’s sure to clear this all up. I’ll have him give
