trotting ahead of me. Since he was dedicatedly unathletic, this was a sure sign of his desperation to leave. I felt the need to keep a semblance of relationship with Lucille, in case Zelda knew nothing of Olson?s death and Tom?s disappearance. There wasn?t a soul in church who knew more about its inner workings and dark secrets than the elegant woman escorting me out of her house. And after all, she had apologized.
?Is it possible she might have been at the doctor yesterday? Seeing about the back pains?? I asked.
?We don?t talk about it,? Lucille said without looking at me. She put her hand to her throat again. No necklace. ?When you get to be our age, it?s too depressing to discuss your aches and pains and those of your peers. It would be all that we talked about. Not that you would be interested in something like that, of course. People don?t want to hear about getting old.?
We came out her gleaming front door and stood on the stone steps. The April afternoon air had gone from chilly to intensely cold. I said, ?But I care ? ?
She waved this away. ?And when you don?t have someone to look out for you, you just have to do it yourself. Or do as Zelda and I do, take care of each other. Ted Olson,? she added fiercely, ?did not give a tinker?s damn about us. In fact, I think he would have been glad to see us gone.?
?Oh, Lucille, you can?t be serious.?
?My dear, I am entirely serious.?
This outburst of personal bitterness meant either Lucille was letting her guard down or pretending to do so in a very convincing manner. In spite of my anger over her refusal to help and my desire to be out of there, I felt an intense pang of sympathy for her. I knew well what it meant to be unnoticed by a man whose appreciation and affection you craved. I had wasted seven years trying to get from The Jerk what he was incapable of giving to any human being. I reached out for the papery skin of Lucille?s forearm. Maybe I could act convincing, too.
I said, ?I know about taking care of myself; I?ve done it for almost a decade.? Lucille shrugged my hand away; we kept walking. ?If Zelda?s in a lot of pain,? I ventured, ?why didn?t she … talk to Olson, even if she didn?t like him? I mean, after all I?ve been hearing lately, things like that Sunday School teacher, and then Roger Bampton ? ?
Lucille?s sudden laughter was crude and shockingly hoarse. ?What hogwash! What utter and complete nonsense! You don?t honestly believe that, do you, Goldy? If you do, you?re even less intelligent than I thought.?
We had reached the door of my van. I let Lucille? opinion of my IQ pass. ?So you don?t believe Roger recovered from leukemia?? I asked with a brow I hoped was innocently furrowed Arch, who was already sitting in the front seat, gestured impatiently for me to come on.
?The whole thing was a lie!? Lucille faced me, her ice-blue eyes blazing with indignation. Her wrinkled hands made a dismissive gesture. ?A complete fabrication! Roger Bampton is a drunk. Going in to see a doctor because he felt bad? I ask you. He probably thought chemotherapy was like sticking a needle full of Jack Daniels into one of his arteries. Of course, Father Pinckney tried to Roger into alcohol rehabilitation, but no one remembers that.?
?You remember.?
Her laugh this time was much lower, kind of self-mocking. ?One of the few who does, my dear. Not that it matters.? She hesitated, then returned the affection of my gesture, pressing her fingers into my arm. Soft green cashmere brushed my skin. ?Zelda is my dear friend,? she said earnestly. ?You mustn?t upset her. You mustn?t let the police frighten her. She is easily hurt ? you know what she went through when her son died. Surely you know that she hasn?t dealt well with the way Olson treated her.?
I wanted to hug her, but remembered in time her objection to displays of affection. Besides, what I wanted most was to be away from this perfect Tudor house with its perfect rooms and perfect landscaped garden. ?Look, Lucille. Probably his will turn out to be nothing. When the bishop gets back, maybe his office will find a copy of the letter in his files, or maybe they?ll find out he never wrote to Olson after all. ?Although I hoped not. Oh, God, I wanted Tom Schulz to be over at Zelda?s house. I wanted Zelda to have killed Olson in a fit of passion, I wanted this all to be over.
?Will you call me?? Lucille pleaded earnestly when I had climbed into the van and rolled down the window.
?I thought you had a meeting.? When she gave me a blank look, I added, ?Do you have an answering machine??
?Of course not. I hate those infernal things.? Her authoritarian chin wobbled ominously. ?Don?t disrupt Zelda,? she warned with the same commanding tone and finger she had used during the prewedding instructions. She took a quick step in front of my van. ?And call me as soon as you know anything. Promise.?
?Yes, Lucille!? I revved the engine and cursed her silently for making me feel like a dutiful twelve-year-old daughter. ?Thanks for the cocoa.? When she did not move, I threw the gearshift into reverse and backed out of her driveway, miraculously avoiding the laddered plantings of shrubbery and aspens.
?Doesn?t have an answering machine!? Arch cried when I passed to read a street sign. ?Man! She doesn?t have cable! She doesn?t have remote control! Not to mention that she doesn?t have any video games! Where has that woman been for the last fifty years? Brother!?
I finally figured out how to get to Zelda Preston?s one-story white brick house on Gold Course Lane. On the way, I reflected that ecclesiastically as well as technologically, Lucille and Zelda both would have preferred to turn back the clock.
?Man, Mom.? Arch was still disgusted. ?I don?t know why you stay at the church. If I went to a church like that and everybody was mean, I?d leave.?
I groaned. ?It?s my family, hon. And not everybody is mean.?
Two police cars already had arrived in front of Zelda Preston?s home. Not more than fifteen minutes had passed since I?d called from Lucille?s. When they were looking for a fellow officer, they sure could move quickly. No red and blue lights flashed; I had heard no siren. I remembered Tom?s words: When you?re trying to catch somebody, you don?t announce your arrival. I was stopped by a deputy who recognized me.
?They?re securing the perimeter.
?Please let me go with them,? I begged. ?I have to see if Tom is in there.?
His face turned from impassive to stony. ?There isn?t a chance in hell you?re getting any closer to that house than you already are.?
Cops.
At that moment a very confused-looking Zelda Preston, wearing what looked like a bathrobe, appeared at the door. She squinted at the officers on her steps, at the police cars, and at my van stopped on the grass by her driveway. Her front door immediately opened as she let the officers in. My heart sank. If she?d had Tom inside, she surely would have at least put up some kind of resistance.
Ten minutes later, Boyd and Armstrong came out together. Boyd hoisted his rotund self up the driveway while Armstrong, long and lanky, strode alongside. I glanced at the sky, now turned darkly ominous with a promise of evening snow. Whether my teeth were chattering from the cold or nervousness at the message I was about to receive, I did not know. As if to prepare me, Boyd shook his head. I crossed my arms and sagged against the van.
?This Preston woman is beside herself,? he began. ?She wants us to search through her house so that she?ll be above suspicion. Her words. We did a quick look-see. No Schulz. Whatever made you think ? ?
?Now don?t start,? I warned, my voice shaking. ?You told me to call you and I did. Where was she yesterday??
Towering above us, Armstrong cleared his throat and answered for Boyd. ?Interviewing for the organist?s position at the Catholic church.. Although she doesn?t want the people at your place to know.?
My eyelids felt like sandpaper. My brain had turned to the consistency of dryer lint.
?Look, Goldy,? said Boyd. His tone was compassionate but undeniably impatient. ?I told you we?d keep you informed. I?ve asked you questions about that church of yours, sure. But there?s a difference between your answering questions and trying to do our job for us, okay? This is the second time today I?ve responded to a frantic call from you about where you think Schulz is.?
?Haven?t you found anything?? I despised the pleading in my voice, but wanted to hear any shred of news or hope.
Boyd bit on each word. ?I can?t find anything when I?m running around on your wild-goose chases!? He shook his head. ?I?ll call you.?
As I gunned the van and rolled it past Zelda?s house, Arch muttered, ?Man! Was that guy grouchy or what??
?They?re just trying to find Tom, hon, you know that.?
