Chapter 31 - The Woman of the House

Two policemen lean against the hood of their car, ready to take me away. I’m certain of it. Frances is probably in the back of the car with her hands cuffed behind her back. Sweat percolates at the base of my back and at the edges of my temples. I can’t go to jail. I won’t.

Brian gets out of the car and meets the cops in the middle of the driveway. My hand clutches the handle of the car door, but I can’t bring myself to open it. One of the officers steps forward and shakes Brian’s hand. He’s clearly in charge and wears his experience around his stomach. Crime around Lake Moss being what it is, I imagine there’s plenty of time for coffee and donut breaks. His partner, slimmer and seemingly less experienced, lingers behind.

I see Brian nodding as the larger cop talks. I strain my ears trying to decipher their words.

“It’s about Helen Mulroney,” I hear one of the cops say.

I swallow some bile before forcing myself out of the car. When I approach, the three men all turn to face me at once. They’ve stopped talking. Their expressions are blank. I’m not sure what to do, so I hold my hand up and give a small wave.

“Rose Crawley?” one of the officers says.

“Yes?” I say in return.

“I’m Officer Shepard, and this is Officer Ryan. We were wondering if we could have a few moments of your time?” His voice is so polite it makes me feel even more uneasy than I already am.

“Of course,” Brian says, answering for me. “Why don’t we go inside and have some coffee?”

I follow behind with heavy feet as I try not to pass out.

“Cream, sugar?” Brian asks from the kitchen.

“None for me, thanks,” Officer Shepard says.

“Black is good,” Officer Ryan replies.

Unlike his partner, Officer Shepard looks right at home. He keeps his head tilted at an upward angle as he looks around the living room and into the kitchen. I can tell he’s used to being respected without having to give up anything in return.

Our coats are still on when we sit down on the couch, and for a moment we all look at each other, unsure of who’s supposed to speak first. I ignore every instinct to run out of the house, into the car, and drive away. Even though I’m terrified of Frances and what she’s capable of, I wish she were here. She would know what to do.

That’s when I wonder if they’ve already been to see Frances. What has she told them?

“So you said this is about Helen?” Brian says.

“That’s right,” Officer Shepard says.

My stomach drops. I try to look calm and unaffected, but I feel like I’m under a microscope, like any movement I make is suspicious.

“Like I said, we just came from the funeral,” Brian says.

“We’re sorry to catch you at a bad time, but we’re hoping you can help us out.” He shifts his weight in his seat. I try to look relaxed. “Mrs. Crawley, it’s our understanding you were the last person to see Mrs. Mulroney alive.”

The room turns and looks at me. I feel myself shrink under Officer Shepard’s acute gaze, which seems to be searching my face for signs of guilt.

Brian tenses next to me. His chin is tilted downward and his eyes are questioning.

“Um, yes. Yes, I guess I was.” I interlace my fingers on my lap to keep them from shaking. “See, I went to visit Helen the day she died, to keep her company,” I say more to Brian than to the officers. “But when I left she was alive and well. I don’t understand what that has to do with—”

“The other day, we got an anonymous phone call,” Officer Shepard says in a way that makes it seem like he’s going to tell us an amusing story. He leans forward. “The caller said Mrs. Mulroney didn’t die from lung cancer. They insinuated that there was foul play. Given some other events in the last few months, we’re taking this call seriously.”

“You mean Angela’s disappearance?” I say. Brian shoots me a look. “That’s what you’re talking about, right?”

“Yes, Angela Walsh,” he says. Officer Ryan scribbles something down on his notebook next to him.

“I heard that she was recently spotted in Chicago. Is that true?” I ask, unable to help myself. Hearing Officer Shepard say Angela’s name out loud makes my stomach flutter with the same kind of excitement I’d get when I looked through Brian’s colleagues’ top dresser drawers and nightstands.

“Mrs. Crawley, we’re not here to discuss Mrs. Walsh’s case,” Officer Shepard says. “Now, what time did you leave the Mulroneys’ house?”

My eyes search the ceiling for the answer.

“Must have been around three in the afternoon?” I’m asking instead of telling.

“Mr. Mulroney says he got home just after four. Mrs. Mulroney died between the time you left and Mr. Mulroney arrived.”

“I—I guess that’s true,” I say.

“Can you tell me what happened? After you left Mrs. Mulroney?”

“Well,” I start without knowing where I’m going.

Start with the truth.

My tongue feels like sandpaper in my mouth.

Start with the truth and then lie from there.

“I came straight home. I saw Vick and told him about my visit with Helen. Then I did some chores around the house.”

“It’s our understanding that Friday was the first time you’d gone to visit Mrs. Mulroney.”

“It was.”

“Why did you go?”

“I’m sorry?”

“Why did you go to see Mrs. Mulroney that day?”

“Oh, Vick had told me about her illness. I guess I wanted to help.” I don’t mention Frances because it’s what she would do for me.

“That’s kind of you,” Officer Shepard says. His voice is dripping with insincerity. He looks between me and Brian, like he’s deciding if he believes me, like he’s asking himself if the housewife of average height and weight with long brown hair and shaking hands is capable of murdering an old woman on her deathbed. “And where were you that day?” he asks Brian.

“I was at work. I’m an industrial engineer in Chicago.”

“That’s quite a commute.”

“Yeah, it is,” Brian says. “But the company I work for is great. We’ve got a new development going up on the Near North Side.”

While Brian continues to talk about his project on Oak Street, my mind travels from the living room to Helen’s casket inside the church. Her eyes open. They stare straight through me, straight to the truth. If I don’t come up with something quickly, this meeting could end with them pulling out their handcuffs.

Think.

What would Frances say? She’d make sure we weren’t involved in this in any way.

How?

I sit up straighter, knowing what I have to do.

“There was one other thing. About that day,” I say. The three men look at me in surprise. Without realizing it, I’ve interrupted their conversation. It’s too late to back out now. “Now that I think about it, I did see Helen’s nurse come back to the house just as I was leaving. She was pulling into the driveway when I was driving away.” I pinch the side of my thigh. The pain is a welcome distraction. It helps me hide my quivering voice. The cops eye each other.

“Did you speak?” Officer Shepard asks.

“No. In fact, I’m not sure she realized I was coming from the house, or that I saw her at all.”

“How did you know she was the nurse?” Officer Ryan asks. His elbows fall past his knees. He’s so tall the ottoman he’s sitting on looks miniature beneath him.

“She was wearing scrubs, so I kind of assumed…” I trail off, not wanting to embarrass him completely, but I see his face turn a shade of red before he nods and clears his throat.

Officer Shepard scratches his forehead. “Well, I have to admit this is new information for us,” he says. “Do you remember the make and model of the car?”

“It was silver.” I look over at Brian. “You know I’m bad with cars.”

“It’s true,” Brian says, backing me up. “She can’t tell the difference between a Camry and a Corolla.” The men laugh, amused by my ignorance. If only they knew it was feigned.

“Do you remember anything else?”

“She had black hair. It was tied in a low bun at the back of her head. I was too far away to see the color of her eyes, but I think she was about my age.”

Officer Ryan’s head bobs up and down with my every word, while Officer Shepard just stares at me. If they knew anything about me breaking into Jonathan’s house, they’d ask me now.

“Thank you. We’ll get her name and info from Mr. Mulroney,” Officer Shepard says.

I let out a small sigh of relief. Officer Shepard looks over at Officer Ryan and nods. There’s an awkward moment between the two as Officer Ryan tries to figure out what his boss is telling him to do. Then he pulls out a notebook from his back pocket, scribbles down a note.

“Please let us know if there’s anything we can do to help,” Brian says, patting the palms of his hands on his lap, politely signaling to the two policemen that it’s time to leave.

“Oh, there is one thing,” Officer Shepard says. “The mortician found some skin under Helen’s fingernails, like she scratched someone. Would you mind?”

I stare at him blankly. He motions to my sleeve. “Oh, right.” I swallow hard before pulling up my shirt on my left arm, revealing the pale skin beneath. I turn it over slowly. Besides the outline of my pulsing blue veins, the underside of my forearm is unblemished. Officer Shepard nods before shifting his gaze to my other arm. I clutch my fist to hide my trembling fingers as I reach for my other sleeve.

“Thank you for coming by today, Officers,” Brian says before I can turn my right arm over.

“Thank you for your cooperation,” Officer Shepard says with a nod and a tight smile. He seems satisfied, for now.

On the way out, we make small talk as if we weren’t just discussing the murder of a frail old woman.

“Can you believe this weather we’re having?” Officer Ryan says, holding his arm out to the sunshine.

“Enjoy it while it lasts,” Officer Shepard says, as if he was the one who decided today would be a nice day. “There’s a frost coming.”

“Well, how much worse can a Wisconsin winter be than one in Chicago?” Brian asks from the front door.

“Oh,” Officer Shepard says without turning around. “You have no idea.”