Citizen Insane

Chapter Fourteen





IT TURNED OUT THAT BUNNY had a plan: find the clue.

The plan didn’t involve calling the police first, and while I understood her position, I argued with her anyway. Tell the police where this clue was, I said. Let them figure it out from there. She wanted to find it herself then approach the police after. She thought having proof of her innocence would protect her. I wasn’t so sure we’d find proof of her evidence, but by agreeing to help her, I got both Bunny and the gun out of my house, and I liked that part.

In retrospect, agreement may not have been a sane option, but at the time, I had no idea that some very sinister wheels were already in motion. Basically, I was damned if I did, damned if I didn’t, so sane option or not, Hell was waiting for me right around the corner.

I didn’t want to leave the girls alone in the house. Howard was working (so he said) and Colt was out with friends. This left me no alternative but to call my mother and ask her to take them. I needed a good lie though. The truth just wasn’t an option. I happened to notice the stack of newspapers Bethany was collecting for donation to the Homeless Dog Rescue League. An obituary page crowned the pile. A lie was born. And a darned believable one if I do say so myself.

“Mom?” I said when she answered her phone. “Can the girls come to your place tonight?”

“Why on earth for? What’s going on? Are you and Howard fighting?”

“No, Mom. A friend’s favorite uncle just died unexpectedly. She asked me to take her to Baltimore to be with her mother. She’s too upset to drive.”

“That’s so sad. Well maybe I should drive her. Then you wouldn’t have to take the girls out. It’s a school night after all.”

“That won’t work.”

“Why?”

She would have to ask, wouldn’t she? I hadn’t thought the lie that far ahead. “Bunny’s, afraid of people,” I blurted out.

“What?”

“My friend, Bunny. She’s very shy and nervous around people she doesn’t know.”

“Well, I’m a very amicable person—”

“Thanks, Mom!” CLICK.

Bunny closed up her suitcase and I loaded the girls into the rental van. I told them the same lie and they had no reason to doubt me since Bunny’s face was still red and blotchy from crying. She sat up front, but we put the suitcase way in the back and I covered it with a pile of blankets from the house. I wanted to be as far away from that gun as possible. I don’t know why I thought the blankets would help, but then again, I don’t know why I thought following Bunny’s plan would help either.

Just before leaving the house, I called Roz, and told her that I had Bunny with me, that I wasn’t calling the police just yet, and that I’d be in touch with her as soon as I had more news. She said she thought I was crazy and I said maybe Bunny was rubbing off on me. She didn’t laugh.

It was 7:05 when we pulled away from my mother’s condo parking lot and the purple sky was darkening by the minute. I turned on my headlights. By 7:20, when we pulled in front of the Alexanders’ house, it was officially night time. A car was parked in the driveway and we saw lights on through the windows of the classic, Rustic Woods contemporary style home. We assumed someone was home. Most likely, from what we’d been told, Lance’s sister and Michelle’s kids.

“Are you ready?” I asked Bunny, who had grown jittery during the drive across town.

“Yes,” she said, tying her black rain coat a little tighter and taking a deep breath. “Ready.”

Once on the front stoop, I pushed the doorbell. I couldn’t hear if it rang or not. I always hate that, when you can’t hear the bell. You wonder, should I ring it again? Is it broken? Should I knock? Of course, you don’t want to annoy people, so you just stand there and wait, not really sure if anyone knows you’re at the door or not. It’s a precarious position to be in. Even more precarious when you intend to burglarize the home you’re hoping to enter.

A long, thin window that flanked the left side of the door enabled me to look inside and see a person coming our way. A moment later the door opened and a small, demure looking woman appeared. By her looks I would have said she was in her mid forties. Her dark, straight hair was pulled back in a pony-tail and she wore plastic frame glasses on a thin and somewhat pointy face. She didn’t say anything, just gave us a hesitant, questioning look as if that was sufficient for us to start explaining our visit.

“Hi,” I said, extending my hand for a shake. “My name is Barbara Marr. This is Bunny Bergen. We know Michelle, and we just wanted to stop by, offer our condolences to Lance and see if there was anything we could do to help. Is Lance here?”

“No, I’m sorry he’s not. I’m his sister, Julia.” Her handshake was firmer than I’d expected for how low-key she seemed. “Would you like to come in?”

That’s what we were hoping for. “Maybe just for a minute.” Once inside, she led us back a few steps to a small living room where Bunny and I sat on a couch and Julia sat in a small Queen Anne chair.

“How is she doing?” Bunny asked.

Julia sighed. “It’s touch and go, truthfully,” she said, just above a whisper. “Michelle’s parents are at the hospital right now, and her brother just took the kids out for supper. They needed some sort of distraction. Poor things.”

I wondered why she was whispering if the kids weren’t in the house. Probably just her way. It did make me worry that someone else might be around though. The fewer people the better for Bunny’s plan to be a success.

Obviously distraught, Bunny grabbed a tissue from her coat pocket. “Do you mind if I use the restroom?” she asked.

“Of course, it’s—”

Bunny was already on her feet. “I know where it is. Thank you.” She was gone in a flash.

“Are you close friends with Michelle?” asked Julia when we were alone.

“Bunny and Michelle were . . .” I jumped when Bunny slammed the bathroom door very loudly. I cringed apologetically, then continued. “They were quite close. I really only knew her as an acquaintance.” I shook my head, mortified when I realized that I had just referred to Michelle in the past tense. “I’m so sorry! I mean they ARE close and I KNOW her as an acquaintance. Positive thoughts, right? I’m sure she’ll pull through.” I was glad I didn’t slip and say I was the one who had nearly done her in myself by running her over in the dead of the night or that the gun used to shoot her was in the back of my rental van. Some things are better left unsaid.

“We’re all praying,” said Julia with as much smile as she could muster.

I was worried about what Bunny was up to down the hall, so small talk wasn’t exactly on the tip of my tongue. Awkward silence filled the air. Luckily or not so luckily, Bunny came to the rescue by wailing very loudly from the bathroom.

Julia sat up straight and furrowed her brow. “Is she okay?”

“Well, she was very upset when she heard about Michelle. And she’s been . . . out of sorts anyway. She probably just needs some time.” I was beginning to regret sending Bunny in on this job. She didn’t exactly have all of her wits about her to pull off a James Bond-like maneuver.

“I hope she doesn’t wake MoMo. He’s been very cranky lately.”

Uh oh.

“MoMo?” I asked, panic setting in.

“My son, Morgan. We call him MoMo. He’s been a grumpy Grumperson all day and finally fell asleep on Michelle and Lance’s bed.”

Holy cow. The plan was for Bunny to get the Pooh Bear from the dresser in their bedroom. If MoMo the brat had set up camp in there we were in deep doo doo. Bunny quieted down, so I pressed on, trying to keep the charade going even though I really just wanted to run out the door and call the police to come gather the clue themselves.

“She sounds like she’s calm now. I’m so sorry.” I cleared my throat. “How is Lance taking all of this?”

Suddenly, Julia became very animated. “Oh! It’s just awful,” she said, her hands going into the air in a gesture of disbelief. “His wife is in the hospital fighting for her dear life and he can’t even be with her!”

“Why is that?”

“The police are holding him for questioning as a suspect, can you believe it?”

Two loud thumps turned Julia’s attention toward the hall. Worried that Bunny was bungling our mission, I scrambled to keep Julia talking. “Really?” I said. “That’s awful. Tell me more.”

“He has a lawyer, but there’s been no bail posted, and the police won’t discuss the matter with anyone in the family. Even the lawyer won’t tell us anything. Our father is at the police station right now trying to get some answers.” She was shaking her head and pursing her lips. “This whole thing is a nightmare like I’ve never seen.”

“Wow.” The comment was lame, I know. My conversation-machine was on the fritz.

Bunny returned and sat back down stiffly on the couch next to me. “I’m sorry,” she said to Julia. “I’m not feeling well. Could I have a glass of water?”

“Oh. Um, sure.” Julia didn’t seem keen on hostessing, but she stood, if somewhat grudgingly, and disappeared into the kitchen.

“There’s a kid in the bedroom,” Bunny whispered.

“MoMo—her son.”

“MoMo? What kind of name is that?”

That sure was the crackpot calling the kettle black. “Why were you making that awful noise?”

“I was trying to wake him up so he’d leave.”

If I were a hitting woman, I would have slapped her silly. “That’s a stupid idea. And it didn’t work. Although I’m sure you woke a few corpses.”

“I know. I’m not thinking clearly.”

“Why didn’t you just sneak in? Kids sleep through anything.”

“I tried that too.”

I didn’t like the sound of that. “Tried?”

“It’s not there.”

I heard glasses clinking in the kitchen and then water running from the faucet.

“What do we do?” Bunny asked.

“Abort, Abort.”

Bunny grabbed my arm. “But I need that bear.”

I heard Julia shut off the faucet and then her returning footsteps. “Oh! MoMo, you little devil!”

Julia appeared back in the living room with a glass of water in one hand and a toy in the other. “He found this in Michelle and Lance’s room and he insists on playing with it. I hope they don’t mind.” She set the stuffed animal on the coffee table in front of us and handed Bunny a glass.

It was the miracle of the wayward Winnie-the-Pooh Bear. Bless little MoMo and his grubby, spoiled rotten little hands.

If I were Catholic, I would have genuflected. Surely, somewhere, angels sang.

Bunny gulped some water then coughed a little. She couldn’t take her eyes off the bear.

Okay, the eagle had landed. Now we just had to figure out how to snatch the sucker and make a clean getaway. I stared at it for what seemed like an hour, but in a flash of brilliance, blurted out, “My Pooh Bear!”

Yes, I took a risk. The maneuver could have backfired. Julia could have grabbed it away shrieking, “Who do you think you are you stupid, idiot, lying bag of dingo barf? This was a gift from my brother to his beautiful wife in honor of his deep and committed love for her.”

Thankfully she didn’t say any of that. Instead, she blinked a few times in bewilderment and asked, “What?”

“Well, not my Pooh Bear, but my daughter’s. Amber. It’s hers.” I picked it up.

“But—”

“That’s right,” Bunny chimed in. “I remember you telling me that Amber left it here the other day.”

“Right. I did.”

“But I thought you and Michelle were only acquaintances,” Julia objected.

“We were—are. But . . . my daughter Amber and her daughter—”

“Son,” corrected Bunny.

“Son—Amber and her . . . youngest son . . .”

“Phillip,” offered Bunny.

“Right. Amber and Phillip. They’re like this.” I held up crossed fingers and shoved the Pooh Bear under my arm. “So glad I found this. Thank you. Amber has been so upset. I’ll take it to her right now.” I was already at the door with Bunny right behind me and poor Julia looking like a robot ready to blow because the situation did not compute. Bunny turned and handed the glass of water to her. “Thank you. I needed that.”

I pulled the door open. “Enjoy your visit.” Ugh. That was hardly appropriate. I was full of lame comments, but what could I say? I hope your brother isn’t a killer and please don’t send the police after me for stealing his Pooh Bear?





Back in the car, I told Bunny to hang onto the stash until we drove away from the house. We didn’t want anyone seeing what we were up to. Julia was still standing at the door, glass of water in hand, when I put my pedal to the metal. There were some tennis courts just around the corner with a tiny parking lot, so I pulled in there.

“Okay,” I said turning off the ignition, “let’s see the goods.” I felt so criminal as Bunny held up the soft, cuddly, and innocent plaything. Poor Winnie. Caught in the middle. Would he really reveal Michelle’s attempted assassin?

“‘In the Pooh Bear,’” Bunny said. “Those were Michelle’s words. This is the one that Lance gave to Michelle when they got married. I’m assuming she meant for me to look inside.”

“Do we have to tear it apart?” I didn’t want to ruin an item of sentimental value only to discover we were way off base.

Bunny flipped the animal around at different angles, running her finger through the fur. “Look!” She pointed to the seam along Pooh’s underside. It had clearly been ripped open and sewn shut again; the new stitching was loose and the thread was a different color. Bunny pulled at the threads but couldn’t get them loose. We needed something sharp. I always keep a pair of scissors in my glove compartment, but I wasn’t in my own van. I doubted that the grouchy rental delivery man had left a courtesy pair.

“What about nail clippers?” asked Bunny.

“Those I have!” I dug through my purse until I felt the fingernail clipper on my key ring. A mother must always be prepared for nail emergencies.

I started clipping at the threads. “What kind of trouble were they having—Michele and Lance?”

“How do you know they were having problems?” Bunny asked as she held the bear.

“Your fight in the parking lot. We heard you say they were in marriage counseling.”

She got emotional again. “See? I said such awful things that I didn’t mean to. They’re in counseling, but it’s nothing horrible really. He loves her terribly, but she’s having . . .” she lowered her voice. “Sexual issues.”

“Oh,” I said, clipping the last of the threads free. Bunny pulled the broken seam open and stuck a couple of fingers in.

“You feel anything?” I asked.

“Yup . . . there’s a piece of paper here . . .” she was working her fingers around and sticking her tongue out as if it might help her get a grip on the paper she couldn’t see. My heart started to pump faster. We had just waltzed into a house, heisted a treasured gift, and were about to possibly find evidence inside to implicate a murderer. I was a little scared, but kind of excited too.

“Got it!” Bunny shouted.

I smiled and we high fived. I had to admit, I was really starting to like this woman. I felt pretty guilty for being so hard on her before.

The Cracker Jack prize was a folded piece of paper. Bunny opened it and discovered it was really two printouts that had been folded together. She pulled them apart and held the pages up so we could both see.

The first was a picture of Krystle Jennings. The second was an article from Wikipedia. Reading down, it talked about the “Dynasty Dames”—three girls from Wembsley Women’s College in Massachusetts who had robbed three banks in 1982. Dubbed “The Dynasty Dame Robbers” because the disguises they wore when pulling a job were character masks from the famous television series, Dynasty. They had shot and wounded a policeman during their third robbery and had been on the FBI’s Most Wanted list ever since. The article gave the names of two, Anita Abernathy and Marilyn Schmutz, but also had a photo of the third, and person of highest interest because she was the cop shooter—KiKi Urbanowski.

“What do you think she’s saying—that Krystle Jennings is this KiKi person?” I asked.

“Well,” said Bunny, looking closely at the two pictures. “There’s a bit of a resemblance.”

“That would explain why Krystle disappeared so suddenly. Maybe Michelle found her out.”

“Maybe . . .”

“What are you thinking?”

“Or maybe they were partners.”

“Why do you say that?”

“Because Michelle went to Wembsley.”