Miss Me When I'm Gone

chapter 33



The next morning, after Sam had left, I settled at the kitchen table with a mug of tea and Gretchen’s recording. I felt ready now—ready to hear Gretchen’s voice without dissolving into a hormonal-existential mess. I started the recording at the beginning again.

“So where were we?” the male voice was saying.

“You were talking about Linda and Shelly’s dad,” Gretchen replied.

“Your grandfather, yes,” replied the man.

“I never knew him,” said Gretchen.

“Well, he was a good guy,” the man continued. His voice had a nasal quality. “I knew the whole family from church. But I got to know him pretty well from the Knights,” the man was saying.

“The Knights?” Gretchen repeated.

“The Knights of Columbus. I was the youngest one in there. I didn’t stay long. But I had fun selling Tootsie Rolls a couple of times with your grandfather, outside of the IGA. It was to raise money for various charities. Handicapped kids.”

“Uh-huh,” said Gretchen.

“So your grandfather, he was pretty welcoming to me. I was a bachelor then. Didn’t know anyone in town for a while, really. Your grandparents took pity on me, had me over for dinner a few times. That was before he got sick, though. That was so sad. He left us way too soon.”

“So you felt like you knew my family,” said Gretchen, sounding slightly impatient. “That’s why you were willing to give Shelly a job years later.”

“Well—yes. I knew her since she was, uh, eleven or twelve or so. I liked your grandparents, liked the whole family. So when she came in for that clerk job, it felt like the right thing to do, to give her a chance. She’d had a rough go of it, but clearly cleaned up her act. And I wanted to help her get out of the factory. It seemed like it was dragging her down.”

Gretchen cleared her throat. “Still . . . a pharmacy clerk. For someone who’d had a drug addiction, that was a quite a . . . favor. Quite a leap of faith.”

So this man was Shelly’s last boss—the pharmacist, with whom she was supposedly flirting or maybe more. I looked back at my notes to remind myself of his name. Phil Coleman. Of whom Frank was supposedly jealous.

“I guess so,” answered the pharmacist. “But I felt like I knew the real girl, from before all of that. She’d been off the stuff for a year or two at least. And my impression was she’d mostly abused alcohol, actually, and some cocaine. It wasn’t like now, where I’d be concerned about someone lifting oxycodone, or whatever.”

“But still, it was a risk,” Gretchen said.

“I had faith in her. I wanted to give her that chance.”

“So it all worked out.”

The pharmacist sighed. “She only worked here about nine months before she was killed.”

Gretchen didn’t respond immediately to this statement. There was a shifting sound on the recording for a moment. I wondered if this guy knew he was being recorded. I supposed it didn’t really matter. He probably wouldn’t have agreed to talk to Gretchen if he had anything too illicit or explosive to share.

“But it all worked out?” Gretchen repeated.

“For the most part.”

There was another pause.

“So . . . there were problems, or no?” Gretchen nudged.

“Just a few growing pains on the job. But nothing related to her addiction recovery, of course. Nothing like filching medications. I’d have had to let her go for something like that, absolutely.”

“So what . . .” Gretchen began.

“Well . . .” There was a pause, then what sounded like another sigh from the pharmacist. “We had sort of a strange incident once. I caught her rifling through some of the recently filled prescriptions, from about a month earlier.”

“Not part of her job?”

“What? No. Not at all. Not prescriptions that old. When I asked her what she was doing, she couldn’t really come up with an answer. She said something about being worried about some teenagers . . . When I pressed her on it, she said that she thought they were maybe forging prescriptions, or something. But the more I asked about it—like, what did she think, that one of them lifted a prescription pad from one of the pediatricians? And didn’t she realize I knew all the town doctors’ handwriting like the back of my hand?”

“So you weren’t convinced there was a problem,” Gretchen said, after a moment’s pause.

“No. Not at all. In fact, I pointed out to her that no young kids had come in with prescriptions for anything narcotic recently. Antibiotics and antifungals and the usual things. Really, I’m pretty sure it was something she said to cover up being . . . well, maybe being nosy, or maybe checking up on someone in particular. She didn’t seem entirely convinced of her theory herself. She didn’t really try to sell me on it.”

“But you didn’t fire her for that?”

“No. She’d done really well, up till then. She was a great worker. And I thought to myself—hey—maybe she did really think that happened. With her history, maybe she was a little overly concerned about the kids getting drugs on her watch. I don’t know where she could’ve gotten that idea, but I wanted to give her the benefit of the doubt.”

“It never came up again, after that one time?” Gretchen asked.

“No . . . not that I can remember. But that was maybe a month before she was killed.”

There was another pause.

“So that was the only problem you had with her on the job. Otherwise, I hear you got along pretty well.”

I held my breath for the pharmacist’s answer. I knew Gretchen was probably trying to hint at their supposed flirtation. She said it so casually, so sweetly, he apparently didn’t pick up on it.

“Yes. She was very patient with customers. Very careful.”

“Okay,” Gretchen said uncertainly.

There was another long silence, then the pharmacist asked, “Did you have any other questions?”

“Um . . .”

I bit my lip. I wasn’t sure if I wanted her to ask him or not. Surely he knew it was something people had talked about?

“Did Frank ever come in when she was working?” Gretchen asked.

“Frank Grippo?”

“Yes.”

“Um . . . No, not really. Once or twice. And never for long.”

“What was your sense of him? Of their relationship?”

“Oh, I really couldn’t say. He brought her her lunch once. Maybe stopped in to buy a soda and say hello a time or two. Not enough for me to make a judgment at the time. I knew his face. I knew he was her boyfriend. He seemed a little old for her, and maybe a little gruff. But I didn’t ever speak more than about five words to him, so I couldn’t say I knew much about him. Until he was arrested, of course, and in the papers . . . then I learned all sorts of things about him. But I’m sure that’s not what you’re talking about.”

“Yeah, no,” Gretchen replied. “I know all about what people said about him afterward.”

“It really was very tragic, and I’m sorry. How old were you then?”

“Uh. Seven.”

“Seven. Oh my God. I’m so sorry.”

I wasn’t expecting this, and it seemed Gretchen wasn’t either.

“It’s, uh . . .” she stuttered. “Thank you. I appreciate that.”

“I wish I knew more. But I just never got much of a read on Frank Grippo.”

“That’s okay,” Gretchen said.

There was some more rustling on the recording.

“So, have you been in town long?” the pharmacist asked.

“Oh, since Friday this time. I’ve been up a few times, talking to family, Shelly’s old friends.”

“Do you like Emerson? Do you remember it well from when you were a kid?”

“Some spots that I went to a lot back then. Like the playground on Kipling and Randy’s Hot Dogs.”

“Ah. Randy’s. Gotta love Randy’s dogs.”

I rolled my eyes. All of these references to that blasted hot dog stand were making me want a hot dog in the worst way. I wasn’t supposed to eat them—What to Expect had told me so.

The rest of the conversation was similar small talk and ended with a discussion about the weather. Gretchen said good-bye to the pharmacist. That was followed by a series of rustling sounds, some clicks that sounded like heels on pavement, and a car door. Then the recording stopped.

I waited a few seconds to see if there was anything else. Then there was a slightly different kind of hiss, then a little clunk.

“You mind if I record this?” Gretchen asked.

“You’re something else, you know that?” said a soft, vaguely familiar male voice.

“Is that a yes?” Gretchen teased.

Gentle laughter. “No, Gretchen. Give me that.”

That recording stopped there. I had to replay it three times before I could place the voice: Kevin Conley, the grown-up paperboy. They certainly sounded comfortable with each other. And Gretchen sounded so lighthearted.

I let the recorder run to the next interview.

“It might take me a minute to get used to that thing,” said a gravelly female voice.

“I don’t need to use it. Really,” Gretchen said.

“No, no,” was the response. “It’ll just take a minute. Then you won’t be able to shut me up, hon.”

“Okay. Well, then. Should we start with that night? Or something easier?”

“We should just get right to it, hon.”

“Okay. So you and Shelly went to the movies.”

“Yup. Me and Shelly and her friends Judy and Diane.”

“Were all four of you friends?” Gretchen asked.

“Not really. I only knew them through Shelly. I knew Shelly from the factory, you know?”

“Yeah.”

“I got the feeling those girls didn’t usually associate with folks from the factory. It was just they knew Shelly since she was a kid.”

Hearing this, I thought about Judy and Diane and their disdain for Shelly’s friend Melanie. I guessed this was her speaking.

“Uh-huh,” Gretchen said softly.

“And actually, I never really spent much time with them. It was just the movie we’d picked for that night. The Color Purple. Shelly mentioned it to her other friends, and they decided they wanted to go along. Kind of invited themselves, I think.”

“Just the movie? Did you guys go out after?”

“Me and Shelly and Diane did. We all met at the movie. Judy went home after. We were going out for a drink, and Judy wasn’t into that. Judy was engaged, planning a wedding for that spring. Shelly would say all Judy ever wanted to do was sit at home and dog-ear her brides’ magazines.”

Melanie laughed a little.

“Was it a late night, with the three of you?” Gretchen asked.

“No. We were home by about midnight. I think it was awkward for Shelly, trying to keep the conversation going between her and Diane and me. We were very different, you know? She and Diane talked mostly about their old high school friends and stuff. Me and Shelly, more about the factory and the guys we went out with. And she knew I was self-conscious around those friends of hers. I probably shouldn’t have been—they were nice girls. But I think it made Shelly uncomfortable, too. She was uncomfortable that night. After one drink, she said she was tired, and we all went home.”

“Did she talk about Frank at all that night?”

“Not really. A little. Same old stuff.”

“Which was what?”

“She was worried about his drinking. She thought she’d probably have to ask him to move out soon if it didn’t improve. I mean, Shelly was no Goody Two-shoes about alcohol, let’s be honest about that. Even when she went to rehab and everything, it was to get off the drugs. And the drinking, after that, she cut down. Got it under control. But she never gave it up, did the AA thing or anything. Back when we both worked at the factory, she’d go to happy hour sometimes with the rest of us. She liked to have a good time.”

“Uh-huh,” Gretchen said.

“But Frank . . . I think she felt Frank was over-the-top. That that kind of drinking she shouldn’t be around. Especially now that she was trying to hold a job and see you more. And she hadn’t realized the extent of it before he moved in.”

Gretchen hesitated for a moment, drawing in a breath.

“Why did Shelly let him move in? What was the attraction in the first place?”

“Well. That’s a good question. You know, I knew Frank a little bit from the factory. And he could be funny. Laid-back. It was easy to be around him. No pressure, I guess. But I think what Shelly liked about him was that he was strong. Not just muscle strong, but sort of stoic about things.

“And honestly, I think the girl had a problem being by herself. After she and that Roland guy broke up, I think it was hard for her being in that house alone. She was one of these girls who always thinks she needs a man around. Like she thought she needed the protection. Kind of ironic, I guess. That that was what he was there for.”

“So do you think he was the one? Who killed her?” Gretchen asked.

Melanie sighed. “Wow, honey. I didn’t expect you to ask me that straight out.”

“Well. It’s kind of the point of the whole thing, really,” Gretchen said softly. “To ask that question.”

“Well, you know . . . the first couple of weeks . . . knowing Frank just as an acquaintance, even . . . I thought, no, it couldn’t be. It didn’t seem like . . . you know, you want to feel like you could know that about a person, when you looked in his eyes. I couldn’t quite believe it. And that’s maybe just because you can never believe someone you know could do something like that. But some people do. And Shelly did talk about how he was unpredictable when he was drinking. And that they’d fight. She never said that he hit her, but she never said he didn’t either. I’d like to think that she’d have told me. We confided about a lot of things. I didn’t know what to think. And the trial left a lot of questions. I don’t know about Frank. It took me a while to decide it was possible that it was him. And I still feel it’s possible. I’m not like some of her other friends, though. I’m not sure.”

“You say you guys confided in each other a lot. Do you think there was any truth to the rumor that she was getting involved with her boss?”

“Phil Coleman?”

“Yeah.”

“Yeah. Hon, I don’t want you to have a bad memory of Shelly. Shelly was a real sweet girl, and smart about a lot of things. Just not men. You know? She was still young. A lot younger than you are now, even.”

“So you say yes. Why? Did she tell you she was involved with him?”

“Uh. Yeah. It wasn’t going to go anywhere. She went out with him one night after work. For a drink, or whatever. And I don’t know what else happened, but it sounded to me like things got romantic. I was honest about that when the lawyers asked me. I know some of her family and friends thought I was helping them destroy her reputation. But that’s never what I wanted to do, hon. When people ask me questions about my poor friend who was murdered, what am I supposed to do but tell the truth? I felt the truth was the best way to find out what really happened. Even the unflattering parts of the truth. Do you mind if I smoke, hon?”

“Not at all,” Gretchen said.

After a pause of about fifteen seconds, Melanie continued. “I told you, Shelly’s way of dealing with men was kind of warped. I think it always had been, since she’d started getting in trouble with the boys in high school. I think this time it was that Shelly was afraid of losing her job. There were a couple of incidents at work where Phil was unhappy about some mistakes she’d made, or something. And getting a little flirty or romantic with Coleman . . . I think that’s how she’d always dealt with problems like that. Really, I loved Shelly. But it was true. That’s how she tried to solve her problems a lot of the time. I’m sorry to say it. As I said, she was young.”

“It’s okay,” Gretchen said. “So, this idea that Frank had, that she was looking for an upgrade, someone who’d make her look like a more responsible parent . . .”

“That’s crazy. Shelly had some crazy impulses with men, but she wasn’t dumb. She wouldn’t have rationalized going out with Coleman—who was engaged—as a good parenting choice.”

“But Frank obviously knew something was up between Shelly and her boss.”

“Yeah. Yeah, obviously he did.”

“And that could’ve been enough to make him really, really angry.”

“Yeah. That’s all true.”

“Do you think that’s what happened?”

“Probably, Gretchen.”

The interview stopped abruptly there. There was a silent spot on the recording, and I hit pause again, to take it all in. Melanie was certainly different from Shelly’s childhood friends. I wondered if I should track her down and talk to her, too.

I hit play.

Gretchen was saying, “Thanks for talking to me again.”

“Oh, no, no, no. It’s my pleasure,” said a hoarse male voice.

“How are you feeling today, Dr. Skinner?”

“Oh, pretty nice.”

“That’s good to hear,” Gretchen said loudly, enunciating.

“You said your name is Shelly, right?” Dr. Skinner asked.

“No, I said Shelly was my mother. My biological mother, you know?”

“Oh. Then what’s your name again?”

“Gretchen.”

“Yes, that’s right,” Dr. Skinner said good-naturedly.

“But I wanted to ask about Shelly. That’s probably why you were thinking of her name.”

“Yes. Probably. That and . . . you look just like her.”

“Yes! That’s what everyone says,” Gretchen replied.

“Everyone is right,” said Dr. Skinner.

“Maybe it would be easier if we started with what you knew about Shelly before she died,” Gretchen said. “I know she and your daughter spent a lot of time together. At each other’s houses.”

“Oh, yes. All of the girls liked to come over and go in the pool.”

“Diane’s friends, you mean? Judy and Shelly?” Gretchen asked.

“Yes, Judy and Shelly. Nice girls, both of them. Shelly was the prettiest, though.”

“I see.”

“Judy had excellent manners,” Dr. Skinner continued. “Still does, really. Knows how to talk to people.”

Gretchen coughed. “Shelly didn’t have good manners?”

“Oh, sure. Just not exceptional. Each of the girls was exceptional at something.”

“What about Diane?”

“My daughter? She’s very athletic. She’s very good at basketball.”

“Does she still play?” Gretchen asked.

“Oh, that’s silly. No.”

“So, getting back to Shelly. You knew her a long time.”

“Oh, yes.”

“What did you think when she moved back into the neighborhood? When she was in her early twenties?”

“I can’t say I thought much. I was glad to see she was doing better. It was generous of Bill to rent her that little house. I’d have been afraid of druggies going in and out at all hours. But he felt he owed it to Florence to be nice to her daughter. Florence was Shelly’s mother, you see.”

“I know,” I said.

“Yes, I guess you would.”

Dr. Skinner was starting to sound a little confused. Gretchen continued anyway.

“So you didn’t have much interaction when she was older, when she moved back in?”

“Nope. Not at first. But after a little while.”

“Tell me about it,” Gretchen said gently.

“I’d see her around the neighborhood. Ask her about her job. Try to catch up. She was still a sweet girl, despite all of the trouble.”

“Did you have any impressions of Frank? Frank Grippo?”

Dr. Skinner sighed. “I heard he was bad news.”

“Uh-huh, anything specific?”

“Hadn’t he been to jail?”

“Well, no. He’d been arrested a couple of times in the past. He’d beaten a guy up once while he was drunk . . .”

“Shelly could have done better.”

“I agree,” Gretchen muttered.

“Shelly was usually so sweet.”

“That’s what they say,” Gretchen said, with a sigh still in her voice.

“But she did give me some trouble,” Dr. Skinner said, his tone suddenly different—clearer, more confident, as if he’d just remembered something. “When Dr. Platt died, she started giving me trouble.”

“What kind of trouble?” Gretchen asked.

“She wasn’t happy. She wanted me to do something.”

“What could you do about it?”

“I don’t know.” The doctor was quiet for a moment. “You’re right. I don’t know. What could I do but take on some of the kids? Help out by taking some of the kids as patients? What else could I do?”

Gretchen paused. “Did she have questions about his death?”

“No. He had a heart attack. That was that. The man smoked like a chimney and had three rib eyes a week. No one who knew him was surprised.”

“But Shelly was surprised? Was she close to him, or something?”

“Close? Uh, not that I know of. Why would she be close with him?”

“I don’t know,” Gretchen said quickly. “I’m just trying to figure out what you’re saying. You mentioned to me last time that you chatted with her a few days before she died. Was this the chat you were talking about?”

“Yes, dear. What else would it be?”

“Okay.”

“It was me she gave a hard time to. She gave me a hard time, when he died.”

Gretchen sighed. “But why?”

“Because nothing I said would calm her down. I offered to do this or that to help, but no. Nothing.”

“Like what else did you offer?”

“Oh, I don’t know.” Dr. Skinner sounded exasperated. “Everything I could think of. I’m getting a little tired, dear. Forgive me.”

“But why was Shelly so upset when Dr. Platt died?”

“Because, then, there weren’t enough doctors.”

“I don’t understand. Enough doctors for what?”

There was a long pause then.

“Shelly?” the doctor said hoarsely.

“Yes?” Gretchen replied quietly.

“There’s nothing to worry about. The kids will be fine.”

“Why wouldn’t they be?” Gretchen asked.

“Exactly. That’s what I said. They’re fine.”

“Dr. Skinner?”

“Yes, dear?”

“Can we talk about the day Shelly died now?”

Then there were some shifting sounds.

“I’d rather not,” Dr. Skinner said. “Forgive me. I’m tired, and it was the saddest day.”

“Okay,” Gretchen said, sounding disappointed.

My cell phone rang just then. With some relief—this conversation with Dr. Skinner was depressing me—I stopped the recorder and rolled off the couch to go answer it.

It was Gregor.

“Um . . . sorry to bother you,” he began.

“You’re not bothering me.”

“It’s just . . . I wanted to ask you about something. Um, is Gretchen’s ex gonna be helping you with the whole literary executor thing?”

“Jeremy? No. Not that I know of. I mean, I’ve tried to contact him a few times to chat . . . but so far we haven’t talked. Why?”

“Well . . . It’s just . . . he showed up here yesterday, saying that Gretchen’s parents had asked him to help, too. Wanted the same files you got. Asked if that could be arranged.”

“No one in Gretchen’s family told me about that.”

“Huh. You’d think they would’ve.”

“Did you call them and ask them?”

“No. They . . . uh . . . I just don’t think they like me much.”

“Did you let him have her files?”

“No. I was headed out. Didn’t have time. Wasn’t sure if I should, anyway.”

“Maybe I should call the Waterses and ask them.”

“Yeah. That’d be great,” Gregor said.

Five minutes later I had Mrs. Waters on the phone.

“Jeremy?” she repeated. “No. I haven’t spoken to him at all. Why, dear? Do you need help? Maybe you should slow down? What’re you now, seven months? More than that, right? Just put it aside for a little while and relax. Really, I don’t care if you wait a year . . .”

“No, it’s not that,” I said. “I don’t need help.”

I hesitated, realizing I didn’t wish to worry her. “Jeremy’s been asking if I need any help, and I didn’t know if he’d spoken to you.”

“Oh. No,” Mrs. Waters said. “He hasn’t. No hard feelings with Jeremy, dear, but I’m not sure if Gretchen would’ve wanted that.”

“Okay. Really, it means a lot to me to be reading Gretchen’s stuff. I don’t need help. I was just asking, is all. To make sure.”

“Well, thank you for that, honey,” Mrs. Waters said with a sigh.

After I’d hung up I called the newspaper and told them I was sick.

I knew I was pushing it—with all the days I’d had to call in during my early pregnancy. But I had a few things to say to Jeremy. And I wasn’t willing to wait.