“Well, I’ll bet you’re one of their favorites,” Mrs. Stemple said. “What do you think you’ll do?”
“I can’t wait much longer for Marshall. I’m going to pack my stuff and get out of here in a little while, but if it’s okay with you, I’m going to hang out here awhile. In case Marshall calls, and to make sure that policeman isn’t going back to his place.”
“Okay by me. Don’t get much company,” she said.
“I’m going to try calling him again.”
“It’s only been a minute.”
But Sarita left the chair and tried anyway. Fifteen seconds later, she was back sitting down.
She used another tissue to dab at her eyes. “I think something bad has happened. Maybe he’s been arrested.”
Doris said, “None of my business, but you want to tell me what kind of trouble you’re in?”
“I . . . figured out something. I heard some things, and I told someone. I told Mrs. Gaynor. She was the lady I worked for. I thought it was the right thing to do. I told her something she wasn’t supposed to know, I guess.” She swallowed hard. “And now she’s dead.”
“Good lord,” said Mrs. Stemple. “You know who killed that woman? I saw that on the news.”
Sarita shook her head. “Not for certain. But Mr. Gaynor . . . I never liked him. I’ve never trusted him. There’s something not right about him. When I found her . . .” She had to stop. Her eyes opened wider, as if seeing something that, in her memory, was more vivid than what was actually around her.
“When I found her, I tried to set things straight.”
“And what was that, darlin’?”
Sarita didn’t hear the question. “But I didn’t do enough. I should have explained.” She turned and looked at the old woman. “I . . . I hate to ask this, but would you have any money?”
“Money?”
Sarita nodded. “I need to get to New York. Maybe a bus, or on the train. I have to get to Albany first. I’d tell you I’d pay you back, but I’m not sure I’ll be able to do it. Not anytime soon. If you had anything you could spare—I have to tell you the truth—you’ll probably never see it again.”
The old woman smiled. “You wait here.” She grabbed the remote button for the chair and slowly, almost magically, she was elevated into a standing position. She walked slowly into her bedroom, where she could be heard opening and closing several drawers. When she returned, she had several bills in her hand, which she handed to Sarita.
“There’s four hundred and twenty-five dollars there,” she said.
Sarita appeared ready to weep. “I can’t thank you enough.”
“I bet no one ever gave you a tip at Davidson Place for all the work you done, did they?”
Sarita shook her head.
“Well, then, you take that, and you get out of here.”
“Thank you,” Sarita said. “Thank you so much. For that, and for not giving me away when the policeman came to the door.”
“No problem.”
“I wouldn’t ever want to get you into trouble.”
Mrs. Stemple shrugged. “I’ve dealt with cops before. Back when I was your age, when I was a working girl, I had to deal with those assholes all the time. I don’t know what you and your boyfriend did, darling, but I don’t give a rat’s ass.”
FIFTY
WALDEN Fisher trekked up to the Promise Falls cemetery almost every day. He liked to go up after he’d had breakfast, but once he’d taken Victor Rooney back to his van, he’d decided to run a few errands, and his visit to the cemetery got pushed back to midday.
Just so long as he got there.
He’d only started making this a daily trip since Beth had died. He had wanted to come up here more often to kneel at his daughter Olivia’s headstone and say a few words, but Beth would not accompany him. It was too upsetting for her. Even when they were just driving around town, both of them in the car, Walden had to make sure their travels did not take them past the cemetery.
All Beth had to see was the gates of the place to be overcome.
Sometimes in the evenings, and on weekends when he wasn’t working, Walden would tell Beth he was off to Home Depot, and come up here instead to visit his daughter. But one couldn’t justify a daily visit to the hardware giant. No home needed that much maintenance. So he got up here only once a week or so.
But now, with Beth gone, with his wife and daughter both here sharing a plot, there was nothing to stop him from coming as often as he wanted.
He didn’t always bring flowers, but today he did. He’d popped into a florist on Richmond, at the foot of Proctor, for a bouquet of spring flowers. It was only after he’d gotten back into his car that he realized the woman behind the counter had shortchanged him, giving him a five instead of a ten.
There were some things you couldn’t worry about.