What happens when Doug returns home from his 'excursion'? Revised Chapter Eleven!

Chapter Eleven

Lori Hearns deserts her half-eaten plate of Thai take-out to browse through an article on carpal tunnel syndrome. One of her clients, a software business owner, is investigating an employee’s accusation that his company is to blame for the man’s sorry condition—one caused by excessive typing.

Lori is not convinced. His application for workman’s compensation seems bogus and she can hardly wait to dig into the case and expose the jerk for all he’s worth.

To Lori; solving crimes, righting wrongs, is just as much a hobby as it is a profession. Since the age of nine, she’s been detecting lies. When her younger brother’s bike had been stolen, it was she who had prosecuted the villain, following the skid marks to his pathetic house five houses down the hill. Could he have been more obvious? Pinning him to the ground at his shoulders, she had interrogated the dirty faced thief until he choked up a confession.

As if that wasn’t enough, she threatened to press charges against him lest he pay her brother twenty dollars for pain and suffering and perform community service in the neighborhood. He had agreed to both and not a dime was wasted on court fees.

To this day, Lori prefers to deal with crime privately, despite the fact that she can rarely turn down a side job offered by the boys as the police department. Since high school, they have allowed her to tag along on cases, credit to the numerous mysteries she miraculously solved in town, following the bike incident.

She’s a natural, McKenzie had deemed, keeping her under his wing right up through college. And now, twenty-five years later, she hasn’t stopped digging for clues. The Chief may choose to retire but one thing’s for sure: Lori Hearns hasn’t forgotten a single thing she’s learned from him.

To the sound of her scribbling pen, Sal flicks an ear and casually looks up at her from his favorite spot by the fireplace. The cat is beyond fat but Lori tells herself, and the vet, and anyone else that dares to inquire about his weight—that he’s big-boned. Cats are lazy by nature, she decides, and the heated tiles have a way of catering to his sedentary lifestyle.

The phony gas fireplace, a thing of charm, had influenced her decision to buy the condo six months ago. Why clean up wood chips and soot when the ambience of a fire is only a button away? The outdoor Jacuzzi, pool, and weekly cleaning service had solidified the deal. Financing the joint was another story, also another reason to work tonight.

She sketches a flow chart on symptoms related to carpal tunnel disease while her vibrating cell phone crawls across the table. She snatches it and checks the caller i.d., surprised to see Doug Davis’s cell number revealed. Typically, it is his wife calling her.

“Hearns.”

“Uh, hi…Detective Hearns... this is Doug Davis calling…I hope this isn’t a bad—”

“Time to call? Nah. Saturday nights are prime time for me. Betcha thought you’d be getting my voicemail, eh?”

“Well, actually, I wasn’t sure. But I figured you may be out, so I was going to leave a message and let you know about a slight problem with…or maybe not…geez, I’m rambling now. The thing is…I’m calling about my wife, Serena. I’m worried about her, Detective Hearns, and if it’s okay with you, I’d like to talk to you in person about it.”

* * *
They are seated at the kitchen table, below a hanging set of silver pendant lights, the aroma of coffee and smoke floating between their breaths. After agreeing to the visit, Lori had changed from a velour jogging suit to a black cashmere sweater and pair of khakis, though she leaves her hair down.

Doug, wearing a pair of jeans and white tee shirt, appears to have stepped out of a Happy Days set. Even his hair seems spiked higher than usual on the top. He no longer wears a bandage on his wrist. The look is an intrigue. She presses her hands together at her chin, speaks gently.

“Is Serena still worried about Roth’s punishment? I already told her…as soon as that man hits rehab we’re zooming in for trial…and this just may be McKenzie’s last case which is even better.” She shakes a cigarette from its carton and lights up. “Cops love to exit on a high note,” she adds, drawing in a deep drag.

Sal, inconvenienced by new sounds, looks up before collapsing on his side.

“Why his last case?” Gingerly, Doug lifts his mug to his lips. His bicep muscles are lean yet muscular.

“He’s burnt out like the rest of ‘em…wants to retire and watch his grandson play baseball” she says, moving her lips to allow smoke to channel in the opposite direction.

“Oh. Well anyways, my wife…Serena,” he adds, as though she has forgotten her name, “ just needs some reassurance that Roth will not be granted another opportunity to harm another child…and I have to say that I couldn’t agree with her more. But she’s taking the incident pretty hard…almost like it’s affecting her mind,” he says with hand gestures.

Lori squints an eye, listening carefully. Doug goes on.

“I know it’s normal for a mother to feel this way…for a father to feel this way”—he adds, avoiding the sexist implication, “but I truly think that if my wife is given some concrete answers as to exactly how this man will pay, her mind will rest and she’ll be able to kind of move on, you know what I mean?”

He extends an arm across the table as though preparing for a handshake.

“I know exactly what you mean,” she says, cupping her hand over his. “This man will pay alright, Mr. Davis,” she says, her voice filled with smoke, “but realize there are different levels of kidnapping to consider in our legal system and punishments are assigned accordingly. I’ll tell you right now, your son’s abduction will be ranked as a class B felony,”

“Class B? Wait. What are you talking about? Clearly, this man is a criminal. He physically moved my son—against his will—to another place. If that doesn’t warrant a crime and major jail time, I don’t know what does.”

“There’s no question on the charge, Mr. Davis,” she cuts in. “Indeed, Roth kidnapped your son. However, due to the fact that the abduction lasted for only an hour or so and the victim, your son, was not terrorized or injured, first degree will not fly in a court of law. We’re better off exposing his creepy track record…about how he had been watching your son for the past year, in hopes that we’ll discredit his character and persuade a few bleeding-heart parents in the jury. I’ll have to sniff around during jury selection and see what’s out there.”

Doug scratches the back of his head, quickens the pace of his response. “It’s likely that my son may be scarred for life, Ms. Hearns. I have no idea, at this point, if he’ll have the desire to get on a snowboard again, despite the fact that it’s probably his favorite thing to do. And you’re telling me that because he was not terrorized or injured…he may get off of the hook? Gosh, I have a right mind to give that jerk a piece of my mind, just like Serena did last week.”

Her brows stiffen. She drops her spent butt into a cup of water. “What did you just say, Mr. Davis?”

Doug stands up before realizing he has nowhere to go. He sits back down and twirls his coffee mug. “I said I feel like giving him a piece of my mind just like...wait a minute…you didn’t know that Serena visited his hospital room, did you? I could have sworn she told me you knew.”

Of course she knew. Detectives always know the truth, even when someone’s hiding it, perhaps especially when someone’s hiding it. They just can’t pinpoint who will confess it. She never would have suspected Doug for this. When information leaks out this way, innocently, without an ulterior motive, the pay-off for a detective is as lucky as finding a four-leafed clover in a bed of weeds. Her response betrays nothing.

“So Serena was the uninvited guest, eh? Doesn’t surprise me, Mr. Davis.”

“So then…you know about how Roth had a stroke?”

As though ridding herself of her own harmful germs, she squirts a dollop of hand sanitizer onto her palms and rubs them together before answering. “Yes. I know about the stroke and that’s a whole new crime. But, as I explained to your wife, the hospital is not likely to pay for a medical investigation concerning this. Too many variables.”

She shifts backwards in her chair and single-handedly hoists the window up to let in fresh air. “I don’t know why I don’t kick this habit.” As though directing traffic, she waves smoke out. “Anyways, the hospital will not run the risk of losing, trust me.” Just as he is about to respond, her cell phone begins to vibrate. “Geez, who’s this?” She checks the caller: Bobby. “My brother…I’ll call him back.”

“You sure?” Doug asks, feeling terribly intrusive yet needing answers.

“Yeah. It’s fine. He probably just needs me to bail him out again, long story.”

“Oh…I’m sorry to hear that. But… in regard to this information about the stroke…it’s pretty much just the three of us who know about this, right?”
She rests her elbows atop the table, folds her hands. “And I’m guessing you want it to stay that way, Mr. Davis…am I right?”

He lifts himself slightly from his chair to dig into his pocket and draw out a few hundreds. “Absolutely. Is this enough?”

“Take your money back,” she says, sliding the bills back across the table.

“No, seriously, Lori. Just for peace of mind. Like I said, earlier, I’m worried about Serena. She just hasn’t been herself lately. Things have gotten complicated and it’s the least I can do.”

She rests her chin over her hands. “You can’t buy back information, Mr. Davis. You just have to trust those you hand it to.”

Sal has risen from his fireplace nook and springs up to the couch before coiling himself against a pillow, exhausted again. Doug’s eyes dart to the action then back to her face.

“Can we trust you to keep that information a secret, Lori? I mean…in the grand scheme of things, Serena’s actions were justified, don’t you think?”

She runs her fingers through her hair. “Justified? As in…your wife had the right to taunt this man?" She chuckles. "We both know it doesn’t really matter whether or not she was justified...what matters is—”

“Whether or not she gets caught,” Doug finishes.

“Took the words right out of my mouth,” she says.

“I know I don’t know you very well, Lori, but you seem like a decent person. So I’m asking you...” he says, squeezing his wedding ring, “actually, I’m begging you to keep that visit a secret.”

She leans back in her chair. “You ever hear what the experts say about people who don’t trust other people?”

He pauses, stares through her, waits…

“That they’re not to be trusted either.”

Doug clenches a fist. “I-I don’t understand what you’re talking about…my wife and I are innocent here, Lori.”

She gets up, reaches across the table for his empty mug and sugar packet, and begins to clean up. “Of course you’re innocent. Lighten up, my friend,” she says. “I’m no snitch.”

“No snitch. I’ll take your word for that, Detective Hearns.”

“You can call me Lori,” she says as he gets up to leave.

“We’ll be in touch then…Lori.”
* * *
She tugs at the curtain at the front window and watches Doug Davis climb into his car and pull away.

“They’re all alike…and they all need to be in control,” she whispers, scooping up Sal.

It has just begun to pour outside.

* * *

Serena bookmarks her novel and glances at the clock. It’s ten past eleven and Doug hasn’t yet returned from his night out with the guys. She grabs her cell phone to call him, and then reconsiders. In all fairness, he hasn’t seen John and Ray in over six months and the time spent with college friends will be refreshing, especially since she’s been somewhat of a wet rag lately. She closes the phone, places it on the end table, and flicks off the light.

It has just begun to rain outside and, like most New England storms that border on the extreme, it never just rains. It pours. She faces the ceiling and closes her eyes, listens to the rain drum against the roof in a steady rumble. The sound is more pleasing than not. Exhausted, she tells herself to succumb to sleep and, for once, feel like a real person in the morning, not the fuzzy-headed crank she’s become.

She turns on her side and cushions her head into the pillow. The rumbling of the rain intensifies as an angry wind thrashes against the roof. The lamppost at the edge of the driveway allows for a mere streak of light to filter into the bedroom. In her quest to fall asleep, the light is a hindrance, she decides, rolling to the other side of the bed to tend to the blinds.

At the edge of her window, she kneels down and gazes out at the raining night. Rain, she thinks, has a unique effect on the earth. There is something almost haunted about the rain’s insistence to drench and darken everything beneath it. A cat scurries across the lawn then disappears into a patch of woods. Is a cat noctural?—she recalls Josh’s small voice years ago, when he’d ask that question in reference to a favorite story on wildlife.

Yes. Outdoor cats are very independent, she’d say. They can survive on their own without their parents. Without their parents. She climbs back into bed, and the thought follows her.

How had she trusted Roth with her child?

In all fairness, she tells herself, just like every night—Doug went out with Roth, so it wasn’t so much her trust in the man as it was Doug’s. Why hadn’t he simply taken their child in with him to tend to his wrist? Why had he left him outside with a stranger? Yet still, given all that Doug did wrong, the ending was just right. What are the chances of an abducted child being rescued after a car accident? Slim to none, that’s for sure.

But what if the accident hadn’t happened? What was Roth’s plan? He had been watching Josh at the chairlift for the last two ski seasons, according to Detective Hearns. So what was his plan? Soaking in these questions, she pulls the covers to her shoulders and drifts off to sleep, to the pattering sound of the rain.

* * *
To the creaking sound of the door, she snaps up, breathless. He is rolling toward her in a wheelchair, his face distorted from the stroke. His lips form a smile on one side of his face and a feeble hand brandishes a business card. The chair’s motion is rickety, making his body bobble up and down. She shuffles back against the headboard, shrieks no!—then realizes…

It is Doug, back from his night out.

“Hey…you alright, honey?” He sits down beside her, gives her a gentle hug.

“Oh…hi. Sorry about that…I don’t know what I was thinking, I was having a bad dream and I think the door startled me. Whew.” She rubs her eyes and relaxes to the smell of coffee on Doug’s breath. “Anyways, how was your night out with the guys? You had coffee??

“It was good, really good…yeah, I had a coffee with dessert.”

The response is too quick.

He enters the bathroom, turns on the faucet, and prepares his toothbrush.
Questions begin to swirl through her mind, questions put on hold until Doug is finished brushing. She waits while he swishes, spits, and wipes his mouth dry.

“So did you end up going to Scolletti’s?”

“Yeah,” he answers, stretching his tee shirt over his head before climbing out of his jeans, then into bed. “I am wiped. Church tomorrow?”

The minty scent of toothpaste lingers between them; that and the more fishy smell of a white lie.

“Think I’ll pass on church tomorrow,” she says, feeling as though the rain, along with her questions, may never end.