Chapter Twenty-Three

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

brAD TURNER IS drinking coffee and chain-smoking at his small kitchen table in his apartment on Saturday morning. It's almost noon. He slept poorly. He's disabled the smoke detector, given up smoking by the window. He's got the lid of a jam jar on the table, and he's using it as an ashtray. He knows Kelly was planning to go to the police this morning to tell them what Diana said about him. They will want to talk to him soon.

Ellen calls him from the bakery, and it's all he can do to sound normal. The call is stressful for him. It's hard to pay attention to what she's saying, because of all that's running through his mind. They will probably ask him where he was on Thursday night. He toys with the idea of asking Ellen to say that she'd spent the night at his place, even though she hadn't. But he doesn't want to ask her. And her parents would know she was lying.

Ellen will find out about this. Should he tell her now, he wonders, before she hears it from somewhere else? Explain to her that it was all teenage-girl histrionics? His mind is going a mile a minute, helped along by coffee and nicotine.

‘Are you even listening to me?' Ellen asks. She sounds worried about him. He hasn't been following anything she's said.

‘Sorry,' he says. ‘I'm a bit distracted this morning.'

‘Of course,' she answers, her voice sympathetic. ‘What are you up to today?'

‘I've got school stuff to do,' he tells her. He isn't doing it, though. He's chain-smoking, waiting for word from Kelly.

‘I missed you last night,' she says, her voice softening. When he doesn't answer, she says more briskly, ‘I got the place cards finished, though. Do you want me to come over after work?'

‘I'm not sure. I've a lot to get done. I'll call you later, okay? I love you,' he adds suddenly, sincerely, and they end the call. He does love her. He can't lose her. She's all he has.

This will hurt her, of course. She might not want to marry him if she thinks that he'd behaved improperly toward a teenage girl. He must make sure she believes him. After all, Diana's gone, and she can't contradict him.

Brenda's ex-husband couldn't leave fast enough. He made himself some coffee, told her he was sorry he was not able to be more help, hugged her, and left. Brenda doesn't know what she ever saw in him.

She wanders around the house aimlessly, consumed with grief. She remembers the strange sensation she had the night before as she was drifting off to sleep – the feeling that her daughter was near, comforting her. But she doesn't feel it now. Now she feels totally alone, abandoned. As she moves pointlessly from room to room, it slowly occurs to her that something is different, but she can't quite figure out what. She has the feeling that something is missing, she's almost certain of it, but she can't put her finger on what it is.

When the doorbell rings, she thinks it's the detectives back again, so she opens the door; she doesn't care that she's in her pyjamas and robe. She's surprised to see Riley and Evan, instead. She has always liked both of them very much. Evan is holding a bunch of flowers in his arms – white lilies and pink roses – wrapped in cellophane. Her tears well up again at the sight of them, at the thought that they aren't here to see Diana. But suddenly she wants to talk to someone who loved Diana, who was involved in her life – someone who's not a negligent father or a police detective. She opens the door wider and invites them inside.

She leads the way into the kitchen, lays the flowers on the table, and sits down wearily. Riley and Evan sit at the kitchen table too. It seems as if the flowers on the table are there in Diana's stead, taking her place.

‘I'm so sorry, Mrs Brewer,' Riley says, her voice catching.

‘I'm sorry too,' Evan says awkwardly.

She looks at them both and sees the grief and strain in their young faces. ‘Thank you,' she says, her voice quivering.

Riley says, ‘We're here, if you need us. Just to talk to, or to help you out with errands, if you'd rather not go out.'

‘That's so kind of you,' Brenda says. She's touched by their thoughtfulness, their concern. Riley is a great girl, has spent countless sleepovers in this house. She's smart and kind, like Diana was. And she's always liked Evan. He's very bookish, like her daughter, who also loved to read. A nice change from all the jocks at the high school, like Cameron. Cameron hasn't been in touch. But maybe there's a reason for that. ‘Diana's father has already left, so I might take you up on that.' She adds tearfully, ‘I'm all on my own now.'

‘We'll give you our cell numbers,' Evan says, and seeing a pad of paper and a pen on the table, he reaches for it and writes down his name and number, and passes the pen and paper over to Riley.

‘Call us whenever you like,' Riley says, ‘if you need something, or someone to talk to.'

‘I could use some help,' Brenda says, feeling suddenly overwhelmed. She doesn't feel like she can do anything at all. She can't eat, or shower, or dress herself. She certainly can't plan her own child's funeral.

‘We'll help you,' Riley offers. ‘Whatever you need.'

It's a relief, to not have to do this all alone. Brenda struggles to her feet and begins to make them all tea. As she fumbles with the kettle and the cups, she finds herself telling them about Mrs Payne, across the street. ‘She saw a truck parked outside the house around midnight, with a man sitting in it the night Diana was murdered.' She adds bleakly, ‘Maybe if she'd called the police—' She breaks off. Maybe if Helen Payne had called the police her daughter would still be alive. If she'd been Helen, would she have called the police? She doesn't know.

‘Was she able to describe the truck?' Riley asks.

She shakes her head. ‘Just that it was a pickup. But everybody around here drives a truck like that. Cameron has one. And that man from the Home Depot, Joe Prior.' She adds, ‘The detectives told me Prior has an alibi, but not a very good one.' She says suddenly, her voice breaking, ‘It's all my fault, for not being home.'

‘No,' Riley is quick to say. ‘It's not your fault. You must never think that.'

‘But it is,' she insists, ‘because I wasn't home. If I hadn't switched to nights Diana might not be dead.' She begins to cry.

‘But how could you know?' Evan says. ‘You mustn't blame yourself.' He gets up and hands her the box of tissues that was on the kitchen table.

But she does blame herself.