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- CHAPTER 1
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I woke up about seven on a bunk
bed above a snoring woman.
And then I remembered. Last night
had been my best friend's big bonding effort, an old-fashioned
pajama party in honor of Jan Fairchild,
Ludwig, Pennsylvania's one and only cinema success. Seven of
us from the old high school gang, now in our early thirties,
had agreed to abandon our adult inhibitions, pretend everyone
was still friendly, and sleepover at Didi's to celebrate Jan's
visit home. It had been fun, but I questioned whether the reconnections
would outlast the morning's first pot of coffee.
Corky, my bunkmate, didn't even
twitch when I climbed down and stumbled through my discarded
clothes. I found some jeans in my bag and put them on with a
white sweatshirt that said, "whatever . . ." in lowercase
letters, my attitude du jour.
Today happened to be Monday, October,
12--Columbus Day. A peek outside revealed damp air beneath a
white-gray sky that might or might not brighten into blue. Regardless,
my husband, Rip, who headed a small private school, would be
at his computer by eight, diligently preparing for Wednesday's
board meeting. I promised him I'd be home right after breakfast
to keep the kids out of his way. I'd just spent four days helping
Didi entertain Jan; and although my family had been very understanding,
it was their turn for some undivided attention.
Ti, the old gang's only emissary
to the corporate world, was already at Didi's glass-and-iron
dining table, sipping hazelnut coffee and re-reading Sunday's
real estate section. The investment banker grunted something
I took to be "good morning," while finger-combing her
dark curls.
Stationed behind her kitchen island,
Didi hummed either Edelweiss or the theme from Dr. Zivago, I
couldn't tell which. Enviously, I observed that she looked well
rested and quite attractive in light blue tights with an oversized
yellow sweater that matched her hair. My bet was that she had
resurrected her high school ponytail purely on instinct. Didi
often did the right thing by instinct. Also the wrong thing,
come to think of it.
Respecting the other women's space,
I poured myself orange juice, selected an almond pastry, and
sat staring while I fueled my weary body.
"What will you do today?"
I eventually asked Ti just to bridge the silence. Didi's romantic
notion had been to for all of us to reconnect, but last night's
oldies and bubblegum and margaritas had merely dusted off the
yearbooks. Time to find out what, if anything, remained of our
past friendships.
"Back to D.C.," Ti answered
without losing her spot in the newspaper. "I'm just waiting
for Jan." If there was warmth in addition to good manners
behind that statement, I was unable to detect any.
Laura stumbled in just then, looking
swollen and surly. Her sateen pajamas and callused bare feet
seemed incongruous together, like a top hat on a bum. A clump
of dirty blonde hair hung crookedly over one eye.
"Ah, coffee," she croaked.
"Black." She acknowledged the rest of us only after
the steaming mug reached her hand.
"Morning," she muttered,
then slumped down into a seat.
Ann bounced out of the hallway
fresh-faced and chipper. As if her heart had already relocated
to the mountains (her family's goal), she, too, wore jeans but
with a buffalo plaid shirt and the hiking boots of the night
before.
"Sorry if I kept you out of
the bathroom," she addressed Laura. "Didn't realize
you were awake."
Laura grunted, then plodded off
carrying her mug of flavored coffee with her.
"Is Jan up yet?" Ann
inquired. "I've got to get home." With four boys and
a job driving a school bus, days off probably meant housework.
"I haven't heard her,"
Didi replied with a glance toward me.
I shrugged. "You want me to
wake her?"
"Soon," Didi agreed.
Jan could always go back to bed after everyone left.
Half an hour later, after two cups
of coffee and another pastry I did and did not need respectively,
Jan still had not appeared. With equally glum faces we all sat
listening to Corky humming in the shower, except Ann twitched
impatiently with the need to get back to her children, and Ti
kept glancing at her watch.
Finally, Didi widened her eyes
at me and jerked her chin slightly toward the guest wing. If
Jan didn't soon release her old friends back to their lives,
their initial resentment of her success would be set in cement.
I murmured my excuses and slipped
out of the room.
A delicate tap on the actress's
closed door netted me nothing.
"Jan," I whispered, softly
then louder. "Hey, Jan. It's Gin. You awake?"
I folded my arms and huffed, annoyed
to be in such a position. Why should I care what the others thought
of the woman anyway? Wasn't that her problem?
Well, yes, but my sympathies had
sided with Jan all weekend, and I found they still sided with
her now. She could not be held responsible for the jealousy of
others, and sleeping late fell pretty low on the universal list
of sins.
Still, most people prefer being
liked to being disliked; and if that meant waking up to say goodbye
to her high-school buddies, I felt certain Jan would want to
do it.
I knocked louder and called her
name in a normal voice. "Jan, may I come in?"
No response.
I banged the door with my fist
and shouted. "Jan! Jan, can you hear me?"
Silence.
Dread knotted my stomach. Perspiration
chilled my skin. I procrastinated for one fortifying breath then
turned the doorknob and let myself into the room.
A stuffy, soiled-linen smell greeted
me. Drapes on all but the hexagonal window over the bed bathed
the area in pseudo-twilight. Even the furniture looked ominous.
Jan was nowhere in sight, but I
knew she hadn't left. Last night after I fetched her back from
an emotional flight, I had accidentally on purpose switched her
rental car keys with mine.
So she had to be here-somewhere.
As soon as my eyes registered detail,
I noticed the bed's covers had been pulled toward the far side.
I forced my legs to propel me across the room to find out why.
Jan lay face down on the floor,
her mouth and nose pressed into a pillow. No motion disturbed
the folds on her nightshirt, but she would not be breathing,
not with her face smothered like that, not with dried blood matted
into the hair on the back of her head.
The world seemed to wobble and
I needed lots of quick shallow breaths. I fixated on a crooked
lampshade for a minute and worried about losing control, doing
the wrong thing. A possibility, but not an option.
So before I totally unraveled,
I crouched down and felt for a neck artery. Jan's skin remained
warm, but several degrees under the hoped for ninety-eight point
six.
No pulse, but of course I hadn't
expected to find one. The stiffness in Jan's neck and jaw surprised
me though, and I succumbed to a nice, body-wracking shudder.
Then suddenly I felt empty. Jan
Fairchild, the vibrant, compelling human being, was gone. Really,
truly gone. Tears tickled my cheeks, my nose, my chin. I was
dripping with them, mourning the loss with my heart and body
while my mind spun off in its own orbit.
I rubbed my chin on my sweatshirt
and considered what to do. Lesser impulses urged me to flee,
to sob out loud, to scream profanities. I repressed them. This
was my one and only chance to visualize what happened before
outside influences littered my mind. Only the truth, no matter
how distasteful, would allow me to let go of this horrible moment
and move on. Self-protective, maybe. But honest.
And also realistic.
Bracing myself for a repulsive
experience, I touched the back of Jan's head where the blood
had dried. Beneath the rubbery flesh her skull gave way like
broken crockery. Bile soured my mouth, and I had to drop both
hands to the floor to steady myself.
I gulped in air and wiped my chin
again. I forced myself to breathe.
Searching for an abandoned weapon,
I noticed a few pebbles on the floor across from the end of the
bed, but they were too little to have harmed Jan in any way.
My crouched position put my chest
level with the dust ruffle of the bed. Mostly out of idle curiosity,
I lifted the fabric with my clean hand and looked underneath.
There, lying upon the dust, was
a red tube perhaps half and inch in diameter and four inches
long. A two-inch needle protruded from one end, reminding me
of a firecracker complete with its fuse. I had no idea what it
was, but I knew enough not to touch it.
Time was ticking and the police
needed to be called, but I couldn't remove myself from Jan's
side just yet. I felt too shaky, too stunned. I needed to center
myself before outside demands leeched my energy, so I stood to
relieve my aching knees and to wait for some equilibrium to return.
A glance at the sharp corner of the night table revealed a dash
of brown that didn't belong, and all at once Jan's last moments
came alive for me.
Whatever the cause, she must have
fallen backwards and hit her head on the night table, grabbing
the bedclothes on her way to the floor. It was impossible to
guess whether she died from blacking out with her face buried
in the pillow or whether someone turned her into it and held
her down.
All I knew was that I didn't like
the looks of this, especially considering that firecracker thing
and all the old issues Jan's homecoming had exhumed.
After one last glance around, I
smoothed down my clothes and hurried from the room, stopping
briefly to wash my face and hands in Didi's steamy bathroom.
When I rejoined the others in the
living room, they swiveled to see whether Jan was with me. No
one appeared particularly anxious or alarmed, perhaps because
I had been gone only about four minutes.
"She getting up?" Laura
asked.
"No."
"Why not? She blowing us off
or what?" Ann this time, but chuckling to indicate she wasn't
really serious.
"Jan's dead," I told
everyone with a catch in my voice. "We have to call the
police."
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