Back to Lazarus

Chapter 7

7

I hate it when Ralph is right. Of course I’d said the same thing, had the same doubts about Noel’s candor, but to hear Ralph say it out loud… Yep, Noel and I were definitely having a talk.

I spent the next day on the phone, starting with my buddy Tan-ya at WFC. She got back to me within half an hour about Isaac’s body. “Yes, ma’am, Mr. Thomas’s remains were released to a Mrs. Ida Pickett, who was identified as Mr. Thomas’s sister.”

She’d insisted I call her Tanya, but kept calling me “ma’am.” I was starting to understand Ralph’s ageist paranoia. There had been no autopsy prior to the body’s release. Tanya confirmed that Ida Pickett’s address was the same one on the visitation request, and was about to hang up when I remembered the other reason I called. “Oh, Tanya, one other thing. I noticed when I was going through Mr. Thomas’s records that he had a medical transfer not long before he died. The paperwork on the transport was there, but that was it. I didn’t see a referral or test results—I can’t even tell what tests were done.”

“Mmm, that’s odd. We copied everything we had in our files and gave it to you. Was he sent to Latham?”

“Yes.”

“Well, I don’t know how it happened or why, but they must have kept his medical records. Maybe Mr. Thomas was supposed to return for more tests or treatment, and they didn’t want to risk the records getting held up if they went back with him. It wouldn’t have been proper procedure, but unfortunately not everyone is as careful as we are about our records.”

She’d been very good to me, so I bit my tongue on a sarcastic reply that was pure reflex. “I’m sure you’re right. Thanks again, Tanya.”

That done, I stared at the phone for a while. I checked my email, then checked outside for the snail-mailman. I straightened my desk and washed my teacups. When I reached for the broom to sweep the front steps I decided enough was enough. I’d been putting off my last (and most important) task before seeing Noel this evening. Band-Aid, I thought, picking up the phone and dialing the numbers so fast I had to redial. Besides, it couldn’t be as bad as Grandma Harrison.

She answered on the third ring.

“I’m calling for Ida Pickett.”

“This is she.”

“Ms. Pickett, my name is Sydney Brennan. I’m calling from Tallahassee. I’ll be traveling around Lazarus soon and I was wondering if I could come by and speak with you.”

“You don’t sound like you’re selling anything.”

“I’m not.”

“And you just want to talk?”

“Yes, ma’am,” I reassured her.

“You’re not a reporter, are you?”

“No, ma’am. I’m an investigator.”

I could hear her sigh on the other end. “This is about Isaac, isn’t it?”

“Yes, ma’am, it is.”

The seconds dragged by. Finally she spoke again. “Sydney, did you say?”

“Yes, ma’am. Sydney Brennan.”

“Well, Sydney, when should I expect you?” She gave me her address and directions to her home from the interstate, and I told her I’d call when my plans were settled, but I hoped to see her by the end of the week. She hadn’t asked any questions, and that surprised me. Perhaps she was writing out a list and saving them all for when I showed up on her doorstop. Latham Correctional Institute, where Isaac had been transferred, was also on my road trip schedule. I called to let them know I’d be coming by soon with a release to pick up his records.

Noel tapped on the screen door just as I was hanging up. The door was unlocked, as always, and she let herself in, peering around the door first, as if the screen were opaque. “Am I interrupting?”

“No. Just planning a road trip.”

“Really? For little old me?” Noel tried to deliver a coquettish drawl, but perfect diction clung to her speech tenaciously.

“Yes, in fact, for little old you. Come on in. I have news.” I told her about the records from WFC, that they appeared incomplete but I was checking on the rest. “Your father went to Latham C.I. for something medical a couple of weeks before he died.”

“What do you mean, something medical?”

“I don’t know. That’s the information I’m hoping to pick up. It was a medical transfer for only one day. It could have been for tests or treatment. The records weren’t at WFC.”

“Do you think it had something to do with his death?”

“I don’t know. It could have. Considering the proximity in time, we can’t rule it out.”

“So he could have been diagnosed with some sort of terminal illness, or a debilitating disease.”

“It’s possible.”

Noel raised an eyebrow and creases appeared on her mouth. My unwillingness to commit was beginning to annoy her. She took a deep breath. “What else?”

I didn’t respond.

“What is it that you’re having such difficulty telling me?”

“It’s pretty big,” I admitted.

“By your demeanor I’m certain it is, but I’m a grown woman, and so are you. Just cut the games and tell me.”

It was my turn to take a deep breath. “Noel, your father was not an only child.” I paused to let this sink in. “He had a sister. Your aunt. She’s still alive. Her name is Ida Pickett, and she lives in Lazarus.”

Noel stood up and walked out the door.

At first I thought she’d left, but when I rose from my own chair I could see her silhouette through the screen door, settling down on the concrete front steps. I crossed to the fridge, retrieved a baggie of fresh cookies from home, and went out to join her. “Cookie?” I offered.

She took one and broke off a piece, leaving chocolate marks on her index finger and thumb. “Mmm. Good. Peanut butter?”

“Yep.” I broke off a piece of my own. “They’re no-bake.”

“What do you mean no-bake? You have to bake cookies. If you don’t they’re just dough.”

“Not these. You heat the gooey stuff on the stove, and then when you mix it with the oatmeal it cooks.”

“Freaky.”

“Magic.”

We sat in silence through another cookie each, staring at the trees and buildings silhouetted against the orange dusky sky.

“Sydney, I don’t know about this.”

“They’re actually not that bad for you.”

“That’s not what I’m talking about.” Noel was serious again. “It’s not going to get any better, or any easier, is it?”

I wanted to tell her the truth, but my eyes were transfixed by a smear of chocolate on her full lower lip. It made her look so young, so vulnerable. It made me want to lie. I compromised. “I don’t know.”

She shook her head at me, much the way Ralph had the night before. “You don’t know much, do you?”

“Nope.” I licked my lips and ran my tongue across my sticky teeth, checking for obvious bits of oatmeal. “Noel, what was Hainey like?”

She considered for a while, or maybe she was just trying to decide whether to answer. When she did, her voice was strong and neutral, the voice I was used to hearing her hide behind. “We lived on the outskirts of Hainey in an older house. It was gray or light blue, and it had a small, square front porch with white railing. Sometimes I'd do my homework there. The houses in that area weren't very close together, but I don't remember them having big yards either. You could walk to a couple of businesses—bars mostly, but maybe a church too."

“Was it a big town?”

“I don’t really have a sense of how many people lived there. I've never been good at estimating things, and I don’t think I saw much of Hainey as a kid. I can tell you that it was big enough to have strip malls and pawnshops, and small enough that at that time it still had vacant fields and mom-and-pop country stores as you left the center. When we lived there, the asphalt was just starting to win out over farmland. I think it was a sad time, a time of transition. Even as a child I could feel it, a kind of hopelessness that made people ugly."

“I didn’t like it.” With that last bit, her eyes and voice lost the distance they always held when she described her childhood. Noel rose and stretched out the concrete kinks and numbness. “I’ll see you in a few days, Sydney.”

“I want to go talk to her. Your aunt.”

She stopped with her hand on her car door, then turned to face me. From where I sat, I couldn’t see the chocolate any more. “Then do it.”