Don't Forget to Breathe Read online

  I jumped when the doorbell chimed, and let the detective in.

  “I gather your father’s not home yet?”

  “Not yet.”

  He trailed me into the kitchen. “You look frazzled. Are you alright?”

  “Not really…”—sounding weepy—“When I’m thinking my own father slaughtered my mother in their bed.”

  “Sit.” He indicated a chair at the table. “I wanted to tell you this in person instead of over the phone.” He paused, unbuttoning his trench-coat before taking a seat. “Forensics went over the house with a fine tooth comb. Your father’s military stash was discovered and tested. The items were returned to him shortly thereafter.”

  I sunk in my chair feeling like a neurotic child as he tempered my panic.

  “There’s no proof that your father was at the house on the day of her murder. As you know, he supplied us with an airtight alibi. And the other person involved has authenticated his whereabouts.”

  “It was his secretary, Regina, right?”

  His eyebrows heightened.

  “I know he was having a thing with her.”

  “That’s why I came over. I didn’t want to drop the bomb over the phone. When’d you find out?”

  “Recently.” I didn’t elaborate.

  “Has your father given you any reason to doubt his alibi?”

  I shook my head, saddened. “I feel so…so miserable. Like we weren’t living in the same house. How could I be so blind to what was happening around me?”

  Detective Dyl actually smiled, he didn’t look nearly as hardnosed. “Leo, you’re a teenager. Teenagers tend to thrive in their own world.”

  “I’d hardly say I’m thriving.”

  He pointed to the composition notebook under my arm. “What’s that?”

  “My homework journal.” There was no way I was handing it over, yet. I slid the book onto my lap away from prying eyes.

  “You’re going to the Homecoming dance with Henry James tomorrow, right?”

  Now it was my turn to look baffled. “How’d you know?”

  “It’s my job to know.” In an uncharacteristic show of unease, he ran a hand over his prominent brow. “You should stay away from the boy. He’s got problems.” He rose from the chair, turning to leave.

  “Wait—” I blurted, he stalled in his tracks. “Henry and I went back into the mansion. Mom’s picture is still there. It’s now in one of the third floor bedrooms. The one with that gigantic four-poster bed. I checked it out this morning before telling you.”

  His fingers crunched the front of his coat.

  “Henry told you about everything he saw in the attic, didn’t he?”

  “Yes, and for the record, I believed your story from the beginning.”

  “Henry thought you did.” I huffed out a breath. “Do you have any clues or suspicions?”

  “We believe your mom’s murder wasn’t premeditated.” His mouth gathered. “Maybe…a lover’s dispute that got deadly.”

  My bottom lip hit the floor. “No—I can’t…I can’t—”

  “Leo, you’re old enough to face facts. You must’ve known they were having marital problems.”

  “They fought, a lot,” I said, dazed and empty. “But…I never would’ve thought…Mom—”

  Detective Dyl stepped behind my chair and deposited his hands on my shoulders. “Buck up, kid. You’ll get through this.” He applied kind pressure. “Stay out of the Baskerville place. It’s not safe.”

  “Henry wants to spend the night there tomorrow after the dance.” Why’d that vomit from my mouth?

  “Really?” He released my shoulders. “My professional recommendation is to stay as far from that place as possible. Why would you take chances like that when you know somebody’s lurking around in there? Leave the investigation to me.”

  “Then why can’t you find my mother’s killer? And what about Dave and Skipper, and someone said there might be two accomplices? Is that true?”

  “Who the hell told you that?”

  “A reporter practically tackled me at school today. His name is Carm Castellano.”

  “Is that the guy from the Gazette, that rinky-dink paper?”

  “That’s what he said.”

  “He’s stirring up trouble. If he comes around again, kick him in the nuts for me.”

  I smirked.

  “I wish you’d taken my advice and not hooked-up with Henry James. But go to your dance. Have fun. Forget about murder for one night.” Buttoning his coat while walking to the door, he said, “And don’t go to the mansion. Just in case, a squad car will be patrolling Lucien Court.”

  ***

  I lay in bed feeling lousy. The detective sliced into my heart, unseating Mom from her chaste throne. The buzz of incoming texts vibrated on the end table. I rolled over the mattress and snatched my cell. Nona wrote, ‘call me.’ As well as a message from Becket, ‘we need to talk.’ And one text from Henry, ‘I guarantee a good time at the dance.’ Whatever that meant?

  I heard Dad hustle into the house. Two-twenty. The mourning phase was over. It didn’t take long for him to convert into a whoremonger, or, was he always like this?

  Chapter 45

  Since it was Saturday and considering his late night, Dad would probably sleep ‘til noon. Cozy in my sweats, I sat in bed poring over Mom’s journal. Reading the months prior to her death, her heart came through on each turned page.

  Mom must’ve known that Dad would conspire to read her journals, jotting cryptic messages through quotes and essays. I flipped to the first few entries: It was not into my ear you whispered, but into my heart. It was not my lips you kissed, but my soul. (Judy Garland) Then I found an entry about me, and many more: Each time I look into my daughter’s eyes, I witness unconditional love. Leo is my greatest gift to the world. My heart and soul lies alone with my daughter.

  She was mad or irritated by the hard slant and indentations in the paper as she wrote: Beware of the copper headed snake. It slithers and tempts you into submission until its fangs sink deep into your throat, ejecting venomous seduction. It twists and turns, strangles, and suffocates—Here, she left off and days later began to write on the next page like she’d been meaning to go back to finish the paragraph.

  Page after page of internal strife. In neat handwriting she wrote: My love lies—bleeding (Thomas Campbell). On October twenty-fourth, the day before she was murdered, boldly printed: Part of loving you is learning to let go. I flipped the page, her very last entry, October, Twenty-Fifth—I’ll never know the time it was written: The copper-headed snake threatens to strike. I’m scared.

  “Mom, you led me into Dad’s room. I thought it was to find the boots and knife, but it must be here. I’m missing something in your journal,” I whispered into the pages. “What happened? What am I looking for?” Wet droplets splashed the ledger paper, smearing blue ink. My long sleeve soaked up the wetness before my tears caused unreadable damage. I angled my spine on the headboard and closed my eyes.

  Since October twenty-fifth, and to my detriment, I’d periodically recreated the murder. To be in her shoes. To experience her terror. Like a horror movie where you watch between fingers, only this time it was the real deal. Over and over replaying it in my head, no wonder I needed drugs to forget.

  My ribcage ached, choking down bile. I had to stop. The psychiatrist had said it wasn’t healthy. Hah—really? I pressed the thermal blanket to my face repressing the urge to bawl.

  A bad juju day was enfolding.

  Drained, like a languorous invalid I poured out of bed and moaned. Tonight was the Homecoming dance. Reading Henry’s last text, I assumed he had things organized. My first Homecoming Dance with a boy, and a real bummer. Hassling through my closet, I unhooked an olive-green dress. It would do.

  Wholly alert now, I needed to get out of the house. Dad didn’t have work which meant the car was available. Snotty snores reverberated from his room making life easier, no begging. Peppering corn flakes into a bowl and adding m
ilk, I angled against the kitchen sink. I tried not to think as I spooned cereal into my mouth.

  It was a frosty day as I drove along Westgate, bypassing Henry’s place which appeared quiet. When my cell vibrated, I knew it was Nona because I’d been ignoring her calls, and she’d be ticked-off. Answering devoid of checking the caller, I said, “Hey, what’s up?”

  “What’s up with you?”

  Positively not Nona. “Becket?”

  “I’m coming to your house,” he stated point-blank. “Just thought I’d warn you, just in case you’re still in your pj’s.”

  “I’m not home.” I couldn’t control my lip from peaking.

  “Where are you?”

  “Cruising.”

  “Can you be more specific?”

  “I don’t have a destination in mind. I’m just riding around.”

  He hemmed into the cell. “Meet me at Earl’s.”

  “I’m sick of Earl’s.”

  “Where then? You pick the place.”

  I loved the cadence of his voice; it made me feel all gooey inside. Then the image Marcy swapping spit with him hardened the goo. “We really don’t have anything to talk about.”

  “Are you afraid of me?”

  “Why would I be afraid of you?”

  “Afraid of my charming personality, that is.”

  “You’re head couldn’t get any bigger.” I thought of his flashing eyes. “It won’t fit into your football helmet.”

  He snickered softly generating a superb tingle in my ear.

  “Leo, I’m parked in front of your house, and Henry’s perched on his car looking shifty eyed. I’m not leaving. You have to come home sooner or later.”

  “Are you really at my house?”

  “Come home and find out.”

  I bargained with him. “Meet me at Earl’s.”

  ***

  I was seated and sipping a cup of coffee when Becket sauntered into Earl’s. My heart fluttered gazing at a succulent piece of candy.

  He disposed of the jacket and straddled the chair next to me. The tips of his hair appeared damp and he smelled terrific like an ocean breeze. He made me feel like a grunge with my unmanageable tresses, and I didn’t recall putting a brush to the mess. I speared fingers into my head, optimistic in sedating their disobedient nature.

  “You look great, Red,” he said.

  “Liar.” I found myself reflected in his astral blue eyes.

  “I never lie.” He had a roguish grin. “Your boyfriend followed me.”

  “Henry?” I looked around Earl’s. “He’s not here.”

  “He will be. Give him a minute to stew. So you admit that Henry’s your boyfriend?”

  “Those words never came out of my mouth.” I outlined the top of my mug with my fingertip, thinking how Henry called Becket my boyfriend and vice versa. “And I could say the same to you, with Marcy.”

  “That needs straightening. I’d planned on asking you to the dance, and then Henry—”

  I raised my hand cutting him off. “My tongue wasn’t lashing Henry’s tonsils last night.”

  Becket snorted. “I would’ve tongued the Coach at that point. We weren’t picked to beat Kensington. I was psyched.”

  “She latched on like a damn blood sucker,” I said.

  He inclined into the chair, satisfied looking with an upward quirk to his mouth.

  Riled, I said, “What?”

  “So you do like me—a little?”

  Peddling the mug to my mouth, my smug smile betrayed me. I gazed at Becket over the rim, sparks ignited.

  Chapter 46

  “What’s going on?” Henry’s voice yanked me away from Becket’s eyes.

  “Hi, Henry,” I said. “Want a cup of coffee?”

  “Nope.” His hands rooted into his jean pockets, shoulders hunched. “Why are you here with Kane?”

  “Having a cup of coffee with a friend.”

  “I warned you about him,” Henry said, grinding his teeth.

  From his laxed position, Becket straightened, and induced with a satirical tone, “Henry, you have a problem with me?”

  Henry’s face reddened. It appeared as if his temper hit a critical level.

  My legs scuffed back the chair. “I’m leaving.” Drawing his rage from Becket, Henry turned to me.

  Becket also stood, towering over both of us. “Well then.” He sounded defeated, thumbing his jacket pocket. “We’ll see each other tonight, at the dance.”

  Henry glowered. “Not if I can help it.”

  I pirouetted in place and marched from Earl’s with Henry acting the lap dog at my ankles. Striding past the eatery’s windowpane I captured Becket’s blazing eyes.

  “Are you mad?” Henry said, pursuing after me.

  “What time should I be at your house tonight?” Aiming for a social tenor, I wasn’t prepared for a confrontation—yet.

  “Don’t you want me to pick you up?”

  I thought of Dad’s latest comments about staying clear of Henry. “I’d rather just walk to your house. The dance starts at seven, so how about I come by at six-thirty. Is that alright with you?”

  “Sure, fine,” he said, dispirited. “I better tip you off. My Dad’s…different.”

  “What’d you mean?”

  “I never wanted to dump my problems on you.” He stubbed the toe of his sneakers into the pebbly stones. “My Dad’s…he’s…well…kinda—”

  “You don’t have to explain.” I already despised his dad for hitting him and who knows what else. “I’ll see you later.”

  Driving along Westgate, I immediately spotted Detective Dyl’s sedan parked in front of my house. “Oh, no. What else could possibly go wrong today?”

  I rushed into the side door and sensed the strain. Dad and the detective were standing by the table. “What’s going on?”

  “Leo, this is your fault,” Dad thundered. “Why can’t you let it go? It’s over. You can’t bring her back.”

  A splash of anguish crossed the detective’s face, did I imagine it?

  Butting into Dad’s outburst, Detective Dyl said, “I went to the Baskerville place this morning and found Lily’s picture in another room just like you said. I’ve been informing your father that everything you’d experienced in the attic was evidently true. I also found a burr hole in the attic where the picture once hung, and there was evidence of something like the legs of a bed abrading the wooden floor. Someone was in a hurry to clean it out.”

  “So I’m not delusional,” I said feeling vindicated. Dad’s previous flushed complexion turned pasty as he sank to the chair.

  “I was driving by and thought you might want to know.” The detective swerved to leave. “And Leo, have a good time at the dance and stay clear of the Baskerville place, understand?”

  Chapter 47

  I shimmied into the olive-green dress and slipped my feet into my stilettos, then a last minute touch up in the mirror. For once my hair didn’t retaliate, razored layers artlessly tousled. For the occasion, I selected my knee-length raincoat and walked into the living room to say goodbye to Dad.

  High on a bender, weary-eyed and stinking of booze I kissed him on the cheek.

  “Are you coming home tonight?” he inquired with a thick tongue.

  “I don’t know what the post plans are, so don’t wait up for me.”

  His body wobbled, attempting to sit. “You look stunning, honey. Just like Lily.”

  “Thanks, Dad.” Water welled in his eyes as he outspread his arms. I moved into his embrace.

  “I don’t like that kid. Be careful.” He added a last minute caveat.

  “It’s just a dance.” Hedging from his arms I said, “Make sure you eat something.” It was barely six o’clock, too early to knock on Henry’s door, yet, the dance couldn’t pass quick enough as far as I was concerned.

  A crescent moon hung in the sky; it would’ve been a perfect Halloween night. As I click-clacked to the end of the driveway a squall nearly knocked me off my feet. Cinchin
g my winging coat I leaned into the wind and managed to make it to Henry’s in one piece.

  Like Henry’s dad had been waiting for my arrival, the door opened.

  “Come in, come in,” Ethan James said. “I saw you crossing the street.” He held the door while I stepped into the miniscule foyer. I felt intimidated as Mr. James boarded up to my back radiating heat. “Go on in, Leo.”

  His hand smoothed the back of my coat as he guided me into the kitchen. I squared my shoulders with twanging thoughts of those hands beating Henry.

  “Keep going, into the living room,” he said.

  I hesitated at the border of plush carpet. “I should take off my shoes.”

  “Oh, no dear, come on in,” a docile voice heralded from the living room.

  “Look who we get to meet again, Lily’s daughter,” Mr. James said with eloquence, and his hand still glued to my back.

  “Come closer,” a female voice. “Let me see you.”

  Mr. James urged me into the living room. A skeletal woman seated in a wheelchair had a grin plastered on her face.

  “Hello, Leo.” She held aloft a welcoming hand.

  “Nice to meet you, Mrs. James.” I took hold of her cold hand.

  “Call me Martha and this is Ethan, dear,” she greeted, letting loose my hand. “Lily was instrumental in acquiring a position for my Ethan at Star Hallow Elementary. Did she tell you?”

  “You met my mother?”

  “On one occasion.” Her chin dipped, lowering her gaze. “Ethan talks about Lily quite a bit.”

  “Lily never mentioned me?” Ethan asked, sounding intrusive and astonished.

  “No, I’m sorry. Not that I remember.” The resemblance between father and son was uncanny. Ethan shed his glasses to blot his eyes with his fingers.

  “The administration at my school had to lay-off dozens of teachers. My position was tenuous. Lily implored me to pull up stakes and come to Star Hallow. It was the summer before…” His voice thinned as he paused. “Lily emailed me concerning a teacher retiring at the elementary school, said the position had yet to be filled.” Hooking the glasses over his ears, his disturbing words were perceptible. “So dreadful…so dreadful. Poor Lily.”