Drawing Conclusions Read online

  The darker side of the labs was experienced by anyone who dared to cross my father’s path. Sound View Laboratories was my father’s empire and the training ground for his beloved son to carry on his research. I could visit, but I’d never be part of it. And that was just fine by me.

  “Ms. Prentice?”

  “I don’t answer to Ms. Prentice,” I replied sharply, catching the detective’s attention. As he looked up, I surveyed his face. He had shaved this morning but would need another swipe of the razor within a few hours. The heavy growth around the lower half of his face framed his eyes, which were filled with doubt and query. He turned one corner of his mouth downward, rethinking his approach. He wanted answers from me and realized a change of tone was in order.

  “I’m sorry,” he said after some deliberation. To emphasize a truce, he put his iPad aside, giving me his full attention before continuing. “If you wouldn’t mind, could you provide me the names of the people who live in this house and their relationship to each other?”

  “You didn’t come here to tell me about my brother, did you? You came here to ask us questions.”

  “The more information, the better.”

  We had nothing to hide, so I offered a quick rundown of the residents of Harbor House. “I have four housemates. Trina and Jonathan handle most of the farming. Charlie and I are childhood friends. He’s also my brother’s best friend. Becky designs clothing from discarded fabrics.”

  Detective DeRosa’s fingers, which seemed almost too bulky for the slim electronic device, pounded away at the touch pad as if I had just revealed a buried secret.

  I spun on my heels, arms folded tightly across my chest. “I still don’t understand what happened. Teddy and I aren’t even thirty. Was it a heart attack?”

  “What if it wasn’t a heart attack?” he challenged.

  I walked back to the detective. “What if it wasn’t a heart attack? What the hell does that mean?” It was ever so slight, but I felt the pressure of Detective DeRosa’s imposing frame as he leaned into me. Subtle aggression. I took a step forward and lessened the gap. Not so subtle on my part.

  “I was hoping you could provide some answers. I understand you were very close to your brother.” The detective handed me his card. “Come by the station at your convenience. Your brother’s death has not been classified as a homicide just yet, but on the outside chance it is, I’d like to start investigating before any more time has passed.”

  Detective DeRosa glanced around my studio. There were over a hundred half-finished canvases, many of them nearly identical.

  “What’s with the faces?” he asked, downgrading my artwork to circles with eyes.

  “Portraits, not faces.”

  “Okay, portraits. Why all the portraits?”

  “It’s what I do. I’m an artist,” I said as I walked toward the staircase.

  I led the detective out of my studio, down the stairs, and directly to the front door of Harbor House.

  “Good night.” I opened the front door and stood to the side, a signal that our conversation was over. I flicked on the porch light on the outside chance he did not get the hint. The eco-friendly bulb cast a dull glow, highlighting yet another visitor.

  “Dad?” I gasped as my father made his way up the stairs.

  three

  A batch of gnats swarmed the porch light and tested my father’s patience as he swatted them away with a linen handkerchief. The bags beneath his eyes were swollen with grief and the corners of his mouth were bent so far south I thought he might have lost the ability to smile. We both hesitated, unsure whether or not to embrace. Before I had a chance to react, my father reached out to shake the detective’s hand.

  “Detective DeRosa, you’re on your way out. I see you’ve already spoken to Constance.”

  “Yes, he has,” I said, acknowledging the fact that I was the last to learn of my brother’s death.

  “I’m sorry about that, I tried to get here earlier,” my father replied, his voice scratchy from overuse. “If you don’t mind, I need a minute with the detective and then I was hoping you’d invite me in.”

  I left the two men to talk privately on the porch. I used the extra minutes to take stock of the house, assessing where best to receive my father. When one is raised as the child of a wealthy doctor, there are expectations, a certain level of decorum, even in the event of a death. I found myself reacting out of a habit engrained by good upbringing. I chose the room we had designated as the library, a cramped but organized storage room for our collection of eclectic, second-hand books.

  I listened as DeRosa’s car backed down the driveway and quickly selected a chair for my father. “Dad, this one is more comfortable,” I said pointing to the lesser worn of the chairs. My father seated himself, pulling down slightly on his pressed trousers.

  “I have to be honest,” I said swallowing hard. “I don’t know if I can do this with you.”

  “You need to calm down.” My father started with the words he’d directed at me over and over throughout my childhood, even when I was perfectly calm.

  “Teddy is dead,” I said ignoring his patronizing tone. “Am I to assume you think this makes sense? Guess what, it doesn’t. This doesn’t make sense.”

  My father sat with his back straight and his forearms stretched tautly along the sides of the chair, like an airplane passenger preparing for a bumpy landing. “No, it doesn’t,” he replied, “but we’ve lost a lot of time, and I am willing to put our differences aside. I came here to discuss your brother. I was hoping we could be civil.”

  “Then why didn’t you come to me yesterday and tell me about Teddy? He’s my twin, for God’s sake,” I said, shoving the small of my back into my chair.

  My father’s hesitation was interminable. This was not a question he wanted to answer. I lifted my head from my hand and faced him full on.

  “Dad,” I pushed, “Why didn’t you and Mom come to me sooner?”

  My father sighed, and I sensed his growing impatience. This was a man who spoke and others bowed in awe. He did not take kindly to opposition, but my question was fair and I deserved a response.

  “Because Theodore was an integral part of the labs and whether he died of natural causes or not, his passing must be presented to the scientific community with care,” my father said in defense of his delay. “Our funding, our partnerships and our relationship with the public are dependent upon our ability to deliver results with absolute consistency. Theodore was involved in a number of high-profile studies, and the board requested a short period of time to review his work and determine the impact of his absence. The police agreed because at this point there is no indication of foul play.”

  “But—” I tried to interject, only to be cut off.

  “Constance, this is not the time to be naïve,” he said, holding his palm flat as if I were a puppy learning to heel. “The world is significantly bigger and more complex than this idealistic commune you’ve created here.”

  As I suspected, it took all of three minutes for our conversation to dissolve into disrespect.

  My father rose from the heavily cushioned chair, and I could see the effort was a strain for his aging body. He walked to the bookshelves, his left hip showing the pull of arthritis. I’d never thought of my father as old until this moment. His frailty made me nervous. My father was a grand man, a pillar of strength. Now, he seemed beaten.

  He ran his finger along a row of books, giving himself time to collect his thoughts. “You must realize that in the last ten years your brother has matured into a prominent and well-respected research doctor. I know that you and Theodore and your childhood friend—” My father pointed into the air to retrieve the name.

  “Charlie,” I reminded him. “Teddy’s best friend is Charlie.”

  “Yes, of course,” my father fumbled, trying to cover his oversight. “The three of you have
socialized for years. But you must remember that every morning your brother returned to the labs, joining company with some of the medical profession’s key figures. You need to give your brother his due. This delay was proportional to his contributions.”

  “Just once, could you put the labs aside?” I pleaded, remembering how the missed dinners and business trips ate away at our family’s dynamic. I’d never understood how Teddy was able to remain neutral all these years. He loved my parents and he loved me, but he kept his worlds separate. Now I wasn’t sure my father saw Teddy in the context of family at all. “He’s your son first,” I slurred as despair mangled my words, “and a scientist second.”

  My father pulled his chin to the ceiling as if he were using gravity to draw his tears back into their ducts. I sensed a softening.

  “In all my years as a doctor, I never thought I would attend the autopsy of my son,” my father began. “I want to assure you that I stood shoulder to shoulder with the medical examiner through the initial work-up.”

  “And you found nothing?” I said, dragging my sleeve under my nose.

  “On this first round, no,” my father said and then cleared his throat. “A more intrusive examination occurred after I left, and it will take a few weeks to receive the blood and toxicology reports.”

  “Don’t protect me,” I said, recalling how my parents replaced my pet goldfish a dozen times rather than telling me the fish had died. “I’m okay with the truth.”

  “The truth is I have no idea how your brother died, but I have asked the police to open an official investigation. That was my discussion with Detective DeRosa a few minutes ago. I came as soon as I got word from the board to proceed, and I’m here tonight to ask for your full participation. You and your housemates were close to Teddy. It’s important you speak freely with the police.”

  “That goes without saying,” I answered, now wondering if my father had already tipped Detective DeRosa off to my challenging personality.

  My father leaned toward me, and for a second I thought he had lost his footing. I reached out to steady him but was met by a cold, dry kiss on the side of my head. “Thank you, dear,” he said.

  four

  Typically, we rose at odd hours, but on this particular day, Trina, Jonathan, and Becky were gathered in the kitchen by 8 a.m.

  “Where’s Charlie?” I asked as I opened a window by the kitchen table and breathed deeply in the direction of the water. The news of Teddy’s death was suffocating, and these small gestures were all I could do to alleviate my anxiety.

  “We thought he was with you.” Trina placed a plate of fresh scrambled eggs in front of me.

  “I see you found the food,” I said. “Thanks for unpacking the car last night.”

  Trina and Jonathan came around the table, bookending me before I had a chance to run. Becky sat across the table and reached out to hold my hands in place.

  “The funeral is tomorrow,” Becky said. “I have all day to design and sew a dress for you. It’s going to be a magical dress, because it will let you disappear and reappear as you please. It will carry you and envelop you and protect you from the freaks.”

  “Becky, you’re a freak.”

  “Yes I am, and I love you and I want to help and this is the only way I know how.”

  “Then put the pedal to metal and start sewing.” I let her kiss my palms before she released me and departed in a swirl of heavy damask hiding her tiny frame.

  “Remind me how she came to live with us?” I asked. Becky’s outpouring of love caught me off-guard—we were more roommates than close friends.

  “Charlie thought she was cute,” Jonathan said and then added, “apparently, she doesn’t realize Charlie finds lots of women attractive.”

  I shrugged my shoulders. Charlie’s philandering was nothing new to me. I had bigger problems.

  Trina pushed the plate toward me. “CeCe, you need to eat. Don’t make me give you a lecture on nutrients.”

  I spooned some eggs into my mouth.

  “You also need to see that detective today.” Trina buttered my toast and put it in my hand.

  “I don’t like him,” I said as I force-fed myself the eggs.

  “I agree,” Trina said. “He’s pompous.”

  I pushed the plate away from me in disgust. “He’s an asshole, and my father already has him in his pocket. He probably moonlights as security at the labs.”

  Jonathan rose from the table and adjusted the ratty pair of suspenders holding up his work pants. “If you’ll forgive me, I don’t think my presence is necessary for this man-hating session.” He gave us both a peck on the cheek. “I love you CeCe, and I’m going to miss Teddy.”

  “Thank you Jonathan.” I winked at Trina, knowing full well Jonathan had just spanned the entire range of his emotions. He was a farmer at heart; I couldn’t expect more than this stoic demeanor. Trina, our resident earth mother, had ample depth for both of them.

  Trina waited for Jonathan to depart before drilling down on the detail. “Look CeCe, something is not right, and I think the police and your father are suspicious. Your dad is a doctor. He’d know immediately if Teddy’s death was natural.”

  “Thanks for the update.” The realization that my brother was dead was sickening, but the suggestion that foul play was at hand was not outrageous. Young men do not drop dead at their desks without some encouragement. My shoulders tightened as pressure filled the deepest pockets of my head.

  “Should I come to the station with you?” Trina asked.

  “It’s okay, Trina.” I fumbled for Detective DeRosa’s card in my pocket. “I can do it myself.”

  “Your mom called,” Trina said with a cringe.

  “Was she drunk?”

  “Shit-faced.”

  I folded myself into Trina’s arms then and let the tears flow. Her hearty frame was warm and reassuring, yet I had never felt so alone in all my life. Teddy’s and my birthday was only a month away. I stretched my hand out behind Trina’s back and imagined Teddy pulling me up to the shore, flip-flops dripping at my side, ready for our birthday lunch. I wanted to hold onto the image, but I knew Detective DeRosa was waiting for me.

  “You should go,” Trina said, releasing me.

  “I know,” I replied as I grabbed my sweatshirt and headed off to the station.

  –––

  The Laurel Hollow Police Station was a hodgepodge of low-slung historical buildings connected by a series of ambling breezeways. The setting seemed more suited to misdemeanors involving hobbits and goblins than murder. It was unclear to me how anything of a serious nature could possibly be resolved under thatched roofs as thick as muffin tops. Detective DeRosa was waiting for me by the front door when I arrived.

  “Thanks for coming in, Ms. Prentice.”

  “If you don’t call me CeCe, I’m leaving.”

  “CeCe.”

  “Yes, Frank?”

  “Have you ever been here before?” he asked as he held the door for me. My head barely met the top of his arm pit putting him easily over six-two.

  “Check the row of shoeboxes in the back and I’m sure you’ll find a hand-written index card with a list of ridiculous stunts Charlie and I pulled in high school.”

  “I did my research. Unfortunately your records were sealed. The underage loophole.”

  Detective DeRosa led me into a bright, open room with floor-to-ceiling windows that looked out over the harbor. A row of desks housed a police force of about twenty officers. The handful present appeared rather sedate as they sipped the last of their morning lattes.

  “Jesus, it’s almost worth getting arrested for this view.”

  “I’m sure there’s an inch or two left on your index card.”

  I followed Detective DeRosa down a narrow hall to his office. Given the tight dimensions, the wall of leaded glass cabinetry, and the te
lltale sink, I guessed it was a converted butler’s pantry.

  “So this is where the help sits?”

  “I’d like to be of help,” DeRosa said with his arms open to suggestion.

  “But?”

  “From what I gather, vegans pride themselves on self-sufficiency.”

  “It’s Freegan, not vegan,” I said enunciating the words clearly. “Freegans take what they can get. Vegans are picky eaters, the divas of alternative living.” The mention of food lifted my stomach in an unpleasant churn. I pursed my lips and bit back a bubble. The eggs and stress were not agreeing with me.

  Detective DeRosa’s phone trilled, interrupting our interview. I could hear a woman’s voice rising in panic as he nodded with concern, but the drama was not enough to distract me from the uncomfortable gurgling in my stomach. I tried to remember if I had passed a bathroom on the way in.

  “It’s your housemate,” DeRosa said, pointing to the phone. “Trina.”

  I nodded, afraid to open my mouth.

  “She says there might be something wrong with the eggs.”

  I nodded again, pointing at DeRosa’s garbage pail with one hand while the other covered my mouth. In one quick motion, he grabbed a plastic recycling bin and shoved it under my chin. His timing was impeccable. I tossed my breakfast directly into the pail. Between the gut stabbing pains and the panting heaves, I was able to blurt out a few sentences.

  “Is it just me?”

  “No, your housemates are sick too.”

  “I need to get to a hospital,” I burped. “There could have been rat poison in the Dumpster.”

  –––

  No more than three fine hairs on my forearm were trapped mercilessly under an inch of adhesive tape holding my liquid lifeline in place. The pinching had an almost pleasant effect compared to the knife in my belly. Screw the Abs of Steel disc stuck in my third-hand DVD player. A mouthful of rat poison will make you feel the burn a whole lot longer than stomach crunches. I rolled my head sideways and drew my legs into a fetal position.