"I'm going to Marie's house to see if she's all right. She didn't answer her phone. Will you catch the phone until I get back?" she asked Joey in her nicest tone of voice, knowing he didn't like her much more than Marie.

"Of course. I'll handle things here," he said with a slight smile.

Ann thanked him graciously, though she was shocked at his pleasant response to her unusual request and the fact that he spoke to her in words of more than one syllable. Joey wasn't cordial to anyone. He tolerated Ronnie and had little to do with the rest of the warehouse crew. That was Ronnie's job. If things weren't to his liking, Joey would dress Ronnie down in front of the crew so everyone got the message.

What a sad life, she thought.

Marie drifted back into Ann's thoughts while she made her way through traffic. "I don't remember traffic ever being this heavy in the morning," she said aloud.

It was a cold January day with patches of the Christmas snow still hiding under shady spots, untouched by the early morning sun.

Ann's attention was drawn to the living room window when she pulled into Marie's driveway. Marie always switched the lamp off on her way out the door to work. The lamp was still burning bright.

Concerned, Ann hurried up the steps and nearly tripped over a loose board on her way. Peeling porch paint exposed weathered flooring with signs of rot. Even the paint on the outer walls had started to peel. Neglect showed everywhere Ann looked.

She tried the door. It was locked. At least no one had broken in. She removed her glove to retrieve the key from the mailbox where Marie always kept a spare.

A musty odor rushed past Ann when she opened the door, as if it were anxious to leave the house. "Marie, it's Ann," she called out.

A shaft of light through the front window helped the lamp brighten the living room's dark furnishings and wallpaper. She listened for a reply; only silence blanketed the room. Marie's multi-colored cat she lovingly called Fuzzle Duff greeted Ann with a mournful cry. Fuzzle Duff caressed Ann's ankles, rubbing against them with her chin, almost tripping her.

"Where's your mamma?"

Creaking sounds from old floorboards preceded her across the living room to the hall. Ann called out again, more urgently, "Marie, where are you? Are you all right? It's Ann."

At the end of the center hall, she heard voices coming from the den in the back of the house where Marie watched TV. Darkness still hung in the cold hallway like a moonless night. Ann slid her hand along the wall until a faint flicker of light fell across her face. p.r.i.c.kling fear crept up her spine, "Marie, please answer me, you're scaring me."

Still no answer.

A black and white TV with tinfoil wrapped around its rabbit ear antenna was the only light in the room. The voice was that of Arthur G.o.dfrey singing and strumming his ukulele. Ann glanced around the room, looking for signs of Marie. She switched on the overhead light, and her eyes were drawn to Marie's arm hanging limp from the side of her recliner. The black simulated leather chair was a Christmas present to herself. It was where she dined on TV dinners while she watched Gunsmoke. She never missed an episode of her big crush, James Arness, as Marshal Dillon.

Ann tiptoed around the chair. An aluminum TV tray with several green beans and congealed meatloaf gravy rested on the lamp table beside her. She thought it was odd that the lamp wasn't on.

Marie's head was slumped forward, chin resting on her chest. Saliva left a crusty trail down the side of her mouth leading to a damp stain on her flannel nightgown. She was bundled up in a heavy bathrobe and wool socks under her bedroom slippers.

Ann touched the back of her hand against Marie's forehead. It was ice cold.

"Oh my G.o.d, Marie, wake up!" Ann patted her cheeks trying to revive her. She placed two fingers on the large artery on her neck. No pulse.

Ann ran to the kitchen and got the funeral home's number from a list of emergency numbers Marie had tacked up beside the wall phone.

"h.e.l.lo, can you send an ambulance to 2704 Ludford Lane? And hurry. She's not breathing. I don't know what happened, I just found her this way...Yes, her body is cold, please hurry! Thank you."

Ann hung up the phone but couldn't force herself to go back into the den. She wrung her hands and paced the kitchen floor. Marie's old Underwood typewriter sitting on the kitchen table caught her eye. There was a piece of paper with something typed on it still in the carriage. She leaned closer to read it.

Dear Ann, I am so sorry I let you send Jerry after my sister. I just couldn't face you coming back to work knowing I was responsible for the death your husband and the father of your two children. Please forgive me.

Marie.

Ann collapsed into a kitchen chair and fell face down on the table. Her body shook as she sobbed into her folded arms.

The ambulance attendants shouted from the front door she had left ajar. "h.e.l.lo, anyone here?"

A quick wipe of her tear-streaked face with a hand towel soaked with ice cold water snapped her back to the surreal scene swirling around the room like the vortex of a tornado.

"Back here, in the TV room. Please hurry," She yelled as loud as her shocked throat would let her.

Two ambulance attendants burst into the den. One dropped a black bag beside Marie's chair. While he examined Marie's vital signs the other attendant approached Ann.

"Are you a relative?"

"No, just a good friend. We've worked together for several years. When she didn't come in today I was concerned and came to check on her."

"Do you know if she is taking any medications?"

"She has heart trouble."

While Ann was being interviewed by the lead attendant, his partner finished his examination. He approached Ann with his stethoscope still around his neck and interrupted the interview. "Ma'am, I'm sorry. Your friend is deceased. Does she have any living relatives, someone we can contact?"

The blood drained from Ann's head. She retreated to the kitchen chair before she lost her balance. "I guess I'm the only one close to her. She has a sister in a nursing home in Boone. Senile, doesn't . . . didn't always recognize Marie."

"It appears your friend has been dead for some time."

Ann twitched, her muscles sending spasms through her whole body. "I'm sorry, I'll be okay. Just give me a minute. It's just such a shock." She wrapped her arms around her body as tightly as she could to stop the tremors.

The attendants waited patiently until Ann had regained control.

"I think you need to see this." She nodded toward the suicide note in the typewriter.

"Yes, ma'am, this changes things. May I use the phone? We have to report suicides to the police."

"Yes, of course. Can you tell what caused her death from your examination?"

"No ma'am, that will have to be determined by the coroner's office. We'll deliver the body to the city morgue for the autopsy. Now, I really need to call the police. Excuse me."

Ann cringed at the thought of Marie being cut open like a cow at the slaughter house. Why would she do this? This wasn't like her.

Chapter 46.

"But Thaddeus Banks did not abandon his namesake town. He felt a fatherly responsibility for his workers."

Death by suicide "h.e.l.lo," said a voice from elsewhere in the house, "I'm Officer John Cartier."

Ann called him into the kitchen where he formally introduced himself and took Ann's name.

I just need to ask you a few questions when you're ready," he said.

Ann wiped the tears from her eyes and turned her head away from the men to blow her nose quietly into her soggy handkerchief. She took a slow deep breath before turning back to face the policeman. "I'll try to answer your questions if I can."

While Ann was collecting herself, one of the EMS attendants brought an empty medicine bottle to Officer Cartier.

Cartier took the bottle and, while examining it, asked, "How well do you know Mrs. Short?"

"We've worked together for ten years."

"Was she in good health?"

"She smoked too much and had a heart condition," Ann said. "She often told me she knew her cigarette habit was going to put her in the ground. But she refused to go to a doctor about her cough, knowing that he would tell her to stop smoking. Never once did she give any hint of taking her own life. She wouldn't be deprived of one of the few pleasures she had left. It was a welcomed challenge to cheat death and enjoy smoking as long as possible."

"Is this the medication she was taking?" He handed Ann the bottle.

A figure in a dark trench coat and small brimmed hat barged into the already crowded kitchen. "What the h.e.l.l are you doing?" the man screamed, directing his wrath at the police officer. "You're contaminating my evidence!" He pulled out his handkerchief and took the bottle from Ann.

"This is a suicide, Detective Connell. What are you doing here?" one of the ambulance attendant asked.

"Who determined this was a suicide, Officer Cartier?"

"I think the note in the typewriter is pretty self-explanatory, Detective, wouldn't you say?" the attendant said.

"Well, you know we have to check these unexplained death cases out to be sure there's no question of how the victim died," Connell said in a defensive tone. "You should know better than to touch anything on the scene until it's been thoroughly investigated. If you want to play detective, take the exam. Until then, you're excused, Officer. Go write up your report and leave the investigation to me, okay?"

The two men shot angry stares at each other. It was the cla.s.sic compet.i.tion over jurisdiction rights between uniforms and detectives. On his way out, Patrolman Cartier turned to Detective Connell and said sarcastically, "One of these days, Connell, you're going to regret your big mouth."

While the two policemen sparred over the evidence, Ann caught a glimpse of the ambulance attendants taking Marie's body from the TV room past the kitchen door. Ann lowered her eyes and tried to make sense of what was going on. Detective Connell's gruff manner so offended her she didn't want to be left alone with him.

"I'm sorry about that," the detective said. "Now, what is your name and what is your relationship to the deceased?"

Ann was numb after a twenty minute, intensive grilling by Detective Connell.

"This looks like a clear-cut case of suicide," Connell said. "Thank you for your help, ma'am. I have everything I need. Oh, and, uh, I'm sorry for your loss," he said in a softer voice. "There'll be an autopsy. If you like, I'll notify you of the results."

Ann could hardly speak above a whisper. "Thank you, Detective." After he left, she searched through Marie's old roll top desk in the den and found her will mixed in with some other papers. It laid out her funeral arrangements and where she was to be buried.

Sitting alone in the kitchen, Ann read the will she had insisted Marie prepare. She felt a heavy weight settle on her shoulders. Marie had designated her power of attorney. What would she do about Marie's sister in the nursing home? She decided to wait until the will was probated before telling Melissa about Marie's death. There was no rush, and Melissa probably wouldn't remember she had a sister named Marie.

Chapter 47.

"He provided a generous retirement for those eligible and made jobs available for the other workers in the new diesel repair center in Atlanta."

Back to work Ann locked the door behind her as she left Marie's house. How sad, she thought, to die alone.

She took the long drive around Silas Creek Parkway to get back to the office to help clear her mind. Her steps were short, and her feet felt like lead weights trudging up to the tin box that was once her security. She went to the warehouse door and called Ronnie and Joey into the front office. Ann broke the sad news of Marie's suicide and questioned them about Marie's last days.

"Was there any change in her behavior after Jerry's death?"

"No there wasn't," Ronnie spoke up first. "And if you expect any tears from me, forget it. She was always a pain in the b.u.t.t and never had a good word to say to me. Sorry, that's just how I feel. I guess that leaves you in charge of the office now. Fine. It'll be an improvement, if you ask me."

"She wasn't the most pleasant person to work with, but I'm sorry to hear of her death." Joey broke his silence and was more cordial toward the major source of his heartburn than Ronnie. "I'll speak to Mr. Johnson and get instructions as to what he wants to do about her replacement. I'll inform you of his wishes as soon as I get a reply."

"Thank you, Joey. I appreciate your help. Would you also inform the rest of the warehouse crew about Marie?"

"I'll be happy to, Mrs. Blackmon."

That was the longest conversation she'd ever had with Joey. She was pleasantly surprised but suspicious of his sympathetic att.i.tude. Marie had taunted him since day one when he came down from New York to oversee the business operations. There were times during their arguments she feared for Marie's safety. Anger flashed in his eyes, his jaw twitched, but he never lost control. Now he seemed calmer and friendlier than she'd ever seen him. Joey had never addressed her by her married name before. If he spoke around Ann at all, it was never directed toward her.

Ronnie and Joey left Ann alone with her thoughts in the shrouded silence of the office. She called her mother and wept into the phone, explaining how she found Marie.

"Ann, why don't you come home? You're in no condition to work today," Alice pleaded.

"There's too much work to be done. Marie had let stuff pile up while I was off. I need to clear off her desk and get the books caught up. I'll be home for supper."

"All right," Alice said, "but take your time and don't push yourself."

Dabbing her red, tear-drenched eyes, Ann hung up. It seemed crying was all she'd done for weeks. She was tired of the feeling.

She stood up and shouted out orders to herself.

"Okay, Ann, pull yourself together and get busy. You have the work of two people to do until Sam decides if he'll hire someone to take Marie's place."

Self-consciously, she glanced around to make sure she was still alone. A deep breath pushed her hesitation aside. Ann approached Marie's desk as though she were trespa.s.sing on her friend's property. She picked up loose papers to organize them for filing in one stack; unopened mail went in another stack. Last week's time sheets not entered in the ledger lay scattered about. She would bring her own books up to date before she tackled Marie's neglected time sheets. The rest was mostly busy work Marie shuffled to give the appearance she was working.

Three days later Leaning back in her chair, Ann tried to process what had happened since she returned to work. If this was a bad dream, she was ready to wake up. A distant ringing slipped into her consciousness. Louder and louder, the ringing snapped Ann awake. Ann picked up the phone, her mind not quite clear yet.

"Is this Mrs. Blackmon? h.e.l.lo? Mrs. Blackmon, this is Detective Connell."

"Yes, Detective, this is Mrs. Blackmon," Ann replied, sounding distant.

"Mrs. Blackmon, the ME report on Mrs. Short came back today. It confirmed our suspicion that she died of an overdose of her prescription medicine. She committed suicide, Mrs. Blackmon. I'm sorry for the loss of your friend."

"Does that mean the case is closed? No investigation, just like that?"

"There's nothing to investigate. Guilt over your husband's death was more than she could handle. She didn't have much longer to live anyway, according to the report."

Ann's jaw dropped. "What do you mean?"

"I don't want to sound cruel, but she was already dying of lung cancer that had spread all over her body. It was just a matter of time. Maybe it was better this way, especially for you, being her power of attorney and all. Sometimes these things drag out for a-"