Look Closely - Laura Caldwell [76]
I leaned my head back against the headboard, letting the papers fall to my lap. The top of the stairs. According to Caroline, we’d both been standing there with my mom when she fell. I could envision the stairs clearly since I’d just visited the old house. I tried to put myself back there in my mind’s eye, before my mother staggered to the door holding her head, before that next morning. I forced my thoughts away from the sounds of the party above me and tried to dial my memory back. I had a spark of recollection of my mother in the powder-blue suit, dressed up for the night as I had rarely seen her. Her face was nervous and slightly flushed, her milky-brown eyes wide. She said something to Caroline and me, some explanation. Caroline gave a harsh laugh, like a dog’s bark, a foreign, ugly sound coming from my sister’s throat.
I was startled away from the memory by a sudden pounding, like someone falling, which came from directly above me. The neighbors’ party. I squeezed my eyes shut, but I couldn’t bring it back, and I felt taxed by the effort. I would read the rest of the records tomorrow.
I pulled a pillow over my head to block out the sounds of the city, but it didn’t matter. All I could hear was Caroline’s coarse, ugly laugh over and over.
18
I took a shorter run than usual on Sunday morning. The city was relatively quiet, since many people had already started their summer sojourns to the Hamptons, and the rest of the population was sleeping off their hangovers. But still, the ever-present smoky exhaust, along with the stale-beer smell from the alleys, made me claustrophobic today. Instead of taking my usual jogging path, replete with packs of cars and people, I ran down side streets to Washington Square Park and did small loops around it.
The run didn’t calm me the way it normally did. I was overly aware of the couples who shared the Sunday Times on benches and the three girlfriends who walked with paper coffee cups, laughing about their evening escapades.
After a quick shower, I dressed in light khaki pants and a white T-shirt. Gathering the police records and my cell phone, I left the apartment. I simply couldn’t spend another hour in there. I should enjoy the city, even if I did it by myself.
At my local coffee shop, I bought the Times, a large latte and a cranberry scone. I managed to score one of the outdoor metal tables and settled myself there, making sure to keep my back to the wall. That feeling of being watched had made me cautious.
I nibbled the scone and sipped the coffee. I tried to read the paper first, focusing on the business section and the book reviews, but my thoughts strayed to the police records. I was nervous to read the summary of my own interview with Chief Manning. I had a prickling of fear that I might not like what I found.
But it was no use being fearful of a piece of paper, so I put the Times aside and lifted the stack of records from my bag, locating Chief Manning’s notes first. Once again, I followed them as he recorded every step he took on the case and the date he performed the action. Along the way, he continued to make indications that he strongly suspected abuse and that he was intent on finding Leah Sutter’s boyfriend. However, despite pleas in the local news for this man to come forward, no one had admitted to dating Leah Sutter. According to Chief Manning, this made him even more suspicious about the involvement of the boyfriend. I couldn’t blame him. Why wouldn’t the person show himself and help the police? An affair was tricky information, something that could destroy whole families,