Chris Grabenstein - Tilt-a-Whirl

“Oh,” she says, “we got rid of those.”

“Really?” Ceepak is sticking his head into doors, looking at orange towels on the bathroom floor and dirty yellow dishes in the kitchen sink. “When'd you do that?”

“Last month.”

“Who'd you give them to?”

“I'm not certain. Some charitable organization. Salvation Army. Goodwill. One of those. The doorman arranged it….”

Ceepak digs his notebook out of his front pants pocket. “How about that turtle wallpaper?”

“Excuse me?”

“The wallpaper you had ‘custom-made in Milan’?” he says, reading from his notes. “Did you rip that down and donate it, too?”

“No, of course not,” she says, cool as a cucumber somebody popped in the freezer. “We painted over the wallpaper last fall.”

“Uhm-hmmm.”

Ceepak sees a door with a sparkly gold star surrounded by stickers of unicorns and cats and Disney princesses.

No turtles.

“She really isn't feeling well,” Betty says. “This whole ordeal has finally taken its toll….”

Ceepak knocks.

“Really, Officer Ceepak….”

Ashley opens the door.

She's wearing the same bright yellow jogging suit her mother has on, only smaller.

She smiles, like she's delighted to see an old friend.

“Hello, Mr. Ceepak.”

“Hello, Ashley.”

“Thank you for doing your duty. Thank you for shooting Squeegee for us.”

“Ashley? Be still!”

“Yes, Mother.”

Ashley's hands instinctively go up to her head to block the blows that don't come. Not this time.

Ashley retreats to her bed, afraid to look anybody in the eye.

“I'm sorry, Mommy.”

“Be quiet.”

Ceepak pivots so he's facing Betty Bell Hart.

“I wonder if you'd leave us alone for a few minutes.”

The woman rubs her hands together nervously like she's washing them with air.

“Chief Cosgrove told me you shot the homeless man. That you killed him.”

When Ceepak does not reply, she takes this as an admission of guilt.

“Shall I call Robert? See how that's going for you? I'm sure you acted in self-defense….”

“As I stated earlier, the chief has been unexpectedly detained.”

“Is it the FBI? Are they involved?”

“Yes, ma'am. I guess you could say they are.”

“I'm so sorry. For you. Your reputation. Your family….” She shakes her head, as if in sad sympathy.

“I need to speak with Ashley,” Ceepak says. “Alone.”

This seems to irritate Betty.

“I don't mind, Mommy….”

Betty puts a rigid finger to her lips. A silent warning.

“But I like Mr. Ceepak.”

“No!” Betty's neck tightens. She glares at her daughter.

“He's nice, Mommy….”

And Betty's nice and mad. In fact, all of a sudden, she's trembling mad. Her pancake makeup is cracking. Near her eyes I can see jagged lines that look like those high-pressure systems she used to draw on weather maps.

“Ma’ am….” Ceepak begins.

Betty cuts him off.

“What do you want? No. Don't tell me. I see it in your eyes. You men all want the same thing. You can't wait to be alone with my beautiful little girl, can you? Alone in her bedroom.”

“Miss Bell, I assure you….”

“Well, I won't let you. I am Ashley's guardian!”

“I know that, ma'am.”

“But do you know what that means? I have to protect her. From men. Men like you!” Her voice is shrill, like steel wheels screeching to a stop.

Ceepak moves a step closer. He practically whispers.

“Ma’am-is someone molesting your daughter?”

She stares into Ceepak's eyes.

Then she smiles.

“Not anymore. We took care of that. The same way you took care of Squeegee.”

Now she winks.

I'm not sure I follow but it looks like Ceepak does. I see sadness seeping into his eyes again.

Betty drifts toward the bed.

“I'm a good guardian, aren't I, Ashley?”

“Yes, Mommy. The best.”

“Tell them.”

“Mommy is my guardian angel.”

“When Ashley was little? She called me her ‘gardening’ angel. Didn't you, dear?”

“Yes, Mommy.”

Betty sits on the bed and lightly taps the mattress, commanding her daughter to come sit next to her. She hits us with her high beams. Her blazing weather girl smile.

“Isn't my daughter sweet? Pretty, too.”

Ashley squirms. Betty pats Ashley's knee.

“That's why her father would not be denied,” Betty says. “Oh no. There was absolutely no denying Mr. Reginald Hart. Not when he wanted something. But we could negotiate terms. Couldn't we, dear?”

“Yes, Mommy.”

Oh man. I should've seen it. The older guy? It's her father.

Betty takes Ashley's hand and squeezes it tight. Too tight.

“Mommy?”

“Quiet!”

“Let go of her hand, ma'am.”

“Of course, Officer Ceepak. Of course.” She sniffs the air. “Do you like Ashley's perfume? Reginald certainly did. Drove him wild. I picked it out myself. At Victoria's Secret? Are you familiar with the scent?”

“I've smelled it before,” says Ceepak.

“Smell triggers memory faster than any of our senses. Did you know that?”

“Yes, ma'am.”

“Then you know if that bag lady, I believe her name is Gladys, yes, if Gladys were to ever smell a recently discharged sniper rifle, perhaps in court, why she'd remember everything she saw and heard at that hotel, wouldn't she?”

“I'm sure she would.”

“So, Officer Ceepak-you and I are eternally linked. Tangled together in our twisted webs of vengeance.”

“I can understand why you might think that.”

“Would you like to know how and when when it started?”

“Mommy? We're never supposed to tell anybody.”

“Oh, we can tell Officer Ceepak. He's on our side, now. He has to be after what he did. And these others? They're in it with him.” Now she's smiling at Jane and me. “Destroying evidence? Helping Officer Ceepak hunt down an innocent man? Shame on you two. You're both part of a big, fat conspiracy and cover-up, aren't you? Well, you'll keep quiet. You have to. Don't they, Johnny?”

Ceepak doesn't say a word.

“Ashley, of course, acted in self-defense. Your friend Ceepak understands. He would have done the same thing. Officer Ceepak doesn't like men who fornicate with small children. No. Not after what that priest did to his little brother. That's why he killed Squeegee.”

Ashley smiles prettily up at Ceepak.

“Thank you,” she tells him again.

“Miss Bell? Why don't you explain it to Danny? Everything. I'm sure he'd like to know, to understand.”

“Hmmm. Very clever. I see what you're up to, Johnny. Dragging your partner and this policewoman in deeper. Making them full accomplices. Smart. Very smart. Let's see … I should give you a little background. Would that be helpful young man?”

She's asking me. Smiling. Her teeth have all been capped. I can see metal rims. But that's not the only reason her grin reminds me of a mechanical witch from The Haunted Castle over on the boardwalk.

I say nothing, but I don't need to. She hesitates a moment then flashes a look to the guy she figures is her big-time co-conspirator: Ceepak.

Still beaming, still bright and sunny, Betty totally focuses on me.

“It all started when Ashley was three….”

Great. Ceepak has pried open the door but all the sick-o stuff is going to come tumbling out on top of me.

“Reginald would crawl into Ashley's bed and start tickling her. Tickle Bug he called it. Then he'd rub up against her soft pajamaed bottom with his erection. Do you know what he said the first time I caught him? That he was having a dream. A dream that he was with me, not Ashley. I, of course, believed him. I believed him for far too long.”