Harlan Coben - Gone for Good

As we approached Rose Baker's door, I could not help but feel a pang of envy for the knapsack-laden students I saw walking to and fro. I'd loved college. I loved everything about it. I loved hanging out with sloppy slacker friends. I loved living on my own, doing laundry too rarely, eating pepperoni pizza at midnight. I loved chatting with the accessible, hippie like professors. I loved debating lofty issues and harsh realities that never, ever, penetrated the green of our campus.

When we reached the overly cheerful welcome mat, I heard a familiar song wafting through the wooden portal. I made a face and listened closer. The sound was muffled, but it sounded like Elton John more specifically, his song "Candle in the Wind" from the classic Goodbye Yellow Brick Road double album. I knocked on the door.

A woman's voice chimed, "Just a minute."

A few seconds later, the door opened. Rose Baker was probably in her seventies and dressed, I was surprised to see, for a funeral. Her wardrobe, from the big-brimmed hat with matching veil to the sensible shoes, was black. Her rouge looked as if it'd been liberally applied via an aerosol can. Her mouth formed a nearly perfect "O" and her eyes were big red saucers, as if her face had frozen immediately after being startled.

"Mrs. Baker? "I said.

She lifted the veil. "Yes?"

"My name is Will Klein. This is Katy Miller."

The saucer eyes swiveled toward Katy and locked into position.

"Is this a bad time?" I asked.

She seemed surprised by the question. "Not at all."

I said, "We'd like to speak with you, if that's okay."

"Katy Miller," she repeated, her eyes still on her.

"Yes, ma'am," I said.

"Julie's sister."

It was not a question, but Katy nodded anyway. Rose Baker pushed open the screen door. "Please come in."

We followed her into the living room. Katy and I stopped short, taken aback by what we saw.

It was Princess Di.

She was everywhere. The entire room was sheathed, blanketed, overrun with Princess Di paraphernalia. There were photographs, of course, but also tea sets, commemorative plates, embroidered pillows, lamps, figurines, books, thimbles, shot glasses (how respectful), a toothbrush (eeuw!), a night-light, sunglasses, salt-'n-pepper shakers, you name it. I realized that the song I was hearing was not the original Elton John-Bernie Taupin classic, but the more recent Princess Di tribute version, the lyrics now offering a good-bye to our "English rose." I had read somewhere that the Di-tribute version was the biggest-selling single in world history. That said something, though I was not sure I wanted to know what.

Rose Baker said, "Do you remember when Princess Diana died?"

I looked at Katy. She looked at me. We both nodded yes.

"Do you remember the way the world mourned?"

She looked at us some more. And we nodded again.

"For most people, the grief, the mourning, it was just a fad. They did it for a few days, maybe a week or two. And then" she snapped her fingers, magician style, her saucer eyes bigger than ever "it was over for them. Like she never existed at all."

She looked at us and waited for clucks of agreement. I tried not to make a face.

"But for some of us, Diana, Princess of Wales, well, she really was an angel. Too good for this world maybe. We won't ever forget her. We keep the light burning."

She dabbed her eye. A sarcastic rejoinder came to my lips, but I bit it back.

"Please," she said. "Have a seat. Would you care for. some tea?"

Katy and I both politely declined.

"A biscuit, then?"

She produced a plate with cookies in the shape of, yup, Princess Diana's profile. Sprinkles formed the crown. We begged off, neither of us much in the mood to nibble on dead Di. I decided to start right in.

"Mrs. Baker," I said, "you remember Katy's sister, Julie?"

"Yes, of course." She put down the plate of cookies. "I remember all of the girls. My husband, Frank he taught English here died in 1969. We had no children. My family had all passed away. That sorority house, those girls, for twenty-six years they were my life."

"I see," I said.

"And Julie, well, late at night, when I lay in bed in the dark, her face comes to me more than most. Not just because she was a special child oh, and she was but of course, because of what happened to her."

"You mean her murder?" It was a dumb thing to say, but I was new at this. I just wanted to keep her talking.

"Yes." Rose Baker reached out and took Katy's hand. "Such a tragedy. I'm so sorry for your loss."

Katy said, "Thank you."

Uncharitable as this might sound, my mind could not help but think: Tragedy, yes, but where was Julie's image or the image of Rose Baker's husband or family, for that matter in this swirling potpourri of royal grief?

"Mrs. Baker, do you remember another sorority sister named Sheila Rogers?" I asked.

Her face pinched up and her voice was short. "Yes." She shifted primly. "Yes, I do."

From her reaction, it was pretty obvious that she had not heard about the murder. I decided not to tell her yet. She clearly had a problem with Sheila, and I wanted to know what it was. We needed honesty here. If I were to tell her that Sheila was dead now, she might sugarcoat her answers. Before I could follow up, Mrs. Baker held up her hand. "May I ask you a question?"

"Of course."

"Why are you asking me all this now?" She looked at Katy. "It all happened so long ago."

Katy took that one. "I'm trying to find the truth."

"The truth about what?"

"My sister changed while she was here."

Rose Baker closed her eyes. "You don't need to hear this, child."

"Yes," Katy said, and the desperation in her voice was palpable enough to knock out a window. "Please. We need to know."

Rose Baker kept her eyes closed for another moment or two. Then she nodded to herself and opened them. She folded her hands and put them in her lap. "How old are you?"

"Eighteen."

"About the age Julie was when she first came here." Rose Baker smiled. "You look like her."

"So I've been told."

"It's a compliment. Julie lit up a room. In many ways she reminds me of Diana herself. Both of them were beautiful. Both of them were special almost divine." She smiled and wagged a finger. "Ah, and both had a wild streak. Both were inordinately stubborn. Julie was a good person. Kind, smart as a whip. She was an excellent student."

" Yet," I said, " she dropped out."

"Yes."

"Why?"

She turned her eyes on me. "Princess Di tried to be firm. But no one can control the winds of fate. They blow as they may."

Katy said, "I'm not following you."

A Princess Di clock chimed the hour, the sound a hollow imitation of Big Ben. Rose Baker waited for it to grow silent again. Then she said, "College changes people. Your first time away, your first time on your own…" She drifted off, and for a moment I thought I'd have to nudge her into continuing. "I'm not saying this right. Julie was fine at first, but then she, well, she started to withdraw. From all of us. She cut classes. She broke up with her hometown boyfriend. Not that that was unusual. Almost all the girls do first year. But in her case, it came so late. Junior year, I think. I thought she really loved him."

I swallowed, kept still.

"Earlier," Rose Baker said, "you asked me about Sheila Rogers."

Katy said, "Yes."

"She was a bad influence."

"How so?"

"When Sheila joined us that same year" Rose put a finger to her chin and tilted her head as if a new idea had just forced its way in "well, maybe she was the winds of fate. Like the paparazzi that made Diana's limousine speed up. Or that awful driver, Henri Paul. Did you know that his blood alcohol level was three times the legal limit?"

"Sheila and Julie became friends?" I tried.