Page 44 of Golden Girl
She needs Martha! She needs Martha! Where’s Martha?
Vivi approaches the green door. She puts her ear to the panel and hears faint singing. It sounds like…like “Fool in the Rain,” by Led Zeppelin. Is Vivi imagining this? It’ssucha great song, a song totally worthy of the afterlife, but shouldn’t the choir be singing hymns or madrigals?
Ever so slowly, Vivi takes hold of the knob and turns…
“Vivian!”
Suddenly, Martha swings open the door from the other side, pushing Vivi back toward the bookshelves. A new scarf, lavender in hue, is tied around Martha’s ponytail, a 1950s-sock-hop look.
“What did I tell you about the door, Vivian?”
“I’m not supposed to open it.”
“I should dock you a week of viewing time,” Martha says.
“No, please don’t! I’m sorry! You said you would come when I needed you and I need you now. I want you to assure me that Cruz wasn’t the one who hit me. I would forgive him—I would forgive that childanything. But I’m afraid the world won’t forgive him. I’m afraid the court system, the judge, the Nantucket Police, and my own kids won’t forgive him. Please, Martha, tell me Cruz wasn’t the one who hit me.”
“You seem a little slow in learning the rules,” Martha says. “I can’t tell you who hit you or didn’t hit you.”
“Is that because you don’t know or because you don’t want to tell me?”
“Oh, Vivian, the same rules apply to us here as down there.”
That’s not really true,Vivian thinks.
Martha shakes her head and the scarf moves like a curtain in the breeze. “Some things you have to figure out on your own.”
The Chief
Dixon, again with the bad news. A janitor at the Stop and Shop found bloodstained sneakers in the trash in the break room and he called the police to report it. Dixon went himself to retrieve the sneakers, and they exactly matched the description of Vivi’s missing sneakers.
“For crying out loud!” the Chief says, because his mind travels right to Cruz DeSantis.
“This is good,” Dixon says. “They were lost, now they’re found. And you know, Chief, the DeSantis kid works at the Stop and Shop.”
“Did the janitor find the clothes as well?”
“No, just the shoes.”
Just the shoes. That makes no sense. And what’s valuable, from a forensics standpoint, is the clothes—the shorts and the tank—in case there are flecks of paint. Every contact leaves a trace.
“Do you want me to bring the DeSantis kid in?” Dixon asks.
“Not yet,” the Chief says. “I need to think.”
The Chief asks Dixon to air-freight the shoes to Lisa Hitt on the Cape. He should probably request a homicide detective from the state police—the Greek would be his best option—but he doesn’t want to call one in just yet. The Greek is a busy man and they have no forensic evidence tying this death to any suspects.
Cruz DeSantis is a smart kid—he’s too smart to tamper with evidence, too smart to throw bloody sneakers into the trash at his place of employment. Right? The Chief will go talk to him.
It’s eleven o’clock in the morning. A phone call to the Stop and Shop confirms that Cruz is working. The Chief arranges for him to take a break so that Cruz can help with an ongoing investigation.
The Chief is waiting out back by the employee entrance when Cruz comes out. He looks…tired, sick, traumatized.
“Cruz.”
“I heard the news already,” Cruz says. “I work here, Chief Kapenash.”
“Right,” the Chief says. “Let’s take a drive.”
