The Year of Needy Girls Read online

  SJ had the strange feeling that she had been caught doing something she wasn’t supposed to be doing. “I was . . . just out walking,” she said.

  Detective Rodriguez folded her arms. SJ could see the holster just beneath her suit jacket.

  “I . . . I just wandered farther than I meant to, I guess.” She did not want to mention her apartment, although it would certainly provide her with a good reason for walking in this neighborhood; something told SJ to keep the apartment a secret from the police too.

  Detective Rodriguez’s face didn’t register any emotion. “You seemed pretty deliberate just now.” She nodded to the picture of Leo Rivera and the little shrine of devotional candles. “Were you looking for something in particular? Someone?”

  “Me? No, God no. I . . . I don’t know, I was out walking and saw the picture and . . .” She realized how defensive she sounded. “I was just out walking. I’m not sure why I came over here.”

  “You can understand why the school is leery of having strangers hanging around the schoolyard?”

  “Yes, absolutely,” SJ blushed. “I’m s-sorry,” she stammered. “I didn’t mean to cause worry.”

  Detective Rodriguez nodded.

  “Did someone . . . say something? Complain?” SJ looked up to where the last of the kids were entering the school and the nun was closing the door behind them.

  “When my partner comes out, why don’t you let us give you a lift home?” Detective Rodriguez motioned to the police cruiser.

  “It’s fine,” SJ said. “I’m okay. I can walk. I like walking.”

  A uniformed policeman stepped out from the school’s main door. Detective Rodriguez raised a hand and waved, those manicured nails flashing bright red. She looked at SJ. “It would be no problem. Come on. I think it would be better if you let us give you a ride.”

  And SJ felt like she had no choice. What a scene it would be if she pulled up in front of the house in a police car. Not to mention the deeper fear that Detective Rodriguez wanted her for reasons more serious than simply giving her a ride home. The offer didn’t exactly seem like a friendly gesture. Detective Rodriguez held her arm aloft as if to say, This way, and SJ walked toward the car.

  “Detective Mahoney is working another angle on the case,” Detective Rodriguez said while they walked. “I’m with Officer Deluca today.” Her tone suggested that SJ knew who that was. She felt conspicuous walking alongside Rodriguez. Each car that passed seemed to slow down to see what was going on. But, of course, that was silly. Rodriguez wasn’t even wearing a uniform. Still, with the cruiser parked nearby, SJ felt marked and humiliated.

  When they got closer to the car SJ recognized Officer Deluca as one of the uniformed policemen who had come by the library in the days just following Leo Rivera’s disappearance. “Hello,” she said.

  Rodriguez motioned to the other officer. “I believe you’ve met Officer Deluca. Ms. Edmonds.”

  Deluca nodded. “Ms. Edmonds,” he said curtly.

  “I thought we might give Ms. Edmonds a ride home.” Rodriguez opened the back door. “She’s a long way from home, and along the way, I thought we might have a conversation.”

  Officer Deluca nodded.

  “Everything go okay in there?” She motioned back toward the school building and held the back door open for SJ.

  “Fine,” he said. “Not much new.”

  SJ climbed in the backseat and felt immediately uneasy, like she had crossed over into enemy territory. Get out now, a small voice said. You’re not safe. But she had a clear conscience—except that she’d let Mickey Gilberto kiss her on the very night of his arrest. And she’d rented an apartment in his neighborhood. And she hadn’t mentioned any of it to Deirdre. But other than that, she hadn’t done anything wrong. None of that was against the law, certainly.

  The police radio crackled and a voice interrupted. SJ heard the word “victim” and heard “Maple Street.”

  “That’s my neighborhood,” she said. She sat forward and gripped the back of the front seat.

  “I’m sorry.” Detective Rodriguez stepped out, and reopened the back door to let SJ out. “We need to respond. We’ll have that chat later.”

  Officer Deluca called in on his radio. They set the blue lights flashing and off they sped.

  Maple Street. The park. SJ’s mind immediately flashed to the two boys playing basketball. She remembered the runner on the track and the way the boys had leered at her. She felt strangely lucky, first because she’d left the park before anything happened—assuming, of course, that what she’d heard on the police radio had actually occurred at the park—and second, because she did not have to be escorted home by the police. And yet, she still felt implicated in something bad. She stepped off the curb and didn’t notice a cyclist flying around the corner.

  “Get out of the way!”

  SJ turned in time to see the guy, his face contorted in panic beneath a shiny blue helmet. He waved one hand wildly. SJ felt like a squirrel, stuck there, undecided about which way to run. The cyclist swerved to miss hitting her, but instead turned his bike right into the curb. The bike went down and, with his feet clipped into his pedals, so did he.

  SJ hurried over. “Are you okay?” A stupid question, but what else could she say? He didn’t look hurt, but he was lying there awkwardly in his cyclist’s getup, matching shirt and Lycra shorts.

  “What’s the matter with you?” the guy asked.

  “I’m sorry,” SJ said. “Can I help you up?”

  “I’m fine,” he said. He shook his head. “Actually, you can help me get out of these.” He pointed to his feet, still attached to his pedals.

  SJ grabbed one of his feet and pulled.

  “No!” he yelled. “Just undo the shoe—here.” He pointed to the strap she had to unclip. “Thanks,” he said when she had removed them both.

  “Are you okay?” SJ asked again.

  The cyclist stood. His arm was scratched and bleeding a little. His elbow looked bruised, maybe even swollen.

  “Your leg’s bleeding.”

  “Yeah, it’s okay, though,” he said. “Makes for good stories, you know?” His tone softened.

  SJ smiled a little, grateful. “I’m so sorry,” she said. “I’m not usually so clueless. Do you think your bike is okay?” She lifted it from where it lay against the curb.

  “It’s not the first time I’ve gone down. It’ll be fine.” He took the bike from SJ and looked it over, checked the brakes, the gears, spun both wheels to see if they turned freely. “Bent water bottle holder, that’s no big deal,” he said.

  “I feel terrible though,” SJ said. “Can I—should I give you my phone number or something?”

  The cyclist grinned. “This your way of getting dates? There are easier ways, you know.”

  “No—” SJ blushed. “No, I mean, I don’t know, if you find out later something is damaged or something, I’d want to pay.”

  “Ah.” He was still smiling. “I’m Leif, by the way.” He removed a biking glove and extended his hand.

  “SJ.” She shook his hand. She pointed to the intersection beyond Most Precious Blood. “I work down there,” she said. “At the library. If you need to find me—”

  “If something’s damaged,” he interrupted, still grinning. “I appreciate that.” He put his biking glove back on. “Be careful now. Don’t forget to look both ways before you cross.”

  SJ felt herself blush again. “Yeah,” she said and lifted one finger in a sort of wave. She watched Leif as he climbed back onto his bike, heard the clip of shoes attaching to pedals. He started off, raised one arm but didn’t turn around, and kept pedaling. SJ watched until he was a blur down the road.

  Sophomore Semiformal

  As the sophomore semiformal neared, the girls became more and more distracted—only this year, of course, things were a bit different. The venue, for one.

  This year, the Brandywine board agreed that, given the circumstances, the dance would be held at the school itself.
There was a general consensus that the girls needed calming, centering, that all the happenings of the fall had riled them up and they needed to be rechanneled. The board members thought that keeping the fall activities at school might help the girls recharge, a kind of circling the wagons.

  The girls took the decision without much grumbling. As sophomores, they were still new to the world of fancy dresses and limos, still excited for the opportunity to get their hair done, have a mani-pedi, stay out well past curfew. They were enchanted with the decorated gymnasium, the wooden dance floor laid down to protect what was underneath; the purple mums brought in from La Belle Fleur, Bradley’s best florist; the tablecloths and glassware. They could forget the locker room around the corner, the classrooms down the hall and upstairs, and they could pretend they were at one of Jay Gatsby’s parties, if they knew about him, if they had read ahead in the American literature reading list or had an older sister who might have shared her love for Fitzgerald, who might have told her younger sister, Here, you’ve got to read this. It’s the best ever.

  The girls went to the semiformal together or in small groups. Some of them had dates, boys from St. Andrew’s or friends from the neighborhood. The St. Andrew’s boys were invited anyway, and they would all be there in suits and ties and shiny shoes.

  Of course, Ms. Murphy always chaperoned the semiformal, and this year her absence would be noticed. Even Anna found herself wondering what Ms. Murphy would think of her sparkly dress, low-cut and daring, but then realized with a sharp stab that she wouldn’t be present. This year, Anna’s mother was chaperoning along with several others. Their daughters tolerated their presence as the price they had to pay in order to have the dance at all, but once inside the darkened gymnasium, the deejay spinning the latest music, the girls forgot about their mothers and left them gathered together at the back wall near the punch bowl. Anna was relieved to see her mother and Mrs. Moore off to the side, deep into their own conversation and not paying attention when she and Lydia danced or tried to talk with the cute boys.

  For the most part, the semiformal worked to take the girls’ minds off the terrible incidents of that fall. For one magical October night, they felt free to enjoy and lose themselves in the party spirit, to be the beautiful girls they imagined themselves to be.

  Chapter Four

  Deirdre hung up the receiver. Finally she had gathered the courage to call Susan and Murray and ask about their lawyer. They weren’t home, thankfully, and she started to leave a casual message—Oh, that lawyer you mentioned? I’d be interested in getting the name and number—but a car pulled up in front of the house, a dark blue sedan. Deirdre peered from behind the living room curtains. From out of the car stepped a man and woman, definitely police detectives, she was sure of it. The woman had cropped dark hair stylishly cut. She looked, as Deirdre’s father would say, like “a tall drink of water,” lean and leggy in black pants and a cream-colored top. From the car, she pulled out a black jacket and put it on, covering the gun holstered at her hip. The man looked Irish, ruddy-complexioned, and wore his hair in a short crew cut. They didn’t speak but walked directly to Deirdre’s front door.

  She stood frozen at the front window. She felt her heart pound in her chest. The doorbell rang and she walked, wooden, to answer it. She looked down and realized her hands were shaking. She swallowed and opened the door.

  “Hello?” she said and forced a smile. “Come in,” she said when they presented their badges.

  “You’re expecting us?” the woman asked.

  “Well, to be honest, I never thought it would get this far, but let’s put it this way, I’m not surprised to see you.” She motioned for them to come into the living room and have a seat.

  “Detective Mahoney,” the man said, “and this is Detective Rodriguez. So, Sara Jane has mentioned our visit?”

  “SJ? You’ve already spoken with SJ?” Deirdre perched on the edge of the armchair. The two detectives sat on the couch. Deirdre smoothed her hair and tugged on the hem of her flannel shirt, hoped her jeans didn’t look overly sloppy.

  The detectives looked at each other. Detective Rodriguez spoke up, smiling directly at Deirdre: “A couple of times. She didn’t seem to think we needed to talk with you, but we felt it might be important to get your take—”

  “She seemed to think you had pretty strong feelings about Mickey Gilberto,” Detective Mahoney interrupted, “based on what you saw the day he moved you in.” He looked expectantly at Deirdre and flipped open a small spiral notebook. “Can you tell us about that?”

  “Mickey Gilberto?” Her head felt fuzzy. “Mickey . . . I’m sorry, I’m not—can you tell me again what this is about? I think there’s been a misunderstanding.”

  Detective Mahoney spoke curtly: “You are Deirdre Murphy, is that right?”

  “Yes—but . . .”

  “Sara Jane Edmonds is your partner?” he continued.

  Deirdre nodded.

  “You moved into this house on the first of September, the month previous, yes?” He sounded impatient, almost mocking. “Mickey Gilberto was one of your movers?”

  “Yes, that’s right, but I’m sorry, I don’t know why . . . I’m sorry.” She shook her head. “I—well, it doesn’t matter. But I’m afraid I don’t have much to say about Mickey Gilberto, except what everyone knows who has seen the news.” She looked first at Detective Rodriguez, then at Detective Mahoney. “You’re here to discuss Mickey Gilberto?”

  Detective Mahoney tapped his pencil on the notebook. “What were your impressions of him on the day you moved in?”

  Deirdre shifted in her chair. She sat back and crossed her legs. “Well, it’s true that I thought he was . . .” She searched for the right word. “I don’t know . . . gross?”

  Detective Rodriguez laughed. “Gross how? Did he do or say anything that made you uncomfortable?” She looked at Deirdre in a way that encouraged her to speak.

  “He just gave me the creeps. I wish I could say more, but really that’s it.” She gave a little laugh herself.

  Mahoney didn’t change his expression but Rodriguez leaned forward, waited a few seconds, and then spoke: “Deirdre—is it okay if I call you Deirdre? Do you have any idea why SJ would be hanging around Most Precious Blood Elementary? Why she would have been there yesterday in the middle of the day?”

  Deirdre uncrossed her legs, frowned. “She works near there.”

  “She didn’t tell you that she took the day off yesterday?” Rodriguez asked, her tone a bit more challenging now. “Is that unusual for the two of you?”

  Deirdre was conscious now of Mahoney looking directly at her, listening, waiting. His face offered no emotion, no sense of what he was thinking. He sat poised with that pencil. Ludicrous thoughts ran through her head: I hope you’re single. You’d make a lousy partner. Rodriguez’s gaze offered more warmth, but without thinking, Deirdre pulled her flannel sleeves over her hands in a gesture that mimicked her students when they came in to talk with her about their grades or some problem they were having.

  “I’m sorry,” Deirdre said. “Do you mean is it unusual for SJ to take the day off?” She knew the number of days SJ had taken off without being sick in the seven years they had been together—exactly two, both early on, after her parents’ Cessna went down, before Deirdre ever had a chance to meet them.

  “I mean,” Detective Rodriguez smiled and said softly, “is it unusual for her not to tell you?”

  Deirdre didn’t like the question. She leaned back in the chair and crossed her arms. “I guess so, yeah, but it isn’t like we tell each other everything. Maybe it’s a little unusual but it certainly isn’t a big deal,” she lied. Her left temple started to throb.

  Detective Mahoney opened his mouth and started to say something, but Detective Rodriguez put up her hand and cut him off. “So, you don’t know why SJ would be hanging around Most Precious Blood if she took the day off? Can you think of any reason she would be over in that neighborhood, what business she might have had ther
e?”

  Deirdre heard the accusation in the question, in the tone of voice. She didn’t much like Detective Mahoney and now, this woman who had seemed warm and inviting was starting to irritate her. “I don’t know,” she said. “Like I told you, she works over there, she might’ve been meeting someone for lunch. We don’t tell each other about every move we make.”

  “You knew your partner was tutoring Mickey Gilberto?” Detective Mahoney said. “You knew that?”

  “Of course I knew that!” Deirdre spat back. Not exactly a lie, but Deirdre had assumed SJ had taken her advice and passed him on to someone else.

  “And you thought nothing of it?”

  “I didn’t like it, but SJ is a grown-up and she can make her own decisions.” Deirdre felt the blood rushing to her face. Her temple was still throbbing.

  “Why didn’t you like it?” Detective Mahoney pressed on.

  “Because I thought he was bad news. I had a bad feeling about him.”

  Now Mahoney smiled. He closed his little notebook and glanced over at Rodriguez, raised his eyebrows as if to ask, Are we done?

  “Listen,” Rodriguez said as she started to stand. “Here’s my card. If you can think of anything that might be helpful, if you remember anything else about Mickey Gilberto, anything at all that might help us, give me a call.” She handed Deirdre her card.

  Deirdre nodded and didn’t speak. She stood, smoothed her shirt, and followed the two detectives to the door. She watched at the window as they climbed into their car, Mahoney at the wheel. Rodriguez leaned forward to remove her jacket and then tossed it in the backseat. They each pulled seat belts across their chests, looked toward each other—talking, Deirdre could tell—and then they pulled away. Deirdre stayed rooted to the same spot for a full two minutes. She massaged her temple, felt it throb. What was SJ thinking? And why was SJ hanging around Most Precious Blood Elementary? More troubling, why had she taken the day off without saying anything about it to Deirdre? God, what was she up to? Deirdre started to get that panicky feeling again, her stomach tightening and twisting.