Easy Innocence

Chapter 51

WALCHER'S PHONE records came back in less than 24 hours. Georgia pored over the calls he received on September 14. Six calls from one number, one of them around 4PM. After making sure her own number was blocked on Caller ID, she dialed it.

"Perl here..."

She hung up. Her heart was pounding hard enough to rattle her teeth.

***

Lauren lay on her bed, eyes closed, earbuds blasting Metallica. If she could only make the black penetrate everything in her mind, her problems would disappear. Nothing would be real. She concentrated on the darkness, hoping the rough, pounding beat would crush her thoughts into dust.

A gust of air rolled over her, and she opened her eyes. Her mother stood at the door. She came to the foot of her bed. Lauren couldn't remember the last time her mother had actually come into her room. Usually, she'd buzz her on the intercom or shout up the stairs. She was wearing the same grey sweater and taupe slacks she'd worn this morning. Her mother never wore the same thing all day. And her hair looked as if she'd been trying to pull it out.

Lauren propped herself up. Her mother's lips were moving, but she couldn't hear her words. Her face was bathed in anger—it never went away—but something else was there, too. It took her a minute to figure it out, but when she did, a chill crawled up her spine. Fear. Her mother was afraid.

She waved her arms. Lauren removed the earbuds. A tinny bass spilled out of them.

"That Goddammed noise..."

Lauren pushed a button on her iPod, and the room went quiet. Her mother lowered her arms.

"What's the problem?" Lauren asked.

"Someone called a few minutes ago. You answered the phone."

"So?"

"Who was it?"

"Why do you care?"

"I need to know."

Lauren cocked her head. Her mother rarely asked that kind of thing. "It was for Dad." She had been trained from a young age to ask a caller's name before transferring them to her parents. What if it was someone they didn't want to talk to? A stranger, or, God forbid, a salesman? "A woman."

"What woman?" her mother said.

"Ricki Feldman."

"Did she say what she wanted?"

"No. But she sounded pissed."

"She did?"

Lauren reached for her headphones.

"Did you transfer the call to your father?"

"Do I look stupid? Of course I did."

"Sorry." She gazed around Lauren's room. "So, what are you up to tonight?"

Lauren frowned at her mother. "I don't know. Why?"

"I—I thought maybe we could watch a movie or something..."

"Together?"

"Something wrong with that?"

Had her mother been drinking? She didn't look high, but after a lifetime of wine and martinis before dinner, who could tell? Lauren shrugged. "I guess not."

"Good. I'll be back. I just need to check with your father."

***

It was Sunday night, and Georgia was gazing out the window at the red wagon across the street from her apartment when Andrea Walcher called. "I can't talk, but something's going on."