Clarence scratched between his toes, then the back of his neck.
“You’re gonna have that fungus all over your damn body if you keep doing that,” Pink said, frustrated he’d ever told Clarence his idea. Clarence had no vision, no imagination. It was no wonder business was so bad—Pink had to carry the entire company. Pink had to invent new sales techniques, had to handle the scheduling, man the phones, organize the appointments, woo the clients, handle all the puckering, and kiss all the ass. What did Clarence do besides pick his toes and read fishing magazines? He was supposed to make sure properties were fit to be shown, but since they had few properties to show, and even fewer folks to show them to, Clarence sat around nursing his fungus and drawing a fat paycheck.
Pink turned to go back to his office.
“Well, I’ll be damned,” Clarence said.
Pink was about to tell him he was damned, when Clarence started poking at the newspaper. “Looks like some crazy folks jumped off the bridge the other night over at Burtran,” Clarence said. “Maybe it’ll turn into some kind of Lover’s Leap.” Clarence leaned in closer to the photograph then glanced up at Pink. “If I ain’t mistaken, this feller in the picture looks a lot like you.”
Chapter 31
Leaving the hospital parking lot, Michelle asked Darcy to drive back up to the cabin.
“Why?” Darcy said.
“Let’s just spend the night up there. We’ll go home tomorrow. Or the next day. I can’t go back to my house in Atlanta. It’s too fucked up . . . with Cliff . . . Cassie . . . I can’t ever go back there.” Michelle grabbed the box of tissues from the glove compartment. She felt like she was being turned inside out.
“You’ll stay at my place. Until you figure things out,” Darcy said. “Or forever. I don’t care.” Darcy pulled the car to the shoulder. “Besides, won’t the cabin freak you out? Shit, Cliff shot himself there. Jesus, that had to be fucking horrible finding him like that.”
Michelle knew Darcy was right, but she had to go back. She knew the answers were there, with the cabin, Pink, Mattie Souder. But how could she stand to see the cabin again? The deck stained with Cliff’s blood. His clothes in the closet. His stuff on the walls.
“Maybe we could just stay at the Comfort Inn or something,” Michelle said. “I can’t go back to Atlanta.”
“You know I’m worried about you, right? And you know I want you to let go of all this . . .”
“Nonsense?” Michelle said.
“No, Chelle. All this stuff that keeps you stuck. I think you would do better if we were back in Atlanta, away from Ardenwood.”
“You sound like Mom. You know that, right?” Michelle said, taking her gaze out the window. “I can’t leave, Darce.”
They sat in silence. Cars rushed by, rocking the Explorer as they passed. Darcy checked the rearview mirror, then glanced over at Michelle. Michelle met her eyes.
“Someone came to visit me last night in the hospital, Darcy,” Michelle said. “Mattie Souder. Pink’s mother. She asked me all kinds of questions. Why would she do that if there wasn’t something going on?”
“What something do you think is going on ?”
“Don’t be sarcastic, okay?”
“All right. Sorry.”
“Anyway, she asks me all these pointed questions, then just gets up to leave.” Michelle turned in the seat to face Darcy. “So I asked her to stop . . . then I asked her if Pink killed his wife Isabelle. Mrs. Souder turned white as chalk.”
Darcy looked away, then turned back and touched Michelle’s wrist. “Chelle, you asked a woman if her son killed his wife who isn’t even dead? Fuck, what did you expect her to do? The question is crazy. I’m sorry. It just is. I’m your biggest advocate, but I have to be honest with you.”
Michelle wasn’t sure she believed Darcy about being her biggest advocate. But she needed to get her sister onboard if she was going to convince her to stay in Ardenwood. Michelle needed to stay; she knew Mattie Souder had the answers.
“When she left my hospital room last night, she stopped and wrote Charlene House on the whiteboard,” Michelle blurted out.
Darcy looked surprised then confused at the same time. “I don’t have a clue what you’re talking about. Who wrote Charlene House on the whiteboard, and who the hell is Charlene House?”
“Mattie Souder wrote Charlene House on the whiteboard.”
“Okay. So who is Charlene House?”
“Charlene House was my roommate. Some hikers found her on the AT wandering around, lost, without shoes or food. Apparently, she was hiking the AT and . . . I don’t know . . . got lost or something and couldn’t remember who she was. The hospital wasn’t sure if she fell or what happened to her. Anyway, these hikers called the police who brought her into town, and the hospital psychiatrist had been working with her to bring back her memory. Charlene had no idea who she was or where she lived or anything about her life. They were calling her Connie Smith at the hospital.”
“You said she was on the AT. What’s that?”
“The Appalachian Trail or something.”
“I’ve heard of that,” Darcy said. “It’s that trail that goes from Georgia to Maine, right?”
“I guess so. I don’t know. That’s not the point here.”
“Yeah, I kind of forgot what the point was. And I’m confused about something. If the hospital staff knew her name was Charlene House, why were they calling her Connie Smith?”
“That’s just it . . . they didn’t know her real name until this morning. That’s what Mrs. Souder wrote on the whiteboard.”
Darcy shook her head lightly, obviously having trouble following the orbit of Michelle’s explanation.
“I’m sorry, sis, but what does Charlene House have to do with Mattie Souder?” Darcy asked. “Does Mrs. Souder know Charlene House? Were they friends or something?”
“No! That’s my point. Mattie Souder somehow knew Charlene House’s real name, even though Charlene couldn’t remember her own name. Don’t you see, Mattie Souder knew this woman’s name even though she had never met Charlene before. Don’t you think that’s odd?”
“So maybe she’s psychic,” Darcy said. “What does that prove?”
“Okay,” Michelle said. “You win.”
“This isn’t a contest, Chelle. I’m not trying to beat you. I’m on your side. You know that, right?”
“Sure. I do. I know that,” Michelle said.