Silver Arrow Ch. 07-09

Billy was silent, but the tears were evident even though he was trying to hold them back. Big boys don't cry.

Sandy simply came and held onto my hand. I was her lifeline at that point. I had no idea what to say or do yet. I still hadn't really come to terms that Diane was gone and would never return. I felt a hollowness I had never experienced before. What could I say to my children that would make it better?

The police department had provided a van to take us home. It was a wordless ride with only the sounds of sobbing interrupting the silence. When we arrived at our home, I saw my Outback in the driveway. Someone had thoughtfully brought it from the Silver Arrow lot and parked it here. I always left my keys with dispatch in case Diane needed it in an emergency.

I thanked the driver and we slowly moved up the walk to the front door. Sandy was holding my hand and wasn't about to let go under any circumstances. Billy was trying his damndest to be a man and not cry. I think it might have been better for him if he had broken down and let it loose. Perhaps that was still to come. Debbie had dried her tears, but I could see the look of doubt on her face as we stepped into our home. What the hell were we going to do now?

I hadn't eaten since my snack this morning and I could feel my stomach tell me it was long overdue. I went to the kitchen and looked into the refrigerator to see what was on hand. I looked, but I didn't see. I had no idea what I was looking for. I closed the fridge door and sat at one of the kitchen chairs. I put my head in my hands and wept. I could feel my shoulders shake as I sobbed, spilling all my sorrow for what we had lost. It was so unfair. She had been taken from us and nothing was going to change that.

I felt Debbie's arms hold me. "I'll get something for you to eat, Daddy. You need to eat something. We can't let you get sick now. We need you, Daddy."

I'm not sure how much later it was that the door chime rang. Debbie answered it while I remained in the kitchen. I had eaten a sandwich that she had made for me and drank a glass of milk. I was fairly confident I could keep them both down. I heard voices, but I couldn't make out what they were saying as it sounded like they were being careful not to be too loud.

A moment later, Christie came into the kitchen, her eyes red from crying as well. I wasn't a bit surprised. She and Diane were the best of friends and it was Diane that had helped Christie in the aftermath of her divorce from Paul. She sat at the end of the table and took my hand in hers.

"I'm so sorry, Doug. I can't bring myself to believe she's gone. I can't imagine how you are feeling. You've lost a wonderful wife and mother and I've lost my best friend."

I could hear the genuine remorse and sorrow in Christie's voice. She wasn't just saying what she thought should be said. The words were deeply personal and she was truly feeling the loss just as the children and I were.

"Have the police talked to you?" I asked.

"Yes. They just left. I told them everything that I could. I just hope they catch the bastard who did this."

"Why? I'm trying and I can't come up with a single reason why someone would want her dead. And ... what was she doing in a motel room at that time of night? Who was looking after the children?"

"Where's Debbie? She'll know," Christie said, looking around.

"I'm right here," my daughter said as she re-entered the kitchen. "Juliet was here until this morning. She slept on the couch. She answered the door when the police came."

Debbie seemed to be able to compose herself considering the trauma she'd been through and that she was barely fourteen years old. I was completely devoid of energy. The last few hours had sucked the life out of me in more ways than one. I really didn't know how I was going to carry on. A hundred things were going through my mind at once. How would I look after the children and still go to work. A nanny? I couldn't concentrate on anything. I looked up at the clock and it didn't register. I saw the face and the hands pointing at numbers, but they didn't tell me anything.

"Doug, I'm here for you," Christie said, entering my consciousness. "Let me help you with things until you're feeling better. Debbie and I will get supper ready. You need to eat. I'll stay the night and make sure they're all off to school in the morning."

I nodded, almost robotically. "Thank you." I slipped back into my reverie. Snapshots of Diane floated past. Memories of little things that I tried to grasp but couldn't. The way she looked. The way she walked. The way she teased me when she was playful. A kaleidoscope of images behind my eyes, tumbling by before I could grab one and hold it.

"Where's Billy? Where's Sandy?" I asked, now realizing I hadn't seen them since I got home.

"Billy's in his room playing his game-boy," Debbie said. "Sandy's in her room in bed. I think she's asleep, but I'll go check."

"Doug, maybe that's what you should do," Christie said softly. "Try and get some sleep. Tomorrow we can start to look at what has to be done to get on with the rest of your life."

"Maybe in a while. I better eat something. I haven't got much in my stomach. I won't sleep if I don't eat."

"I'll get supper started. Is mac and cheese with a tossed salad okay?"

"Sure. Make it small. Thanks, Christie. You're a life saver."

It was only afterward that I though about what I'd just said. A life saver. If only.

I didn't even think about where Christie would sleep. I ate some supper, drank some tea, dragged myself to our bedroom, had a shower and went to bed. I had no idea what time it was nor did I care. My neighbor and Debbie would look after things until the morning. Maybe by then I would be a little more "with it" and I'd be able to start dealing with all the changes Diane's death was going to bring about.

I must have fallen asleep almost immediately because I didn't remember anything until I woke the next morning and saw light coming through the window blinds. I hadn't bothered to close them last night. The clock said it was just past seven am and I made myself get up and head for the ensuite. I took another shower for no reason other than to wake myself up. I shaved, brushed my teeth and dressed, wondering what day it was. Wednesday? Thursday?

When I opened the bedroom door, I could hear voices and sounds from the kitchen. I walked slowly down the hall and entered the kitchen. Christie was there, dressed differently than she had been last night. She must have gone home to get some things before staying over. Debbie looked up and gave me a weak smile while she made sure Sandy was eating her cereal.

"Christie, do think it's a good idea for them to go to school today?"

"I kicked that around with Debbie last night, Doug. I think helping them maintain their usual habits is probably a good idea. We'll know soon enough if it's a problem."

That sounded sensible, so I agreed. Then I had a thought and went to the phone.

"Warren please, Carol," I said when the receptionist at Silver Arrow answered.

"Is that you, Doug? I'm so sorry to hear about Diane."

"Thanks, Carol."

Warren Cloutier came on the line a few seconds later.

"I didn't expect to hear from you today, Doug. We certainly aren't expecting you. All of us here feel sick about Diane. I can only tell you we offer you and your family our deepest sympathy."

"Thanks, Warren. I know you mean that and it means a lot to us. I don't exactly know when I'm going to be back to work. I've got to work out how I'm going to manage my job and look after the children. There are also some arrangements for Diane's funeral I will have to make. I'll try to keep in touch frequently and let you know what's going on."

"Don't worry about a thing, Doug. You're on compassionate leave as of this moment and we'll do whatever we can to help you through this next period. We're your second family, and we take this kind of situation as personal. We'll be here for you."

"I know that, Warren. I'm lucky to have Silver Arrow as my employer. Thank you again."

I dreaded the next two calls, especially to Diane's parents. I had no idea how to break the news to them. They would be crushed, just as we were. But delaying telling them would just make it worse. I returned to the bedroom to use that phone, closing the door behind me. I needed the privacy.

When I emerged from the bedroom, I was exhausted. I had phoned my parents first, if only to get a sense of what I might and must say. How much should I tell them? How will I explain that I don't know what I'm going to do about my job or the children? What if they want to come here to help? As I discovered, it was all of those things and more.

Diane's parents were distraught. I wish I had been able to be there in person to tell them. The telephone is so impersonal at times like this. They had dozens of questions, many of which I couldn't or wouldn't answer. How do you tell the parents of a lovely young woman that their only daughter was murdered in a motel room in the middle of the night? There is no easy way.

My parents at least prepared me for that phone call. They were deeply fond of Diane and were delighted when we got back together again. They loved their grandchildren and so many of their questions were about what I was going to do about them when I was on the road. Naturally, my mother volunteered to come and live with me until I could get that part of my life straightened out. I told her and my father that I needed some time to think about what came next and I didn't want to make any rash decisions.

When I returned to the kitchen, Christie was alone. The children had left for school.

"How did it go?" she asked.

"It was really difficult. Especially Diane's parents. They had a thousand questions I couldn't answer. They were the same questions I've been asking myself. My parents are deeply affected as well. I have a feeling my mother at least will be here to help out. That might put a temporary fix on my deciding what I have to do to get our life straightened out. It's all too soon, Christie. It's too raw right now for me to make a plan for tomorrow."

She walked to me and hugged me. Nothing was said, but nothing needed to be said. It was just a good friend giving comfort to another good friend.

"Do you need help with the funeral arrangements?"

"Yes, I guess I do. Neither of us has made any kind of plans for something like this happening. I was thinking I probably won't be able to do anything until the police release the body. I don't know when that will be."

"Did you know that Diane had her own insurance? Not just health, but life insurance as well. She told me about that in case something happened to her. That was before you and she got back together."

"I did know that. I asked her a couple of times why she kept the policy up, but the only answer I got was 'just in case.' I guess this fits that situation. It isn't a huge policy, but it will certainly help."

"Why don't you call the police department and find out when you can make funeral arrangements. The parents will want to be here for that. Then I can help you with the other things."

"What other things?"

"Where the services will be held. Where the gravesite will be. Do you want a casket or ... cremation? The horrible decisions that you never believe you'll ever have to make," she said softly.

"You've been through this before?"

She nodded. "Yes, my father died a few years ago just before I got married. My mother was a basket case, so it was left to me and my younger brother to handle the details. I had no contact with my remaining grandparents, so they couldn't help. But I got through it. I can help if you'll let me, Doug."

"Thank you, Christie. I know I keep saying it, but you really are a huge help right now. Thank you so much. I'll be thinking of ways I can repay you for this kindness."

"Don't waste your energy on that, Doug. I know you would do the same for me if I were in your situation. It's what friends do. Let's just leave it at that."

I nodded. She was right. Diane and I would have been just as supportive if the roles had been reversed.

By the end of the morning, I had learned from the police that the body would not be released for several days as the investigation continued. They would call when it could be turned over to a funeral home. I made a couple of phone calls and decided on a nearby company that had a good reputation for funeral services. I also decided she would be buried in a casket. I thought, for some reason, that it would be easier on the children. There would be no open casket, however.

With my help, Christie prepared an obituary for Diane and posted it with three of the local papers. But that brought up a bigger problem, and I didn't know what to do about it.

"I can't think of what to do about Diane's business," I told Christie. "I can't just abandon them. I need to notify them of her death at least. But all that information is on her computer. I need to get her computer back."

"I can help a bit, Doug. Diane was showing me how she did her billing. I'm pretty conversant with the computer program she used. I took a night school course as well. But the accounting part ... I can't help there."

"How did you get involved with her billing program?"

"I'm not very happy with my job. Diane was saying that her business was starting to get too big for one person. At least, it was getting to be more time consuming than she wanted it to be. We were talking about setting up a partnership where I'd look after the billing part, and she'd look after the accounting services."

"She never said a word to me about that," I said, wondering why.

"I think she was concerned that you would think she was working too hard. She told me that money wasn't a problem in your lives any more. She wanted to help me, but we spent a lot of time trying to figure out how to work out a fair agreement that both of us could live with."

"What do you need to keep the billing service running?" I asked.

"If I could download the files from her computer, I could start almost right away. I could do it in the evening and see what kind of income it would produce. I'm hoping we wouldn't lose too many clients."

I sat back in the kitchen chair, which had now become the central location for my activities. What to do? I picked up the phone from its cradle and pulled out the phone book. I called the police station and asked for Detective Etchevarry.

"Etchevarry," was the single response after a pair of rings.

"It's Douglas Hansen, detective. I have a problem I need to discuss with you. My wife's business is going to need tending to but all her files are on the computer that you have. I need to get those files, or at least a copy of them. Can you deal with that for me?"

"I doubt it, Mr. Hansen. It's evidence and our people are going over its contents pretty thoroughly."

"Look, Detective Etchevarry, that business was part of our household income. I have a mortgage and three children to care for. I'm probably going to have to hire a full time nanny to be here as well. If that business fails ... well ... I'm sure you can imagine what might happen."

There was silence on the other end of the line.

Finally, "I'll see what I can do," he said, not sounding very positive. "I'm not promising anything, but ... I'll see what I can do. It's just the business program, is that right?"

"Yes. Even a copy on a disc or memory stick would be good enough. We need to notify her accounting clients that the business has closed and we need to keep the billing service current. It's critical to this family."

"Okay, I get the picture. Let me see what I can do. I'll get back to you."

"Thank you. I appreciate your effort."

I put the phone back in its cradle and sat back. A whole new issue had to be dealt with. If we surrendered the accounting program and Christie ran the billing program, the only income in our family would be mine. I doubted we could hold our standard of living where it was if I had to hire someone to mind the children in my absence. The situation was getting worse by the minute.

To Be Continued