Chapter Four - Natalya
Sunday McLaren was standing in front of her house when Chris pulled the car to the curb and shut off the engine. Lilly got out of the car and waved hello, and Sunday promptly came over to greet them.
"Detectives," she said. "I almost expected you to return."
"Hello, Ms. McLaren," said Lilly.
"Oh no, please call me Sunday," Sunday protested. "I'm allergic to that Miss-Mrs.-Ms. thing."
"Alright, Sunday." Lilly smiled.
Sunday looked at her and then at Chris. "Do you want to meet anyone specific?" she asked. "You caught a bad day; almost everyone went out. I'm not working today, but Dylan and Graham are, of course, and Jordan went to talk to the owner of some gallery."
"Nevermind," said Chris. "We didn't think about anyone in particular to talk to."
"I'll do, then?" Sunday smirked. "Well, then why don't you come inside? I've just prepared a pot of tea for my parents, and I'm sure they'll share it with you."
"Your parents live with you?"
"Of course!" Sunday exclaimed and looked at Lilly with widened eyes. "They've lived here all their lives, so why should we evict them?"
Lilly grinned quietly at Sunday's choice of words. "Evict" was a rather strong term, but that was what it all came down to in the end, she supposed, when children put their parents into an old people's home.
"How are they?" she asked while she was following Sunday into the house.
"Fine," said Sunday. "My dad's become very frail and forgetful, but hey, he's eighty-two years old. And it's not that he's got Alzheimer's disease or something. He's just a little bit senile."
She opened a door and led the two detectives into a kitchen of copious dimensions. At the far end was a table, two benches and a few chairs, two of which were occupied by Sunday's parents, Arthur and Sheila. Sheila turned her head when Sunday and the detectives entered the kitchen.
"Darling, why didn't you tell us that you were expecting guests?"
"They're not exactly guests, Mom. They're detectives from the Philadelphia police. They're here because of the body that was found yesterday."
"Ah, I see." Sheila McLaren nodded at Lilly and Chris. "Spooky, isn't it? Thinking that we were living next to a grave all those years..."
"That's why we're here, ma'am." Lilly covered the distance with a few steps and shook the old lady's hand. "My name is Lilly Rush, and this is my partner, Chris Lassing. How are you?"
"Fine, thank you, dear." Sheila McLaren smiled. "The air out here is wonderful. I feel ten years younger than I actually am. Sit down and have cup of tea with us."
"Thank you." Lilly sat down on the bench, leaving enough space for Chris to sit down beside her. Sheila poured her a cup of tea and placed it in front of her. "Sunday, child, come and join us," she said to her daughter.
When Sunday and Chris had also sat down, Lilly took a breath and started to explain why they had come.
"It is crucial that we learn what happened here in this time," she ended. "Could you give us a summary of the events in these ten years? Anything you can think of. Anything could be a trace."
Sheila McLaren looked at her daughter. "You were just about ten in 1963," she said. "Do you recall anything special?"
Sunday smiled and shook her head. "I don't think so," she said. "I was only a child."
"Children often see things that adults overlook," Lilly reminded her. "They have another way of looking at the world."
"I can't say whether a memory comes from a specific year or not," Sunday said musingly. "It's all one huge blur, as far as the year is concerned. I remember everyone made a huge fuss about Vietnam... no, that was later. You see, I was pretty isolated from the rest. I went to school, of course, but the anti-war movement wasn't that strong in Deansville, either. And I can barely recall those few hippies at school. Sometimes I think I never really understood the time I grew up in."
"None of you joined the hippies, anyway," Sheila remarked. "And I don't think it would have made you happier, Sunny."
"Agreed," said Sunday. "It was good the way it was."
"We don't want to know about political events," Lilly clarified. "We want to know what happened here, right here, in this little community."
"I can't think of anything special," Sunday said again. "I mean, apart from the fact that Jamie left, of course." Her smile faded. "But that was in '67."
"Could you tell us a little bit about that?" Lilly asked.
Sunday hesitated. "Don't you think you should ask Gabe..."
"I'm asking you. I'll ask Gabriel as well, but I'd like to know all aspects. I'm sure you'll focus on different things than Gabriel."
Sunday sighed and did not seem to know where to begin.
"It all started with this housemaid," Arthur McLaren suddenly cut in. Lilly jumped and looked at the old man. She had not expected that he would keep track of their conversation.
"No, Dad," said Sunday hastily, but her eyes avoided Lilly's.
"What housemaid?" Lilly asked.
Sunday dismissed the ominous housemaid with a move of her hand. "My dad's mixing up things," she said. "Dad, we're talking about Jamie."
"Yes," Arthur insisted. "Jamie and the housemaid."
"But Dad, that was only a rumor!"
"Mr. McLaren, would you tell us what you're talking about?" Chris asked Arthur.
Sunday wanted to protest, but Lilly shook her head. "I said anything might be important," she said. "This is the first time we hear of a housemaid. Who was this housemaid?"
Sunday sighed impatiently. "I think she was Russian. She was working for the Jarvis family, and one night she disappeared. Together with a few dollars cash and the Jarvis's car. Jamie left shortly after that; I suppose that's why my dad mentioned it."
"And what was the rumor about Jamie and the housemaid?" Chris wanted to know.
Sunday's expression was angry. "That was just a rumor," she said. "I don't think there was anything to it. It just emerged because this Russian woman was very good-looking, and Jamie was twenty-four years old. I suppose they just thought that if there was a man in her life, Jamie was most likely."
"Why Jamie?"
"Because this woman lived with the Jarvis's, I suppose. And she hardly ever went out. Or something like that." Sunday looked at Lilly. "I was only thirteen back then. I can't remember her very clearly."
"But you do remember that there was a housemaid, and that she disappeared."
"Yes, of course. Rick and Diane were pretty upset. She was an immigrant, and they had treated her very kind. They gave her the job as a housemaid, but they never ordered her about or anything. They always said that she could stay as long as she wanted until she had found a better job. And what does that bitch do? Sneaks out one night, steals the money and the car, and makes for the hills. Isn't that ingrate?"
"You seem to be pretty upset, too," Chris remarked.
"That's because I felt with the Jarvis's, and I still do. And besides, it's the only thing about her that I remember. As I said, I was thirteen. Of course, it was quite a sensation."
"Did anyone ever see her again?"
Sunday shook her head. "I suppose she found some poor, harmless man and manipulated him into marrying her, so that she could stay in the States without any problems. Who knows, maybe she changed her name and went to Hollywood."
"So you'd say she was scheming?"
Sunday nodded.
"But you don't remember her name."
"Her name was never important to me. I didn't like her, and I don't think she even knew who I was. I was a little girl, not a good-looking man."
"But you were just saying that there was no man in her life, and now it sounds more like she was mad for men. Did you really tell us the truth, Sunday?" Lilly looked sharply at the other woman.
"I said that there was nothing between her and Jamie, but that doesn't mean that she didn't try," Sunday corrected. "She tried it all the time, not only with Jamie. Gabe and Dylan also suffered from her advances."
"But they didn't surrender?"
"No, never!" Sunday said determinedly. Then she frowned. "Why are you so interested in her?" she asked. "You don't think that's her out there, do you?"
"Why not?" Lilly replied. "Who tells you that she really left? Who tells you that she hasn't been here all these years?"
Sunday shuddered. "That's spooky," she said. "I'd rather not imagine that. But once again, you're barking up the wrong tree, Detectives. She left in the dead of night, and she stole the car and the money."
"Ah yes, the car," said Chris. "That's of course counterevidence."
Sunday looked at Chris with narrowed eyes. "I don't like this undertone," she said. "Do you think I'm lying to you?"
"No one says you're a liar," Lilly calmed her down. "We're just trying to reconstruct what happened, and so far this mysterious housemaid is the only lead we've got. Even more so because she left and no one has seen her since."
"But that's illogical," Sunday protested. "I mean, let's assume it is her out there, then who do you think could have done it? Surely you don't think it was one of us. Who would have had a reason to kill her?"
"Numerous possibilities," said Lilly. "Maybe she tried to blackmail someone. Or she had a past, and it caught up with her. Or..."
"Or it's not her out there, and none of us had anything to do with it," Sunday interrupted her. "I mean, this is just impossible! She left, she must have left!" Panting, she trailed off. Tears welled in her eyes, and she wiped them away. Sheila reached out a hand and touched her shoulder.
"Darling, don't cry," she said, then she looked angrily at Lilly. "Look what you've done," she said reproachfully.
"I'm sorry, ma'am, but that's my job." Lilly did not feel good when she said that.
"It's your job to make people cry?"
"No, of course not." Lilly was defensive. "But it's my job to find out the truth, and to consider all possibilities."
Sunday looked up. "I understand that, Detective Rush," she said. "I really do. But if you're right, then that means that one of us is a murderer! After all, it's not that this was an accident. Someone plotted her death, and he made it look as if she left. This is nothing that just happened; it involved a lot of planning - luring her out of the house at night, killing her, burying her, and then getting rid of the car and the money. Do really think that one of us would be able to plan the death of another person?"
"One of the first things you learn in my job is that almost everyone is capable of murder," said Lilly with a sad undertone in her voice. "Only the motives vary. A mother might kill to protect her child. A junkie might kill to get dope. A woman might kill for love. A man might kill for honor. A child might kill because he can't distinguish between right and wrong. And so on, and so on..."
Sunday remained silent, and Lilly felt worse and worse. "Look, I don't want to upset you," she said eventually. "But try to look at the situation through my eyes. I have a skeleton that was buried here in this neighborhood thirty years ago. It's only natural that I start asking questions. And then I learn about a woman who disappeared from this very neighborhood and was never seen again, in that exact period of time. Wouldn't you want to have a closer look?"
Slowly, Sunday nodded.
"Then please help me do my job," said Lilly. "Answer my questions and tell me everything you can think of."
Suddenly, Arthur lifted his head. "Natalya," he said clearly. "That was her name. Natalya Atrochenko."
Lilly gaped at him. This was the last thing she had expected.
"She was some woman," said Arthur and giggled. "Pretty bird, if you know what I mean."
"Arthur!" Sheila looked reproachfully at her husband.
"Mr. McLaren, you remember her?" Lilly tried not to let her excitement show. "Can you tell us anything more about her?"
But Arthur's chin had sunken down on his chest and he was dozing off.
"That happens all the time," Sunday explained. "I told you he's old, and the conversation has exhausted him."
"Mrs. McLaren?" Lilly looked at Sheila. "Do you remember anything about Natalya Atrochenko?"
"I'm afraid I can't tell you more than Sunday did, Detective," said Sheila. "She lived with Rick and Diane for six months and did the household for them. She didn't talk much, probably because her English wasn't good. She looked good, that's true; very slender, with maroon hair and those large, dark eyes. I never noticed anything particular about her. Of course I saw how the boys looked after her..."
"Did you hear about the rumor?"
Sheila squirmed. "Well... yes, probably. But I never really believed it," she added hastily.
"Ha!" Sunday exclaimed. "You believed every word, Mom!"
"Well, but it was really very likely," Sheila defended herself.
"Still you shouldn't have. Jamie would never have done anything like that."
"A propos," Lilly cut in, "when exactly did Jamie leave?"
"A few months after Natalya disappeared," Sunday replied. "In March, I think."
"And why?"
"I don't know." Sunday's expression darkened. "I think he didn't tell anyone. He just packed his things one day and said he couldn't stand living here anymore. Said he needed some changes. He never came back." Sunday's voice sounded sad. "He wrote a postcard every now and then, but in all those thirty-six years he never visited us. He didn't even attend his father's funeral."
"This sounds as if there was a little bit more than just the need for a change," Chris remarked.
"As far as I know, there was never any argument," Sunday said, shrugging. "He and Gabe got along very well, and Diane and Rick were good parents. Jamie might have had his reasons, but he didn't tell anyone."
Lilly did not reply. She was trying to put the pieces together. A skeleton. A housemaid that disappeared without a trace. The first-born son who left the house and never returned. A rumor. A small community. But was it really so easy...?
"I think I don't have any further questions right now," she said. "Thank you for the tea, Sunday... Mrs. McLaren..."
"You're welcome," Sunday murmured mechanically.
Lilly and Chris said goodbye and left the house.
Back in the car, they looked at each other. "What do we do with this new information?" Lilly asked. "Is it safe to assume that the skeleton is Natalya Atrochenko? And what shall we think about Jamie?"
"Careful, Lilly," said Chris. "Don't get involved. You're developing feelings for these people."
"I can't help it, Chris." Lilly leaned back in her seat. "I can't help it, I like them. I feel as if I've known them for ages..."
"Lilly!"
"Alright, alright." Lilly pulled herself together. "So what shall we think about James Jarvis? Why do you think did he leave?"
"I'd love to say, because he killed her, but I've got the feeling that this is not so easy." Chris tapped his fingers on the steering wheel. "But maybe he sensed that something had changed, that someone had a secret. Or he knew who did it, anyway, and left because he couldn't bear to see that person every day. Or he really just needed a change. I could understand that." Chris looked around. "I wouldn't last two weeks if I lived here."
Lilly smiled. "So what do we do now?" she asked.
"What's the time?" Chris looked at his watch. "It's twelve thirty. We could drive down to Deansville and visit Dylan McLaren in the bank. Or we could wait for Jordan Jarvis to come back from the gallery. Or we could disturb Gabriel Jarvis, but that could have fatal results if it's true what they say about writers at work."
"But we could visit Diane Jarvis," said Lilly. "After all, Gabriel Jarvis said she had such a good memory."
"But surely she won't gossip about her own son," Chris protested. "No, I'd say let's save the best for last."
"So what are we gonna do now?"
"Talk to Dylan," Chris decided. "He seems to be the least reserved; maybe he'll tell us a little bit more." He revved the engine and made a U-turn on the street. A moment later, they were heading for Deansville.