The Pink Flamingo

“As long we understand you’re to behave.”

Look who’s talking about behaving, thought Greta. Emily despaired of getting Sharon through high school without the teen getting married, pregnant, or both.

Greta dozed back to sleep and awakened in the dark several hours later to the smell of warm lasagna and garlic bread.

“’Bout time you woke up. I was going to eat without you,” announced Sharon, peeking around the bedroom door frame.

In short order, Greta’s attendant brought in a dinner tray, then returned with her own and sat on the edge of Greta’s bed. They ate while talking about the girls basketball team having missed out on the state playoffs in their division by a three-point loss. Sharon confided that she had a new boyfriend. Greta vaguely remembered a solid-looking blond boy hanging around. The Toompas case and the Good Reverend Balfour also came up, but Greta answered those queries without encouraging more questions. Sharon took away the remains of the meal and, at Greta’s request, opened the bedroom windows for fresh air, turned off the light, and closed the door. Sleep came to Greta again within moments.

For the next fays, Greta let herself be “cared” for. She recovered fast, but the pampering was . . . nice. At least, for a while. The neighbor women checked less frequently, and when Greta assured them that their care was no longer necessary, they accepted her assertion gracefully, along with her appreciation of their help and concern. They all promised to get to know one another better.

The last night was Sharon’s turn again to babysit. They sat at the table eating stew and piles of toasted sourdough slathered with butter, accompanied by a sweetish riesling that technically didn’t go with beef, not that Greta cared what matched. The wine was the first alcohol she’d had since the attack, and she relented to Sharon’s entreaties and shared a couple of glasses with the 17-year-old, despite the girl being under Oregon’s age limit for alcohol.

What the hell? thought Greta. I can always claim I was under the influence of the drugs. Besides, I’m the heroine of the moment.

When Sharon left the next morning, there were hugs and a few tears by both of them. Greta felt a sense of regret when she had the house to herself once more.

Her momentary melancholy ended with a call from Plummer at ten o’clock.

“Helen Snyder reappeared.”

“When? Where was she?”

“Turns out, she went to a cousin’s house in Coos Bay down the coast south toward California. The cousin convinced her to go the police once they saw reports of her missing and being associated with Balfour. Seems it wasn’t Balfour she was running from; it was fear of her husband. I think she wanted to be away when Joe Snyder found out about her and Balfour’s extracurricular activities.”

“Where is she now?”

“It so happens we’re going to have her in ‘protective custody’ by this evening. The Oregon State Police are sending a car to drive her up here today. Given the roads and distance, it’ll take most of the day. We’ll question her tomorrow, and I thought you might like to sit in. If you’re interested and up to it, of course.”

“You bet I’m interested! Jimbo, I’d kiss you if I thought Judy wouldn’t mind.”

“That’s James to you, Deputy.”

“Okay,” she laughed. “James.”

“Are you okay to drive?” he asked seriously. “If not, we’ll arrange transportation.”

“I think I’m okay. Still tender in places but should be fine. I’ll take a little spin later today and call you back if there’s a problem. Otherwise, what time should I be in Tillamook tomorrow?”

“Why don’t we make it ten o’clock? That gives you time to drive up without rushing and gives us a couple hours of questioning before lunch.”

“Okay. See you tomorrow a little before ten.”

They hung up.

Maybe we’ll find out exactly what happened to Toompas, thought Greta.

The following day, the last pieces of information fell into place. Greta arrived at the main office in Tillamook at a quarter to ten. It was her first time there since the incident almost two weeks earlier. When she entered the building, all activity stopped while staff members came up to her with congratulations and a barrage of questions. How was she doing? Shouldn’t she still be resting? When was she coming back to work? Many of the staff were genuinely concerned, particularly those she had worked with the last year and a half.

It was ten twenty when she broke free. She and Plummer went to question Helen Snyder, who was accompanied by a county-appointed counsel. Whatever had passed between Helen and the lawyer, it was obvious he felt that she should tell everything she knew. That turned out to be very little, except for one crucial detail.

Helen Snyder wore a brown woolen dress and had bags under her red eyes. She compulsively clenched and wrung her hands. Yes, she and Balfour had been having an affair. She thought he loved her, and they were waiting for the right time to leave the United States and go to run the mission and the school in the village of Sevite, Peru. The only time she cried was when Plummer informed her that the mission didn’t exist. Greta thought it was more like weeping in relief at the confirmation of bad news, rather than being surprised by it.

Greta suspected that in Helen’s heart of hearts, she knew it wasn’t real but had held on to hope. Greta supposed she should feel sympathy.

No, Helen didn’t have prior knowledge of the mission con. Greta didn’t push but still suspected Helen must have had some inklings.

No, she wasn’t involved in killing Howard Toompas. However, she provided a crucial brick to the structure of the case.