As I pulled up to Karen’s small, faded yellow house, I noticed the grass had been freshly mowed. Probably by Peter from down the street. Around here, teenagers still went around knocking and asking what needed to be done as a way to earn an extra buck or two. I took a deep breath and closed my eyes on the exhale as I stepped out of the car. As much as I hated to admit it, this felt like home. I’d only been back a handful of times once I’d been accepted to Ellis, and I hadn’t planned on coming back for a long time, but this felt important. Maybe I’d find some kind of answers from her. Besides, it was unlike Karen to continuously ignore my calls. I brought the key up to the lock.

“How is she doing?”

I looked at the neighbor calling out to me. “Who?”

“Your mother. Is she still in the hospital?”

“What?” I lowered my key and turned to face her, confused.

“Can you come over? I can’t stand this hollering.”

I walked over our grass and then hers and stood at the bottom of the steps of her porch.

“You were here Friday.” She frowned at me. “You called the ambulance.”

“I’m sorry. What is your name again?”

“Mercedes.” She blinked. “Your new neighbor. We met Friday night.”

“I’m sorry. I am so . . . ” I took a breath. “I . . . I have no memory of Friday night.”

“You don’t remember being here?”

“No.” My shoulders slumped. “Is there any way you can tell me what happened?”

“Well, I don’t know what happened.” Her lips pursed as she scrutinized me, her eyes bouncing between me and the house and back to me. “I heard people screaming, so I looked out the kitchen window to see what all the fuss was about. You were leaving and your mother was screaming at you. She went inside and shut the door and you got in your car.” She shrugged. “I thought that was the end of it and went about my business, but then I heard a gunshot and saw you running toward the house again. By the time I went outside the paramedics were here.”

“Did they say what happened?” I held my breath.

“No, but you did. You said Karen got her gun and fired into the air and collapsed so you called 911.”

“What did I do? Did I leave in my car?”

“You did. The paramedics took your mom.” Mercedes shut her mouth into a thin line. “It looked bad.” She shot me a sympathetic look. “And once you were done talking to the officers, you sped off.”

“I sped off?”

“You sure did. I almost yelled for you to slow down, but you wouldn’t have heard me.”

The cops had been here Friday? I’d argued with Karen, then left, presumably trying to chase the paramedics down, and then . . . what? I had a date Saturday night according to Detective Barry. I felt myself frown as I tried and failed to piece everything together. It was an impossible task, but maybe the police officers had information on where the paramedics had taken Karen. I glanced up at Mercedes again.

“Did any of the police officers leave any information with you by any chance?”

“One of them left a card. Hold on.” She turned around. Her screen door creaked open and shut as she disappeared into the house. I looked at the house next door, at my bedroom window, which faced Mercedes’s kitchen window. I remembered that much at least. The door creaked again, and I looked up as she handed over a white card. I stared at the card, feeling the color drain from my face.

Detective Barry.

“This man was here on Friday night?” I handed her the card again.

“He was here Saturday morning,” she said. “He asked a couple of questions about what happened. I assumed he was trying to make sure you hadn’t tried to kill your mother.” At my wide eyes, she smiled slightly. “Don’t worry. I told him you looked completely distraught.”

“Did I look distraught?” I asked tentatively, figuring I might. Karen and I had our differences, but she did raise me.

“I was a social worker for many years.” Mercedes leaned in closer. “I saw a lot of shit I wish I could forget. Heard a lot of stories.” She looked far off into the distance as she spoke, as if remembering, and then looked back at me again. “You didn’t look distraught. You looked relieved.”

Chapter Thirteen

Calling the hospitals around town proved to be futile. Karen Guerra was in none. I kept thinking about Mercedes’ account of what happened on Friday night. It didn’t add up to what Detective Barry told me in the wee hours of Sunday morning. He said some guy named Chris called him and I went with the story because I couldn’t remember anything else. He didn’t say he’d seen me on Friday night. He didn’t say he came back and questioned my neighbors. The only thing that made sense was Karen and I getting into an argument. My memory may be shit, but I knew an argument between us was a possibility. Our relationship was rocky at best and Karen must have been out of her mind drunk on Friday when she rushed inside to get a gun I didn’t even know she owned.

Tags: Claire Contreras Secret Society Romance
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