“So how is Benny?” she asks. “I haven’t heard from him since the baby was born.”
“Well, Ben—Benny—has been really busy. He’s doing very well at the gallery. You’d be proud of him.”
“I guess I would be, if he ever called.”
I smile. “Funny. That was always my mother’s complaint.”
“It’s universal, I suppose.” She smiles back. “You know what they say: A woman can take care of ten children, but ten children can’t take care of a mother. Of course,” she adds, “I have only one child now.”
Now?
Her eyes dart over to a dresser covered with old photos in frames: Her wedding day sixty years ago. A few of Ben—as a boy, a Cub Scout, a college graduate in a cap and gown.
But one little faded shot in the front catches my eye. A serious, dark-haired toddler who looks like Ben is holding a baby in his lap. He doesn’t look very happy.
“Is that Ben?” I ask.
“Yes,” she says.
“And who’s the baby?”
“That was my younger son, Teddy,” she says. “He died soon after that picture was taken.”
“Oh, I’m so sorry,” I say. I want to ask more, but it turns out I don’t have to. (Another elicitation technique: Exploit the instinct to complain or vent.) Mrs. Harrison takes a deep breath and tells me everything I need to know.
“It was an accident,” she says. “A terrible accident. I left the two of them alone in the playpen just for a minute. I guess things got a little rough. And when I came back…” She begins to cry quietly. “Ben had smothered him.”
Oh. My. God.“How awful,” I say.
“Yes. Not just for the baby but for Ben. He loved his little brother. I know he did.”
“I am so sorry.”
“For years, I blamed myself. I should never have left them alone.”
“You didn’t know,” I say. She looks away, still weeping. “You couldn’t have known,” I add. Small comfort for a woman whose life was shattered.
“Ben was barely three. A baby himself. The coroner said he was sure it was an accident, so the records were expunged. But Ben was never the same after that.”
How strange life is. I came here expecting to find a woman so diminished by dementia, she needed help usinga spoon. Instead, I find a generous, gracious soul with a devastating history.
Yes, I learned a lot about Ben, but not the kind of information I was hoping for. Nothing that will be of any use to Metcalf.
It’s another dead end.
CHAPTER 75
I LEAVE LA SERENA feeling anything but serene. I get to my car and sit there thinking about what just happened. True, I learned something that explains Ben’s somewhat paranoid behavior and why he’s so nervous around Lily. But in doing so, I stirred up a lot of painful memories for a lovely elderly woman.
Should I tell Metcalf what I’ve learned? I don’t know. He knew I was headed here to see Mrs. Harrison, but if I mention the conversation, he’ll probably mock me with one of his sarcastic comments. So why bother?
But then, I receive a surprise text from Metcalf:Learn anything interesting?
I could do a whole wiseass back-and-forth just to annoyhim. Something beginning with the wordsDefine interesting. But I’m not in the mood. Since he’s asked, I might as well tell him about Teddy, the accident, the coroner’s decision.
To my surprise, Metcalf texts back immediately:Clearly, our little experiment is not getting us the results we were hoping for.
Our little experiment? Does he mean my attempt to get back my job, my reputation, my old life?
