Never Tell

Chapter Forty-Five

Ramona held her mother’s hand as they entered the 19th Precinct station house. She felt like a little girl, but having her mother’s hand in hers also felt comforting. She was supporting her mother, her mother was allowing it, and that in itself was comforting.

So was the fact that they were filing a police report.

The two of them had shoveled the maggots back into the shoe box together. Ramona had held the box. Her mother had wrapped her hands with plastic shopping bags and swept them inside, the two of them turning their heads away as if that would stop the urge to gag.

They had secured the box with packing tape, then wrapped it in a garbage bag. Then they put it outside on the terrace. This morning Ramona’s mother decided to file the police report.

It took forever to explain all this to the police officer, along with everything else that had happened. The blog. The threats. Now this crummy old Adidas shoe box filled with maggots feeding on a rotten piece of chicken.

The police officer took one look inside the box and slammed it shut. He was playing it cool, but she could tell he was pretty grossed out. “Any idea who might be doing this, ma’am?”

“No. We already talked to our doorman. He found the package just outside the building entrance yesterday afternoon. The security cameras don’t reach that area. That’s what he told me, at least. Can you run fingerprints or something?”

“We’ll file a report and forward it to detectives. Someone will contact you.”

Ramona could tell he wasn’t taking them seriously.

“You need to take our fingerprints, don’t you?”

“Excuse me?”

“Well, if they’re going to search the box for prints, you’ll need to eliminate us from consideration.” She held up her hands. “We both touched the box.”

As they walked out of the station onto Sixty-seventh Street, wiping their blackened fingertips with paper napkins, she felt that they should be doing more.

“Maybe we should call those detectives on Julia’s case. They at least know the background.”

“The last time they were at our apartment, Ramona, they basically accused me of doing this to myself to attract publicity.”

Part of Ramona wanted to call them, just to remind them once more that they’d obviously been wrong about Julia harassing her mom. But her mother was right. They couldn’t trust them. Those detectives had screwed up everything. Casey’d spent five days in jail because they wouldn’t listen to anyone.

Maybe it was better to start fresh with the cops at the local precinct.

“I’m worried about you, Mom.”

“I know. And as much as I haven’t wanted to scare either you or myself, I’m not exactly comfortable with this, either. It’s going to be okay, though. Thanks for coming with me. I’ll miss you this weekend.”

“Are you sure you won’t stay home?” Her mother had planned to spend the weekend at the beach house to work on her book, though Ramona thought this latest escalation of the threats required a change in plans.

“I’ll be fine, sweetie. Going away for a few days is going to help clear my head. Why don’t you come, too?”

After Ramona had overheard those detectives grilling her mother about her book contract, they had finally had an honest conversation about the blog. Her mother told her all the horrible things that had happened to her when she was young. How her mother hadn’t believed her. How she tried to forgive her mom after she died, but never did get past it. How she started keeping a journal two years ago. How she started the blog on a lark, then received an online comment from a book editor asking Adrienne to contact her.

And after telling her daughter the entire story, Adrienne still remained worried only about Ramona. She assured her that the book was being published under a pseudonym. That no one would need to know her mother had written it. But Ramona didn’t care about any of that. She had hugged her mother and said, “If it were up to me, I’d want the whole world to know. I’m so proud of you.” And since then, they were back to the way they were. No more secrets. They promised.

“You know I have debate team.” She tried one more time to persuade her mother to stay in the city. “Can’t you write at home?”

“I’ll get more done out east. And, honestly, the further away I can get from the scene of the maggot crime, the better. We may need to replace those floorboards.” She feigned a shudder. “Trust me. I’ll be fine.”

“You promise?”

“I promise.”

They both knew that unlike their promise not to keep any more secrets, this was a promise they had no control over. But, just like the feeling of her mother’s hand in hers, the words were a comfort.