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11
Billi
Paul Ford is one of those men who will be handsome forever, like Paul Newman or Jack Nicholson. Leading man material, unyieldingly popular with the ladies. That welcoming smile.
According to my quick math, he’s at least sixty but has the physique of a man in his mid-forties, with a full head of silvery salt and pepper hair to match. The only thing that looks worn on him is his eyes. He’s a man who’s known sadness and can’t fully hide it. A man worn down from years of unkind living, by grief and loss and internal battles that mar the soul. Still, his eyes are friendlier than I expected, his smile full and kind.
And he did file that lawsuit on behalf of Sally Gertie. Which makes him one degree away from the subject we’re after. Who is Dirty Sally, and why is everyone so hell-bent on avoiding her? More importantly, why was Paul Ford the one to take on her defense?
If it’s Sally you want to know about, I’d be happy to help in any way I can.
“Thank you again for meeting with us,” I say when we reach his living room, mentally recalling his earlier words. It’s the only thing I can think to say since we’ve just met, and I’m not sure where he fits in the story Finn is trying to write. Like everything else in this town, Paul’s involvement only adds another piece to this already difficult jigsaw puzzle. At this point, we’re throwing pieces in the air and just hoping something sticks together. So far, nothing has. It’s making me more and more worried for Finn. He looked really troubled in the car. Still looks that way now.
Something about Finn’s life seems off. Way off. It’s no more than a gut feeling with no way to verbalize it, but as confused as he is about his circumstances, I’m twice as disturbed. Maybe because I’m viewing things from the outside looking in. Maybe because I was born and raised in this town and know that when things don’t add up, it is because someone in power has finagled the numbers. In Finn’s situation, someone has certainly messed with something. History. Facts. Major and minor details. Either or both. Large or small.
Or maybe it’s because of the old photo still tucked deep inside my bag, the one that has scratched at my subconscious for the past two days. When I was in second grade, I smuggled a field mouse to school and zipped it deep inside my windbreaker, slipping it bits of bread and cheese throughout the day to keep it from squealing. I didn’t get caught until the end of the day when the mouse clamped down on my finger instead of the last bite of cheddar. I yelped and got sent to the principal’s office.
The photo feels like that, complete with beady eyes and a very sharp bite.
I shake my head and focus on the room. The faint scent of day-old brownies clings to the walls, just enough cocoa, and sugar still hovering to make my mouth water. On a hand-knitted afghan balled up on the floor, bits of white fur stuck to the surface like it doubles part-time as a cat’s bed. On the outdated wallpaper at the edge of the kitchen, its teapot, and china plate design curling at the seams. On the worn gold carpet with the stitched pattern running through it, stamped like stones in different shapes and sizes. On the tea we were offered shortly after arriving, steam still billowing off the top.
On Paul, staring expectantly, waiting for me to lead the way. I take a sip of tea and swallow, the burn forcing my thoughts back to what matters. “Anyway, please know that we appreciate your time, and anything you can tell us about the events of thirty years ago would be very helpful.” It’s only when I’m nervous that my professionalism comes out. Finn raises an eyebrow like, “You okay?”
I shrug because I honestly don’t know. Besides, I should be the one asking him. But Paul takes the reins and relieves us both.
“I’m not entirely certain what you both would like to know. Are you here to inquire about the fire or about something else?” To his credit, the man isn’t stupid. I gesture for Finn to take over and sit back in my seat.
He sets the recorder on the table, presses a button, and then opens a notebook. “First, the fire,” Finn says. Across from me, Paul visibly bristles. If I hadn’t been watching closely, his reaction might not have been noticeable. It’s gone as quickly as it appeared. “Tell me what you know about it from your perspective.”
“Just that nothing about it was accidental,” Paul says evenly, surprising me with his statement. Finn throws a questioning glance my way at the same time Paul adds, “Nothing.”
I swallow, uncomfortable with the statement, like disturbing an ancient burial ground that holds secrets of the dead, everything you thought you knew crumbling when the first bone is identified. Finn clicks his pen and casually writes something in the notebook.
“That’s a serious claim. Would you care to tell us why you believe that?”
Paul crosses his arms and looks out the front picture window. “I believe it because it’s true. I’ve said it before, even though no one listens.”
“I’m listening now,” Finn says. “And Billi’s listening. Even though I’ve been here only a few days, it’s clear that folks in this town like talking to her. If it helps, you can pretend I’m not here and just tell your story to her.” It’s a bold move acting like you don’t care, but it seems to work with Paul. He turns his gaze on me. Within seconds I realize it’s more like a spotlight, bright, blinding, and invasive.
“You could just ask your daddy. He knows. As he should, being the mayor and all.”
My spine zings with a razor-sharp icicle from my neck to waist, and I shift in my seat, uncomfortable with the chill. Why is he bringing my dad into this? Thirty years ago, my dad would have been in his mid-twenties. There’s no way he could have been involved in that fire, accidental or otherwise.
“Why would my dad know? He was basically a kid back then.”
“Yes, but like everyone else in power around here, when you join the secret club, you learn all the…secrets. And this one was a doozy. Everyone who’s anyone in this town knows what really happened.” Then that makes me unimportant because I have no idea what he’s talking about. The hospital fire was just that, a fire.
“Care to fill us in?” Finn asks, as though my world isn’t perched precariously on the downtown swinging bridge, one wrong move away from slipping through a broken board. Depending on what Paul says, I might regret this interview for a long time. I might even resent offering to help Finn in the first place. “We can keep your identity confidential if you’d prefer.”
Paul scoffs. “I don’t care a single whit if you print my name. About time someone stood up and told the truth, stopped worrying about what other people think. You can put my name right in the headline if it’ll help sell more copies of your newspaper. People around here have been calling me a liar for as long as I can remember. You know what they say: if you discredit the source, you can better hide the evidence.”
I frown at Finn. What evidence? But Finn doesn’t look at me.
“I appreciate that sir,” he says to Paul. “You say the fire wasn’t an accident. Can you tell us why you believe that?”
“I believe it because it’s the truth. I’m probably not the person you should be asking, but I doubt she would talk to you anyway. Everyone in this town had their chance. The time passed for it a long time ago.”
Finn’s eyebrows push together at the same time my stomach twists in dread. He’s confused, but I’m not. I can see where this story is going like a hawk sees its prey the moment before it plucks both eyes out. All paths lead in the same direction, to a bunch of dead carcasses. He looks at me, but I turn toward the window, a shaky thumb finding its way between my teeth. My pulse races in my neck, a thud thud thud against what’s coming next. I’ve always wondered why this town cast one of its members out so callously. Now I suspect I’m on the verge of hearing the explanation. The real one.
