Chapter 18 Ambien Sleepwalk

 My heart banged against my ribs. Blood throbbed in my ears. Conscious of my vulnerability, all I could do was gape back, sucking in panicked breaths.

Then I realized my intruder wasn’t a man. Could it be …?

“Francesca?” I whispered.

She didn’t move or utter a sound.

My heart slowed, but only a little. Francesca was a large woman, built like a mountaineer. I had no doubt she could overpower me easily. If she’d been holding anything else, I might’ve tried to scramble to the far side of the bed and see if I could out-maneuver her. But what was she going to do to me with a baby doll?

“Francesca!” I said louder. “What are you doing here?”

She stared for another brief moment, then turned away and walked calmly out of the bedroom. I heard my front door close.

The moment she was gone, I ran through the living room and flipped the deadbolt. How had she gotten in here? Checking the door locks before I go to bed is the habit of a lifetime.

Then I remembered I’d left Esther sleeping—

I spun and looked at the couch.

It was empty, the folded blanket on the armrest.

***

I checked the time. Four-thirty a.m. I was worried about Esther, but didn’t want to wake her if she’d gone back home and was sleeping off last night’s bender.

I sent her a text: Let me know you made it home OK.

After the scare I’d just had, I’d never go back to sleep. I needed a distraction. I powered up my laptop and watched a woman on Youtube make a perfect loaf of challah.

In the kitchen I got out a large mixing bowl, flour, a packet of yeast, honey, oil, five eggs, and salt. After proofing the yeast in warm water and honey, I added flour, a cup at a time. Kneading the dough felt good, allowing me to burn off some of my pent-up energy. I might just make this a habit.

When the dough was smooth and elastic, I put it in an oiled bowl, laid a towel over it, and left it to rise.

Gray light filtered through the semi-sheer kitchen curtains. The newspaper should be here by now. I opened the door and took a moment to marvel at the clear sky and the incredible quiet of early morning, broken only by cooing doves and chattering mynah birds.

The newspaper peeked out from under the bushes. I stepped off the concrete porch to retrieve it and saw the bold headline:  One Dead, Another Wounded in Chinatown Shooting. Shaking my head at the senseless loss of life, I took it inside and set it on the table. It seemed that even in this island paradise there was more than enough crime to keep the police busy.

I made a cup of strong black tea and settled at the dining table to read the paper. Only when I flipped it over did I see the two-by-three inch color photo of Pearl. The snapshot wasn’t professional quality, but her mass of curly auburn hair, sparkling eyes, and vibrant smile spoke of a woman who clearly loved life. I wouldn’t have recognized her as the body in the hot tub. Sadness pierced me and I grabbed a napkin to dry my eyes before reading the short article.

68-Year-Old Woman’s Drowning Ruled a Homicide.

The death of a 68-year-old woman who drowned Monday has been ruled a homicide. Pearl Corvelli  was a resident of Kon Tiki Sands, a 55-and-up condominium complex on Housten St. According to the medical examiner’s report,she had been dead for several hours when her body was discovered by another resident in the heart-shaped hot tub on the premises. There are no suspects at this time.

My stomach rumbled with hunger. It seemed almost irreverent to eat after reading about Pearl’s death, but I supposed starving myself wouldn’t help her any. I slip two slices of bread into the toaster, cut a papaya in half and scraped out the seeds. When the toast popped up, I buttered it and spread it with guava jelly.

While I ate, I leafed through the rest of the paper. I pulled out the Detours section—a  detour was exactly what I needed. I did the Word Game, then turned to the New York Times crossword. The puzzles increase in difficulty through the week, Monday’s being the easiest. Today’s was a killer. I struggled with it till I’d filled in nearly half the answers, then pushed it aside.

By now the dough had risen to one and a half times its size. I punched it down, kneaded it again, and added a little more flour. Dividing the dough into three equal parts, I rolled each into a long rope, then braided them together. The finished loaf went on a baking sheet lined with parchment, where it would rise for another two hours before going in the oven.

I threw together a simple casserole of broccoli, eggs, shredded cheese, adding a little salt and pepper for taste. Next, I assembled a small salad of lettuce, tomatoes, and cucumbers and put it in the fridge. Tonight all I’d need to do was warm the casserole. I looked forward to lighting the Shabbat candles and having a nice, quiet dinner for one.

I cleaned up the kitchen, made the bed, and wiped away the little bit of dust that had settled on the furniture. In such a small condo there was really very little that needed to be done. Then I noticed the painting above the sofa. It was just a little off-kilter. How did that happen? I was certain it hadn’t been that way last night. I kneeled on the couch to straighten it, then stood back to make sure it was even. I glanced around the room. My eyes landed on the framed photo of Kameron and Kamili on the side table. Yesterday I’d set the frame at a careful angle so their faces could be seen while sitting on the sofa. It had been moved, just a little. I set it right and checked the rest of the condo.

Nothing else seemed to be out of place.

I showered and put on olive green stretch capris and a tank top with a tropical floral print. Although some of the ladies at Kon Tiki dressed to impress and kept regular appointments with their manicurists and hair stylists, I felt Hawaii’s warm weather and laid-back lifestyle allowed for a more casual appearance. Here I was not at all self-conscious about foregoing makeup, brushing my wet hair back from my face and leaving it to its own devices.

Esther still hadn’t responded to my text. I dialed her number.

She picked up on the fifth ring. “Lillian?” She didn’t sound so good.

“Esther, are you okay?”

She groaned. “I got me a devil of a headache.”

“Did you take something for it?”

“I took two Excedrin with a glass a water.”

“That should help.”

“An’ I just got done makin’ a big pot of coffee. Want me to bring it over?”

“Yes. I need to talk to you.”

“See you in ten minutes,” she said.

I set the oven to preheat to 350 degrees. When it beeped, I slid the challah onto the center rack and set the kitchen timer for thirty minutes.

There was a tap on the door. I peered through the peep hole, saw a fish-eye view of Esther holding a coffee carafe. I flipped the deadbolt and held the door open for her.

She slipped out of her shoes and the aroma of freshly brewed coffee followed her inside.

I was bursting to tell her about Francesca, but she spoke first. “Lordy, lordy, what a night.” She set the carafe on the table, slid onto a dining chair, and let her head sink into her hands.

I needed to get some coffee into her so she’d be alert enough to listen to my story. I filled two large mugs and sat opposite Esther. “Here. Drink up.”

“Got any milk an’ sugar?”

I fetched them for her and she added generous amounts of both into her coffee.

“I’m sorry I fell asleep on your couch last night,” she said as she stirred. “I was feelin’ kinda woozy.” She took a long drink and sighed. “This is what I need.”

“Can I get you something to eat—some toast?”

“Not right now.” She rested a hand below her breasts. “My stomach’s not quite settled yet.”

“You’re welcome to sleep here any time.” I sipped my black coffee. It was delicious. Maybe I should get me a coffee maker. “It’s just that when I saw the empty couch, I was worried about you. I didn’t want to disturb you if you were sleeping, so I sent a text.”

 “I didn’t mean to worry you. I woke up around two in the mornin’ with my stomach doin’ flip-flops. I thought it best I go home so as not to wake you up with any unpleasantness. And it’s a good thing, too. I barely made it to my toilet before I threw up. I passed out again on my bed and didn’t know anything more till eight o’clock. That’s when the sun hit my eyes and I had a splittin’ headache.”

She glanced toward the oven. “Something smells good in here.”

“I just put a loaf of challah in the oven. For shabbat dinner tonight.”

“Mmmm.”

“I couldn’t go back to sleep, and decided making bread would be a good way to pass the time. Would you like to have dinner with me tonight?”

“I wish I could. But my church has Praise Service on Friday nights. I’m in the choir.”

 “I had a rough night myself. A quiet dinner alone is probably what I need.”

“You got a hangover too?”

“No.” I looked her in the eyes. “I had an intruder last night.”

“Say what?”

“Esther—do you remember locking my door when you went home?”

Her eyes widened as she thought about it. “I wish I could say I remember locking it. But all I remember is thinking I had to get back to my place before I threw up everywhere.”

“I do appreciate you not wanting to throw up on my new couch.”

“What happened?”

 “I woke up around four to use the bathroom. It was pretty dark but I sensed someone in the room with me.”

Esther’s eyes bulged. Chickenskin broke out on her arms and she rubbed them. “You gotta be kidding me,” she whispered.

“It took a minute for my eyes to adjust. First I thought it was a man standing there staring down at me.”

“But … you’re telling me it wasn’t a man?”

I shook my head.

“Ohmygod. What … was it?”

“It was a who, not a what. ” I paused. “It was Francesca. And she was holding a baby doll.”

Esther’s eyes were still locked on mine. Her jaw dropped. A moment passed before she said, “Francesca is on Ambien. It makes her sleepwalk.”

“You knew that and you left my door unlocked?” I said none too gently.

“She’s never bothered anyone. She just walks around with that baby doll of hers.”

“Do you have any idea how terrified I was?”

“Oh God, Lillian. I am so sorry.”

“She almost scared me to death. Literally. My heart was pounding so hard it hurt.”

“I … I don’t know what to say.”

I laid a hand on her arm and gave it a squeeze. “I’m sorry for raising my voice. I know you didn’t mean any harm.” I stared at the floor for a long moment. “Do the police know about Francesca?”

“The police? Why would the police need to—” Esther gave her head a barely perceptible shake.

“Think about it. All those items going missing. And now Pearl …” I let that thought hang.

“No. Uh uh. You can’t be thinking—”

“I’m not thinking anything. But from what I’ve heard about Pearl, it would’ve taken a strong person to overpower her. Francesca looks pretty strong to me.”

“Francesca would  never …” She kept shaking her head.

“And what’s with the doll?”

“No one knows.”