A Study in Sherlock

Why did she lie? It was instinctive. Instinctive lying was part of the reason that Sheila was in trouble at school. She took things. She lied about it. But how could one tell the truth about taking things? How could she explain to anyone that Trista’s billfold, which had a pattern of gold swirls and caramel whorls that reminded Sheila of a blond brownie, had seemed magical to her. A talisman, a word she had found in books by E. Nesbit and Edward Eager, writers her father insisted were superior to J. K. Rowling. If she had a billfold like that, she would be powerful. And she was very considerate, which is probably why she got caught: she removed the money and the credit card and the other personal items and put them back in Trista’s purse, taking only the billfold. Trista’s family was rich-rich. A billfold meant nothing to her. She would have a new one in a month or two. Whereas Sheila’s family was comfortable, according to her parents. Except in their dining room, which made them all uncomfortable.

She was not supposed to snoop. But she also was not supposed to go into her mother’s jewelry box, which sat on the vanity that separated her father’s cluttered side of the closet from her mother’s neat, orderly side.

She decided to admit to a smaller crime.

“I found it in a box you had with cufflinks and other old stuff.”

“You shouldn’t be poking around in other people’s things, Sheila.”

“Why? Do you have secrets?”

“I have a reasonable expectation of privacy. Do you want me to go in your room and search through your things?”

“I wouldn’t mind. I’ve hidden my composition book. You’ll never find it.” If there was a lesson to be learned from Harriet the Spy, it was to maintain control over one’s diary, not that Sheila’s had anything juicy in it. “Who was Chloe Beezer?”

Her father sighed. “You know, I think, that I was married once before. Before your mother.”

She did know that, in some vague way. It had just never been real to her.

“The card was something she made when we got married and moved in together. We sent it out to our friends. We didn’t have a wedding, so we wanted our friends to know where we had set up house.”

“Was she Beezer-Weiner?”

He laughed, as if this were a ridiculous question. “Chloe? No. No. She wanted no part of Weiner.” He laughed again, but it was a different kind of laugh.

“Did she die?”

“No! What made you think that?”

“I don’t know. Did you get divorced?”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“It’s an odd thing, Sheila, but I don’t really remember. We married quickly. Perhaps we didn’t think it through. Are you ready for school next week? Don’t we need to make a trip for school supplies?”

She knew her father was changing the subject. She let him.

But once at home, she had to know if her mother was aware of this extraordinary thing about her father. “Did you know Daddy was married before?” she asked her mother when she came home. “To someone named Chloe Beezer?”

“Yes,” her mother said. “I did know that. You did, too. We told you, years ago.”

“I might have known, but I guess I forgot.”

Her mother looked at her father, who was reading his Wall Street Journal at the breakfast bar. Because he had to come home early with Sheila, they were going to have takeout from City Diner. “Why is this coming up now?”

Before Sheila could answer, her father said: “She found an old piece of paper in a box of my stuff. I told her she should respect our privacy more and she said she would. Right, Sheila?”

“Right,” she said, although she didn’t remember agreeing. “And a photograph. There was a photograph paper-clipped to it.”

“Do you want sweet potato fries, Sheila?” her mother asked.

“Yes, with cinnamon sugar.”

That night, as her mother put her to bed, Sheila was thinking about lying. She wasn’t supposed to do it even when it made sense. But what about when someone else repeated one of her lies? Her father was the one who said she found the card in his boxes, but it had been in the jewelry box, which she was specifically forbidden to touch. Didn’t her mother remember it was there? It was right on top, in clear view. She would see it tomorrow morning. Her mother went to that box every workday, pulling out golden chains and silver bangles. Her mother was very particular about her jewelry. She spent more time on selecting jewelry than she did on making up her face. “An old face needs an ornate frame,” she said, laughing. It was an old face, even as mother’s faces went. Sheila wished this wasn’t so, but it was. She could see that her mother had been at least medium-pretty once, in the same way that she had been medium-popular. But she wasn’t pretty now. It might help if she were. Trista’s mother was pretty.

“Mom, I went into your jewelry box.”

“I figured that out, Sheila. That’s okay. It’s good you’re being honest about it with me. That’s the first step. Telling the truth.”

“Why did you have that card?”

“What?”

“The card, with the photograph.”

“Oh, you know how hard it is to keep things in order sometimes.”