Her Silent Shadow: A Gripping Psychological Suspense Collection

by Edwin Dasso

  “Why do you say it like that?” Liz was feeling defensive.

  “There’s more to life than making a living. Being real, finding out who you are and then living that life to its fullest. That’s success. I can give you a rundown of where each one of them fall short.”

  “For someone who has never been around, you sure have a lot of opinions. I think it’s Maria talking. And frankly, it’s shocking because I thought she was always loyal. Or is this pillow talk gone wrong?”

  She walked back to the living room, and he followed her. The decorated tree and the lights, the crooning music in the background, even the fire with the fake log rang false. Everything about her life had been a sham.

  “Hey, it’s just family. No big deal.”

  “No big deal? Are you kidding me? No wonder Maria chose to spend every weekend and holiday away from you. You’re awful.”

  Jim’s mouth dropped. “God, you really know how to hurt a guy. What’s that supposed to mean?”

  She let out a laugh. “Yeah, now that the tables are turned, it’s not so much fun, is it? Your wife spent every second she wasn’t working at her bookstore, in Greektown, on the other side of the state. What would compel her to drive that distance instead of spending the time with you? Is she gay? Or are you just a schmuck?”

  It hit its mark. Jim was speechless for the first time that night. And then he started laughing, his laughter ringing out, echoing in the cavernous house. Liz watched, shaking her head.

  “You’re drunk.” Realizing how exhausted she was, Liz stood up, stifling a yawn. “Let me show you to your room.”

  Jim followed her down a hallway. She went into the room and flipped on a light switch. It was a plain room, stripped of anything personal. She’d made the bed up with expensive sheets she bought after John left, the bathroom ready for guests with fresh towels and soap, just in case.

  “Here you are,” she said, standing aside so he could pass through. “If you can’t think of anything you might need, I’ll say good night now.”

  He looked uncomfortable. “No, I can’t think of anything else. This is a very nice room. Thank you. I’m sorry if I was too opinionated.”

  “Ha! Opinionated is a nice word for what you are,” Liz said, frowning.

  “I’m sorry. I guess I got carried away talking about my wife’s family.”

  “Whatever. Not that it makes any difference now. Anyway, goodnight, Jim.”

  He said goodnight as she closed the door. It was awkward having him in the house. His words stung. A stranger, a jackass really, dissecting her life. When she got to her room, she pushed the desk chair under the door handle, knowing it was probably unnecessary, but just in case he sleep-walked or was suddenly lonely, she wasn’t taking any chances.

  The next morning, Liz woke up with the sun streaming in through a crack in the drapes. Reaching for the clock, she had to shade her eyes from the bright light. It was after nine. Groaning, she sat up in bed with her face in her hands. She added up the alcohol she drank, losing count after the second pitcher of martinis.

  “Oh, my head,” she moaned.

  The older she got, the less she could drink without suffering the next day, but last night was a lot, even for her. She tried to remember what the conversation had been, and she couldn’t remember much. Tiptoeing to the door, she put her ear to the door and listened. Nothing. Going in the bathroom to get her shower, she could hear water running; he must be up showering too.

  He was fully dressed, sitting with his coat in his lap when she came out to the kitchen. After greeting him, Liz set about making coffee.

  “Thank you again, for letting me stay. Merry Christmas. And I’m sorry about the other.”

  Liz looked up from the coffee can. It was Christmas Day. “Same to you. And don’t worry about it. I can’t remember much. Apology accepted. What an anticlimax.”

  She continued spooning coffee into the filter. If someone had told her she’d be alone after being married all her life and spending Christmas with a man she didn’t know, she wouldn’t have believed it.

  “You could say that. But I enjoyed talking to you last night,” Jim said.

  “You did? I’m afraid I can’t say the same,” Liz admitted. “What do we do now?”

  They looked at each other, and Liz shrugged her shoulders.

  “Let’s go into Detroit,” Jim said. “We can see our spouses and reconnect with their family. At least there will be a good meal at the end of it.”

  “Probably the last person John wants to see right now is me,” Liz said sadly. “And how do we explain being together? I’m sure Maria won’t appreciate that you spent the night here, no matter how innocent.”

  Jim laughed. “Maria’s a smart cookie. She won’t care, and furthermore, she’ll be so shocked I showed up in Greektown, it might not register for a moment how I got there. We can tell the truth, just move the action up twelve hours. My car broke down, I came here, and you offered to drive me into the city.”

  Liz had to think about it. Wasn’t the point of making John leave so she could have some closure? Never to go back to that apartment in Greektown again? But then she thought of Paula and Joan. She missed them both so much. Going to Greektown on Christmas Day would be worth it to see her sisters-in-law. The conversation of the night before came to the surface. Did her friends suspect John was gay?

  “Okay, I guess we can do Christmas in Greektown. I remember when I was a teenager, going to Detroit for Christmas was the highlight of my year.” Adding in her thoughts, Why did I allow a man to ruin it for me?

  “Shall we take our coffee in the car? Let’s get going, then. We can be there by noon if we leave right now.”

  “I’d offer to drive,” Jim said. “But I’m afraid I’d get us lost. The last time I drove into Detroit, Nixon was president.”

  “Ha!” Liz laughed. “I don’t believe you.”

  “Believe it,” he said. “Right before he left office.”

  She led the way out to the garage, and they got into the car.

  “Here we go,” Liz said. “I hope I’m not making a big mistake.”

  “We won’t be,” Jim said. “If they aren’t happy to see us, we’ll leave. I’ve been kicked out of better places than Gus’s.”

  “I meant spending the next two hours in the car with you.” She looked at his smirk and wanted to throw her coffee in his face. “You’re really a pompous ass. I’m going to call you Jim Pompous instead of Jim Pappas.”

  He laughed out loud. “I’ve been called worse.” She thought, Yeah, I bet you have been. Let’s see how much you blow your mouth off in Greektown. Christmas might be very interesting this year.

  26

  Andy opened the stairwell door for Nicole, and when he saw her, he wanted her. In seconds, he decided he wasn’t being a childish teenager who needed to defend his girlfriend to his parents. He was an adult man, and Nicole was the woman he wanted.

  “Come here,” he said, and he grabbed her and embraced her while he closed the door. He bent down and started to kiss her face and then her mouth. He put his arms around her, and he could feel her breasts under her coat and her tiny waist. Pulling her to his body, he kissed her neck and looked down at her and said, “Merry Christmas.”

  Nicole smiled at him, her eyes dewy from the cold and surprise of his affection. “Merry Christmas, Andy.”

  “Will you be my girl?” The old-fashioned phrase reminded him of a movie, but he couldn’t remember the name.

  Nicole put her head on his chest and closed her eyes. Was this really happening? “Of course I’ll be your girl.”

  “Where does that come from?” he said as they parted, taking her hand and leading her up the stairs.

  “Moonstruck,” she answered. “Not the exact phrase, but close. The bakery clerk says ‘he can never love anyone since he lost his hand and his girl.’”

  “Yep, that’s it,” Andy said, smiling. He looked down at her as she followed him up to the apartment. “God, am I happy.”<
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  “Are you?” she asked, melting. “I’m so glad.”

  He led her in, angry looks from his mother and father ignored, and went right to his uncle Gus.

  “Can I talk to you, sir?” he asked.

  Gus frowned. “Of course,” he said. “So formal.”

  Andy went into the apartment den with Nicole and Gus following and shut the door, his mother glaring at him and father shaking his head.

  “Uncle Gus, are you okay with me dating Nicole?”

  Gus frowned again, confused. “Why would I be otherwise?” he said. “You’re a grown man.”

  “Will our dating endanger my job here at the grocery?”

  “Good lord, son, what in God’s name does that have to do with anything? Of course not. This store is yours when I die. We have that in writing somewhere. No matter who marries whom or what happens, you are my partner. Is that understood?”

  Andy nodded, glad he’d taken the risk to confront his uncle. “Thank you, sir,” he replied, opening the door.

  Gus was more confused than ever, but he let it go. If his nephew needed validation, he’d give it. Nicole would ask later what led to the confrontation with Gus, but for the time being, she was just enjoying the day. The afterglow of hearing Andy say he wanted her to be his girl would keep Nicole up in the air, floating along, for a while to come.

  27

  When local police picked up Paul Cummings at the country club on Christmas Eve, he was on his knees, taking apart a heating duct in the dining room. James Becker accompanied the officers, and as Paul settled back on his haunches watching them come nearer, he smiled. So this is what it’s going to come to, he thought. The first thing he’d done Monday after the cops from Detroit left and Becker left for the day was dismantle the video camera in the cigar stand. There hadn’t been a chance to do it over the weekend when Becker was there for the event Cindy had arranged and then failed to attend because she was dead.

  Saturday night after her murder, he had his first nightmare. It started out realistically enough; he pulled next to Cindy’s car at the caddy shack on Belle Isle. In the dream, James Becker was sitting shotgun, not Valarie. Valarie was home in bed where she should have stayed in the first place. And in the dream, Cindy screamed when she saw them.

  In reality, when he pulled alongside Cindy, she had a look of relief on her face after having been lost for an hour. But within seconds, her grateful expression changed to fear. It had finally occurred to her to ask why Paul and Valarie had followed her to Detroit.

  Cindy didn’t realize Paul was competing with her for Becker’s attention. Paul didn’t know himself he was sharing Becker with Cindy until the night Cindy returned to the club unexpectedly to pick up something she’d forgotten, a folder of client information.

  “Hey there, handsome,” Cindy purred, peeking in Becker’s office. “What are you doing here so late?”

  “Just catching up,” Becker replied, shocked. He’d been waiting for Paul. “Come in.” Quickly retrieving his phone, Becker sent Paul a text, cancelling their meeting. Don’t come after all. Have to leave. Loretta needs me at home. I’ll text you later. Then he stood up and walked around his desk, reaching for Cindy.

  Becker never cancelled a meeting with Paul, and he’d never before used his wife as an excuse. Suspicious, when Paul got the text, he decided he was going to the club anyway. He counted on the money Becker gave him, and he needed money that night. They weren’t getting together as often, Becker making excuses, ignoring him when they were at the club. Something was going on, and Paul was determined to find out what it was. The cancelation validated his concerns.

  It was just luck that when Cindy entered the office, she didn’t latch the door completely, and there was a gap an inch wide giving a direct view of the side of Becker’s desk. Stretched back in his chair with his arms crossed over his head, Becker was grimacing with intense pleasure while Cindy knelt on the floor in front of him, in Paul’s place. Sickened, Paul backed away from the door and crept to the side entrance. As he walked to his car, with his heart bounding in his chest, a plan formed. The split-second decision not to barge in gave him the upper hand, secret knowledge always leading to power.

  Power had come elusively to Paul. He’d felt powerless since he was a small child, at the mercy of the life he was born into.

  “The boy’s special,” Aunt Carol said loudly.

  “Carol, keep your voice down,” Paul’s mother, Lily, pleaded, a conspirator. But it was too late; he’d heard.

  “Why? He should know what he is. Why the big secret? It’ll give him an edge, to know the truth.”

  The term special resonated with him. It made sense, clearing up so much confusion. From kindergarten, Paul didn’t fit in with the rest of the children. He appeared normal, an average student, was kind and interested in others. But there was something about him that prompted other children to ignore him or tease him, or outright bully him. He was different, set apart, but in a way that was indescribable. It was baffling to Lily. The only thing she could think of that might be a contributing factor was that he didn’t have a father. He wasn’t effeminate or a momma’s boy. But he was timid and a little clumsy, and he’d sought the attention of men from the time he was a baby. Adding the word special induced a sort of snobbery in him that increased his isolation. He was a stuck up weirdo.

  James Becker met Paul when he was in his teens, during his daughter’s softball game. It wasn’t clear why Paul was there watching the game, standing near the fence. Thin and lanky, he was tall too, and Lily was forever lengthening his shirts and pants, letting out cuffs and adding fabric to his clothes making them look tattered and worn even when they were new. His long arms and thin wrists added to the illusion of vulnerability that Becker found appealing. He approached Paul, with talk about sports trivia, shallow chatter men will use to cover up their real reason for engaging a child. After that meeting, Becker gradually included Paul in family outings, first taking him to church on Sunday and then inviting him to go on vacations. The Becker girls loved Paul, and Loretta grew fond of him. Lily never suspected her son was at risk with the Beckers, so relieved that a stable family was willing to take him into their lives. It made the burden of being a single parent easier.

  Discovering Cindy in Becker’s office destroyed the trust between the men. Paul’s rage took on the subtle form of one who wanted to get even. The only way he knew how to do it and not expose his own relationship with Becker was by filming Becker and Cindy. He wanted to use it to humiliate her. And to blackmail Becker, since it appeared he really didn’t love him like a son after all. The betrayal was the most difficult for Paul to accept. Becker had been like his father in spite of their relationship being sexual from the beginning. It had evolved from one in which Paul longed to please him to making demands that Becker couldn’t fulfill: monogamy to Paul.

  Paul walked toward Cindy’s car Saturday morning with his gun drawn to frighten her. As he approached, aware that Valarie was watching just feet away, he made a circling motion with his hand. Cindy rolled the window down a few inches.

  “Get out of the car,” he said, the authoritative tone he used was foreign to him, and adrenaline pumped into his body, increasing his incentive to get the job completed. He wanted to tell her that he knew about Becker out of earshot of Valarie, threaten her to leave Becker alone. Cindy reluctantly opened the door and stood up. When she was beside Paul, the illusion of height disappeared in spite of the heels; she really was diminutive. Paul fought the urge to be protective of her and lose control of the situation. They walked side by side to a thicket of bare-branched birch trees, naked limbs reaching up to the sky like skeleton arms. He grabbed her arm in a vice grip.

  “That video isn’t what you think it is.” At first, she was shocked, not understanding how he could know about the video.

  Misunderstanding, she thought maybe Becker had told him about it. “I saw it with my own eyes,” Cindy replied. “It’s the woman who was murdered down in Saugatuck.
”

  “No, the disc you have with you isn’t the evidence video,” he said, angrier. “It’s a video I made of you giving Becker head and screwing him in his office.” When the truth sank in, that Paul knew about Becker, it was Cindy’s turn for an adrenaline surge.

  “That’s a lie! I never did those things.” But her eyes were wide, her face flushed. The thought that someone had found out about Becker made her sick. Waves of nausea constricted her throat. In seconds, she imagined her parents’ anger and disappointment, Valarie’s smirk of satisfaction. What if Fred heard about it? She’d lose him, her job and, ultimately, the house. Cindy tried to twist away from Paul, and that’s when he attempted to hold onto her with both hands and the gun went off. He pressed her body up to his chest to keep her from falling to the ground, could feel the wet warmth of her blood saturating his coat, running onto his knee. He studied her face up close, skin flawless, her bone structure without subcutaneous fat softening the lines. First, she stared off into the space by the parking lot, shocked, seeming to follow something with her eyes. Then, she looked up into his face, and he watched as her eyes penetrated his with what seemed to shift from confusion, to knowledge and to acceptance, and finally, she was gone.

  In the nightmare, he went on holding Cindy while the blood drained from her body, her soul leaving through her eyes in an iridescent bubble that floated above her head for a while, reflecting the light and then disappearing into the cosmos. But in reality, his arms grew tired from holding her up. Dragging her body forward, he was sure she was dead, and he set her down gently in the snow. He could do nothing for her now but try to make her look presentable. Alive, Cindy was poised and attractive, with the bubbly personality that lit up a room. In death, he’d reduced her to a pathetic skeleton of a girl, her pointed chin jutting up in the air, mouth frozen open in a silent scream. Her hair was messy, so he lifted up her head to try combing it with his hand, and when he did, a stray tear rolled down her cheek from her open eye. He jumped back, frightened, and clumsily dropped her head on the snow. Crying, he ran to the car, disbelieving that he’d taken a life.