“Well, I remember you told me Billy was ten, right? So he should be starting—what? Either the fourth or fifth grade. Which is it?”
“Uh—fifth,” Cindy said, having no idea whether or not that was true.
“And you’ll probably want to get Krissy in kindergarten for the fall, right?”
Cindy nodded, hoping Alice didn’t notice her blush. “Look, I—uh, thanks for having me over, but I should probably get started making supper.” She pushed back her chair and stood up. When she reached for her empty tea cup, Alice waved her away, saying she could clean up the kitchen after she left.
“Well, then, thanks for coming over and introducing yourself.”
Alice smiled warmly and nodded. “I hope I wasn’t making a pest of myself, but I just wanted to make sure we met before I got all busy with school in a few weeks and to let you know that—well, if there’s anything you need—you know, like help with the kids or anything, feel free to ask.”
“Sure… thanks.”
“And I’ll have to meet the kids sometime soon, too,” Alice said brightly as she saw Cindy to the door.
The rain was still coming down steadily when Cindy walked back into her apartment. She closed the door behind her and slid the security chain into place, then went over to the couch and sat down. She wanted to pick up her book but didn’t even want to pretend to be interested in it; she had too much on her mind. Billy glanced up at her and nodded a greeting before turning back to his game. Krissy was sitting in the easy chair beside the window. She had a coloring book propped up on her knees and was busily coloring.
“How is she?” Billy asked without looking at Cindy again. His body jerked from side to side in response to the moving figures on the screen.
“Oh, she’s really nice,” Cindy said. Then, catching Krissy’s attention, she added, “And you don’t have to be afraid of her. She’s a very nice person.”
Chewing on her lower lip, Krissy nodded but said nothing.
Cindy got up and went over to look at what she was doing.
“What’s that you’ve got there?” she asked, scooching down and glancing at the page she was working on.
“Pinocchio,” Krissy said, her voice tight, barely above a whisper. “I’m coloring the blue lady.”
“You mean the blue fairy,” Cindy said, smiling as she twisted her head so she could see the drawing right-side-up. Krissy had used practically every shade of blue in her Crayola box to finely shade the flowing robes, arms and face of the figure. She had surrounded the blue fairy’s wand with tiny, concentric rings of blue lines that radiated outward, obscuring the character’s face and blurring everything around her.
For some unaccountable reason, the picture made Cindy feel a tremor of nervousness. A gust of wind whistled inside the window frame. Cindy shivered but smiled and said, “That’s really nice, honey.”
“Umm—I know she is,” Krissy replied. Her voice had a eerie, dreamy quality to it, almost as though she were talking in her sleep.
After ruffling the little girl’s hair, Cindy plunked herself down on the couch and picked up her book. During the next half hour before she prepared supper, she pretended to be concentrating on her reading, but all she could do was stare blankly at the pages and wonder if she had made a big mistake in the first place just by speaking to Alice Crowther.
5
Being careful not to get any more of Harry’s blood on his clothes, Alex swung off the inert body like a rider dismounting a horse. A tingling rush coursed through his body, enlivening every muscle and nerve. He found it difficult to take a deep breath, but he knew the tightening constriction in his chest wasn’t from fear or anything even close to remorse for what he had done. It was exhilaration, pure and simple. Just thinking about what he had done made him want to leap up and start shouting for joy.
“Harry is fuckin’-A dead, and I fuckin’-A killed him!” he said, fighting hard not to burst out laughing. “And it’s a damned good thing, too!”
Trying to control himself, he clenched his fists and stretched his arms behind his back to help relieve the balled-up tension in his shoulders and chest.
“By Jesus, it couldn’t have happened to a nicer guy.”
Rubbing his hands vigorously together and grinning wildly, he stared down at the motionless man. He was fighting for control but still felt dizzy, nearly delirious now that he had actually done it—had finally gotten even with the sorry son of a bitch! He’d made him pay, but good!
And this is just the start!
His mind crackled like a string of exploding firecrackers as he thought about what he had to do next.
Cindy had taken his kids to Maine, and his ultimate plan was to go there and find her and make her pay, too… make her pay in ways that would make what had just happened to her husband look like a fucking holiday.
First, though, he had to take care of this mess.
Unlike what had happened the night Debbie died, Alex had come into the situation knowing that Harry’s death was a distinct possibility. He wouldn’t have been packing a knife if he hadn’t. Although he felt confident that he had thought everything through and knew what he had to do next, he still had some nagging doubts that he had overlooked something… something that would eventually lead the police to him. It almost didn’t matter, he thought, because he planned to be long gone and on his way to Maine before anyone even found the body.
His idea was to make this look like a… what was it those rag newspapers at the grocery checkout counter called it?
A crime of passion.
Yeah, that’s it!
Although he knew he couldn’t change Harry’s fingerprints or dental records, he would do his best to get rid of everything else that would help the police identify the body. His hands felt slimy with sweat inside the rubber gloves, but he knew he couldn’t handle anything without them until he had gotten rid of them along with Harry’s clothes, wallet, and car keys.
Another rumble of thunder sounded outside, this one much closer. Alex walked over to the window and, unmindful of the smear of blood he left on the Levelor blinds, glanced out as rain began to fall. It swooped across the parking lot behind the motel like a shimmering, silvery curtain.
Rain will be good, he thought; it’ll help wash away any evidence once I’m outside.
Alex turned back to the body and, wanting nothing more than to haul back and kick the son of a bitch squarely in the balls, fought for control as he whispered, “Okay, lover-boy… or should I call you honey-bear? Let’s see about getting you undressed.”
He was surprised by the man’s dead weight as he grabbed Harry under both arms and lifted him up and struggled to heave him onto the bed. The bedsprings creaked beneath the dead man’s weight, a sound that was punctuated by another close clap of thunder
Rose petals sprinkled the bed like splotches of blood, set off against the pale white of the sheets and Harry’s skin. Alex set to work, rolling Harry back and forth as he struggled to remove his shoes, socks, shirt, pants, and underwear. The shirt was heavy, saturated with blood. Once Harry was naked, Alex rolled him over onto his stomach and arranged the body to look like that’s how he had died—naked and fighting for his life. He considered adding a few more knife wounds, or maybe even getting him onto his back and hacking off the dead man’s penis.
That would certainly give the cops something to think about!
But he knew any fresh wounds wouldn’t bleed without Harry’s heart pumping the blood, and not wanting to look like a fucking pervert, he decided against it.
No, this was cool! This was enough.
And he had it all lined up what he had to do next. After driving Harry’s Camaro back to his house and parking it in his driveway, probably leaving the keys in the ignition, he would have to find a ride back to the motel so he could pick up his own car. He’d probably take a bus instead of a cab, which might be easier to trace if he ever came under suspicion. After that, he would take all of Harry’s clothes, along with the rubber
gloves he had used, and—well, he wasn’t exactly sure what he would do with them—either sink them in the Missouri River, bury them somewhere, or bring them home and burn them in the fireplace. He’d give it a little more thought to make absolutely certain he didn’t leave anything that could eventually be traced back to him.
Whistling a happy tune, he washed his rubber gloves at the bathroom sink and put them back on before going through Harry’s clothes. He found the car keys in his pants and over a hundred dollars in his wallet, which he pocketed. Then he balled up the clothes and stuffed them into the plastic laundry bag, graciously provided by the motel. After a thorough check around the room to make sure he hadn’t left anything valuable behind or any other visible evidence, he tucked the bag under his arm and walked out into the rain, remembering to toss the key back into the room before locking the door behind him. He opened the trunk of his own car and dropped the laundry bag into it. Then, glancing quickly around the parking lot to see if anyone was watching him, he walked boldly over to Harry’s Camaro, unlocked the car door, and got in. The car started up right away. Alex drove out of the parking lot, being careful not to draw any undue attention to him by speeding or running a stop light. Inside, he was still thrilled by what he had done, but he knew he couldn’t let it show in any way.
Throughout the drive back to Omaha to Harry’s house, all he could think about was how much more he still had to do before taking off for Maine.
Yeah, by Jesus, he thought, feeling an exhilarated sense of well-being, it sure as shit was going to be one busy fuck of an afternoon!
PART THREE
COMIN’ TO GIT YAH!
Chapter Twelve
Pine Knoll
It was a long and generally uneventful week.
Most of the time, Cindy couldn’t help feeling like they were outlaws, holed up in a hideout and waiting for the police to come bursting in with their guns blazing. Other than a few shopping excursions, she and the kids stayed pretty close to the apartment, just hanging around as if they were waiting for something to happen. It seemed as though their life had settled into a nerve-wracking stasis that was tinged with winding expectation, like the tense calm just before a thunderstorm cracks loose.
Yeah, Cindy thought on more than one occasion, here we are, sitting around, waiting for our REAL lives to begin!
Early in the week, Billy had started to make friends with two boys he met in the neighborhood who were roughly his own age. Their names were Michael Downing and Chris Russell, and they spent every nice day riding their bikes around the street and in the neighboring church parking lot, where they popped wheelies and jumped curbs. Wanting desperately to join in with them, Billy pestered Cindy to buy him a bike until she finally relented, so every day he was off playing with his newfound friends, either riding bikes around the neighborhood or else hanging around Art’s Variety, the corner candy store. One rainy afternoon, Michael and Chris came up to the apartment to play Nintendo for a few hours, and on Thursday, Michael’s mother called to invite Billy to go to a movie with them.
Cindy was glad to see that Billy was starting to get involved with his own life again, but her real concern was for Krissy. During the day, while Billy was off with his new friends, Krissy spent her time alone, playing with her dolls either out on the front steps or up in her bedroom. She had withdrawn deeply into herself and wasn’t talking much to anyone—except her dolls. Cindy might have taken all of this as normal, but Krissy wasn’t sleeping well, either, and late at night she often woke up and heard Krissy talking to herself in her darkened bedroom. She knew the little girl needed to get more connected, more involved with life once again, but given their current situation, she had no idea how to make that happen.
Alice Crowther had told her about a little girl only a year or so older than Krissy who lived two houses up-the Street, but—at least so far—Cindy hadn’t made much effort to go over and meet her and her mother. One pleasant evening after a refreshing rain shower, she and Krissy walked up the street and circled around a couple of times, hoping to draw out the little girl and her mother, but there was no sign of anyone.
For her own part, Cindy spent most of her time worrying that she still hadn’t heard from Harry, but that had gone on so long, now, that she was finally beginning to accept the idea that he might be actively avoiding her.
What other explanation could there be?
Whenever she called, no matter if it was morning, noon, or night, the telephone in their house in Omaha would ring and ring. No answering machine would click on, and no one would pick it up. The constant worry made her stomach ache.
A few times, she tried calling Harry at the hardware store; but every time she got one of the sales clerks, she would panic and hang up before speaking, afraid that whoever it was might recognize her voice. She had no idea what Alex or the police might be doing to try to locate her and the kids, but she didn’t want whomever might answer at the store to have any idea where she was or that Harry knew where they were. And anyway, wouldn’t the FBI have the phone lines tapped so they could trace her calls? Even if they didn’t, to help explain her cowardice to herself, she told herself that she didn’t want anyone else involved in their situation. She certainly wasn’t looking for anyone’s sympathy! This was a serious, personal affair with the future happiness, even the mental stability of her dead sister’s two kids hanging in the balance. She didn’t want to put them any more at risk until she got legal custody of them. The only reason she hadn’t met with a lawyer in Maine yet was because she was waiting to hear from Harry.
Cindy felt terribly alone and cut off from the rest of the world, and all she could do was keep trying to call the house and hope to hell that—eventually—Harry would be there to answer.
The worst part of all of this was she couldn’t stop wondering—Why is Harry doing this to me? Why hasn’t he written or called or sent a telegram or something? Did he set me up? Was this all part of his plan to get rid of me all along?
Realizing how risky it was, she had left her new phone number on Harry’s answering machine, but he never called back, and each unanswered call only added to her gnawing sense of helplessness and isolation. But it also helped her further steel her resolve to make it. She had to! There were two young lives at stake, and she’d do it all on her own if she had to.
And, apparently, she was going to have to.
As Cindy reflected on their married life together, she recalled the various tensions, misunderstandings, and distances between her and Harry. She began to examine little things about him until, late at night, they started to eat at her mind, nagging at her, teasing and tormenting her. Things that she used to like about him now angered her, like the long hours he worked at the hardware store even though he admitted that his employees were all good, solid workers, and the business was firmly established. As manager of the family budget, she saw, month after month, that the store’s profits were good—great, actually, when you considered the current state of the economy.
She couldn’t stop recalling how many times she had to press Harry to take a vacation with her, and how hard it was to get him not to cancel at the last minute. Why, in nearly twenty years of marriage, they had never gotten away for a vacation together more than once every two or three years. For a childless couple where both of them were making very good money, she maintained that they should be able to take the time and enjoy the money they were earning—to have a little fun, goddamnit! She thought they should spend a whole month—maybe even an entire winter every year in Florida or the Caribbean, but Harry always insisted that he couldn’t leave his business unattended for that long.
And the more she thought about things, the more Cindy began to have other, more unnerving thoughts about her husband. In his absence, his personality quirks became magnified, filling her with dark suspicion and anger.
Like, why did he seem so distant, so removed from showing affection to her?
He hadn’t been like that when they had first gotten married. I
f anything, he was the one who seemed not to take life, much less his work, very seriously, and he was always wanting to play while she busted her hump to establish herself at her own job. When they first realized she was unable to have babies, she had actually sensed relief in Harry, thinking he was secretly happy, knowing that kids would never ruin their lifestyle.
But as they got older, and their years together lengthened, was he distancing himself emotionally from her by throwing himself into his work simply because he had nothing else—certainly nothing in his personal life—to fulfill him?
Or was everything all just a cover for something else, a smokescreen to hide what he was really doing. Maybe he had a drug or alcohol addiction, or a gambling habit, or maybe he was having an affair… or what if he’d had several affairs?
That thought chilled her, bringing tears to her eyes. The painful truth was, she’d had that thought quite often, especially late at night when she was lying awake, unable to sleep.
There was no denying that, over the years, their sex life had dwindled from once a night during their first years of marriage to once a week and then, after seven or eight years, to no more than once or twice a month until—she hated to admit it, even to herself—they now had sex only a couple of times a year… at best. She knew she was finding private relief in masturbation, but what was Harry doing? She remembered how much he had laughed when he turned forty, and the birthday card from his employees had berated him for “Taking all night to do what you used to do all night.”
As painful as the thought was, she was fairly certain men still like sex, no matter how old they were or how long it took them.
This was the deepest, most painful realization of all—that the spark was gone. In the face of living together day by day and working hard at their jobs, the headspinning romance had dried up and blown away. They had lost touch with each other and whatever they used to share, and no matter what she or he or they did to resist it, their twenty-plus years together had dulled their appreciation of and affection for each other.
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