by Lynde Lakes
Dimly glowing ornate lights marked their way down tree-lined streets. The heart of Salem was old. Many handsome houses were reminiscent of the eighteenth century seafaring days. Even here, she heard echoes of the past in the moist sea breeze rushing through the open window: the high-pitched screams of the woman the town’s people crushed to death, the moans of the five women who died in jail.
“Why so quiet?” York asked. “Are the ghosts of Salem getting to you?”
“If I believed in them, they’d be the least of my worries.”
“If you’re uneasy about our elusive tail, forget him. We shook the SOB. I guarantee it.”
“Who said I was worried about him?”
His voice took on an amused tone. “Hey, you’re not nervous about meeting my folks, are you?”
Now that he mentioned it, she realized the impending visit had a lot to do with her tension. Jen forced a laugh. “Should I be? Your dad’s not a warlock is he?”
Without answering, York pulled up in the long driveway of a Georgian-style home and killed the engine. Front windows glowed with a welcoming brightness.
Jen’s mouth felt dry. “Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea.” With thoughts of ghosts and worries that the strangler might be following them, she wasn’t sure she could pull off the cordial guest bit.
York touched her hand, sending tiny vibrations up her arm. “Relax.”
Easy for him to say.
He honked. The front door opened and York’s mom rushed toward the car with outstretched arms. Two couples followed, waving their limbs excitedly. York’s silver-haired dad came more slowly, but his wide smile made up for his slower pace.
Jen swallowed. His family. Breathe. Oh, God, why did she have to feel like a baby bird fallen to a cold, concrete world?
A girl and a boy of about seven or eight dashed from the well-lit backyard followed by a barking collie. She opened the car door and thrust herself to her feet, wishing she could disappear. York joined her, and placed a warm hand around her shoulders. He firmly guided her forward.
“About time you got here!” The gusto in the elder Wylinski’s voice didn’t match his frail frame.
“Take a detour?” A man who she assumed was York’s brother taunted with good humor. Although he strongly resembled his dark good looks, the slight graying around his temples suggested he might be a bit older. “And who is this gorgeous creature?”
She smiled, taking an instant liking to him.
York introduced everyone, and they all hugged Jen as though she were part of the family. It felt so good that for a moment she forgot she was an outsider. This is what she’d missed all her life...
Jen’s head spun with names. There was York’s mom and dad, Patricia and Dick, his brother Wayne and wife Vickie and their two children, Josh and Bailey.
When introduced to the neighbor, she locked into the name Howard Hawthorne. He was the man she’d come to meet, the one who might have the missing link. Howard and his wife Lillian had deep tans and trim bodies. No revelation there, they were golfers.
It was York’s mother who surprised Jen. The woman had the slender figure of a teenager, and considering the way she’d run toward them, a vitality to match. Her up-to-date gray pantsuit and sleek Italian-cut salt and pepper hair were anything but the picture of an old-fashioned mom.
York grabbed up the two kids in his strong arms and swung them around, eliciting screams of laughter. At the sound of a car coming, Jen looked up. Instead of headlights, she saw only darkness. An engine died. First they were followed, now a car without headlights stopped up the street. She couldn’t stop the reflexive shiver. She wondered if York saw the car. When the introductions were over she’d mention it.
Wayne came close and asked, “Cold? Or are you shivering from delight at meeting this noisy bunch?”
“Delight.” She snatched another glance up the darkened street. Oh, God. In the midst of all this merriment someone could be watching, waiting.
Wayne grinned and offered her his arm. “Hey, why are we all standing around out here with good eats ready inside?”
Yes, she thought, gripping his arm, let’s get inside. The sooner the better.
A large formal dining table waited, arranged to perfection with ten place settings Martha Stewart style, in a color scheme of pink and rose. Aromas of roast beef and gravy came from steaming food bins on a side buffet table, loaded with everything from salads to desserts.
She relaxed a little, glad to be away from whatever evil lurked outside. Was the danger only her imagination?
Wayne handed her a plate. “Like sports, Jen?” Before she could answer, he began to praise York. “Did you know he was captain of the basketball team in both high school and college? He can run like the wind.”
Jen smiled at his sales pitch. She should deny anything beyond friendship, but York could straighten him out. Even thinking about their nonexistent relationship hurt too much. Too bad there wasn’t more between them; it would be a kick to have Wayne as a brother-in-law. Having a brother of any kind was something she’d longed for.
They all filled their plates and sat down at the table. Everyone clasped hands and York said a blessing in a deep voice that vibrated through Jen. The sense of unity and belonging brought an ache to her throat. She clung to York’s and Wayne’s hands, needing to stay grounded. Both men gave her hand a little squeeze. She blinked back puzzling tears.
At York’s amen a flood gate opened and they all started talking and teasing. The gaiety of the household was like a three-ringed circus, with her trying to take in all the rings at once.
York looked so happy here. When their gazes met, he winked and she thought her heart would leap right out of her chest. To hide her reaction, she took a bite of roast beef. York was right, his mom was a great cook, and from what Jen had seen, a meticulous housekeeper. But she wasn’t here to admire her talents, or to get all emotional over the oneness of being let into this family for a little while. She had to find a way to get Howard Hawthorne off by himself to talk about Coble, the owner of the land rumored to be toxic.
Her stomach knotted. She planned to interview Howard Hawthorne at the first opportunity. But when was the right time? Would York’s family consider it rude to question him here at the dinner table? She wanted them to like her, although for the life of her she didn’t know why that had become so important. Maybe it was because she’d fallen for their warmth at first sight and wished they were her family. But would Hawthorne open up in front of everyone? And did she want an audience?
“Everything okay?” York asked as though sensing her turmoil.
When she smiled and nodded, he squeezed her hand. Jen sighed in relief when Wayne turned the conversation to York’s mom. From what followed, she gathered that York’s not so-old-fashioned mom had become a computer whiz, had her own web page and had set up her own nutrition mail order business. Didn’t York see that his mom wasn’t an old-fashioned woman anymore? Was she ever?
Then the conversation switched to Wayne. “Hear you made chief,” York said.
Jen remembered him mentioning that the three men in his family were all in law enforcement. The men discussed the older brother’s promotion then the conversation turned to York’s case.
“We had a case like yours a few years back,” Wayne said. “We chased our tails looking for the finger-man behind the hits. You’ll never believe this—the bastard turned out to be the partner of the cop assigned to the case. Your partner couldn’t be a bad cop could he?”
She gasped. York gave her a sharp look. She managed a weak smile, but the comment had hit a nerve. A cop with a minister girlfriend would be a perfect cover. She watched York, barely breathing waiting for his answer.
“I can rule that out with absolute certainty. I know him as well as I know you.”
Wayne stared at him for several heartbeats, and then glanced at Jen as though measuring her confidence in York’s assessment. Not wanting to ruin the whole weekend, she forced a smile and nodded as t
hough she had no doubts about his understandably loyal and prejudiced assessment of his partner. She would discuss her qualms with him later.
York and Wayne couldn’t seem to let go of the strangler story as if talking about it could generate solutions. Jen’s eye twitched and her nerves felt like they were jumping under her skin. Darn it, she didn’t want to go over old ground, she wanted answers. Hawthorne just sat there listening. She needed to get him talking. So, what was holding her back? She’d done hundreds of interviews. Why was this one different? She didn’t know. She knew only that if she didn’t do it now she’d explode.
At a lull in the conversation, she cleared her throat and leveled her gaze at Howard. “I’m the reporter working on the strangler story that York and Wayne were just discussing. I think perhaps together, you and I can put a new spin on this case. Are you willing to answer a few questions that might give things a new perspective?”
Howard chuckled. “I knew I wasn’t invited here just for my good looks. But I only know what I’ve read in the papers, which has been sketchy at best. But I’ll give it a whirl. Ask away.”
“I understand that you play golf with Finstead Coble?” Her hands grew clammy.
“Several times a week for the past twenty years.”
She was surprised, pleased, and a little wary of his willingness to talk.
York grinned as though giving his okay. “I told Jen you knew where all the bodies were buried.”
Before Howard could respond, the phone rang. Everyone stopped talking, their gazes following seven-year-old Josh who raced to answer it. Jen suspected the tension had something to do with the fact that three policemen sat at this table.
After a second, Josh said, “It’s Ted, for Uncle York.”
A shiver of foreboding slipped down Jen’s spine.
She watched York, her antennas up. He listened a minute, his eyes darkening, then he said, “I’d better take this in the other room. Hold up on your conversation until I get back, Howard. Due to new developments, I need to hear your answers.”
New developments. Her heart beat faster. She wanted to pace, but that’d call too much attention to herself. She picked up a fork and tapped the table, then stopped when she realized everyone was looking at her.
When York returned, his face was an unreadable mask.
“Everything okay?” his mom asked.
Although he said it was, Jen noticed a new tightness around his eyes. His earlier words, new developments, repeated in her brain, taking on a more frightening significance each time it replayed. “What is it, York?”
She noticed he glanced at his dad and frowned. “Give me a few minutes,” he said with his gaze fixed on his father.
The older man rested his head in his hands. He looked pale and tired. After a moment, he excused himself to lie down. York’s mom left the room with him. “Back in a jiffy,” she said.
“Mom likes to help Dad get settled,” Wayne said. “He’s recovering from colon cancer. Had an operation a few weeks ago.”
Now Jen understood why York had never been home when she tried to catch him there for the billboard interview. He stared worriedly at the doorway, his gaze following his parents until they disappeared from view. She closed her hand over his. It was a big supposition to make, but she thought she understood now why he had put up the billboard—the fear that his dad might not live to see York’s children.
Wayne clapped York on the shoulder, his eyes glistening. “Baby brother was here every second he wasn’t working,” he told Jen. “His neighbors probably wondered if he’d moved out.”
It hit her—the main reason York had come here this weekend was to visit his sick dad. Because he had to protect her, he’d brought her along. It wasn’t just to interview Hawthorne. And the kiss had nothing to do with it. Heated embarrassment crawled up her neck. She had thought…oh, God…
“Dad gave us quite a scare,” York said. “But he’s getting stronger.”
The concern in York’s voice and the friendship between the brothers sent a pang of sympathy to her heart. The courage of the family facing this crisis together underscored the emptiness in her life. Never had she felt so adrift, as if she belonged nowhere.
“Is there anything I can do to help?”
“Just coming here with me helped,” he said, sounding like he meant it.
Howard’s wife, Lillian, moved to a chair closer to Jen. “Is your family nearby, dear?”
“There’s only my mom and she lives in Florida.” Jen hoped no one heard the wistfulness in her tone. Distance wasn’t the problem. Her mom flitted from one man to the next, never finding one who would stay for the long haul. Dealing with Mom’s string of short-term bed partners who wanted to rule the roost without earning the right wasn’t worth the hassle. So Jen had left and threw herself into her career.
Everyone drifted away from the table, and when York’s mom returned, Jen followed her into the kitchen to help.
Patricia began to stack the dishes. “Do you like children?”
Jen’s mouth dropped open and she stopped wiping the counter. She could barely breathe. “I adore them, but marriage is a long way off for me.”
Patricia met her gaze. “I thought you and York—”
Jen shook her head. “We’re working on the same serial-murder case. Nothing more.” Her face burned.
“Oh... When I saw how you two looked at each other, I thought...”
Jen looked away and studied the family photos on the refrigerator door, one a grade-school picture of York. She outlined his smiling face with a trembling finger. His sons would be handsome, too.
Patricia came over and put her arm around Jen. “York is a wonderful son and a loyal friend; he’s kind, generous to a fault, and dependable.” She sighed, her eyes glowing with love and memories. “Always there when we need him.”
Closing her hand over the one Patricia had around her shoulder, Jen smiled. “He told me about his great childhood, and how you were always there for him as well.”
Patricia gave Jen a little squeeze, then returned to the job of scraping the dishes. “That’s what mothers do.”
Jen felt honored to have the opportunity to meet this family. “York believes you and your husband have always been happy because you were an old-fashioned woman.”
“I was a stay-at-home mom, but I don’t think I was ever old-fashioned. Certainly not in my thinking.” She winked. “But that’s our little secret.”
Jen laughed. “York wants to marry someone just like you.” Now she understood why.
“I know,” Patricia said. “That’s the reason I thought—”
“What’s going on in here?” York asked as he strode into the room. “Let’s get some production into this project. Jen, I’ll rinse and you load the dishwasher.” He untied his mom’s apron, and gave her a gentle shove toward the door. “Lillian wants to see your new computer. And I need to talk to Jen alone.”
She wanted to talk to him too. She looked out the window into a night cloaked in shadowy darkness and rubbed her arms. “I wanted to tell you something earlier, but we were never by ourselves and I didn’t want to worry your family. When we arrived, a car pulled up with no headlights and—”
Howard opened the door part way and stuck his head in the kitchen, looking a little hesitant. “Wayne said you wanted to finish our talk now.”
Jen tamped down her building frustration. Her concerns about the car could wait. This was more important.
****
York knew how important talking to Hawthorne was to Jen and her story and that it could be a lead for his case as well. The aged golfer’s offer to open up wasn’t an opportunity to pass up. He gestured inward with his arm. “Come on in.” He poured a fresh cup of coffee for each of them. “I think Coble might be somehow mixed up with the recent serial murders.”
Howard laughed. “Coble a serial killer? He couldn’t kill a fly. Now if you said he had his hand in the till, I might believe it.”
“People who hire
a hit man are often motivated by money.” York raised his voice over the racket of the churning dishwasher, then pushed a button to interrupt its cycle so he wouldn’t have to compete with it. “What can you tell me about the gas station site?”
Howard rubbed his jaw. “Coble was worried about a petroleum spill of some kind. Then a few months ago when I asked about it, he said the problem was gone. I pressed him, but he wouldn’t say more.”
“Did he mention the mayor’s office or the refuse director?” Long shots often paid off, York thought.
“He frequently talked about Boston politics, but I didn’t pay much attention. Salem’s where my loyalties lie.”
Jen leaned forward, her gaze intense as if chomping at the bit. “Do you know Vincent Zombolas?” she asked, her words sounding excited.
“Sure. He dated Coble’s daughter for a while. Coble didn’t like it and sent her to stay with an aunt in England.”
“Did Coble ever mention Tim Tormont?” Jen asked.
“No. But I met him once. He was having lunch at the club with Zombolas. Coble got all flush-faced over the Greek and Tormont being so chummy.”
The Greek and the refuse director, York thought. Things were starting to jell.
Jen gripped his arm. “That reminds me of something Sniffles told me.”
York braced himself for the emotional jolt as he gently put his hand over hers. “What?”
“That garbage men and Greeks made strange bedfellows,” she said. “It made no sense at the time, but now—”
“You’re thinking about Tormont and Zombolas?”
Howard stood. “Look, I’ve told you all I know, and it sounds like you folks have some things to mull over.”
York nodded, appreciating the older man’s quick grasp of the situation. After Howard left, he got up and paced a few steps, wondering how to tell Jen about the latest murder.