Dan was already halfway up the stairs. “I’m fine, just get the door. I hope this damn thing fits,” he called, his voice drowned out by his heavy footfalls.
“I thought you were just going to wear a suit!” Jason hollered back. He sifted through the scant pile of mail sliding into the crevice between the sofa cushions. Nothing written in blood or cut-out magazine letters today. Nothing ticking.
Incoherent mumbling wafted downstairs from Dan’s room.
“What was that, Dad?” Jason muted the set, then waited. Silence. He sighed, gathered his food in the paper towel and rolled off the couch toward the kitchen, the beagle at his heels.
“Who rents a tux at the last minute?” he asked aloud, depositing his snack on the kitchen counter and looking down at Ringo. When the dog did not provide him with a plausible answer, Jason knelt down to give him a good rub.
Somebody desperate, he decided, at least somebody not so vain as to care what was available at such short notice. Somebody who frittered away the last several weeks, convinced he would be betraying God’s call were he to think of escorting a girl to the prom, even if the night was to have been strictly platonic.
Father Ben was surprised to know these feelings from Jason as well. “What’s the harm in going?” he had cried. “You only get one senior prom. Go to the damn dance. Twenty years from now you’ll be sitting in a confessional and that’s all you’ll think about while somebody’s trying to talk to you: why didn’t I go to my senior prom? Go waltz with the pretty girls, or whatever dance it is you guys do now. Just keep your hands at waist level and don’t spike the punch.”
Jason smiled at the memory. Could one waltz to the music played these days?
Ticketless, dateless, and tuxless, Jason plodded up the living room stairs to his father’s room. The clothes Dan had been wearing were laid out on the bed, and the stinging sound of the shower in the adjoining master bath filled the room.
“Hey, Dad!”
Immediately the shower ceased with a squeak. Jason approached the open bathroom door and was hit in the face with a blast of steam. A blurred flesh toned figure danced in the fogged mirror.
“Dad?”
Dan, shivering wet with dark bangs matted against his forehead and dripping into his eyes, only shot out a hand. “Towel!”
Jason complied and Dan wiped his face with the thick, white terry cloth before wrapping it around his waist. “Thanks.”
“Sure.”
Jason backed out of the bathroom and collapsed onto the bed. The tuxedo bag was draped over the wingback chair next to him—his mother’s favorite chair. Anyone sitting in the chair had a dead-on view of the 8x10 wedding photo perched on the heavy cherry dresser, a photo which depicted the last time Dan Greevey wore a tuxedo.
Jason did not know if his father went to his own prom, or was interested in any girls at his high school for that matter. He never thought to ask, always assuming that he and his mother were each other’s one and only. It may not have been entirely true, Jason knew, and such a situation could not apply to his father and Willie.
One thing he did know about his father was that he likely felt no discomfort toward the opposite sex as a teenager. Jason leaned his head back over the edge of the mattress and stared, upside down, at the photograph. The Greeveys married young, during the Bicentennial year, and it showed in the picture. Dan Greevey circa 1976 was all teeth and sideburns, his blue eyes a perfect match to the cornflower tie and cummerbund peeking out from his jacket. The ruffled shirt looked groovy as well, his son thought. Somewhere in 1976 John Travolta was eating his heart out.
“I’ll bet the chicks dug you,” he whispered to photograph Dan. He rolled over so that his vision focused upon the carpet. Did any chicks at school dig him, he wondered. His own inner conflicts, even before they were compounded by the murders, kept him in a fog that made him oblivious to any messages that may have been sent his way. Mitch and Gooch were of little help as well, for both were more concerned with their own libidos.
Dan emerged from the fading steam, his hair now slicked back and his cheeks, chin, and neck swabbed with shaving cream. “You got a razor?” he asked, walking towards the door to the hall.
“Look in my shaving kit,” Jason replied as his father disappeared. “Hey, I thought you were just going to wear a suit tonight. Why the tux?”
“Yeah, well,” Dan called from the hallway. “You know Willie. She’s got this silver sequined number...wants to match, I guess.”
“She didn’t say anything about it earlier, when you had the time to find a tux to rent. Is that thing even going to fit?” Jason gestured to the bag. “Did you try it on first?”
“Nope.”
Dan returned with a plastic razor. He twirled it in one hand and studied the blade, which reflected the overhead ceiling fan light. “Grabbed it right off the rack. One of those powder blue nightmares with navy trim. Should be a great contrast to sequins and class, you think?”
Jason grinned. He knew his father was yanking his chain, but still, the image of Willie opening her front door to a suit like that...too funny. Then suddenly his face fell slack.
“You okay, son?” Dan ventured.
Jason sat up and spun around on the bed, twisting the sheets around him. “Thinkin’,” he said.
“I can tell by the smoke coming out of your ears. Thinkin’ about what?”
“About how I should have given the prom more thought,” Jason answered sheepishly. “I got too much into thinking about becoming a priest that I realized I wasn’t a priest yet and maybe I was jumping the gun a bit.”
Dan faced the dresser mirror and jutted his chin outward to shave. “Meaning?”
“Meaning that I was being a jerk about the whole thing. It’s weird, you know, I had no qualms about going to that trivia thing...”
“Or about dragging me along.”
“...but mention the word ‘prom’ and I just froze,” Jason continued. “Now I’m going to miss it and be stuck here at home while all my friends are out having fun.”
Dan pulled the razor down his cheekbone and announced that he needed to finish near a sink. “That’s not necessarily true,” he added as he rinsed a dollop of whisker-speckled shaving cream from the razor. “You could still go out, go see a movie. Or, you could arrange to meet your friends somewhere when they’re ready to leave.”
Sure, Jason thought as he sprang off the bed. Go out alone and get butchered while everybody at school’s dancing with Destiny, or whatever the prom theme was. Surely his father considered the possibility that the killer was waiting to catch him alone.
“S’alright,” he said instead. “Not really any movies I want to see, and it’s no fun playing miniature golf or going bowling by yourself.” He rocked on the heels of his bare feet. “Maybe I’ll just pop in a video and move Grandma’s buffet behind the door in case I get any unwelcome visitors.”
“Jason,” Dan groaned. The past uneventful week had all but solidified Dan’s theory that a serial killer did not exist. He took Detective Simons’ silence as a message that the last two murders were indeed unrelated and that their participation was no longer needed. “You want safety in numbers? Go to the prom!”
“Dad? Hel-lo? I missed the ticket deadline. I don’t have a tux, or anything comparable, and I’m standing unshaven in shorts and a t-shirt.”
Dan peered into the bedroom, smelling of aftershave. Jason unshaven looked pretty much like Jason shaven, so that was hardly an issue. He nodded toward the clothing bag. “Zip that open, would you?” he asked.
Jason did as asked, discovering not the garish Saturday Night Fever getup his father threatened to wear, but a crisp black tuxedo with matching green tie and cummerbund. The suit was his size, and Jason was a good size smaller than his father.
“Dad,” a twinge of panic filled the boy’s voice. “They gave you the wrong si—” he stopped when he saw the wide grin on Dan’s face. “What?”
“You still don’t get it, do you?” Dan alm
ost laughed. “That’s your tuxedo. My suit’s been in the closet all week. You’re going to the prom, buddy!”
“What? How?”
“Willie’s the committee sponsor, remember? She got you the ticket, if you still want it.”
“Hell, yes!” Jason cried, then realized his slip. Dan did not care for profanity around the house, no matter how mild. “Sorry,” he said to Dan’s surprised glare.
If Dan was irked, he did not let it show. “That’s good to hear, otherwise that suit rental would be coming out of your pocket.”
“Sorry to say my pockets aren’t that deep,” Jason chortled. “I don’t get paid that much, considering I just quit my job.”
“Clean up and get dressed, Prom Boy. Shoes are next to mine in the closet and Mitch’ll be by in thirty to pick you up.”
Jason grabbed the clothing bag and dashed back to his own bedroom, his head swimming. To think five minutes earlier he was depressed beyond belief, on top of being worried about being alone for the night. Now he did not know how to feel—excited that he would not be missing out on the prom after all, nervous that the entire school would be exposed to his lackluster dancing skills, happy to be included...
He took off his clothes and jumped in the shower. The four-way medal he always wore jingled as he scrubbed his bare chest, and bits of soap got caught in the pewter chain links.
Dad and Miss Pratt, Jason smiled, God bless them. They thought of everything.
Except a date.
Jason squeezed his eyes shut and tilted his face into the path of the shower head. Oh, well, he thought, surely there would be an unattached girl there who did not mind dancing with someone who looked like he was having a seizure.
* * * *
When Jason followed Mitch out the door—not before several minutes of posing for Willie’s camera—he recognized distinctly the shadowed figure of Mimi, her hair swept up into a pile of curls on her head, waiting patiently in the front seat.
“I thought you were taking Caitlin,” Jason said. “You asked her at the restaurant.”
Mitch shrugged. “Last minute thing. Her dress didn’t match my tie. Would you believe Mimi asked me to go?” He unlocked the driver-side door and mashed the power-lock button to allow Jason entrance. Jason dipped inside and complimented Mimi on her billowing emerald gown, mentioning that she should have come inside so Willie could take a picture.
Mimi smiled and rolled her eyes; layers of crinoline crunched underneath her. “No, thank you. My parents have been taking pictures all day! At the salon, in front of the house, by the pool, and on and on.” She tossed her head against the headrest. A strand of hair came loose and she brushed it back behind her ear with her left hand, her corsage secured around the wrist with elastic. “It got worse when Mitch arrived.”
Mitch backed out of the Greevey’s driveway and started out toward Princess Anne Road. Everybody waved when Dan and Willie exited the house in their formalwear.
“Tell me about it,” Mitch groaned. “I just hope I can get us there alive. All I see are flashbulb spots.”
Several prom couples and dressed groups were milling around the Waterside Sheraton when Mitch parked the car in an adjacent garage. Some strolled arm in arm along the river’s edge, having come from a pre-dance dinner at a nearby steakhouse, while others alighted gracefully from rented limousines straight through the hotel lobby entrance, awash in pastels and tails.
They spotted Gooch studying the hotel directory, his arm draped casually around Jenny’s shoulders. He did not appear surprised to see Jason either, further proving Jason’s suspicions that Operation Prom was a group effort. “Check this out,” Gooch tapped the glass-covered felt board sign. “Blair High’s prom is down the hall from ours. I got some friends there tonight, we should crash and say hello.”
“Maybe,” Mitch nodded toward the ballroom where Colley High’s prom was in full swing. An epileptic techno dance beat boomed from the doorway, where Denise Jones of the prom committee sat at a card table collecting tickets and distributing the commemorative brandy snifters. A frosted silhouette of a romantic couple clasping hands and gazing out at the sea from a ship’s railing was etched on each one. A Date with Destiny, Colley Avenue High School Junior/Senior Prom was scripted in a circle around the image.
Jason surrendered his ticket and followed his friends inside. The ballroom was dark, illuminated only by a thousand tiny spots reflected from an overhead mirrorball which rotated slowly. A disc jockey sorted compact discs to play as Beyonce blared from speakers on either side of the dance floor, which took up the far third of the entire floor. Few couples danced, as the majority of students either sat at round tables enjoying samples from the buffet or waited in line at the photo station.
They found a table by the far window overlooking the Elizabeth River and the shipyards in West Norfolk and unloaded snifters and purses. Jenny immediately suggested a group picture, but Jason was reluctant to play the fifth wheel for the entire night. He certainly did not want a photograph as evidence.
Mimi tugged on Jason’s sleeve. “Please?” she wheedled. “This is the only time all of us will probably be together all dressed up like this.”
“Oh, now you want a picture?” Jason teased her. “After the paparazzi at your house. Really, Mimi, I —”
“That’s different,” Mimi insisted. “These are professional pictures, and the only ones that’ll probably come out well, knowing how lousy my dad is at taking pictures.” She struck a noble profile. “Let’s make sure they get my good side.”
Mitch patted his date’s backside. “Taken care of,” he said eagerly, and Mimi playfully shoved him away.
“Alright, alright,” Jason acquiesced. “I’ll stand in the group photo, but that’s it. Dad’s taken enough of me by myself. I don’t need anymore, professional or no.” Willie must have burned up half a roll on photos on him alone, not to mention father and son together mugging by the fireplace and on the couch with a camera-shy Ringo, who kept burying his head in Dan’s lap. The second half was spent on Dan and Willie poses, presumably to send to all of her relatives in Georgia.
Yet there they were again, Jason noticed, in line behind some students. They must have slipped inside right after he and Mitch arrived, he guessed.
“S’alright.” Gooch ribbed Jason. “You can pose with your dad and Miss Pratt, too.”
“Funny.”
Jenny was growing impatient. “Let’s go,” she ordered, ushering the group toward the growing line. Three more couples had already fallen in behind Dan and Willie. “Let’s get it over with, so we can dance and get messy without having to worry about pictures.”
“Where’s Caitlin?” Jason asked. “She should be in the picture, too.” She was not around when they arrived, and since he did not know who was escorting her, Jason could not begin to single out her date. He scanned the tables and dance floor while Jenny left in a huff to get a place in line, dragging the school’s baseball star behind her.
Finally Jason’s gaze rested upon the entrance, distracted momentarily by a flash of white shirt covered by an olive plaid sport coat. Lawrence Brantley had arrived at the prom, and judging by the creased frown on the man’s face and the manner in which he tossed his ticket on the table, Jason surmised the teacher’s presence was not voluntary. Why Willie and the prom committee would have approached him to chaperon in the first place was beyond him; Brantley looked ready to sulk in a corner and sneak out to the hotel bar for liquid reinforcement.
That thought faded, however, when Caitlin appeared in the doorway, stopping Brantley in mid-scowl and causing several heads to turn in her direction.
Wow.
Her outfit was vintage uppercrust—a burgundy, high-waisted gown trimmed in gold with short, ruffled sleeves. A gold-rimmed cameo pendant looped through a dark ribbon accented the outfit and rested snugly against her throat, and her flaxen blond hair was fashioned in an Eva Peron style bun. Jenny, having forgotten the urgency of a prom photo, quickly rushed over to he
r friend gushing compliments, as did Mimi and several others.
Jason stood rooted to the spot at the far end from the entrance, clearly taken aback by his friend’s appearance. Not that Caitlin had never come to class well-coiffed, but at this moment, Caitlin looked...how? Words caught in his throat. Ethereal? Regal? Noble? Did any of those descriptions do her justice?
Even Lawrence Brantley was edging into the throng of girls surrounding Caitlin, and she appeared to be listening to his eager chatter with one ear while simultaneously nodding to other comments. Dan Greevey, meanwhile, noticed his son noticing Caitlin and waved to get Jason’s attention. Once successful, Dan cocked his head toward the horde of young ladies as if to say, “Get over there!”
Jason did not feel his feet as he approached, it was like he was gliding across the room on a conveyor belt. He expected the background noise to dissolve into his own heavy heartbeat, but one song blended into another and the DJ took to his microphone, imploring everyone to dance. Caitlin saw Jason approaching and quickly broke free from everyone.
Mystery Bundle (Saints Preserve Us, Pray For Us Sinners, Murder Most Trivial) Page 58