by Ed Gorman
"No."
"Boy, do you have an experience ahead of you."
Thinking of Jenny's tiny voice on the other end of the phone, Diane said, "Oh, hurry, Robert. Let's go get her as soon as possible."
"Ten minutes. Fifteen at most."
"I'm getting scared."
He laughed. "Just bite your nails some more. That should keep you calm."
And with that, he hung up.
In the doorway, a red woolen scarf wrapped around his neck, Robert looked as if he were about to go caroling.
"Would you like to come in for a cup of coffee before we go over?"
"Still scared, huh?"
"Not so much scared as…I just feel awkward, I guess. I've known them for a few years and—"
"I know what you're talking about." He nodded to the cozy house inside. "You can always stay here and I can handle it alone. I'm sure it won't be a big deal."
"Well…" She thought about his invitation for a moment. "No. Jenny's well-being is at stake. That's what I've got to keep remembering."
"So you're going to go?"
"Yes. Just give me a minute."
He stepped inside, closing the door against the freezing night, while she took her coat, hat, gloves and snow boots from the closet. Within a minute, she was well bundled against tie cold.
"Ready?" he said.
"Ready."
They went out the door, locking it behind them, Diane dropping the key in her coat pocket. A golden half-moon perched on the tops of the scrub pines on the crest of the hill behind Stoneridge, and clouds the color of sterling silver raced across the black sky.
As they tramped through the heavy snow, Diane took Robert's hand. "Do you mind?"
"I'm flattered."
She laughed. "That was exactly the right thing to say."
They went the rest of the way in silence, their footsteps crunching frozen snow, a nearby dog sounding cold and lonely in the night.
Lights shined beyond the curtains in the downstairs of the McCay's house. Smoke twisted gray from the chimney up into the night sky. Soundtrack laughter from a television sitcom became louder, the closer they got.
Diane took in a very deep breath and held it. "You all right?"
"Breathing exercises," she explained. "They're supposed to calm me down."
At the door, he knocked with a big gloved hand. They stood back, waiting. Diane continued her breathing exercises.
There was no response.
"Hmm," Robert said, inclining his head toward the door. The TV sitcom played on. Behind the curtains, the lights continued to shine.
Robert knocked again, louder this time, the report of it sharp on the silent winter air.
After a minute, he knocked once more. This time the force of his fist was thunderous.
When there was still no response, he tried the knob. Locked.
"Is there a back door?"
"Yes," Diane said. "Do you think she's all right?"
"I hope so. Why don't you show me the back entrance?"
As they walked around the side of the huge house, she told him about the phone call from Jenny. "But the connection was so bad I couldn't tell if she was all right or not."
"I guess we'll find out soon enough."
The screened-in porch in the rear was draped in moonlight and shadow. Dust devils of snow sprayed against the screening. He went up the steps and tried the door. That, too, was locked.
Before Diane realized what he was doing, he pulled his service revolver. "Why don't you wait here?"
"Where are you going?"
"Inside. Through this door."
But he had barely finished speaking when the dark night was flooded with warm yellow light from the ceiling of the porch.
In the back door stood Jeff McCay, dressed in a robe, pajamas, and holding a cup of what Diane sensed would be hot chocolate.
"Hi, Diane. Is everything all right?" Jeff called in a pleasant voice. "We were all upstairs in bed. We kept thinking we heard somebody knock, but we couldn't be sure."
By now, he had come across the porch and unlocked the door for them. "Why don't you come in? Doesn't take long to get frozen on a night like this." For the first time, he looked curious about Robert—who he was and what he was doing there.
Glancing over his shoulder and shrugging, Robert gave Diane a what-is-going-on-here? look. His service revolver had disappeared back into his shoulder holster.
In the center of the kitchen stood Mindy and Jenny, both turned out in pajamas, robes, fuzzy slippers, and holding steaming mugs of hot chocolate with plump white marshmallows bobbing in them.
"Hi, Diane," Mindy said. "You out for a walk?"
Not knowing what to say, Diane leaned down and looked at Jenny. "And how are you doing, honey?"
"Fine, Aunt Diane," Jenny said, shaking her pigtails as she raised her glass for Diane to inspect. "I love marshmallows, don't you?"
Diane's first impression was that she'd wandered onto the set of Saturday Night Live, which was in the process of doing a scathing satire on bland suburbanites. At best, the McCay's had always been cordial, but never more than that—certainly never this beaming, nearly ecstatic trio.
"We were just upstairs reading, sipping our hot chocolate and reading Jenny some American history," Jeff said.
Mindy patted Jenny on the shoulder. "She'd rather study American history and what made this country great than read anything else, wouldn't you, Jenny?"
"Oh, yes," Jenny said. "I love American history." She gave an impish little smile. "That, and helping Mindy with her work."
"You have a job now, Mindy?" Diane said.
Mindy shook her head dismissively. "Oh, it's not really a job. It's just…helping the elderly and the poor at the Coleman Center three days a week."
Jeff slid his arm around his wife. "Isn't she something? Helping the elderly and the poor and still finding time to make the best hot chocolate in the Midwest."
The three of them laughed with great satisfaction over what wonderful people they were.
Diane was torn between wanting to throw up—she hadn't heard such overly-sweet dialogue since "Father Knows Best"—and wondering just what was going on there.
A glance at Robert told her he was wondering the same thing, his eyes studying the kitchen curiously, and then looking beyond into the dining room. Obviously he was trying to reconcile the maid-perfect condition of this house with the description of mess, blood, and feces Diane had given him. It was as if a new house had been erected on the site of the old one.
"But why are we standing here? Why don't you come in the living room and Mindy will make you some hot chocolate?" Jeff said.
Before either of them could protest, Diane and Robert were escorted into the living room, which had looked, that afternoon, as if terrorists had worked it over. Now, it was fastidious, beautiful, and inviting, with not so much as a single magazine out of place.
Meeting Robert's increasingly puzzled look, Diane sat down on the edge of a divan.
"With or without?" Jeff said.
"With or without?" Diane asked.
"With or without marshmallows?" Jeff laughed. "Kind of a family joke."
"Oh—with, I guess," Diane said.
Robert nodded. "With for me, too."
"Great. Now you two just relax and have yourselves a nice little visit with Jenny."
After Jeff left, Jenny went over and seated herself primly in a wing chair. Her feet did not touch the floor. She took a drink of her hot chocolate and yawned.
"How are you feeling, Jenny?" Diane asked.
"Oh. Fine. I like when it's cold outside. I feel nice and snug inside." She gave Diane a most serious look. "Plus Jeff rented Cinderella tonight and it was great."
"You didn't…call me earlier tonight, did you?"
"You mean on the phone, Aunt Diane?"
"Yes. On the phone."
"No, I didn't. Why?"
"Oh, somebody called and I just thought it…might be you."
&nbs
p; "No," Jenny said. "I was watching Cinderella"
"You sure seem to be doing well."
"Oh, I am. Jeff and Mindy are lots of fun." Again, there was that edge of burlesque in the child's voice—somebody playing at being happy rather than simply being it.
"Do you suppose you'll go back to school soon?"
Jenny raised her shoulders. "I guess. Maybe next fall. Right now I'm just supposed to be resting."
"I see."
"Say, excuse me," Robert said, "do you suppose I could go upstairs and use the bathroom?"
"Oh, sure," Jenny said. "Do you think you can find it okay? I can get Jeff to show you where it is."
"Oh, no, I'll be fine," Robert said, standing up.
Diane understood what he was doing, of course, besides maybe really having to go to the bathroom. He wanted to check out the upstairs.
While Robert was gone, Diane said, "So it wasn't you on the phone tonight?"
"No, it wasn't, Aunt Diane. You seem upset about that."
"It's just—just that I don't see you very often anymore. I thought it would be nice if you'd start phoning me again the way you did when you were a very little girl."
"You liked that, huh?"
"Yes, I did, honey, very much."
"Then I'll start calling you again."
"I'd really appreciate that."
She was just about to ask Jenny a few more questions when Jeff reappeared, bearing two steaming cups of hot chocolate. "Here you go, folks," he said in his game-show-host tone. Looking around, he said, "Where's your friend?"
"His name's Robert, and I'm sorry I forgot to introduce you. He went upstairs to use the bathroom."
"Oh, heck," Jeff said, handing Diane her cup. "He could've used the one down here."
Jeff went over and sat on the divan, facing Diane, who found herself staring closely at his face. That afternoon he'd had no features at all, only those glowing eyes…
"Well," Jeff said, "we haven't seen you in quite a while. Weeks, at least."
Was this his way of denying that that afternoon had taken place?
"I was just telling Jenny the same thing." Diane said. "Telling her how much I missed her calling me."
Jeff beamed. "Weren't those calls fun! We used to record them so we could hear Jenny try to talk like a grown-up." He turned his beam on Jenny. "So sweet. So precious."
What had happened, Diane wondered, to the old Yuppie Jeff, with his unceasing interest in material things, and his X-ray eyes for Diane's body. Drunk, he'd once even made a mild pass at her. Somehow, he'd now been converted into a sitcom daddy.
Robert walked down the staircase just as Mindy came in from the kitchen. Diane watched Robert's face as he sat down. A look of concern, perhaps even mixed with a little anger, had tightened his usually open features.
After introductions were made, Mindy said, "Jenny asked if you'd like to go to a movie next week."
Diane felt stunned by the invitation. She'd gone over there expecting to find…
"I'd love to."
"Maybe Robert would like to join you," Mindy said, standing behind the wing chair and playing with Jenny's pigtails.
"That would be nice, yes."
Casually, Jeff said, "You're the Chief of police, aren't you?"
"Why, yes, I am." Robert seemed only modestly uncomfortable about being recognized.
Jeff laughed. "Well, we're sure going to feel protected whenever you're in the neighborhood."
More talk ensued, the sort of small talk that most people endure rather than enjoy—this neighbor doing this, this neighbor doing that—and finally both Diane and Robert were finished with their hot chocolate, their cups sitting back in their saucers.
"Like some more?" Mindy said. "There's plenty." Robert held up a palm. "That was just right. Any more would make me full."
"Diane?"
"No, I'm fine, Mindy, thanks."
Robert stood up and put his hand out for Diane. "I don't know about you, but I've got a full day ahead of me tomorrow. And I've had a full day today."
"Were you at the fire that was on the news?" Jeff asked.
"°I sure was. That's why I'm so tired."
Mindy handed them their coats.
Diane, shrugging into hers, bent down and kissed Jenny. The little girl's skin was almost startlingly cold. When Diane pulled back up, she saw Mindy watching her carefully.
"I've really enjoyed seeing you again. Let's get together more often," Jeff said. Clasping a manful hand into Robert's own manful hand, Jeff said, "And that includes you, Chief."
Diane threw one last, nervous glance back at Jenny, who waved politely. Diane preceded Robert out the back door.
When they were away from the house, the snow blew again from the night sky, cold snow demons swirling up into their faces, and Robert said, "I checked out every room upstairs."
"And?"
"The place is so clean and orderly that it could be on the cover of House Beautiful next month."
Those were exactly the words Diane had been afraid he was going to use.
Half an hour later, in Diane's kitchen, she poured Robert his third cup of coffee. "I feel foolish," she said.
He sighed. "They cleaned it up. There's no other explanation."
But she could hear a faint questioning in his tone, as if her stress might be leading her to imagine things. A bone deep exhaustion had crept through Diane's body. She sat, elbows on the table, scarcely able to hold up her coffee cup. Not even massive amounts of caffeine had stirred her. Depressed, confused, she wanted to go to bed and forget everything that had happened that day—from Mindy and Jeff coming after her in the garage to the almost giggly happiness she'd seen in their living room that night.
Several times since sitting down across from Robert in the kitchen she'd been tempted to tell him about that afternoon. But how could she bring it up?
"If they did clean it up," she joked, "I'd sure like to hire them for my spring cleaning." She sipped coffee. "To turn that wreck I saw this afternoon into the showplace we saw tonight—I just don't see how it could be done."
"What other explanation is there?"
"I don't know."
And suddenly there were hot tears in her eyes.
Ordinarily, pride would have kept her from crying in front of Robert, but her exhaustion and her spent nerves gave her tears the feeling of balm. She was helping herself in the only way she could.
After a minute, Robert came around the table, pulled up a chair, and sat down next to her. He slid his arm easily and comfortably around her shoulders and took her to him. She put her face into his strong shoulder and let herself cry all the more.
"I just don't understand," she said. "I just don't see how they could have…"
She started crying again, then, deciding she was being self-indulgent, stopped herself. Using a blue paper napkin as a handkerchief, she blew her nose.
She laughed. "I'll bet I look lovely."
"A little bit like Rudolph the red-nosed reindeer, but, other than that, pretty as usual."
"Thanks for letting me work through that. I guess it was frustration as much as anything. I'd been all ready to march in there so self-righteously and—"
"—and drive out the devils."
"Exactly."
He smiled, patted her hand. "Well, I'm afraid neither one of us did a very good job of that."
He yawned.
"I'm being selfish," she said. "Keeping you up so late. You must be all in after a day like today."
He put his hand to her tear-warm cheek. "I'd like to play the big, macho policeman and tell you that I can handle days like this in stride. But the truth is I'm pooped."
"Boy, I'm glad we met," she said, sliding her arms around his waist.
They indulged in a sort of high-school make-out session, nothing heavy, just a series of pleasantly worn out kisses, embraces, pats, and rubs that made both tired bodies feel a little better.
Afterward, Robert struggled to his feet, struggled through
the living room, and struggled to the hallway closet, where Diane had put his coat. She could see how he was literally dragging.
At the door, the wind spraying snow devils against the glass, he gave her one last kiss, which she happily accepted.
"You go to bed," he said, "right now."
"You, too," she said.
"You don't have to worry about that." He gave her hand a tiny squeeze and then started out the door.
Seeing him turn around, she felt a compulsion to take him in her arms again. Perhaps tomorrow…
"Good night," he said, waving as he walked to his car in the golden light of the drive.
"Good night," she said.
Twenty minutes after Robert left, Diane was under her electric blanket, reading the latest Sidney Sheldon novel. She got through three pages before falling asleep, the winter night vast and dark all around her house, the final light clipped off now that she slept.
Robert knew he should have gone straight home. Not only was he tired, he was perplexed.
He had begun to wonder if Diane was all right. While he had pretended that it was entirely possible for a ransacked house to be put back in perfect order in a matter of hours, he knew that it was an unlikely event, particularly when you added in blood and feces spread all over the walls.
Feeling deeply for Diane, even entertaining the thought of marrying her at some future date, his police training nonetheless made him a realist. The loss of a spouse was one of the major reasons people had breakdowns. While Diane was able to function superficially, he often sensed her loss and occasional despair. It would be easy enough, Clark knew, to transfer this loss and despair to a fantasy about the people in the house next door…whether that fantasy included blood and feces on the walls, or the man of the house running outside naked during a snowstorm.
Thinking of all this, he felt guilty, as if he were betraying his best friend. In a very real way, he was. He drove the narrow, two-lane blacktop that took him back to town, a golden oldie on the radio, the heater loud and warm beneath the dash. Snow blew in drifts across the road and every few miles he'd see the bright, sad eyes of some creature caught out in the storm.
He was almost back in town before he abruptly but carefully applied the brakes, found a driveway to turn into, then headed back to Stoneridge.