"No, nothing like that. I just need a place to stay for a couple of days."
"What about all those great friends of yours? I thought Munch was supposed to help you."
"She did. She was."
"What did you do?"
"Nothing," Ellen said, hating the whining tone that had crept into her voice. "Nothing that was my fault."
"Where have I heard that before? You sound funny."
"I'm just tired."
"Don't give me that crap. What are you on now?"
Ellen took a sip of beer before she answered. This was all so unfair. "Nothing, Mom. Can't you ever believe your own daughter?"
"You stole my sewing machine."
"That was ten years ago," Ellen said. "Could you please just not argue with me?" She exhaled, took a second to collect herself, then began again. "All right, here's the deal. I messed up a little, but now I want to start staying clean again. I just need a little help."
Lila Mae sighed into the phone. "Where are you? I'll send Dwayne to pick you up."
"Can't you come?"
"No, I've got the league tonight."
Oh, well then. That was that. God forbid she should neglect the league or miss a goddamn tournament for once in her life. "You know what, Mom? I think I can get this situation under control myself."
"You sure?"
"Yeah," Ellen said. "Forget I even called." She hung up. Fuck it. She still had over two hundred bucks left. She had hoped to hand it all over to Munch, but twenty bucks was going to have to go for a motel room.
"Everything all right?" Tommy asked.
"Oh, yeah, hunkydory. Say, Tommy, you think you could give me a ride over to my friend's house to pick up my stuff?"
CHAPTER 19
He slipped into the dark house without causing a ripple in the neighborhood. The back door was a simple lock, easily picked. He moved like a shadow, not making a sound and wending through the quiet rooms like a wraith of smoke. The power of his daring surged through him, lightening his step and stiffening his cock.
The house had two bedrooms, one of them belonging to a child—a little girl. Pictures of the girl were all over the refrigerator: dressed in a tutu, sitting astride a pony, feeding a cockatiel on some sort of stage. The mother was obviously very pleased to have delivered herself of a girl-child.
He moved to the front bedroom. The noises of the boulevard filtered through to him. At times like these all his senses were extraordinarily acute. That was part of the gift. The curtains of the room were drawn, but a small slit of light from a streetlamp sneaked through where they didn't quite meet. There was enough illumination for him to see that he was in the mother's bedroom. Suddenly the noises from the street grew more personal. He heard the outside gate swing open, footsteps on the path outside the window. He froze, waiting. There was a slight shuffling noise he couldn't identify, and then the scratch of a key entering a lock, the thunk of a dead bolt turning. He took a step deeper into the room's shadows. When the front door opened, he also opened the closet.
Whoever had entered the house did not put on the lights immediately. He listened while the person stumbled in the dark, then entered the child's room. At last a light was put on. He slipped into the open closet, letting the female fabrics hanging there softly caress his face. It was all he could do not to moan out loud. He put a hand over his erection. as if to hold it back.
He reached down and slowly lifted his pant leg. The three-fingered grip of his stinger pleased him. He eased it from the scabbard strapped to his shin. ·
Noises of objects being moved and dragged across the wooden floor of the child's room masked his own stealthy steps. He heard the intruder murmur. It was a woman. He left the closet to sneak a peek out the bedroom window.
Outside, a man leaned against a yellow Volkswagen Beetle smoking a cigarette. The woman in the house carried a suitcase out to the man with the car. He watched as she stuck out her hand in that splayed two-finger gesture smokers use to indicate they want a drag. The woman inhaled deeply on the cigarette while the Volkswagen man put her bag in his backseat. Then she turned toward the house. He couldn't believe his luck. It was that Ellen creature. Obviously the fates were with him. He saw that she had changed her hair again. Deceptive bitch. She was a blonde now.
She threw down the cigarette. He hated her for her casual littering, her disregard for others. She turned back toward the house, and he lifted his stinger in readiness.
* * *
"So what's with him?" Munch asked Caroline as they set the table. Asia was taking a bath before dinner.
"What do you mean?" Caroline asked.
"What's he so mad about all the time?" Munch felt she'd earned the privilege of cutting through the bullshit and getting right to the heart of the matter. Hadn't she been instrumental in the two of them getting together?
Caroline sighed as she smoothed out a place mat. "He's been like that for months."
"Since his dad died?"
"It started even before that." She pulled out a chair and sat. Munch did the same. "Right after Christmas, Digger stopped eating."
"He told me that," Munch said.
"He did?" Caroline asked, surprise showing on her face.
"Yeah, he said you had to grind everything up in the blender before the old guy would even look at it."
"We tried everything. Small portions, only the freshest ingredients. Sometimes he would eat sweets; mostly he just wanted to be left alone. Mace tried to keep him involved in life, but Digger was just tired. The last few months were the worst."
"Was he in pain?" Munch asked.
"It wasn't so much physical," Caroline said. "Digger thought we were after his money. Once I did my laundry here when the housekeeper took a day off. This was before we moved in full-time. Digger wanted to know why I was using up all his water."
"Sounds like you should have been the one to get pissed off."
"Believe me," Caroline said. "There were times. When I first met Digger, I thought, How cute, this is what Mace will be like in forty years. I loved them both. After living through this last year, I began to look at Mace and think, Now I know what he's going to be like in forty years."
"And you hated them both," Munch said.
Caroline adjusted the salt shaker. "I was tired. Taking care of Digger was like having a newborn. He woke up all hours of the night, needed constant attention, messed his clothes. It got pretty horrendous. But as bad as it was for me, it was that and more for Mace. Once Digger beckoned for Mace from his chair. Mace came to him immediately, as he always did. 'I've got nobody,' Digger said. Mace said, 'What are you talking about, Dad? You've got me, you've got Caroline.' Digger just shook his head, and said, 'I've got nobody.'"
"That's cold," Munch said.
"I wanted to throttle him," Caroline admitted.
"So maybe it wasn't all bad when he died."
"Strangely enough, I was devastated," Caroline said. "As much as I knew it was his time, and that Digger really wanted to go, we still had so much invested in keeping him going on a daily basis. In some ways, it was like losing a child. I cried until I could barely stand. Mace got angry with me—told me he needed me to be strong."
"Tough guy, huh?" Munch said in her best Cagney impression. This brought a small smile to Caroline's lips. "I don't get a big picture of him ever breaking down and crying. Did he?"
"Not in front of me."
"Too bad he couldn't let it out."
Caroline wiped her eyes, and sighed. "I'm tired of knocking at that door."
Munch nodded in understanding, searching her own history for similar experiences. When she thought of Derek, she laughed.
"What?" Caroline asked.
"I'm sorry," Munch said. "I was just thinking it can go too far the other way, too. Take Derek, for instance. Every night when I got home from work, he couldn't wait to share with me all his thoughts and feelings for the day. Right before we broke up, he told me there was some poll on TV about what women wanted most from th
eir spouses. Eighty percent of the woman responded that they wished their mate would open up and talk about his emotions more. Derek was so proud. Then I pointed out that ninety percent of those men probably had jobs and were tired when they got home."
"Did he get the hint?" Caroline asked.
"No," Munch said. "I don't think he's gotten it yet."
"They can be so dense."
"Tell me about it." Munch rubbed a spot on the table. "Is that why you separated?"
"Most of the reason. Starting even before Digger died it seemed the more I tried to reach Mace, the more hostile and distant he became. Maybe it was mostly subconscious, but it was pretty clear to me he was doing everything he could think of to sabotage us, our love. He finally succeeded. What's really sad is that my giving up on us finally got his attention. Ironic, isn't it? We're both getting what we wanted, and now it's too late."
"So are you guys getting a divorce?" she asked. The question had been on the tip of her tongue all afternoon, but she had been avoiding asking, fearing the answer. She'd been to Mace and Caroline's wedding. Cried when they promised each other their eternal love. Cried because it was such a beautiful, preposterous sentiment.
Caroline's tone was resigned when she answered. "Probably. I keep trying to make allowances for all that he's been through. Then last month I found a condom wrapper in his suit pocket. I confronted him about it. He admitted that he had seen an old girlfriend, they had drinks, one thing led to another—"
"Wait a minute," Munch interrupted. "You're saying he just left it in his pocket?
"A bit careless, don't you think?" Caroline asked, raising an eyebrow.
"Suicidal," Munch agreed. "Is that when you finally figured, 'Enough already'?"
"He thinks so. The truth is I can get past that. What can't take any longer is how he refuses to open up to me. How he holds on to all his anger and doesn't leave room for anything else."
"Yeah," Munch said, "I know what you mean. Love only goes so far. You try to give a guy every break, then one day you just reach a point where it's taking you down."
Caroline got up and checked the casserole in the oven.
"Enough about me. Tell me about Asia's father," she said.
"Mace said he passed away? How long ago was that?"
"Six years." Munch wiped her palms on her pants. She always got nervous when she was about to reveal a secret, especially a big one. "He—"
"Mom," Asia called from the bathroom. "I'm getting all wrinkly."
"All right," Munch said, getting up so quickly that her chair tipped over. "I'll be right there."
The phone rang as Munch entered the bathroom. Caroline picked it up in the living room. Munch opened the bathtub drain, then unfolded a towel for Asia to step into. As she rubbed her daughter dry, Caroline stuck her head into the bathroom. 'That was Detective Cassiletti. He's coming by to take you to your house."
"What clothes do you want?" Munch asked Asia.
"Hmmm," she said, looking skyward. "Can't I just go with you?"
"No, I want you to stay here."
"Is Mace coming back?" Asia asked.
"Later."
"Bring my pink dress," Asia said.
"Is that what you want to wear to school tomorrow?"
"I guess."
Munch ruffled the towel over Asia's damp hair, then gathered the girl in her arms and hugged her. "I love you," she said. l
"l love you, too," Asia mumbled back.
Munch slipped one of Caroline's T-shirts over the little girl's head.
"You know, when I was your age I used to camp out like this with my mom," Munch said.
"I know," Asia said, rolling her eyes and slumping her small shoulders. "And you used to have to wash your hair in the sinks at the laundromat." ,
"Oh," Munch said. "I told you that already."
"Yesss," Asia said, her tone long-suffering.
A car horn honked outside. "That's probably Detective Cassiletti now,' Munch said. "Be a good girl. Do what Mrs. St. John says. When I get back, we'll all play a game." She turned to Caroline before walking out the door. "When I get back, there's something I need to tell you about"
* * *
He entered the hallway connecting the two bedrooms, waiting for the moment when she would cross in front of him.
"You almost ready?" the Volkswagen man's voice called from the open front door.
"Just about," he heard Ellen reply.
He pulled back, controlling his breathing with great difficulty. Sweat dampened his neck and ran down his face. He could taste the saltiness of it already on his lips. Not at all like blood. He retraced his steps backward into the other bedroom. The frustration of unrequited appetite felt like a claw in his chest. He felt the squeeze of repression, so tangible that he had trouble drawing a breath.
"You want some help?" Volkswagen man's voice came from the living room, but judging from the street noise, the front door was still wide-open. Were these people raised in a barn? he wondered.
Ellen entered the hallway. "Nah," she said. "I'm all set. Let me just lock the place back up, and we're out of here." He waited until he heard the door being locked. Then he watched from the bedroom as they loaded a large shopping bag into the man's car. It was an easy matter to take down the license plate, but this did little to ease his frustration. The next time we meet, he promised her, it will be em my terms.
He still had an erection. Perhaps he was just getting old, but achieving emission was becoming more difficult all the time. He stopped in the kitchen to take one of the child's pictures off of the refrigerator. He chose the one of her in her pink ballet costume with the provocative scooped neck. Then he returned to the child's room and sought the delicate underthings that caressed her young flesh.
* * *
Munch let herself into her house. A house that now felt dangerous. She saw a movement in the shadows and grabbed Cassiletti's arm in reflex.
"You Want me to go in first?" he asked.
"No, I just got freaked out for a second," she said. "You know how you sometimes see things out of the corner of your; eye, but then when you turn real quick there's nothing there and you could have sworn there was an animal in the room or something?" '
Cassiletti listened with a growing look of consternation on his face. "No," he said.
"Hmm," she said. "Never mind then." Maybe the phenomenon had more to do with all the psychedelics she'd taken, in which case he wasn't going to get it. She pushed the door open and immediately turned on the light. The house looked the same as she had left it that morning. She walked over to the answering machine and saw that she had a message. She pushed play and listened to Ellen's fumbling apology. Tears of relief filled her eyes.
"Sounds like she made it back to town," she said to Cassiletti.
"Do you have an extra tape you can put into the machine?" he asked.
"Yeah, sure," she said. She made the switch. He held out his hand, and she handed him the tape with Ellen's message on it.
Munch gathered some clothes and went into Asia's room. Cassiletti followed.
"She was here," she told Cassiletti. "She took her stuff."
Munch opened Asia's dresser drawer, the one the little girl kept her socks and underpants in. This month's clothes obsession included her set of new pink underwear. There were seven of them, each had a different day of the week embroidered across the front. Asia would be inconsolable if Munch returned without them. It only took a moment to realize that Monday through Wednesday were gone.
"Huh," she said out loud.
"What?" Cassiletti asked, coming to her side.
"Why would Ellen take Asia's underwear?" Munch spotted several creamy white drops of something fluid on some of Asia's socks. "What's 'this?" she asked, reaching toward the stuii'.
"Hold it right there," Cassiletti said. "Don't touch anything."
"What is it?" she asked.
"I'll know for sure in a minute," he said. "C'mon."
She followed him out to
his car, where he retrieved a drop light with a purple bulb.
"What's that for?" she asked.
"Certain body fluids fluoresce under ultraviolet light," he said. They returned to Asia's room. Cassiletti plugged his light in and turned it on, instructing Munch to turn off the overhead lights. When he shined the black light into Asia's drawer, a linear spray pattern of thumbtack-sized spots glowed.
"What kind of body fluids specifically? she asked, not wanting to believe what she already thought.
"Sperm," he said.
"Oh, God," Munch said. "What kind of a sick fuck . . . ?"
Her voice trailed off. She was at a loss for words to adequately describe the murderous rage filling her. She instinctively began collecting sharp and heavy objects, going through the motions of what she would have done to this guy if she had caught him in the act. First she would crush his balls, then she'd smash his face.
Cassiletti stood in the hallway, watching her pace and swear. Hot saliva filled her mouth. She turned into the bath room, spit into the sink, then ran the cold tap water into a washcloth and held it to her burning face and neck.
"I'm going to use the phone," Cassiletti called to her.
"Go ahead," she said. She heard him go into the living room. She put down the washcloth and stared at her red eyes in the medicine cabinet mirror. Cassiletti was using the phone in the dining room. She heard him ask to speak to Detective St. John. His voice sounded agitated as he described what they'd found. Hearing it all recounted got her upset all over again. She strode into her front room and wrenched the phone from Cassiletti's hand.
"Can you believe this motherfucker?" she asked.
"Go back to Digger's house," Mace said. "I'll meet you there. In fact, I'll spend the night with you guys."
"You'll get no argument from me," Munch said. She looked at her right hand and saw that she was clutching a claw hammer. That is weird, she thought. I don't even remember picking it up.
CHAPTER 20
At eight o'clock Monday morning, Munch called Ellen's mom.
"Hi, Mrs. Summers," she said, trying to sound upbeat. "It's Munch."
"What time is it?"
"I'm sorry to be calling so early, but I really need to find Ellen. Have you heard from her?"
Unwanted Company - Barbara Seranella Page 16