Don

by Carlene Thompson

"Good gracious," she fluttered. "What's wrong now?"

  "Do you have a nephew named Jeff Lindstrom?"

  A short silence. "Unfortunately, yes. My sister's boy. What do you want to know?"

  "He's here in Port Ariel."

  "You've talked with him?" she asked anxiously. "Did he tell you about me?"

  "I've talked with him, but he never mentioned his relationship to you."

  "Oh." She. drew a breath. "Sheriff, I really don't understand. If he didn't tell you of our relationship, then why are you calling about him?"

  "I found your number in his address book."

  "Address book?"

  "Yes. Let me explain. Lindstrom has been nosing around town for about a week. He's been asking a lot of questions about the murders we've had. Frankly, he's been bothering people, and I told him to back off."

  "He's an awful boy," Constance pronounced. "Pushy. Unprincipled. I think he's a little crazy."

  "Crazy? How is he crazy?"

  "There have been things over the years, things I don't think my sister would want me to discuss. But he's awful, I tell you."

  At least he didn't have to worry about offending the woman, Nick thought. "He claimed he was doing research for a book."

  "A book? I wouldn't know anything about that."

  "Anyway, I need to talk to him again, but he seems to have disappeared and-"

  "Disappeared? What do you mean disappeared? He left town?"

  "If so, he left without his luggage. He hasn't been in his motel room since yesterday afternoon. That's where I found his address book."

  "Oh. Well… well, I don't see what this has to do with me."

  "I thought since your number is in his address book, you might be in touch with him. You might know where he is."

  He had not called because he thought Constance might know Lindstrom's whereabouts. He'd called to get information about their relationship. All the murder victims were connected with Eugene Farley. He had first suspected Constance Farley, but her neighbors confirmed she'd never left Knoxville. Now he found out her nephew was in town and he seemed to be stalking potential victims. Could this woman have dispatched Lindstrom to do her dirty work? That would mean they were both crazy. She said he was crazy. Were they both that crazy? Improbable. Not impossible.

  "I don't know why you think I'd know where that boy is," Constance returned. Her voice shook slightly as if she were controlling her anger. "I didn't even know he was in Port Ariel. I'm not close to him at all. And frankly, Sheriff, I'm getting really tired of these calls. My life hasn't been easy the last two years, but I'm trying to hold on. I was doing fairly well and then you start this… this… harassment!"

  "I didn't mean to harass you, Mrs. Farley."

  "Really? You had the police question my neighbors! How humiliating!"

  "I'm sorry."

  "You should be." Tears in the voice. "I don't know why Jeffrey is there, but believe me, he's a terrible person. Don't talk to him. Don't give him any information."

  "I have no intention of giving him any information about this investigation."

  "Or about Eugene."

  "Mrs. Farley, I didn't know Eugene. I didn't even live in Port Ariel when he… died."

  "I see. Well, I don't mean to sound like a harridan, but I'm just so tired, so nervous, and now he's causing trouble-"

  "Mrs. Farley, you just calm down," Nick said kindly. "I'll take care of Lindstrom."

  "What will you do to him?"

  "Chase him to the town limits."

  "Good!"

  Nick had been trying to strike a lighter note. Did the woman really think he could run someone out of town? "I'm sure I'll locate him soon," he began more seriously. "Everyone involved in this case knows not to talk to him."

  "No, don't talk to him."

  She was certainly adamant about no one talking to Lindstrom, he thought. What was she afraid he'd say? "He won't be a problem for long, Mrs. Farley."

  Nick wished he believed that last sentence. He hung up the phone and rubbed his eyes. Too little sleep since this mess started. Even when he slept, he didn't really sleep. He dreamed of Meagan lying white and frail in a hospital bed connected to blinking, beeping machines as her lively gaze dulled to emptiness. Last night he'd dreamed of Natalie St. John sitting at a table in a dark room. A big, mirrored ball twinkled overhead and a band played. He'd walked over to her table and asked her to dance. She'd smiled sadly and lowered a lacy shawl to expose her neck. "I'm sorry," she'd said. "I love this song, but as you can see, someone has slit my throat."

  "Sheriff?"

  "Damn!" Nick shouted, startled out of a half-sleep and a return to the horrible dream about Natalie. "What is it, Hysell?"

  "Some kid from the Lakeview Motel insists on talking to you. I told him you were busy, but he wouldn't spill his no doubt earth-shattering information to me."

  "Okay, Ted. He's a good kid, just a little overeager. I'll take the call."

  He lifted the receiver and spoke. An ebullient voice announced, "Hey, Sheriff, it's Wade Hanley at the Lakeview."

  He hadn't even caught the kid's name earlier in the day. "So, Wade, has Lindstrom come back?"

  "No. Haven't seen him."

  "What did you need to tell me that you couldn't tell Deputy Hysell?"

  "Something I remembered a few minutes ago. I didn't think Lindstrom was here last night, but I saw a woman leaving his room around ten, so he must have been."

  "A woman? Anyone you know?"

  "Yeah. That's why I didn't want to tell Hysell. I remember her from when I was in the hospital. The woman was Dee Fisher. I've heard she's Hysell's girlfriend. At least she used to be. Did they break up?"

  "Not that I know of," Nick said with interest. "What else can you tell me about her visit?"

  "Nothing. I just saw her coming out of his room to a car. She was alone. She looked awful-scared or mad or something. All worked up."

  "Has she been back today?"

  "No."

  Nick suddenly recalled telling Natalie that perhaps this was not Lindstrom's first visit to Port Ariel. If he were having a woman make calls for him, it could be someone he'd gotten to know here. "Got another question for you, Wade. Has Lindstrom ever stayed at the motel before?"

  "Gotta think on that one a minute. You know during school I don't work as much, don't see as much. I don't remember him especially, but…"

  "But?" Nick prompted.

  "But there's something kind of familiar about him. First time he came in the office I thought I might have seen him before."

  "Think on it some more. And thanks, Wade. You've been a big help."

  "Hey, I'm lovin' all this mystery. I'm gonna stay up all night and see if Lindstrom comes back."

  Hysell burst into the office just as Nick was hanging up and frowning over this latest development. "I know you don't think much of our tech department, Sheriff, but they did some pretty good work at the St. John house." Ted slapped down a report on Nick's desk. "No fingerprints except Natalie's, the doctor's, that woman he's seeing, and a cleaning lady who comes in once a week. I guess St. John doesn't entertain too much. The blood in the hall was cow blood. Sort of watery like it might have come from a package of beef. Not too creepy. The skull's a different matter."

  Ted lapsed into one of his dramatic pauses that drove Nick wild. One day he'd snap, draw his gun, and shoot the deputy. Then he'd be arrested and thrown in his own jail. Until that day he would force himself to smile placidly and ask the expected questions. "What about the skull, Hysell?"

  "It's human. Male." Ted leaned over the desk, flipped through the pages of the report, and emphatically tapped his fingers on a photo of the skull. "According to the M.E. about fifty years old."

  "Is it the skull of a fifty-year-old male or a fifty-year-old skull?"

  "Huh? Oh, he didn't say. Anyway, there's not a bit of dirt on it. He said it was a fine specimen-almost antiseptic. His word."

  "Interesting."

  "Just 'interesting'? Sher
iff, it was once somebody's head" Ted said portentously.

  "Most human skulls were."

  "Yeah, but you don't find them laying around everywhere. Who do you suppose dug this up?"

  "I don't believe anyone dug it up." Nick held the photo of the skull under his desk light and looked at it closely. " 'Alas, poor Yorick! I knew him, Horatio, a fellow of infinite jest, of most excellent fancy.' "

  After a moment Ted said carefully, "Sheriff, you think you know who this person was? Some guy named Yorick?"

  Nick exploded into laughter. Ted recoiled, stung. "Sorry, Ted, I'm so tired I'm giddy. I was quoting the little bit of Shakespeare I know."

  "Oh, Shakespeare," Ted said disdainfully. "I never liked him myself. He took forever to say anything. I mean, why didn't he just say it instead of talking in circles? I think he must have been getting paid by the word."

  "So you don't read Shakespeare's sonnets to Dee?"

  Ted relaxed and smiled. "She'd kick me all around the room if I tried anything so sissy. Besides, I only know one poem. 'The Charge of the Light Brigade.' Had to memorize it in eighth grade and I never could get rid of it."

  Ted made the poem sound like a bad cold he couldn't shake. " 'Charge of the Light Brigade' isn't too romantic. Better to stick with flowers and candy."

  "Yeah. Maybe I should try some flowers," Ted said unhappily. "She might like flowers."

  Nick looked at him sharply. So Ted already sensed there was trouble in Paradise. Did he know the trouble involved Jeff Lindstrom?

  "Where's your dad tonight?" Jimmy asked.

  "Out looking for that girl. Alison something. Mrs. Collins was talking on the phone and she said Alison was crazy as a loon. I read about loons in the encyclopedia. The article didn't say anything about loons being crazy."

  "I told you not to read so much and who cares about loons, anyway?" Jimmy held up the Polaroid. "Got my dad's camera again. Tonight's perfect for going to the Saunders house and getting a picture of the killer."

  Paige ran the toe of her tennis shoe over a clump of crabgrass. "It's kind of early."

  "Yeah, but it's been a gloomy day. It's almost dark an hour earlier than usual. Besides, your dad's gone and Mrs. Collins will be jabbering on the phone for hours about this crazy Alison person. It's the perfect time." He paused. "Unless you're too scared."

  Paige's blue eyes flared. "I told you I'm not scared!"

  "My mom says actions speak louder than words. If you're scared, you can just stay here and I'll tell you all about taking a picture of a murderer. It won't be as exciting as being there…"

  "I have a feeling I'll get caught."

  "You always have a feeling you're gonna get caught and you never do." Jimmy draped the camera strap around his neck and hopped on his bike. "Are you coming or not?"

  Paige looked up at the dreary, pewter sky. All day Mrs. Collins had predicted rain, but it had never come. The hours had simply spun out in gloomy endlessness. She was bored.

  She wanted to please Jimmy. Getting a picture of a mad killer was the chance of a lifetime.

  "Okay, I'll come," Paige sighed.

  She climbed on her bike and pedaled behind Jimmy. As she passed the lighted kitchen window, she saw Mrs. Collins sitting at the table talking animatedly into the phone receiver. She'll never miss me, Paige thought.

  Andrew had been called back to the hospital for an emergency surgery at six. He hadn't wanted to leave Natalie alone and suggested she come with him. "Dad, you could be in surgery for hours," she'd said. "I don't want to spend the whole evening sitting in your office. I'll be fine here." He'd fussed because the locks had not yet been changed but at last gave up when he saw she was determined not to accompany him.

  Now she rinsed the plate from which she'd eaten her elaborate dinner of a grilled cheese sandwich and potato chips. Blaine sat nearby, alternately gazing at her and the package of jerky strips lying on the counter. "You've already had dinner, so two jerky strips for dessert. That's it," Natalie pronounced,, knowing that before bedtime Blaine would be enjoying at least two more strips and a couple of giant biscuits. She needed to gain five to ten pounds before she reached normal weight.

  After giving the dog her treat, Natalie wandered into the living room and turned on the television. Kenny used to annoy her by flipping from channel to channel. Now she did the same. Fifty channels and she couldn't find one program that interested her. She was too restless to concentrate.

  The phone rang. It was Nick calling to tell her Jeff Lindstrom was Constance Farley's nephew, but he hadn't been seen since Nick chased him down after Tamara's funeral over sixteen hours ago. Alison had been missing almost as long. Maybe a coincidence. Hopefully a coincidence. "I'll be working all night," he said tiredly. "Mrs. Collins is thrilled."

  "And Paige will be just as delighted to be spending the evening with her," Natalie pointed out. "I have an idea. Your daughter doesn't go to bed early, does she?"

  "Only under duress. I don't worry about it too much when she's on summer break from school. I guess that's lax of me."

  "I never had a set bedtime."

  "And just look how you turned out," Nick said dolefully.

  "You are a laugh riot, Sheriff. Anyway, I promised Paige a guitar lesson. Since I'm alone and she's probably bored, how about my giving a lesson tonight?"

  "She'd love it. And I'd love knowing you were with her. With everything that's going on…"

  "There's safety in numbers," Natalie finished for him.

  After they hung up she called the Meredith house and got a busy signal. Ten minutes later she tried again. Still busy. Probably Mrs. Collins. She decided to simply get her guitar and go.

  Blaine watched her rummage in a storage closet for the first guitar she'd ever owned-a Yamaha compact classic. Kira had given it to her for her sixth birthday. She'd been thrilled, so thrilled she not only practiced constantly but actually tried to sleep with the guitar. Her talent and devotion to the instrument pleased Kira. "Yeah, it pleased her so much she took off five months later," Natalie muttered, then forced her thoughts away from her mother. She scribbled a note for her father and grabbed her coat. Blaine drooped behind her to the door, gazing at her with tragic eyes. "Okay, Sarah Heartburn," Natalie laughed. "I have no idea how you and Ripley the cat will get along, but I guess we'll find out. Besides, I don't like the idea of leaving you alone in this house again."

  Blaine immediately perked up at the sight of her leash and trotted happily to the car. Natalie felt as if she'd always owned the dog, and Blaine acted as if Natalie had always been her mistress. But she had placed the lost dog ad less than a week ago. Someone could call tomorrow and reclaim Blaine, Natalie reminded herself. Could she bear to give her up? If this were a beloved dog that had gotten lost, she would have no choice. But if she sensed the dog had been dumped…

  "If you were dumped, the person who dumped you won't call," Natalie said as they drove toward the Meredith house. Blaine cocked her head as if she understood every word. "And if you merely got lost from a loving home, I don't think you would have bonded to me so quickly." She sighed. "You're a mystery, Blaine, one of many lately, and I've found out they're more fun to read about than to live."

  Lights glowed in the picture window and one upstairs window of the two-story Meredith house. Natalie knew the place had been vacant for nearly three years before Nick Meredith bought it. The former owner had demanded an unreasonable price and refused to negotiate until his business hit a giant snag and he needed the money. Nick had made a few repairs to the place and added a fresh coat of white paint, but the shrubbery and flowerbeds needed work. That might be a project for her and Paige as the summer wore on.

  Natalie stopped abruptly on the sidewalk leading to the porch. A summer project? She had a job in Columbus she'd return to in a week. She also had a relationship to work out. After all, in spite of what had happened between her and Kenny, he was more important to her than a precocious kid, or the precocious kid's attractive, dominating, funny, workaholic
father. Wasn't he?

  Enough of this ridiculous thinking of summer projects, she told herself sternly. She walked determinedly forward, rang the bell, and looked around the porch. Two green plastic lawn chairs and a pot of bedraggled geraniums. In a town where people took pride in creating lovely porches, Nick Meredith wouldn't win any awards. The house had the air of a stopping-over place, as if no one meant to stay. Or maybe it simply lacked the touch of someone who thought of it as a true home.

  Natalie was raising her hand to ring the bell again when Mrs. Collins's broad face peeped through the sheer curtains. She looked blankly at Natalie. Natalie smiled encouragingly.

  "I come in peace," she felt like yelling. Mrs. Collins blinked a couple of times then pulled away from the window. At last the door opened slowly.

  "Hello. Remember me? Natalie St. John. I stayed with Paige the other evening."

  "I remember you." The woman flushed. She probably also remembered Nick chewing her out for discussing the murders of Charlotte and Warren in front of Paige. She looked at Blaine, then at the guitar case. "Did you want something?"

  "I promised Paige a guitar lesson. Sheriff Meredith said tonight would be fine." She paused. "He also said I could bring my dog." A lie, but she didn't think the woman was going to let them both in.

  "Well, I guess it's all right if the sheriff said so. I try to take very good care of Paige. I treat her like my own daughter, but my girl was more manageable. Less sassy. Paige was born in New York City, you know."

  Apparently Mrs. Collins thought being born in New York City explained any undesirable personality traits Paige might exhibit. Natalie and Blaine stepped past her. The woman continued to stare inhospitably. "Paige is here, isn't she?" Natalie asked.

  "Of course she's here!" Mrs. Collins burst out. "Where else would she be? It's night!"

  "I just thought she might be sleeping over with a friend."

  "With a murderer on the loose?" Mrs. Collins demanded. "Besides, she doesn't have any proper friends. Just that young Jenkins hooligan. His mother should keep a closer eye on him and the sheriff should forbid Paige to see him. If she were my girl-"

  "Is she upstairs?" Natalie interrupted to stem the flow of unwanted opinions.