He could forget ever having another tenant in his house. No one would want to take a room in a place that housed a terrible serial killer. Such a fact would never lift itself from the rest of their lives, Lamont thought.
There was too much to lose. No, there had to be another way and this is what turned over in his mind again and again. Another way.
The worst part was that as each hour passed, the plan of action became ever more difficult and complicated, which only made him feel worse.
If he only knew the truth for certain. If only he were completely and utterly sure of what was going on with Mr. Lockhart. Then a small voice in his brain would bring up the point that he had next to nothing to go on, other than suspicion.
Then another small voice in Lamont's brain would remind him that there was suspicion... and the terrible certainty that his suspicions were well founded.
Lamont kept looking for an answer that was unbreakable, something that made sense from all angles. Maybe Mr. Lockhart would go out again and be apprehended by the police, caught in the act.
The problem with that, however, was Mr. Lockhart rarely went out, if at all. He stayed upstairs and from what Lamont could tell, spent most of his time upstairs in bed. Velma said the tenant had told her he felt terrible, the most ill he had been in a long, long time. It appeared he had been unable to shake the chill he'd caught from that evening he and Lamont met on the walk home.
Carter had also become a bit of a problem for Lamont's thinking. He spent every spare minute he wasn't pursuing the Hangman with the Barneses -- specifically, with Delia. Lamont, who had been terribly fond of Lamont and had at one point considered him almost as a son, now dreaded the sight of the young man on his doorstep.
The young detective spoke of little more than the Hangman, mostly to satisfy Delia's thrill seeking ways. One evening, Carter had gone into such elaborate detail about the latest interviews with potential eyewitnesses, that both Lamont and Velma had secretly felt sick because as Carter spoke, all the couple could picture was Mr. Lockhart as the strange figure the eyewitnesses described.
Nevertheless, Carter showed zero interest in Mr. Lockhart and for that both Velma and Lamont were thankful. But how long before that lack of interest changed?
One morning, Lamont and Carter had a bizarre discussion about the Hangman. Carter had come in earlier than he usually did, just as Velma and Delia were about to go out for some grocery shopping. Delia wanted to linger since the young man had arrived, but one stern look from her stepmother was enough to send her on her way with a perturbed, disappointed look fixed on her lovely face.
And as Carter stepped into the sitting room, Lamont had a strong sense that there was something threatening in Carter's demeanor. "I'd like a word with you, Lamont," he said sternly. "Now that Velma and Delia are away."
Lamont put his hand on the back of his chair to brace himself. He expected the accusation would hit like a ton of bricks. He was harboring a murderer, a serial killer. He was guilty!
Somehow, Lamont found the words without faltering, "Yes, what is it, Carter?"
"I don't think what I have to say will surprise you all that much, Lamont." Lamont shook his head, uncertain of what was coming next.
The men looked at each other for several moments. "It's your daughter, Delia," Carter said.
Lamont let out a cry, clapping his hand over his mouth, not knowing whether to laugh or cry. "My Delia? Good God, Carter -- is that all you wanted to talk about? You scared the mess out of me!"
The relief washed over Lamont such that he thought he would fall to the floor from the tidal rush. He smiled like a fool but after the relief settled, he grew serious again. "As far as I care," Lamont said. "You got my blessing, Carter. Your father was a good man and if I know anything, it's you take after him."
"Thank you," Carter said. "That means a lot to me, Lamont. But what about Delia?" Lamont blinked at Carter. He smiled again, pleased in knowing Delia hadn't let herself slip, despite Velma's comments that Delia would do such a thing.
"I can't speak for Delia," Lamont said. "You'll have to ask her yourself. Nobody else can do that job for you, Carter."
"I can't ever get a chance. I ain't ever alone with her long enough to talk. And now with her leaving soon..." He trailed off, a despairing tone to his voice.
"Delia's been raised to be a lady, despite her station in life," Lamont said with no small amount of pride. "Her grandmother of hers rarely lets her out of her line of sight."
"Speaking of her grandmother," Carter said gravely. "Velma talks as if Delia is going to stay with her grandmother for the rest of her life."
"Don't worry about that," Lamont said, patting his friend's shoulder. His mind began to wander away from Carter and Delia to that of the grim, bleak state of things that had consumed him recently. Then, "You stop by here tomorrow. I'll sees to it you gets your walk with Delia."
Carter brightened considerably. "Thank you, Lamont. I've made up my mind about your daughter and I aim to give her the best life possible."
"I've no doubt, son. No doubt at all." Lamont shifted for a moment, then: "How are things with your job? Anything new?"
Carter frowned. "Nothing new. And I'm about up to here with it," he said, raising his hand above his head to indicate a level. "I just want this business put behind us."
Lamont walked over to the window, looking out at the street. "Has the police considered what some of the papers have said, that this Hangman business is the work of a gentleman?"
Carter looked over at Lamont, whose back was turned to Carter. "No," he said firmly. "Some of the boys think that fella that gave that barmaid all that money is the one we're after. If that's the case, then clearly the man is crazy. And if he's crazy, surely he must have a keeper of some kind and they'd be raising a ruckus trying to find him. You'd think, at least."
"You don't think," Lamont began, not having really listened to Carter's words. "He could be staying somewhere low?"
"What? The Hangman is a dandy staying in one of the downtown hotels? Well, stranger things are possible, I guess." Carter chuckled at the notion. "Well, if your idea was right--"
"I didn't say it was my idea," Lamont said rapidly.
"Well, if such an idea was correct, it would make it even more difficult for the police. Talk about a needle in a haystack! But no, I think the chances of such a thing are slim to none.
"Honestly," Carter said, lowering his voice." Some of us hope he'll ship off to another city. Savannah, Atlanta, somewhere other than here. Plenty of work up there for the likes of the Hangman."
Lamont inwardly sighed relief when he heard Velma's key turn in the front door lock.
Delia smiled at the sight of Carter. Clearly, she had been worried he wouldn't be there when she and her stepmother returned.
"Carter wanted to take Delia out for a short walk," Lamont blurted.
"My mother wanted to invite you over during the holidays," Carter said to Delia. "I wanted to talk about it with you."
"Right now?" Velma said. She was thinking about the things the girl could do to help her prepare for the evening meals.
"No, of course not, Velma," Lamont said.
"Saturday, this Saturday," Carter said to Delia.
"That's Delia's birthday," Lamont said. "I think it's a great idea."
"Don't you have to work Saturday?" Velma asked Carter.
"No. What do you say, Miss Delia?" Carter asked.
"I can't think of anything else I'd rather do Saturday," Delia said, flashing Carter another lovely smile. Carter returned his own gleaming smile and nodded to Lamont and Velma before taking his hat to go. Delia stepped into the hallway with him as Velma glared at Lamont, who smiled at her. He refused to let his wife's sourpuss attitude dampen something very wonderful.
Chapter 25
Delia's nineteenth birthday came without much fanfare. Lamont gave her something she had wanted for quite some time: a pretty silver watch. Lamont had purchased it at a pawn shop a while ago
and had kept it hidden until now.
Velma scoffed at the idea of giving a young girl such an extravagant gift but she was far too self-absorbed in her thoughts about Mr. Lockhart to cause much issue about the gift. She had also learned to stay out of matters between Lamont and Delia. A bond between a father and daughter was something powerful; to try and break or bend that bond would only lead to grief.
Mid-morning, Lamont went out to get some tobacco. He had begun smoking quite a bit, especially in the last several days. It had become his sole source of relaxation. It soothed him and helped clear his mind to think, but he had smoked so much it made him jumpy, startling at any small noise outside or when Velma entered the room and said his name.
Velma and Delia were in the kitchen. Lamont felt an unsettling sense in his core; he didn't like the idea of knowing there was just a single set of stairs between him and Mr. Lockhart.
Lamont slipped out of the house without telling Velma or Delia where he was going.
Lamont had avoided places over the past several days, all the usual locations he frequented. He refrained from stopping to chat with neighbors and passerby. He spoke very little, for he feared that he might slip up and either spill his entire mind's worth of suspicions about the mysterious Mr. Lockhart or he would cause people to suspect his tenant as a possible suspect.
But today, Lamont longed for companionship -- to be able to speak to someone other than his wife or daughter.
Such longing led him to the hustle and bustle of Visalia Street. There were many people about, shopping for the most part. Lamont entered through the mahogany wood door of the tobacco shop where he usually bought his pipe tobacco.
Lamont spent time chatting with the tobacconist, talking about business, about the weather, about where to buy good seafood, but to Lamont's relief the shop owner said nothing about the gruesome stories of the Hangman.
While he stood at the counter, before paying for his tobacco, Lamont looked at the door and saw Velma standing by herself outside the grocery story on the opposite side of the street.
Lamont paid quickly, thanked the tobacconist, stuffed the tobacco in his coat and rushed out of the shop, zipping across the road between slow moving cars.
"Velma!" Lamont cried hoarsely. "Have you left my Delia all alone with the tenant?"
Velma's face took on a queer cast, sick with fear. "I thought you were in the house!" she exclaimed. "You were in the house! Why didn't you tell me you were going out?"
Lamont said nothing more. He stared at his wife in petrified silence, each knowing that the other knew. Velma turned and scurried down the street. Lamont kept pace with her. "Do not run, woman," Lamont said. "We'll get there just as fast by walking quickly. Don't let anyone notice you, Velma. Don't run!"
He was already breathless, but not because of the fast pace at which husband and wife walked.
They reached their gate. Lamont shoved past Velma and bounded up the stairs. His knees would make him pay later, but he didn't care. Delia was his daughter. What had he done, thinking to leave the house, to leave her?
He fumbled for the key but managed to unlock the door quickly. Immediately, he cried out, "Delia! Sweetheart, where are you?"
"I'm here, Daddy. What is it?" Her voice came from the kitchen. Lamont slumped against the wall, looking at Velma with an ashen face. "She's all right." He raised a hand of caution to his wife. "Don't scare her."
They entered the sitting room as Delia came from the kitchen. Somehow, Lamont and Velma managed to hide their fear. Lamont smiled weakly at Delia and Velma turned her attention to the hotplate in the room.
Delia took little notice. She looked in the mirror beside the fireplace. "I met your tenant," she said.
Velma nearly dropped some of the plateware beside the hotplate. Lamont felt his gorge rise. Still, Velma took no notice.
"He's seems like such a nice man. He looks pitiful, though. He rang for you, Velma, but I didn't go up. He came down eventually. We chatted for a few minutes. I told him today is my birthday and he asked me and Velma to go to the art museum with him this afternoon." Delia laughed, pleased with herself. "I see what you mean though, Velma. He's a bit odd. At first, he said, 'Who are you?' all angry like. So I told him, 'I'm Mr. Barnes' daughter.' 'Then you are very lucky,' he says, 'to have such a wonderful stepmother. I bet that's why you're such a good, innocent young lady.' Then he said something that sounded like it was from the Bible. 'Keep yourself innocent,' he said, wagging his finger at me. It made me feel like I was at Grandmother's again."
"You won't be going anywhere with the tenant," Lamont said. His voice was hard, his eyes narrowed. He removed his handkerchief and mopped his forehead.
Delia frowned. "Daddy, it's my birthday. Besides, he said he wanted Velma to come too. I think Mr. Lockhart has taken a liking to you, Velma. Daddy, I'd be jealous if I were you." Her frown turned to a grin, playful and... innocent.
There was a tapping at the door. Lamont and Velma looked at each other, uncertain of the next moments.
It was Mr. Lockhart. He was dressed to go outside. He had donned his tall hat, the one he wore when he first came to their house, and his heavy coat.
"Pardon the interruption, but I heard you come in," Mr. Lockhart said. "I was hoping you and Miss Barnes would accompany me to the art museum. There is a new exhibit I would very much like to see."
Lamont forced himself to stare at Mr. Lockhart, feeling a twinge of doubt strike his heart, followed by relief. Surely this mild-mannered, pious man was in no way tied to the villainous Hangman!
Lamont tried to catch Velma's eye, but she was looking at Delia, who was donning her cap and coat.
"Well, shall we?" asked Mr. Lockhart. Velma turned to look at him and for a moment, she felt that something in his eyes threatened her. "Well, Velma?"
"Yes, sir," Velma said, her voice dull and lifeless.
Chapter 26
The art museum held fond memories for Velma. When she and Lamont were courting, he would often take her here. When she was young, Velma loved art. One of her former employers painted as a hobby and allowed Velma to wait on her while she painted. Lamont could tell art was something that interested Velma, so he took every opportunity to take her there.
It also helped that Lamont knew one of the men who worked in the hospital, a former coworker in one of the many large houses where Lamont had worked, a man named Mr. Perkins.
But as time often tarnishes things we hold dear in our youth, Velma had become so encumbered by life she found less and less interest in works of art.
Velma, Delia and Mr. Lockhart walked in silence through the entrance. They went up a staircase and into the first large gallery. Mr. Lockhart stopped in his tracks at the sight of the large paintings.
The portraits all seemed to be looking at them. At least the way they were positioned seemed to make a spectator think the subjects of the paintings were watching the patrons, as if silently welcoming all who entered the gallery.
Mr. Lockhart trembled slightly.
"Are you all right, sir?" Delia asked. Mr. Lockhart looked down at her, a smile flitting past his worn out, slack face. "Of course," was all he said as he began walking to the nearest painting.
"Velma? Is that you?" a voice said behind the trio. It was Lamont's old friend and former co-worker, Mr. Perkins. Velma felt both relief and concern at an old, familiar face.
"Hello, Mr. Perkins," Velma said.
"I don't think I've seen you since you and Lamont were married," he smiled, noticing Delia and Mr. Lockhart.
Sugar in Her Bowl Page 25