A Killer Past

by Maris Soule

  Mary knew what she had done, but she couldn’t tell Ella that. Finally, she said, ‘I’m not sure.’

  ‘Maybe your son’s right. Maybe we should move into a retirement home.’

  ‘I’m not quite ready for that.’ Mary stared out the kitchen window. Big, fluffy snowflakes silently dropped to the ground. November first might not be winter, but someone had forgotten to tell the weatherman.

  Ella made a grunting sound. ‘Couldn’t afford it, anyway. I don’t know about you, but I’d have to sell this house before I moved anywhere. Should have sold it when Bud died. Back then I could have gotten a decent price for this place, but now? Who’s going to buy a house in this neighborhood? It was bad enough before these attacks. Now no one’s going to want to move here.’

  ‘Well, I’m not selling, and I’m not moving, not unless I have to.’ Mary wasn’t about to abandon a house that held so many wonderful memories, certainly not so she could move into a retirement home.

  ‘You know what we need,’ Ella said. ‘We need a Neighborhood Watch. We need to band together and get rid of these damn hoodlums.’

  ‘What are you planning on doing, shooting them?’

  ‘Not shoot, but … but …’ Ella hesitated. ‘I don’t know. Just get rid of them.’

  Mary heard and understood the frustration, and she knew how satisfying it felt when one of the bad guys was eliminated. She also knew the feelings of guilt and remorse when the wrong person was killed.

  Closing her eyes, she turned away from the window. She hadn’t thought of that for a long, long time. Hadn’t wanted to think of it.

  ‘So, are you with me on this?’ Ella asked.

  ‘With you on what?’ Mary blinked her eyes back open, yet the memory of one woman’s face and the sound of a child’s voice remained.

  ‘On starting a Neighborhood Watch.’

  ‘Oh, sure.’

  Mary shook off the memory of the mother and boy. One thing she’d learned growing up was not to dwell on the things that went wrong. If you couldn’t change it, then forget it, and move on. Harry hadn’t understood what she meant when she told him that, so she’d never repeated the mantra to him, just to herself.

  ‘What we need to do,’ Ella went on, ‘is keep a lookout for anything out of the ordinary. Groups of teenagers. Strange cars. People—’

  ‘That reminds me,’ Mary interrupted. ‘Did you happen to notice a black car last night? Shannon said it drove by the house several times.’

  ‘What kind of car?’

  ‘I’m not completely sure. It was getting dark when she pointed it out, and I didn’t see it again after that, but it had four doors and the windows were tinted, so you couldn’t see who was inside.’

  ‘Could have been a parent’s car,’ Ella said.

  ‘Could have been,’ Mary repeated, but she didn’t think it was. Call it intuition, or maybe paranoia, but she had a feeling the driver of the car had been looking for her. Even Shannon had been nervous about the car.

  ‘Shannon was at your place last night?’

  ‘She helped me give out candy.’

  ‘I’m surprised she wasn’t at a party or something. She’s such a pretty girl. Doesn’t she have a boyfriend?’

  Mary chuckled, remembering her granddaughter’s comments on that subject. ‘She does, but he’s in the doghouse this weekend. Seems he forgot there was a party, and he and his dad went up north to prepare their cabin for deer camp. Shannon wasn’t exactly happy.’

  ‘Her boyfriend’s a hunter?’ Ella’s tone clearly indicated her feelings about that. ‘Well, I wouldn’t be happy either. Can you imagine shooting something?’

  Easily, Mary thought, remembering the hours she’d spent practicing at the shooting range and the times she’d put that practice to work. In her youth her vision had been 20/20, her hand steady. Now she wondered if she could hit the side of a barn. Not that she owned a gun or planned on doing any shooting.

  ‘The hunting doesn’t seem to bother Shannon, but having him promise he’d take her to a party and then back out on that promise had her upset.’

  ‘So she came and spent the evening with you. She is a sweet girl.’

  Mary wouldn’t disagree, but she knew the real reason behind Shannon’s generosity. ‘She’s trying to talk me into going to Europe with her next summer.’

  ‘So are you going to?’

  ‘No.’ That was one thing she knew for certain.

  Jack didn’t need to stop by Mary Harrington’s house that afternoon. He wasn’t on the clock, and she wasn’t a person of interest in any investigation. There were no outstanding warrants under her name, and her car was no longer parked on Archer Street. Nevertheless, at two o’clock Saturday afternoon he walked toward her front door.

  Although the two-storey house had to be at least seventy-five years old – or maybe even older – it had weathered the years well. At some time or another white vinyl siding and green vinyl shutters had replaced what were probably originally wood, and Jack doubted the double-pane plate-glass window facing the street was an original part of the house. The yard looked equally well cared for, the evergreen shrubs growing under the front window and along the edge of the property nicely trimmed and shaped. Even the lawn, dotted with thin patches of snow from that morning’s flurries, was thick and manicured.

  He could hear music coming from inside the house. Loud music. Not the kind his wife used to play. Barbara loved opera and songs from Italy. The clamor extending through the wooden front door reminded him of what his boys played in their teens. Barbara had hated listening to the twangy guitars and screeching voices. Most of all she’d hated rap.

  This wasn’t rap.

  Contemporary, his last partner had called it. One step above easy listening and several steps below R&B. Jack wondered if Mary would be able to hear the doorbell over the music. Just to be sure, he rang it twice – then again.

  ‘Don’t wear it out,’ she grumbled the moment she cracked open the door. ‘I heard it the first time. Oh, it’s you.’

  ‘I have a few questions,’ he shouted. ‘Can I come in?’

  She said nothing for a moment, but he noticed her eyes narrowed slightly, and then she nodded and closed the door.

  He heard the chain rattle before the door opened again. Wide this time. Without waiting for him to step inside, she turned her back on him and started for the kitchen. ‘Close the door behind you,’ she called over her shoulder. ‘I’ll turn down the music. And it’s may not can. Since you managed to make it to my front door, I assume you can walk into a house.’

  He did as told, closed the door, and followed her into the kitchen. Damn if she didn’t sound like the nuns he’d had as teachers. ‘May I not Can I, Jackson,’ Sister Margaret always said. Mary Harrington even walked like his old English teacher, a slight hitch in her gait.

  ‘How’s your leg today?’ he asked, her black sweatpants, long-sleeved black sweatshirt, and sneakers covering her bruises.

  ‘A little better.’ She tapped a button on the stereo sitting near her coffee maker, silencing the music, then turned to him. ‘Tea? Coffee?’

  ‘Nothing.’ He was caffeined out. ‘Did you hear about the woman who was mugged last night? It happened in front of that little grocery store just three blocks from here.’

  ‘I heard.’ She eased herself onto a chair at the table and gestured to one on the other side. ‘My friend Ella called me this morning and told me about the incident. Is the woman all right?’

  ‘They beat her up pretty badly. She has a broken arm and a concussion.’ He settled onto the indicated chair, all the while watching her face for a reaction. He wasn’t sure why, but he felt Mary Harrington was in some way involved with this other woman’s case. However, giving a description of the woman’s injuries didn’t seem to have any effect.

  ‘The victim doesn’t remember a lot, but she said the boys had tattoos and wore blue headbands. The store clerk confirmed the description. Sounds to me like they were from the same gang as
those two boys the other night. The two you didn’t see.’

  He stressed the word and hoped describing the similar attire would prompt her to admit she did see those boys Thursday night and somehow or other had managed to turn the tables on them.

  She shook her head. ‘As Ella says, “What’s this neighborhood coming to?”’

  That wasn’t the response he’d wanted, and her avoidance of what he knew had to be true irritated him. ‘You know there wouldn’t be a problem if you and your neighbors would step forward and identify these kids.’

  ‘What about the woman last night? You said she identified them.’

  ‘Last night, yes. This morning she’s saying she doesn’t remember what they looked like.’

  ‘The store clerk?’

  Jack shook his head. ‘He’s also developed amnesia. I think they got to him.’

  Mary Harrington nodded. ‘That happens.’

  She said it with confidence, and he wondered if that explained her reticence. ‘Did it happen to you?’

  ‘I don’t understand?’

  ‘Did those two the other night, or someone from their gang, tell you to keep your mouth shut?’

  ‘Why would I have to keep my mouth shut?’ She stood and turned away from him. ‘As I said, I didn’t see anything the other night. I think I will have some tea. Sure you won’t have something? Water? A soda?’

  ‘No, nothing.’ Her glib response irked him. ‘The woman who was attacked looked something like you,’ he said. ‘She’s about the same height. Gray, almost white hair. Slender build.’

  Mary Harrington placed a mug under the spout of the single-cup machine and pressed a button. As hot water filled the mug she faced him again. ‘Detective, a lot of women my age look like me, especially to anyone under the age of twenty.’

  ‘If they’re looking for revenge, others may be in danger.’

  The machine sputtered and groaned as it spat out the last of the hot water. Her expression stayed neutral. ‘Revenge for what?’

  ‘You know.’

  She shook her head, took a moment to drop a tea bag into the mug, and sat down again. ‘Detective, I have no idea what you’re talking about.’

  He doubted that but decided to change the subject. ‘I understand you owned a bookstore in town.’

  ‘Years and years ago.’

  ‘So did you work in a bookstore before opening one of your own?’ If so, it might give him a clue to her past.

  ‘No, but I’ve always been a reader … and a lover of books.’ She gestured toward her living room. ‘Just look at all the books in there, and now I’m even downloading them onto my e-reader.’

  He saw the bookshelf on the far wall of the living room, crammed with books, but her reading habits weren’t the purpose of his question. ‘If you didn’t work in a bookstore before you opened yours, what did you do before moving to Rivershore?’

  ‘Traveled. I spent a lot of time in Europe during my twenties.’

  Which meant there should be a passport, but he hadn’t found a record of one. ‘Did you travel as Mary A. Smith?’

  She cocked her head to the side. ‘Have you been checking up on me, Detective Rossini?’

  ‘I was curious.’

  ‘Is it common for the police to investigate law-abiding citizens?’

  ‘Only if they have a few suspicions.’

  ‘Suspicions of what?’ She leaned toward him, a sparkle in her blue eyes that he hadn’t noticed before. ‘Just what are you suspicious of?’

  He had a feeling she was enjoying this game of cat and mouse. ‘Of how you got those bruises.’

  Still smiling, she sat back in her chair and motioned toward the stairway that led to the second floor. ‘As I said, I fell down. Just wait until you’re my age. You’ll find your balance isn’t quite as good as it once was.’

  ‘Yet you’ve said tai chi is good for your balance. I even stopped by the gym this morning and spoke to your instructor. He said he was sorry you’d fallen and hurt yourself, that he’d wondered why you weren’t in class. He also said you’re in exceptionally good shape for someone your age. Exceptionally well balanced.’

  ‘We all have our off days.’

  Jack shook his head. She had an answer for everything, but those answers didn’t fit the facts. Two boys in their late teens – gang members – didn’t simply fall down and sustain the injuries those two had from Thursday night. Even if Mary Harrington didn’t cause the injuries, she had to have seen the boys that night, had to have been there when they were attacked. The neighbor woman he’d talked to that night might have been drunk, but he believed she did see an old lady hurrying away from the boys. She didn’t mention anyone else, no other gang members, no irritated neighbor who might have taken it upon himself to stop a possible mugging. All the drunk had said was she saw an old lady. Even the boys that night had identified their assailant as an old lady.

  It had to be Mary Harrington. He was sure of it.

  He tried another approach. ‘Do you have any suggestions where I might go for some martial arts classes.’

  ‘Martial arts? No, not really. But why don’t you sign up for the tai chi class?’

  He watched her take a sip of her tea, and wondered if he’d misunderstood her the day before when she said she hadn’t studied any martial arts. ‘Are you saying you can learn how to defend yourself by taking that class?’

  ‘Oh, I don’t think I’d want to try to defend myself with any of the moves we’ve learned, but I have heard it called a soft style of martial arts. Mostly we learn how to relax. It calms the mind.’ She looked him in the eyes and smiled. ‘It might help you relax.’

  ‘Mrs Harrington, what would help me relax is if you’d tell me the truth.’ He could tell he sounded irritable, but dammit all, he knew she was lying.

  Still smiling, she pushed her chair back from the table. ‘OK. The truth is, I don’t know of any martial arts classes being taught around here. Now, is there anything else you wanted to ask me?’

  There were a lot of things he wanted to ask, but he knew he wouldn’t get the answers he wanted. ‘Not at the moment.’

  ‘In that case, I’ve got things to do.’

  She walked with him to the front door, moving stiffly but leading the way. As he stepped outside, she said, ‘I’m sorry for that woman who was hurt last night. I wish I could help.’

  ‘You could.’ He paused and faced her. ‘Explain what happened Thursday night.’

  ‘I already have.’

  He shook his head. ‘No, you’re hiding something. And now I’m wondering what it is, and why I can’t find anything about you past forty-four years ago.’

  For the first time since they’d met, her expression turned steely cold. ‘If I were you,’ she said sharply, ‘I’d forget about my past.’

  And then she shut the door in his face.

  CHAPTER TEN

  AS SOON AS Mary was certain Rossini was gone, she limped into the living room, and slumped into Harry’s chair. Even after two years the scent of him remained, comforting her. Eyes closed, she forced herself to breathe slowly and deep, to center herself as they taught in yoga. Breathe in, pause … breathe out.

  She kept trying, but she couldn’t slow the panicky thoughts racing through her head. She’d screwed up. Royally.

  Damn that detective. Why was he looking into her past?

  Carl had told her she must never reveal what she’d done or anything about the agency. Her future – her life – depended on that. ‘Keep a low profile,’ he’d said. ‘Become a new person.’

  The day she moved to Rivershore, she became the woman she’d always wanted to be. Wealthy, but not ostentatiously rich, respectable, and respected. She’d chosen a bookstore for her business, figuring any slips she made she could always pass off as something she’d read in a book. The store also gave her a chance to get to know the people in the community and for them to get to know her. She hadn’t expected it to lead to romance and marriage.

  The first tim
e Harry came into the store she hadn’t been overly impressed with his looks. She had been glad to learn he was a dentist. She’d needed one. Over time an acquaintance became friendship and then grew into love. He bought into her story of wealthy but unloving parents who spent more time making money than caring for her, parents who then died in a car crash, leaving her financially independent. He said he understood why she’d spent her childhood reading, and he admired her tales of how she traveled alone in her twenties. It didn’t seem to bother Harry that she rarely spoke of her parents, didn’t have any pictures of them, and didn’t mention other relatives. He’d accepted her as she was, no questions asked.

  Every year of their marriage, she’d blessed the powers above that had led her to him – or maybe him to her. Theirs had been a wonderful marriage. Maybe not ideal and certainly not without problems, but one filled with love and laughter.

  For the first time since his death, she was glad he was gone.

  She sighed and looked upward. ‘Do you know?’ she asked aloud. ‘Now that you’re dead, Harry, do you know the truth about me?’

  Mary wasn’t sure if she believed in Heaven. There was a time in her other lives when she was sure God didn’t exist. How could he? How could a Being who was supposed to be all knowing and all-powerful allow a fourteen-year-old to be raped by her mother’s boyfriend? How could a loving, all caring God allow a dope addict to even have a child, much less raise her in filth and poverty?

  There were times after ADEC took over her life that she’d felt like a god. She was the one who lured the victims into a false sense of security, learned their secrets, and finally pulled the trigger or administered the poison.

  For thirteen years, Pandora Coye had had a mission. Eliminate the evil in the world.

  And then, forty-four years ago, that all changed.

  ‘We messed up,’ Carl had admitted, ‘and I know you want out, but if you ever reveal that you were once Pandora Coye, or tell anyone the true purpose of this agency, someone – maybe me – will find you and kill you.’