Heather.
Despite her near certainty that a rational explanation existed, she was shaken. Paul must have found it after one of their TV parties and slipped it into the file, meaning to tell her about it later. But why had he hidden it? Why hadn’t he just put it on his desk, in one of those mesh containers that held paper clips and stray pens and things? And why hadn’t he mentioned it to her? On a whim, she slipped it into her pocket. Well, she’d give it back to Heather at lunch, and just see what she had to say about that.
* * * *
After dropping the budget file off at the Harris home—nobody there, so she left it inside the screen door—and the sermon with an effusive Mazie Henderson, she made it to the restaurant only ten minutes late.
Danielle’s was a trendy café where a smart young crowd mingled and met for drinks or lunch. The entrees were itsy-bitsy servings of delectably sauced concoctions, and the wine with a fancy name cost twice what it did anywhere else. Heather was already there, seated at a table near the curving wrought-iron bar at the back of the room.
It didn’t help Charlie’s mood that Heather looked stunning in a pale gray silk blouse and black crepe pants. Damn, she looked thinner, too! And oh, yeah, there was the artsy-fartsy silver collar around her neck, and long, turquoise earrings dangling from her ears.
“It’s not mine,” Heather said. She held the earring in one hand and looked at it closely. “It’s very pretty, Charlie, and it is Native American, but I’m not missing anything, and I don’t recognize this at all.” She held it up by its long, curved ear wire, and handed it back to her. “Where did you say you found it?”
“In Paul’s study.” All of a sudden Charlie felt odd about saying she had found it in Paul’s personal files. “I guess someone lost it and he just forgot to show it to me.”
Heather nodded. “Probably. You do have a lot of people over, meetings and everything.”
Charlie nodded and dropped the earring into her purse. “Now I’ll probably forget it’s in there,” she said lightly.
Somehow, her suspicions were not allayed.
She looked over the top of her menu at Heather. She really was a beautiful woman, Charlie thought. She could still drop five to ten pounds, but she had gorgeous sunshiny hair cut in a trendy, movie-star style around her perfect oval face, and those translucent green eyes ... Prettier than I am, she thought, prettier than Mindy and Sarah, too. And Heather had something extra, some inner smoldering kind of thing. Sex appeal, decided Charlie. If her husband wanted an affair … and Heather was nuts about him, to boot.
“What are you having, Charlie?” Heather asked, looking up. “I think the seafood salad sounds good.”
Charlie didn’t know why she said it. She didn’t intend to. It just came out in a rush of words in a tone so cool she didn’t recognize it as her own.
“I think I’ll have what you’re having,” she said, “an affair with someone else’s husband.”
Heather choked and spit out the sip of wine she had just taken. Her hand shook as she put down the glass.
“What! What are you saying, Charlie?”
“I need to ask you something, Heather.”
Heather’s eyes were wide with shock.
“Am I having an affair with someone else’s husband? No, Charlie, I’m not! Scott and I are rock-solid. You should know that.”
Something deep inside told Charlie to stop, but she couldn’t, once she had come this far. She pushed on. ‘But you have feelings for Paul. That’s no secret,” she said.
Heather looked like she wanted to die of embarrassment. “Feelings I would never, ever act on!”
“Well, if you and Scott are so happy, why do you have these feelings at all?”
Charlie almost felt sorry for Heather. She was holding her feet to the fire and Heather was squirming in anguish. She watched her pretty face turn red, and her long slender hand shook as she reached out to cover Charlie’s.
“Char, I just don’t know how you can even ask me this,” she said in a trembling voice. Tears rose in her green eyes and threatened to puddle over.
Charlie pulled her hand away and kept silent, watching her.
“You know I’ve always had this ‘thing’ for spiritual men, like priests and all,” Heather said, her laughter unconvincing. “I’ll get over it. And I would never, ever hurt you that way, even if I could.”
“Even if you could?” Charlie’s voice was cooler than she intended. She felt her face tighten.
“Even if he—Paul, tried to start an affair with me, I wouldn’t do that to you.”
“People are talking. I’ve heard things, Heather—”
Heather jumped up and grabbed her jacket from the back of her chair. “Well, whoever said whatever, they lied!” she exploded. Tears ran down her cheeks.
“And it’s not my damned earring, Charlie. I thought we had more trust between us than this.”
Charlie half rose to stop her, then sank back into her chair, as she watched Heather run out the door. Oh, what have I done? She buried her head in her hands.
“Excuse me, are you all right?” The waiter appeared at her elbow. He was young and blond, and his name tag said ‘Greg.’ He wore a white golf shirt and khaki pants.
“I’m okay,” she said, but she wasn’t.
“My name is Greg and I’ll be your server this afternoon,” he said, as if by rote. He glanced in the direction Heather had fled. “Did your friend leave, or will she be back?”
“I don’t think she’ll be back
“Very well. May I take your order then?”
“I’ll have the seafood salad,” said Charlie. “And a glass of pinot grigio.” She felt numb. What had she just done?
“Very good,” said Greg, writing it on his pad. “I’ll be right back with your wine.”
Charlie stared into space. She, the minister’s wife, had just accused a woman in the congregation, one of her best friends, of having an affair with her husband. She really didn’t have any proof, did she? Just the earring, which Heather claimed wasn’t hers, and her admitted feelings for Paul. But there had been rumors, little hints thrown to Charlie.
Norma Harris: “You’d better keep an eye on that Waverly girl, Charlotte. A word to the wise, is all.”
Julia Simon, laughing: “I wouldn’t want Heather Waverly on any committee with my husband!”
And Mindy herself: “If Paul were going to cheat on you, Charlie, there’s Heather, ripe and ready.”
And Sarah, when Heather, the last to join the Death Island group at the parsonage, showed up late one night: “Maybe she’s having a little counseling session with her minister, Charlie. You know how she adores him.”
Too many signs, too many insinuations. She reached across the table for Heather’s half-finished wine, raised it to her lips and drained it.
Greg looked a bit askance at her as he placed another wine before her and picked up the empty glass.
Even if it had been an unwise move, she had the right to protect her marriage, the same as any other wife. She doubted Heather would say anything, either to Scott or Paul. Things would go on as usual, and eventually move back to center. But for now, just for now, it might be a good idea to keep some distance between herself and Heather—and Paul. If Heather were innocent, she would avoid him like the plague from now on.
She was distracted by a commotion at the bar, and she turned around to look. She could see the talking head had interrupted whatever program was on, but it was too far away for her to hear what he was saying. People had stopped conversing, and a small group was clustered in front of the television.
“What’s happened?” she asked Greg, who showed up right at that moment with her seafood plate.
He tossed a look over his shoulder. “Oh, from what I got from just walking by, there’s been another of those axe murders.”
She froze. “Here? In Northington?”
He set the plate down in front of her. “Naw. Down state someplace. Near the shore, Milford, Fairfie
ld.” He shrugged. “I thought we put that guy away—what was his name?”
“Danny Manning,” she said. “He was a neighbor of mine. I knew him, actually, a little bit.”
“Really?” Greg was intrigued. “Was he, like, weird or anything, totally scary?”
“No, he seemed very normal,” said Charlie.
“Oh. Well, maybe they sent away the wrong guy,” Greg drawled, having already lost interest. “Anything else I can get for you right now?
“No thank you,” said Charlie. She looked down at her plate. The salad looked wonderful—glossy green spinach leaves, fat pink seafood pieces, a fragrant spicy dressing she could smell.
The wrong guy, she wondered. No, it wasn’t likely, after five axe murders right in the area, including poor, sweet Katie Manning herself. It was probably just a copycat crime, but that didn’t do anything for the sense of unease she suddenly felt. In her mind’s eye, she saw Danny’s face, clear as a bell, and heard again the last words he had said to her: now, Charlie Adjavon, why in the world would you be coming into my life?
She speared a scallop and ate it, pondering. She thought about the day she had met Danny in the hardware store and how nice he had seemed. He had looked down at her, and his eyes had been deep blue and a little flirty, as he had asked what ‘Charlie’ stood for. “Charlotte,” she said, “my grandmother’s name, but it’s making a comeback.”
“Paul and Charlie,” he had said, smiling a little.
And then he had made that remark—
“I know,” she’d interrupted. “That we’re a gay couple. Well, we’re not.”
“I can see that,” he had said, looking at her with unmistakable approval and warmth.
And that had been all. Just a few words with an axe murderer who had seemed like a nice, normal guy—someone she might actually like to know. She snapped back to the present. Her head was spinning. Maybe she had drunk the wine too quickly.
Life was getting complicated, and she didn’t like that. She felt a little guilty about what had happened with Heather, but her sense of self-preservation was stronger. And, she didn’t want to have to worry about Danny Manning, either, if these axe murders continued. After all, what could she possibly do about it? Nothing, that’s what. Nothing at all.
* * * *
He flicked open his can of beer, not even watching the boxing match on the television. Death Island was on, too, but he didn’t need to watch that show. That asshole Danny Manning deserved everything he got. Whether the guy lived or died was no concern of his. In fact, he hoped he did get killed in some grisly way.
He felt his anger start to burn as he stared out into the night. Charlie Adjavon, the minister’s wife, had been a little flirty with him in church this morning. The minister’s wife, for Christ’s sake! She was a little too flirty with everyone, in his humble opinion.
He tossed the can into the corner and opened another one. Women simply could not be trusted. Why, he had even seen Charlie flirting shamelessly with Danny Manning in the hardware store, when he’d been there to pick up some sealer for the deck. He knew they hadn’t seen him; he had watched them for a few minutes from behind a convenient partition. She all but flung her arms around the guy’s neck! And the way he had looked at her!
Well, he wasn’t president of the congregation for nothing. He still had moral standards, even if no one else did, including the minister and his too-cute wife. He’d have to use his considerable influence to see what could be done about it.
Chapter Six
Danny jogged the last half mile back to the clearing. Tom sat on the same log in almost the same position as when Danny had left eight hours ago. Martin leaned idly against a tree, blocking the lizard’s eye view.
“Well? Martin asked. “What did you find out?”
Danny saw by his expression that he already knew the answer. Tom, however, stared up at him with a glimmer of hope in his eyes.
Danny shook his head. “No way off this island by sea. Big rocks.” He spread his hands high and wide to indicate the enormous size of them. “Lots of sharks, and they look hungry. Circling and circling. Huge waves. Even if we could build a raft or a boat, we would never make it.”
“Bummer,” Tom muttered.
Martin looked at him, amused. “Bummer?” he repeated.
Tom shrugged. “White collar office. Lots of rich, classy ladies. They didn’t like swearing.” He cast his eyes down and made a quick, empty gesture with his hands. “Gone. All gone.”
Danny threw him a hard look. “It’s over, Tom. Get real. We’re a bunch of smart guys. There has to be a way off this island. We have to figure it out.”
Martin laughed. “Build a plane,” he said. “It’s the only way. Or—” He moved away from the tree and pointed at the lizard camera. “Convince the public that you don’t deserve to be here and let them vote you off. You get one chance a year.”
“Build a plane?” Danny froze in thought. He turned to Martin. “Are there engineers on this island? Are there guys smart enough to design an airplane?”
“Oh my God!” Martin scoffed. “If there were any, why would they build it for us? Wouldn’t they get themselves out of here?”
“And what about materials?” Tom asked. He scooped up a handful of twigs and pine needles. Can’t get far on this stuff. You need metal, and oil.” He looked around and shrugged.
Martin watched them both, laughing.
Danny said, thoughtfully. “The Wright brothers didn’t have all the right materials, did they? They built a glider with wood and cloth. Nothing is impossible. Out past the rocks and sharks, it looks calmer. If you could glide out, you might make it.”
Tom blew out his breath and stared at the ground.
“Building a plane is impossible,” Martin said. He pointed a finger at the lizard’s red eye, which had begun to blink slowly. “Look! Camera’s on. They’re watching us right now. Make your case.” He stepped in front of the tree, bowed low, and slowly, deliberately pulled his shorts down over his hips. He swayed his hips from side to side and performed a series of thrusting motions forward and back. He ended with an abrupt turn, and mooned the camera.
“That won’t help,” Danny observed sourly.
Martin pulled up his pants. “Nothing’s going to help me,” he replied.
“What did you do?” Tom asked. “I saw the show a number of times, but they never said.”
“Murdered my parents,” Martin said cheerfully. “Never been sorry, either. They were horrible people, beat the crap out of me every day of my life.” He held up his palms, and for the first time Danny noticed the scars. “Put my hands on the stove for punishment. And other stuff. When I got a chance I burned their goddamn house down with them in it. I deserve to be here, and I ain’t never been sorry.”
Danny stared at him, appalled. Psychopath, a tight inner voice whispered. Walk on eggs around him.
Martin smiled. “I’m going to find us some dinner,” he said. He waved his hand around expansively. “If you guys would just set the table, get out the wine and the fancy crystal—I prefer Waterford—I’ll be back with something to eat in a sec.” He disappeared into the woods, quiet and silent as a panther.
Tom seemed incapable of speech. He sat so frozen that he might have become part of the log.
Danny walked slowly toward the tree with the lizard and stood in front of the blinking eye. “I didn’t do it,” he said, looking directly into the camera. “I know it was my axe, with my fingerprints all over it, but I didn’t kill those women. I didn’t kill Katie. I loved her!” As he said the words, he had a sudden image in his mind, clear as a photograph, not of Katie, but of Charlie Adjavon, the minister’s pretty wife. He shook his head to clear it.
The eye went still. “Camera off,” Danny said, and sighed.
“Is he insane, do you think?” Tom asked. His doughy face had arranged itself into furrows of worry.
“Yes, probably,” Danny said. “I don’t know enough about psychology to know what the
matter is, but I suspect he could turn on us in a flash. We’ll have to watch ourselves around him.” Something gnawed at him. What was Martin’s game? What did he want with them?
Tom shuddered. “There are people who have no conscience,” he said. “I’ve read about them. Serial killers like that guy in Kansas. They get off on torture, get a sex kick out of killing. Like they say you did.”
Danny glared at him. “They’re wrong! I didn’t kill anyone, and I for sure wouldn’t enjoy it.”
“Do you think he would kill us?”
Tom’s voice was so quiet Danny barely heard the question. He felt a sudden stab of sympathy for Tom, terrified and helpless in this new kind of prison, his fear wrapped around him like an overcoat.
He shrugged. “Only if he thinks we’d hurt him, is my guess. But what do I know?”
They sat in silence, Danny’s nerves exposed like raw meat, listening for sounds of Martin returning. Listening for anything.
“I never watched the show,” Danny said. “But you did. Right, Tom?”
“A few times,” Tom replied. “The year we sat around in prison, we were forced to watch it, so we’d know what we were in for. Didn’t you have to watch it?”
“I was at Danbury,” Danny said. “You know, Connecticut, liberal state. I didn’t have to watch it, so I didn’t. I was so sure they’d catch the real guy and let me go. I spent my time poring over law books, but I didn’t have time to come up with anything to help myself.”
“Too bad,” Tom said.
“Yeah,” Danny agreed. “But what I want to know, Tom, is do you remember any brilliant engineers who got sent here and might still be on the island? Someone who might actually know how to design a plane?”
Tom was silent for a long time. Danny sat down on a stump and watched him think. Finally he looked up and met Danny’s eyes. “Jake Butler,” he said. “He worked for Sikorsky— helicopters. Supposed to be a genius.”
“You think he’s still here?”
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