Carlene Thompson

by Black for Remembrance (epub)

  "You've been very busy the last few years," Caroline said carefully.

  "I've been a fool the last few years. I guess an incident like this makes you sit up and reevaluate. All I could think about last night was, 'What if that bullet had killed me? What if I never saw Caroline and the children again?' And believe me, it scared the hell out of me to think it could have been all over and I've all but ignored the three of you lately."

  Caroline's hand tightened around his. "I know why you've worked so hard. I know you felt like you had to prove something to yourself."

  "And to you. You could have been married to a famous artist, but you ended up with me. I wanted to show that I was worthy of you."

  Caroline's eyes filled with tears. "Oh, David, you never had to prove anything to me. Yes, Chris was a glamorous figure at one time and he could have been famous. But you're the person I've always counted on. You're the one who pulled me together after Hayley, not Chris. And if you think the kids and I care if you make a few thousand dollars less each year or don't deliver more babies than any other doctor in the western hemisphere, you've very much mistaken. We love you. All we've ever wanted is some of your time and attention."

  "From now on you've got it." David's eyes twinkled at her. "You'll probably be begging me to go to the hospital and get out of your way."

  "Don't count on it." Caroline leaned forward and kissed him. "I love you, David."

  "I love you too, honey."

  "And Melinda will call soon."

  "I'll look forward to it. And speaking of calls, have there been any more lately?"

  "No."

  "Do we still have a policeman watching the house?"

  "Yes. The one on duty today is named Mercer. The kids are very excited about his presence. Melinda wants him to keep the siren on at all times."

  "That should make us popular with the neighbors. Lucy called about half an hour ago and said she'd like to drop by this afternoon, but Tina's out with the 'flu. She's determined to spend the night at the house with you, though. I think it's a good idea. I don't like your being alone."

  "We're going to the Carlyle Hotel. We'll be fine. You just concentrate on getting well."

  She asked Mercer to drive her directly home after she left the hospital, thinking how odd it felt to be riding around in a patrol car with a policeman for a chauffeur. When they stopped at lights, people in neighboring cars looked at her suspiciously, as if she'd just been picked up for something.

  When they got back to the house, Caroline invited Mercer in for a sandwich and coffee, but he said he preferred eating in the car, "Where I can watch everything." Caroline had the feeling he just felt hesitant to impose on her by sitting around the house, but she didn't argue with him. She took out a roast beef sandwich and thermos of coffee to the car, wondering if he was even going to come in to use the bathroom or sit out there in misery all afternoon.

  At one o'clock, Fidelia arrived. Caroline had already eaten her own sandwich and was putting on a fresh pot of coffee when she heard the familiar crisp tap at the door.

  "Fidelia, thank you so much for coming over. I didn't hear your car in the driveway."

  Fidelia rolled her eyes. "I know you can hear dat old clunker a mile away. But I couldn't get it started dis morning so I took a cab." Fidelia looked at her closely, then enfolded her in her strong, thin arms. "I'm sorry about your husband. Lieutenant Jerome told me what happened."

  "Did he mention the child's voice my husband heard before he was shot?" Fidelia nodded.

  "It was Hayley, you know."

  "Or someone working on her behalf."

  Caroline frowned. "I don't understand."

  "Sometimes de spirits have humans do deir dirty work."

  "Like murdering people?"

  "It has happened."

  "Then you're saying there really could be a little girl who is being guided by Hayley?"

  "I'm saying it can happen."

  "But why?"

  "Hayley was murdered. Her murderer was never caught. De souls of de unavenged often come back for retribution."

  "But David didn't have anything to do with her murder. Or Melinda, but she gets the calls from the child."

  "You married again. You started a new life, had other children you love. Maybe Hayley doesn't like dis."

  "Melinda said basically the same thing. But why, after all these years, would she come back?"

  "You told me dat she is always on your mind. You've never been able to forget. From what I've heard, your first husband was never able to forget, either. Maybe all de energy you devoted to tinking about her somehow gave her spirit de strength to come back."

  "Fidelia, this all sounds so fantastic."

  "Only because you are not used to tinking dis way. I grew up wit it. Dat's why you wanted to see me today, isn't it?"

  "Yes." Caroline walked over to the kitchen table and ran her fingers over the smooth wood. "I was up all night and I spent the whole morning thinking about it. The police haven't been any help. Now I'm turning to you. What can I do to stop this?"

  Fidelia folded her arms across her narrow chest. "Voodoo teaches belief in de loa," she said slowly. "De loa are gods who act like what you call guardian angels. Dey can protect you from evil. But in order for a loa to attach itself to you and your family, you must take part in a ritual service and let de loa possess you during a trance state."

  Caroline stiffened, thinking of the voodoo rituals she had seen in the movies. Glaze-eyed people chanting, dancing, someone biting off the head of a chicken. "Oh, Fidelia, I don't know about taking part in a ritual," Caroline said hesitantly.

  Fidelia stepped closer. "I understand your fear because it's something new for you, but it's necessary." Her aqua eyes held Caroline in an almost hypnotic gaze. "Before de loa can help you, you must take part in de ritual. You must meet with de cult and let a houngan—a male—or a mambo—a female—guide you."

  Caroline's palms began to sweat. Already she felt as if she were stepping off into an abyss of magic and potions. "Do you know a cult group?"

  "Oh, yes." She smiled. "Are you surprised?"

  "Frankly, yes. David always said you practiced voodoo, but I didn't believe it."

  "I don't talk about it because it makes many people nervous. But it's noting to be afraid of. Will you participate in de ritual?"

  Caroline was suddenly uncomfortable. Although she had invited Fidelia here to talk about the possibility of a supernatural agent being behind the killings, actually being confronted with Fidelia's intensity and the knowledge that the woman not only practiced voodoo but also wanted her to participate in a cult ritual unnerved her. "I don't think I'm ready for what you're talking about. I'm afraid."

  "Are you more frightened of a voodoo ritual dan you are of de danger your family is in?"

  "Well, no, but this kind of ritual you're talking about. It seems so…"

  "Pagan?"

  "I guess."

  "Does your Christianity teach you to believe in ghosts?"

  "No, of course not."

  "But you believe in dem neverdeless."

  "I'm not sure."

  "As long as you have doubt, isn't it best to try everyting to stop dis craziness? What can it hurt?"

  "Nothing, I suppose."

  "Den I will arrange it."

  For a few minutes Caroline had felt as if she were in an alien, exotic world. The reality of the cheerful kitchen and the smell of fresh coffee had disappeared with the talk of loas and cults and possession. But suddenly Fidelia smiled and said in a matter-of-fact voice, "As long as I'm here, I might as well get a little cleaning done. Dat all right wit you?"

  Caroline blinked at her. "Sure," she said faintly. "Whatever you want."

  "Good. De bedroom windows are dirty. I'll start with dem."

  Ten minutes later the phone rang. It was Tom. "Caroline, I sent someone to Harry Vinton's funeral this morning."

  She took a shaky breath. "Were they there?"

  "You bet. A big bouqu
et of black silk orchids with a card reading, 'To Harry, Black for Remembrance.'"

  "So there's no doubt that all the murders are connected."

  "I would say that's now an absolute certainty except for one thing."

  "What's that?"

  Tom was silent for a moment before he said, "I didn't go to the funeral myself because I was called to Sunnyhill Nursing Home."

  "A nursing home? Whatever for?"

  "Garrison Longworth. He died last night."

  "A heart attack?"

  "Yes. But he had a rope around his neck and beside him was the familiar bouquet and message."

  "Oh, dear God," Caroline breathed. "But how could someone have gotten to him there, with all those people around?"

  "Apparently someone came in early in the evening, hid until around midnight, and then killed him. Or tried to. They didn't get a chance because a heart attack got him first."

  "Was there any hair?"

  "Not that I know of yet. But we haven't gotten all the lab reports back yet."

  "If there is hair, it'll be orange synthetic. And there won't be any fingerprints. There won't be anything."

  "Caroline, the killer came within minutes, maybe seconds, of being caught last night. This wasn't the neat job the others were. In fact, a nurse heard a scream she swears didn't come from Longworth. She said it sounded angry. Probably rage that Garrison died before he could be murdered."

  "What kind of scream?"

  "She said it sounded like a child's." Tom waited a moment, then said, "Caroline, are you all right?"

  "Fine and dandy."

  "Look, I know what a shock this is. I'm just telling you because I want you to realize how essential it is for you to leave town. And don't tell me you can't go until David gets out of the hospital. I want you and the children to leave tonight."

  "We were going to a hotel downtown."

  "That's not good enough."

  "No, I guess it isn't." Caroline sighed. "Okay, Tom. I promise that we'll leave just as soon as the kids get in from school."

  Caroline hung up.

  Immediately the phone rang. Tom again? She picked up the receiver with a shaking hand.

  A deep-voiced woman said, "Mrs. Webb?"

  "This is Donna Bell, the nurse at Melinda's school. Your daughter is quite ill."

  "She's sick?" Caroline repeated dumbly. "But she was fine this morning."

  "She's throwing up violently. She said she ate something a little girl gave her this morning. I wonder if she doesn't have food poisoning…"

  Caroline slammed down the phone. A little girl gave Melinda something? Didn't arsenic poisoning mimic food poisoning?

  Without even grabbing her coat, Caroline dashed outside to Mercer. "We have to get to the school. Melinda's sick. Maybe she's been poisoned."

  The mile to Melinda's school seemed like ten. When they pulled up in front, Caroline ran inside, not even waiting for Mercer to follow. A self-important hall monitor directed her to the nurse's office. Caroline stepped into the small office to see a plump, older woman sitting at a scarred desk filling out forms.

  "Mrs. Bell?"

  The nurse looked up, smiling. "No, Mrs. Porter." Her voice was high and fluty. "Can I help you?"

  "I'm Caroline Webb, Melinda's mother. Donna Bell called me a few minutes ago and said Melinda is very sick."

  The nurse's creamy forehead puckered. "Donna Bell? Is she a substitute here?"

  "No. She said she was the nurse."

  "I'm the only school nurse, and your daughter hasn't been brought to me."

  Panic raced through Caroline. "Then where's Melinda?" she demanded in a high, frightened voice. "Where's my little girl?"

  Mrs. Porter stood up. "Calm down, dear. I'm sure there's been some kind of mistake. Whose class is she in?"

  Caroline went blank, fear taking over. Her hands trembled. "She's in the third grade," she managed.

  The nurse looked at her disapprovingly and said in a tone Caroline imagined was reserved for mental patients, "Then she would be in Mrs. Mailer's class, Mr. Stewart's class, or Miss Cummings's class."

  "Cummings! She's in Miss Cummings's class."

  "Very good." The nurse beamed. "Let's see if we can find her."

  Caroline followed the stout woman down the hall. Oh, Melinda, please be in the classroom, she begged silently. Please don't be missing, fallen into the hands of…

  "Why don't you just peek through the window here and see if you can spot your little girl," Mrs. Porters said. "That way we won't disturb the class."

  Caroline moved to the window, her eyes running frantically up and down the rows of little seats. And there sat Melinda, tongue showing between her lips the way it always did when she was working on arithmetic problems. "She's there," Caroline breathed in relief.

  "See?" Mrs. Porter said perkily. "Everything is fine, just as I knew it would be."

  "I want to take her home anyway."

  Mrs. Porter frowned. "Don't you think that would be alarming the child over nothing?"

  Melinda will want to know why she was being jerked out of class, Caroline thought. It would cause a scene and probably alert whoever was watching them that Caroline was frightened, perhaps even planning to leave town. No, it would be better to leave her alone for an hour until school was out. Then after today, they would be out of the city and hopefully out of danger as well.

  "I guess I will let her stay," she said reluctantly.

  Mrs. Porter beamed some more. "Excellent. And my dear, you really shouldn't let yourself get so upset over every little thing. Very bad for the digestion, you know."

  Caroline gave the patronizing woman a long, cold look. "My digestion is the least of my problems right now, Mrs. Porter. Thank you for your help."

  Fidelia doused the corner window of the master bedroom with Windex and reached for the paper towels. It was amazing how dirty these windows had gotten since she cleaned them a month ago. They always said electric heat was cleaner than gas, but if the heat in this house was any indication…

  She heard a soft footfall down the hall and paused. Slow and stealthy, she thought abruptly. Not Caroline. George? He'd been lying in the entrance hall when she came upstairs. She glanced out the window again to see him standing in the backyard.

  She laid down her towels. "Who's dere?"

  Silence.

  "Mrs. Webb? Greg?"

  Nothing.

  Fidelia's mouth went dry. There was evil in the house it was as palpable as a strong, cold wind.

  "Hayley?"

  The grandfather clock in the hall ticked mournfully, as if it were measuring the last few seconds of her life. Funny how it had never seemed so loud before.

  "Hayley, you have noting to fear from me," she called, trying to sound as fearless as her mother would have in this situation. She looked out the window again to see George, his head tilted curiously toward the bedroom window. "I only want to help you, pauvre cherie, not destroy you. Don't you want help? Don't you want peace?"

  "You can't help."

  A child's voice, but calm, sure. Frightening.

  "But I can. I have friends who can."

  Childish laughter with a razor edge.

  Fidelia knew she had an uncanny ability to sense evil; what she did not have was an ability to fight it, and it was practically staring her in the face right now. The situation was beyond her control, and she was more frightened than she had ever been in her life. She knew she had to get out of the house immediately. But first she had to get down the hall to the stairs.

  She crept through the bedroom, pausing after every step to listen. Someone, or something, was very close. She just wasn't sure where. Her leathery skin had turned frigid, and she felt as wary as a helpless zebra being stalked by a lion, every sense humming as she tried to escape the predator. When she reached the door of the bedroom, she hesitated. Would it be better to lock herself in the room? No. Spirits didn't recognize locked doors. It was sunlight she needed. Fresh air and sunlight, where the
evils couldn't follow.

  With a deep breath, she plunged from the room, her sandals slapping against the gleaming hardwood floor of the hall, the floor she had waxed only last week. When she landed on the rectangular oriental rug she had always admired, it flew out from under her, throwing her violently down. She had only one brief, startling glimpse of her assailant before pain flashed behind her eyes. Then she was dragged to the spiral staircase and pushed down to the marble entrance hall below.

  Chapter 18

  "WHO WOULD have thought the old man to have had so much blood in him?"

  Lady Macbeth's words kept running through Caroline's head. Who would have thought skinny, leathery Fidelia to have had so much blood in her? And who would have thought she could lose so much and still be alive?

  In what seemed like seconds after Caroline and Mercer had walked in the house to find Fidelia limp and broken at the foot of the stairs, men were busting through the front door with a stretcher, IV bottles, blood pressure equipment. Then Tom arrived.

  "There was a pile-up on the interstate. I couldn't get here as soon as I expected. What happened?"

  Mercer explained about the call from the school and their returning home to discover Fidelia. Caroline heard him talking, but she couldn't say anything. She sat on the couch staring at her right hand, which had gotten covered with blood when she felt behind Fidelia's ear to find a fluttery pulse. Numbly she walked into the kitchen and poured dishwashing liquid over her hands before turning on the faucet. She rubbed until the stains were gone. She was just finishing when Tom came in.

  "Are you all right?"

  "I don't think I can take much more of this, Tom."

  "I know. I called Lucy but there's no answer at the store. I'll try again in a little while and she can come to stay with you."

  "Okay." Caroline went over and sat down at the table. "What have you found out?"

  Tom sat down beside her. "Fidelia was struck in the upstairs hall. There's blood all over the floor."

  "But she's alive."

  "Very much so. The paramedics said all the blood is from a scalp wound. They bleed like the devil. It wasn't as bad as it looked."

  "Thank God."

  "I'm sure you noticed that her throat wasn't cut and there was no burning. No gunshot wound, either. I'd say it wasn't the intruder's intention to hurt her. Maybe Fidelia just surprised him."