“I like the sound of that,” she said.
“Thought you might,” he grinned. He rolled on top of her and sealed the deal. Sarah dug her nails into his back and realized it was the first time they had sex without her hands tied.
A short time later she saw him to the door. She kissed him hard. Pulling away she said, “Remember. It has to look like an accident.”
Closing the door behind him, she let out a small cry of triumph and set her mind on establishing an alibi. She had explained Allan’s sleep habits to Ray, in bed at nine-thirty and asleep by ten. Ray was to do the job between eleven and mid-night. She would have to have a legitimate alibi for that hour and she had the perfect idea for one. She took a card from the refrigerator, picked up the phone and dialed the number.
“Detective Parker,” the strong voice answered.
“Detective, this is Sarah Tuttle,” she said.
“Mrs. Tuttle,” he said, his voice softening, “how may I help you?”
“Well you said if I remembered anything to call you,” she said.
“Yes, Ma’am,” Parker said, curiosity rising. “What did you remember?”
“Well,” she said. “I would rather talk to you in person.”
“I can be there in twenty minutes,” he said.
“No,” she said. “I have a lot of things to take care of today. The funeral and all. I was wondering if maybe . . .”
She paused. Dave prodded her, “Yes?”
“Would you meet me for a late dinner?”
There was silence on the other side of the phone and Sarah immediately regretted calling the detective. He might decide she was doing something inappropriate. After all, who invites the detective investigating her husband’s murder out to dinner? Particularly a late dinner?
“Mrs. Tuttle . . .,” he started.
“I’m sorry,” she said quickly. “I don’t know what I was thinking. I just didn’t want to be alone tonight and didn’t know who else to call.”
“Tonight something special?” he asked.
“Tonight?” she said. “Oh, because I don’t want to be alone? No. I just, well, you know. It gets lonely. I thought that since I needed to talk to you anyway it would be nice to talk over dinner. The house is so full of memories. Especially at night when he would normally be home. I’m sorry I bothered you.”
“No,” Dave said. “Don’t be sorry. I’d be glad to have dinner with you. When and where?”
“The Savannah Grill at ten-thirty,” she said, releasing her breath.
“No problem,” he said. “I’ll meet you there.”
“Thank you,” she said hanging up. She let out a deep sigh and sat heavily in her favorite chair.
Chapter 21
(The Fire)
Ray was not a violent man. He didn’t shy away from a fight, but he wasn’t one to go out looking for trouble. At the same time, the idea of killing a man didn’t really bother him. He could name at least a dozen men he might have killed over the years if he knew he wouldn’t be caught. He had never actually done it. He was sure he could, without a second thought. Tonight, he would find out.
He pulled up to the cabin at ten-thirty as Sarah suggested. He drove the last stretch with his headlights off, driving slowly through the trees leaning close to the windshield to improve his vision in the darkness. No city lights glowed here. It was nature in the raw and only the moon and the stars illuminated the night.
The cabin was as dark as the sky. Since Sarah told him the man inside would be in bed by nine-thirty and asleep by ten, this didn't surprise him. It comforted him in fact. He was spontaneous by nature, yet he hated surprises. Everything was going as planned and he was ready to do what he had come to do; kill Sarah’s husband and make her his own. Stupid man didn’t deserve her anyway. She had told him how Allan treated her. The pig deserved to die. Ray was proud Sarah trusted him enough to ask him to do it. He would not disappoint her.
He opened the door to his truck quietly. The click of the latch was probably the loudest sound he ever heard. He froze and turned to the cabin. Nothing stirred behind the windows. He slipped out of the seat and onto the ground effortlessly and moved to the back of the truck. If he were seen, the company logo on the side of the box where his plumbing supplies were stored would be a dead giveaway. He did not intend to leave a witness and was sure no one else would pay any attention to a plumber on the road at night. He hoped not anyway. He opened the back door and it squealed on the old rusted hinges. He glanced at the cabin wondering how heavily the man slept.
Ray quietly lifted a five gallon can of gasoline from the back of the truck and set it on the ground next to him. He checked his pocket to be sure he had the book of matches he needed. He closed the door again and secured the latch before walking up to the cabin’s front porch. Sarah gave him a key before he left the house that morning and he pulled it out now, slipping it into the lock. It turned easily and he pushed the door inward cautiously. The interior was even darker than the exterior. There were no electronic glows of clocks or electronics found in virtually every home he had ever been in.
He stumbled through the dark until he came to a table. He set the gasoline onto its surface and pulled the matches out of his pocket and set them down as well. He looked around the room wondering if there was anything he might want to load into his truck before starting the fire. Unable to see, he decided it would be too risky to chance waking the man in the next room. Ray wanted the fire to be too far along for the man to escape before he woke.
His eyes began to adjust to the lack of light allowing shapes to form in the blackness. He unscrewed the cap on the gas can and started splashing the flammable liquid onto every surface he could find. He discovered a fireplace on one wall and splashed the fuel extra heavy to make it appear the fire started there. He smiled at his own genius and continued splashing the walls. He poured some under the bedroom door so the fire would be sure to advance on the sleeping man. He threw the empty can through the open front door into the yard beyond so he could take it with him. He would leave no evidence behind.
His plan was based on a scene he saw in a movie years ago. Using a book of matches, the character in the movie lit one match and tucked the bottom end into the book behind the other matches. The match burned down until it caught the others on fire and, whoosh, the place goes up in flames. Another grin crossed his face. He was sure he was the best criminal to walk the face of the earth and he was only just beginning.
He crossed the room to the table, holding his hands out in front of him so he wouldn’t run into anything in the dark and felt around for the matches. He found them and raised them up. They were soaked with gasoline. He cursed himself and moved to the kitchen. He opened drawers and felt around the contents for anything that might be a matchbook. In the third drawer, he withdrew his hand quickly as he felt a prick. The fast motion caused him to cut his hand on the knife he unknowingly grabbed in the blackness. He cursed again trying hard not to be loud enough to wake his intended victim.
He grabbed what felt like a towel off the counter and wrapped it around his hand to stop the bleeding. He began to search for matches again, this time more gingerly. Having no luck, he was going to have to risk a light. He considered putting the towel across the bottom of the door to keep the light from shining into the bedroom, quickly discarding the thought. He needed to keep his hand wrapped. At this point if the man woke up and came to investigate, Ray would just beat the hell out of him and put him back in bed unconscious. He walked to a nearby lamp and turned the switch. Nothing happened. It was evidently controlled by a wall switch. Moving to the wall he searched for the switch in the dark.
He walked around the room running his hand over the wall looking for a switch. The first he came to turned on an outside light which he quickly turned it back off. The second switch he encountered was next to the bedroom door and he was concerned it would turn on a light in the bedroom and wasn’t sure he wanted to tempt fate that much.
The third swi
tch was next to the stone fireplace not far from the lamp he was trying to turn on. He grinned. He would turn the light on and run to the kitchen, find the matches and run back to turn the light off. There would only be a few seconds of light to worry about. Easy as flipping a switch.
His finger pushed the plastic switch upward and he watched the lamp expectantly. The light remained unchanged. He heard a low hiss and a click. He was amazed at the speed of the flames as they sprang to life from the gas fireplace. The ignition switch was still in his hand as the flames consumed the gasoline, spreading through the room like wall to wall carpeting. What was happening registered immediately and he raced for the door. The flames were too fast. The air he sucked into his lungs burned his insides and he could feel the flames licking at his skin. He collapsed in the center of the floor next to a wooden desk. The linoleum tiles were curling up around him and he closed his eyes to the pain. At least he got the man. At least he didn’t fail Sarah. A few minutes later there was nothing left but the burning cabin and the plumber’s truck.
In the distance, old man Jasper saw the flames from his living room window where he sat watching television. He called 9-1-1 to report the fire. Twenty minutes later sirens blared past his store. There would be nothing to save but the forest, the old man knew. The flames were far too big. The cabin would be gone. As well as anyone inside.
Chapter 22
(The Alibi)
Sarah walked into the Savanah Grill at exactly ten-thirty. It was her first time in the restaurant, an upscale establishment serving a variety of different cultural favorites in a relaxing atmosphere. Sarah was not sure why she selected the place. Facing the ‘when and where’ question, it was the first place that came to mind. Walking in the front door gave her an uneasy feeling and she suddenly wished for a seedy bar and grill. She couldn’t leave. Detective Parker was to be her alibi and he would be there any minute.
She waited only five minutes before Dave appeared in the doorway dressed in a gray sport coat and dark slacks, even a tie. She wore a yellow sundress with large pink flowers and white sandals. He strode up to her and held out his hand in greeting. She took the hand and smiled at him. Settling onto a stool next to her, he looked around the restaurant.
“You come here often?” he asked, suddenly realizing the cliché pick-up line and felt a flush of red rise in his face. “I mean, do you eat out like this much?”
Dave was awkward and he wasn’t sure why. The place? The woman? Or maybe because he was meeting the wife of a victim, without telling his partner? No matter what it was, he felt out of place. Sarah was looking at him as if measuring him up or possibly considering his questions.
“Never been here before,” she admitted. “Someone said it was good. They didn’t tell me it was this fancy.”
“Oh,” Dave sat looking around at the people who never seemed to look his way yet absolutely were. He was a cop. He could tell when eyes were on him. Maybe that was the source of his awkwardness, the uneasy feeling of being watched.
They sat in silence for a few more minutes. Neither made a move to turn their names in to the hostess. Neither placed an order at the bar. They only sat staring at the strangers in their expensive clothes as they passed on their way in and out of the restaurant. No one talked to each other except for a select few men sitting at corner tables.
“You want to blow this joint?” Dave said.
“Do I!” Sarah responded with relief.
They walked out together, Dave stopping at the door, holding it open to let Sarah through. He walked her to her car and opened the door for her. Just before shutting it, he told her to follow him. He went to his car and slid in behind the wheel. He backed out of his parking space and waited for Sarah to do the same before leading her away from the Savannah Grill. His destination was a small, mom and pop diner he liked on the edge of town that was open late. It was about a twenty-minute drive and worth every minute.
Sarah followed the taillights of the detective’s car staying close so she wouldn't lose him. Dave drove slowly and she wondered if it was for her benefit or just the policeman in him. She was not used to a man who opened doors for her. She was not used to men who were polite. Not that Allan was rude, just unaware.
The simple act of opening the door for her made Sarah look at Dave a little differently. And when he pulled into the parking lot of the small mom and pop restaurant called The Silver Spoon, she had to grin. It was her favorite kind of place. The atmosphere was cozy and the food was usually good. She was there to establish her alibi with the detective. She might even enjoy herself, something she never thought would happen.
“Been coming here for years,” Dave said opening her door. “Since I was a cop on the beat.”
“Looks like a nice place,” Sarah said accepting his hand to help her out of her car. She smiled and thanked him. Inside, the diner had the feel of home. Straight back chairs surrounded large oak tables. Photos hung on the walls among the paintings. The photos were of people in the restaurant and in most an elderly man and woman sat among guests, smiling broadly at the cameras. There were also several portraits presumably the children and or grandchildren of the couple. Sarah was amazed at the sheer number of photos, studying them closely until a voice brought her out of her concentration.
“As I live and breathe,” the woman said. “If it isn’t David Parker.”
“Hello, Lilly,” Dave said, solemnly. “How are you doing?”
“How am I doing, you ask?” she said. “You meander in here after, what is it, four years, and you ask how I'm doing?”
“Been kinda busy,” Dave said. Sarah could tell by his voice he was ashamed. She recognized the woman as half the couple in the photos.
“For four years, you’re too busy?”
“It’s not just that,” Dave said.
“I should hope not,” Lilly said.
“It’s just been kind of rough the past few years,” he said. “Not that I want to get into that right now.”
“Pa is going to blow a gasket,” she snickered. “He may need an ambulance when he sees you.”
“Guess he might,” Dave said.
“You pick a table and I’ll go get him,” she gestured to the mostly empty room. She turned away and pushed her way through a door.
“Did she say, ‘Pa’?” Sarah leaned toward Dave.
“Yes.”
“Are they your parents?”
“God no,” Dave seemed shocked by the idea. “No. They just call each other Ma and Pa. Have for years.”
“If they aren’t your parents,” Sarah asked, “why does she sound like your mother?”
“They used to be my in-laws,” Dave said.
“Your in-laws?”
“It’s a long story,” Dave said. “Not the kind of thing you want to listen to over dinner. And besides, we came here for a bite to eat and to discuss what you remembered.”
“At your in-laws’?”
“What’s wrong with that?” he asked.
“Well,” Sarah said, “for one thing, you show up with a strange woman, don’t you think they’ll get the wrong idea?”
“Not my problem,” Dave shrugged. “I just wanted some good food and this place is open.”
“Won’t it be strange knowing your in-laws are watching you?” Sarah asked.
“Not really. They’re ex-in-laws and we’ve remained friends.”
“Friends? With your ex-in-laws?”
“They don’t blame me for what Shelly did,” Dave said. “And I have no reason to hold a grudge against them.”
“Shelly?”
“My ex.”
“Oh,” Sarah said. She started looking around the wall for photos of Dave. She managed to locate a couple hidden among the dozens arranged in the room. “Any kids?”
“Kids?”
“You and your wife,” Sarah said. “Did you have any kids?”
“Nope,” Dave said. “No kids.”
“They must have been disappointed.”
�
��The kids?”
“No,” Sarah said. “The parents. Ma and Pa.”
“Maybe,” Dave said. “Don’t know. They have lots of grandkids. Had eight of their own. Shelly was the only one who didn’t have kids.”
“Eight?” Sarah sighed. “Can you imagine?”
“I’ve seen the grandkids,” Dave said. “I can do more than imagine.”
The door opened again and the woman came back into the room followed by an elderly man who looked like he just stepped out of a marine uniform into cook's whites. He was wringing his hands in a towel, his thick arms dark from burn scars and sun. He walked to the table Dave and Sarah had chosen with a stoic look on his face. He walked determinedly between the chairs and tables in his path until he stood next to Dave. Sarah was convinced the old man was going to punch the detective. Instead he only held out his hand for a shake. Dave took it without hesitation.
“Good to see you, detective,” the man said, his face melting into one of the smiles prevalent in the photos.
“You too, Matthew,” Dave said.
“Matthew?” the old man said. “No one has called me that since my mother passed away.”
“It’s good to see you too, Pa,” Dave corrected.
“All right then,” the old man said. “Now who’s the lovely lady? You got yourself a new Honey?”
“No, Pa,” Dave said. “This is Sarah Tuttle. She’s . . . well, she’s . . . Let’s just say she’s a business associate.”
“Business associate,” Pa poked Ma’s ribs with an elbow. “Is that what they call ‘em these days?”
“Pa,” Dave had a pleading tone in his voice. “There’s nothing going on between us. Her husband was recently murdered.”
“Murdered!” Pa exclaimed.
“My Goodness,” Ma said. “You poor dear.”
The elder couple took their orders and retreated to the kitchen. They said little more and patted Sarah on the shoulder several times sympathetically before retreating behind the door to the kitchen. Dave shook his head and let out a long breath.
The Widow's Husband Page 14