“Mrs. Nelson says that all the time.” Sam said.
“Sally Nelson?” Zelda stopped with her back to the wall of windows. The couple’s obvious affection for each other filled the room with slivers of cutting reality. St. Clair never held her the way these two clung to each other.
“Yes,” Sam said. “I’m sure Sally wouldn’t mind my telling you. She’s an alcoholic.”
“You’re not supposed to tell people, Sam,” Donna said. “That’s why it’s called Alcoholics Anonymous.”
“Mrs. Nelson tells everyone.” Sam defended himself.
“Yes, but she can,” Donna said. “You’re not supposed to.”
“I’ll explain to her,” Sam said. “Zelda, most of us feel as if we don’t have control of everything in our lives.”
“How about nothing in your life.” Zelda leaned against an exposed black beam. She began to weep quietly.
Donna brought her a glass of water from the refrigerator’s door. “Tell us what’s happening. Come and sit down. Maybe we can help.”
“No,” Zelda sobbed. She let Donna guide her to the leather love seat. “No one can help me.” She seemed convinced.
Sam sat next to Zelda. “Do you want us to pray for you?”
“Oh, sure,” Zelda laughed, nearly hysterically. “That will work.”
♦ ♦ ♦ ♦ ♦
Second Saturday in December
Back in Ann Arbor, Donna continued her life, painting, exhibiting, selling enough pieces to warrant buying more oils and canvas. The City Club provided an outlet when her house, in the midst of massive renovations, seemed to swallow up awareness of who she was. Isolation did not add to her strength of character. Instead, self-pity crept into the hours spent alone.
At first, her women friends were adamant she continue her life, calling regularly for dinner invitations. Unescorted at dinner, or with Sam, Donna tried to stay in the conversation, meaning she spoke more than was necessary. She knew no one expected her to fill in for David, but she tried to provide information about the art world. Eventually the invitations from women friends were changed to luncheons, when Sam was working. Then mostly men began to call, asking how she was ‘doing’ with David gone from her life.
When the husbands of friends called, Donna would ask about their wives. She implied she would be sure to thank her friend for having her husband call to console her, which stopped most of the nonsense. The real surprise came from the number of single professors from the university who called to invite her out. She knew them all too well to be interested in being seen with them. Marrying a clone of David’s was not appealing. Sam Tedler, however, was the perfect houseguest. He cooked, served her coffee in the morning, in bed, and never failed to satisfy her every wish. She knew she should make an honest man of him and marry him, but her responsibility to David’s child kept her decision at bay until it was almost too late.
Sam and Donna were wallpapering the baby’s room. Sam was on the stepladder and Donna directed traffic. “Is that straight at the top?”
“You to tell me,” Sam said.
“You don’t have to bark at me.”
Sam slid the soft trowel against the glued paper, smoothing out bubbles as he climbed down the ladder and wiped away a last bit of wetness near the floorboard. “Bark at you?” He wrapped his arms around Donna’s thickening figure. “I love you. Is everything all right?”
Donna kissed him before struggling to get free. “Hormones, I guess.”
“Why don’t you go up and paint. I can finish this.”
“Without me?”
“With you in a happier state.” Sam laughed. “In your studio creating another masterpiece for Zelda.”
“You don’t like her, do you?”
“We are not having a fight.” Sam returned to wetting down another roll of wallpaper, where flop-eared bunnies romped.
“Love you,” Donna said sheepishly. She entered the studio without a plan. A white canvas waited patiently. Then an idea hit. She pulled out her ‘Family of Man’ collection of black-and-white photographs. One of them showed a young Pakistani lad in a tee shirt large enough for a short dress. He was positioned on one knee, looking at a coin he found on a stone patio, his left hand extended behind for balance. His natural grace resembled a ballet pose. Donna sketched the boy quickly and began to paint his limbs and the cobblestones with the same hues of red, pink, and flesh tones. She made the coin a piece of gold and labeled the painting, in her head, ‘The Lost Soul.’ But the painting wasn’t perfect. The tones blended into each other. Even though she tried to lighten the boy’s extended arm, the limb seemed to disappear in the matching tones of the stones beneath him. Donna promised to fix the painting and went off to see how Sam was progressing.
The baby’s room was finished and Sam was nowhere in sight.
Then she smelled the garlic and onions frying in the kitchen. Supper would be another feast. “Sam,” Donna cooed as she slid her arms around his waist in the kitchen. “Do you get enough attention from me?”
Sam put a lid on the frying pan in front of him. “Why? Are you feeling ignored?”
“I asked you first. I get so involved in painting; I hope you don’t feel shut out -- like I did when David’s research was filling his mind.”
“You are first in my thoughts.”
Donna smiled. “I’ll set the table.”
“You are an absent-minded professor.” Sam laughed. “Didn’t you notice the table? It’s already set up with your new china.”
Donna kissed the side of Sam’s face and returned to the living room. Mentioning David made her remember his words, “Confusion seeks Truth.” Why did David want to summon up a personal God, one who was on speaking terms with him? Donna turned on the stereo hoping to add classical music to the banquet. Instead, the loud, jarring sounds of Pink Floyd blared out of David’s disc player.
“Whoa.” Sam dashed into the living room to turn down the noise. “Is that your husband’s favorite music?”
“No,” Donna shuddered, “It’s Norman’s.”
The doorbell rang. Without thinking, Donna opened the door. Norman was standing on her threshold. “I wanted to see if it was true,” Norman said.
Donna stepped back, one hand on her offending stomach. Sam arrived big and imposing as he moved between Donna and Norman. “I don’t believe you are welcome here.”
“I know,” Norman said. “I’ve seen all I need to see.” He gave Donna an evil look and walked down the sidewalk.
Sam shut the door and reached for Donna, who was sliding to the floor. “We’ll take out a protective order. He won’t be allowed within two miles of you.”
“Better call the ambulance, Sam.” Donna felt unusually calm as the pain tore at something insider her. “I think I’m miscarrying.”
♦ ♦ ♦ ♦ ♦
University Hospital
Sally and John joined Sam in the waiting room. “We just finished the nursery.” Sam wrung his hands looking from John to Sally, who still held hands. They were together. He would always live alone. His future with Donna was doomed.
Sally pushed him down into a hard chair. “Was Donna overdoing anything?”
“I don’t think so,” Sam ran his hands through his blond hair. He hadn’t protected the woman he loved. She would never trust him now. “Norman came over.”
“You didn’t let him in, did you?” John asked.
“No.” Sam tried to regain some composure. Think like a police detective. “We need to pick Norman up for questioning. He left a disc of Pink Floyd in David’s stereo, probably when he vandalized Donna’s house.”
“Sally, stay here with Sam,” John said. “I’ll make the report.”
Sally took Sam’s hand. “I’m glad you wanted to father Donna’s baby.”
“I asked her to marry me. Do think I went against the Lord’s will, staying by her side? I thought I was protecting her. Is that why she lost the baby?”
A young female doctor walked toward them. “You’
re able to visit your wife now.”Sam did not correct her. “Fine. May I bring my aunt in, also?”
“Of course,” the young doctor said, pointing to the room she had just exited. “We’ll keep her for a few days for observation.”
“Aunt?” Sally asked, as she pulled Sam down the hall.
Sam surprised himself by grinning. “Well, friend of my mother’s seemed a bit complicated.”
Once inside the room, Sam couldn’t move. Donna stretched out her hand in his direction. Her beautiful eyes welcomed him. She didn’t hate him. Sally took a towel from the room’s bathroom and wrapped up Donna’s wet hair. “My goddess returned to me.” Sam kissed Donna’s forehead. “I’m so sorry.”
Donna sighed. “What would I have done if you hadn’t been with me? The doctor said I’m able to have more children.”
“I’m glad,” Sally said. “Sam tells me Norman came over. John is taking measures right now to make sure he is jailed or at least legally constrained from coming within ten miles of you again.”
Donna shook her head. “Stealing David’s research is not Norman’s doing.”
“But the vandalism is surely his.” Sam took Donna’s hand. “Donna Leonard, I hope you don’t mind repetition. Will you marry me?”
Donna turned to Sally. “He doesn’t want his work on the nursery to go to waste, right?”
“Donna,” Sally said. “Answer the man.”
“Yes,” Donna drew Sam down for a kiss. “Yes, a thousand times and forever, yes.”
♦ ♦ ♦ ♦ ♦
Second Tuesday in December
With all the best intentions, John’s request for the Ann Arbor Police Department to arrest Norman for vandalism accomplished nothing. The police referred John to the state’s district attorney. John was able to demand an appointment and actually see Jimmy Walker in person, telling him the long tale of David’s accident, the various robberies and acts of vicious vandalism, and a warrant for Norman’s arrest had been duly issued.
The thing Norman liked most about the Saturday he surprised Donna with a visit, was Donna’s hair had turned white at the temples. Donna’s life was being successfully terrorized. Now he knew Donna was pregnant and his share of his father’s estate would be stretched even further to include another heir. Burning down the house of the woman he hated seemed even in good taste. After Donna’s house was a pile of ashes, Norman looked at the cans of gasoline still in his car. He’d followed Sally and John earlier in the day to their expensive house being built on the Huron River. All that fresh timber soaked in gasoline made a great blaze. Too bad he couldn’t stick around to toast some marshmallows. Driving past the arriving fire engines, he called Zelda. “We have a lot to talk about.”
St. Claire handed the phone to Zelda. “Who is this?” Zelda asked.
“Norman, remember when you told me you would be glad to help in any way?”
“Yes?” Zelda said. St. Claire had pushed the speaker button before he handed her the phone.
“I’d like to leave town,” Norman said. “I burned down David’s house and Sally’s Bianco’s future abode. Could I stay at your place in New York?”
St. Claire shook his head. “I’m sorry, Norman,” Zelda tried to come up with a convincing lie. St. Claire wrote down a note and shoved it at her. “I sold my interest in the gallery.” Zelda read from the note.
“Is there someone with you?” Norman asked.
“Of course not. Why don’t you come over and we’ll talk about why you want to leave Ann Arbor.”
“I will.” Norman hung up the phone.
St. Claire advanced on Zelda. “We might as well make this a sympathetic visit.” Then for no apparent reason than his own evilness, he rained more than one blow onto Zelda’s face.
Finally, Zelda heard a wisp of a voice within herself sing quietly. “I’m all out of love,” She knew the truth. She no longer loved this evil man intent on ruining her looks.
The maniac was turned on by the bloody wreck he made of her nose and the slash his ring cut across her eyebrow. St. Claire carried her into the bedroom, stripped her and draped her face with her bloodied clothing, then coldly mounted her. When he finished, he turned his back saying, “You better make an appointment with your beauty parlor.” He laughed at his malicious joke. “You’re a mess.”
Zelda knew she would never let him touch her again. She’d rather die. How had she deluded herself into believing St. Claire was of any worth? His large brain served no earthly good.
♦ ♦ ♦ ♦ ♦
Norman smiled when he started to knock on Zelda’s front door. She left the door of her condominium slightly ajar for him. His packed suitcase for a trip to New York was in the trunk of his car. The sooner he was out of the state, the better off he would be. He wondered what the sentence was for arson. Zelda’s obvious welcome was a relief. Norman relaxed and took his time appraising her belongings. White deep carpeting, mahogany furnishings and crystal light fixtures signified there was plenty of money here. Zelda wasn’t hard on the eyes, really and better looking than Harry Terkle’s housekeeper. Norman was sure he could do this, charm the old dame right out of her last sock.
A chilling bucket filled with ice and expensive Champagne as well as a single, slender flute of a wineglass, promised Zelda was ready. He downed two glassfuls for himself. If he’d been as slim as he wanted to be, he would have left his shirt in the living room, but with his physique less than perfect, he settled for unbuttoning his fly. The bedroom door was open. He could see Zelda’s form in the wide bed, covered by a blue silk sheet, waiting for him. Her retro haircut hid her face with her black bangs and blunt-cut hair. All the better, as far as he was concerned. “Ready for me?” He tried to make the tone of his voice into a leer. Zelda didn’t move, so he kicked off his shoes and shucked his pants. “Plenty more where this comes from,” he said, as he turned back the covers. But Zelda turned her face toward him and he lost all interest. “What happened?”
“St. Claire wanted you to make a sympathetic house call,” Zelda said through a split and bruised lip. They heard sirens arriving outside. Norman grabbed his pants and fled into the bathroom, locking the door.
♦ ♦ ♦ ♦ ♦
The policewoman took one look at Zelda. “Where is he?” Sergeant Cramer asked. “Your neighbor reported the attack.”
Zelda started to laugh but her mouth hurt too much. Instead of indicating the connecting door in the bedroom to St. Claire’s condo, she pointed at the bathroom door. “Norman’s in there,” she said, and then had the good sense to add. “He’s been bragging about burning down Donna Leonard’s house as well as Sally Bianco’s construction site.”
Norman was led away in a state of shock.
Zelda refused to go to the hospital for medical care. “I’ll see my plastic surgeon.” She didn’t intend to face a mirror before all the corrective work was completed and healed. It was time for someone to start taking care of her, if it had to be Zelda Cameron herself.
♦ ♦ ♦ ♦ ♦
Second Wednesday in December
Sally and John visited the county’s prosecutor, Jimmy Walker, at his request. His office was devoid of glamour. A metal desk, his executive chair behind it and two plastic upholstered metal chairs, passed for furniture. The decorations were books. Where a wall space remained, Jimmy Walker’s diplomas and awards were displayed. Sally imagined Walker didn’t plan to stay a prosecutor for long. One case worthy of national coverage and he would be launched on a political career.
“I’ll bring in Mrs. Leonard after she’s sufficiently recovered.” Walker pointed to the chairs in front of his desk. “Sam says she’s agreed to marry him.”
Sally nodded. At least some good news was in the offing. “Has the arson investigator found anything from our house or Donna’s?”
Walker placed a blackened key on a white piece of typing paper. “A safe-deposit key was found in the pile of ash from Professor Leonard’s desk. Both homes were purposefully destroyed. The igniting sites
were doused in gasoline.”
“Has Norman confessed to starting the fires?” Sally asked.
“Not yet,” Walker said. “But Zelda Cameron told us he bragged about burning down both the houses.”
John characteristically rubbed his baldhead with both of his huge hands. Sally found the familiar gesture endearing. His hands were gentle when they touched her. “Did Norman steal his father’s filing cabinets,” John asked, “during the memorial service for his father?”
“He lives with his mother,” Sally said.
“We have searched his home. He thinks Mrs. Leonard is still pregnant. He admits to hating her.”
“Why would he burn down what must be part of his inheritance and why attack our home?” John asked.
“Senseless rage. I guess a fourth of something wasn’t quite enough for Norman, and you were friends with his step-mother.”
“The initial robbery.” Sally looked at John for confirmation. “never made sense.”
“If Harry Terkle is right and the research was worthless, you are correct.”
“So.” John worked it out. “The research was valid; but David kept part of it, a formula, a secret from Harry and his supervisor.”
“We’re looking into St. Claire’s finances. He owns a New Jersey based drug firm on paper; but there is no building at the address site. Very suspicious.”
“Harry mentioned Parkinson test results from China being a problem,” Sally said, then asked, “Is there a way to find out who St. Claire is dealing with in China?”
“We are going over his phone calls, too. So far, it looks like he set up Norman for a rape charge.”
“Zelda didn’t charge Norman with rape, did she?” John asked.
“No, she didn’t. We have a warrant out to bring her in for questioning. She lives right next to St. Claire.”
“They are lovers,” Sally stated.
“Norman swears he never laid a hand on her; but Sergeant Cramer said Zelda’s face was smashed to smithereens.” Walker moved the safe-deposit key closer to his side of the desk.
“Are you tracking St. Claire’s whereabouts?” John asked.
Rohn Federbush - Sally Bianco 01 - The Legitimate Way Page 23