She went into the kitchen, the cat padding behind her, where she turned the fishcakes browning in the frying pan for lunch and put on the peas to heat. Perhaps, when she disposed of her immediate problem, she would do up a couple of bags of treats and just take them down to Betty’s tomorrow. She certainly had no wish to have her house labeled among the neighborhood children as ‘that mean old hag’s place’. She chuckled at the thought. As she set out the plates—old blue windmill china on a white linen tablecloth which Rose used even when she was alone—and cutlery, she found herself listening with growing apprehension for the sound of the back door opening.
***
At the Belleville police station, Captain Peterson sat behind his massive desk, his door closed, going over the list of names of those people who had been interviewed, the profiles of each, the questions posed in three different ways, the answers never varying. Added to this was the info Jon Shea had dropped off this morning. A growing stack of paper that brought him no closer to solving the mystery. Captain Mike Peterson, a big man, completely gray now, a scant two years from retirement, but still muscled and solid from a disciplined regimen of working out with weights, tapped out a new series of blue dots on the blotter with his ballpoint like he was sending out some new form of coded message. An old habit to help him think.
It wasn’t working. Behind the opaque glass in his door, officers in silhouette moved about. Jangling telephones were muffled. He went back to reading the reports, trying to make a connection, again coming up empty. The captain had a history of solved cases behind him, but this one clearly had him stumped. Nothing added up. What did any of these people have to do with the effigy left in the Summers woman’s bedroom? To the drowning victim?
He went over it all again looking for something he’d missed. There was always something. He just couldn’t find it. Heaving a sigh of momentary defeat, he set the papers aside and picked up the photograph of the kid in the army uniform, the throat smeared with red paint made to look like blood. The long-ago boyfriend, Todd Raynes.
Was it possible he was back from ‘Nam after all these years, not dead at all, but screwed up from the war, a full-fledged psycho, a raving loony toon?
Of course he was a killer, trained to be. It’s what we did. We sent off young innocents filled with romantic notions of war, and developed their dark sides. We all had our dark sides. We’re a world of Christless Jekylls and Hydes, he thought, laying down the photograph, pinching his lower lip between thumb and forefinger.
Shea had persuaded him to put on an extra black and white to patrol the area around the Summers woman’s house. He would have to call it off soon, despite favors owed. They were already short-handed. He considered Sergeant Miller’s theory that Katherine Summers herself needed closer surveillance, but for reasons other than her safety. And though Miller was a dyed-in-the-wool redneck, and not one of the captain’s favorite people by a long shot, it was Mike’s own opinion that Shea, as brilliant as he knew him to be, wasn’t exactly showing objectivity in this particular case.
Maybe Miller’s theory did warrant a closer look.
Chapter 20
She’d been up for an hour. Having taken two Tylenol, Katie sat at her kitchen table, bundled up in her robe, picking at a stale bran muffin and sipping hot tea. With the sun pouring through the window, laying a pool of yellow over the wooden table, exposing old scars and the lack of varnish, catching dust motes in its path, her situation somehow did not seem quite so threatening.
She thought about the phone call she’d deliberately not mentioned to Jonathan. What good would it have done? The call probably came in from Belleville anyway, so she hadn’t been in any immediate danger. Then she remembered seeing a phone booth out on the highway, near the bus stop. And there was an all-night diner about a mile and a half toward town. Ralphie’s Place. Maybe he called from there.
If she’d reported the call the second she’d hung up the phone, the police just might have been able to converge on him. Well, nothing she could do about it now. It was a good bet she would get another chance to redeem herself—and a better one that she hadn’t heard the last of the strawman. Katie shivered as if a cloud had just passed beneath the sun.
Upstairs, she hurriedly dressed in jeans and a warm sweater, then she raced back down and immediately telephoned the animal shelter. Yes, the man told her, they had a good choice of homeless dogs and cats, and he was sure they had just the right pets for her. Come in and shop, he said. After promising she would be there before closing time,
Katie hung up the phone. She stood looking at it for a couple of seconds, then, as she had yesterday, she took the receiver off the hook.
Chapter 21
At the sound of the back door opening, Rose, who had had her back to it turning down the heat under the peas, nearly jumped out of her skin. Slowly, she turned to face him. He took off his jacket and hung it on a hook by the door. He washed his hands at the kitchen sink and sat down at the place she had assigned him—not at the head of the table.
No one sat in Harvey’s place. Tiger leapt up on the counter and glared at him. Rose didn’t swat him down as she usually did.
“Smells good,” he said, smiling at her. “You’re a wonderful cook, Mrs. Nickerson.”
But his eyes didn’t smile. Rose had the feeling he knew what was coming. But of course he couldn’t know. She sat down across from him. Say it! she thought. Get it over with.
She plunged in.
“… I hope you understand,” she finished lamely. “It has nothing whatever to do with your work. I’ll be more than happy to give you a written recommendation.”
He seemed to find her offer amusing. “That’s good of you,” he said, “but it won’t be necessary. Actually, I wasn’t planning to stay much longer, anyway.”
“Oh? Have you finished your book?”
“Book?” He looked puzzled. And then his smile widened. “Oh yes, the book. No. But it’s coming on to hunting season. I’m planning to do a little hunting.” He left the table and went to his jacket hanging on the hook. He fished something out of his pocket—something Rose couldn’t see until he turned around. And then a ripple of fear, as cold and bright as the knife he held in his hand, went through her. He stroked the blade and smiled at her. “A hunter needs a good knife,” he said softly. “Don’t you agree? Did your husband like to hunt, Mrs. Nickerson?”
“No,” she said in a voice barely audible, unable to tear her gaze from the deadly blade. “No, Harvey didn’t hold with killing things.”
Chapter 22
For the remainder of the day, Katie worked on the portrait of Hattie Holloway, stopping only when nature called, and once to make a cheese sandwich, half of which remained uneaten on her plate. It was nearly six o’clock when she finally gave it up. She was tired, her body one big ache, but it was a good kind of tired. Pleased with the day’s accomplishment, she gathered up her paints and brushes. The work was coming along well. She hoped Mrs. Holloway would be pleased with the results.
Just as she was replacing the receiver in its cradle, the phone rang, vibrating in her hand, making her pull it away as if she’d received a shock. She let it ring twice more before she answered. “Hello.” Her voice was deceptively strong, if wary.
“Hi, there,” Jonathan said cheerfully, and Katie wondered if the gravity of her relief traveled through the line. “Just checking in,” he said. “How are you holding up?”
“Fine. I’ve been working.” It was the first time she’d heard Jonathan’s voice over the telephone, and aside from the relief she’d felt at hearing it, its deep, masculine resonance sent a warm thrill coursing through her.
“Everything’s okay, then?”
“Yes—well, as good as can be.” Then, surprising herself, she blurted, “I didn’t get very much sleep last night. I kept hearing things.”
She gave a small laugh that sounded hollow.
After a lengthy pause, Jonathan said, “You mean you were alone last night?”
&n
bsp; Along with the incredulity and accusation, she heard alarm in his voice and decided to abandon the foolish game about expecting Drake.
“Yes,” she said simply and was grateful when he didn’t push for further explanation, saying only, “If I’d known, I wouldn’t have left you.”
What about Lona? she wanted to ask. She remembered her dream and felt a momentary hatred for him. “I’m sure I was perfectly safe,” she said, her voice gone the slightest bit frosty. “After all, the police are watching the house.”
She heard his sigh of exasperation. “Do you really think, Katherine, that some maniac intent on getting his hands on you wouldn’t be resourceful enough to get past one police car?”
“If one is not enough, then why don’t they put on more?” she snapped, but his question had the intended effect. Thinking she’d heard a noise, Katie darted a look over her shoulder. Her gaze went quickly to the stove poker on the floor by the cot.
She heard another sigh as Jonathan explained that it wasn’t so simple as she might think. The department was understaffed, under-equipped, and they really couldn’t even spare the one car they’d assigned to her. “Katherine, all I’m asking for here is a little cooperation on your part. Please trust me. If not me, then someone. Don’t try to be brave.” He paused. “It could end you up in a body bag.”
This last called up the image of Jason being zipped into the body bag as she watched out the window. Tears sprang to her eyes. Why was Jonathan doing this? Why was he trying to frighten her? The dog!
Dammit! She’d forgotten to go to the pound, and now the damn place was closed.
“I’m sorry,” she heard him say, more gently now. “It’s just that you don’t seem to realize the seriousness of your situation.”
“I do. Really, I do. And I’ll try to be more careful, I promise,” she said, feeling like a child properly chastised. Wanting to redeem herself, she added, “I’ve been considering getting a dog.”
“That’s an excellent idea.” She knew he was smiling now. She could hear it in his voice. “Then I’ll stop lecturing,” he said.
“I’d be grateful.” Intending to hold him to his word, Katie thought it was an opportune time to tell him about the phone call. She thought he showed remarkable restraint when he calmly asked her if the voice had sounded at all familiar, or if she could even tell whether it belonged to a man or a woman.
“No, not really,” she replied, though she had thought man. And there had been some small nudge of recognition—something in that hideous laugh. Like a name on the tip of your tongue. Or maybe she was just getting it confused with the laughter in her dream. Yet the phone call had come prior to her having the dream. “It never occurred to me,” she said, “that a woman might be doing these…But then, you’re the detective.”
“Psychiatrist,” he corrected lightly.
“Same thing.”
He laughed. “I’ll be there in a little while. I’ll stay with you tonight.”
“No, she said quickly, switching the receiver to her other ear. “That won’t be necessary. I—uh, I’m planning to stay with a couple of friends—girls from The Coffee Shop. ” The lie just popped out. But perhaps it needn’t remain a lie. If the invitation was still open, it might not be a bad idea to accept it. It was highly possible, of course, that
Andrea and Francine were among those whose good opinion of her had changed. Possible she would no longer be welcome in their home.
Well, there was only one way to find out. If she detected even the slightest hesitation, she would simply book herself into a hotel. She hoped she wouldn’t have to. With Jason being buried tomorrow, she would like not having to be alone tonight.
As if reading her thoughts, Jonathan said, “I could try to arrange for a policewoman to stay with you if you prefer.”
“No, Jonathan, really. And I’m not making it up, I promise. I really do plan to stay with friends tonight. I’ll even call you with the number.” From wherever I end up.
“Well, that’s good, then.”
Did she detect the smallest note of disappointment in his voice just then? No, she must be mistaken. He wasn’t apt to want to leave the gorgeous Lona just to babysit her.
Katie glanced at the clock on the mantle. The girls wouldn’t be home for a couple of hours yet. In the meantime, there was something she had to do, something she’d been putting off. Flipping the phone book open on the desk, Katie ran her finger down the list of names beginning with “P”, stopping when she got to Mrs. E. Parker, 42 Queen Street South.
Edwina was a frail little woman, one of the truly good souls, long widowed and the mother of Allen Parker, whom she clearly adored.
Allen had lived with his mother in the days when Katie knew him, and Katie had been to the house a few times. A small, cozy house, smelling faintly, she recalled, of old roses pressed in books. Mrs. Parker had a great fondness for fancy, heavily starched doilies, knickknacks, and for pictures of her only son.
They were everywhere, taken at every stage of his life, seemingly filling all available wall and surface space. No matter in which direction you cast your eyes, a handsome Allen would be smiling back at you. Allen as a baby, Allen as a boy, Allen as a man. There were numerous pictures of him in his police uniform. You could literally watch him growing up in Mrs. Parker’s parlor. So many pictures, and yet Katie wondered if the woman really knew her son.
With each number she dialed, her stomach knotted a little more, the memory of Allen’s face as it had been that night, ugly, distorted with rage, grew more vivid. He’d broken into the house and was waiting for her when she got home from work. Katie was barely inside the door, when he’d grabbed her, his fingers digging into her arms.
“Who were you with?” he’d hissed, bringing his face down close to hers, his breath reeking hot and sour with booze.
“Who is he?” Katie had been sure he was going to kill her.
But he’d only slapped her across the face. The sound echoed sickeningly in the room. He’d seemed as surprised as she was that he’d actually struck her. It sobered him. He launched into the familiar litany of apologies, the begging for forgiveness. In his favor, it was the first time he’d had to apologize for hitting her.
But she was cold to his pleadings. Cold to everything about him. By the time the shock and sting of the slap had ebbed, any feelings she might still have harbored for Allen Parker faded with them. After weeks of harassing her, Allen seemed finally to understand. He left her house that night, and it was the last she saw of him.
Until the card he’d sent to the hospital.
The phone rang once…twice…
Hang up! Hang up now! What good to dredge it up again, all the ugliness of that time in her life? But she had to know. There was no other way. Maybe Mrs. Parker wouldn’t recognize her voice. After all, it had been two years since she’d heard it.
“Hello?” At the sound of the dry, aging voice, Katie remembered how fond she had been of Mrs. Parker, and hated deceiving her this way. But she had no choice.
“May I speak with Allen, please?” If she went to call Allen to the phone, Katie would simply hang up. She would have her answer.
“I’m sorry. I’m afraid Allen doesn’t live here anymore. He lives in Los Angeles now. With his wife and little boy.”
“I see. Well…”
“If it’s important I can get you his number. I have it…”
“No, no. That won’t be nec…”
“Katie? Katie, is that you, dear?”
Hearing the warmth in the woman’s voice, Katie felt doubly guilty. And trapped. “Yes, yes, it is, Mrs. Parker,” she said, beginning to absently twirl a length of hair around her finger. “I—uh, received a get-well card from Allen when I was in the hospital, and I just wanted to thank…”
“I’m so pleased to hear from you, dear,” she cut in. “How are you feeling after that terrible accident? I wouldn’t have known a thing about it but for Allen. I don’t listen to the news—can’t abide it—all that ki
lling, you know, and my eyes aren’t what they used to be. Allen was down visiting me for a few days, and he read it aloud from the newspaper. We both felt just terrible, Katie.”
“Thank you. But I’m pretty well back to normal now.” She almost laughed about her choice of words.
“You know, dear,” Mrs. Parker said, her voice lowering secretively, “I think Allen will always have tender feelings for you, never mind that you’ve both gone your separate ways.”
“Well, I’m flattered, but I’m sure he’s very happy,” Katie said, not knowing how else to respond, and having no wish to be cruel by telling her she had no interest in Allen’s feelings, one way or the other.
He was, after all, her son.
“I think so, Katie. Arlene’s a lovely girl. Not that they haven’t had their share of troubles, mind you, but I suspect you’ve seen Allen’s unpleasant side a time or two yourself. I expect I’ve spoiled Allen—always felt sorry for the boy, you know, having no father and all.”
Mrs. Parker was apologizing for Allen. She was not so blind to his faults as Katie had thought. “I understand,” she said. And strangely, for the time, she did. Though it didn’t serve to make her like him any better, at least she no longer hated him.
They talked a little longer, mostly about Mrs. Parker’s grandson, Christian, who would be a year old on Christmas day, a precious boy, and Allen, who apparently, was going through a transformation for the better. He’d quit the police force, was working days as a truck driver while attending school at night to study for his real estate agent’s license. He’d stopped drinking, and he and Arlene were seeing a marriage counselor. Katie ended the conversation by asking Mrs. Parker to please not mention to Allen that she’d called. “It’s better that he doesn’t know. It would be—awkward.”
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