Mortal Crimes 1

by Various Authors

  ________

  Roberta endured. The vacuum remained absolute. The blackness reminded her of her blindness. Time did not stand still, but seemed to crawl slowly, endlessly. She wondered how long she had been frozen in this empty space; when she finally returned to her physical self, would she be surprised to discover that only a few minutes had elapsed?

  If she returned to her physical self.

  Soon she felt a vibration, a tingling. Though she was unable to see it, she sensed, by a sensory mechanism in her mind, that her arm was pushing through the oppressive void. A hand took hers.

  Roberta tried to pull herself forward. A rushing sound. She felt motion again. She had a strong feeling of falling, then she slammed into the body pulling on her hand. Masculine arms held her securely.

  She opened her eyes to find herself standing and in the muscled arms of Carl Masser.

  She moaned. She felt dizzy, sick to her stomach.

  Carl lowered her into the chair. He knelt in front of her, an odd expression on his face.

  “How long?” she managed to say through an incredibly dry throat.

  “Thirty, forty minutes. It seemed like a lifetime.”

  Robbi looked at the clock. Six past nine. They had begun the experiment at eight-thirty.

  “What happened?” he asked. “What did you see?”

  “Time in a bottle. Like the Jim Croce song.”

  He looked confused. “Did you see Maggie?”

  She shook her head. “No. I’m sorry, Carl.” That she hadn’t connected with Margaret Winston gave her a sinking feeling. Was Maggie already dead?

  “What now?” Carl asked.

  She closed her eyes, rubbed her temples. “I don’t know. God, I don’t know.”

  “You looked whipped. Listen, you get some sleep. I’ll leave now, get outta your hair.” He headed for the door. “Tomorrow, we’ll get together tomorrow.” Then he was gone.

  Exhausted, she went to bed, but sleep was a long time coming. Flickering scenes stole into her head. Superimposed over images of Jake making passionate love to her in a grassy meadow, she saw nightmare pictures of women in long white dresses crawling from a pit, their lost and mournful cries raining down on them.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  Eckker had taken Margaret into his woods, careful to stay clear of manmade landmarks. With pride he showed her the wonders of the forest. The creeks, the thimbleberries—ripe and falling from the vines—the delicate ferns, the field of wildflowers. He had found several kinds of mushrooms, explained how to tell the edible from the poisonous. He pointed out the animal burrows, rattlesnake hiding places, tracks of a bear. They had even seen a black bear high atop a rocky plateau. A mere speck without binoculars, but its presence had visibly shaken her.

  They headed down the slope as the last trace of twilight brushed the sky. Darkness crept through the trees melding with the shadows. Until the bear sighting, she’d been unimpressed, sulky even. She was still sulky, but fearful now.

  He had shown her the beauty all around them. How could she not fall in love with it? Her dislike for his way of life, for the very mountain, made her a bad choice for a companion. And it continued to get worse. Each day she became more sullen, hostile even.

  She was such a disappointment. Like all the others.

  It would take a special woman, a woman with grit, a woman who loved the wilderness, a woman not too set in her ways. A much younger woman maybe. The first two had pretended to be happy, but in the end he knew. The third one had cut her own wrists and bled to death in the safe room. And the last one had fought him constantly, making his life a living hell. And now Maggie. Moody Maggie. If only she’d try. There was only one person who loved the mountain as he did. But she was forbidden.

  Thinking of Tobie brought on the need. He looked at Maggie ahead of him on the path. She was so inferior, but she was all he had.

  He put his hand on her shoulder. She turned, saw the lust in his eyes. A look of revulsion flashed across her face.

  “Not here…please,” she whined. “It’s dark. I’m afraid.”

  “Hurry then.”

  It was completely dark when they returned to the church. The starless night, black and solid. Rustling sounds stirred the bushes. A bird screeched. He sensed her fear. She was afraid of the dark, afraid of the wild animals, afraid of everything.

  They entered the church, crossed to the rectory. He lifted the trapdoor. Waited. She held back.

  “Let me go home,” she said quietly.

  “Home?”

  “For a visit,” she rushed on. “One day, there and back… please.”

  “Why?”

  “There are things—personal things I’d like to have. Books, pictures, things like that.”

  “I’ll get them for you.”

  She seemed to blanch at his suggestion. “No. I’m the only one who can get them. I have to be the one to go.”

  “You’ll get your stuff and come right back?”

  “Yes. Yes,” she pleaded, then began to cry.

  “And when you come back, you’ll stop all this crying?”

  “Yes, yes, I swear.”

  He stared long and hard at her, then nodded. He ushered her down the steps.

  “When?” she asked eagerly.

  “In the fall. When I go for winter supplies.”

  Her face crumbled. “The fall?” She pulled her arm away. A look of sheer hatred on her face. “You’re lying. You don’t intend to take me anywhere. You liar!”

  “Quiet.” He pulled her down several more steps.

  “You filthy liar!”

  He stopped. “Go then,” he said, pointing upward.

  She twisted to look up at the opening above. A yearning sprang into her eyes. She looked back at him, wary, mistrustful.

  He marched down the steps to the living quarters, leaving her on the stairs. He sank down onto the worn overstuffed chair and waited. The stairs groaned. Above him floorboards creaked. By the squeaks and moans in the weathered wood he was able to follow her path. She had traversed the aisle and was now in the church’s vestibule.

  He sat, listened. There was nothing for the longest time.

  He heard creaking again. Footsteps. The squeak of a door. She had made a decision and he knew what it was.

  He raised his eyes, looked up to the top of the stairs. She stood there, trembling uncontrollably. A moment later she was down the stairs. Without looking at him she rushed across the room, stooped to enter the space under the stairwell, and disappeared. The sound of her wretched sobs filled the barren lodging.

  He smiled.

  He got to his feet and headed for the stairwell.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  Roberta opened her eyes to bright sunlight. She sat up abruptly, confusion clouding her mind, and looked at the clock on the nightstand. Nine past nine. Groggy, she climbed from the bed, struggled into her robe, and made her way to the kitchen.

  As she filled the coffeepot with tap water, Robbi vacantly stared out the window above the sink. Light flickered before her eyes. An image flashed across her vision. She stared at the plum tree at the back of the yard. Suddenly a tall pine tree replaced it. Through the pine’s spiky boughs she saw a building. It was a natural wood structure with double doors. A single window in the shape of a cross stood above the doors. A church.

  The doorbell rang. The massive pine dissolved and she was again staring at the deep purple leaves of the plum tree.

  A church in the woods.

  Roberta’s pulse accelerated. Could it be so easy? How many churches could be nestled in the pines?

  The doorbell rang again. Through the living room window she saw Carl Masser at the door. She’d forgotten about him.

  She tied her robe, let him in, directed him to the kitchen and, trying to tame the mass of spiral strands falling into her face, she told him about the vision.

  “It was a church in a forest of pines.”

  “There’s a lot of forest up there,” Carl said.<
br />
  Pouring coffee into a filter and sliding it into the coffeemaker, she said, “But how many churches with a window above the door in the shape of a cross?”

  “It’s something, that’s for sure.”

  “I’m going to get dressed. Interested in going for a ride?” she asked.

  “Church hunting?”

  She nodded.

  “Hurry.”

  ________

  They crossed the state line into California. Robbi drove. She had decided that her parents’ house was a good place to start. She would revisit the spot where she’d had her accident.

  For the past fifteen minutes Carl had talked nonstop about Maggie. “Shit, would you listen to me. I’m making her out to sound like some kind of saint. She’s no goody-goody. She has a temper. You don’t want to get her riled.”

  Robbi saw a woman in an alley, fingernails bared, prepared to fight a giant. Then she remembered a sobbing, frantic woman, nearly drowned, clinging to her captor.

  “She smokes too much. We fight about that sometimes. She promised to quit.” He looked out the window, then added quietly. “Maybe she already has.”

  Carl continued to speak of Maggie. After a while, Robbi began to feel as if she’d known her for a long time. No longer was she a nameless victim without background or personality. She came alive through Carl.

  They left the freeway and entered Truckee. She pulled up to Watts’ Feed and Grain and General Store.

  Inside the cool interior, with its array of farm tools and potpourri of cloying smells of fruits, vegetables, and grain, Roberta selected a couple of packs of watermelon bubble gum and a dusty bottle of Chardonnay. As the woman behind the antique cash register rang up her items, Roberta asked about local churches, showing her the pages torn from the phone directory.

  “Miss, if it’s around here and it’s got an address, I’d know about it. There’s nothing that’s not on that list there.”

  “Well, thanks anyway,” Robbi said, turning away.

  “Say, you wouldn’t happen to be related to the Paxtons off 267, would’ya?”

  Robbi turned back. “Yes. I’m Lois’s daughter.”

  “Thought so. That little sister of yours is a spitting image, ‘cept for the hair. If she follows in your shoes, the local fellows are gonna be tripping over themselves to be near that one.”

  “I hope not for a few years. She’s only thirteen.”

  “You going out to their place?” she asked Robbi.

  “Yes.”

  “Give my regards, and tell Hanley we got that brand of chew he ordered.”

  “I’ll take it to him,” Roberta said, reaching back into her purse.

  Back in the Jeep, they drove out on Highway 267, then turned onto the narrow paved road. As she pulled up the circular drive to the sprawling ranch-style house, she heard Carl whistle softly under his breath.

  “Nice, huh?” she said.

  “Your old man connected with the mob?”

  She smiled. “He was a doctor. A psychiatrist.”

  “So you were a spoiled rich kid, huh?”

  She laughed lightly.

  Carl started up the front steps to the massive double doors.

  “No, not that way. Round the back. I always feel like I need an engraved invitation to pass through those doors.”

  Carl stared at her, an odd expression on his face, but he shrugged, reversed his steps, and followed her. At the back of the house they passed the stable, chicken coop, and Tobie’s animal hospital and pet menagerie. The gray, wooden door to the kitchen was as austere as the front door was baroque.

  Robbi leaned down and peered through the window alongside the door. A woman she’d never laid eyes on before stood at the island, cutting up a whole chicken. The woman saw them. With a stern expression she hurried around the island, the cleaver still clutched in one bulky hand, and jerked open the door.

  “What you want? Who send you?” She glared from Carl to Robbi. “You not allowed back here.”

  “I’m Roberta Paxton. My folks live here.”

  The woman tilted her head, squinted some more, then said in that same gruff tone, “Nobody say you coming.” She stepped back for them to enter.

  “Nobody knew.”

  She went back to the chicken, whacked at it. “You stay for supper?”

  “Yes, thanks.”

  The woman snapped the joint between the leg and thigh, then hacked the two pieces apart. “Nobody tell me.”

  Robbi put the wine in the refrigerator, then motioned for Carl to follow her.

  She found her mother at a mahogany desk in the library, going over a stack of bills. At her elbow was a calculator and checkbook.

  “Sweetheart,” Lois said, rising and going to Robbi, “what a surprise.”

  “Is it a bad time? You have other plans?”

  “No, of course not. You’ll stay for dinner. It’s just chicken. Chick, chick, chick, like every other Sunday of the year.”

  “That’s why I came.”

  “Well, good.” She squeezed Roberta’s hand. “Now, who’s this nice-looking young man standing here with you?”

  Roberta introduced them. They shook hands, exchanged hellos.

  “How long has the new cook been here?” Robbi said.

  “Pomona came while you were in the hospital.”

  “What happened to the other one?”

  “Oh, they tend to come and go.”

  “I don’t wonder,” Robbi mumbled under her breath, thinking of her father’s disposition.

  Her mother took her arm and led her from the room. “Let’s get something cool to drink and then we’ll sit down and talk.”

  With a pitcher of iced tea the three settled down in the closed-in air-conditioned porch. In the evening, after the sun set, the windows lifted to allow the cool westerly breeze to flow through. The air now caressing Robbi’s face, bringing goose bumps to her arms, was manufactured and cold.

  Hooves clopping on earth sounded in the yard.

  “That’ll be Tobie,” Lois said. “Home from the hill.”

  Several minutes later Roberta heard the back door open and close. Hushed voices. Then Tobie, dressed in shorts and a halter top, rushed into the sun porch.

  “Robbi!” Tobie squealed. “I saw your car on the road, so I turned Prince and headed straight back. You must have read my mind. If you didn’t come today, I was going to hitch a ride into Reno to see you.”

  Robbi met her halfway. The sisters hugged, then pivoted till they were back to back. They stood straight, waiting.

  “Mom?” Tobie said, reaching up to measure for herself.

  “Almost,” their mother said. “Tobie, I swear you’ve grown an inch or two since the last time.”

  “If you don’t stop growing, you’re gonna tower over me,” Roberta said.

  “I don’t want to be any taller than you. I think you’re the perfect height.”

  “Tobie,” Lois admonished. “We have company. Why don’t you go put some clothes on?”

  Suddenly Tobie appeared self-conscious as Robbi introduced her to Carl.

  “So this is the future heartbreaker?” Carl said. “Truckee High, look out.”

  “My sister’s a regular wood nymph,” Robbi teased.

  “There’s no one around here to see me,” Tobie said quietly. She sat on the three-legged stool, her chin resting on her knees, her cheeks flaming.

  “Prince. That’s the new horse?” Robbi asked.

  “Yeah. C’mon,” Tobie said, vaulting to her feet. “You have to see him, he’s beautiful.”

  Robbi signaled to Carl to follow. As they walked through the house, Tobie whispered to Robbi, “What about Donald?”

  “What about him?”

  “Does he know about Carl?”

  Robbi squeezed her sister’s hand. “Carl’s not a boyfriend,” she whispered back. “This is business. We’ll talk later.”

  The horse was magnificent. A black Arabian stallion, over fifteen hands high, with obvious go
od bloodlines.

  “How old?” Robbi asked Tobie.

  “Going on eight.”

  “Looks spirited.”

  “No, he’s real gentle. Take him out.” She handed Robbi the reins.

  “I don’t know…”

  “Oh, please, you’ll love him. Go on, Robbi, try him out.”

  Robbi mounted. Prince was a bigger horse than she was used to riding, and she felt slightly apprehensive. She felt his energy, his power beneath her legs.

  “Roberta,” a voice called out.

  Roberta turned to see Hanley crossing the yard toward her.

  She smiled, waved.

  “If your sister told you that horse was gentle, don’t you believe a word of it,” he said, looking stern. “He knows only one speed, breakneck.”

  Tobie ran to Hanley and wrapped her arms around one of his, skipping to his long strides. He patted her head affectionately. Robbi observed the exchange between her sister and the caretaker. How lucky she is, Roberta thought, to have him around in her formative years. She wished she’d had someone like Hanley to fill the void when she was growing up. Maybe that’s why her sister seemed so happy and carefree.

  “Hi, Hanley. I brought you something from town.” From the breast pocket of her shirt, she took out the canister of chewing tobacco and gave it to him.

  “Why, thank you, Robbi.” He reached into his pocket.

  “Put your money away. It’s the least I could do.”

  He nodded, grinned. “How ya feeling now?”

  “Good, thanks.” Roberta shifted in the saddle. “Carl, this is the man who saved my life when I was hurt in the woods.”

  Masser and Hanley shook hands. “When that horse come running back to the house, its leg broke bad, I had a hunch the little lady was in trouble. Madonna was a gentle mare and real sure-footed. This one,” he said, stroking the horse’s muzzle, “he can be a devil.”

  “He acts like a real killer,” Robbi said, smiling as the horse nudged the man warmly. “But thanks for the warning. I’ll be careful.”

  Tobie pulled on Carl’s shirtsleeve. “C’mon, I’ll show you my animal hospital.”

  “Got any snakes?” Carl asked, obediently following.

  “Timber rattlers. I’ll let you hold them.”