by Judith Mehl
Kat pondered that, and worried what his passing on would do to Maddy. Speculation on tennis mania, its repercussions, and its effect on normal lifestyle needs, almost drew her away from the play again. But Maddy’s future was not hers and would play to its own tune. She turned back to the play and attempted to focus on the tennis.
She studied Eric and his easy-going ways as the lead bounced back and forth. He moved from one end of the court to the other and high-fived his son who was in the first row and far from able to reach—but the point was made. He was a family man. Kat recalled Detective Burrows proclamation that Eric Jorgen was not guilty of Ed Ambrose’s death. He was with his family that night. Ted had confirmed that when he checked around. Not that she didn’t believe Burrows, but people had been known to lie to the police.
Kat knew the first serve was supposed to be a weapon. For some players it packed the heat of a gun or the speed of a knife. For others it lacked pop. Ted’s serve offered the pop. His serve was not the strongest in the tournament, but here speed ruled over strength, and his velocity followed the uncoiling of his body to take the point before Eric saw the ball.
Eric flagged as the heat of the day stripped him of energy. Ted thrived. A searing ace down the middle clinched the tournament. The crowd roared.
Maddy bounced up and down. Only Kat knew how double edged was her sword. She and Ted had only discussed life through this night. Tonight was hers. He’d promised. Saying that if he lost, he would only want her as consolation, and if he won, he only needed her to complete his joy. They had not discussed the future. Maddy had expressed worry. “Would they be able to piece together a relationship with his travels and her career? Would he want to? Would Maddy have to give up her job? Could they afford for her to do that?” The speculation was all in Maddy’s head. As far as she knew Ted had not mentally traveled past this moment.
Kat gave her a quick hug and left to help the president of the university with the prize-awarding ceremony.
The players rubbed down and stripped from their game shirts into clean ones. It was trophy time. The small tokens of satellite play stood nearby, gleaming in the sunlight. Their worth outweighed their size. The leading sponsor and the president of the local tennis association jointly presented Eric with the second place trophy and then Ted, with the larger, bolder, championship cup.
No matter how sweat-streaked the clothes, how soaked the heads, the winning tennis player was never too tired to raise those arms, trophy aloft, and share his victory with the fans. Ted had no difficulty. His wide grin and genuine joy in his win pulled on the heartstrings of all present. As he held the gleaming trophy high, he circled the court, and finally found Maddy. He hesitated, then threw her a kiss. The fans stomped their feet in approval.
Thomas Ludlow, as university president, awarded the scholarship, which was drawn each year from the university’s share of tournament proceeds. Hopes of the scholarship attracted would-be-tennis stars to the university and its existence served both worlds well. The locals quieted for this, especially the students. It was a substantial amount and was always awarded a resident student. Though it was a private university, it still drew many students who were the first in their families to seek a college degree. For some, the scholarships made it possible. Kat was delighted to hear that none of the students involved in the vandalism had been considered for the scholarship. She knew they would have been withdrawn because of their indiscretion. Today’s winner was a tall, lithe blond, all legs and eagerness. Kat watched as she nervously flicked her hair back before graciously accepting the check. When Ted gave her a kiss with his handshake, all could see in the shimmer of her eyes that her world was made.
Maddy sneaked off teary-eyed to wait for Ted. Earlier, she and Kat spent hours reviewing all the handwriting samples seeking clues to hone down the suspect list on the Ambrose murder. Kat, warned by Nick, G. L., and Burrows to stay out of trouble, didn’t count sitting in the shade of a patio umbrella by the concession stands as life-threatening. She spooked a little at loud noises but absorbed all Maddy had to share until it was show time.
Hoping to pacify Detective Burrows, she called him and left a message. “Please meet me near the concession stand when you can break free. I’ll wait here an hour while I review my notes.”
He surprised her just as she was about to leave the stadium and they settled at a corner table to sip soft drinks as fans rapidly surged out of the area. In only a few minutes he found the peace he needed to question Kat again regarding her accident.
This time she remembered her visit to Lauri. “Uhm, did I mention I visited Lauri earlier?”
To distract him from the expected anger at her, she opened the folder and lined up the writing samples.
It didn’t work. Burrows seethed with fury, as she knew he would. If Burrows and his men caught the killer, and hopefully her pursuer, that would be all the better. Her scrapes from her fall in the old mill still held bruises. Abrasions climbed the beginning path through the rainbow to meet up with the new ones from the car accident. She knew when to withdraw, just not how to inform the killer she was bowing out.
She tried to clarify this with her old friend, and asked for his help in eliminating suspects. Maybe he would see something in someone that would provoke a second look. Maybe he would reveal information that would slash possibles off her list. Not many people were left. It presented the awful realization that they had looked at all the wrong people. But she couldn’t handle that now.
She showed him Eduardo’s analysis sample. He was the last player who had questionable writing. “His ovals showed signs of treachery,” Kat explained. “And the reclined writing, slanting to the left, shows insecurity and estrangement from reality.” Was he lying about that night? Or something of less consequence. But Eduardo was from another place and time, where penmanship reeked of curlicues and fancy writing. Should he be dismissed? Burrows thought so. Kat felt more needed to be seen, as the flourishes have a variety of symbolism depending on the exact circumstances. However, with his alibi, it made it unlikely that Eduardo was the killer. He would be leaving the next day. He’d lost early in the singles play but made it to the doubles tournament and took his crushing defeat well, staying to cheer on the singles competitors today. He was leaving with the police’s blessing.
She desperately wanted clearance on David Nettle, but two problems intervened. First, his handwriting analysis found him open, friendly, and so unlike himself that Maddy had questioned its validity. His offering for the eulogy had been illegible. Second, Burrows admitted that Nettle produced no alibi. No evidence showed against him, however, and Burrows’ men backed off on pursuing him the week before.
Her fears didn’t subside. “Richard, what if Nettle pushed me into the street?”
“Kat, it’s possible. So be careful. His story to the contrary holds equal belief. His statement seemed so straight-forward and innocent.”
“It looks like we don’t have any proof, though.” She thought, if he’d only had an alibi for the killing, then she would feel more confident that he wasn’t her pursuer.
Burrows, knowing how important she held the analysis findings, offered to show her a copy of Nettle’s statement regarding the accident. It had been written in his own hand. Burrows watched him write it. Kat was surprised they had brought Nettle to the police station following her car accident. She promised to stop by later to take a look.
The other questionable writings, those with hooked end strokes, and those with signature styles completely different than the style of the rest of the writing, were from people who had firm alibis according to the police. They implied deceitfulness and prevarication. To what Kat might never know, but none were the killer. She set them aside.
Burrows’ note taking approximated doodles more than notes, but Kat was used to that. He slipped one more sample of handwriting toward her before snapping shut the book. It threatened violence. She could read the signs easily. “The triangular ‘I’ signaled extreme hostility.” Sh
e looked up at Burrows, who didn’t seem as intrigued as she did. “This is serious. Whose is it?”
Burrows rose, shifting his bulk more comfortably under his belt. “Serious it be. Take it to heart,” he punctuated his statement with a pointed finger in her face. “That’s mine. It’s a warning. Don’t mess any more with this investigation.”
He nodded for emphasis and left.
Chapter 25
Writing as learned in school can mean someone straightforward who likes to follow the rules—but don’t assume too much—another group of school model writers can be found in prison.
“The Complete Idiot’s Guide to Handwriting Analysis” by Sheila Lowe
Kat and Maddy both endured mundane days at work and itched to break the fatigue of boredom. Nick and G. L., engrossed in a new project, unnamed, unmentioned, and apparently unliked, also needed a reprieve. They all met at Steelwinders. None needed distance from their lives so much as change of pace, and for them, an evening at Steelwinders always provided that.
A quick trip home to change for Kat lengthened into a soothing walk around the neighborhood. Her home in the wooded Poconos served as a balm for a wounded spirit.
There were neighbors, but their houses tucked discreetly into the trees, as did her and Nick’s home. No sidewalks, no street noise, and no city sounds interfered with a contemplative walk. This late in the day the birds whistled good night as they settled down. The paths were lined with the last of the summer blooming flowers but the autumn flower buds promised a show still to come. She looked forward to mounds of chrysanthemums and her garden hosted a dozen varieties of asters, hitting the cool side of the color wheel from white to blue to purple just waiting to open. Kat breathed deeply and headed home. It was time to join friends. She donned her newest casual dress and her favorite legwrap wedges by Marc Jacobs. They provided high rise comfort, superb elegance, and a kicky look that belied their price tag.
Ted, to Maddy’s delight, had decided to stay in town for the week preceding his next tournament. The extra time allowed for less rushed examination of their future prospects together, and the logistics. He accompanied Maddy tonight, which pleased Maddy so much Kat thought her face glowed enough to light the room. She knew Maddy was anxious for Ted to like her friends and feel welcome. She felt badly that he’d only seen them dealing with mayhem since he arrived. On the other hand, that was their life most of the time. He might as well know now.
They entered the crowded bar, and with one joint glance at the layers of people, settled into the restaurant half of the establishment, opting for food with their beer.
Never having been at Steelwinders, Ted quickly ordered the safe burger and spent his wait eyeing the other occupants. He marveled at the student social attire, the tank tubes so tight the underwear looked strangled, and tattoos, like those that the members of the Yakuza had that made intense statements of this month’s belief-to-die-for.
As an American, adaptation proved easier for him than for many players. “A lot of these tournaments are on college campuses, but I’m still surprised at the creativity of student clothing.”
Kat, almost oblivious to the student accouterments due to close association, studied the old timers instead, more intrigued with their grizzled countenances and quaint turns of phrase.
G L. ignored the people and studied the food options. He ordered duck l’orange and tolerated the resultant mild teasing with aplomb. A special of the day, the duck stretched the Steelwinders menu choices beyond the norm. Grilled bacon cheeseburgers with fries constituted the usual menu. Nick pounced on that one, not caring what others thought, or that he ate the same thing every time he came. Their ribbing normally slid off his back. With Kat a health nut and him a greasy food addict, a friendly gastrointestinal rivalry was common fare at meals.
While waiting for their orders, Kat launched into one of her spiels, hoping to help G. L. find a way for his stomach to tolerate the greasy duck. “Sage, with the generic name salvia, is believed to have healing powers and prolong life. It helps digest fatty foods, so it is often used in recipes for pork, goose, and duck,” she offered. “You should ask them to use extra sage.”
“I don’t even know if I like sage. How about if I try it and promise to use more next time?”
“Okay, I can back off. I know when my advice is unwanted. But in Greece they use sage tea for everything from sore throats to upset stomachs.”
The discussion of herbs turned her thoughts to Glinna and the shop. She realized it had been two days since she and Glinna hatched their plan to “capture” the mysterious stranger in the Apothecary. No call had come so she hoped all was tranquil in the herb business. She could use peace in one avenue of her life.
Kat caught Maddy studying her from behind the menu. She’d already ordered the tofu salad, and was surreptitiously gauging the affect of the past week’s activities on her friend .
Kat finally responded to the unspoken question. “Maddy, I’m fine. Scared. Sore. But fine.”
Maddy folded the menu and placed it meticulously back in the holder. “Okay, so I was a little worried. You were in the hospital two days ago.”
Nick anxiously waited for Kat’s response. “Fine,” served as a vague catch-all that didn’t suit his battered wife. He’d examined the bruises the day before, and anguished at the sight, put Petingill and Donnelly Security into action, unbeknownst to her.
The woman in question, starved from having skipped lunch, consumed a few cheese breadsticks before adding some details. “I took a quick run over to the chiropractor this morning. The bruises and aches still serve as a mild warning, but I hoped the increased blood flow would speed up the healing process.”
Sipping her diet Coke delicately, she recalled how her fears rose up while she lay there in repose, thinking, during the ultrasound treatment. ”I admit I had some qualms about this whole endeavor.”
Nick withheld a cheer with difficulty. Before he could express his joy at her possibly dropping the investigation, she continued. “I tried to let the soothing treatments help me delve deep into my subconscious. No matter how much I tried I couldn’t remember details of a slight touch on my back before the car hit me.”
She raised her head in thought again. “Were the fingers scraping downward, as they would have if someone was attempting to grab me from harm’s way? Or were they straight with a forward thrush? But nothing comes. I guess I’ll never know.”
G. L. swiped a breadstick from the rapidly diminishing plate of them in front of Kat and deliberately strove to provoke a disagreement between his best friend and Kat. “Nick, do you ever use a chiropractor?”
Nick humphed and snorted. “Fat chance. I like my body just the way it is. I don’t need anyone realigning me.”
When Kat didn’t retaliate, G. L. closed off the issue. “Well, all that working out we do probably doesn’t hurt.”
Kat appeared lost in thought. Then her face turned white as she stared over Nick’s shoulder. He nudged G. L. before taking a peek himself. David Nettle was settling his blond friend at a nearby table. Kat saw the man frown as soon as he saw them all seated at the table. Nick scowled. A dueling standoff ensued without words or weapons, but each knew the enemy. The contest reached a draw as Kat squeezed Nick’s arm to seek his attention. The willowy blond smiled and searched the menu, oblivious to the battle.
Surprising them all, Nettle approached their table and politely requested a few minutes of their time. Kat held Nick’s arm firmly as if to check his response. She nodded, but Nettle respectfully waited for Nick’s permission. Nick gracefully motioned for him to pull up a chair from the unoccupied adjoining table. He scraped it across the floor and hurriedly straddled it while reaching for his explanation, which had lodged itself in his throat as he faced the fiercely-pointed gazes around the table.
He’d seen Kat, whom he’d been seeking for days, and finally decided to confront her with his concern despite the others in attendance. This may be his last chance and he sought mercy, a
ccepting the harsh reality that mercy from five might be more difficult to attain than if he’d found her alone.
Nettle nodded to Kat before speaking. “I know you think I’m out to harm you, but that’s far from true. I’ve been trying to find you alone to ask if you found something in Ambrose’s office.”
“You know I don’t have a key to his office. I even asked you for yours once and you refused.”
“We both know you’ve been in there.” Nettle said.”I won’t ask how if you don’t ask how I know. Something was in Ambrose’s office and it’s gone now. I’m hoping you took it.”
Kat looked sincerely puzzled. Searching her face, he lost hope. Either she truly didn’t know what he meant or was a great actress, unwilling to free him from his fears. It was too late to reverse directions. He would plunge ahead and see what was there. She waited expectantly. A denial would be a lie. A willingness to listen didn’t require confirmation of her presence in Ambrose’s office.
“A magazine, featuring an article by me condemning the likes of the Ed’s of the world, was in his office. I know because I planted it there.”
All of them appeared startled. If Kat hadn’t taken it, where could it be?
He continued, “I wanted him to see the article; to cringe at the humiliation of knowing that thousands of tennis fans would read of his double dealings, his lack of respect for tennis itself, and for the institution of tennis.”
He literally blushed in shame. “But I hedged on the wrong side of truth myself in venting my anger at Ambrose. If the police found the article they could easily assume I’d killed him. I couldn’t have that.”
Nick refused to remain silent longer, stretching his firm, lean frame to its ultimate height in an unconscious attempt at intimidation. “If you didn’t kill Ambrose, then you have nothing to hide. Why stalk Kat?”
Accepting the intimidation, but refusing to crumble under it, Nettle revealed his underlying irritation. “Because I don’t need the police on my back for this. Now that I’ve lost two members of the tennis team because of that rash vandalism act, I need some good public relations, along with some great new players.”