Razzamatazz (A Crime Novel)

by Sandra Scoppettone

  "I just wanted you to know that."

  "I wish I could be there, too." He didn't say he'd come back, drive ninety miles an hour to get there. He knew nothing had changed. "I'm glad you told me."

  "Me, too. Goodnight, Colin."

  "Goodnight, Annie."

  He waited to hang up until he heard her break the connection. God, he felt good! She cared. The phone rang again. He grabbed it. "Annie?" There was no answer. "Annie? Is that you?" Again there was silence, but he could tell the line was open. "Hello? Who is this?"

  No answer. And then he heard the click. Returning the receiver to the cradle, he felt an icy sweat bead on his neck, then creep down his back. He tried to tell himself it was a wrong number but he wasn't buying. Somehow he knew exactly who his caller was; he just didn't know his name.

  LOOKING BACK—50 YEARS AGO

  In keeping with its policy of giving its patrons the very best in sound motion pictures, the Seaville Theatre has installed and has now in operation the revolutionary new "High Fidelity" sound reproducing system manufactured by the RCA Victor Co. About $5000 was spent in equipping the Seaville Theatre with this latest development in sound reproduction.

  TWENTY-SIX

  She had given a terrible sermon, stumbling over words and phrases, having a coughing fit, losing her place, and all the time Steve Cornwell—who would give anything to see her replaced—was sitting there in the first row, grinning. The more he grinned, the more mistakes Annie made. It had infuriated her, anger tripping her up further. She'd spent an inordinate amount of time on this sermon, rewriting and rewriting, and because of her date with Colin, for once she'd had it finished by two on Saturday afternoon.

  And then she'd blown it. The topic was Commitment and Fidelity in all their ramifications. Was it some unconscious nonsense on her part that had made her louse it up? Some feeling of infidelity toward Bob? Or maybe it was seeing Russ Cooper in the third pew, tears on his cheeks. Or perhaps it was Burton Kelly, pouting in the fifth row, center. All those things might have added to her poor performance, but the main reason was her own fault: She had been preoccupied with Colin, going over the night before, waiting for him to enter the church. She'd been so sure he'd come.

  Once again she'd made herself vulnerable to another person and she'd been disappointed, hurt. On top of it all she was embarrassed about the phone call she'd made to him the night before. She truly wished she hadn't done that. Well, it was all too late, the service was almost over, the final hymn just ending.

  Nervously, Annie gave her closing remarks, then took her place to greet the parishioners as they went into the parish hall. When they'd all gone by her she started to follow, then noticed a surly-looking Steve Cornwell standing near the back. She waited. He said nothing but continued to stare at her, hands in his trouser pockets.

  Annie considered asking him what he wanted, rejected the idea, and started for the hall. As she reached the door Steve's laughter stopped her. Angry, she whirled back to face him but he was gone. For a moment she looked out into the empty church, trying to regain her calm, telling herself to forget Cornwell.

  Inside, Peg Moffat, coffee in one hand, cookies in the other, was by Annie's side at once. "What's wrong, kid? You look terrible."

  "Steve Cornwell," she managed to get out.

  "Uh-oh. What did he say?"

  "He didn't say anything. He just stared at me, then he laughed." She shuddered, running her hands over her arms as if she were cold.

  "What do you suppose it meant?" Peg bit into a chocolate chip cookie.

  "I don't know."

  "You didn't do anything dumb last night, did you? You want one of these? They're dynamite."

  "No, thanks. If you mean did Colin spend the night, no."

  "I don't know whether to be glad or not. How'd the evening go?"

  Annie smiled.

  "That good, huh?"

  She shrugged, not wanting to commit herself, even to Peg.

  "When are you going to see him again?" She finished the cookie, started a new one. "You have to try one of these."

  Annie held out her hand. "We said we'd talk today. But I won't be able to see him tonight. I have the Death and Dying group."

  "Did he stay late?"

  "Not too." She thought of telling Peg about calling him but couldn't. Absently, she took a bite of the cookie.

  "Good, huh?"

  "Who?"

  "Not who. What. The cookie, sweetie, the cookie."

  "Oh, the cookie."

  "You're a goner, kid. Say, do you think Steve Cornwell saw you together?"

  "I don't know. Maybe. Listen, I have to talk to some of the others. Can you stay for awhile today?"

  "Sure. I'll make my way over to your house in a bit. And I expect every last detail."

  Smiling, Annie watched Peg join Madge Johnson and Tug Wilson. When she turned away she saw Burton Kelly coming toward her. She didn't need this today. Fortunately, Karen Ludwig cut him off, immediately began talking about the sermon, said she liked it, and had some questions. Annie was grateful and tried to absorb

  herself in the conversation, but her thoughts kept sliding back to Steve Cornwell, wondering about his laughter, feeling threatened.

  By the time she was able to absent herself from the crowd of parishioners she felt edgy and restless. Every encounter she'd had seemed to fizzle and die, or else they'd ended with someone miffed. Whatever she'd tried had gone wrong. She hadn't even managed to avoid a confrontation with Burton. He'd been sulky and irritating, challenging everything she said. The morning had been a mess. She was a mess. Was all this because she was taken with Colin? Had she been so starved for affection that a few kisses had turned her mind to mush? That possibility disturbed her. As she climbed the back stairs to her house she thought, Thank God for Peg, she'll put me straight.

  "Peg," she called from the kitchen, "I'm here."

  There was no reply.

  And then she saw the note.

  Dear Annie,

  Had to leave, didn't want to come back to the Hall. Tim called,

  told me Beth is running a temperature. I'll catch you later.

  Why don't you drop by this afternoon? Sorry I couldn't stay

  but I still expect the gory details.

  Love, Peg

  Timing, she thought, is everything. If ever she wanted to talk, it was now. The phone rang and she grabbed for it, hoping it was Colin. It was only a wrong number. She thought about calling him but decided against it. The last thing she wanted to do was to appear pushy, smothering. Instead she decided to relax, have her glass of sherry before she went to the Townsends' for dinner. In the dining room she poured herself the drink, then turned toward the living room.

  When she saw him she sucked in her breath, dropping the glass. "What are you doing here?" she managed to ask.

  He said nothing, just smiled.

  ----

  The first thing Hallock said to Colin was, "You look kind of bleary-eyed, Maguire. Didn't you get any sleep?"

  "Not much. You?"

  "Haven't slept yet. I tried but I couldn't. There was a paperback somebody left in the motel, read the whole damn thing."

  "What was it?"

  Hallock cleared his throat. "Oh, it was just some damn thing called Ballerina."

  Colin smiled.

  "Listen," Hallock said defensively, "it got me through the night and it wasn't half bad, either."

  "I didn't say anything, Chief."

  "Better stop calling me Chief."

  "Sorry. Want some coffee?"

  "You got some made?"

  "Yup."

  "I wouldn't mind a cup."

  Colin poured them each a mug of coffee, put a carton of milk on the table, and pushed the sugar bowl toward Hallock.

  He took three teaspoons. "So what do you have?"

  Colin got out his sheets of lined yellow paper and laid them on the kitchen table. Across the top of the first one he'd written the names of the victims and down the left side, fi
fteen categories: age, sex, color eyes, color hair, height, weight, marital status, date of birth, where born, siblings, parents, children, job, address, and financial status.

  Hallock took a similar piece of paper from his pocket, unfolded and smoothed it, then placed it next to Colin's. He had an additional four categories: hobbies, friends, habits, enemies. "Two minds that work as one, huh?"

  "Looks like it."

  "What kind of matches did you make?"

  "A few times I thought I might have something, but then the little girl, Mary Beth, would throw it off."

  Hallock nodded. "Know what you mean. Let's hear it anyway."

  Colin picked up his second sheet and began to read. "Two of the victims have brown eyes, two blue. Two have blond hair, two brown." He looked up from the paper. "Of course, Ruth Cooper's was dyed. She'd already turned gray but she'd been a brunette." He continued reading. "Three of them were between five feet five and five feet eleven. Mary Beth threw that one off. The weight didn't seem to mean anything," he said.

  "Keep going. You're doing fine."

  "Two were married, one engaged. Three were born in Seaville, one in Mattituck. They all had siblings. They all had living parents. Two had children. One was a housewife, two had jobs. Two lived in Seaville, one in Bay View, one in East Hampton. Three had a two in their address, three had fives, and three had zeros. Two had moderate incomes, one a combined income of over eighty thousand, and one none." Colin put down the paper. "I think the only significant thing is that they were all born in the North Fork. Natives."

  "What's significant about that?"

  "I shouldn't have said significant, that's too strong. What I mean is, it's the only common denominator."

  "I agree." He held out his piece of paper, tapped the line where he'd discovered the same thing.

  "So what's it mean?" Colin asked.

  "I'm not sure. I just know there isn't anything else. Like you said, the only common denominator. I think we should check more on the families. Maybe it's something in the backgrounds. Grandparents, even."

  "Okay. Higbee and Carroll's immediate families are here, but what about Cooper and Danowski?"

  Hallock said, "Cooper's parents live in Florida. Miami Beach, I think. Got to look that up. Danowski's parents are in Bellport. If you can handle them, I can take the ones in Florida. What I mean is, I got more time on my hands than you. But you could probably take an afternoon to go down island to Bellport, couldn't you?"

  Colin took a slug of coffee, stalling for time. "Couldn't I do it by phone?"

  Hallock looked surprised. "An old newspaperman like you ought to know the personal touch always works best."

  "Right." He felt nauseated; too much coffee.

  "What's up, Maguire? You don't look so hot."

  He knew he'd have to tell him. "Waldo, I don't mean to let you down but, I... I can't go to Bellport. Ever since my family was murdered... I get these panic attacks. I can't go too far from home."

  "You mean like acrophobia?"

  "Agoraphobia," he corrected gently. "Sort of. But obviously I can leave my house. I just can't go too far away, and not with anybody else in the car."

  "No big deal," Hallock said. "You check into Higbee and Carroll, I'll do the other two."

  "Thanks."

  Hallock waved his hand in dismissal. "Look, we all got problems. Anyway, sooner you can get on to those, the better."

  "You really going to Florida?"

  "Why the hell not?"

  "When?"

  "Tomorrow, maybe. I'll go down to Bellport today, see what I can find out about the..." He glanced down at his piece of crumpled paper. "... the Bennetts. Ethel and George. Think you can do some of this today?"

  "Sure." He'd hoped to see Annie later, but that was tonight.

  "Okay. You going to tell Griffing you're working on this with

  me?"

  "I don't see why I should."

  "Good."

  Colin walked with him to the front porch. "But I don't think Mark would care."

  Hallock started to say something then changed his mind.

  "What?"

  "Nothing."

  "Come on, Waldo, that sucks."

  "It'd just be better if you didn't say anything to anybody. About us working on this thing."

  "Especially Mark?"

  "No. Just anybody." He pushed open the screen door.

  Colin thought Hallock was lying. "Okay, I'll keep it quiet."

  Hallock said, "You get any leads today try me later at the motel. Room one-thirty-one."

  Colin watched Hallock drive away. Some kids were coming down the street, wearing bathing suits and carrying a rubber raft. It was a beautiful day, seventy-five degrees, but Colin knew the water in the bay would still be cold. Kids never minded how cold the water was. He remembered how he and Brian would stay in the water for hours, fingertips shriveling, bodies almost blue, and still they wouldn't come out until their father or mother threatened punishment. For a moment Colin longed to be a boy again, free from problems. It was hard to believe there'd ever been such a time in his life. The last years had cast such a pall over everything he sometimes felt life had always been dark and dreary. But now there was Annie, a bright spot in an otherwise dim existence.

  Back in the kitchen he lifted the phone and dialed her number, surprised as he realized he'd committed it to memory.

  ---

  Annie's phone rang.

  He said, "Don't answer that."

  She was shaking from anger and fear. The phone continued to ring and she looked toward the kitchen. "I want to answer my phone."

  "No," he said, rising from the gray velvet couch and crossing the room in three long strides. Steve Cornwell towered over her, his face of oversize features like a caricature, the black hair neatly trimmed. He wore a green cotton jacket, blue polo shirt, plaid slacks with a white belt, and white loafers. "I don't want you to answer the phone because I'm here to talk. Get it?"

  She nodded and backed away from him.

  "Good. Sit down." He pointed to the rocking chair. She sat while he remained standing. "Why don't you give up the ghost, Mrs. Winters."

  She tried to remain cool, her voice even. "It's not Mrs. Winters. As I've told you many times, it's Reverend Winters or Annie. Winters is my maiden name. What is it you want?"

  The phone stopped ringing.

  She looked toward the kitchen, futilely trying to will her caller to come to the house.

  "Are you divorced?" he asked, ignoring her question.

  "You know I'm not. My husband died. I asked you what you wanted. If you don't tell me or get out of here, I'm going to call the police."

  He gave a short hoot of laughter. "So why don't you use your dead husband's name? It seems unfaithful to change it just because the poor guy's dead. You should have mentioned that in your sermon." He laughed again, showing large teeth like a mouthful of shells. "Funny you should pick fidelity for your sermon today."

  Annie felt a sharp stab of guilt. "Steve," she said, trying to sound reasonable, "what's this all about?"

  "I think you know."

  "I don't know."

  "I think you do," he insisted. "I've got my eye on you, Miss Winters. All the time." Cornwell pulled a pack of cigarettes from his pocket, tapped one out, and returned the pack.

  "I don't like people smoking in my house."

  "Don't you? That's too damn bad." He lit the cigarette, blew out the match, and dropped it on the rug.

  Furious, Annie started to get up.

  "Stay where you are," he commanded, eyes like two bullet holes.

  "I want to get you an ashtray."

  "Sit down," he ordered.

  What if he's the killer? she thought. What if this is it? She knew she wasn't ready. Softly, she asked, "Just what do you want?"

  "I want you out. I want you back in the kitchen where you belong."

  "You're incredible." Was this really why he was here? she wondered. Was that all?

  Cornwel
l tapped the cigarette with a long finger; ash fell to the rug.

  Trying not to react, she looked at her watch. "I'm expected at dinner and I'm already late."

  He went on as if she hadn't spoken. "I've put up with you as minister week after week, listened to your trite sermons, watched the others fawning over you, but now I've had it."

  "I don't understand."

  He smiled. "I'm going to get rid of you.

  Her heart slammed in her chest.

  "I might as well tell you I saw you with that reporter last night."

  "So?" She could feel a small rivulet of sweat making its way between her breasts.

  "So," Cornwell said, dropping more ash on the rug, "one thing leads to another. And when it does, you've had it. Just like that." He snapped his fingers, loud.

  Annie flinched.

  He smiled with satisfaction.

  She felt a curious sense of relief. If he was the murderer, he was not going to kill her. At least not at this moment. "I'm going to dinner now."

  "Goodbye."

  "You are not going to stay here while I'm gone," she stated.

  "No?"

  "No." Annie looked into his eyes, met his hatred, and didn't turn away.

  Cornwell shrugged, breaking the stare. "I don't want to stay here anyway." He dropped the cigarette on the rug, ground it out.

  "You pig," she said.

  He laughed. "Don't forget, I'll be watching you."

  She waited until she heard the door close, ran to it and snapped the lock, rushed to the back door, locked that, then went to the living room to check the damage to the rug. Picking up the butt, she brushed away the ash. A black smudge marred the carpet. Club soda fixed the spilled sherry.

  She dialed Colin. After one ring she hung up. What would she tell him? She didn't want to appear a helpless female unable to run her own life. He was the wrong one to tell. She should call the police. But she couldn't do it. There would be too many questions, and she was sure it would hurt her more than Steve Cornwell.

  But what if he was the killer? She rationalized that if he was, he would already have killed her. Why bother with threats? Still, there was a nagging doubt in her mind. And as she left the house for her dinner engagement she silently prayed she wouldn't live to regret her decision.