Ann cringed at the sound of the “f” word coming from her daughter’s lips. This time she wasn’t going to excuse it. “You’d better start watching your mouth, young lady! Do you realize how vulgar that sounds?”
Amy glared at Ann defiantly. “Come on, Mother! You say it all the time!”
“That doesn’t give you the right to, though. Not in my house!”
Amy held her mother’s stare and spurted, “Oh, Mom-get a life!” She stormed out of the room.
Ann wanted to chase after her and give her a good piece of her mind but stopped herself. She knew they’d only get in a fight, and Ann wasn’t in the mood for it. When she heard the front door creak open, she hurried down the stairs just as Amy was halfway out the door.
“Come home right after the movie, Amy!” she yelled after her.
The door slammed shut.
Sometimes, I’d like to crown that little brat, Ann thought. With a long sigh, she went back to the bathroom and closed the door.
After her bath, Ann threw on an old faded Ohio State sweatshirt and a pair of sweat pants before retreating to the family room. After turning on the television, she went over to the bar and took out an opened bottle of white wine from the refrigerator. After pouring herself a glass, she plopped down on the sofa.
She sipped her wine and glanced over at the television-yet another new sit-com was premiering on the channel she was watching. She set the wine glass down on the coffee table and reached for the paperback she had started reading a couple of days ago. It was a true story about a young girl in Omaha, Nebraska who had been abducted then murdered by a deranged serial killer and previously convicted child molester. Deciding that the subject matter was hardly what she felt like delving into at the moment, Ann picked up the other three books lying on the table and scanned the titles. She finally opted for a romance novel that Amy had no doubt bought but never finished reading then settled back in the sofa and turned to the first chapter.
Ann was halfway through the third chapter when she thought she heard a scraping sound outside. She shot a glance toward one of the two windows that faced the backyard and listened for a moment but heard nothing more. Feeling her pulse quickening, she pressed the television mute button on the remote control and listened again. Nothing. She was just about to switch the sound back on when she heard the noise again, this time coming from the direction of the other window. In an instant, she sprung up and ran over to the window to look out. The reflection of the room lights in the glass made it difficult to see beyond it so she cupped her hands against the windowpane to blot out the ambient light and squinted her eyes.
At first she couldn’t see anything except light coming from the bathroom window, realizing now that she had forgotten to turn it off. Both the bathroom and family room faced the backyard and were adjacent to one another, the family room jutting out further into the yard where it had been added on to the rest of the house. She felt her heart thumping rapidly in her chest as she stared out into the darkness and waited for her eyes to adjust. From this vantage point she could see the entire backyard, including the white picket fence that surrounded it and formed the boundary with her neighbors’ houses on either side. She stood there for a couple of minutes, surveying the yard in the dim light coming from the bathroom window. After she eyed the gate located at the far end of the house near the backdoor and saw that it was closed and presumably locked, she finally stepped back from the window and breathed a sigh of relief.
This is crazy! she thought. For the second time that night she thought she’d heard something out back, and both times had been false alarms. Why was she being so paranoid? she wondered. Stress? Or was she letting herself get all worked up over Marsha’s murder? A murder that happened a week ago and over a hundred miles away I need a cigarette!
She fled the family room and went into the kitchen to find her purse, which was lying on the counter. She opened it up and was searching frantically inside for her cigarettes when it suddenly dawned on her that she’d made a point of throwing every pack she owned into the trash when she had decided to quit smoking a couple of weeks ago. Cursing herself, she debated whether or not to throw on a coat and drive to the convenient mart to buy a pack. Then she recalled the pack she’d found hidden under Amy’s dresser. She had stashed Amy’s cigarettes in her own dresser as “evidence,” but hadn’t yet confronted her.
Totally disregarding the fact that she was about to break her vow never to smoke again, Ann ran up the stairs to her bedroom and over to the dresser. She opened the top drawer and found them neatly tucked away under her stockings. Snatching up the opened pack of Marlboro Lights like an addict about to give herself a fix, she slammed the drawer shut and ran back downstairs to the family room.
With quivering hands, Ann lit up a cigarette and inhaled deeply, the smoke feeling much harsher in her lungs than her regular brand. Her nerves were frayed to a frazzle, she realized, from the effects of the tumultuous, emotional week, compounded by her sudden grim outlook for the future. A couple of weeks ago she had actually started feeling like she was at last adjusting to her new life as a transplanted divorcee, but Marsha’s untimely death had thrown everything back into turmoil and brought all her doubts to the surface once again.
And now, to top off everything else, she was alone in this house and starting to hear things.
Ann took another drag, retrieved her wine and sipped. She needed to calm her nerves; to try and relax, get a hold of herself. Nothing has really changed, had it? she thought. Her best friend has just been brutally raped and murdered by an unknown assailant, and she was shocked and devastated by this, but as Sam had told her: life goes on. She had to come to grips with her loss, accept it, and let the healing process begin. Marsha’s death had absolutely nothing to do with the present-her insecurity of being alone and on her own, her concern over Amy’s incorrigible and frightening behavior, her doubts about whether she’d done the right thing in divorcing Sam. So why was she so fucking edgy tonight?
Was she in fear for her own life? If so, then why should she be? She was probably safer than anyone in Smithtown was-Woodcrest was a hundred miles away and most likely the last place on earth the murderer would be right now…
Hysteria, Ann decided. That’s it. She, along with every other woman who knew about Marsha’s murder, was naturally going to feel a little temporary hysteria right now, if not at least a little threatened. It was a perfectly normal response, given the circumstances. There was a demented madman on the loose who had just raped and strangled a poor defenseless woman in her own home. No clues, no motives, and the only material witness is a five-year-old who is so traumatized that he can barely utter a single word. What woman wouldn’t be scared out of her wits?
Ann took another drink of wine and managed a weak smile. Amy would be home in a little while and she would feel like her normal self again. She stubbed out her cigarette, picked up the book and settled back in the sofa. Finding the place where she’d left off, Ann resumed reading and was soon totally absorbed in the developing plot. The heroine of the novel, who ironically had just been recently divorced herself and had a teenage child, no less, had just met a tall, dark stranger at the public library. As Ann read on, she started relating the heroine’s thoughts and actions to her own situation and before long decided that maybe Karen Walker was right after all. Maybe she needed to start seeing somebody and get her mind off her troubles…
She eventually learned that the heroine of the novel, like herself, occasionally caught herself longing for her ex-husband. But she refused to let this stand in the way of her new-found freedom and the fact that there were other men in the world; and that there was a very good chance that she might someday find a man she could love just as much as she had once loved her ex-maybe even more so. The heroine, however, was strong and independent, unlike herself, with a more open mind. Ann realized that she needed to start being just as strong and independent as the heroine; otherwise she could never hope to shrug off her past and find s
omeone else to take Sam’s place.
The plot thickened, and during one of the more intense encounters between the heroine and the tall dark stranger, Ann found herself longing to be in her place; to be held in a stranger’s arms and doted on by someone who loved and respected her for who she was. This longing, along with the richly detailed rendering of the scene, actually made her feel vital and optimistic for a change… if not downright horny.
Ann became so engrossed in the romance novel that she lost all track of time. Then it suddenly dawned on her when the eleven o’clock news came on that Amy hadn’t come home yet.
CHAPTER 3
Lustful eyes peered through the partially closed mini blinds and watched Amy Middleton as she closed the bathroom door and went over to the bathtub to turn on the water. She was fully clothed, wearing a black skirt cut just above the knees, a black cardigan sweater and a white blouse buttoned all the way to the top. She bent down, rested a knee on the edge of the tub, and held her fingers under the running water. She turned the hot water knob a little further to the right until she was satisfied with the temperature, then stood up and began removing her sweater.
He observed Amy as she haphazardly flung the sweater onto the floor then turned and faced the mirror above the sink. As she watched herself in the mirror, she slowly unbuttoned her blouse, seemingly distracted by the image of her face. His heart raced madly as she fumbled with a couple of buttons half way down before she finally unfastened the last one. She brought her hands up near her neck and laggardly removed the blouse, allowing it to rest on her shoulders for just a moment before finally taking it all the way off and flinging it into the corner along with her sweater. He could feel his pulse surge as he stared at her breasts, concealed for the moment by a flimsy sheer white bra. It was the kind with the little meshed holes strategically placed in just the right spots that left little to the imagination.
Amy continued staring at her reflection in the mirror and brought her small, delicate fingers to the front of the bra and unfastened it, exposing her milky white breasts. Her nipples were rosy-red and erect, the curves of her breasts round and firm. She brought each arm through the straps of the bra and pitched it into the growing pile of clothes in the corner.
His unblinking eyes stared intently as Amy slipped out of the skirt-the movement surprisingly swift and graceful. His gaze was locked onto her smooth, slender legs as she tossed the skirt onto the floor and pulled down her cottony white, nearly see-through panties.
The window began steaming up and the Observer silently cursed under his breath. Amy was still fairly visible as she leaned a little closer to the mirror for a better look at herself. He could hear his own breathing now-short, uneven gasps, as he stared at Amy’s luscious body from head to toe. What he wouldn’t give, he thought, to jump on top of her right this moment!
He felt the lump in his pants throb relentlessly as he strained his eyes to see through the droplets forming on the windowpane. Steam was everywhere now, a thick blanket of fog keeping him from eying his prey. He nearly screamed out loud in his frustration and for a brief moment felt the nearly uncontrollable urge to crash through the bathroom window and finish off what she had already started.
His foot suddenly slipped off the shrub he was standing on, causing the elastic-like branches to spring noisily against the side of the house. Instinctively, he glanced first through the window at Amy, who apparently hadn’t heard anything over the running water, then looked around the backyard. To his horror, he saw Amy’s mother peering out through the kitchen window. He stood there frozen in his awkward position for several moments, confident that she probably couldn’t see him even if she tried-the yard was pitch dark and he was only partially in her field of vision.
Finally, after what seemed like a lifetime, he saw Amy’s mother back away from the window. His eyes returned to the bathroom. All he could see now was the obscured form of Amy Middleton through a shroud of steam as she stepped into the tub, closed the shower curtain and disappeared completely from his sight.
CHAPTER 4
Sam knew that Roger was pissed off at him, and he couldn’t really blame him. After all, he was off-duty today and midway through a bottle of Jack Daniels when he had called the lieutenant to set up a time to go over to the Bradley house. What really had irked his friend was the fact that the Bradley’s were to be allowed to return to their home tomorrow morning; which meant that in order to comply with Sam’s request, they would have to go over there this evening-no doubt the last thing Roger Hagstrom wanted to be doing in his present state of inebriation.
Sam had asked Roger why the police were surrendering the Bradley house now, all of a sudden, and he’d replied that the investigation of the murder scene was officially completed. The house had already been dusted for prints and gone over with a fine-toothed comb, so there simply wasn’t anything left to do there. And besides that, he’d added dryly, Dave Bradley did have a right to live in his own home.
Sam told Roger that he would pick him up at five-thirty and as he pulled into the driveway of his friend’s two-story frame house, he wondered what kind of shape Detective Hagstrom would be in by now. He pulled up beside the house and laid on the horn. A moment later, Roger emerged from the front door carrying a glass in one hand and a cigarette in the other. Roger Hagstrom was short and stocky with rusty brown hair, wore a two-day old stubble, wrinkled khakis, and a ragged Kent State sweatshirt as he lumbered over to Sam’s Jeep and opened the door.
“Yo,” Roger greeted as he climbed in.
He wasn’t blasted yet, Sam thought to himself. “Yo, Rog. Sorry about interrupting your bliss,” he said, throwing the gearshift lever into reverse.
“Fuck it,” Roger growled good-naturedly. “Nothin’ else shakin,’ anyway. Just another drunk day in this sleepy old burg.”
Sam turned his head and watched as he backed out of the narrow driveway and onto the street. “It’s been pretty lively around here this past week or so, you’ve got to admit.”
Roger nodded. “True. But socially speaking, let’s face it: this town’s the skids.”
Sam smiled knowingly. “No shit.”
“You want a taste?” Roger asked, proffering his glass of straight Jack Daniels.
“No thanks-too early for me,” Sam replied. “Did you make it to the funeral home today?”
“Yeah, I went this afternoon. Just missed you guys, as a matter of fact. Only stayed a couple of minutes, though. I can’t stand that depressing shit.”
“I know what you mean. Dave sure looked rough, eh?”
Roger nodded. “Yup, I really feel for the guy-Marsha was one hell of a lady. She really loved that kid, too. I sure hope the little tyke snaps out of it.”
“What’s the latest on Tommy, anyway?” Sam inquired. “Have you heard anything new?”
“He’s still got a zipper on his lips and that’s all I know. No one really wants to bother either of them now, so the shrink’s backed off for the time being.”
“Any chance he’ll come around soon?” Sam asked as he pulled onto Coles Boulevard and headed west.
“Hope so. Otherwise, I don’t think we have an ice cube’s chance in Hades of catching this bastard,” Roger said, the exasperation evident in his voice.
Sam reached into his jacket, pulled out a Marlboro and pushed in the cigarette lighter in the same motion. “Ann is taking this really hard, as you can imagine. I never thought I’d say this, but I’m sort of glad she’s living out of town right now. I’m not so sure she’d be able to hang around here and keep her sanity with all the reminders of Marsha staring her in the face all the time. Ann’s pretty sensitive anyway, as well you know, and it’s probably best that she’s where she is for the time being.”
“Out of sight, out of mind?”
“Something like that. I sure do miss her, though,” Sam added, his tone of voice somber. He lit up his cigarette and slowed down for a stop sign.
“I know you do, man,” Roger said sympathetically. “Bu
t you can’t spend the rest of your life pining for her. You need to get out once in a while, buddy. At least get laid, if nothing else!”
Sam grinned sardonically. “Sort of a slim market out there for that, don’t you think?”
Roger guffawed. “Pretty fucking lame, I admit. This bachelor’s been stalking these hills for a coon’s age and ain’t never seen times as lean as they are nowadays. All the decent chicks blow out of this burg as soon as they graduate high school anymore.”
Sam chuckled at Roger’s hillbilly-inflected accent and said, “Can’t really blame ‘em, can you?”
“Nope.”
Sam swung a right onto Tindall Drive and drove a couple of blocks until he spotted Oakridge Court. He turned left onto Oakridge and slowed down, observing the handful of impressive stately houses situated on either side of the cul-de-sac. All of the two and three-story homes were surrounded by huge sprawling grounds, meticulously landscaped, and set back a good thirty or forty yards from the street. Sam drove the length of the court and pulled up the long winding driveway leading to Dr. David Bradley’s house.
The enormous brick and wood bi-level was awesome, complete with a heated swimming pool off to the right in the rear. Towering spruce trees lined either side of the grounds, forming a natural boundary before giving way to the foothills behind that afforded privacy from the neighboring houses.
“Dave’s dental practice has been good to him,” Roger quipped acidly as Sam pulled up to the three-car garage and parked.
“No doubt,” Sam replied. He turned off the engine and reached for his camera lying on the floorboard.
“You aren’t really going to take pictures, are you?” Roger asked, his expression incredulous.
Sam grinned over at him. “Of course I am. The lighting should be perfect this time of day.”
Roger shook his head slowly and opened the door. “Why do I have a funny feeling they aren’t gonna show up in Monday’s paper?”
The May Day Murders Page 4