Memory of Murder

by Kathleen Creighton

  “Quite frankly,” Alan went on, “Linz didn’t know how you’d feel about your daughter dating a cop.”

  Merrill rubbed at the back of his neck. “Quite frankly, I’m not sure how I feel about that, myself. How long have you two been…uh, dating?”

  Alan and Lindsey both started to speak, then stopped and looked at each other. Alan said, “I don’t know…what has it been? About a month?”

  “More like two,” she said, getting into the game enough to give him a playful nudge. Although laying it on a little heavy, he thought.

  He grinned at her. “Seems a lot shorter.” The glint in her eyes…was it a trick of the light, or could it possibly be laughter? He found himself holding his breath to contain the urge to laugh with her, laugh with sheer delight and the same sense of discovery he’d felt when he’d heard her swear out loud.

  “How did you meet my daughter, Detective?”

  Merrill’s voice startled him; for a moment the world had seemed to include only two people.

  Lindsey laughed. “Dad, what is this? What am I, sixteen?”

  “No, honey, it’s okay. Mr. Merrill, I’d want to know, if it was my daughter. Here’s the story. I went to her office looking to get a better deal on my car insurance. Someone I know on the job had recommended her to me. Wound up insuring my car and my house, and we’ve been seeing each other ever since.” He hugged Lindsey even closer to his side, and couldn’t help but notice she didn’t seem to mind. And that the trembling had diminished. Maybe she was getting over the strangeness of him, beginning to relax a little bit? The idea of that pleased him a lot more than it should have.

  Merrill appeared to relax a little, as well. “Well, as long as Lindsey’s happy, I’m glad to meet you, Alan-and I’m Richard, by the way.” He paused. “Detective, you said? What kind?”

  “Homicide.”

  “Really?” He did that little rearing back, startle thing again. “Well, at least it’s not drugs or vice. Or gangs. Speaking of which-terrible thing that happened this past weekend, wasn’t it?”

  “Yes, sir,” Alan said, “it was.”

  Merrill appeared to be about to ask another question, but Lindsey interrupted. “What are you doing here, Dad? Not that I’m not glad to see you.”

  He pointed an accusing finger at his daughter. “Now, I tried to call you. I did. You weren’t answering your cell phone.”

  “Dad, you know I don’t take it when I go running.”

  Merrill looked at Alan and raised both hands in a gesture of paternal helplessness. “What am I gonna do with her? You’re a cop, tell her how nuts she is to go out alone like that without a cell phone!”

  “Dad, it’s not like I’m out in the wilderness. Where I run it’s on a busy street with houses on the other side, people all over the place, jogging, walking their dogs, playing with their kids. It’s perfectly safe. And,” she added in a wry aside to Alan, loud enough for her father to hear, “I’m forty years old, for Pete’s sake.”

  “And you’re never going to be too old for your dad to worry about you-don’t you forget that.” Merrill gave Alan a narrow look. “You have children, son?”

  “Yes sir, I do,” Alan said. “A daughter-she’s almost ten.”

  “Ah. Then you know-or if you don’t now, you will.” He took a set of keys out of his pocket and peeped open his car door locks, then turned back to them. “I was in the neighborhood and thought I’d stop by since I couldn’t get you on the phone. Wanted to see if you feel like coming over on the weekend.”

  He smiled, but now Alan thought it seemed forced…awkward. And it struck him suddenly, with a flash of unwanted sympathy, what it must be like for a man married for more than forty years, suddenly finding himself without his wife. It was pretty obvious to him the man was lonely.

  “You know, thought I might warm up the old barbecue, invite some of the neighbors, be like old times. Before your mother…” He cleared his throat, then threw Alan a fierce look. “I suppose she’s told you-”

  “Yes,” Alan said. “I’m sorry. Must be tough.” What else could he say?

  Lindsey had opened her mouth to reply, but before she could, Richard Merrill said to Alan, “You’re included in the invitation, of course.”

  Her head snapped toward Alan and her eyes widened, the look she gave him saying plainly, Oh, no! What now?

  He was asking himself that same question. The invitation was a golden opportunity, the perfect chance for him to learn more about the elusive Merrills, but the timing couldn’t have been worse. He said in a murmur meant only for Lindsey, “I have Chelsea that weekend.”

  Naturally, Merrill overheard. “Chelsea? That would be your daughter?”

  “Yes, sir. I was supposed to have her last weekend, but after all hell broke loose in the ’hood, I had to cancel. I can’t disappoint her again.”

  “No, no-by all means, bring her along. I have a pool, some of the neighbors have kids, grandkids. She’ll be more than welcome. She’ll have fun. So, what do you say? Can I count on the three of you?”

  Lindsey popped open her mouth and threw Alan that Help-me-out-and-don’t-you-dare-say-yes! look again.

  “Sure,” he said. “We’d love to come. We’ll be there.”

  He heard a little gasp, then a bright and artificially cheery, “O-kay! So, Dad, I guess that’s, um… So, we’ll see you next what, Saturday? What time?” He could hear a note of desperation in her voice, and feel those ripples of tension cascading through her body again.

  Interesting.

  Merrill shrugged and divided a look between the two of them. “Around two? It gets dark so early this time of year.”

  “Two’s fine with me,” Alan said.

  “Two it is,” Lindsey almost sang, and Alan snugged her a little closer still.

  Then he had to let go of her momentarily as her father stepped forward to give her a hug and a kiss on the forehead. “That’s great-just great. See you Saturday, then. Good to meet you, Alan.” He clapped Alan on his upper arm, got into his car and backed out of the driveway.

  Alan and Lindsey waved, then stood together and silently watched the big sedan roll through the automatic gate that had opened to let it pass, pause, taillights winking, then turn right and move off down the street. It was only then, with the quiet of the empty driveway and spotlighted landscaping shadows settling in around them, that he realized his arm was encircling her again. That somehow, for some reason, she’d moved right back into the curve of his body, into the place she’d vacated to accept her father’s farewell hug. He wondered if she’d done it without thinking, because it felt natural and right, the way it had felt so natural and right to him he hadn’t given it a thought, either.

  They broke apart at what seemed like the same moment-impossible to tell who did it first.

  Lindsey gave a little laugh, sounding half relieved, half embarrassed. “Boy, you do that well.”

  “What?”

  “Lie.”

  That stopped him for a moment, making him do his own little mental rearing back, the word an unexpected jolt to his self-image. He lied on a daily basis, of course, dealing with suspects and witnesses alike, and never gave it a thought. Went with the territory. He did and said what was necessary to get the job done, and it wasn’t always one hundred percent gospel truth. He sure didn’t think it made him any less of a good guy.

  His chuckle was self-deprecating. “Think he bought it?”

  She hugged herself, rubbing her upper arms inside the sleeves of the warm-up jacket, although the evening wasn’t that chilly. “Why wouldn’t he? I’m forty years old-I’m sure the notion that I might bring a man home with me occasionally isn’t that shocking.” Her voice sounded clipped, almost angry.

  “Do you?”

  “Do I what?”

  “Bring men home with you…occasionally?”

  She gave a little start, in a way that reminded him of her father. “What earthly business is that of yours?”

  He held up his hands in mo
ck surrender. “Hey, if we’re supposed to be, uh, dating, I just figured I ought to know what I’m getting into.”

  The fact that she was being teased sank in, and she made a small sound, a snort, and gave him a sideways glaring look to go with it. After a moment, she pulled off the sweatband and raked her fingers through her hair, then suddenly held her head between her hands and let go of an exasperated breath. “But, why did you say we’d go to the barbecue? You realize, we’re going to have to keep up the charade of us being a couple all afternoon. And what about your daughter? What’s she going to think?”

  “About what?”

  “Well, me, obviously. The fact that we’re supposedly uh, dating…”

  “She’s ten, Lindsey. Who I happen to be dating is no concern of hers.”

  “Oh,” she said, arching her eyebrows at him, “so are you dating someone?” Before he could answer, she gave an elaborate shrug and added, “I just figured, you know, since we’re supposed to be dating, I ought to know what I’m getting into.”

  He grinned to show his appreciation of the small gotcha, and she grinned back. And it occurred to him, as it did each time he was with her, that he was enjoying himself entirely too much, given the nature of their relationship.

  He coughed and folded his arms and planted his feet, adopting a classic cop stance to remind himself again what that relationship was. “Look, it’s the perfect opportunity dumped right in my lap. You bet I’m going to take it. I need to talk to your father, you don’t want me to talk to him-not like a cop, and I understand that. So, this is my chance to talk to him without arousing his suspicions. Casual conversation-you know. I’m in a relationship with his daughter, what could be more natural than to want to know more about her family? I’m sure he’s going to want to know all about me, so, I tell him about growing up in Philly, and I ask him where he grew up. It’s tit for tat.” He smiled at her, not with amusement. “Plus, it’s a great opportunity for you to show me those high school yearbooks you were telling me about.”

  She gazed at him, not saying anything, eyes fringed in darkness, reflecting the light. Then she nodded and murmured, “Okay, you’re right. Of course.” He could hear the faint plink of her swallow.

  “Meanwhile, I’ll keep looking, see if I come up with anything. Are you going to be seeing your mother this week?”

  “Of course. I go almost every day after work.”

  “Okay, then you keep trying to get her to remember things about her dreams. Let me know immediately if you get anything. Anything-no matter how small or insignificant it might seem to you. Call me.”

  She nodded, then gave a small laugh. “So, I guess the snow thing wasn’t much help, was it?”

  “Don’t say that.” His voice had gone low and husky, entirely without his permission. “You never know.”

  And then, because just saying good-night to her and walking away didn’t seem like enough, he reached out and brushed the bridge of her nose with his thumb.

  He heard a soft intake of breath, and that moment in the car, when he’d leaned over and kissed her as part of a charade, came thundering back into his consciousness. A stampede of images, emotions, sensations, things he hadn’t had time then to process, hurtled through his mind and for a few seconds, trampled out reason. He was left with a churned-up mess of sensory impressions-soft lips and warm, damp skin and the scent of a clean woman’s sweat, and the hint-just the hint-of what it would be like to have those mingling, merging, melding with his own amid the thumping, pulsing rhythms of joined bodies and dueling heartbeats.

  He shook his head, shaking off the images and a hint of dizziness. “So,” he said in a voice still raspy with the residue of the stampede, “I’ll call you. And see you on Saturday.” He left her standing there, walked to his car, got in and managed to get his car turned around and heading back through the automatic gate without clipping a shrub or running over the curb.

  Entirely too much, he told himself as he bumped a right turn into the street. Considering the nature of our relationship.

  Lindsey stood on a wooden deck that looked out across barrancas lush with tropical vegetation to the haze where the continent ended and the Pacific Ocean began. Laughter and bits of conversation drifted up from below, from the people gathered on the flagstone patio that surrounded the free-form swimming pool, and it occurred to her that this exact same scene had been played out in this exact same place how many dozens of times? Hundreds?

  Her dad, wearing an apron her mom had bought for him during a trip to Las Vegas, the one printed to look like a tuxedo, stood next to the huge stainless steel gas grill, holding a barbecue fork in one hand and a bottle of beer in the other. He was chatting with the next-door neighbors, Barbara and Evan Norwood. Lindsey had known the Norwoods forever, had babysat their kids. Mrs. Norwood had taught her piano lessons, until, mercifully, it had become obvious to all concerned that Lindsey possessed no musical talent whatsoever.

  The view, the images, the people, the smells-so little had changed. Okay, no more smell of charcoal briquettes and lighter fluid since the acquisition of the fancy gas grill, and where the portable soccer net had once straddled the place where the pool deck met lawn, a tall patio heater now stood. On the deck itself, the litter of plastic pool toys had been replaced by the large pots of flowers Mom had planted last spring.

  That was my life, my childhood-soccer and swimming and babysitting and piano lessons, and Dad cooking dinner on the grill. I know I was lucky to have such a happy childhood. And I know I’m not a child any longer, but what’s wrong with staying close to your parents as you get older? Isn’t that the way families should be?

  Should be.

  But no family is perfect. Is it? And if that’s true, and mine seemed to be perfect, how can that be real? What if it was all just…an illusion?

  As if he’d heard her thoughts, felt her doubts, her father looked up just then and waved the beer bottle, then blew her a kiss.

  She drew a shaky breath and blew him one back. That, at least, she knew was real. That her father loved her she had never doubted.

  About her mother, she wasn’t so sure.

  Mom…did you love me? Why was there always that distance between us? You never let me get really close to you. Now I wonder…was it because there has always been another child, the little boy of your dreams-Jimmy-standing between us?

  She’d been aware, growing up, of the reserve that sometimes seemed like coldness on her mother’s part, but it hadn’t seemed all that important then. Maybe because her dad had always been there to make up for any lack of affection, and to explain her mom’s coldness in a way that had made her understand and forgive.

  Now, my mother is leaving me forever, for real. And the last thing she ever does for me is to make me doubt the one thing I’ve always known I could count on-my dad.

  A wave of resentment swept over her, but it receded quickly and when it did, it left behind the feeling she had so often these days. That awful stomach-churning feeling of a child abandoned, lost and alone.

  How can I know who to trust now?

  She realized, then, that she hadn’t been truthful with herself or with Alan when she’d told him she wasn’t doing this for herself. She did need to know. Or she doubted she would ever be able to believe or trust in anything again.

  Down below on the patio, people were stirring, rearranging, the chatter of conversation rising with expectation and punctuated with jovial cries of greeting. Guests were arriving, the newcomers emerging through the open garage doors onto the patio, and her dad was moving to meet them, sweeping them with him into the center of the cluster of friends and neighbors already present.

  Lindsey’s heart gave a peculiar kick when she saw Alan come into view. It was the first time she’d seen him dressed like this-in casual clothes, jeans and light blue short-sleeved polo shirt, a navy blue windbreaker hooked on one finger and slung carelessly over one shoulder, his dark hair hidden by a Philadelphia Phillies baseball cap. But her mind insisted
on flashing back to the last time she’d seen him, when he’d still been wearing his dress shirt and tie, and she felt again the smooth cotton fabric against her skin where he’d held her so closely, and smelled the scent of laundry detergent mixed with the other unknown things that made up his own particular scent. And his lips, when he’d kissed her, so unexpectedly gentle, his breath smelling faintly of coffee and peppermints. Those things-his hand so warm on the back of my neck-had been coming into her mind all week, and she wished to God they would stop.

  Because of that, she told herself the hitch in her breathing and the quickening of her pulse wasn’t for him, but for the child beside him, the little girl clinging to his arm with both hands in the shy, awkward way of ten-year-old girls meeting hordes of strangers. Chelsea Cameron was slender and tall, like her father, and wore jeans and a pink and brown windbreaker and her long dark hair was pulled up in a ponytail. Lindsey held her breath, waiting for the pang, the sense of recognition and of longing. But it had been years since she stopped seeing her baby, her precious Isabella, everywhere she went, and after a moment she relaxed and let the breath go slowly.

  It was the right thing to do. I know it was. I don’t regret it.

  But now her mind insisted on taking her back to that time, making her remember the pain, the anger and betrayal she’d felt when her mother had taken Trent’s side. Both had been furious with her for refusing to try again to get pregnant.

  “Now that they know you have trouble carrying to term, they’ll know what to do. They can prevent it! Don’t do anything permanent, Lindsey, you don’t know what medical science will come up with. They’ve made such advances, they’re saving even tiny preemies now.”

  Oh, yes, Mom had had all the arguments but Lindsey had been adamant. “How can you possibly understand?” she remembered telling her mother. “You’ve never lost a child-you don’t know what it feels like!”

  The rift between them had been at its widest then, but eventually, to give her mother credit, when it came to the final separation, Susan had reluctantly accepted her decision and supported Lindsey through the trauma of the divorce. And later, no longer so self-involved and wrapped up in her own pain, Lindsey had come to realize how hard it must have been for her mother to accept the reality that she would never have grandchildren. They’d actually grown closer, it seemed, for a while.