Ring Around the Rosy

by Roseanne Dowell

  Susan shook her head. “Come on, Clare bear. You know that’s not long enough.”

  Clare smiled. “You haven’t called me that in ages. I’m sorry, Susie, but I can’t wait longer than a month. I’ve put my life on hold too long already.”

  “Are you sure there’s no one else in the picture? You’re awfully certain about this,” Kate said.

  Clare slipped off the stool. “Honest injun, there’s no one. Not to say I wouldn’t like there to be.”

  “Oh?” Susan looked at her sister. “Do you have someone picked out?”

  “Good Lord, no. Doesn’t mean I’m not going to start looking, though.”

  “Don’t you think you ought to wait and give counseling a chance? Maybe even get Steve to go with you?”

  Clare shook her head. “I already asked him several months ago. He won’t go. He seems to think there’s nothing wrong with our marriage.”

  “So this was a long time in the making. It’s not sudden?” Susan should have known. Clare never did anything spontaneous. She always thought everything through, weighed the pros and cons.

  “No, Susie. It’s not sudden.”

  “Then you had already decided to divorce Steve when you had your affair?” Kate looked at Susan and then back to Clare. “You had this planned all along.”

  “No, I didn’t decide to divorce Steve before I had the affair.” She slammed her hand down on the counter. “You make this sound like a well-thought-out plan. Damn it, Kate, I tried to save my marriage. I did everything Steve wanted all these years, and just once I asked him to do something for me, and he refused.”

  Susan slid off her stool. Something was wrong with this whole thing. She just couldn’t put her finger on it. “Hold on, you two. What do you mean? You asked Steve to go with you to counseling?”

  Clare took a breath and swiped at a tear. This wasn’t easy for her sister. There was something deeper going on here. Clare was hurting, and as usual, putting up a good front. Had Steve found out about the affair and this was all a ruse? That wasn’t like Clare, either. She was too honest.

  “Come on, Clare, tell us what’s going on. Is Steve having an affair?” Of course, that had to be it. Clare was trying to save face.

  Clare sat back on the stool. “No, he’s not. At least I don’t think he is. We’ve grown apart, okay? I don’t think he loves me anymore. He stays away longer and longer. Half the time, he doesn’t even bother to call.

  “Aw, Clare. I’m so sorry. How long has this been going on?” Susan wished she could do or say something to help her sister.

  “A little over a year.”

  “Are you sure he’s not having an affair?” Kate brushed a strand of hair from Clare’s face.

  “Of course, I’m not sure. How can I be sure of anything? We hardly talk. I don’t know. Heck, maybe he is. He doesn’t want anything to do with me anymore. I can’t even remember the last time we made love.”

  Susan wasn’t the smartest camper in the woods, but she didn’t need a tree to fall on her to see the signs. Surely Clare wasn’t that stupid. It couldn’t be clearer if he painted her a picture. She looked at Kate. Even she saw the writing on the wall.

  “What?” Clare said. “Why are you two looking like that?”

  Susan shook her head. “Clare, if Steve’s not having an affair, then something else is going on, and it’s time you sat down and talked with him about it.”

  “I wish I could. I tried several times, but he brushes me off. Tells me I’m silly.”

  “Okay, then you need to talk to someone to find out how to get him to take you seriously.”

  Clare smiled. “Yeah, a lawyer.”

  Kate’s phone rang. She looked at it and shrugged. “Sorry, I have to take this.”

  “Do you know a good lawyer?” Susan grabbed another cookie.

  “Actually, I do.”

  “Then I suggest you make an appointment.” Susan looked at her watch. “I’m sorry, but I really need to go. Make an appointment with the lawyer and call me. If you need me here when you tell the kids, let me know.”

  Kate came back in the kitchen. “I hate to break up the party, but I have to go. Problems at the shop. Hopefully, they’ll solve them before I get there.”

  “I’m leaving, too. Listen; let’s get together again soon, okay?” Susan took her keys out of her purse. “I know it’s hard for you, Kate. But you should be able to get off one day a month.”

  “Yes, let’s do that real soon.” Clare kissed Susan’s cheek and hugged her. “And thank you again for the quilt, Kate. I love it.”

  Susan kissed and hugged both her sisters. “I expect you to bring me a quilt next time.”

  Clare almost pushed them out the door. Was she trying to get rid of them all of a sudden?

  Susan enjoyed the ride home, taking the side roads instead of the freeway. It was a warm day for October, with the temperature into the mid-seventies. She had the windows down and country music blaring.

  The trees displayed an array of color as she sped along the traffic-free country roads. The scenery was so much prettier than the dirty highways, and Mother Nature didn’t disappoint her today. In a few weeks, the scenery would look desolate as the trees gave up their colorful coats and became barren with the winter cold.

  It saddened her, and she shivered with the thought of what was to come. Although she loved the first fallen snow, the fresh new whiteness cleansing the dirty landscape, it got old real quick.

  But today, she enjoyed the kaleidoscope effect of the oranges, reds, yellows, and rusts with just enough green left to add contrast as the sun sparkled off the brilliant leaves. She inhaled the strong scent of the dried leaves that were ground up in someone’s lawn mower and mixed with the fresh grass clippings, creating a unique odor all its own.

  Something about the conversation at the police station gnawed at her. Why that thought suddenly came to mind, she didn’t know. Talk about ruining an otherwise perfect day.

  They said she called a phone booth, but she never made a call like that, so who had, and how?

  She snapped her fingers. Of course, whoever broke into to her apartment must have made that call. Suddenly, Susan remembered the clock next to Sally’s body. She had forgotten to check the apartment for the one her grandmother gave her. More than likely, it was gone.

  The killer had been in her apartment, had gone through her stuff, rifled through her underwear drawer, her closet. Chills shot up her spine as she remembered the mess.

  First thing, she was going to do at home was look for that clock.

  She pulled out her cell phone. She had to tell Dave. Maybe it would get them both off the hook. She dialed Dave’s number and got his voice mail.

  That was strange. She was always able to reach him. She had wanted to stay awake last night and watch for him, but Kate had insisted they all go to bed.

  “Dave, I just figured out who made that phone call. Call me.” She flipped her cell phone closed, pulled into the alley, and parked.

  Getting out, she looked around. No one was in sight, yet her skin crawled. She swore someone was watching her and looked up at the widows of the apartment building. A shadow crossed in front of one of the windows. Was that where he lived?

  Chapter Twenty

  Susan ran up the steps just as Greg came out of the apartment building.

  “Susan.” He grabbed her arm to prevent knocking her down when she bumped into him. “What’s the big hurry? Hot date tonight?” He grinned at his own humor.

  “Oops, sorry.” She swore she’d seen Greg more in the past two weeks than the five years she lived here. “Wasn’t paying attention.”

  She never realized how tall he was before. She grinned when she turned and hurried up the stairs. As a matter of fact, she did have a hot date. Dave was coming over later, and she wanted to straighten up the apartment and make dinner. It had become a habit, one they fell into with ease. He even helped her shop for a new couch to replace the one the intruder slashed to smithereens. />
  Susan smiled at the memory of him helping pick out the new couch. “Big,” he said. “It has to be big enough to lie down on.” His silly grin told her more than his words. “If I’m going to spend the night, I have to be comfortable.”

  Susan hurried up to her apartment, not bothering with the elevator. She liked that Dave came for dinner whenever he could. She enjoyed cooking, and Dave enjoyed eating. Besides, it wasn’t fun to cook only for only one person. She usually ate fast food, but since meeting Dave, she’d been doing a lot of cooking. Tonight she planned pork chops. Her only decision was whether to bread them or bake them. She leaned toward baking. She didn’t care all that much for greasy fried food. But first, she had to look for that clock.

  Two roses sat in front of her door. She kicked them down the hall and unlocked her door. First place she headed was the closet where she kept the clock. Not there. She looked on another shelf, thinking maybe she moved it during the clean up. Nope. Not there, either.

  She went into her bedroom and looked on the dressers, on her desk. The clock was nowhere to be found. Susan sat on the edge of the bed.

  Was the killer sending her a message?

  She went back to the kitchen and hit the play button on her answering machine.

  “Birds of a feather flock together, and so will pigs and swine. Rats and mice will have their choice, and so will I have mine.” Strange noises sounded in the background, almost like fog horns. Maybe from a boat yard. That wasn’t real helpful since there were plenty of them around Lake Erie.

  Hopefully, Sergeant Dahl could filter it and figure out what it was. He hadn’t had much luck clearing up the distorted voice.

  The nursery rhyme was meant as a riddle, and who knew what it meant, unless it had to do with the last line, ‘and so I will have mine’. Will have what? A choice, obviously, but what kind of choice? Did it mean a choice of people to kill? What was his motive? How did he choose his victims? Did he pick the nursery rhymes to suit the name, or the name to suit the rhyme? There was so much they didn’t know and couldn’t figure out.

  He left nothing at the scenes, no trace evidence, nothing that could help identify the insane person that committed the crimes — at least, nothing that she knew of. It was almost as if he committed the murders dressed in plastic. Not a hair, nothing. She knew the police were thorough and wouldn’t divulge everything to the press. And no matter how much Dave trusted her, he was the police, and she was the press. They hadn’t found anything at her apartment, either. How could someone tear up an apartment that badly and not leave a strand of hair, a piece of thread?

  Susan knew most killers didn’t appear insane. They looked and acted just like her or Dave. Most friends and relatives were shocked when they heard of the horrendous crimes, and couldn’t believe that nice, quiet young man could possibly commit such an act. You heard it all the time on television. A neighbor interviewed about a criminal just couldn’t believe it.

  She browned the pork chops and put them in a pan, poured cream of mushroom soup, thinned with a little milk, over the top, covered it with foil and set them in a 325-degree oven. She decided on rice rather than potatoes, peas and carrots for the vegetable and sliced tomatoes instead of a salad. They’d make a colorful presentation on the plate, especially since pork chop gravy was white. She set the timer for thirty minutes.

  Dave told her he’d be here about six. She couldn’t wait to tell him about the phone call and the clock.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Peter, Peter, pumpkin eater had a wife and couldn’t keep her.

  He hid in the park. These people were all so predictable, never changing their habits or patterns. Peter walked in the park every night. Like clockwork, Peter strolled toward the swing sets and sliding board. Did he think his leisurely walk constituted exercise? Not at that snail’s pace.

  Any moment now, he’d make his presence known. He liked the element of surprise and the dawning look in his victim’s eyes when they recognized him. But especially when they realized they were going to die. Peter was a big man, so he’d have to take extra care. It wouldn’t be an easy fight. There would be a struggle. Of course they all tried to fight, but Peter was out of shape. Even with his size, Peter would probably have a heart attack before he finished the job. He hoped not. Half the fun was watching them breathe their last breath while he squeezed the life out of them.

  He jumped in front of Peter and knocked him to the ground. This was easier than he thought. The bigger they come, the harder they fall.

  Peter gasped for breath — the fall had knocked the wind out of him. He had to work fast before Peter caught his breath. He gripped his neck and started to squeeze. Peter’s eyes rolled to the back of his head, his face turned purple, and soon the last breath of air slipped out of him.

  Working quickly, because you never knew when someone would come along the path, although in the past week, no one had. He pulled the body to the sliding board and leaned it against the ladder, took the pumpkin out of the knapsack and put in the crook of Peter’s arm. Pretty good carving job, if he said so himself. Finally, he stuck the nursery rhyme in Peter’s hand and closed his fingers around it. Last, he tied the scarf around Peter’s neck.

  He stood, moved away from the body, slipped out of his suit, and looked at his handy work. Not necessarily the best, but good enough. “Thought you were so smart didn’t you, going with one girl, but playing around with the others. Your wife got wise to you, though, didn’t she? You were so controlling, and still she managed to sneak away. Serves you right, you dumb bastard.” He turned and left and never looked back.

  * * *

  Dave arrived shortly after six, as promised, carrying two red roses by a corner of the same floral paper as the ones she’d found earlier.

  He set them aside, before she had a chance to say anything. “They were in front of the door,” he said. “Latent couldn’t get any prints but yours off the others. We’ll try these. One of these times, he’ll slip up.

  Twice in one day, he had been at her door, and the last time while she was inside. Susan’s legs trembled, and she sunk to her knees. Darn, she hated feeling weak.

  Dave helped her to her feet and held her. The security of his arms calmed her. “Why is someone doing this?” she asked. “What is he trying to prove? Whoever put those roses there knew I was home. How could he not with the music from the stereo blaring. That’s why I didn’t hear him.” She looked into Dave’s eyes as she spoke, and saw the worried frown.

  “Something smells delicious.”

  Leave it to Dave to change the subject. Not that Susan minded. She couldn’t let the roses ruin another evening. Anyway, Dave was here now, and she felt safe.

  She dished up the dinner, but her appetite had disappeared. Thankfully, Dave ate with gusto. She loved to cook for him, and, as usual, he helped clear the table and wash the dishes after dinner.

  They sat down on the couch and sipped their coffee.

  She could really get used to this. Ha, get used to it; she was already used to it. What was she going to do if this ended after they caught this guy?

  Memory of the first time Dave kissed her and told her he couldn’t resist made her smile. It was the nicest thing anyone had said to her. But was she letting him take over too much?

  “So what did you want to tell me?” Dave settled back with his coffee.

  “Oh my God, how could I forget?” Susan jumped up. “I know who made that phone call from my apartment. It was him. He was here — in my apartment. He must have called then. I don’t know why he’s trying to implicate me in these murders.”

  “What do you mean, Susan?” Dave leaned forward.

  “The break-in. He took my clock and God knows what else. They found the clock with Sally.”

  Dave stood up and snapped his fingers.

  “Of course how did I miss that? I remember you said it looked like yours. In the course of the investigation, I forgot about it. Then Hill wrote that damn story. I have to go. I need to find
Greenwood. I need to show him the evidence and see if there are any fingerprints on the clock. Other than yours, that is.”

  Just as he was about to leave, her scanner squawked, and his phone rang. Another body, this time at the other end of town. Was the killer changing direction, finding a new place to do his deed? They grabbed their jackets.

  Dave held hers for her. “I kind of like having you ride shotgun.” He brushed his lips across her cheek and pushed back a strand of hair. “Let’s go.”

  They drove in silence, Susan half afraid to see who the victim was this time. What if the killer came after her? Was that what he was setting her up for? He knew so much about her. The thought that the killer was someone she knew shook her. She couldn’t think of anyone capable of committing these crimes. Still, how did he know so much about her comings and goings? He had to be watching her or knew her personally. A shiver ran up her spine.

  The crime scene tape was already in place when they arrived. Susan followed Dave through the small playground. By now, most of the other policeman knew she was a reporter, but no one stopped her. Apparently, they figured she was with Dave, and he never prevented her from getting beyond the tape.

  The fact that he trusted her not to contaminate the scene or report anything that would jeopardize the case renewed her confidence. But the fact remained, the first time she printed something they didn’t want public, she’d be standing beyond the tape with the rest of the onlookers.

  The victim leaned against the bottom of the sliding board — a heavy set young man, early thirties, about six feet tall, if he were standing. Blond, wavy hair fell over his face, partially hiding blue eyes gazing in a glassy stare. Thin lips partially open, as if he wanted to speak, wanted to tell them who did this.