Standing in line at Maury’s, Mara waited for her turn to order. She paid for her hot dog and soda and strolled back toward the benches that lined the wall near the front of the building. An elderly woman rose from her seat, pushing the stroller that held a sleeping infant, and started off down the sidewalk just as Mara approached. Without a second thought, she took the seat almost as soon as it was vacated, then sought to balance the soda can on the bench while she attempted to pop open the lid.
“Need a hand?” A shadow fell across her.
Mara looked up to find Aidan looking down at her. He wore a pale yellow shirt and his hands were stuck in the pockets of his worn jeans. Dark glasses shielded his eyes.
“What are you doing here?”
“Checking up on you.” He took the can from her hands and popped off the tab.
“Have you been doing this every day?”
“Nope.” He passed the can back to her.
“Why today?”
“I called your cell and there was no answer. I figured you’d slipped out to grab a bite.” Aidan sat down next to her and leaned against the back of the bench.
Mara unwrapped her hot dog. “I wasn’t going any farther than Maury’s. I really didn’t think I needed to check in with you to take a fifty-yard walk from the courthouse steps to the hot dog stand.” She took a bite. “You really take this watchdog thing seriously, don’t you?”
“Serious as life and death.”
She glanced around, her eyes darting from the small groups that gathered on the lawn to the solitary figures scattered here and there.
“You think he’s here? Someone out there?” She gestured in a sweeping motion with the hand that held the soda can. “Just waiting for me to come out?”
“I would be, if I were him.” His eyes scanned the crowd. “I’d want to know your every move, where you go and at what time and with whom. Then I’d know when you’d be most vulnerable.”
She took another bite and chewed slowly.
“That’s what he’s done in the past,” Aidan continued. “Watched his victims, made himself familiar with their routines.”
“And you think that’s what he’s doing now? Watching me?”
“He’s watching his next victim, sure. Studying her movements, getting to know her. We’re just assuming that the next victim is going to be you.”
“What about all the other M. Douglases? Is someone watching them, too?”
“That’s up to the locals, but frankly, none of them are my concern.”
“And I suppose that if he’s watching me and he sees you around all the time, he’ll cross me off his list and just go on to M. N. or M. P. or whoever is the next M. Douglas in the phone book.”
“I wouldn’t expect him to cross you off his list. I would expect him to come up with something a little more creative.”
“Doesn’t that just make things increasingly difficult for you?” One last bite finished off the hot dog. “I mean, he gets more creative, don’t you have to get more creative, too?”
“You’re catching on.”
“Then where does it end?”
“When he finally thinks he’s smarter than me.”
“What if he is?”
“Then we’re both fucked.”
“Funny.” She balled up the paper from her hot dog and tossed it into the trash can that sat five feet away. “Very funny.”
“I wasn’t trying to be funny.”
“I don’t see anyone who looks the least bit suspicious.”
“You know everyone out here?”
“Well, no. Not everyone . . .”
“You know the guy three benches away, the one in the blue jacket who’s been reading the same page of the newspaper since I sat down?”
She glanced over slowly and pretended to be looking past the bench in question. “No. I hadn’t noticed him.”
“How ’bout the guy standing about twenty feet away from us to the left, who’s been sipping that same container of coffee for the past twenty minutes? You think those little cups hold that much?”
“No. I don’t know him, either.” Her voice softened.
“That’s my point. If he’s watching you, chances are you’ll never notice him.” From behind his dark glasses, Aidan’s eyes continued to scan the crowd. “This guy is clever. He hasn’t been as successful as he has by being stupid.”
“Then how do you expect to catch him?”
“Sooner or later, he’ll mess up.”
“What if it’s later than sooner?”
“Then I guess I’ll be sleeping in your guest room for longer than either of us planned.”
“Swell,” she mumbled.
“On the other hand, maybe he’ll surprise me and do something really stupid really soon,” he told her. “Then I’ll be on my way and out of your hair.”
“Then what will you do?”
“Go back to Rehoboth.”
“And . . . ?”
“And what?”
“Just that. Go back to your apartment? No other plans?”
“No.” The question irritated him. What difference did it make to her what he did when he left Lyndon, as long as the killer was behind bars and she was still alive and had her home to herself again once he left?
The alarm on her watch went off. She glanced at the time before turning it off.
“I have a meeting at two. I need to go.” She slid her purse strap over her shoulder and stood. “Well, then. Thanks for stopping by.”
“All in a day’s work.” He remained seated. “See you at five.”
“Right.” She turned toward the building. “See you at five . . .”
* * *
And he’d been there, of course, waiting across the street from the exit of the parking garage. He’d taken care of dinner, and taken in her mail, and walked her dog, all without complaint, all without fanfare. That night, again, he’d set up his telescope on the back deck and given her a lesson in stargazing. She was surprised to find she was actually starting to like it.
Walking into the courthouse the following morning, she was pondering the possibility that maybe she’d gotten used to having Aidan’s company—however reluctant—and that maybe it wasn’t so bad having him for a house guest. He’d certainly provided a light moment earlier that morning.
Mara grinned as she got on the elevator, remembering the looks on the faces of her morning jogging partners, Allison and Cass, when they rang the doorbell a little before seven a.m.
“Morning, ladies,” Aidan had greeted them.
“Ahhhh . . .” Cass had been rendered speechless.
“We . . . ahhhh . . . we . . . w-we . . .” Allison had stuttered.
“Were you looking for Mara?” he had asked, clearly amused for the first time since he’d arrived earlier in the week.
“Oh, God, I forgot to call you.” Red-faced, Mara had appeared behind Aidan.
“I meant to . . . call, that is . . . but I, um, forgot, and then when I remembered, it was . . . ah . . . too late to call and cancel. Last night, I mean . . .”
Mara had stumbled over her words almost as badly as Allison and Cass had.
“We can wait for you, if you want to get changed.” Cass stared openly at Mara’s nightshirt.
“Oh.” Mara’s face burned. She’d heard the doorbell and tried to rush down the steps before Aidan. It had never occurred to her to grab her robe. “Well . . .”
“I don’t think that’s a good idea, Mara,” Aidan said pointedly.
“Ah, right. Not a good idea.” Mara had nodded. “Sorry. I’ll have to pass this week. You guys go on without me.”
“Are you sure? Your . . . friend . . . is welcome to join us.” Allison smiled. Mara could tell that the effort to stifle the questions she wanted to ask was just killing her.
“No, I . . . I’ll catch up with you later,” Mara had told them, then closed the door. She stared up at Aidan. “Why did you answer the door?”
“Because the doorbell was ringing.
”
“I would have gotten it.”
“I wasn’t sure you were up.”
“I’m always up at this hour.”
“I wasn’t aware of that.”
“You’ve been here for almost a week. You know I get up early.”
“If you’d told me you were expecting someone at this hour, I wouldn’t have answered the door.”
“I forgot what day of the week it was.”
“That’s really not my fault.”
“You could at least have put a shirt on.”
“Your friends didn’t seem to mind.” He crossed his arms over his bare chest.
“They think you are . . . That we are . . .” Mara gestured helplessly with her hands.
“Why didn’t you tell them the truth? That we think you might be the target of a serial killer.”
“God.” She had shook her head and headed up the steps. “I don’t know which is worse. . . .”
Of course, her office phone was ringing before she even got to her desk, as she’d known it would be.
“Who was the Greek god who answered your door this morning,” Cass demanded without identifying herself, “and where can I get one just like him?”
“The FBI.”
“Excuse me?”
“He’s with the FBI.” Mara explained the situation.
“Some girls have all the luck,” Cass sighed.
“Cass, having a stranger—one who is moody and somewhat terse—move into my house for a week because a serial killer may be stalking me is not lucky.”
“Well, I’m sure the week has had its moments.”
“Oh, it’s had its moments, all right,” Mara conceded. “Most of them prickly.”
“Well, don’t expect any sympathy from me.” Cass laughed. “There are very few things I wouldn’t do to have someone like that parking his shoes by my front door.”
“It’s because of Annie. He’s only here because of Annie.”
“Well, I hope you’re making the most of it. God knows I would.”
“Some things come more easily to some of us than to others.”
“Mara, how long has it been since you’ve even gone on a date?”
“You can probably figure that out.” Mara glanced at the clock. She had fifteen minutes before she had to leave for court.
“Well, aren’t you even a teeny bit interested in . . . what’s his name?”
“Aidan Shields.”
“Nice. Well, aren’t you at least interested?”
“I don’t know.”
“How can you not know?” Cass’s voice lowered, and Mara suspected that Cass’s officemate had arrived.
“Like I said, he’s only here as a favor to my sister. That’s all. He has no interest in me, other than keeping me alive.”
“That’s a start.”
Mara laughed. “Look, we’ll have to continue this later. I have to get my notes together and get downstairs. I have a hearing this morning.”
“Keep in touch,” Cass told her before she hung up. “And if you need any pointers, you know who to call. . . .”
“I need more than a few pointers,” Mara murmured to herself as she scanned the top of her desk in search of the folder in which she kept her notes. She found it under the phone, tucked it into her briefcase, and closed the lid with a soft snap, pushing all thoughts of Aidan aside.
Later, she told herself. I’ll think this whole thing through later. . . .
But before she knew it, the day had flown past, it was after four, and she was debating which file to take home with her that night. The Fowler case had several interviews left to be conducted before next week’s hearing. She lifted the heavy folder from the shelf behind her desk and slid it onto her lap just as the phone rang.
“Mara?” Annie sounded far away.
“Annie. Where are you?” She propped up the file and leaned it against the side of the desk while she opened it.
“I’m in the middle of a field outside of Lincoln, Nebraska, waiting for my turn to look at a corpse they found about two hours ago. Second one in three days.”
“You’re fading out.”
“Then I’ll talk quickly. I just got a call from Miranda Cahill. Apparently they believe they have the Mary Douglas killer in custody.”
“You’re kidding. I haven’t heard anything. . . .” Mara’s fingers stopped their searching and rested on the top of the file. “Who?”
“This is the craziest thing. Remember when we were discussing the case, and we talked about the possibility that someone was killing women named Mary Douglas to cover up the killing of a specific Mary Douglas? A possibility I thought remote at the time.”
“Yes.”
“Well, it looks like that might have been it after all. The guy they arrested this morning is the son of the second victim.”
“He confessed?”
“No, of course not. No one confesses anymore. But the police found a bloody shirt in a bag in his closet and—”
“Why were the police looking in his closet?”
“Well, you know they’re talking to everyone who knew all three of these women. The police were especially interested in this guy, Teddy Douglas, because the next-door neighbor said she’d overheard him arguing with his mother several times during the week preceding the first murder.” Annie’s voice faded briefly, then resumed. “They got a warrant to search the premises, found the bloody shirt. The blood type matches Mary number one. DNA results aren’t back yet, but things don’t look good for Teddy.”
“So that’s it?” Mara sat back in her chair. “It’s over?”
“The police think he’s the man. Seems . . . oh, I don’t know, maybe a bit pat to me, but then again, I’m not privy to all the evidence that the locals have gathered. And who knows, maybe the simplest explanation is the right one.” Annie paused for a moment, then said, “Anyway, I thought I’d call you before I called Aidan and let him know he is off the hook. How’d that work out this week, by the way?”
“Aidan? Oh, fine. He’s been fine.”
“Just fine?”
“Really. He’s been . . . fine.”
“Well, I’m sure you’ll both be happy to have your lives back.”
“You’ve faded again. . . . Anne Marie? Annie?”
The line dead, Mara hung up.
She knew she should be thrilled, not only that the killer had been found and arrested, but that she’d soon have her house to herself again. She could return to her own routine. Eat when she wanted, fall asleep on the sofa reading a book if she wanted . . .
So why, she asked herself, did she feel just a little let down?
Aidan was waiting for Mara outside the garage at five, just as he had been all week, and followed her home, just as he had every day since he’d arrived. She knew that when she arrived home, she’d find that her mail had been taken in, the dog had been walked, and on a pad next to the phone, in Aidan’s small but neat print, her phone messages would be efficiently recorded.
“You heard the news?” he said as he got out of the Corvette in her driveway.
“Yes. It’s terrific, isn’t it?” She slammed the driver’s side door of the Jetta and locked it with the remote. “So it looks like you’re a free man. Your indenture is over.”
Aidan smiled. Rehoboth Beach, here I come.
“I know you have better things to do with your time,” she said, to make it easier for him. “You’ve been a good sport to stay here with a stranger and just hang out with the dog all day.”
“I like your dog.” Aidan followed her up the walk. “And all things considered, I guess it could have been worse.”
“That’s easy to say now, when you’re leaving.” She turned before putting the key in the front door lock. “But you’re right. It hasn’t been so bad. Not as bad as I thought it would be.”
“Please.” He held up one hand. “All these compliments are going to go right to my head.”
Mara laughed, and it occurred to him that she hadn’
t laughed very much that week. Nor had he. They’d been pretty much all business.
A pity, it seemed now, in retrospect.
She opened the door and found his bag sitting in the middle of the living room floor, waiting to be tossed into the trunk of the Corvette. Spike danced around joyfully from Aidan to Mara.
“Oh. I see you’re ready to leave.”
“I figured you’d want your house to yourself again.”
“Hey, at least I got a little lesson on stargazing.”
“No extra charge for the instruction.” He smiled.
He just doesn’t do that often enough, she caught herself thinking. He has a great smile. It goes all the way to his eyes, when he lets it.
“Listen, if you want to stay and have dinner, I can—” She gestured in the direction of the kitchen.
“Whip up a little takeout?” Another smile.
Two smiles in less than a minute. He must be really happy to be leaving.
“There are several more numbers on that take-out list, you know.”
“Another time, maybe.” He bent over and picked up Spike. The dog’s tongue aimed for Aidan’s chin and struck its target. “Spike, hey, you keep guarding that front door, you hear? You never know who’s going to be on the other side. The mailman, a meter reader, Mrs. West from next door . . .”
“You met Mrs. West?”
“We bonded over a couple of flats of impatiens that she brought back from the nursery this morning. She left yours on the back steps. I was thinking about helping her plant them, just for something to do, but then Annie called.”
“Didn’t Mrs. West wonder who you are?”
“I told her I was an old friend of Annie’s in town for a few days and that you kindly offered me lodging before Annie got called away.” He put Spike on the floor, then kicked his voice up an octave or two to mimic Mara’s neighbor. “That Annie is always on the run. And if there’s a more unseemly job for such a lovely young woman, well, I just can’t imagine one.”
“Not bad. Another few days and you’d have it nailed.”
“I’ve been working on it all afternoon.” He stood with his hands in his pockets.
Dead Wrong Page 10