by Gayle Roper
I glared. “First off, you would know all the people you met during your interviews, so you would know people.”
“That’s not what I meant.”
I ignored him. “And why do you think we’d have to worry about family? My family would never interfere.”
“That’s not what I meant, either.”
“And I won’t introduce you to anyone. I promise.”
He looked at me, jaw set. “I’m going.”
The drive back to Maddie and Doug’s was silent.
TWENTY
“Can you get that, Merry?” Maddie asked when the doorbell sounded. She and I were in the kitchen putting some last-minute touches on our dinner.
“Sure,” I said with false enthusiasm, hurrying to the front hall. I had been trying to act all happy and bride-to-be-ish when I really felt cold inside after Curt’s and my standoff, and I was relieved to have at least a moment without pretense. I let my smile fall away and my shoulders sag. I don’t do disagreement well.
Doug was upstairs bathing Holly, washing off all the residue of her dinner. I could hear her splashing and gurgling happily.
Well, at least someone’s happy today, I thought miserably.
“Yo, girlfriend,” Doug suddenly said, his deep voice floating down the stairs. “You’re the one who’s supposed to be getting the bath, not me.”
Holly’s answer was another loud splash and a string of excited nonsense words. I couldn’t help smiling in spite of my lousy mood.
I opened the front door to find Dawn and Mac on the porch and Curt pulling into the drive. I welcomed Dawn with a kiss and Mac with a hug. He looked uncomfortable, his dark brows drawn together in a frown. Doug and Maddie were Dawn’s friends from church, and though Mac had met them when he’d come to church with Dawn, they were essentially only acquaintances. Given the suspicions and doubts he knew many harbored about him, he must wonder why they’d chosen to invite him over for the first time now.
Dawn looked at Mac with exasperation. “Merry, tell this man that Maddie and Doug aren’t trying to show how liberal minded they are by having a suspected murderer in their house. Tell him they’re just nice people having friends over for dinner.”
I didn’t think either Mac or Dawn wanted to hear about the comments at bell choir, so I was glad I could say with truth, “Maddie and Doug are nice people, Mac. Just come in and enjoy.”
“No hidden agendas?” he asked, obviously unconvinced. “You’re sure?”
“Aside from suspending you over a vat of acid and sticking you with an electric cattle prod until you confess?” I blinked big innocent eyes at him.
He sent me his patented you-are-so-ridiculous-I-won’t-deign-to-comment look.
“Get in here.” I grabbed his arm and hauled him through the door as Maddie came hurrying from the kitchen to welcome them. The three of them walked toward the back of the house while I waited on the front porch for Curt. I watched him stride up the walk, my smile gone.
He stopped at the edge of the porch, the one step down making us almost eye level. We just stared at each other for a minute. I felt tears building and tried to blink them away, but he saw them and put a hand against my cheek. I leaned into his hand and we stood like that a moment.
Then he pulled me to him and kissed me, a hard, possessive kiss that made my heart leap and my eyes tear again.
When we came up for air, I buried my face in the side of his neck. “I’m sorry,” I mumbled. “I’m sorry.”
He rested his head on mine. “I know, sweetheart. Me, too.”
That we would be in such disagreement over where to live astonished me. I knew it was naive of me, but I had thought we’d never find ourselves on different sides of anything that really mattered, that we would be different from other couples. But we weren’t. “What are we going to do?”
“I don’t know, but we’ll figure it out somehow.” He stepped away. “I just hadn’t realized how stubborn you are.”
I frowned for a beat until I saw the teasing light in his eyes. Then I slugged him lightly in the chest. “Me? Look who’s talking.”
He smiled softly. “I love you, Merry.”
“I know. I love you, too.”
This time the kiss was gentle and sweet.
A high-pitched gurgle behind me made me turn. Doug stood in the doorway with rosy-from-her-bath Holly wearing her diaper and a onesie covered with animals. She held her pudgy arms out to me, talking a blue streak as I took her.
“Hey, precious,” I whispered and blew a raspberry against her neck. She giggled and batted at me. She smelled of baby powder and love.
“Give me a kiss,” I said.
She leaned in and placed her open mouth on my cheek. She hadn’t yet gotten the smacking part of a kiss down.
“Now Uncle Curt.”
He bent and she gave him the same wet kiss. When she straightened, she looked so proud of herself that we all laughed at her. She laughed back, delighted with herself and life.
Feeling much better than I had for several hours, I followed Doug and Curt into the backyard. Holly sat in her high chair on the back deck and gummed pretzel sticks while we ate the steaks, Vidalia onion slices and red, yellow and orange bell peppers that Doug had grilled, as well as the potato salad and from-scratch baked beans Maddie had made. By the time Holly rubbed her sleepy eyes with her grubby hands, she was almost as messy as she’d been before her bath. Doug and Maddie excused themselves to put her down.
Mac, who hadn’t joined in the conversation very much, followed them inside with his eyes. “You were right, Merry. They are nice folks. Still, I think it’s open-minded of them to be willing to have dinner with a murder suspect.”
I shook my head at him. Mac was often purposely provocative, but I hadn’t heard him sound so bitter in a long time. One thing for sure, it certainly strained the relaxed feel the evening had had to this point.
Dawn turned to him, frowning. “Stop it, Mac. No verbal sparring or poor-me games tonight. You didn’t kill anyone and we all know it.”
He looked at her, one eyebrow raised in challenge. “Maybe not, but I’ve done everything else.”
Listening to them, I had the feeling that with Doug and Maddie gone, Mac felt free to continue a discussion that he and Dawn had been having earlier.
Dawn snorted. “Like I haven’t heard that line before. Give me a break.”
“And you.” He glared at her, but I noticed he kept his arm along the back of her chair, his fingers resting lightly on her shoulder, his fingers fiddling with her hair. “You’re pure as the driven snow.” He made it an accusation.
Dawn glowered at him. “Don’t be ridiculous.”
“You are.” He looked at Curt and me. “Right? Is she not the quintessential good girl?”
Dawn showed a lot more patience with him than I would have. “Any goodness I have is only because of Jesus.”
I nodded agreement, but he wasn’t interested in what I was thinking. He was intent on Dawn once again.
“That’s too easy an answer,” he said. “Too pat. Too simplistic.”
“Tell it to God,” Dawn said. “Not me. He’s the One who sent Jesus to die for our mistakes and wrongs, yours, mine, everyone’s.”
“Yeah, well, I’ve made too many mistakes and wrongs.”
“Never.” She reached up and caught his hand where it rested on her shoulder. “Never, Mac. You can’t out-sin God’s forgiveness.”
We sat in silence for a few minutes. I looked at this intense, driven man who for years had used wild living to still his inner demons. “Women and whiskey,” he used to say with a satisfied smile. “Broads and booze.”
Now he saw the folly of such behavior. Now he saw faith and love in action in Dawn and recognized the difference between “fun” and real joy, but for some reason he still considered himself a pariah.
“Mac,” I said, “you’re a newsman. Telling the story and telling the truth are what you do for a living. You gather facts, analyze them, arrange
them. Often they’re unpalatable or uncomfortable and you can’t imagine how the politician could have been so foolish or the murderer so cruel. But it’s truth. It’s what really happened. You don’t flinch from printing it. Why do you flinch, maybe even turn away, from the truth of God’s love and forgiveness?”
He stared at me for a moment, his expression the strangest mix of hope and hopelessness. Then he jumped and grabbed for his vibrating phone. He glanced at the readout, then rose. “Excuse me.”
As he walked a few steps away, I smiled at Dawn. She smiled wanly back.
“He can be so ornery and cantankerous,” she said, “but it’s all a cover for that inner sensitivity, that inner vulnerability that tells him that he’s been so bad for so long that God can’t possibly want him.”
Mac as a sensitive man was an interesting if slightly world-tilting-on-its-axis thought. I had to agree with him that he did have much for God to forgive. When I met him, his reputation screamed wild man and he made sure his actions confirmed it. Strangely, in the middle of all his riotous living, he was somehow taken with Dawn and what she stood for. When he finally got the courage to ask her for a date, he was floored when she accepted—if he went to church with her.
“Why would she go out with someone like me?” he had asked.
Good question. All I knew was that his lifestyle changed at that time. The more enamored he became with Dawn, the more he tried to please her. Since Dawn wasn’t about to compromise her high standards and Christian commitment, it meant Mac had to conform to her way of life: no more sleepovers; no more nights in smoky bars flirting and drinking, hitting on the pretty girls; no more hangovers or lost weekends.
Not that she demanded the changes of him. She didn’t. She just kept being the woman she’d always been. Her problem was that she had fallen as hard for him as he had for her. Since she believed that a believer should only marry another believer, she too was caught in a quandary of emotion versus conviction.
“Yes!” Mac yelled as he rushed back to the picnic table. “Come on, Kramer! They’re bringing in Ken Mackey!”
TWENTY-ONE
Ken Mackey walked into police headquarters under his own steam, accompanied by his parents, his older brother, Elton, and Tony Compton, his new lawyer. Ken ignored everyone; Elton nodded to Mac; Tony smiled at me.
Then Tony broke from the group and walked over to me. He took my hands in his. “Are you all right?” he asked with flattering concern. “I’ve been so worried about you.”
Slightly embarrassed because everyone was staring at this little side drama, I said, “I’m fine, Tony. Really.”
“If you say so.” Then he glanced down and saw my red hand. His head came up. “You are hurt.”
“No.” I blushed. “It’s raspberry stains.” All around me reporters were watching and writing. A TV crew was taping.
“Are the police taking care of you?” Tony asked.
“I’ve got a twenty-four-hour watch,” I said. “Friends.” I indicated Mac.
Tony looked startled. Because he thought Mac was still a suspect? “Well, tell them they can count me in to help,” he said. “I mean it.”
“Thanks. I will.” Maybe.
With a nod, he hurried back to his client and family waiting at the door.
Tony laid a hand on Ken and muttered something to him. Ken nodded. The entire party turned and faced the news media present. Not only were we there, but the Daily Local News from West Chester, the Main Line Times from Devon, the local stringer for The Philadelphia Inquirer and a couple of TV crews circled the steps.
Tony pulled out a piece of paper and read, “Ken Mackey has come to speak with the police of his own volition. He has been out of town for several weeks competing. As you all know, he is a nationally ranked motocross rider. He extends his deepest condolences to the family of Martha Colby, feels grief himself at the loss of a good friend and looks forward to this conversation with the authorities to help them in any way he can to find the person responsible for this heinous act. Thank you.”
Tony then reached into the briefcase he had left on the steps when he came to speak with me and pulled out a sheaf of papers. “Here are copies of our statement for all of you.” He handed the papers to the nearest person, who in turn passed them on. Mac and I each took a copy as the papers made their way to us. We passed them to the Daily Local woman.
With a nod to all of us, Tony turned, as did the Mackeys, and went inside the station.
“Well, that was anticlimactic,” I said as Mac and I climbed back in the car.
“But important.” He frowned. “If Ken was out of town at competitions, he’ll be cleared easily.”
I glanced at him. “Mrs. Wilson saw two people at Martha’s. She named Ken and the new boyfriend.”
“So she did, but she is eighty-three years old.”
I gave a humorless laugh. “Don’t let her age throw you. She’s sharp as a tack.”
“Maybe mentally. What about her eyesight?”
I had to admit that was a good question and one I hadn’t considered. “Well, if it wasn’t Ken, assuming the dates of his competitions check out, which I’m sure they will, who was it? And who in the world is the new boyfriend? After all, he’s been around since April and here it is, the end of July. Someone must have seen him.”
Mac looked at me. “How do you know he’s been around since April?”
I experienced a brain freeze, pain and all, just like I did when I ate something cold too quickly. “Uh,” I said, totally lacking Mrs. Wilson’s mental acuity. How did I explain knowledge I only had because I’d read Martha’s diary, something I wasn’t allowed to mention to anyone?
We were turning into the street where Doug and Maddie lived. “Almost home,” I said brightly.
“What is it about you, Merry?” Mac looked at me like I had just flown in from some outer galaxy. “I can’t get William to tell me stuff like that.”
Relief surged through me. “It must be my feminine wiles.”
“You? Wiles?” Mac started to laugh, the first genuine laugh I’d heard from him since Martha’s death. It was so good to hear him laugh I didn’t even mind that it was at my expense.
We were almost at the Reeders’ when I grabbed Mac’s arm, making him swerve. “Did you see that?”
“Watch it, Merry!” He just missed swiping the fender of a car parked on the street.
“Did you see?” I repeated, pointing to Maddie and Doug’s.
“What?” He still sounded miffed.
“A dark shadow.”
He glanced all around. “It’s pushing eleven at night. There are dark shadows all over the place.”
“Not running through Doug and Maddie’s yard.”
He hit the brake, actually stopping right in the middle of the street. “You saw someone running across the Reeders’ yard?”
I nodded, wrapping my arms about myself. “I’m sure of it.” For the first time in my life I wished I suffered from paranoia. Then I could blame the vision on an unruly imagination.
“Tall? Short? Man? Woman?” Mac demanded.
I shook my head. “Just a dark shadow wearing black.” I rubbed the goose bumps on my arms as I had a terrible thought. “Do you think someone put a bomb in Curt’s car? Or attached something to the foundation of Maddie and Doug’s house?”
Once again I felt the heat from the explosions I’d experienced, the force of the blast as I was blown off my feet. I always came back to the same question. What had I done to make someone try multiple times to kill me?
Mac looked grim. “We’ll check the car, believe me, though I’m not too worried about the house. Too many innocent people there.”
I hoped he was right. “Don’t you guys check the car.” The thought of Curt or Mac getting blown up made me shudder. “Call the police and get the bomb squad.”
Mac took his foot off the brake and we rolled slowly into the drive. Curt had had to move his car for Mac to get out for the news conference and it was parked i
n front of Maddie and Doug’s garage. We pulled in directly behind it.
“Mac, the front porch light is off and so is the lamppost beside the drive.”
I could see Mac frown in the weak light of the digital readouts on the car’s front panel.
“They were on when we left,” I said. “I’m sure of it.”
“They were,” he agreed.
“The dark shadow doused them, maybe so no one would see him working on the car.” Now my goose bumps had goose bumps and my heart was pounding.
“What have you done to make someone so determined to get rid of you?” Mac asked as we climbed out of the car.
“I don’t know.” My voice sounded shaky. I took a deep breath. I would not cry from fear or frustration. “I’ve tried to think of something, anything, but I can’t.” Certainly articles about the Coatesville city council or West Chester University’s latest budget issues or Amhearst’s school board woes didn’t engender the type of emotion that led to murder. Verbal defamation perhaps, if the feelings were strong enough, but not the taking of a life.
“It’s got to be related to Martha’s death,” Mac said as we walked up the dark path, trying not to trip on the cracks between the pavers. “You’ve been involved from the get-go.”
“But Jolene has been, too, and no one’s trying to blow her up.”
In the silence that followed this comment we heard a weak meowing sound.
“Cat,” I said, glancing up and down the street, looking for some stray amid the shadows.
“I bet that’s what you saw. A cat, scurrying across the yard.”
Mac liked that idea a lot and I couldn’t blame him. It was much more palatable than a person planting another bomb.
“Not a cat unless he’s clever enough to run on two feet. It was a person, Mac.”
We stepped onto the porch and the meowing noise sounded closer but still weak and wobbly. “Maybe there isn’t a bomb at all. Maybe it was someone dropping off a litter of kittens he didn’t want.” I bent to peek under the azalea bushes that grew against the house.