Night of the Ice Storm

by Stout, David;

  “… of you have come a very long way to be here. You know, in my position I meet a lot of people, and I can tell you that even those who leave Bessemer always carry part of it with them …”

  “In their lungs,” Lyle junior said quietly. “And they still leave.”

  “… happy to report that our prayers to the gods of golf were answered, so that we were able to complete all rounds despite the rain …”

  Will looked around the room, nodding and smiling when he saw faces he knew.

  “… too many people, really, to thank by name, but a couple of people I do want to single out. Archangelo Grisanti, are you out there …?”

  Will spotted Marlee West, and they exchanged smiles. Then Will, quite by chance, found himself looking into the eyes of Jenifer Hurley, who was sitting right next to Marlee. Jenifer smiled at Will, who thought she had the most lovely teeth in the world. Jenifer, Will said to himself, that bastard Arkie Grisanti said something crude about you, but I stuck it right back down his throat.…

  “She’s too young for you, Will,” Karen whispered in his ear.

  “Hmmm?” Will tried to pretend he didn’t understand, but it was no good; his face was hot.

  “… and, of course, the publisher of the Bessemer Gazette, our great home-owned newspaper whose ninetieth birthday we are marking this summer … Lyle Glanford! Please stand, Lyle.”

  The publisher stood, to applause, and Will held his breath, praying that Lyle junior would not pick this, of all moments, to do something irreparably stupid. The applause and the moment faded peacefully, and the publisher sat down.

  “I’m happy for you. Dad,” Lyle junior said to his father, patting him respectfully on the back.

  “Thanks, Son.” The elder Glanford’s patrician face softened a little.

  “… time to announce a few awards from the golf tournament …”

  By now, a few diners were tiptoeing away from the tables. Will figured he, too, would head to the rest room soon, if only to stretch his legs.

  Will saw Lyle junior get up, excuse himself quietly, and move toward the main corridor. On the way Lyle crossed paths with Grant Siebert, whose smile seemed strained. Together, they walked out of the dining room.

  “… low round of the day was turned in by Jim Powell of Bessemer Trust. Jim shot a seventy-seven, ladies and gentlemen, and let me tell you, that’s not bad considering the rain delay …”

  The banker, several tables away, smiled broadly. Will was happy for him, and happy that he could accept his honor without hazing from Lyle junior.

  “… oldest golfer was Warner Winters of Winters and Sons Appliance Store. Warner is seventy-nine years young, folks, and I wish I could tell you his score matched his age.”

  Laughter and applause.

  “You didn’t win anything?” Karen asked, a tease in her voice.

  “Only if they give prizes for survival,” Will said.

  “… how we appreciate those of you who did think enough of Bessemer to come back, and we do thank you. I can’t name everybody, but I see Charlie Buck from Milwaukee, Grant Siebert from New York City …”

  Will looked toward Grant’s table; he wasn’t back yet. Too bad.

  “… prize, it wouldn’t be fair to award it on the basis of low score. Sorry, Jim Powell. So we had a drawing. Anyhow, our grand prize of a new set of Jack Nicklaus golf clubs goes to … Archangelo Grisanti!”

  “Isn’t that the man you spoke to on the way in?” Karen whispered to Will.

  “Yep. Life is unfair.”

  “… you’ll just bear with me a little longer, folks, I am just about done. Honest. I would like at this time to pay tribute to members who are no longer with us …”

  Will spotted a middle-aged woman dressed in a club uniform. She was threading her way through the tables, clearly looking for a certain table number, or a certain person. After a few moments, she headed straight for the table where Marlee sat. Will saw the woman bend over and say something into Marlee’s ear.

  Marlee’s face went white. The woman went away, and Marlee leaned over to Jenifer, who put her hand on Marlee’s arm and said something. Marlee smiled weakly, shook her head no, and stood up. Still pale and biting her lower lip, she walked to the exit.

  I wonder what that’s all about, Will thought.

  I just never thought it would happen this soon, Marlee thought. By the time she went through the main door out to the cooling night, her eyes were filling with tears.

  “Stupid, stupid, stupid,” she said. She was cursing herself for giving her heart to a dog, cursing the dog for deciding tonight was a good night to die.

  The Bessemer Animal Medical Center hadn’t put it quite that way, but that was the meaning in the message the club attendant had delivered: “Your veterinarian says Nigel has taken a turn for the worse, and you should come as soon as you can.”

  The air outside the country club smelled faintly of cooked beef, and she could hear a microphone voice as she walked through the parking lot. She was parked near the end, and by the time she reached her car, she could smell the wet grass of the golf course.

  Do I want him to wait to die, wait until I get there? Yes; yes, I do. Please, God, I want to be with him so he’s not afraid.

  Damn the doctors. You promised he’d be all right, Marlee thought. No, of course they hadn’t promised. They never did. But they had said there was no reason to worry. Oh, Nigel.

  The Animal Medical Center was way over on the other side of the city. Even taking the Ambrose Parkway, it was a good half-hour ride. Marlee drove right at the speed limit, deliberately putting all her concentration into handling the car. If she started sobbing over that stupid dog, she wouldn’t be able to see.

  Marlee took the exit too fast, cheated on a couple of lights, floored it the rest of the way to the animal hospital. The lot was empty except for a single car near the side entrance, which was lighted.

  “Please,” she said aloud. “Hang on, Nigel. I’m coming to say good-bye.”

  Marlee allowed herself one sob, got ahold of herself, and pressed the buzzer. She expected one of the doctors to appear. Instead, a white-haired security guard opened the door. “We’re closed, miss,” he said.

  “I’m Marlee West, goddammit! You called me to say my dog is dying.”

  “Gee, miss, I don’t know anything about that. Come in.”

  “Look, somebody from here called and said I should get over here right away because Nigel, my Airedale—”

  “Nigel! Oh, hell of a nice dog. He was okay last I checked.”

  “Then who …?”

  “Was it a man or woman who called, because the duty doctor for emergencies tonight—”

  “I don’t know. I mean, the message was delivered to me at the country club.”

  The security guard looked puzzled.

  “Can I sit down?” Marlee said.

  “Miss, I think someone with a sick sense of humor just played a rotten joke on you.”

  “Do me a favor. Go check on my dog right now.”

  “Sure.”

  Marlee sat in the half-light by the guard’s table. The man had been watching a small black-and-white TV set and drinking from a thermos of coffee.

  She heard metallic noises of gates opening and closing. The sounds seemed farther away than they were. Then barking: a big dog, little dog, medium dog. Then the guard’s voice, barely audible, making kindly “hush” sounds.

  The guard returned. “Your dog couldn’t be better, miss. I can take you back there to see for yourself, if you’d like.”

  For a moment, Marlee was tempted. “No, he’d just get all excited when he saw me and miserable if I didn’t take him home.”

  “Rotten, dirty joke.”

  Marlee was thinking.

  “My folks, they had an Airedale when I was a boy. Major, we called him. Saw him kill four rats in the blink of an eye once.”

  “Can I use your phone?” Marlee said.

  Grant could not remember the last time he ha
d been so afraid. He had desperately hoped to surprise her, catch her alone. Tonight might be his last chance, unless he hung around Bessemer another day or two. Well, maybe I should, he thought. Then, another inner voice said no, that was no good. He had planned things a certain way. It had taken all his determination to go this far; he couldn’t change things.

  He had had only a couple of drinks at the banquet, hadn’t stayed for the dancing (who wanted to dance?), because he had to stay as calm as possible, do this thing right.

  Grant was sitting in a car on the street where Marlee West lived. He was parked about a block away, on the opposite side of the street, in the shadow provided by a huge evergreen. The butterflies in his stomach made him feel like a teenager, only this nervousness was far worse. Well, he had committed himself. There was no turning back.

  He had found Marlee’s address easily enough, had driven around the block twice to be sure he was right, then had parked quietly under the tree. Was he ready? He didn’t know.

  He unwound the car window, breathed deep of the smell of lawns and trees on a summer night. Despite those smells, he could detect the scent of his own nervous perspiration. Would she be able to smell him before he—?

  No, no, no. Don’t think about that. God damn you anyhow. God damn you.

  Grant wondered if the people in the darkened houses were more happy than he was. He thought they were. How could they not be? Sometimes he thought the whole world must be happier than he was. And why was that? Was it his fault he was carrying a bigger load of sorrow?

  “Stop it,” he hissed to himself. “Stop it. Okay?”

  Okay, another inner voice answered, but tentatively.

  Grant swallowed hard, He would do it, do what he had to do, finish business that had been bothering him for twenty years. He would find Marlee West alone and …

  Why should the thought of it terrify him so? It shouldn’t be that hard.

  Over the years, he had tried to tell himself there was no reason to be bothered by the pictures and the tape recording that reminded him of his days in Bessemer. But they had bothered him, reminded him of the unfinished business. He had been tempted time and again to throw out the pictures and tape, but he hadn’t. Why? Maybe he wanted to be reminded.

  And here he was, crouching in a car on a dark suburban street. Stalking Marlee West. Where the hell was she?

  Headlights from behind? Grant sank as low as he could into the seat, praying he was invisible. Was the other car slowing down beside him? It seemed to be.

  The light went away. Slowly, Grant raised his head. The car was just a little ahead of him, moving slowly. When it went under a streetlight, he saw the unmistakable shape of a shield over the license plate. Cop!

  His heart beat wildly. Grant watched the car cruise slowly past Marlee’s house, then turn a corner and disappear.

  Grant’s fingers trembled as he turned the ignition key. He drove slowly down the street, pausing in front of Marlee’s house. Dark. Then he saw a light in the window of the house next door and, just before the light disappeared, the silhouette of a woman looking out at the street.

  In a fresh rush of panic, Grant pushed the accelerator down. He cursed himself all the way back to the motel. He had left the business unfinished.

  After Marlee turned the corner, she saw the car parked in her driveway, saw a man with a familiar shape standing on her neighbor’s lighted porch.

  Marlee parked in front of her house, recognized the man talking to Mrs. Wemple, felt tears of relief come to her eyes.

  “Ed!” Without thinking about it, Marlee rushed across her lawn to Delaney and put her arms around him. Quietly, she began to cry.

  “It’s okay, Marlee. Everything’s fine. You did the smart thing.”

  “But why you, Ed? I mean, when I called the police, I didn’t mean for you to be bothered.”

  “I know, I know. I left instructions that I wanted to be called if you needed help.”

  “Oh. Thank you.”

  “My pleasure. Too many funny things have been happening.”

  “Mr. Delaney told me what happened, Marlee,” Mrs. Wemple said. “You know, I’m a night person, and I’ve been kind of keeping an eye on your house ever since you had that prowler. And tonight, sure enough, I saw a strange car. If Mr. Delaney hadn’t shown up when he did, I was all set to call the police.”

  “That’s so nice, Mrs. Wemple. Thank you.”

  “You were smart, Marlee,” Delaney said.

  “Oh, I don’t feel that smart. But when I got to the animal hospital and found the call was fake, I had to wonder. The guard said it was a rotten joke.”

  “I think it was more than that,” Delaney said.

  “You know,” Mrs. Wemple said animatedly, “my sister-in-law’s neighbor’s house was burglarized while they were attending a funeral. Can you imagine such a thing! And she said the police told her about a family that went away for a weekend and came back to find their house empty! All the furniture gone! And they found out that a young boy who worked at a gas station down the street was working with the burglars. He would find out who was going on trips, because the people would bring their cars in for checkups.”

  “Let’s go inside, Marlee.”

  “Thank you again, Mrs. Wemple. I’m your friend for life.”

  “Oh, you’re so very welcome. We have to watch out for each other. One other thing. Officer?”

  “Yes?”

  “I don’t know how much it helps you, but I think I got the first two letters on the license plate of the car I saw.”

  Marlee sat in the living room while Delaney went through the house, checking all the windows and doors.

  “Everything looks fine,” he said. “There’ll be a patrol unit close by tonight, believe me. But I don’t think you have to worry.”

  “I won’t. Not now. This is so baffling.”

  “Baffling, yes. But think about it. Whoever did this—”

  “Knew I had a sick dog at the vet. So if they could keep me away from the house for just a little while, they wouldn’t have to worry about me or my dog. I know.”

  “More than that, Marlee. Whoever left that message for you at the club knew where you’d be.”

  “Well, God only knows how many people that includes. And not just people I work with. A whole bunch of people who came back for the Gazette’s anniversary heard me talking about my dog.”

  “So then we’ve got a whole load of people who could have left a message for you tonight. But see, there’s probably only one person who’d have any reason to.”

  “Yes.”

  “You know what I’m going to say.”

  “Not exactly. But I know this craziness all started after Ed Sperl was here for my party that night. And then he got interested—and I got interested—in that old killing. And now he’s dead. God, this is all so crazy.”

  “Strange, but not cra2y. There’s a reason as sure as we’re sitting here. Ed Sperl knew something about the priest’s death, or thought he did. Or was getting close. And he was real interested in old pictures and tapes.”

  “They’re just pictures and tapes of people getting drunk or stoned, and giving other people fond farewells.”

  “No, think. They’re more than that. If the killer from twenty years ago had a connection with the Gazette …”

  “God in heaven, there’s a clue of some kind in the pictures. Or on a tape. Or both.”

  “You tape-recorded all the farewell parties?”

  “Well, most. At least for a while, till the routine got kind of old. After a while it seemed kind of silly.”

  “And how many of the tapes had stuff on them about the priest?”

  “Well, Grant Siebert’s, as I said. Maybe some others later. Oh, God. He’s here. Grant. For the reunion.”

  “All right. Damn, the pictures you gave me are at my place. Look, why don’t you invite me to the publisher’s brunch tomorrow. As your guest. You can do that, right?”

  “Oh. Sure I can. Spouses and
friends welcome.”

  “Good. Maybe our guy will be there. Who knows? And I just want to get the feel of things.”

  “All right. Dress casually.”

  “Sure. We’ll go, drink some of Glanford’s Bloody Marys. And we’ll listen to tapes and study pictures.”

  “My friend Jenifer will be there. She’s a terrific young reporter who’s been working with me on this.”

  “Well, okay. But I’m playing close to the vest with everyone but you.”

  “Ed, what about the license-plate number Mrs. Wemple saw?”

  “With just those two letters, RK, it doesn’t help much. There could be a hundred thousand cars … God, am I stupid.”

  “What?”

  “Those are two letters for downstate cars, close to New York. Yep, it’s worth a try.”

  “What is?”

  “Think as hard as you can, then write down the names of people you know who used to work at the Gazette and moved to the New York area.”

  “To New York? There aren’t that many who moved to New York. There’s Grant Siebert, but he doesn’t own a car, he told me.”

  “Then how’d he get here?”

  “He flew. Oh, and he rented a car when he got here.”

  “All right. There’s only so many car-rental places in Bessemer. Maybe he got one right at the airport.”

  “God, I don’t want it to be him.”

  Delaney gave her a hard look.

  “I know,” Marlee said. “The truth is the truth, no matter what.”

  “I’m sure as hell not saying it’s him, Marlee. Damned if I know. There could be a bunch of people who rented cars. I can do a check early in the morning before I pick you up.”

  “Fine. Don’t eat much for breakfast. There’ll be plenty of food.”

  “Good. Listen, it would be good if all your doors and windows were locked, even though there is going to be a police car nearby.”

  “All right.”

  Delaney said good-night. It was a long time before Marlee got to sleep.

  Thirty-three

  What will you be looking for?” Marlee asked as Ed Delaney parked at the end of a row of cars in front of Lyle Glanford’s mansion.

  “Oh, I don’t know.” That was partly a lie: he would be looking for anyone who seemed to want to single out Marlee, or ask her too many questions about when she’d be home and when she wouldn’t.