by Stacy Juba
"Who's Yvonne Harper?" Eric asked.
Raquel wrinkled her nose. "She's his wife. They met in college, but Di and I knew her from high school. Her dad was Thomas Harper, a selectman who owned a construction company. Her older brother was a football hero. She believed her bloodlines made her the princess of Fremont."
"That's funny," Kris said. "Jared didn't tell me that his wife knew Diana."
"She didn't like Diana or me. Yvonne and Di were in an art class together, and Di was the star pupil. Yvonne painted, too, and she'd get jealous. She'd pretend she didn't care, flaunting her wealth and trying to make us feel inadequate. Luckily we didn't see her after high school." Raquel gave a dry laugh. "Let's just say she preferred country clubs to bars."
"Why did Diana take that job?"
"It was my fault," Raquel said. "Di had fallen into this depression. Whenever I called, she sounded tired. She was always painting. If I had to guess, I'd say she was down over a guy, but Di wouldn't admit it. Finally, I persuaded her to come out to a club. Unfortunately, we ran into Vince, and he turned on his charm full blast."
Raquel shook her head. "I warned her that he was trouble, but she wouldn't listen. They started seeing each other and Vince got her a job. She wouldn't be twenty-one till October, but he was the boss's son, and Vince Rossi, Sr. wasn't too law-abiding anyway.
"I was a year older than Di, since I stayed back in grade school, so I'd been there awhile and seen them serve their share of minors. After Di was killed, the cops started watching the place. Rossi got his license pulled, and he finally closed down. He died a few years later."
"This guy you think Diana could've dated," Kris said. "Could they have worked together at the drugstore?"
"Probably not, it was mostly high school kids and senior citizens at the store. You both might be too young to remember it. MacDougall's Pharmacy in the old Westwood Plaza?"
Eric nodded, but Kris had never heard of the place.
"And there may not have been a guy," Raquel said. "That was my theory, because that's how I got after a break-up. I used to worry that Diana's mom resented me for involving Di with the bar crowd. But I thought I was helping her come out of her shell."
"How did you guys become friends?" Eric asked.
"We met in ninth grade. She was my biology lab partner. Di was quiet, and I was wild, but we hit it off."
"You were in the History Club with Diana, weren't you?" Kris prodded. "Was Diana close to Mr. Thaddeus?"
Raquel frowned. "Mr. Thaddeus? Why?"
"I'm curious whether he influenced Diana's art. Cheryl told me she had a crush on him."
"Yvonne Harper did, too. That's why Yvonne joined the club. It's why we all did." Raquel picked up another scone and smeared it with jelly, her hand shaking. She swabbed the butter knife back and forth.
"Did he ever talk about mythology?"
"I couldn't tell you. Like I said, I was there for the view." Raquel looked up at Eric. "I wish Di could meet my husband and children. I like to think she’d be proud."
"I'm her nephew," Eric said. "I know she would have been."
But Kris was thinking about Alex Thaddeus. Raquel didn't want to talk about her former teacher.
Why?
***
Eric glanced over at Kris from the driver's seat. They had been sitting at a stop light for an eternity. "You look wiped out."
Yawning, she closed her eyes. "I am."
Good thing he'd offered to drive. Kris doubted she could make it home. The afternoon had drained her, everyone's stories blurring together. Too bad she wasn't snug in her bed. For once, she would fall asleep with no trouble.
He fiddled with the radio dial. "When you were in the bathroom, I asked Raquel for a good restaurant. Hungry?"
She opened one eye. "For something besides a Big Mac?"
"I don't know about you, but I could use a drink."
A drink sounded even better than sleep.
"Let's go for it," Kris said.
A short while later, they were sipping white wine in Chiaras, an Italian restaurant with wide-planked wooden floors, candles and a mural of Venice brightening the wall. Kris dumped oyster crackers into her minestrone soup. She couldn't figure out Eric Soares. That morning, he'd barely acknowledged her. Now he had suggested a nice, even romantic, dinner.
He sliced the bread and offered her a crusty wedge. She kept the conversation businesslike. "What do you think of Jared Peyton? If Raquel didn't know him well, she couldn't swear it was his voice on the phone."
"But that brings us back to Diana lying," Eric said. "Besides, she laid into him that night. She obviously wasn't happy with him."
Kris sighed. Jared had insisted that Diana blew up at him for no reason and later made amends. If he was guilty, of course he'd deny everything. "I guess."
"That doesn't mean he killed her, though." Eric said. "His obsession could've been a good opportunity for someone else."
"You mean someone knew Jared was harassing her, and figured he'd be the main suspect. Rossi?"
The candle flickered inside the globe and shadows darted across Eric's cheekbones. "Could be. Raquel told us he was bugging Diana that night. Maybe he got mad and followed her, or maybe she had something on him and would've told the police."
"Then there's this mystery guy Raquel mentioned." Kris warmed to the idea. "If Diana was involved with someone else, why doesn't your family know?"
"Beats me. What's your next move?"
"Visiting the lieutenant who was on the case," she said. "I want to find out if he's as in the dark as we are."
"I'll go with you."
Her spine locked against her chair. "Look, I don't need a babysitter. I appreciate your coming along to the bar, and on the long drive today, but I'm fully capable of investigating this case myself."
"I'm sure you are. I'm just curious. I'll admit it, your investigation intrigues me."
Kris tasted her soup, ignoring the amusement in his voice. She questioned his motives, but she could hardly refuse Irene Ferguson's grandson. "All right. I'll set up the appointment and let you know when it is."
She dozed on the ride home, lulled by the humming engine and the soft music emanating from the dimly lit dashboard. She snapped awake once to find Eric intent on the road, darkness masking his profile. No one had ever driven her car before. Kris dropped back to sleep, the heater’s warmth nestling her like an electric blanket.
Soon, he was parking outside the bookstore. They were back.
Eric nudged her in the ribs. "You've been out cold. You okay to drive home?"
"I'm fine," she said. "I'll let in a little air to wake myself up."
He stepped out and Kris climbed into the driver's seat. Eric fastened an arm on the door, holding it open. "I can't figure out why you're so determined to help my family. There's got to be an easier exclusive out there than this one."
"I'm sure there is, but this one reached out to me," Kris said. "Diana deserves another chance at justice."
"You were right about my grandmother. Even if nothing develops, she needs this chance, too. I didn't see that before."
"Irene's lucky to have you looking out for her."
"She's had a lot of bad luck in her life. I do what I can." Eric tapped her car window. "Good night, Kris."
"Good night."
He closed the door and strode away. His dark leather jacket blended with the night. Kris leaned back her head, the intoxicating spicy fragrance of his aftershave sending a current through her abdomen. His headlights beamed in the blackness, casting yellow pools over the snowbanks.
She wondered if he’d been honest with her. Maybe Eric, or his family, wanted her progress monitored in case she uncovered enough for a story. If they didn't like what she found out about Diana, they could hinder her efforts.
She couldn't trust Eric. No matter how gorgeous or convincing he was, Kris had to be careful. Unveiling the truth depended on it. Her story depended on it. She opened the window to diminish the smell of his a
ftershave.
Chapter 12
25 Years Ago Today
Town Engineer James Murray meets with the Health Board to discuss the possibility of analyzing water at Stella Lake in Fremont.
Monday before work, Kris left a message for Yvonne Peyton. She identified herself as a reporter and explained she had questions about the Fremont High History Club and Alex Thaddeus.
Restless, Kris hung up and paced the bedroom in her heavy bathrobe. Through the high school, she'd learned Alex Thaddeus taught at Fremont State College. She had obtained his office hours from the History Department secretary.
Kris spread out her jeans and sweater on the bed. She would visit Alex Thaddeus alone, but she had promised to call Eric about the police interview. She'd scheduled an appointment with Lieutenant Gerald Frank for later in the week. Why did it feel as if a hundred butterflies were inside her stomach, batting their wings in unison? Chipmunk watched her lift the receiver and slam it back down into the cradle.
"I think we'll try Irene first," she told her cat, plumping onto the bed. "She can relay the message. Don't look at me like that."
Irene greeted her with enthusiasm and agreed to tell Eric. "It's good to hear from you. Will you come for tea tomorrow and fill me in on Hyde Park? Eric hasn't said much. He's afraid to get my hopes up, but it won't, really."
"Sure, I've been meaning to see if you have any of Diana's paintings," Kris said. "I'll stop by after I meet her old teacher, Alex Thaddeus."
"Thank you, Kris. Except for Lieutenant Frank, no one has ever been this determined to help me. You'll do what no one else has done. I know it. Bye, honey."
Kris sank back into her pillows beside a purring Chipmunk. Irene's hopes had been lifted higher than the moon ruled over by the goddess Diana. Kris jammed her hands inside the deep pockets of her robe. Her gaze lingered on the picture of her cousin. She'd let down Nicole.
She wouldn't disappoint Irene Ferguson.
***
Kris climbed three flights of stairs, her boots tracking slush marks over the wooden steps. Shivering, she lingered in the dim stairwell of the history department. She had arrived between mid-morning classes. A cold gust floated from the first floor, where students streamed in and out of the main entrance. Kris popped her head into a heated office and asked for directions.
A secretary pointed down the corridor. "Professor Thaddeus is with someone, but he shouldn't be long."
Kris waited on a bench near the window. Outside, students trudged down slushy pathways, hoisting book bags. White light glared from the long rectangle of snow.
A young blonde stepped out of Alex Thaddeus' office. "You're great, Mr. T!"
She passed Kris, mouthing, "He's so gorgeous."
Kris knocked on the open door. One quick look around the room assured her that she had come to the right place. A glassed-in oak case against the back wall held a bronze statuette of Pan, the god of flocks and shepherds. She recognized him from the half-man, half-goat body. Small marble busts flanked the figurine.
Alex Thaddeus glanced up from a desk organized with stacks of paper. A lock of hair the color of sunlight on wheat tumbled across his forehead. His rugged face, creased with pockets of lines, held deep masculinity. Kris could see why his age didn't discourage younger women. Something in his manner made him boyish and mature at the same time.
Alex flashed a half-grin, showing perfect white teeth. His hazel eyes crinkled in the corners. "Sit down. You're not my student, are you?"
"I'm Kris Langley," she said, pulling out a chair. "I work for the local newspaper. I've come to talk with you about Diana Ferguson."
A sandy eyebrow shot up. "Diana? You're kidding."
Kris described the murder investigation and how she had noticed his name in the yearbook. "Her friends and family mentioned she was fond of you."
"What did they say, exactly?"
"That Diana respected you as a teacher. I was hoping you could give me your impression of her."
Alex picked up a pencil and rolled it between his fingers. He tapped the eraser against his crisp white shirt. "I'd love to tell you about Diana, but if you're searching for insight into her death, I didn't see her after she graduated. I did attend her funeral with a delegation of teachers."
"That's okay. I want to know what she was like in high school. Were you surprised she didn't go to college?"
"I didn't expect her to immediately. She'd had that horrible loss with her father. It made her feel life was hopeless, and why bother making a place for yourself when you're going to die. Those were her exact words when I encouraged her to send out college applications."
"You thought she'd change her mind?"
"I knew it would take time," Alex said. "But not that much time. When her sister started teaching, I was surprised to learn Diana worked at a drugstore. I was even more surprised to hear about Rossi's Bar."
Kris gestured toward the Greek artifacts against the back wall. "I've been curious why Diana painted mythology scenes."
Alex left his desk and approached the bookcase. His blazer and faded pressed blue jeans clung to his slim build. Kris had pictured him taller, but he was average height. Her gaze wandered to a bulletin board behind his desk. Glossy wallet-sized class photos of female students, and postcards depicting the Colosseum, Trevi Fountain and the Acropolis, covered every inch of cork. One card flipped to the back had the loopy cursive of a young woman. "I finally made it to Europe, Mr. T," it read. "Wish you were here!!"
Cheryl had told her that he had charisma.
"I'm of Greek descent, so my grandparents were always telling stories that had been passed down for generations," Alex said over his shoulder. "My passion is mythology, much to the chagrin of my ex-wife. I used to drag her to Greece and Italy so I could add to my collection. I keep the originals at home, but I like to have reproductions on hand to show my students."
"Diana became interested, too?" Kris joined him near the window.
"Yes, especially once I started the History Club. I could only focus on it a little in class, but in the club, we'd spend a semester on myth and legend. I'd show slides and bring the kids to the museum."
"Why do you think Diana liked mythology?"
"It was all about exiles, quarrels, seductions and illegitimate births." Alex displayed his half-grin, amusement sparkling in his eyes. "It was the forerunner of the modern soap opera. Many cultures used folktales to explain the workings of the universe, like why the seasons changed or why they had a bad harvest, but Greek myths were the most enjoyable, in my opinion."
Kris imagined him in class, his deep voice gaining excitement. She would've had a crush on him, too. Alex and Jared were opposites, yet they both had great creative passion. But Vince Rossi ... what had Diana seen in him?
"Egyptian gods were a strange combination of humans and animals," Alex went on. "Nordic gods looked human, but were all good or all bad, which was unrealistic. The Greek gods had human weaknesses so we can identify with them even today. I'm not sure what Diana's reasons were, but that's why I'm enthralled."
"It seems like mythology inspired artists in ancient times. I didn't realize that until I saw your collection."
"They were incredible craftsmen. If you'd like, I'll give you a quick tour of my office, but you may regret getting me going."
"I'll take my chances."
Alex unlocked the glass case and drew out a coin. He flipped it to both sides, cupping it in his callused hand. "This has the head of Athena, the goddess of wisdom, on one side, and an owl with an olive branch on the reverse. Those were her symbols. All the gods were associated with symbols, for example, Hera with the peacock and Zeus with the eagle."
He touched a glazed vase portraying a god in a chariot, the figures red against a black background. "This depicts Apollo, the god of the sun, music, prophecy and archery. He was one of the few gods who kept his name in Roman mythology, although they made him less masculine. The Romans respected war more than artistic abilities. Apollo was the brot
her of Artemis, the goddess of the moon."
"The Romans called her Diana, didn't they?"
"Very good. Diana was the goddess of young women, childbirth, nature, harvest and the hunt."
Kris inched toward an oil painting on the wall. A young woman grasped a bow, feet poised as if running. Her delicate hands and flowing brown hair were turning to leaves, her ankles to branches. She looked terrified. Kris noticed the girl's pursuer, a golden-haired man clutching a lyre. Two solemn stags watched in the distance, near a thicket of trees.
How haunting.
She noticed the signature.
DMF.
Kris pivoted to face Alex Thaddeus. "Diana Ferguson painted this. How did you get it?"
He didn't respond right away.
"She gave it to me for Christmas when she was in high school," he finally said, leaning against the windowsill. "It's of Apollo and Daphne, a mountain nymph. To get even with Apollo, Cupid struck them both with arrows. Apollo's was to excite love, and Daphne's to repel it. Apollo longed to obtain her, and pursued Daphne against her will. As he gained on her, Daphne called upon her father, the river god, to change her form. She was transformed into a laurel tree. Apollo used her leaves to decorate his crown, harp and quiver."
"You've kept the painting all this time?"
"It's beautiful, and it was my first indication that I'd made a difference to a student. Diana used to tell me that reading myths inspired her to paint, but I had no idea of her talent."
Kris turned back to Daphne's horrified face.
Diana had talent all right. She had an amazing knack for human agony.
Chapter 13
25 Years Ago Today
Fremont Fire Chief Andrew Thayer proposes seven-day-a-week coverage of the Center Fire Station to selectmen.
Wrinkling her nose, Kris knelt beside the wire cage in Irene's living room. A sable ferret scurried past a green-striped hammock, attached water bottle and ratty old towel. Cheryl hadn’t been kidding about the musky smell.
