by Stacy Juba
Kris closed her eyes. "Sorry. I'm just frustrated. I don't know what to think."
"How about we get dinner and forget about it?"
"I'm tired. I want to lie down."
Eric hesitated, and pecked her cheek. "Okay. Sure you're all right?"
She unfastened her seatbelt. "I'm fine. Just sleepy."
"I'll call you later and see how you're doing."
As he pulled away from the curb, Kris yearned to race after him and stop the car.
But she couldn't.
Lieutenant Frank had left a message on the answering machine. Kris listened to his words in the kitchen. "I went back through the old records. Mae Schaffer did call us about a guy bothering Diana. The notes say we talked to employees, and no one saw anything. We let it go because it was a dead end. I'm sure it still is, but call me if you have questions."
Since leaving Alex's office, Kris had prayed that Mae conjured up the man, a trick of her ailing mind.
This message clinched it.
Mae's stalker was real.
And Kris knew who it was.
***
Irene crouched beside a cabinet, piling photo albums onto the living room floor. Kris waited in a wicker chair, stroking Puzzles. She tried to ignore the odor bathing the ferret’s wiggling body.
Irene stood and gestured toward the stack. "This is all of them. Take the one you want. Can I ask why you need it?"
"I just wanted to look at Diana more carefully, and see if I noticed anything in her expression." Kris steered the subject away from her lie. "I think Puzzles is getting tired of me."
Her face shuttered, Irene accepted the squirming ferret from Kris's outstretched arms. "You haven’t told me what happened with Alex Thaddeus. Did you talk to him? Did he ... did he and Diana ..."
Discreetly, Kris wiped her hands on the shawl covering the chair. "I’m running late, so I'll fill you in this weekend. Could I ask you something, though?"
"Of course."
"Eric mentioned that a few days before Diana was killed, you had an argument. Can you tell me about that?"
"You think it's important?" Irene released Puzzles onto the floor. He scurried under the couch folds.
"I'm just curious."
"I've felt terrible about that for years, but she'd been so snappy. Now I know she was stressed out because Jared was stalking her. I didn't know that then. How could I know?"
"You couldn't," Kris said. "When you say she was snappy, can you be more specific? Was it to you, or the whole family?"
"Me, mainly, but the week before, she'd walked out of a family dinner with Cheryl and Michael. Nobody had said anything to upset her. She just pushed back her chair and stormed out. Later in the week, she snapped at me when I was talking about the new baby. Cheryl was pregnant then, but wound up having a miscarriage."
"What about Eric? Did Diana still babysit him?"
"That was another problem. Diana babysat on the days that Cheryl subbed, a few times per week. Diana went over on those mornings so Cheryl wouldn't have to rush around. Then Diana changed her mind and wanted Eric dropped off at our house."
"Do you know why?"
Irene drew her frayed navy cardigan tighter around her shoulders. "She said she was tired from work, and didn't want to run all over town. Around Christmas, she cut back how often she babysat. She wanted to go out with her friends."
"Did you think that was strange?"
"At the time. Diana loved Eric, and would've watched him for free if Cheryl let her. Now I realize she was upset about Jared. She must've thought she was putting Eric in danger. Kris? Is something wrong?"
Kris bent to pick up a blue-flowered photo album and leafed through it. "I'm fine."
"You'll keep me posted, won't you?"
"As soon as I know anything concrete."
***
An aide escorted Kris to Mae Schaffer's dim room. Mae and her roommate lay propped up in elevated hospital beds, watching a television suspended from the ceiling.
"She might be tired, but she'll be thrilled to have company," the nurse told Kris.
Pink roses and Valentine's Day cards decorated the roommate's side of the suite, but Mae had nothing in the shadows except her wheelchair and ratty Tweety Bird slippers. Mae lifted a spoonful of chocolate pudding to her lips, her eyes not leaving Kris's face. The roommate goggled at Kris, then turned back to the All in the Family rerun.
Kris sat on the edge of the hospital bed. "Remember me, Mae? You told me about Diana, the girl from MacDougall's Pharmacy?"
Mae grinned. "MacDougall's. They have the best chocolate shakes. Are you taking me there?"
"No, but I can bring you a chocolate shake next time. Would you like that?"
Mae bobbed her head.
"Do you remember me, Mae? Remember telling me about the girl who helped you buy shampoo?"
"She's a nice girl. She has pretty brown hair."
"You told me you saw a man bothering her in the parking lot."
Blank look. "You smell like animal pee."
"I just visited a ferret," Kris said.
"A what?"
She opened the photo album. "Nothing. Do you recognize anybody on this page, Mae? Besides Diana?"
Mae dropped her pudding, dark chocolate oozing onto the clean white sheets. A dab trickled down her hooked nose.
"What is it?" Kris asked.
"That looks like Clyde!"
"Clyde?"
"He lives next door." Mae pointed to a picture of Michael in his wedding tuxedo. "I know he robs banks, even though no one believes me. I call him Clyde, after Bonnie and Clyde."
"But it's not Clyde, is it, even though it resembles him? Have you seen this man anywhere?"
Mae smeared chocolate off her chin and licked her finger. "I told you. I saw him bothering that poor girl who they found dead in the woods."
Chapter 23
25 Years Ago Today
A $750,000 grant is allotted to provide 91 jobs in the 10-member town Greater Fremont Consortium.
Kris huddled in her dim bedroom. 8 p.m. So early, but she couldn't drag herself to her feet.
Using the bow, the ancient symbol of her namesake, Diana had put herself into her final painting. She'd fled a handsome blond man who wanted her for a lover. Apollo, the god of music. Apollo, the brother of Diana the goddess.
Michael, her golden-haired, musician brother-in-law.
Michael Soares had held two jobs, including Reynold's Appliance Store. Diana worked at the pharmacy. Both stores were in Westwood Plaza. Maybe the proximity made Diana uncomfortable. She could have quit so he'd leave her alone. The same rationale could explain her change in babysitting routine.
But why wouldn't she tell Irene and Cheryl? If Michael had harassed her at the bar, why did she blame Jared?
There was a piece missing.
Kris curled sideways, hugging her knees. Michael couldn't have murdered Diana. He had worked and gone home to his wife. Unless he'd left the store early. Vince Rossi's alibi had crumbled. Maybe the police made another mistake.
She sat up and met her haggard reflection in the dark mirror. If she told Eric, he might never forgive her. It could ruin his family. If her father had killed in cold blood, would she want the truth?
No. It would hurt too much. He was her rock, her role model, her confidante. Her dad. But if Eric told her, changed her feelings, could she forgive him? Would she resent her lover for shattering her illusion? Her life?
Kris gasped. Maybe Eric knew. How many times had he asked her to give up the case? All his concerns for her safety could have been a ruse.
Her stomach constricted. Their whole romance might be a farce.
Maybe his father had drawn him into the deception to prevent Cheryl and Irene from learning the truth. They could have conspired to keep an eye on her, and she'd made herself the perfect bait.
Wedges of panic drove themselves into her heart. Hadn't Michael initiated their partnership, suggesting she and Eric meet Vince Rossi together? Ev
erything Eric told her might have been a lie. If so, she'd made an idiot out of herself. Worse, the "love of her life" could be plotting behind her back, laughing at her gullibility and enjoying an easy lay.
Kris turned from the mirror, a flurry of tears warming her eyelids. Not Eric. He couldn't be so cruel. Yet it all fit. Eric Soares took great strides to protect his family. This discovery could send his father to prison, leaving his stunned mother and grandmother dealing with the aftermath.
Kris swallowed the rush of bile that swelled to her throat. She'd been stupid to believe her fortune had changed. She was as unlucky as she'd always been. Her own mother called her difficult and hurtful. Perhaps this was what she deserved.
She started as the phone rang, and cringed at a sudden mental picture. When Eric had cuddled her in bed after that threatening call, he could've known his father was on the other end of the line. She lifted the extension slowly, as if it were coated in poison. "Hello."
"How're you doing?" Eric asked. "Any better?"
Kris wrapped the quilt around her shoulders, wanting to shield herself from the blow that could strike, as piercing as one of Diana's arrows. She had never felt this relaxed around a man, this natural, as if he held the key to her heart, a key she had searched for her whole life. If he betrayed her, part of her would die. She would never trust another soul again.
"I'm fine," she said coolly. "I just felt like being alone. We've been spending a lot of time together."
"It never seems like enough. I can't stop thinking about you."
"Look, Eric, I'm a private person. Everything’s moving too fast. I need space."
"I’m sorry. I didn’t know you felt that way."
"How about I meet you at the restaurant tomorrow for your grandmother's birthday? After that, let’s do our own thing for the rest of the weekend." Kris dreaded the birthday dinner, but it would allow her to observe father and son.
"You don’t have to go if you’re not up to it," Eric said. "Slowing things down isn’t a problem, Kris. Just be honest with me. You could have told me all this before. I would’ve understood."
"I am being honest. And I don't want to disappoint Irene." Kris hung up a moment later and locked her clammy hands behind her neck.
If Eric was oblivious to his father's guilt, the news would destroy him.
If he was involved, she'd be the one destroyed.
***
The Soares brought Irene to her favorite buffet with seven stations and a long line at the door. Kris had made one trip; the others had returned from their third. Odors of Italian, Chinese, barbecued ribs and carved meat flared into her nostrils. She choked back nausea.
Cheryl squinted at Kris's full plate. "Are you sure you feel okay? You've hardly eaten a thing."
"I'm fine," Kris said. "I can't eat another bite."
Michael Soares grinned from across the table. Kris clenched her fork in her fist. Look at him, so confident. Eric sent her a concerned look.
She tracked coleslaw and potato salad around her plate, ducking her head to hide her pained expression. Waves of sadness flowed through her chest, the pressure threatening to crush her. She'd never felt this ache before, this intense hurt all over, similar to when Nicole died, but different.
Kris couldn't call the police. Not yet. She had to be one hundred percent certain of Michael's guilt. Nor could she ruin Irene's birthday. That left one option, confronting him in private and evaluating his reaction. If he didn't have a reasonable explanation, then she'd report her theory to Irene and Lieutenant Frank.
Irene should support the pursuit of justice once she learned her trusted son-in-law had murdered one daughter and lied to the other. A mother would want revenge.
How would Cheryl handle the shock that her husband killed her sister? Not easily, that was for sure.
Kris sipped her lemonade, watching Michael over the rim of the glass. Should she ask him to her apartment this week? Lunch? Neither idea appealed to her. Both strategies could raise his suspicions.
"Mom, where do you want to go shopping tomorrow?" Cheryl asked.
Irene shrugged, listless. Maybe she was tired of celebrating birthdays when her younger daughter's life had ended at twenty-one. "The mall, I suppose."
"What time are you going?" Kris asked.
"Around eleven," Cheryl said. "I told Mom I'd buy her a new outfit. I like her to try things on."
"I don't need anything," Irene said.
"I have to buy you something. It's your birthday. Would you like to come, Kris?"
"Thanks, but I have errands to run. Tell me if you see any bargains, though." A chill rocked through Kris at the swiftness of her lie.
After dinner, Eric walked Kris to her car. Their breath wisped in the air around them. "Can I call you tomorrow?"
"If you want to," she said.
"Of course I do. Look, Kris, I never meant for you to feel pressured. I didn’t expect things to move this fast, either. Just remember, this relationship stuff is new to me, too, okay?"
"Okay."
"Promise you'll call if anything breaks on the case, or if you get more threats."
"You'll be the first to know." She turned her head, ensuring that his kiss landed on her cheek, not her lips.
***
Kris rang the Soares' doorbell Sunday at noon. Michael answered in a Champion sweatshirt and jeans. He smiled. "What a surprise. Did you change your mind about the mall? Unfortunately, they left an hour ago."
"I wanted to talk to you."
Michael stiffened for a fraction of a second, stepped back and allowed her into the house. His smile didn't waver. "Sure. Did you want to toss around ideas about the case?"
"Something like that. Why don't we sit down." Kris settled onto the couch, inhaling the lingering scents of bacon and eggs from the kitchen, normal smells for such a pivotal day.
Soothing shades of cream and mauve toned the wallpaper, and sunshine streaked the carpet. Framed pictures of flowers were centered over the fireplace, mauve and blue petals accenting the decor. Cheryl had chosen the furniture and accessories with care, nothing incidental. Even the lamp on the end table had a mauve base.
She’d created a beautiful home and Kris would demolish it. Her stomach tight, Kris turned away from the piano in the corner. Eric's piano. It hurt to swallow.
Michael flipped off the TV and joined her on the couch. He pointed his body toward her. "What's up?"
Fear washed over Kris. Michael may have killed once. He had threatened her on the phone. She didn't know how desperate he was to keep his secret. Kris pushed aside her worries, reminding herself that this man had lived a normal life for twenty-five years.
"I have evidence that you stalked Diana," she said. "I think you killed her."
His forehead creased. "That's the most ridiculous thing I've ever heard. Diana was my wife's sister. Where would you get such a crazy idea?"
"You were seen harassing Diana outside MacDougall's. You worked in the same plaza as Diana."
Sweat had broken out on Michael's nose. "Seen by whom? It's been twenty-five years. Who would accuse me of that?"
Kris wrapped her hand around the canister of pepper spray inside her pants pocket. She flicked open the lid, keeping the canister hidden. "I'd rather not say. Diana also did a painting showing herself fleeing a blond musician. Her art mirrored a scene from real life. It wasn't Jared who called her at the bar. It was you. Raquel accepted that it was Jared because that's what Diana told her and the voice was vaguely familiar."
She paused. "Let's cut the crap. We wouldn't be having this conversation if I didn't have strong evidence. You've got a lot of explaining to do."
"You're wrong." His breathing sounded funny and he sucked in air through his mouth. "Your imagination is running wild. I thought you cared about my son. If you really cared, you wouldn't be creating these fantasies."
"Oh, please. What'd you and Eric think, that if he romanced me, you'd be safe? That if I discovered the truth, I'd ignore it out of loyalty? I d
on't work that way. Why did you stalk Diana?"
Michael glared at her, the rage in his eyes jolting Kris off the couch. Red spots seeped into his ashen face, darkening to purple blotches. Time to get out of here and summon the police.
Kris backed toward the front door, torn between whipping out the pepper spray and attempting a peaceful exit. "You're right. Maybe I should think how this will affect Eric. I should go."
"You're not going anywhere, you little bitch!" Michael hurled himself at her and flung them both across the room. Kris thudded to the floor, landing hard on her back. She started to draw out the pepper spray, but Michael pinned her arms at her sides.
"You think you're so smart!" he yelled. "You come in here acting innocent, when the whole time you wanted to hurt my family. I'm not letting you ruin us."
This wasn't Michael Soares, husband and father. This was an enraged stranger. My God, perhaps this was what happened to Diana. He’d killed her in a crazed temper tantrum. Kris rolled her tongue over her dry lips. "I won't ruin you, I promise. Your family means a lot to me. Why don't you let me up and we'll figure this out."
He reached onto the end table, his other hand digging into Kris's wrist. She craned her neck, looking upside-down at the lamp poised over her head.
"No!"
It crashed down on her skull with a bang. Dark pinpoints fuzzed around her, then faded to blackness.
***
Kris awoke to a headache. Her eyes fluttered open and she squeezed them shut at the tunnel of blurriness. Awareness rushed back as she adjusted to the dull pain. Michael Soares had attacked her. He'd killed Diana and didn't want anyone to find out.
She opened her eyes again. The blurriness cleared, revealing a den with a computer set up on the desk. Kris exhaled. Michael wasn't here, at least she didn't think so.
Kris struggled to move. She couldn't. Her spine was pressed against a straight-backed chair, the heels of her winter boots flat against the carpet. Heavy rope fastened her to the chair, cutting off circulation in her wrists.
Posters of the Beatles, Doors and Rolling Stones covered the walls, the colors dizzying. Bright blue drums and an organ cluttered the corner. Kris's gaze panned the record albums and tapes filling the oak shelves and the half-dozen CD towers flanking a loveseat.
