She'll Never Tell

by Hunter Morgan

  * * *

  The Bloodsucker sat in his car watching the sister tear off in her sports car. She'd stomped into the house mad, left even angrier. He wondered what the sisters had fought about. He'd never had a sister. A brother either. He suspected he had cousins, but Granny had never said and to ask... he just didn't.

  The Bloodsucker's gaze settled on the house again, where he knew Marcy was inside. He knew he was taking a chance sitting here in her neighborhood before it was even dark and in his own car, at that. Anyone could see him. Recognize him.

  But that was working to his advantage, wasn't it? Everyone did see him. He was right there under their noses and yet they didn't see him. Not for what he really was.

  Granny said no one saw him because he was a no one. She said it was because he was an insignificant speck on the rear end of mankind. But the Bloodsucker knew that it wasn't true. They didn't see him because he was so clever. Because he was so smart.

  He'd been smart with April, hadn't he? Lured her right in with the old lost-dog trick. He giggled. Even kids didn't fall for that one. Didn't April ever have a policeman talk to her class when she was little? Tell her how dangerous a ploy like that could be?

  April had been fun for a while. She had cried like Patti. Sobbed. He had asked her if she found him attractive and she had said she did. But she could have been lying. Women did that. They lied. They cheated. They abandoned their children.

  The Bloodsucker grabbed the hem of his T-shirt and twisted it.

  Women thought they were so powerful. All this women's lib crap. They thought they held the power of the world in their hands because their thing was different than a man's thing. But they were wrong. That wasn't where the power was. It was all in the blood. And they could be depleted of their power. A smart man, a clever man, knew how to do that.

  The Bloodsucker glanced at the nice Cape Cod house with its freshly cut lawn and pretty flower beds. If things had been different, if it hadn't been for that bitch, for the bitches in his life, this might have been his house. Marcy, ugly duckling turned swan, might have been his wife. Ben and Katie his children.

  He forced himself to release his T-shirt. He smoothed out the wrinkles, taking a deep breath.

  He was getting antsy. He knew he had to be careful. He couldn't be greedy. But he wanted Marcy. He so wanted her.

  And no one suspected him. No one had even questioned him yet. How could they? Why would they? Claire Bear had no idea. She was running here and there, frantic. Holding meetings. Ordering reports. Looking beautiful and tough at the same time in that snappy uniform of hers. But she had no real evidence. He'd been too careful. He was too smart for the chief of police, and he was too smart for Marcy Edmond.

  The Bloodsucker would prepare the place for her. The opportunity would present itself.

  * * *

  "Bad day?"

  Phoebe glanced at the man sitting two barstools down, and then stared straight ahead again, sipping her rum and Coke. "You could say that."

  He hesitated, then slid down to sit beside her. "Can I get you another drink?"

  "It's a free country." She downed the last of the rum and Coke, tipping back the glass to let the cold liquid run down her throat. Numb her mind. It was her third and she was already drunk, but she'd have another anyway.

  The man pointed to Phoebe's empty glass and his own beer bottle. "It's been a while," he said when the bartender brought them both fresh drinks.

  She shrugged. She was chilly in the short skirt and bare top; the air conditioning was turned up too high. But she knew she looked good in it. Her sun tan was just about at its peak. She did the tanning bed thing year round, but there was nothing like a real beach tan. "I've seen you around town."

  "I mean us. It's been a long time since you and me..." He slid his hand across the polished bar to stroke her hand.

  She glanced down at his hand touching hers. "Not working tonight?"

  He shook his head. "Nah. Actually I was out today putting in some job applications. Ocean City. Salisbury. Thinking about moving. My uncle's got a place in Ocean Pines he'll rent me cheap if I do the upkeep in the building for the other tenants."

  "So you're getting out of Dodge, are you?" She took a sip of the fresh drink. Her head was really spinning. She wished she hadn't thrown up her lunch. She was hungry now. So hungry that her stomach felt as if something was gnawing inside her from the inside out. It was the same feeling she always got when she and Marcy argued. The ugly, fat bitch. She laughed aloud at herself, realizing she could no longer use those adjectives to describe her sister.

  "Something funny?"

  She turned to him, the gnawing inside her turning to a dull ache as she thought about what she wanted. What she needed. On the ride over to Calloway's tonight she had come up with a plan, and when she was sober again, she'd really think about it. She'd made a lot of mistakes in the past. A lot of the bad things that had happened to her were her own fault. She knew that. Bad choices in men. Her overspending. But she wasn't going to screw up this time. She was, at last, going to have what she wanted. What she had wanted since her college days—before she'd dropped out to go to Mexico with that guy whose name she couldn't remember right this minute.

  "Just telling myself a joke." She smiled, giving him her full attention.

  He leaned closer. "So you want to get out of here? Go to my place? I've got some prime California gold." He winked. "On the house."

  She seriously considered his offer, for both the weed and the place to sleep for the night, for a moment. Billy wasn't bad in bed, especially if you were high and drunk, and his sheets were usually pretty clean. But the idea that his girlfriend Patti was dead gave her the willies. She thought about what she had read in the paper. They said she'd bled to death and though it looked like a suicide, it wasn't. What if he killed her? She'd certainly heard him threaten to do it on more than one occasion. Besides, it was early yet, surely something better off than Billy Trotter would come along.

  "Nah," she said. "Thanks, but I think I'll just sit here for a while. I'll probably head home soon. I need to get my tail out on the pavement and find a job, too, before everyone gets the good ones for the summer."

  He nodded, sliding off the bar stool. That was something she'd always liked about him. He was so easy-going. Whenever she blew him off, he didn't take it personally like some men did.

  "So another time," he said, tipping his beer in her direction in a toast. "I'm a patient man."

  She raised her glass and then took a long swallow. "Another time," she murmured.

  * * *

  When Marcy set out on her jog after dinner, she'd had no intention of heading this way. She had thought she would take her usual route into town, cut through the diner parking lot, and start for home. But she was feeling good this evening. She had passed that heavy feeling of fatigue in the first mile and now she was exhilarated. Taking the long way home would only add another mile, mile and a half to her run, and it would be a challenge.

  She glanced up at the dark, ominous sky. If only the rain would hold off.

  She hated running in the rain; the pavement was slippery and she didn't see well. Besides, she'd bought real running shoes and she didn't want to mess them up. The kid in the athletic store who had sold her the sneakers told her not to get them wet or they would never be the same. He told her that most real runners had a pair of shoes for dry days and another pair for wet. She didn't consider herself a real runner yet, but she'd keep that idea in the back of her head, just in case. Who knew what would happen over the next few months? Once, she had gotten out of breath walking to the end of the driveway too fast to meet the mailman. Now she was running five or six miles at a time.

  Marcy took even, deep breaths, taking care how she placed one foot in front of the other on the dark pavement, her gaze fixed straight ahead. The sound of her pounding footsteps echoed in her head as she found the right rhythm.

  Last night, dinner with Jake and the kids had been great. Like the o
ld days. No, better. Marcy couldn't remember a time when she had felt so good about herself. Last night she and Jake and the kids had laughed, telling each other silly stories about things that had happened when they were little. They had talked about Katie's desire to go jet skiing, and they had decided they would go together as a family. Ben wanted to go camping, and they discussed planning a family trip in the fall. Marcy wasn't crazy about camping, but she loved the idea of doing anything as a family. Before the accident, they had all drifted apart, each going their own separate ways, caught up in their own troubles. At least, she knew she had been.

  Marcy pressed her lips together, feeling a stab of pain in her chest that was almost physical. She had been so miserable last fall... and why? Was it the failure of the last diet? Jake working so much overtime and leaving her with the brunt of the housework and still holding down her full-time job? Or had it been Phoebe who had been in the throes of the restaurant foreclosure, her bankruptcy, and the divorce, and so needy?

  When Marcy thought back, she remembered mostly looking at herself in the mirror. Wishing she were beautiful. Thin. Attractive to men other than her husband. What had been wrong with her? Had she really been that small-minded?

  Tears stung her eyes because she knew she had been, and she wiped at them with the back of her hand.

  What a terrible person she had been. Her sister's whole life had been falling apart—again. Her beautiful, thin sister's marriage was over after she caught the jerk cheating on her with a cocktail waitress. Her sister's beautiful condo on the beach had been foreclosed by the bank. She was childless and would remain so because of infertility, and Marcy had been standing in her bathroom crying because she had two healthy, bright children and a poochy baby belly.

  Suddenly she was ashamed. Ashamed of herself and her insensitivity to Phoebe's plight. Sure, her sister had brought most of her troubles on herself, but that didn't mean they hurt any less, did it?

  Phoebe hadn't come home last night, and Marcy hadn't heard from her all day. She hadn't even answered her cell phone. Marcy would try again when she got home. She'd apologize again for not telling her sister about her restaurant plans and then try to move on. She wasn't going to back down and allow Phoebe to stay, but she'd offer to help her any way she could.

  Thunder rumbled overhead, and she glanced up at the sky. Dark clouds were moving in swiftly. There was a storm coming out of the west the way they usually did on the shore.

  She glanced up ahead and spotted the fencing of the junkyard Katie had told her about. Well, she was already here, no need to turn back. Besides, at this point, it would be faster to run past the junk yard and take Webb's Road. It would lead her within a quarter of a mile of her neighborhood.

  Reaching the gate, Marcy slowed to a fast walk. Panting, she approached the gate. There was some kind of plastic woven in and out of the links to prevent passersby from seeing inside. She pressed her hands to the warm metal and leaned forward to peer inside.

  A dog's ferocious bark startled her, and she stumbled backward as it hurled itself into the other side of the gate.

  "Oh!" Marcy cried, clutching her chest, her heart racing a mile a minute. Then she laughed at herself. Katie had warned her that the owners had a dog. It was just Ben's Fluffy, the three-headed mutt from the Harry Potter book. Nothing to scare her out of her panties.

  She laughed again and began to walk down the country road, headed for the shortcut home. So maybe coming to see the van after closing, on foot, with an impending rainstorm, was a dumb idea. Tomorrow she'd call the junkyard and ask if she could come by and see the van. Didn't that make more sense?

  Thunder rumbled overhead and Marcy caught a streak of lightning out of the corner of her eye. The humid, early evening air was changing rapidly as the impending summer storm grew closer. She could almost feel the electricity in the atmosphere as she pushed one foot in front of the other and fell into an easy jog.

  The storm came faster than she had anticipated. It always did, didn't it? Especially if you were jogging too far from home in new running shoes or trying to get paper bags of groceries into the house. She felt the first drops of rain as she turned onto Webb Lane. Dense pine woods lined both sides of the narrow country road; she hadn't remembered it being so secluded. But it wasn't far to her road, not far at all.

  Marcy felt strange all of a sudden. It was that now-familiar sense that someone was watching her. She glanced behind her. It wasn't yet sunset, but the storm had darkened the sky so that, in the woods, it was quite dark.

  She thought of the silly slasher movies Katie and her friends liked to watch when they had slumber parties. Didn't Marcy always tell the girls that anyone stupid enough to walk into a dark kitchen, knowing there was a madman with a butcher knife in the house, deserved to die for sheer idiocy? Did that rule extend to thirty-something women jogging on country roads close to dark while their town was possibly being stalked by a serial killer?

  Marcy spotted a stop sign ahead and heaved a sigh of relief, laughing at herself and her imagination. Her road was just ahead.

  Then the rain began to fall in earnest, and she groaned. "Not my new sneakers."

  At least it wasn't far to her house now. Maybe they could be saved. She ran harder, her feet making squishy, slapping sounds on the black pavement that was growing wetter by the moment.

  A car approached from behind, and she glanced over her shoulder, hoping maybe it was someone from her neighborhood. The car didn't have its headlights on, though, so she couldn't see much. Maybe they could give her a ride. It whizzed past.

  "Serves me right," she muttered. "Ben told me that the radar showed the storm coming in before sunset."

  She heard another car behind her. Headlights appeared. Marcy glanced over her shoulder. The driver was slowing. It looked like it was Jerry from across the street. He had a blue car. The driver's-side window went down, and she slowed to a walk as he pulled up beside her.

  "Need a ride?" Jerry called.

  It wasn't Jerry.

  The driver must have seen the surprised look on her face.

  "It's Kevin," he said quickly. He pointed to his uniform shirt with his name embroidered on a patch. "Kevin James. I saw you in the hospital the other day. Didn't expect to get this lucky—you know, running into you again."

  She couldn't resist a smile, despite the fact that the rain was now coming down even harder. He was flirting with her. She had to admit she was flattered, even if she wasn't interested. He was attractive. Clean cut. He had a nice smile.

  "Come on. Don't you want a ride home?" he asked, looking ahead to watch for oncoming cars.

  She glanced ahead. She thought she could make out the dark outlines of the houses in her neighborhood. It really wasn't much farther.

  "I know, you don't know me very well. Taking rides from strangers and all that. Is there someone I can call for you, at least?" He held up his cell phone.

  Thunder cracked overhead, and lightning streaked the sky, and Marcy involuntarily flinched. The storm was suddenly right overhead. The sky was opening up, the rain pouring in sheets.

  "I just live up here in Seashore Acres." She ran in front of the car. If she got her sneakers off right away and put them over the central air vent in her bathroom, maybe they'd dry. She climbed into Kevin's car. "Thanks."

  "You bet." He grinned, hooking his thumb in her direction. "Hey, buckle up. Sorry, but it's a rule in my car. I've seen too many auto accidents."

  She laughed as he pulled away and reached for the seat belt. "You don't have to tell me." Her seat belt clicked. "The only time I think I've ever driven anywhere without it, I ended up in the drink." She tried to make light of it. "My son must have been furious with me. He's a bit of a safety nut. Seatbelts, regular fire drills at the house."

  "That's Ben, right?"

  She nodded, smiling hesitantly. How did he know Ben? "Yes."

  "Met him at the elementary school. I went in to talk to his class—you know, career day or something like that." Ke
vin nodded. "Smart young man. He asked a lot of good questions."

  "Thanks, he is bright." She chuckled. That doesn't mean he can't be a handful sometimes. You have kids, Kevin?" Marcy had always found it hard to carry on casual conversations with people. She was beginning to realize now that it really wasn't hard at all. She just had to stop being so self-conscious, stop thinking about herself and what others thought of her, and instead think about the person she was talking to.

  "Nah. Not lucky enough to find the right woman yet, I guess."

  He flashed her a smile that was cute in a bashful kind of way. He was younger than she was, but not a lot younger.

  She wondered if he'd be interested in going out with Phoebe. Maybe a nice guy like Kevin was just what her sister needed to make a fresh start. "Oh, I'm sure she's out there somewhere," she assured him. "You just have to keep looking."

  "I don't know." He shook his head. "You can't imagine what it's like out there. Hard. You know what I mean?"

  Marcy glanced up to see a car approaching. Then she realized he had passed the entrance to her development. "Oops. I'm sorry. I wasn't paying attention. The entrance is back there." She pointed.

  "I'm sorry. I knew that." He touched the heel of his hand to his forehead. "I'll just turn around up in that driveway up ahead. I don't think I'd better back up in this rain."

  The approaching car passed and Marcy realized it was one of the town police cars. As it went by, she saw Claire, who waved. Marcy lifted her hand to her ear, signaling for the police chief to call her. Claire nodded as she went by.

  "Here we go." Kevin slowed, signaling, and turned into the driveway of a house just past the neighborhood. He backed out and pulled onto the road, going the way they had come.

  Two minutes later, Marcy was pointing out her house. "Right there."

  "The blue one?" He signaled to pull over.

  "Nope, next one up. The beige Cape Cod."

  "I see it. Nice house."

  "Thanks." He pulled into the driveway, and she hopped out. "Thanks for the ride, Kevin."

  "You bet. Any time."