The young woman before him blushed lightly. Visibly embarrassed, she retreated behind the door immediately. Now he could only see her head.
“I’m sorry, I thought you were Tee, my boyfriend,” she attempted to explain her prompt and overly casual appearance.
“Is…uh…is he the… the person who just left,” Alberman stuttered, trying to ignore how beautiful she was blushing like that.
“Yes, I thought he forgot something. Would you excuse me for a moment,” she added pressed. “I’ll put something on and be back before you know it.”
What a lucky dog! Alberman reflected with envy, thinking about the man in the silver Mercedes.
Vivien Hopkins came back in record time and invited him inside.
“I…uh…I was driving around this area when you called,” Nick Alberman lied. “That’s why I’m the one to…uh…to respond to your… uh… your call…”
“Thank you! Well, actually, I wanted to talk to Detective Leonard, but he didn’t answer his cell phone, and I didn’t want to leave a message. Then I called the station, I thought he was there. That’s why they sent you, I guess. But it’s not even something extremely important. I just thought it might help with the investigation if I mentioned it. I remembered the other day that, in the back room of the store where I found Arlene, there was a strange odor. I know her perfume. There was nothing she or I ever wore. Still, it was a woman’s scent. My guess is Obsession, but I’ll have to check it out to be sure. I’m going to stop at Sephora one of these days anyway.”
“Thank you for letting us know about it. So, is that all?” the officer asked, moving from one foot to the other.
Suddenly, his empty stomach sent a painful growl. The smell of cinnamon and vanilla in the house didn’t help much. On the contrary, it made him salivate continuously.
“I didn’t have time to eat any breakfast yet,” he excused himself, embarrassed, as another unseasonable visceral roar scratched the silence.
“Tee and I made cinnamon rolls this morning,” Vivien announced kindly. “Would you like to try them? If you’re in a hurry, I can put a couple of them in a plastic bag, and you can eat while driving.”
“Thank you so much. That would be great!”
The police officer followed her in the kitchen. While the young woman generously chose the largest two cinnamon rolls in the pan and bagged them for him, Alberman studied his surroundings with a critical eye. My kitchen was this stressfully clean only the first day I moved into my new apartment. For about two minutes. At the most! Then, comforting chaos settled in! God, this kitchen alone could kill me! There must be something wrong with these people!
A small plastic bag with Detective Leonard’s business card on it stood on the edge of the counter. On it, somebody had written with capital letters TEE. It resembled Miss Hopkins’ handwriting a lot. Acting on impulse, he grabbed it and stuffed it quickly into his pocket before she could notice anything.
“Is your boyfriend a doctor?” he asked absently.
“No. Tee is an architect.”
“Tee…from…”
“From Timothy,” she pointed out proudly, as she handed him the bag with cinnamon rolls. “Timothy Leigh.”
“Thanks a lot,” Nick Alberman said, ready to leave. “He’s a lucky guy!”
Vivien smiled shyly. Alberman saluted politely and left without delay.
He backed up his car and drove away. At the first intersection, he made a right turn and stopped. Nick pulled the stolen plastic bag from his pocket and checked it in the sunlight. A blonde piece of hair shone inside it. Miss Hopkins lied to me. She didn’t trust me. This is what she actually had for detective Leonard. Without losing another second, Nick placed a phone call to a friend from forensics.
“I need a DNA test. I’ll bring you the sample in about ten minutes.”
“When do you need the result?”
“Now!”
“Impossible, dude, you know that!”
“Ok, then as soon as you can.”
“That sounds more reasonable. I’ll do my best, but get it on my table pronto!”
“Thanks, man. See you!”
Yes! I’m a genius! Nick Alberman thought proudly.
CHAPTER 20
Clark hated what he knew he would have to do the next two seconds, but he had run out of patience. He had been promised help in this city. A certain person should have had to get in touch with him by now, and so far, nobody had come forward. The time was flying fast and to his disadvantage. Who was the person, where he or she was, and why he or she was being late, the people in London should know. Clark was getting tired of waiting for information that never came.
Someone answered his call after the first ring.
“So, I believe you guys should know why I’m calling. What the hell is going on here?”
“The person who was supposed to contact you stopped sending messages here. For about six weeks now. We’re really sorry mate, but it looks like you’re on your own down there. If you want to continue this way, your effort is unanimously appreciated, but unfortunately, we cannot offer you any support at this point in time.”
“Brilliant! Jolly good, mate! Just keep your fingers crossed for me! If that’s not too much of a physical and mental exertion for your lazy asses,” Clark replied nervously and hung up.
Never mind! I’ll smoke you out of your warm and comfy bed you’ve nestled yourself in, you bitch! And I don’t need anyone’s help!
All of a sudden, the chocolate croissant that seemed so tasty a few moments ago lost its divine flavor, and disgusted, the man threw it into one of the garbage bins at the gas station.
A 1970s pink Cadillac stopped right behind his Ford Mustang at the next gas pump. Its hood was battered, and the left front light was broken. The car rocked profoundly, as an enormous woman made her way out of it with noticeable difficulty. The seller hurried to welcome her happily, giving away the fact that she was a regular customer there.
“Oh, dear!” the seller exclaimed. “What in God’s name happened to your car?”
“I just hit a deer,” the big woman explained. “Those damned animals are everywhere!”
Both ladies entered the gas station store. Their conversation heated up gradually, as they began to tackle the topics of the high cost of car repairs and the unsatisfying services of insurance companies.
As he waited for his car’s fuel tank to fill up, Clark sent a fugitive look toward the Cadillac behind him. He was surprised not to discover a single animal hair on that crushed headlight. In the gorgeous sunset light, a small grey button – like those used for men suit pants – stood as if caught in a hairpin between a couple of transparent fragments of plastic. A desultory thought passed through Clark’s mind.
And the deer wore men’s pants…
He tore the gasoline receipt, threw it in the garbage can, and jumped inside his car. He took out his agenda and wrote down that vehicle’s license plate. As he drove away from the gas station, he caught a glimpse of the monstrous possessor of that damaged pink Cadillac in his rearview mirror.
The woman was exiting the store with a huge box of chocolate covered donuts, and she was making a feast of it. It was enough for Clark to reach an extremely important decision that would affect his entire life: I will never, ever eat donuts again! At least not from a gas station. Jesus Christ, they make you fat!
CHAPTER 21
The tantalizing smell of freshly brewed coffee made Timothy salivate. A delightful thought drove him back to his Vee – the girl never drank coffee. He smiled now as he recalled his shock when he had learned about it. She wasn’t even buying coffee to have it in the house for possible guests. The first morning at her place, he had been forced to drink some old decaf from a miniature jar she kept in her kitchen for flavoring cookies. The second morning he had given up and joined her for a cup of decaffeinated green tea. Organic! I must do something about her phobias, Timothy told himself. Not that it was such an awful thing not to enjoy coffee or dinner
in a restaurant. In fact, that could be a good thing. Maybe, if you stretch it a little bit… But there were so many things she was afraid of! Thank God, she’s not afraid of me, he thought, craving her with all her phobias and all her beautiful flaws that made her perfect for him.
“That would be all, Miss LaFontain,” he said aloud. “You can go home now. I can take it from here. Thank you.”
“You’re welcome, Mr. Leigh,” the woman answered without looking at him. She cleaned an invisible stain on the coffee tray. “I’ll see you tomorrow morning then,” she added as she headed for the door.
“Goodbye, Miss LaFontain.”
Timothy had a business meeting scheduled with his accountant in less than half an hour.
A weak and lurid sun tiredly sent its last rays through the tall window of his office. The phone rang and Timothy answered promptly. The low voice of Robert Kane’s widow cast a shadow of sadness over his soul.
“Hello, Timothy! I wanted to thank you personally for the flowers you sent and for everything you’ve done for Bobby. Now and when he was with us… He always talked about you with love and respect.”
“No problem, Barbara. Bob was a wonderful friend, and I’m going to miss him forever. If you need help with anything, anything at all, please don’t hesitate to ask me.”
A long and heavy pause followed. Timothy could hear the woman’s muffled sobs, and his heart ached for her terrible loss. God, it’s not fair! Such a tragedy, he thought. He wanted to say something, but he couldn’t think of anything. What could you tell a woman whose happiness had dissolved suddenly, violently, painfully, and irreparably with the death of her beloved husband? Words can’t heal. It’s just an illusion, Timothy reflected, speechless.
Finally, Barbara spoke with obvious timidity.
“Tim, I want to ask you something, and I want you to tell me the truth. It doesn’t matter how painful it might be. Who knows? Maybe it could even help me accept this cruel, tormenting present. Maybe what I’m going through it won’t hurt so badly anymore if I know that.”
“Yes, Barbara. Please,” Timothy encouraged her.
“Did Bobby have a lover?”
Timothy sighed. It didn’t matter how much he wanted to make her feel better, to assuage her grief. He wasn’t able to lie and drag through the mud the memory of his dear friend.
“No, Barb. I don’t think so. Last time I talked to him, he couldn’t wait to have that long planned vacation with you and the girls. He loved you; he was crazy about you. That’s why I don’t understand why he…”
“Neither can I, Tim. I can’t believe that my Bobby – the man that I knew so well – could take his own life. It is so… unlike him.”
A vigorous knock on his office door forced Timothy to answer. Mr. Donohue, his old accountant, stepped in greeting loudly and dragging his arthritic leg. Barbara heard everything and retired immediately. Before she hung up, she implored Timothy to forget that she had even asked that stupid question. He assured her that he would do just that.
The architect succumbed quickly to his accountant’s charming joviality and optimism. The distress generated by his business partner’s death soon dissipated under the amalgam of numbers, taxes, accounting documents, and records. All “methodically” displayed on his desk by efficient Mr. Donohue.
* * *
“I did it! I did it!”
Very excited, little George was jumping and clapping his hands. He had just hit – with great care! - the last musical note of that miniature allegro which was actually extremely easy to play on a piano. His cute twin sister, Anne, joined him in the fun with a ripple of applause.
“Congratulations!” Vivien smiled, pleased by her young student’s achievement. “Mozart composed this piece when he was just five years old.”
“Mozart was a genius,” George told her in a low tone of voice, as if he were divulging a secret.
“Indeed! And you, little darling, you follow in his footsteps with a performance like that,” the young piano teacher complimented him. She tousled the boy’s carroty, rebel hair.
“I’m seven already,” he pointed out, pensive all of a sudden.
“Yes, but you learn fast,” Vivien praised him to cheer him up again.
“Mommy is late, isn’t she?” Anne asked in a mousy little voice. She seemed bored and tired.
“Yes, sweetie, she’s late,” Vivien confirmed, checking the big clock in the hallway. The woman should have come to pick up her kids half an hour ago.
“Do you guys want us to call her?”
“Yes,” the children answered simultaneously.
Vivien dialed the phone number of Anne and George’s mother. The telephone rang at least half a dozen times, and Vivien was getting ready to hang up, when the woman picked up panting like a locomotive.
“Vivien, I’m so sorry I’m late. The babysitter couldn’t make it, and now I was just taking the babies to the car and heading to your house. It’s a hubbub here. God, I apologize! And on top of all, it’s almost dinner time for Anne and George. I think I’m going crazy,” the woman whispered, sounding downcast and panicky now.
Vivien felt sorry for her. Through the phone, she could hear the babies crying.
“Jean, I can bring Anne and George home. It’s just a five-minute walk from my house to yours. In fact, I spent the whole day cooped up inside, and I would like to get some fresh air.”
The children started to sing and dance happily. The prospect of taking a walk with Vivien delighted them. “Of course,” the young piano teacher added quickly. “Only if we have your approval.”
“Oh, my dear, you’re an angel!” Jean exclaimed, breathing a deep sigh of relief. “You can’t imagine what a huge burden you’ve just lifted from my shoulders.”
“Great!” Vivien finished the conversation. “Then we’ll see you in just a few minutes.”
She helped the kids with their jackets, put on her coat, and they all left her house chatting enthusiastically. The darkness had started to fall fast outside. The street lamps were already on, casting elongated and distorted shadows of the trio in front and behind them as well. No soul or car was in sight, but traffic noise reverberated from adjacent streets.
Vivien positioned herself between the little ones and took them by the hand.
“No need to worry, ladies,” George told them. “You’re with me, and I’m a Ninja warrior. Nothing bad could happen to you in my presence,” he assured them courageously.
“He’s a windbag,” Anne intervened. “And on top of all, he’s a coward. He’s going to be the first to chicken out if something happens. He’s got a big mouth, that’s all!” she concluded with a pout.
Vivien burst out laughing. The kids were quite entertaining.
“But with this attitude, he’s going to conquer lots of hearts when he grows up,” she observed.
“I already have twelve girlfriends,” George announced confidently. “If you agree, I can put you on my list, as the most beautiful of all,” he enticed Vivien, sporting a charming smile.
“No, Miss Vivien, don’t do it!” Anne warned her. “He only collects names, so he can ape at school and set up his comb.”
“That’s not true!” George contradicted her. “I’m really in love, at least with some of them.”
“You’re in love with their bonbons and chocolates. That’s why you’re so fluffy.”
“I’m not!”
“Yes, you are!”Anne snapped. “That’s why you’re bigger than me.”
“I’m bigger than you because I’m a man. So, Miss Vivien, will you be my girlfriend number thirteen?”
Vivien was having a lot of fun.
“I don’t know, George. Thirteen is not the most appealing number, don’t you think?”
“There’s nothing wrong with thirteen, really! It’s just one, and three, and it’s nice, it looks good to me…”
Before she could make up her mind, either to accept or not George’s daring proposal, they reached their destination. Jean had l
eft the door cracked open, and both children rushed inside screaming. The woman stepped out of the kitchen, holding one of her twin infants. She was visibly pregnant again.
“Vivien, I can’t thank you enough. I would’ve needed one more hour just to be able to leave the house.”
“Not a problem, Jean. I should be the one to thank you. Anne and George are so wonderful. I enjoy their presence.”
“Yes, they’re a handful. They come up with all these strange ideas and words. Not from Mark and me, though,” Jean tried to exculpate herself and her husband.
“School is a never ending inspirational source,” Vivien suggested.
“Thank God, this time I’m not pregnant with twins again,” the woman said laughing.
“You’re so brave!” Vivien told her, and she meant it.
She said goodbye to her young students and their sweet mother and headed home.
Just a couple of dozen yards from her home, the electricity went off. In a blink of an eye, thick darkness engulfed the entire neighborhood.
Vivien’s heart picked up a galloping rhythm.
No, God, please not now! She prayed, swept away by fear and revolt. The weather was calm, there was no serious reason whatsoever for an outage at that moment.
She tried an easy trick she had learned from her mother, back in her childhood. She closed her eyes and kept them like that for a few seconds. When she opened her eyes again, she was able to distinguish the objects around her. She continued to take careful steps on the sidewalk, listening to the comforting sound of fallen autumn leaves crushing under her shoes. Now she could see her house. She decided to go across the front garden, so she would reach the door faster. She took only a couple of steps on the garden’s soft mulch and froze. A gargantuan apparition was throwing some sort of liquid from a canister over her front door. Almost involuntarily, her eyes followed that monster’s shadow as it crept about her house toward the back entrance.
Broken Serenade Page 16
