Mixed Messages (A Malone Mystery)

by Gligor, Patricia

  In his mind, they stopped to sit on a bench not far from the water’s edge. He put his arm around her shoulders and she leaned toward him, running her fingers through his hair. He looked into her warm brown eyes and saw the love he knew she felt for him. He kissed her lips tenderly at first and then, gradually, more passionately.

  He felt his erection and unzipped his pants. As he stroked himself, he was engrossed in his fantasy. Ann’s hand softly held him and, as they slid off of the bench to the sand below, she guided him into her. As he climaxed, she whispered, “I love you, Lawrence.”

  “I love you too,” he murmured.

  Afterward, they lay in each other arms, breathing in the cool salt air. “I wish we could stay like this forever,” she said, “just you and me, away from the world.”

  As he dozed off, he whispered, “Yes, Annie, just you and me away from the world.”

  Chapter 6

  ANN HAD MIXED FEELINGS as she walked home after her meeting with Davey’s teacher. On one hand, she was relieved. Ms. Williams’ suspicions confirmed what she had suspected for a long time: that Davey had Attention Deficit Hyperactive Disorder. If the tests that the teacher recommended proved that Davey did have ADHD, she was open minded enough to accept that and confident they’d find a way to help her young son. She knew that everything would be fine. The problem wasn’t with Davey. The problem was breaking the news to David. When would be the best time to tell him? More importantly, how would he react?

  She’d only been inside the school for about an hour but the temperature had dropped considerably in that time. As she looked up at the overcast sky, she realized that it threatened rain. She started walking as fast as she could. In the yards of several of the houses she passed, there were signs, urging people to vote for various candidates on Election Day. That’s another thing I need to decide, she realized, still unsure of whether she would vote for Republican John McCain or Democrat Barack Obama in the upcoming presidential election.

  She remembered that her grandmother, a staunch Democrat, had always said that the Democratic party supported the common man while Republicans represented the interests of the wealthy. Ann had seen the various commercials on TV for both candidates. The ones who sponsored Obama said that it was time for a change and she thought that was probably true. But, if he won, would the changes he proposed and enacted be good for the country? That she didn’t know.

  As she hurried past the cemetery, which was adjacent to the church, she remembered that she had to call Father Andrew about the job when she got home. She practically ran the rest of the way. Normally, she would stop to admire the Berkley’s Halloween display in their front yard whenever she passed by it but, today, she was so eager to get home that she barely glanced at it.

  John Berkley both frightened and delighted the neighborhood kids every October when he decorated his yard with fantastic horror scenes. He had life-size mannequins dressed as demons, ghosts and vampires. Bats hung on wires rigged with a pulley system, which made it appear as if they were actually flying. There was even a motorized witch’s cauldron complete with the sound of a witch cackling. There were cobwebs, tombstones and blood and gore everywhere.

  A few drops of rain started to fall as she opened the kitchen door and went in. Good thing the kids keep umbrellas in their lockers at school, she thought. She hung her jacket on a peg hook by the door and went straight to the phone. Father Andrew answered on the first ring.

  She took a deep breath. “Father, it’s Ann Kern. I don’t know if you remember me but my mother-in-law, Louise, mentioned that you’re looking for a part-time secretary. I’d like to apply for the job.”

  “Of course I remember you, Ann,” he said. “From Sunday mass. Louise is right; I am definitely looking for a secretary. I’m delighted that you’re interested. Why don’t you come in tomorrow morning at, say, eleven and we’ll talk about it.”

  She smiled as she hung up the phone. This is a good thing, she told herself. If I get this job, maybe David will feel less pressure and things will be good between us again. And, it might be nice to go back to work. It would feel good to bring home my own paycheck again.

  She went into the living room. As she sat down at her sewing machine, she heard the familiar sounds of the electric lift in the hallway. Olivia must be coming down to get her mail, she thought. She finished pinning together the pieces of the kids’ Halloween costumes. She held them up, one at a time, and examined her work. Satisfied with the results, she turned her sewing machine on and, as she guided the material for Danielle’s costume under the needle, running her fingers across the smooth, satiny fabric, she thought about the state her marriage was in.

  As the machine hummed, she tried to figure out what she could do to make things right again. I’ll just have to try harder, she resolved. I want things back the way they were and I won’t give up until they are. She gathered up the folds of black material and held the costume up. She couldn’t help but smile. Danielle would make an adorable fancy witch with her sequined dress and cape and tall witch’s hat with black fur trim. I can’t wait to see her in this, she thought, as she finished hemming the cape.

  Time always passed quickly for her when she was involved in a project. Before she knew it, she heard the kitchen door close and realized that the kids were home from school. She looked up to see Davey standing next to her, a confused expression on his face.

  “Mommy, what’s a ‘toe head’?” he asked her.

  “Where’d you hear that?” she asked.

  “Bobby Barker called me that today,” he said. “Mommy, I don’t have toes on my head.”

  She suppressed a giggle. “Honey, a towhead is a person with very light blonde hair. That’s all it means. Your father was a towhead when he was a little boy.”

  “Really?” he asked, breathing a sigh of relief.

  “Really.” She held up her son’s costume. “Davey, I need you to try this on so we can see if it fits.”

  She got up and followed Davey into the kitchen. He sat down on a chair and she guided his feet into the costumes’ pant legs and helped him pull it up. He started to squirm as she tried to tie up the back.

  “Hold still, Davey! It’s only pinned together,” she said, with an expression on her face that told him she meant business. The second she was finished tying it, Davey started running around the kitchen chanting, “Spiderman! Spiderman! Does whatever a spider can.”

  Danielle, who was sitting at the other end of the kitchen table, looked up from the book she was reading and giggled. “Mom, he really does look like Spiderman.”

  “Well, he sure has enough energy to be a Superhero,” Ann replied, wondering for the hundredth time that day how David would take the news about Davey.

  “When can I try on my costume?” Danielle asked.

  “How about right after dinner? Which reminds me, I’d better get it started. Your father will be home any minute.”

  Chapter 7

  “WHAT A GLOOMY DAY THIS HAS TURNED INTO,” David said aloud, flipping on the windshield wipers and turning on the headlights. The sky was gray and a light drizzle had begun to fall. The weather’s crappy and I feel crappy. I guess I am one of those people, he thought, recalling the television special he’d recently seen about Seasonal Affective Disorder, or SAD. The weather is definitely affecting my mood and not in a good way. Although it was only three o’clock in the afternoon, he decided to call it a day. Oh, what the hell, he thought. I’ve got an appointment tonight. That’s good enough; it’ll have to be.

  People don’t realize that selling insurance is hard, he thought, especially in this economy. It takes a lot out of you. They called them “cold calls” in the business because the potential clients hadn’t called you for an appointment, you had called them; you were going in “cold.” Yeah, right, he thought. It’s really because nine out of ten times you get the cold shoulder. He almost laughed; it was almost funny.

  He looked down the list of potential clients that his manager had handed him
that morning. It infuriated him that, after fifteen years in the business, he was being forced to use a computer generated printout. Ms. Boss Lady was treating him like a rookie, like a new hire. The nerve of that bitch telling him his sales weren’t “up to expected standards” lately and putting him on a sixty day action plan!

  Just the other day, she’d lectured him as if he were a child, “If one out of ten calls results in a sale, then twenty calls equals two sales, etcetera, etcetera, etcetera.” Thinking about it made him want to have a drink but he decided against it. There would be plenty of time for that later. He was perfectly capable of getting sales without her stupid list. It didn’t change the odds of making a sale one bit. However, she’d given him no choice. To keep his job, he had to do what she said. She even had the office secretary scheduling some of his appointments and she was making follow up calls to make sure he’d actually gone to see the people.

  Like this last call today: Marion Bean. What a name! Sounded like a little old lady, probably already insured to the hilt and not interested in any more life insurance. But, what the hell. A man’s got to do what a man’s got to do, he had thought as he rang the doorbell. He’d waited a couple of minutes before ringing the bell again. She was most likely hard of hearing or using a walker to get around, he figured. But, instead of an elderly woman, a big, burly guy with a full beard and an equally hairy chest opened the door, wearing only a pair of boxer shorts with tiny hearts on them.

  “What?” he’d asked David in a husky voice.

  Oh crap, David thought, I woke him up. “Is Marion Bean here?” he asked.

  “I’m Marion Bean! What the hell do you want? If you’re selling something, get lost!”

  David could feel his face turning red as he headed to his car. Yeah, names can definitely be deceiving, he thought, as he drove away. He’d decided a long time ago that it was much easier for him to sell to a woman than to a man. Most of the guys in the office had the gift of gab; they were natural born salesmen. But he was quiet by nature; he had a difficult time making small talk and, although he worked hard at appearing confident, he lacked the self-confidence and assertiveness it often took to close a tough sale.

  He knew that women found him attractive and, even though he didn’t like doing it, he figured that he had to use whatever attributes he had. He knew exactly how to play them. Turn on the charm. Big smile. Compliment them. Not so easy sometimes to find beauty or even prettiness but he always managed to find something, even if it was bright, blue eyes in an otherwise plain or even homely face. And they bought it. Usually. Well, okay, sometimes. A lot more frequently than men anyway. So most of his clients were women. Before the damn list, that is.

  It was all so frustrating. Trying to support a wife and two kids wasn’t easy these days. They always needed something. You worked your ass off and what did it get you in return? Nagging, that’s what. Ann just didn’t get it. She always wanted to talk about their relationship. She said she wasn’t getting what she needed. He was never there for her. Bullshit!

  He decided to stop by to visit his mother. Now there was a woman who understood and appreciated him. She listened to him. She cared about him. As he pulled into the driveway of the one-story bungalow, the rain started coming down harder. “Figures,” he muttered as he slammed his car door and dashed for the shelter of the front awning. His mother opened the door before he even had a chance to knock and ushered him inside.

  As soon as she’d closed and bolted the door, she held out her arms. “Give your mother a hug,” she said, pulling him toward her.

  “Easy, Mother,” he said, pulling away and looking directly into her eyes. “You don’t know your own strength.”

  She laughed. “I’m just so happy to see you. You haven’t been stopping by as often as you used to and I’ve missed you.” She reached out toward him. “Here, let me take your coat.”

  While she hung his coat in the closet, he looked around the living room. Nothing had changed since he was a small boy, growing up there. There was the same old upholstered furniture with white, crocheted doilies on the arms and headrests, the same pictures on the walls, most of them religious: pictures of Jesus on the cross and a manger scene. As always, the place was immaculate. There wasn’t a speck of dust on the mahogany tables or the upright piano in the corner and not so much as a piece of lint on the worn Oriental rug. Every item in the room was in its proper place.

  “Sit down. Sit down. Tell me how you are,” she said, walking toward him. “You look tired.”

  He sighed as he sat down and rested his head against the back of the armchair. “Well, I am tired. Tired of the same old drag, tired of everything. Sometimes, it’s all just too much,” he said.

  “David, what is it? What’s wrong?” she asked.

  He sighed again. “I don’t know, it’s everything. It’s my job, my marriage, my life. No matter how hard I try, I can’t seem to get any of it right.”

  “Maybe you’re working too hard, son. Maybe you need to slow down a little.”

  “Yeah. Work is part of the problem,” he said.

  “Well, how are the kids? They’re such angels. They love you so much, you know.”

  “The kids are great. I see them growing up so fast. Can you believe Danielle’s in the third grade already and Davey’s in first grade? The time’s going by so quickly. They’ll be teenagers before you know it. I want to be able to give them everything but, with this damn job, I don’t make enough money. We can’t seem to get ahead.”

  “Son, you know I’m always here for you. If you needed money, why didn’t you ask me? I’d never refuse you, you know that.”

  “I can’t keep taking money from you. You’re not rich. Anyway, sure, money’s a big part of it but there’s so much more. I need a partner, someone who will contribute, financially and, well, otherwise, if you know what I mean,” he said, averting his eyes from her. “Ann hasn’t been much of a wife to me for a while now. She’s always busy with the kids or the house. She never has time for me.”

  “Well, she’s lucky to have you. I hope she’s smart enough to realize it. Have you told her about Father Andrew’s offer? Maybe a job would be good for her and for you. It doesn’t pay a lot but, these days, every little bit helps.”

  “Oh, I told her. We argued about it, as a matter of fact. She has some misguided idea that she needs to be there for the kids. But the kids are both in school now.”

  “Would you like me to talk to her? I can explain about the job at the church, that it’s only part-time and … . ”

  “I don’t know. I don’t know anything anymore.”

  “Well, how about some nice apple cider and some freshly baked peanut butter cookies? I made them yesterday. They’re your favorites.”

  He laughed. “Sure, Mother, why not? A snack or a prayer solves everything. Right?”

  He followed his mother into the dark kitchen. “Why is it so dark in here? I don’t know how you can see to do anything without some light,” he said, flipping on the wall switch.

  He stood at the counter, watching her as she poured cider into two glasses. She reached up to retrieve a small platter from the top shelf of the cupboard and arranged several cookies on it. The house hasn’t changed and she hasn’t changed all that much either, he thought. Her hair may be gray and thinning and she may need glasses now but she still has the strength and energy that she’s always had.

  They sat down at the gray and white Formica table where he’d spent his youth, eating meals and doing homework. As he munched on the homemade cookies and washed them down with cider, he began to relax. It was comforting to sit there with his mother, making small talk and listening to the raindrops pelt the window. He started to feel a lot better.

  “You know, maybe it would be good if you did talk to Ann,” he said. “I can’t seem to get through to her. All we do anymore is argue. Sometimes, I don’t even want to go home. Maybe, coming from you …”

  A little while later, when he stood at the front door, ready
to leave, his mother grasped his hand and thrust a crumpled twenty dollar bill into it. She kissed him on the cheek and whispered, “I want you to stop worrying. It will all work out, you’ll see. Mother will take care of everything.”

  Chapter 8

  OLIVIA BERGER SAT IN HER WHEELCHAIR, looking out the living room window of her second floor apartment in the old Victorian house. At first, when she’d had the house converted from a single family home to two apartments, she’d considered taking the first floor apartment because, with her disability, it would have been easier to maneuver. But she enjoyed the view from the second floor so much and, with the electric lift that she’d had installed, she was able to move freely through the house. She was born in the house and she’d lived there ever since. At seventy-nine, she’d seen many changes in the house and in the neighborhood and she’d seen many people come and go.

  Light rain splattered against the windowpane as she watched an elderly woman make her way slowly down the sidewalk, pulling a two-wheeled shopping cart behind her and struggling to keep an umbrella over her head. The woman would take a few steps, then stop, as if to catch her breath. She watched her until she was out of sight. Something about her tugged at Olivia’s heart. It’s tough getting old, she thought, especially if you’re all alone. Thank God, I have Lawrence.

  “What a strange bird,” she said aloud, as she spotted John Berkley, the owner of a local costume shop who lived across the street. It looks like that cat is walking him, she thought, watching the tall, scarecrow-like man with a long, gray ponytail zigzagging down the middle of the street with his black cat on a long leash. The sleeves, shirttails and pant legs of his loose fitting clothing were flapping in the wind. He seemed oblivious to the fact that it was raining. I’ve known him since he was born, she thought, but he gets odder and odder with each passing year. Oh well, as they say, ‘to each, his own.’ I’ve seen a lot of strange things from this window.