Mixed Messages (A Malone Mystery)

by Gligor, Patricia

  Lawrence is such a sweet person, she thought. It’s a shame that he has that horrible condition. See, David, there are worse things. She quickly lifted the lid of the garbage can and stuffed the bag inside. She hurried into the kitchen but, just as she reached for the phone, it stopped ringing.

  “That figures,” she said aloud. “Oh well, probably just another annoying telemarketer or a wrong number.”

  That night, Ann went to bed right after the kids. She lay awake for a long time, staring at the ceiling and thinking. She was so tired. It had been an exhausting day and now all she wanted to do was sleep but, every time she closed her eyes, she saw the red spaghetti sauce splattered everywhere. Like blood, she thought. Like blood, dripping down the walls.

  Chapter 10

  DAVID WAS SO ANGRY when he left the house that he drove aimlessly around the neighborhood, thinking back to his childhood. I was just like Davey when I was his age. They said I was hyperactive too, he recalled. They gave me Ritalin; they said it would calm me down enough to help me to concentrate in school. Oh, it definitely calmed me down. It calmed me down so much that I felt like a zombie most of the time; I was always so tired and out of it and I never had an appetite. I hated it! Nobody is ever going to do that to my son!

  It didn’t take long for his anger to turn into guilt. I wish I’d explained to Ann how I feel and why I feel that way, he thought. I’m not proud of the way I behaved. Why do I do that? he wondered. Why can’t I control my temper and why do I treat her that way? And why do I whine to my mother about her? Ann tries to be a good wife. The problem isn’t Ann; the problem is me. I’m a lowlife; I haven’t been a real husband in a long time. It’s not that I don’t find her attractive; she’s so pretty and so good. I don’t deserve her; I never have. After all these years, I’m still amazed that she ever agreed to go out with me, let alone marry me.

  Well, there’s no way I can work feeling like this, he decided. He thought about going to the gambling boat but he knew that his credit cards were maxed out and the only money he had was the twenty dollars his mother had given him. He glanced down at the gas gauge and saw that he only had a quarter of a tank left. He pulled over into an empty parking lot, turned off the ignition, leaned back and closed his eyes.

  He woke up about an hour later and considered going home but he still couldn’t force himself to face Ann. He knew that he owed her an apology but it seemed like that’s all he was doing lately, apologizing. If he didn’t say he was sorry, she’d ignore him, give him the cold shoulder. He hated that. And, if he did apologize, she’d be right again and he’d be wrong. He definitely couldn’t take anymore of that. He started the car back up and drove to his favorite neighborhood bar.

  By the time he reached Whitey’s Tavern, the rain was coming down hard. He sat in his car, staring at the dilapidated one-story stucco building. Even through the heavy rain, he could see the graffiti and the paint peeling off of the walls. He slammed his car door, pulled his trench coat up over his head and made a run for the door. Once inside, he headed straight for the bar and sat down on a stool at the far end.

  “Hey, Davey Boy. How ya doin’?” Joe, one of the part-time bartenders asked.

  David looked up him. “Give me a draft, Joe,” he said, pulling a pack of cigarettes and a lighter from his jacket pocket.

  While he waited for his beer, David lit a cigarette and glanced around the room. Nothing much had changed since he’d first started coming here, back in the days when he and his friends were old enough to drink legally. Same scuffed up tables and chairs, scarred knotty pine paneling on all the walls, a jukebox in the corner and a bristle dartboard on the back wall. Tonight, there was no one else at the bar or at any of the tables but he could see two bikers wearing black leather jackets with chains hanging from their waists, shooting pool in the adjacent room.

  “Kinda quiet tonight, isn’t it, Joe?”

  “Yeah. It’s still early,” the bartender answered. “But,” he said, winking, “it’ll get busy in a while. You’ll see. Ya wanna know why?”

  “Sure, I’ll bite. Why?” David asked.

  “Because,” Joe said, “it’s gloomy and nasty out. You’d be surprised how many people’s moods are affected by the weather. So, it stands to reason, that when it’s depressing out, depressed people are gonna come here to feel better.” He grinned, obviously proud of himself. “You don’t believe me, you wanna put a little wager on it?”

  “No,” David said, realizing he was one of the people that Joe was describing. “I believe you. That’s interesting.” He chugged the rest of his first beer. “Give me another one, Joe.”

  The bartender set the beer on the counter in front of him and asked, “So, what’s goin’ on with you?”

  “Ah, same old, same old,” David replied.

  The door opened, letting in a gust of cold, damp air. An old man, who David recognized as one of the regulars, staggered over and sat down next to him. Joe immediately brought the man a drink.

  “Man,‘s crappy out there,” the old man said, slurring his words. “I’da stayed home ‘cept the old lady was buggin’ the piss outta me. Sometimes a man just has to get away. Ya know what I mean?” he asked, turning toward David. He gulped down the contents of his glass and slammed the empty glass down on the bar. “Give me another one, Joe. Damn women always harpin’, harpin’. ‘Do this, don’t do that.’ It’s ‘nuff to make a man crazy!”

  “Yeah. I know what you mean,” David said. “My wife can’t ever leave anything alone. Now she’s saying there’s something wrong with my son.”

  “Damn bitch!” the old man said, spittle running down his stubbly chin.

  David grabbed his arm. “Don’t say that! She’s not a bitch.”

  “Okay. Okay,” the old man said, pulling his arm back. “All I meant is damn women think they know everything. They think they’re so perfect; they’re always right.”

  “Yeah,” David agreed. “I’m always wrong. I’m sick of it!”

  The old man grinned, revealing a mouthful of yellowed, decaying teeth. “You know what it is, don’t ya?” he asked, inching closer to David. David leaned as far away from him as he could without falling off of the stool; the man’s breath was horrible. “She don’t accept you for who you are. She’s always tryin’ to change you, ain’t she?”

  David nodded his head. The old man had a point. “Joe, give me another one,” he said, lighting another cigarette.

  “You know, Davey, my boy,” the old man said, patting David’s knee, “I remember when your old man used to come in here. Now that was somebody who could really put ‘em away! Drank like a fish; never even fazed him. He sure could hold his liquor. What ever happened to him?”

  Yeah, David thought, ignoring the old man. Whatever did happen to him? One day we were tossing ball in the yard and the next day he was gone. How could he leave me? he wondered. How could he leave me without even saying goodbye? And why haven’t I heard from him in all these years?

  The old man slammed his fist down on the counter, jarring David from his thoughts. “Nother thing pisses me off,” he was telling the bartender, “is the damn foreigners! They come to this country, they oughta learn how to speak friggin’ English! The old lady sent me to Kroger’s today. I’m in line waitin’ and there’s these two Mexicans, man and a woman, in fronta me. They’re arguin’ with the cashier ‘bout somethin’ but the cashier, I could tell, couldn’t understand half of what they was sayin’. Manager came over. Took forever. All I wanted to do was buy me a loaf of bread and some eggs. Got home, the old lady says, ‘What took you so long?’”

  Out of the corner of his eye, David saw a young couple enter the bar. He turned to watch as the guy helped the young woman off with her coat. They walked over to a nearby table and sat down. Joe ambled over to them to take their order.

  The old man had passed out and, head down on the bar, was snoring loudly. David alternated between taking swigs of his beer and watching the couple. As they talked and laughed, holding h
ands across the table, David couldn’t help but remember when he and Ann used to come to the bar when they were dating and first married. Ann, never much of a drinker, could make one mixed drink last all night, he remembered. She would take tiny sips while they talked and laughed for hours. Those were the good old days, he thought.

  Now, Ann never drank and they never went out together. She stayed home with the kids and he went out by himself. Sometimes, he just needed to get away. Not that he wanted to get away from Danielle and Davey. He loved them. When you got right down to it, he didn’t really want to get away from Ann either. Even though, admittedly, he hadn’t been very nice to her lately, he did love her. But he needed a break from the pressures of work and responsibility sometimes. Nothing wrong with that, he decided. Better to drink with people than to drink alone. He’d always believed that a man who drank alone definitely had a problem.

  Joe was back behind the bar, wiping off the counter. He nudged David’s arm. “Would ya look at that,” he said, pointing to the television set hanging from the ceiling. He reached up and turned the volume up. The local news was on with an update on the Westwood Strangler.

  One of the bikers sauntered up to the bar. “Two Jack and Cokes, Joe,” he said. As the bartender filled the glasses, David watched the news report.

  “Hey man, what do you think about that?” the biker asked, nodding toward the TV.

  “I think there’s one sick son-of-a-bitch out there,” Joe answered.

  “Yeah, man. How many does that make now? I can’t believe the cops haven’t got him yet. Too busy hassling us, I guess,” he said, grinning. He took the two drinks and headed back to his buddy in the other room.

  “Hey, Joe, gimme a Jack and Coke,” David said, lighting another cigarette.

  “Davey,” Joe said, interrupting David’s thoughts, “now don’t go gettin’ wasted on me. I don’t want this place to lose its license on my watch. The owners would kill me. For sure, I’d lose my job and, believe it or not,” he said, smirking, “I don’t do this for the fun of it. I got a family to support. Bunch of bullshit, if you ask me, but with the laws now, we’re responsible if you leave here all sauced up and go out and hit somebody head on. How about you have a nice, hot cup of coffee instead?”

  “Don’t worry about me, Joe. I gotta go home anyway,” David said, sliding off of the bar stool and heading for the door. “I gotta warn Ann ‘bout lockin’ the doors. Gotta tell her to be careful. Don’t want her to be the next one.”

  David yanked the door open and, as he stepped outside into the drizzling rain, he collided with a tall, bleached blonde woman. She was wearing all black leather: a short, tight skirt, a waist length jacket and knee high boots.

  “’Scuse me,” he mumbled, stepping away from her.

  “Hi there, Handsome,” the woman said. She reached out and grabbed his arm, pulling him toward her. “Where you goin’ so early?”

  “I gotta go home.”

  “Well now, who says you gotta go home now?” the woman asked, moving up close to him. “Why don’t we go inside and you can buy me a drink or, better yet, why don’t you come home with me and I’ll fix you a little drinkey there? I don’t live too far away.”

  He took a step toward his car. “Can’t. Married. Sorry.”

  “Oh, c’mon now. Let’s not let a little thing like that stand in our way. I could show you a real good time, Sweetie. Bet I could teach you a few things your little wifey doesn’t know,” she said, moving closer to him, rubbing her hips up against him and grinding back and forth. She reached out to touch his face, stroking his cheek. “You’re real good lookin’.”

  “No. Can’t. Sorry,” he said, backing away from her. “Gotta go home.”

  As he stumbled to his car, he heard the blonde mutter, “Well, win some, lose some.”

  Chapter 11

  Wednesday, October 29th

  ANN WOKE UP THE NEXT MORNING and realized immediately that David hadn’t come home all night. She could tell that his side of the bed hadn’t been slept in. David was a rough sleeper; he always tossed and turned in his sleep. If he’d been to bed, his sheets and pillowcase would have been in total disarray as they always were in the morning. Today, his side of the bed was as neat as a pin. And there were none of the telltale signs that he’d come in late: no clothes lying around and no car keys and wallet on the top of his dresser.

  She got out of bed, went into the kitchen and, as if on automatic pilot, made breakfast for Danielle and Davey. Somehow, she managed to get them off to school on time. After they left, she walked from room to room in a daze. Where was David? What if something had happened to him? What if he’d been in an accident? He’d never stayed out all night before. What if he were hurt … or worse?

  She tried to figure out what to do. Should she call the police? And say what? “My husband didn’t come home last night.” The police probably got calls like that all the time from hysterical women whose husbands were just out messing around. She would feel like a fool if she called and they didn’t take her seriously or, worse yet, if they suggested that her husband might be with another woman. Is that what’s going on here? she wondered. Is he having an affair? Ultimately, she decided there was nothing she could do but wait to hear from him.

  Still, she felt like she needed to talk to someone. But who? She considered going upstairs to see Olivia but decided against it. Although they had gotten to know each other and become friends over the past several months, she’d never discussed anything as personal as her marital problems with her landlady and she didn’t feel comfortable doing that now. I don’t have any close female friends, she realized. I lost touch with the few friends I had in school once I met and married David.

  Then she remembered Bernie, the elderly man who had lived across the hall from them in their old apartment building. He was a retired Cincinnati police officer who had become a close friend and confidante to Ann. She smiled, picturing him sitting in his tattered La-z-boy recliner, watching the news on TV with his police scanner constantly humming in the background. We used to talk for hours, she recalled. I could tell Bernie anything and he never judged me. He was always watching out for us too.

  “Ann,” he would say, “you have to be careful. Don’t ever let Dani or Davey out of your sight. This neighborhood isn’t what it used to be; it’s not safe anymore.”

  Bernie had certainly been right. Their old apartment in lower Westwood was not a good place to raise children. There were street gangs lurking about, even in broad daylight and, almost on a daily basis, she heard about a drug bust, mugging or robbery close by. She vividly remembered hearing the late night wail of sirens as police responded to her neighbors’ nine-one-one calls. She hadn’t felt safe there; one night she could’ve sworn that the loud boom she heard was a gunshot.

  Actually, Ann thought, I guess we were lucky considering what could’ve happened there. The worst thing that had happened to them was having the radio stolen out of their car one night. She would never forget how angry David had been. That was what finally convinced him it was time for them to move.

  In January, Ann had seen the ad Olivia placed in the Western Hills Press and they’d moved to the first floor apartment in the old Victorian. She was so glad they’d moved there. Now, Danielle and Davey no longer had to share a bedroom and, instead of a small balcony, they had a big backyard to play in. Olivia had given her permission to fix up the apartment however she chose and to plant flowers or do whatever she wanted to in the yard. She felt like they belonged there; it was home.

  But I miss Bernie, she thought. I’ve been so concerned with my own problems that I’ve neglected him all this time, she realized, feeling guilty. It’s been ten months since we moved here and I promised I’d stay in touch. I never even called to give him our new address. He’s such a sweet man and he’s all alone except for a couple of old friends from the force. I’ll call him and invite him to Thanksgiving dinner, she decided, smiling. I don’t want him to be alone for the holidays and it’ll be
good to talk to him again.

  As she reached toward the phone to call him, it rang, startling her. She picked up the receiver and heard David’s voice. She felt instant relief, which quickly turned to anger. “Where are you? Where have you been?” she demanded.

  “Don’t scream at me,” he whispered. “I’m at the office. I can’t talk now. I’ll be home later. I just wanted you to know I’m okay. I fell asleep in the car last night. Like it matters to you. Like you care.” He slammed the phone down.

  “Bastard!” she said aloud.

  Her anger subsided quickly and, all of a sudden, she felt tired and depressed. She forgot all about calling Bernie as she went into the living room, plopped down on the sofa, leaned back and closed her eyes. We used to do so many things together, she recalled. How long has it been since we piled the kids in the car and went for a ride to see the changing colors of the leaves? She pictured the four of them, heading out for a family outing. It had felt so good to be together as a family, happy and carefree, as they drove along the back roads of Indiana and through the small picturesque towns, stopping at the A & W stand to buy big, frothy mugs of root beer. She fell asleep with a tear running down her cheek.

  A few minutes later, she awoke abruptly to the sound of someone banging on the apartment door. Groggy and disoriented, she hurried to the door, combing her hair with her fingers and pushing it behind her ears.

  “Oh, no! This is all I need,” she muttered under her breath as she looked through the peephole at her mother-in-law’s face. She opened the door. “Louise, come in,” she said, forcing a smile. “I’m surprised to see you.”

  “Evidently,” Louise said, bending down to pick up a toy fire truck that Davey had left on the floor.

  “I’m sorry the place is such a mess,” Ann said. “Please, sit down.”

  “Why aren’t you dressed, Ann? Are you ill?”