Mixed Messages (A Malone Mystery)

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Mixed Messages (A Malone Mystery) Page 19

by Gligor, Patricia


  “Come on now, Teeny? Don’t worry about it, honey. You’ll figure something out. You’ll make your money. Just not tonight.”

  “But I wanted that money tonight,” she said, drawing out the word, “I had plans for it. Your birthday’s next week, you know, and I have something special in mind for you.” She could almost feel the soft, supple leather of the jacket she had picked out for him. “It’s a surprise.” She strutted over to him and put her arms around his waist, gazing up into his face. “Now, I won’t be able to afford to get it for you.”

  “You’re all the birthday present I need,” he said. “Anyway, with my brains and your persuasive charm, I’m sure we can figure something out. There’s got to be something we can do. Remember, Teen, where there’s a will, there’s a way. I’m with ya, babe. All the way. Now will you please lighten up?”

  She smiled. “Well, okay. You’re right. I guess it’s not a total loss. Maybe you and I can do something special tonight?” She ran her hands down his lower back, grasping his buttocks and squeezing as she pulled him closer to her. “I’d rather stay home with you anyway. We can open a bottle of wine, maybe watch one of those nasty movies you’re so fond of and then make a little movie of our own.”

  “Uh-oh.”

  “What?” she asked. “Oh, don’t tell me you’re going out again tonight!”

  “I’m sorry, sweetie. I promised the guys I’d play cards. I thought you’d be out.”

  She stepped back. “Oh, well, that’s just great! So what am I supposed to do? Trick-or-treat? Why can’t you cancel? Everybody else is.”

  “I can’t. I’ll make it up to you, I promise, but I have to go tonight. The guys need me. And anyway, it’s a high stakes game. I stand to make a lot of money.”

  “Fine. They need you. Go. Don’t worry about me. At least one of us will make some money tonight. I’ll find some way to amuse myself,” she said, stomping out of the room.

  * * * *

  Greg walked back over to the recliner, picked up the remote and turned the sound back on. Even with the volume turned up, he could hear Tina banging things around in the bedroom. He had to stop himself from laughing out loud. From experience, he knew what she would do tonight. She’ll pout and cry and feel sorry for herself, he thought. Then she’ll open that bottle of wine and drink herself into oblivion. She’ll pass out on this filthy, old couch and snore like the pig she is.

  Then tomorrow, he thought, she’ll be hung over and even more difficult than usual. He shuddered, picturing what she looked like in the morning normally, knowing that it was always worse after she’d spent the night crying and drinking. Her bright red hair would be tangled and matted and big globs of mascara would be stuck in the corners of her eyes. She’ll be a little distant because she’ll want to punish me and she’ll expect a lot of attention and an apology. But, after a few kisses and a little ass kissing from me, she’ll get over it, he thought. She always does.

  What a way to live, my man, he thought. But it all serves its purpose, doesn’t it? She serves her purpose. Sometimes the end justifies the means and this time the payoff could be well worth the cost. A little patience goes a long way. In the meantime, a man’s gotta do what a man’s gotta do. Some psychic she is, he thought. Good thing though because, if she really could read my mind, she’d know what I’m really thinking.

  He stood up and took a deep breath, letting it out slowly. “Tina,” he called to her, as he put down the remote and ambled down the hall toward the bedroom, “don’t be mad, Honey. We’re here together now. What say, we make the most of it?”

  Chapter 36

  ANN SAT AT HER DESK, sorting the stack of letters into alphabetical order that Father Andrew had asked her to file. While she worked, her mind kept wandering from the task at hand to thoughts of David. What’s happened to him? she asked herself for maybe the thousandth time. What’s happened to the sweet, caring man I married? Where’s the old David? Then she asked herself a new question: what’s going to happen to him now?

  The image of David in a bright orange prison jumpsuit popped into her mind. She could see him, cuffed and shackled, with his blonde hair unkempt and his head bowed as he was led down a long gray hallway and shoved into a tiny cell. Stop it! she reprimanded herself. But she knew that she couldn’t ignore the situation much longer. She would have to tell Louise where her son was and, as much as she dreaded it, she would have to ask for Louise’s help. She didn’t know where else to turn.

  You have a job to do, she reminded herself. You need to focus on what you’re doing.

  She picked up one of the letters on her desk and read it. The letters were responses from area businesses to requests for donations from the church. It was heartwarming to see how many companies were willing to donate merchandise, cash and gift certificates to St. Patrick’s fall festival. The proceeds from the fundraiser would provide necessities such as warm clothing and food to some of the less fortunate families in the parish.

  The phone rang, startling her. She pushed a strand of her brown hair behind her ear. “Saint Patrick’s, Ann speaking,” she answered.

  “Ann, it’s Susan Thatcher. I’ve been concerned about you and I wondered if you could stop by my office after work today?”

  “Dr. Thatcher, I’m sorry. I … I’m not going to be able to continue seeing you. I, well, I really can’t afford it right now.”

  “I won’t charge you for the visit. I owe you an apology and, if you’ll let me, I’d like to make it up to you. I’ll explain when I see you.”

  “Could we do it another day?” Ann asked. “I’ve got a lot going on today and … .”

  Her voice cracked and she felt the tears welling up.

  “What is it? What’s wrong?”

  Ann took a deep breath. “My husband’s in jail. David got a DUI last night in Indiana. He called and wanted me to get him out. I don’t know what to do. I’ve got to figure out what to do.”

  “Ann, please listen to me. I don’t think you should bail him out. At least not until we’ve had a chance to talk.”

  “But … .” Ann protested.

  “I know how hard this is for you. I also know you’re confused right now but I truly believe I can help you. Let me stop by to see you. Believe it or not, Ann, there are answers. I could come to your house after my last patient today. Please,” she added. “I want to do this.”

  After Ann had given directions to the doctor, she hung up the phone and breathed a sigh of relief. Maybe Dr. Thatcher can help me, after all, she thought. But talk about mixed messages. At our meeting the other day, I felt like she took David’s side and blamed me for all of our problems and today, she’s telling me to let him sit in jail until I talk to her because she wants to help me. She sounded so sincere just now and I really want to do the right thing. Maybe I should wait to see what she has to say before telling my mother-in-law.

  She heard a noise and glanced up. Louise was standing in the doorway.

  “I heard you on the phone. Where’s my son?” she demanded.

  “Louise, I was going to tell you,” Ann said.

  “I’ll ask you one more time. Where is my son?”

  “David’s in jail. I … I didn’t want to worry you.”

  “Liar!” Louise screamed, lunging toward Ann.

  Ann jumped back in her seat, almost toppling over.

  Louise raised a fist toward Ann. “You are a liar! My son’s in jail and you left him there? What’s wrong with you? How could you do that?”

  “Louise, calm down. David will be fine. We’ll figure something out.”

  “No, Missy, we won’t figure something out. I will. I’m his mother!”

  “And I’m his wife!”

  “Wife? Not much of one, are you?”

  “How can you say that? I love David.”

  “Love? Love? You don’t know what love is. You don’t let someone you love spend the night in jail. You have the nerve to call that ‘love’? You want David in jail. You want him gone, out of the way, so
you can do whatever you want. Do you think I’m stupid? I know what you’ve got planned. You think you’re going to leave and take his children away from him.”

  “No! I would never do that. I love him!”

  Louise loomed over the desk, hovering above Ann. She was glaring at Ann; her dark brown eyes, black and menacing. “I warned him not to marry you, you know. He deserves so much better than you. He could’ve had anyone he wanted. All the girls were after him. Beautiful, smart girls.”

  “What’s going on in here?” Father Andrew asked, stepping into the room.

  Louise stood up straight and Ann watched as her face and eyes changed instantly. Louise turned to face the priest.

  “I’m sorry, Father,” Louise said, a penitent expression on her face. “Just a little family disagreement. I’m sorry we disturbed you.”

  Father Andrew took a few more steps into the room. “Is everything all right now, Ann?”

  “Yes, Father. I’m sorry too,” Ann said.

  “Well, let’s all get back to work, shall we?” He turned and walked out of the room.

  Louise turned around and pointed a finger at Ann. “This isn’t over. You’re going to pay for this, Missy.”

  When she was finally alone, Ann got up and went over to close the door. As she reached for the knob, she realized that her hands were shaking. She could hardly believe what she had just witnessed. She’d seen Louise turn from a raving maniac into a contrite, subservient housekeeper in only seconds. She’d seen the look in Louise’s eyes. It was the same look she’d seen in David’s eyes when he was in a rage. One of Nana’s favorite expressions popped into her head, “The apple doesn’t fall far from the tree.”

  The phone rang and she reached for it, willing her hand to stop shaking. “Saint Patrick’s. Ann speaking.”

  The call was for Father Andrew. It was a priest from one of the neighboring parishes. He said it was urgent. She put the call on hold and hurried to find the priest. She ran down the hall to his office but he wasn’t there. She dashed from one room of the church to the other, looking for him but he was nowhere to be found. She rushed back to her office.

  “I’m sorry, Father,” she said, picking up the receiver, “but Father Andrew seems to have left the building. He probably just stepped out for a minute. If you’ll give me a message, I’ll make sure he gets it as soon as he gets back.”

  After she hung up, she remembered that Father Andrew lived in the rectory, a one-story red brick house behind the church. Making a snap decision, she grabbed her coat and rushed out the door. She made her way through the fog to the back of the church and followed the cement path that led to the rectory. There was no doorbell so she knocked lightly on the front door of the house and, when she got no response, she pounded the door with her fist. She had to find Father Andrew as soon as possible so that he’d have time to get to the hospital. One of his former parishioners, Doris Schweitzer, was on her deathbed.

  Maybe he’s in a back room and can’t hear me, she thought. She walked around the outside of the house, stopping at every window but she couldn’t see into any of them because the shades were all pulled down. Not knowing what else to do, she went back to the front door and tried turning the doorknob. Surprised to find it unlocked, she opened the door. She hesitated for only a few seconds before stepping into the living room. “Father Andrew,” she called out. “It’s Ann Kern. Are you here?”

  There was no answer. She walked down the hallway toward the back of the house. “Father! Father, are you here?” There was still no response. She glanced into each room as she passed it.

  The door to the last room at the end of the hall was closed. She knocked on the door and called out to the priest before hesitantly opening the door a few inches.

  When she peeped into the room, she saw a lamp and a phone on a desk cluttered with papers. I’ll leave him a note here and I’ll also leave one on his desk at the church, she decided. That way, if he doesn’t come back before I leave, he’ll be sure to get the message. I hope he gets it in time.

  She opened the door the rest of the way and went straight to the desk. She looked in all of the drawers, rummaging through them. until she finally found a pad of paper and a pen in the bottom drawer. She carefully copied the name and phone number on the note in her hand. As she turned to leave, she glanced around the room. It was obvious that it was Father Andrew’s bedroom. The room was sparsely furnished with the desk, a twin bed, a nightstand and a four-drawer dresser. There was a table on the far wall with a photograph of a young girl in a shiny, silver eight by ten frame. Next to the photograph, there was a large scrapbook, lying open.

  Curiosity got the best of her. She went over to the table. I wonder who this is, she thought, stooping down to examine the photograph of the girl. The girl looked to be in her teens; she had light brown hair, brown eyes and a beautiful smile.

  She glanced down at the scrapbook and saw that it contained numerous newspaper clippings that were slightly yellowed with age. In the middle of the first page, there was a grainy black and white photograph of four young women. They were standing next to each other, beneath a banner with “SETON HIGH SCHOOL” printed in bold, black letters, smiling for the camera. They were all wearing the matching uniforms of the local girls’ catholic high school. One of them was the same girl as the one in the picture frame.

  This must’ve been someone Father Andrew loved very much for him to keep a shrine to her all these years, she thought. Her eyes traveled up the page to the headline, “Local teenagers killed in car crash.” The paper was dated September 7th, 1985. As she scanned the article, she read that the accident had happened on the sixth of September. Oh, my God, that’s the same day my parents died, she thought.

  She heard a noise, turned around and let out a small scream. Father Andrew was standing in the doorway, glowering at her.

  Chapter 37

  “WHAT ARE YOU DOING HERE?” Father Andrew demanded, moving toward her.

  “I … I was looking for you,” Ann stammered. “I have a message to give you.” She reached out and handed the paper to him. “It’s urgent,” she added.

  As the priest read the note, the expression on his face and in his eyes changed from furious to concerned, even worried. “Thank you, Ann. You’re right. This is very important. I need to get to the hospital right away.” He extended his arm and pointed toward the door. “I think we’d both better get back to work.”

  As they left the house, she noticed that Father Andrew took the time to lock his front door. Probably so I won’t go in and snoop around again, she thought. She felt embarrassed and uncomfortable as he followed her up the path to the church. He didn’t like me going into his private space, she thought. But I don’t blame him. I wouldn’t want anyone uninvited going into my house either.

  Time went by slowly for her as she finished alphabetizing the letters on her desk and began filing them in the cabinets that lined one of the walls in her office. As she worked, she constantly glanced down at her wristwatch but, each time, she was disappointed to see that only a couple of minutes had passed. Will it ever be time to go home? she wondered.

  She shuddered, remembering how ill at ease she’d felt when Father Andrew walked in on her. Nevertheless, she couldn’t help but be curious about the girl in the photograph that she’d seen in his bedroom. Who was she? she wondered. Could she have been his girlfriend all those years ago? Maybe she was his one true love and, when she died, he was so distraught that he joined the priesthood, vowing never to love another woman. That’s so romantic, she thought, but so tragic.

  But what if she died in the same accident as my parents? The accident that was my father’s fault. Could Father Andrew know that? Could he know that my father drove the car that killed the girl he loved? And, if he does know, does he somehow blame me? But why would he blame me for what my father did?

  She remembered the words of the last note she’d received. “And he did that which was evil in the sight of the Lord, … as his fathers ha
d done … .” What evil have I done? She shuddered, remembering how she’d felt when she looked over and saw the priest looming in the doorway: uncomfortable, embarrassed and afraid.

  What if he’s seeking revenge? What if he does want to punish me for the sins of my father? She recalled what Dr. Richard Reneker had said in his TV interview about a stressor, a life-altering event that would cause a person to start killing. “Something traumatic happened in his life. It could be anything from a job loss to the death of someone close to him that he either loved very much and/or depended on.”

  Like the anniversary last month of the death of someone he obviously loved so much? she wondered. The first woman was strangled in early September. I’m not sure of the exact date but what if …? Could Father Andrew be the Westwood Strangler? And, could he be after me? No, that’s ridiculous. If he were the strangler, why would he have killed those other women? They had nothing to do with the car crash. And, he’s a priest, a man of God. Still, the thought sent a chill down her spine.

  I wish I’d had time to read that whole article. If only Father hadn’t come in right then, I could’ve, she thought. I’ve got to find out who that girl was but there’s no way I can ask him. Clearly, he’s someone who values his privacy and I know that it’s none of my business but if what I’m thinking is true … .

  She recalled one of her grandmother’s sayings, “Curiosity killed the cat but satisfaction brought him back.” I’ll bet Louise could tell me who that girl was; I’ll bet she knows the whole story. But, she thought, she and I aren’t exactly on speaking terms right now.

  She replayed the horrible episode with her mother-in-law in her mind. Why is she so angry with me? she wondered. She blames me for everything. I don’t get it. Obviously, she thinks I’m not good enough for David, that he could’ve done much better. But why does she think that? I know that Louise and I haven’t exactly been the best of friends through the years, but I thought that was normal mother-in-law, daughter-in-law stuff. I’ve always treated her with respect because she’s David’s mother but she acts as if I’ve been a terrible wife and mother. I haven’t. I’ve done the best I could.

 

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