She forced herself to concentrate on filing the rest of the letters. When she finished all of the work that Father Andrew had given her, she sat down at her desk and swiveled around in her chair so that she faced the window. Looking out, she was surprised and delighted to see that, while she was busy filing, the weather had changed dramatically. It had turned into such a pretty day. The fog had lifted, the sun was out and the sky, a bright blue, had only a few scattered clouds. She hoped that it would stay nice for the kids tonight.
Lately, the weather is as changeable and unpredictable as my life: one minute, sunny and beautiful, the next minute, dark and cold, she thought. She always joked that, in Cincinnati, you’d better carry both your umbrella and your sunglasses. Particularly at this time of year though, it was difficult to know how to dress. She encouraged Danielle and Davey to layer their clothes. That way, if it warmed up, they could easily remove a sweater or sweatshirt.
She got up and stood at the window. About a block down the street, she spotted a man dressed all in black, with a black cape fluttering behind him in the wind, coming down the sidewalk toward the church. He was carrying, what appeared to be, a cane or walking stick. Fascinated, she continued to watch him. When he got closer, she realized that she couldn’t see his face because he was wearing a mask. Well, he must be going to a Halloween party, she reasoned. He’s dressed like the Grim Reaper.
The man stopped in front of the church for a few seconds facing in her direction. Then, abruptly, he turned and came right up to her window. The only thing separating them was a pane of glass. He pointed the cane directly at her. Even through the window, she could hear his scream.
She jumped back. She grasped the drapery pull and tugged hard. After the drapes were closed, she leaned back against the wall, breathing hard. A quiver ran through her body and her heart raced. Calm down, she silently told herself. But why did he do that to me? she wondered. Why did he point and scream at me? Why does it feel like everyone’s out to get me lately? She remembered the warning that Olivia’s psychic had given her. “There is danger awaiting you, Ann. Pay attention. Stay alert. Don’t trust anyone.”
You’re being paranoid, she told herself. Then she remembered Mel Gibson telling Julia Roberts in the movie, Conspiracy Theory, “I’m only paranoid because they want me dead.” She ran her hand through her hair, pushing it back off of her forehead.
No! You’ve got to stop this. You’ve got to get a grip, she told herself. You’re being ridiculous! You don’t believe in all that psychic mumbo jumbo and no one is out to get you. You’re upset and worried about David, you’re still shaken up after the scenes with Louise and Father Andrew and you’re not thinking clearly. That’s why you’re so jumpy. Remember, there are a lot of mentally ill people out walking around. That doesn’t mean they’re dangerous. That doesn’t mean they’re after you. But, boy, Halloween sure does bring out the crazies!
A thought occurred to her. Maybe it’s someone I know, one of our neighbors, just playing a trick on me. After all, it is Halloween. I’ll bet that he’s standing outside the window right now with his mask off, laughing his head off. Hesitantly, she pulled the drape aside, just enough to peek out. There was no one there.
She sat back down at her desk, folded her hands, bowed her head and closed her eyes.
“God, please help me,” she prayed aloud. “I don’t know what to do or where to turn.” After several minutes, she took a deep breath and opened her eyes. I know what I need to do, she realized. I need to go talk to Nana. “Thank you,” she whispered, looking up toward the ceiling.
She glanced at her watch and saw that it was finally time to go. She took her purse out of a desk drawer, grabbed her coat off of the coat tree by the door and turned out the lights. She closed the door behind her and headed down the dimly lit hallway toward the exit door.
As she stepped out into the sunshine, she breathed a sigh of relief. When the sun was out, she always felt so much better and, somehow, just the thought of talking to her grandmother eased her mind. For as long as she could remember, she’d always turned to Nana when she had a problem and she never failed to feel better after she did.
She made her way down the hill from the church to the cemetery, the wind whipping around her. It’s so pretty out and not all that cold but this wind sure is making it chilly, she thought, buttoning her coat and pulling the collar up to her chin as she walked. Fallen leaves swirled through the air, some hitting her in the face, some brushing against her. At her feet, leaves swirled around and around like a tiny tornado. She smiled, remembering how Nana had called that the ‘dance of the leaves.’
She went directly to her grandmother’s grave and stooped down to clear away the debris that covered the inscription on the tombstone. She heard a noise behind her that sounded like light footsteps making their way through the dried leaves and twigs. She glanced over her shoulder, expecting to see one of the neighborhood kids. She knew that they often cut through the woods, taking a shortcut from the street that ran behind them. But there was no one there.
It’s probably just your imagination,” she said out loud but, when the sun went behind a cloud, she shivered. Then, she heard the noise again. She stood up quickly, nervously surveying the surrounding area. All of a sudden, a black cat sprang from the woods, startling her, and darted past her. She was so relieved that she laughed out loud.
As she turned back toward her grandmother’s grave, she noticed a mound of freshly dug earth a few feet away. Curious, she went over and looked down. Her eyes opened wide and her hands flew to her mouth to stifle a scream. There, printed in bold black paint on a large rock were the words, “FUTURE HOME OF ANN KERN.”
Chapter 38
AFTER HER ALTERCATION WITH ANN, Louise went back to work, scrubbing floors and polishing the furniture and woodwork in the old church. However, no matter how hard she worked, trying to distract herself, she couldn’t forget how embarrassed she’d felt when Father Andrew had walked in on the ugly scene.
As she cleaned, she silently berated herself: I thought you learned years ago not to let your feelings show like that. I thought you knew how to control yourself, especially in front of people. Lately, you haven’t done a very good job of it. Evidently, you haven’t learned anything from the past.
She went into the sanctuary with the freshly laundered vestments, which Father Andrew would wear at the Saturday evening and Sunday morning masses, draped over her arm. She went behind the altar and into the sacristy and hung them up in the small closet. She straightened the articles of clothing, placing the white amice, or priest’s scarf, on top of the other garments. She looked around the small dressing and storage room and was satisfied that everything was in order. She was a firm believer in the old adage, “A place for everything and everything in its place.”
As soon as she’d seen Father Andrew leave the church, she had gone into his office to use the telephone. She called several police departments in Indiana. As she made her calls, pushing one button after another to try to reach someone who could help her, she was put on hold numerous times. Frustrated and angry, she paced back and forth for what seemed to her like an eternity. “I don’t want to talk to a computer,” she mumbled into the phone. “I want to talk to a real person!”
She thought she heard a voice coming from outside and stretched the phone cord as far as it would go so that she could see out the rear window. She watched as her daughter-in-law entered Father Andrew’s house. What in the world is Ann doing there? she wondered. She has no business going into the priest’s private living quarters. I’m the only one who has a right to be there when I go in to clean. The nerve of that girl! Will Ann go into his bedroom and see what I saw the day I went into the one room he had forbidden me to enter? Will Ann realize the significance of what she sees: that her father was responsible for the death of Father Andrew’s sister?
She couldn’t think about that now. Determined to find her son, she continued to make calls and, when she finally located where Dav
id was, she was informed that he was being held for a mandatory twenty-four hours. He wouldn’t be released until then. She felt helpless and frustrated; there was nothing she could do. Worried about him, she left the office, gathered up her cleaning supplies and, at exactly four p.m., locked the door to the supply closet, retrieved her coat and purse and headed for home. She couldn’t erase the image of David behind bars. As she walked, she thought back to another time in her life when things had spun out of her control and she’d felt powerless.
It was 1979. David was seven years old. She remembered that she was standing at the stove in the kitchen, making dinner, when her husband phoned to tell her that he wanted a divorce.
“You spineless weasel! You didn’t even have the guts to tell me to my face? You’re such a coward! There’s someone else, isn’t there? You’ve been fooling around behind my back!” she screamed.
“Yes, there’s someone else but that’s not why I’m leaving you. Our marriage is over, Louise. It’s unhealthy and I can’t be healthy if I stay with you.”
“That sounds like a load of crap to me. So who is this other woman, this whore?”
“She’s not a whore. She’s someone who wants the same things in life that I want, someone who loves me for who I am,” he replied.
“A drunk! That’s who you are. Just a lazy, stupid, worthless drunk.”
“See how well you know me? For your information, I haven’t had a drink in five months. Five months sober in AA and you don’t even know that.”
“Is that where you met your whore, at one of your damn cult meetings?”
“AA is not a cult. It saved my life. And she’s a good person. At least, she’s not crazy.”
“Meaning that I am?”
“Meaning that you need help, Louise. Maybe seeing a psychologist, maybe going to Alanon meetings would help you. Ever since Daniel died, actually, maybe even before that, you’ve … .”
“You son of a bitch! How dare you tell me I’m the one’s who’s crazy! I’m not the one with the problem. You are! You’re the crazy one! You think you can just walk out?” she screamed. “You have responsibilities! What about David?”
“I’m truly sad, leaving him. I’m really going to miss him. Please tell him that and tell him that, as soon as I can, I’ll come see him. No matter what you think, Louise, I do love my son. If I could, I’d take him with me.”
“Take him? You’ll never take him!”
“I can’t. I have to make my sobriety the priority right now. For me, that means leaving everything, the good and the bad, behind and making a fresh start. I can’t handle another scene with you so I’ll stop by sometime when you’re not at home to pick up my clothes. The house, the furniture, it’s all yours.”
“You’re damn right it’s all mine. And, I’ll make sure you never see your son again!”
She remembered standing in the kitchen, still holding the phone long after he’d hung up on her. She didn’t cry. She stood there. Numb. Then, from somewhere deep inside her, the rage started to build. If the bastard wanted to leave, so be it! But he would get nothing from the house, nothing from her, not even his clothes.
No matter what she had to do, she would make sure that he never got the opportunity to take her son away from her. She would see to that. She didn’t know exactly what she was going to do but she knew that she had to do something. She sat down at the kitchen table. She needed to clear her head; she needed to figure out what to do.
How dare he think that he could just walk away from her, that he could start a new life free and easy and leave her with the responsibility of raising their son all by herself. And then what? Come waltzing back into David’s life when he was good and ready and try to take him away from her? Did he really think that she would let him get away with that? Did he really think she was that stupid?
Little by little, a plan formed in her mind. The next day, she collected all of her husband’s clothes and personal belongings and stashed them in an old trunk in the attic. She called a locksmith and had him change all the locks. Then she went to the bank and withdrew the little bit of money that was in their joint account.
She smiled, remembering how she’d carried out the rest of her plan. He got exactly what he deserved, she thought. I did what I had to do. I put him out of my mind and out of my life. Good riddance to bad rubbish!
As soon as she got home, she went straight to the kitchen, filled her teakettle with water and turned the gas burner to high. She got a cup and saucer out of the cabinet and a tea bag from the metal canister on the counter marked “Tea.” She bent down and reached under the sink way in the back, retrieving the bottle of Jack Daniel’s that she had hidden there. The teakettle began to whistle and she carefully prepared her tea, adding the whiskey, stirring it and taking a sip.
She went over to the thermostat and turned it up a couple of degrees. She left her coat and scarf on for several minutes so that the old furnace had time to heat the house up a bit and the tea had a chance to warm her. She’d always been cold natured and she hated being cold. It made her angry that she couldn’t afford to turn the heat up enough to be comfortable. Prices kept going up every year for gas and electric and, on her small income, she had to watch every penny. She especially resented the fact that she had to wear thermal underwear to bed and pile several heavy blankets and quilts on top of herself, just to keep warm at night. She couldn’t sleep if she was too cold.
A few minutes later, after two cups of hot tea laced with generous amounts of whiskey, she teetered down the hallway and into her bedroom. She reached under the mattress and retrieved her most recent journal. She’d filled the last page in the book and needed to start a new one. Carrying the book under her arm, she went into the laundry room and flipped on the light switch. She reached up and pulled the rope, which was attached to a panel on the ceiling. With a loud clunking sound, the rickety folding ladder came tumbling down. She grasped the sides of the ladder firmly and, struggling to maintain her balance, climbed up the stairs to the attic. When she reached the top step, she pulled the chain to turn on the single exposed bulb.
She used the sleeve of her cardigan sweater to wipe some dust from the trunk. She opened the lid and stood, stooped over, looking down into it. Through the years, she’d kept all of her completed journals hidden at the bottom of the trunk, under a pile of her husband’s clothes. She reached down, pushing the clothes aside and buried the book with the others.
“I guess you did have the last laugh,” she said aloud to the photograph of David’s father, staring up at her. “If I hadn’t lost my temper, I could’ve collected on your social security. Maybe, if I’d been smarter back then, if I hadn’t let the rage consume me, I would’ve done things differently. I could’ve hired a good attorney and forced you to pay child support, maybe even alimony. But I couldn’t take the chance that you’d come back into our lives later and try to take David away from me. Well, that’s all water under the bridge, isn’t it? You cheated on me then and you’re still cheating me now. I can only hope you’re rotting in Hell!”
She slammed the lid of the trunk, grabbed a new diary from the stack on a shelf near the stairs and pulled the chain to turn off the light bulb. She slowly descended the stairs, holding tightly to the sides of the ladder, careful not to fall. She walked into the living room, clutching the book to her chest.
There were so many things she needed to write, all the events and emotions that were distressing her, but when she glanced down at her wristwatch, she saw that it was almost five p.m., time for the local news. Writing in her journal would have to wait until later. She hurried into her bedroom and lifted the corner of her mattress, stashing the journal under it.
She went back into the living room, picked up the remote, turned on her television set and sat down on the sofa. “Never thought I’d live to see the day when I’d have to pay for television,” she mumbled. “Eleven dollars a month for basic cable, just to get reception!” She flipped through the channels. “And these damn
commercials! Advertising sexual enhancement products on television, where children can see them! How disgusting!”
She found one of the local news stations and leaned back against the cushion, sighing. The newscaster was reminding parents to take all necessary precautions to make this a safe and happy Halloween for their children. She turned the television off. She knew that, in only an hour, the little trick-or-treaters would start making their rounds of the neighborhood. By eight o’clock, the last of them would be trudging home where watchful parents would separate their children’s bounty, looking for any sign of tampering. How horrible, she thought, that anyone could even think about putting razorblades or poison in a child’s candy. Why would anyone intentionally harm a child? What kind of world has this become?
She knew that she should fix something for dinner but she wasn’t hungry at all; she was too worried about David and too angry with Ann to eat. She had to accept the fact that there was nothing she could do for David right now and she would have to wait until later to deal with Ann. But she needed to do something to distract herself from all the troublesome thoughts that were consuming her.
She went over to her piano and sat down, lifting the fallboard to expose the keys. She was grateful that, as a child, a kind neighbor had given her free piano lessons. The lessons had gotten her out of her parents’ house back then and enabled her to take the position as church organist when it became available a few years ago. Now, she rarely played the piano other than to practice hymns for church services or special masses but, when she did, the music she played reflected her mood. She flexed her fingers and began to play Mozart’s Requiem, the last of his compositions, written when he had a premonition of impending death.
Mixed Messages (A Malone Mystery) Page 20
