Mixed Messages (A Malone Mystery)

by Gligor, Patricia

  “You will not see my daughter again! Nie! Nie mehr! Do you understand me?”

  Bernie stood there with his mouth open, shaking his head slowly back and forth. He couldn’t believe this was happening and he didn’t know what to say.

  “Soon, Olivia will marry a man who is well able to provide for her, as I always have,” Olivia’s father continued. “He is the son of my friend, a well respected businessman. It has been arranged; I have arranged it. You will not destroy her life! If you see her again, if she chooses to see you, to go with you, I will disinherit her! She will have nothing! Only you and you have nothing! You are nothing! Nichts!”

  Bernie awoke abruptly, the dream still fresh in his mind. He knew that it wasn’t just a dream though; sadly, it had really happened many years ago. That night, he’d felt as if his heart were breaking. He knew that he had to walk away, that what her father had said was true; he had no money and no future and, because he loved her as much as he did, he couldn’t, he wouldn’t, ask Olivia to give up everything just for him.

  He never tried to contact her again. Instead, a few days later, he joined the army. There was nothing to keep him in Cincinnati now and he needed to find some structure, some purpose for his life. He needed distance from Olivia too. He couldn’t bear to be so close to her and yet not be able to be with her, to hold her in his arms. Still, hoping to catch at least a glimpse of her before he left for boot camp, he drove past Olivia’s house but she wasn’t outside, as he’d hoped. After that, he got in the habit of driving by whenever he was home on leave but he never saw her.

  Then, one day in June of 1950, when he was on furlough before being sent to Korea, once again, he drove to Olivia’s street and parked his car across the street and down two houses from hers. He didn’t dare get any closer. He sat there for a minute with his hands covering his face, afraid to look, afraid that he’d be disappointed again. When he finally got up the nerve to look, he couldn’t believe his eyes. Olivia was sitting on the front porch with a little boy in her arms. He had light blonde hair and a fair complexion, like Olivia.

  He had wanted so badly to jump from the car and run to her but he knew that he couldn’t. She had a husband, a child, a life that he could never, would never be a part of. Instead, he got out the binoculars that he kept in his glove compartment. He felt like a voyeur, as if he were intruding on a very personal, intimate moment, as he watched the two of them together, the tender way she held the little boy and the loving expression on her face as she gazed down at him. He remembered saying a little prayer, thanking God that at least Olivia was happy and that she had a son. He’d never driven by her house again. It hurt too much.

  So many times through the years, he’d wondered whether he’d done the right thing by leaving her. Should he have defied her father and taken her away? Would their love have made up for what they would’ve lacked, at least at first, in material things? Or, would she have grown to resent him because she’d lost her father, the only family she had, and given up her birthright and all the money and possessions that went with it, all for him?

  He knew that there was no point in second guessing himself. At the time, he’d done what he felt he had to do and, in all his life, it was the hardest thing he’d ever done. Still, on lonely nights, he couldn’t help but wonder. He sighed, running his fingers through his thick, white hair.

  He decided to go to bed early. He was tired and a little depressed; thinking about the past and what might have been often left him feeling that way. The only thing that had kept him going all those years was his belief in God. He had a deep, unwavering faith; after all, hadn’t God gotten him through the war and brought him safely home? Hadn’t He given him the power to quit drinking and watched over him in so many dangerous situations on the job?

  If there was one thing he believed with all his heart it was that everything happens for a reason. He didn’t claim to understand the reason why he had fallen in love with Olivia if they weren’t destined to be together but he’d long ago given up control of his life; it was in God’s hands. He had to trust and he had to accept; it had taken him a lot of years to come to that realization.

  He walked through his apartment, leaning on his cane, as he turned off the lights and lowered the volume on his police scanner for the night. He got into bed and fell asleep almost instantly. That night, he dreamed of his lovely Olivia and the beautiful orchards behind her father’s house. He held her in his arms beneath the old Osage orange tree and whispered in her ear that, no matter what, he would never leave her again.

  Chapter 43

  ANN WAS SO TIRED that it was an effort to climb the front steps to the porch. I wish I had their energy, she thought, as Danielle and Davey raced ahead of her, sprinted up the steps and barged into the house, slamming the storm door behind them. When she walked into the foyer, they were already sitting on the floor in front of Olivia’s wheelchair, sorting through two huge mounds of candy.

  Olivia looked up and smiled as Ann went over to them. “Looks like these two made quite a haul tonight,” she said, laughing.

  “These two,” Ann said, “had better pick up their candy and say ‘good-night.’”

  Danielle and Davey looked up at their mother. “But, Mom,” they said in unison.

  “No buts. Now,” Ann said, pointing to the door to their apartment.

  Olivia and Ann watched as the children scooped up their candy and tossed it back into their bags.

  “Oh, to be that young again,” Olivia said, sighing.

  “I know what you mean,” Ann said. “I feel about a hundred years old right now. It was tough, keeping up with them.”

  “Well, you’ll feel better after a good night’s sleep,” Olivia said.

  “Thanks again for doing this. I don’t know what I would’ve done without you.”

  “No problem. I’m tired too but it was well worth it. I had so much fun. I haven’t had that much fun in years. I am ready to call it a night though.”

  “Me too,” Ann said. “I think we’ve had enough excitement for one night.” She turned to go into her apartment and then turned back around. “Oh, Liv, do you mind if I lock the front door tonight? With Lawrence and David gone, I think I’d feel more secure.”

  “That’s a good idea,” Olivia replied as she guided her wheelchair toward the electric lift. “Good-night, Ann.”

  Ann turned off the porch light, secured the deadbolt on the front door and then went over to where Danielle and Davey stood rummaging through their bags of candy. She opened the door to their apartment, ushering the kids inside. “I want no arguments,” she said sternly. “It’s late. Time to get ready for bed.”

  A few minutes later, she walked down the hallway to her daughter’s room. Danielle was sound asleep, her long, brown hair spread out across the pale pink pillowcase. The light from the hallway streamed into the room, accentuating the golden highlights in her hair. She looks like an angel, Ann thought. She’s so beautiful. Some people might consider Dani a tomboy because she climbs trees and plays sports as well as any boy but one look at her bedroom with its pink walls, lacey white curtains and shelves of dolls in frilly dresses would convince them that she’s all girl.

  She smiled as she closed the bedroom door and tiptoed across the hall to Davey’s room. She was surprised and relieved to find Davey also asleep, hugging his teddy bear. You can be a handful, she silently said, but you are precious. He looks so much like David, she thought. Someday, he’ll grow up to be a handsome man, like his father. Oh, but please, God, she prayed, don’t let him have all the problems his dad does. She closed her son’s bedroom door and went back to the living room. She turned off the lamps and collapsed onto the sofa.

  Lying there in the dark, she thought about David. She wondered if he was still in jail or if Louise had managed to get him out. Was he sleeping on a cot in a cell tonight? Or, was he at his mother’s house in his old room, in his old bed, being pampered by his mother? She promised herself that, in the morning, she would call her
mother-in-law first and then, if necessary, she would call every police department in Indiana if that’s what it took to find her husband. “Dear God,” she whispered in the silence of the old house, “please bring my husband back home to us.” Tears welled up in her eyes. “And God,” she added, “please help our family to be happy and whole again.”

  The front doorbell rang, startling her. She jumped up. Who in the world could that be? she wondered. She flung open her apartment door and stepped out into the hallway. She went over to the door and peeped out one of the sidelights. It was pitch black outside. She squinted her eyes and finally saw that the person standing on the porch wore a long, black trench coat and a grotesque rubber mask. Teenagers! she thought. There really should be an age limit set.

  She flipped the switch to turn on the porch light. “Aren’t you a little old to be trick-or-treating?” she asked as she pulled open the door. “And Halloween hours were between six and eight. It’s way past eight o’clock.”

  “Candy!” he bellowed.

  “What?”

  “Candy! I want candy!”

  “Now, listen here, young man. Didn’t you hear what I said?”

  “Candy! Candy! Candy!” He reached out and yanked open the storm door.

  “Fine! I’ll give you some candy.” She reached behind her, grabbed a handful of candy bars from one of the bowls on the hall table and stuffed it into his duffle bag. “There. Now, please, just go.”

  “More! More candy!”

  “Listen here. I gave you candy. Now go home!” she said, trying to sound assertive even though she was beginning to be a little frightened.

  He took a step in. “Candy! More candy!”

  “Fine. Fine.” She picked up the bowl and dumped all of the contents into his bag. “Now, are you satisfied? I’ve given you all the candy I have.”

  “More!” He took another step toward her.

  She tried to shut the door in his face but he pushed hard against it and sent her tumbling backwards. She regained her balance and ran toward her apartment door. The man pounced at her and grabbed her wrist, twisting it. “Stop it!” she yelled. “You’re hurting me!”

  He shoved her into her apartment and slammed the door behind them.

  She stifled a scream. Please God, she prayed, don’t let the kids wake up. Please help me. Is this him? she wondered. Is he the Westwood Strangler? Am I his next victim? What can I do? I don’t want to die!

  “What do you want from me? I don’t have much money. You can have it. You can have anything just, please, please don’t hurt me!” she pleaded as she backed across the room, away from the intruder.

  “Who else is here?” he demanded.

  She thought of her two children asleep in their beds. “No one. I’m home alone,” she said.

  “Liar!” he roared. “I know your kids are here and I know the old lady’s upstairs. Why don’t we take a little walk and go visit her? I’m sure she’d like to have some company, don’t ya think? Do what I say and nobody gets hurt.”

  She pictured Olivia, alone, sitting in her wheelchair, defenseless. My God! I can’t let him go up there, she thought. But what can I do? I’ve got to protect her! I can’t let him get to her. I won’t let him get to her!

  She continued to back slowly away from him but he kept coming toward her. There were only two choices: run or fight. She knew that she couldn’t run; even if she could manage to get away, she couldn’t leave her kids and Olivia at the mercy of this maniac. She felt the edge of the ironing board hit her back. Terrified, she realized that she’d backed herself into a corner. As the man reached out to grab her, she grasped the cord of the hot iron, pulled it toward her and swung it as hard as she could at him. He screamed out in pain and fell to the floor, clutching his neck.

  She saw the phone across the room. If I could get to it, she thought, I could at least call for help. But, just as she started to move, he staggered to his feet, coming toward her. Ann jerked the cord of the iron back toward her, ready to use the only weapon she had. All of a sudden, he lunged at her. She grabbed hold of his mask and yanked it up, revealing his face. His features were contorted with rage and his eyes glared at her. She tried to back away but she had nowhere to go. He reached out, wrenched the iron’s cord from her hand and wrapped it around her neck.

  She couldn’t breathe. He was twisting the cord around her neck, choking her, and he was pulling it tighter and tighter. She tried to swallow and her mouth filled with a bitter, metallic liquid: blood, her blood. She gasped for air and clawed at the cord that was strangling her. She tried to kick him but she couldn’t move her legs. Her head throbbed with an almost unbearable pain and she felt light-headed.

  She fought as hard as she could to stay conscious but she knew that her strength was almost gone. She squeezed her eyes shut and saw white lines that looked like flashes of lightning zigzagging back and forth, on and off. She gritted her teeth in pain. Death was closing in on her; she knew it. Was this it? Was this how her life was going to end? Please God, no, she silently prayed. Please God, help me!

  Gathering every ounce of strength she had left, she pushed against the intruder as hard as she could. He stumbled backwards, smashing his leg into the coffee table, causing it to move several inches. He quickly regained his balance and started back toward her. As she struggled to catch her breath, she saw one of her son’s Hotwheels roll out from under the table. The man stepped on it, lost his balance and fell straight back. His head slammed into the corner of the table and he collapsed onto the floor. Blood poured from his head onto the hardwood floor.

  She pulled the cord from her neck, sank to the floor and closed her eyes. She heard a noise. Oh, my God! Was he getting up? Would he come after her again? Her eyes popped open. Olivia was sitting in the doorway in her wheelchair with her cell phone in one hand and a gun, aimed at the intruder, in the other. A few seconds later, Lawrence appeared behind his mother with a tire iron in his hand. They didn’t need the weapons; the intruder was dead.

  Chapter 44

  Thanksgiving Day

  THE ATMOSPHERE IN THE KERN’S APARTMENT was festive. Danielle and Davey had made placemats for each of the dinner guests. They’d drawn a different scene depicting Thanksgiving on each one. For the centerpiece on the kitchen table, they’d surprised Ann by collaborating with Lawrence to create a replica turkey, with brightly colored feathers and a pilgrim hat, made out of papier-mâché. Everyone sat around the table, talking and laughing with the fans’ cheers at the televised Dallas Cowboys versus the Seattle Seahawks game in the background.

  Ann was feeling a little apprehensive though; there was still one more guest who hadn’t arrived yet. When the doorbell rang, she breathed a sigh of relief and hurried to the door.

  She flung open the door and reached out and hugged Bernie. “I’m so glad you made it!” she said. “I was beginning to worry.”

  “I’m sorry I’m late,” he said. “Of all days, my car was blocked in and I had to knock on several neighbors’ doors to figure out who the car belonged to. Ann, you know I wouldn’t miss this for the world! I’m guessing that everyone else is here,” he said, smiling and pointing toward the sounds of animated voices and laughter that were coming from the next room.

  She nodded her head and winked at him, holding out her arm to take his coat. Then, she led him into the kitchen. “Everyone, I’d like you to meet my good friend, Bernie. Bernie, this is my mother-in-law, Louise. Louise, Bernie.”

  “Pleased to meet you,” Bernie said.

  “Likewise,” Louise replied.

  “And this is my landlady, Olivia,” Ann said, barely able to suppress a grin.

  Olivia gasped and all the color drained from her face. She looked like she had seen a ghost. She looked up, into his blue eyes, eyes that she had never forgotten. “Jeremy? Is it really you? I thought … I read in the paper …”

  “I know. I saw it too,” Bernie said, referring to the obituary in the newspaper of a man named Jeremy Koch. He leaned down and
took her hand, holding it tenderly. “I have to admit it gave me a chill but, as you can see, I’m alive and well.”

  He put his arms around her shoulders and hugged her tightly to him. There was so much he wanted to tell her, so much he needed to ask her but “Olivia” was all he could manage to say. Bernard Jeremy Koch looked like he must be the happiest man in the world at that moment; he had found his lost love.

  They gazed at each other for several seconds and then Olivia said with a smile, “Jeremy, this is Lawrence. I’d like you to meet your son.”

  * * * *

  Ann smiled as she carried the turkey platter to the table and placed it in the center.

  “What a beautiful turkey!” Olivia exclaimed.

  “Everything looks and smells so delicious,” Lawrence said.

  “I’ll second that,” Bernie added.

  “Thank you,” Ann said, smiling. “Let me get the kids and we can eat.”

  “No. You sit down. I’ll get them,” David volunteered, scooting his chair back and getting up.

  While he was gone, Ann said, “I only have one question for you, Bernie. Do I still call you Bernie or should I call you Jeremy?”

  “Olivia’s the only person who ever called me by my middle name.” He laughed. “I always thought it was so romantic when she did that but I think the truth is she didn’t like the name Bernard.” He turned toward Olivia, who was sitting next to him and put his arm around her shoulder. “Am I right?”

  Olivia laughed. “Let’s just say that, to me, you’ll always be my Jeremy but, to the rest of the world, you’re Bernie.”

  “Well, that answers that,” Ann said as Davey came running into the kitchen. “Gobble, gobble, gobble. I’m starved!”

  Danielle, standing behind him, rolled her eyes at her little brother. “See, I always knew you were a turkey.”

  Everyone laughed.

  “Who would like to say the blessing?” Ann asked.