Out of the Dying Pan

by Linda Reilly

  Talia poured herself a mug of steaming coffee. She plopped in a dollop of cream and grabbed a plastic trash bag from underneath the counter. She draped the trash bag over one of the tables near the door, making a tablecloth of sorts. After setting her mug down, she reached into the grocery bag and pried the cap off the oatmeal box. The drawings were curled loosely around one another, their edges yellowed with age. It would be a miracle if they didn’t crumble when she examined them.

  The cellophane item she’d spotted at the bottom of the box turned out to be an empty Lucky Strike cigarette pack. Strange thing for a kid to save, even a child as secretive as Ria. But Talia knew from personal experience that kids saved odd things. In fourth grade, she herself had rescued a Mr. Goodbar wrapper from a waste can after a boy she’d been crushing on had tossed it away. The memory made her cringe.

  Eager to look at the drawings, Talia set them gently atop the trash bag. There were seven drawings in all, each one done in green pencil.

  The first drawing was a set of random scribbles, so juvenile it didn’t resemble much of anything. With a heavy hand, Ria had crossed out sections where she’d made mistakes. It was almost as if she’d been struggling to get it just right.

  Talia’s suspicions were confirmed when she went through the remaining sketches. With each successive drawing, Ria’s artistic skills had improved. The pictures still didn’t bear any resemblance to a dragon, but each one showed slightly more detail than the preceding one.

  The last sketch set Talia’s heart racing. Something about this particular drawing nibbled at the edge of her brain.

  In bold green pencil, Ria had drawn an angular creature with vaguely reptilian features. It had a long, flat snout with jagged teeth, and clawed feet attached to short legs. A memory nagged at her, but she couldn’t quite pin it down. The sketch resembled an animated beast she remembered from long ago. But what … what?

  She thought about Will Claiborne’s family crest—the two-headed snake curled around a tulip. Ugly as it was, it didn’t look like any of the creatures Ria had drawn. The realization gave Talia a sense of relief, even though she was pretty sure Andy was the killer. But how was Andy connected to the dragon?

  A hard knock at the door startled her. Her heart did a pole vault over her ribs. She folded the trash bag over the sketches and left them on the edge of the table.

  Another knock sounded, louder this time. Praying it was Scott and not Andy, she moved toward the door and called, “Who is it?”

  “It’s Scott!” said a cheery voice. “And I come bearing doughnuts.”

  Talia let out the painful breath she’d been holding. She unlocked the door, so relieved to see Scott standing there that she almost wept.

  His brown eyes twinkling under his blond eyebrows, he stepped inside. Dressed in navy Dockers and a long-sleeved blue polo shirt over a crisp white shirt, he looked like an ad for a country gentleman. “Hey there,” he said, “you’re looking mighty pretty today.” He went over to a table near the door and set down his brown doughnut bag. “Fresh from Queenie’s. I got glazed, jelly, and cinnamon. Hope you like one of those.”

  “I like all of them.” Talia smiled, relishing the scent of warm cinnamon that wafted through the dining area. “Thanks, Scott. You didn’t have to do that. Aren’t you cold? You’re not even wearing a jacket!”

  He laughed. “It’s gotta get down to zero before I wear a jacket.” He winked at her. “I’m hot-blooded, remember?”

  “Let me get you some coffee,” she said quickly, feeling her cheeks flush. Sometimes she didn’t know how to take his comments. She couldn’t tell if he was flirting or just being friendly.

  A minute later she set a fresh mug of coffee on the table for Scott, along with sugar packets and creamers and a bunch of napkins. One of the sugar packs slid to the floor, and she bent to scoop it up.

  “Here, grab a doughnut,” Scott said, opening the bag. “You seem a little jittery. Are you okay?”

  His tone was so kind, Talia found herself wanting to confide in him. For a moment, she debated whether or not to tell him about Andy Nash. By now, she hoped, the police had probably caught up with Andy. She might as well give Scott a heads-up. As Andy’s friend, she reasoned, he would want to know.

  First she needed a good sugar rush. She removed a cinnamon doughnut from the bag and set it in front of her on a napkin. She took a large bite and swallowed, savoring the cakey texture and burst of cinnamon on her tongue.

  She looked soberly at Scott. “Scott, this morning I was visiting an elderly friend over near the park,” she said, being intentionally vague. “As I was leaving, I realized that a pickup truck must have followed me there. It turned out to be Andy Nash, and he was absolutely frantic. He desperately tried to get me to let him inside my car. He was pounding on my roof!”

  Except for a slight twitch under his right eye, Scott’s face remained passive. “Talia, that’s terrible,” he said quietly. “What did you do?”

  Talia told him about Andy speeding away. She finished by describing her call to Detective Prescott.

  “So, the police must be looking for him,” Scott said in a ragged voice. He slugged back a mouthful of steaming coffee. The glazed doughnut he’d taken from the bag still sat, untouched, on a napkin.

  Talia gave him a look of sad resignation. “By now they’ve probably caught up with him. At least I hope they have,” she added. “Scott, I’m sorry I had to do that to your friend, but I honestly had no choice. He scared me half to death.”

  Scott smiled and gave her hand a quick squeeze. “You did exactly the right thing, Talia. You had every right to protect yourself. Women have to be so careful, especially these days. There’s a lot of nuts out there.”

  “Yeah, you said it,” she agreed.

  Scott looked thoughtful. “Of course it still doesn’t prove Andy is guilty of anything. Other than acting like a pure idiot, that is.” He smiled again, as if he were trying to convince himself.

  “I’m sorry, Scott,” Talia said, “but the more I think about it, the more it seems he’s acting as guilty as sin.” She glanced over at the table where she’d left the trash bag folded over the sketches. She realized she’d left her coffee mug over there, too.

  “Well, then, shall we get started?” Scott said abruptly. He pulled out a small notepad from the pocket of his trousers. “I have another appointment at one. Do you have any ideas for what you want to do?”

  Wow, that was a quick change of attitude, thought Talia. Where was the friendly, flirty contractor of only a few moments ago? Until now, he never mentioned having another appointment.

  Feeling a bit unnerved, Talia swallowed. It didn’t bode well that he wanted to wrap up their meeting so quickly. Her bombshell about his friend Andy had obviously shaken him more than she realized.

  “Um, well, yes, actually I do,” she said, explaining about the sketch Martha had drawn.

  Scott looked at her and gave her a polite nod. When she kept staring at him, he grinned. “So, are you going to show me the sketch?”

  Something about his amiable tone didn’t ring true. He’d definitely been thrown off-kilter by her news about Andy. She sensed he was trying to adopt a professional manner for her sake. In truth, she wasn’t as eager to discuss the renovations as she’d been before her scary encounter with Andy. In the back of her mind, she kept wondering if the authorities had caught up with him yet. No doubt Scott’s thinking was running along the same lines.

  “Oh, of course—the sketch!” she blurted out, giving him a duh look. “It’s in my purse. Let me get it.”

  She retrieved Martha’s sketch from her purse and returned to their table, pushing aside the doughnut bag so she could spread it out. Scott had unbuttoned the left cuff of his white shirt and was folding it back over his sweater, all the way to the elbow. The temperature in the dining area now felt comfortable to Talia, but it was clearly a tad too warm for his liking.

  Talia unfolded Martha’s sketch of the kitchen and pushed it o
ver in front of him. Her glance went automatically to the silly pirate on his left arm. She’d thought the tattoo cute when she first saw it, but now it seemed absurd—a grown man with a tattoo from a children’s fantasy. She wondered if he’d ever thought about having it removed.

  “I thought Martha did a spectacular job with these dimensions,” Talia said, then realized how dopey that sounded. Dimensions were dimensions any way you looked at them. “But naturally I want your expert opinion on how doable all this is.”

  Still fussing with his cuff, Scott peered at the drawing. After a minute or so, he smiled. “Your Martha knows her stuff, doesn’t she? I think she missed her calling. I’ll need to retake all her measurements, but those look spot on to me.”

  She’d had a calling, Talia thought silently. But she sure as heck wasn’t going to share Martha’s history with Scott.

  “Well, then. We’re off to a good start,” Talia said. “I guess my first question is, how far into the dining area could we actually build out to make the best use of space in the kitchen?”

  Scott gave her a thoughtful frown and began unbuttoning the cuff on his right arm, folding it methodically over the sleeve of the blue sweater. He looked almost annoyed at the question. “As I said, I’d have to take my own measurements first. This place is a rental, right?”

  Talia nodded, something tickling the back of her brain. “Um, yes, it is, so I’d have to get the landlord’s … permission … first.” Her last few words fell away to a low murmur. Scott had rolled up the sleeve on his right arm.

  Every cell in her body froze. Before she could stop herself, she shot an involuntary glance at the table where she’d left the trash bag.

  Scott followed her line of vision. When he realized what she was looking at, he gave out a laugh and tapped her hand. “I knew something was missing. You left your coffee mug over there. Let me grab it for you.” He shot out of his chair.

  “No, Scott, that’s okay, don’t bother! I really didn’t—”

  But by then it was too late. His fingers were already looped around her mug and he was pulling the trash bag forward, apparently with the intention of centering it on the table. He must have pulled it too far, because the edge of the bag slipped off one side and onto the tiled floor. Ria’s sketches slid out.

  “Scott, don’t bother picking that up,” Talia said. “It’s just some stuff I was going to throw out later.”

  Ignoring her, he whipped the trash bag to the side and stared at the sketches. The Lucky Strike wrapper caught his eye, and he snatched it up. For a moment he seemed to be contemplating what to do, his eyes darting all around. Then he fastened his gaze on her, his face a mottled shade of red that made Talia’s insides shudder. He snatched up the sketches and the cigarette wrapper.

  Unable to keep her voice from trembling, Talia folded up Martha’s sketch. “Scott, why don’t we do this another time? I can tell you’re upset about—”

  In under a second he’d crossed over to her. With his free hand he squeezed his fingers around her forearm.

  Talia tried to pull away, but his grip was like iron. “Ow! Stop it, Scott. You’re hurting me. What’s the matter with you?”

  He shook the sketches at her. “Where did you get these?” His voice came out in a menacing hiss.

  Her wrist felt ready to snap in two. “I … I …”

  Scott shoved her arm, momentarily releasing his grip. “Never mind. It really doesn’t matter anymore.” His eyes had gone hard and distant. Even the color was off—an opaque brown with pinpoints of darkness that the strongest light wouldn’t penetrate. “The question is what to do next?”

  Not a question Talia wanted to contemplate at the moment.

  Scott gawked for a second or two at the cigarette pack and then shoved it into his pocket. “So the little wench was telling the truth,” he said, almost as an afterthought.

  Wench. Was that supposed to be pirate talk? Talia looked at him with pure loathing. The tattoo on his right arm seemed to mock her, its jagged teeth belying the friendly expression it its oddly human eyes.

  Not a dragon, as little Ria had thought. It was the wily croc from Peter Pan, the one that swallowed Captain Hook’s hand. In a little girl’s childlike eyes—and limited experience—it had looked like a dragon. That was how she always remembered it.

  Somehow, some way, Ria must have witnessed him killing that young woman. She couldn’t describe the tattoo so she drew it—over and over again until her mother got fed up and tried to destroy the sketches. But Ria was too clever. She’d brought them with her when they moved to Wrensdale, and found the perfect hiding spot in that dusty attic space.

  “Scott, I’m afraid I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Talia said, trying to slip an edge of impatience into her voice. “Why don’t we plan on meeting next week sometime, when you’re not as busy?” She scraped her chair back. “Let me get my appointment book and—”

  “Sit down,” he ordered, pushing her back into the chair. “Don’t pretend you didn’t figure it out, because it’ll tick me off even more.”

  Talia looked at him and saw pure evil. How had she ever thought he was handsome?

  She considered her options, none of which were good. Her cell was in her purse underneath the front counter. The eatery’s land line was on the wall in the kitchen. Even if she tried to get to one of them, Scott would probably kill her first. He’d killed before—twice. Her only hope was to keep him occupied and pray she could think of a way to escape.

  “I guess I’m baffled, Scott,” she said. “Those childish drawings mean absolutely nothing to me.”

  He shook his head and smiled. “It’s too bad, really,” he said softly, and then dropped in the chair next to her. He leaned closer, his coffee breath gagging her. “I’d already kind of picked you for my Peter Pan.” He stroked her arm with his forefinger, and she tried not to flinch. “This chick I’m dating now? She’s young, and she’s pretty enough. But she’s too clingy, always calling to check up on me.” His fist clenched. “She’s not like you, Talia. You’re cute as a kitten, and I’ll bet you’re just as cuddly, aren’t you?”

  What a scumbag, Talia thought, feeling her stomach turn inside out. His notion that he could “pick” any woman he wanted made her want to slap him silly. Any moment, the bite of cinnamon doughnut she’d eaten was going to come spewing northward and out through her mouth.

  She pulled her arms away and fisted her hands under the table.

  His fake smile faded. “That day, at the fund-raiser, I helped Ria take her things back out to her car when she was ready to leave. When I rolled up my sleeves to help her pack up those stupid scarves, she must’ve seen the tat on my right arm. After I helped stash her display racks in her car, she turned and said to me, ‘You’re the dragon. You’re the one who killed that girl.’”

  Oh, Ria. Why did you do that? Aloud, Talia said, “Did you know what she meant?”

  “There’s only one thing it could have meant,” he said. “Over the years I’ve thought a lot about that little girl. Wondered if she’d ever remember what she saw.”

  Talia swiveled her head toward the kitchen. “Do you mind if I grab a fresh cup of coffee, Scott?”

  He barked out a laugh. “So you can throw it in my face?” His lip curled into a sneer. “If you want to hear the story, just zip it and listen.”

  Talia nodded and shrank into her chair.

  “I was living in Agawam then. That year the summer was brutally hot, worse than usual. I’d picked up a pretty gal I knew. Her name was Lainie Johnson, and she’d just had a big ole tiff with her boyfriend. He’d dropped her off near her house and she was walking home, bawling her eyes out. Boo hoo,” he mimicked, pretending to rub his eyes.

  “She was feeling so low,” he went on, “I figured we could have some fun, you know? Maybe it would cheer her up. She was more than happy to jump into my front seat and tell me all her troubles. I gave her lots of tea and sympathy, only the tea was really beer.” He laughed at his cl
everness. “I was a real looker then, Talia. I could have put any leading man in Hollywood to shame.”

  A faint rumble penetrated Talia’s senses. Something outside. Something familiar and yet … different.

  “I needed some Luckys, so I popped into the corner variety while she waited in the car. The parking lot was behind the store, and it was empty except for a big old jalopy parked a few spaces away. When I got back to my car, that sweet-looking Lainie was just sitting there, looking so sad and pretty and vulnerable. I scooped her into my arms and kissed her, hard. After that I couldn’t stop myself. I made a move on her. My God, I was only nineteen! Next thing I know she starts going crazy on me, screaming at the top of her lungs. I told her to shut up but she …” He shook his head. “I grabbed her throat with my hands to stop that godawful shrieking. I didn’t mean for her to die. I honestly didn’t. When I realized she wasn’t breathing, I shoved her under the glove box.”

  Talia’s insides felt like ice cubes. “Ria was in the jalopy, wasn’t she? She saw the whole thing.”

  Scott nodded. “I looked over and saw this little redheaded kid gawking at me from the front seat. I knew she must’ve seen everything. Nobody was around. Her window was rolled down, so I got out of my car and went over and leaned my arm on it. I said, ‘You tell anyone what you saw and I’ll kill you. You get me, you little witch?’ Only I used a slightly stronger word so she’d get the picture. I threatened to kill her mother, too.”

  That poor, terrified little girl, Talia thought, her heart aching for Ria.

  “She must have noticed my tattoo that night, but at the time I never even thought about it.”

  Talia pulled in a shaky breath. “When Ria confronted you at the fund-raiser with what she saw that night, did you deny it?”

  Scott looked at her with disgust. “Do I look stupid to you? Of course I denied it!” He pressed the fingers of one hand over his forehead. “But then she told me she kept the cigarette pack I’d tossed on the ground, even mentioned that they were Luckys. I didn’t remember throwing away an empty pack that night, but she knew the brand, so I guess I did. The brat must have gotten out and picked it up after I tore out of that lot. She also said she drew pictures of my tattoo, and that she’d kept them all these years. I knew then that I was screwed.”