Don’t Close Your Eyes

by Carlene Thompson

  “Hell, yes! The wife is at the grocery store. Or aerobics class. Or garden club. I think she invents places to go to get away from me.” They trailed behind Harvey into a sun-filled living room where Dean Martin sang on the stereo. Natalie suddenly remembered that Harvey used to constantly sing Dean Martin songs, and when she was a child, he’d taught her “That’s Amore” “Still like Dean, Natalie?” he asked her.

  “Sure. Such a mellow voice.”

  “Another Ohio native, you know. We went to high school together.”

  “Harvey, Dean Martin was over twenty years older than you,” Andrew returned irritably.

  “Oh, I must be thinking of someone else,” Harvey said vaguely, then immediately brightened. “Get you something to drink? We have some nonalcoholic beverages around here for the little one.”

  Natalie assumed she was “the little one.” “No thank you, Harvey,” she said. “We need to talk to you.”

  “Good. I’m lonely and there’s nothing like a pretty girl to brighten my day. Have a seat on the couch. What can I do for you?”

  “We had some trouble at the house last night,” Andrew said. “Someone broke in.”

  Harvey lowered his glass and his bloodshot eyes widened. “My God, that’s awful! Did they take anything?”

  “No. They just tore up a few things.”

  “Home invaders!” Harvey pronounced. “Right here in Port Ariel. You’re not safe anywhere anymore!” He drained his drink to soothe his outrage. “Police get them?”

  Natalie shook her head. “Did you see anything?”

  “We went to my daughter’s for dinner. The one married to the Baptist minister. Nice guy but dry as dust. So was the evening. No alcohol, naturally, and I got a lecture about my drinking. Anyway, we left around six and got home near ten. Late hour because of the lecture. And an endless prayer for me. One of the longest evenings of my life. That’s why I remember the time. Damn, I wish I’d been home. I would have shot those bastards!”

  “Then I’m glad you weren’t home,” Andrew said. “We wouldn’t want you up on murder charges. The interesting thing is that the house wasn’t broken into. Someone had a key.”

  “Son of a bitch!” Harvey exclaimed, then headed into the kitchen. “How did someone get your key?” Natalie heard ice clinking in a glass. “Lose it someplace?”

  “That’s what I wanted to ask you about,” Andrew called. “I gave you a key to the house a long time ago. Do you still have it?”

  Harvey strode back into the living room. “You think I broke in your house?”

  “Good heavens, no, Harvey. I’m just trying to track down all the keys.”

  “Oh.” Harvey sat down. Sunlight fell harshly on his reddened, flabby face, and a pain shot through Natalie when she remembered how handsome he’d once been. “Sure, I’ve got your key. A good thing, too. That cable repairman needed it a few days ago.”

  “Cable repairman?” Andrew repeated. “There’s nothing wrong with my cable.”

  “Well, no. He fixed it,” Harvey laughed. “Nice fellow.”

  “Did a man come here claiming to be a cable repairman?” Natalie asked, understanding what Harvey did not.

  “No. He didn’t come here. I saw him standing outside your place. I went over to see what was going on and . . .” Harvey took another sip of his drink “. . . and he said he was supposed to be here but no one was home, and I said, ‘I bet the cable is out,’ and damned if I wasn’t right!”

  Wonderful, Natalie thought. Harvey had provided a possible intruder with an excuse for getting in the house. “What did he look like?”

  “Look like? I don’t know. Average. My height. Maybe thirty. Light hair.”

  “How long did he have the key?” Andrew asked.

  Harvey looked blank. “About an hour, I guess.”

  “You guess?”

  “Well, hell, I didn’t have my stopwatch, Andrew. What’s so important about it, anyway?”

  Andrew asked quietly, “Would you get the key?”

  Harvey sensed that he’d done something wrong and swung into loud defensiveness. “Sure! Nothing to me!” He crashed his glass onto an end table, sloshing gin onto his hand. “I don’t want your damned key. I was only trying to help.”

  He disappeared into the kitchen again, muttering and cursing. Drawers slid out and slammed. Cabinet doors opened and slammed. Natalie and Andrew exchanged looks. Finally Harvey returned to the living room and said weakly, “Can’t lay my hands on it right now.”

  Andrew sighed. “Harvey, do you remember the young man bringing back the key?”

  “Sure! Well, actually . . . not really.” He looked sheepish. “I think I took a little nap when he was over there.”

  “He never returned it,” Andrew said flatly.

  Harvey’s shoulders slumped. He looked old and defeated and completely demoralized. “I screwed up, Andrew. I’m sorry.”

  “Don’t feel bad, old friend,” Andrew said quickly. “I think I lost one of the keys, too.”

  So two house keys were unaccounted for, Natalie thought. Which meant any number of people had easy access to the house.

  III

  FRIDAY AFTERNOON

  Nick dialed Constance Farley’s phone number and leaned back in his chair. She picked up on the third ring.

  “Mrs. Farley, this is Sheriff Meredith in Port Ariel again.”

  “Good gracious,” she fluttered. “What’s wrong now?”

  “Do you have a nephew named Jeff Lindstrom?”

  A short silence. “Unfortunately, yes. My sister’s boy. What do you want to know?”

  “He’s here in Port Ariel.”

  “You’ve talked with him?” she asked anxiously. “Did he tell you about me?”

  “I’ve talked with him, but he never mentioned his relationship to you.”

  “Oh.” She drew a breath. “Sheriff, I really don’t understand. If he didn’t tell you of our relationship, then why are you calling about him?”

  “I found your number in his address book.”

  “Address book?”

  “Yes. Let me explain. Lindstrom has been nosing around town for about a week. He’s been asking a lot of questions about the murders we’ve had. Frankly, he’s been bothering people, and I told him to back off.”

  “He’s an awful boy,” Constance pronounced. “Pushy. Unprincipled. I think he’s a little crazy.”

  “Crazy? How is he crazy?”

  “There have been things over the years, things I don’t think my sister would want me to discuss. But he’s awful, I tell you.”

  At least he didn’t have to worry about offending the woman, Nick thought. “He claimed he was doing research for a book.”

  “A book? I wouldn’t know anything about that.”

  “Anyway, I need to talk to him again, but he seems to have disappeared and—”

  “Disappeared? What do you mean disappeared? He left town?”

  “If so, he left without his luggage. He hasn’t been in his motel room since yesterday afternoon. That’s where I found his address book.”

  “Oh. Well . . . well, I don’t see what this has to do with me.”

  “I thought since your number is in his address book, you might be in touch with him. You might know where he is.”

  He had not called because he thought Constance might know Lindstrom’s whereabouts. He’d called to get information about their relationship. All the murder victims were connected with Eugene Farley. He had first suspected Constance Farley, but her neighbors confirmed she’d never left Knoxville. Now he found out her nephew was in town and he seemed to be stalking potential victims. Could this woman have dispatched Lindstrom to do her dirty work? That would mean they were both crazy. She said he was crazy. Were they both that crazy? Improbable. Not impossible.

  “I don’t know why you think I’d know where that boy is,” Constance returned. Her voice shook slightly as if she were controlling her anger. “I didn’t even know he was in Port Ariel. I’m not cl
ose to him at all. And frankly, Sheriff, I’m getting really tired of these calls. My life hasn’t been easy the last two years, but I’m trying to hold on. I was doing fairly well and then you start this . . . this . . . harassment!”

  “I didn’t mean to harass you, Mrs. Farley.”

  “Really? You had the police question my neighbors! How humiliating!”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “You should be.” Tears in the voice. “I don’t know why Jeffrey is there, but believe me, he’s a terrible person. Don’t talk to him. Don’t give him any information.”

  “I have no intention of giving him any information about this investigation.”

  “Or about Eugene.”

  “Mrs. Farley, I didn’t know Eugene. I didn’t even live in Port Ariel when he . . . died.”

  “I see. Well, I don’t mean to sound like a harridan, but I’m just so tired, so nervous, and now he’s causing trouble—”

  “Mrs. Farley, you just calm down,” Nick said kindly. “I’ll take care of Lindstrom.”

  “What will you do to him?”

  “Chase him to the town limits.”

  “Good!”

  Nick had been trying to strike a lighter note. Did the woman really think he could run someone out of town? “I’m sure I’ll locate him soon,” he began more seriously. “Everyone involved in this case knows not to talk to him.”

  “No, don’t talk to him.”

  She was certainly adamant about no one talking to Lindstrom, he thought. What was she afraid he’d say? “He won’t be a problem for long, Mrs. Farley.”

  Nick wished he believed that last sentence. He hung up the phone and rubbed his eyes. Too little sleep since this mess started. Even when he slept, he didn’t really sleep. He dreamed of Meagan lying white and frail in a hospital bed connected to blinking, beeping machines as her lively gaze dulled to emptiness. Last night he’d dreamed of Natalie St. John sitting at a table in a dark room. A big, mirrored ball twinkled overhead and a band played. He’d walked over to her table and asked her to dance. She’d smiled sadly and lowered a lacy shawl to expose her neck. “I’m sorry,” she’d said. “I love this song, but as you can see, someone has slit my throat.”

  “Sheriff?”

  “Damn!” Nick shouted, startled out of a half-sleep and a return to the horrible dream about Natalie. “What is it, Hysell?”

  “Some kid from the Lakeview Motel insists on talking to you. I told him you were busy, but he wouldn’t spill his no doubt earth-shattering information to me.”

  “Okay, Ted. He’s a good kid, just a little overeager. I’ll take the call.”

  He lifted the receiver and spoke. An ebullient voice announced, “Hey, Sheriff, it’s Wade Hanley at the Lakeview.”

  He hadn’t even caught the kid’s name earlier in the day. “So, Wade, has Lindstrom come back?”

  “No. Haven’t seen him.”

  “What did you need to tell me that you couldn’t tell Deputy Hysell?”

  “Something I remembered a few minutes ago. I didn’t think Lindstrom was here last night, but I saw a woman leaving his room around ten, so he must have been.”

  “A woman? Anyone you know?”

  “Yeah. That’s why I didn’t want to tell Hysell. I remember her from when I was in the hospital. The woman was Dee Fisher. I’ve heard she’s Hysell’s girlfriend. At least she used to be. Did they break up?”

  “Not that I know of,” Nick said with interest. “What else can you tell me about her visit?”

  “Nothing. I just saw her coming out of his room to a car. She was alone. She looked awful—scared or mad or something. All worked up.”

  “Has she been back today?”

  “No.”

  Nick suddenly recalled telling Natalie that perhaps this was not Lindstrom’s first visit to Port Ariel. If he were having a woman make calls for him, it could be someone he’d gotten to know here. “Got another question for you, Wade. Has Lindstrom ever stayed at the motel before?”

  “Gotta think on that one a minute. You know during school I don’t work as much, don’t see as much. I don’t remember him especially, but . . .”

  “But?” Nick prompted.

  “But there’s something kind of familiar about him. First time he came in the office I thought I might have seen him before.”

  “Think on it some more. And thanks, Wade. You’ve been a big help.”

  “Hey, I’m lovin’ all this mystery. I’m gonna stay up all night and see if Lindstrom comes back.”

  Hysell burst into the office just as Nick was hanging up and frowning over this latest development. “I know you don’t think much of our tech department, Sheriff, but they did some pretty good work at the St. John house.” Ted slapped down a report on Nick’s desk. “No fingerprints except Natalie’s, the doctor’s, that woman he’s seeing, and a cleaning lady who comes in once a week. I guess St. John doesn’t entertain too much. The blood in the hall was cow blood. Sort of watery like it might have come from a package of beef. Not too creepy. The skull’s a different matter.”

  Ted lapsed into one of his dramatic pauses that drove Nick wild. One day he’d snap, draw his gun, and shoot the deputy. Then he’d be arrested and thrown in his own jail. Until that day he would force himself to smile placidly and ask the expected questions. “What about the skull, Hysell?”

  “It’s human. Male.” Ted leaned over the desk, flipped through the pages of the report, and emphatically tapped his fingers on a photo of the skull. “According to the M.E. about fifty years old.”

  “Is it the skull of a fifty-year-old male or a fifty-year-old skull?”

  “Huh? Oh, he didn’t say. Anyway, there’s not a bit of dirt on it. He said it was a fine specimen—almost antiseptic. His word.”

  “Interesting.”

  “Just ‘interesting’? Sheriff, it was once somebody’s head,” Ted said portentously.

  “Most human skulls were.”

  “Yeah, but you don’t find them laying around everywhere. Who do you suppose dug this up?”

  “I don’t believe anyone dug it up.” Nick held the photo of the skull under his desk light and looked at it closely. “ ‘Alas, poor Yorick! I knew him, Horatio, a fellow of infinite jest, of most excellent fancy.’ ”

  After a moment Ted said carefully, “Sheriff, you think you know who this person was? Some guy named Yorick?”

  Nick exploded into laughter. Ted recoiled, stung. “Sorry, Ted, I’m so tired I’m giddy. I was quoting the little bit of Shakespeare I know.”

  “Oh, Shakespeare,” Ted said disdainfully. “I never liked him myself. He took forever to say anything. I mean, why didn’t he just say it instead of talking in circles? I think he must have been getting paid by the word.”

  “So you don’t read Shakespeare’s sonnets to Dee?”

  Ted relaxed and smiled. “She’d kick me all around the room if I tried anything so sissy. Besides, I only know one poem. ‘The Charge of the Light Brigade.’ Had to memorize it in eighth grade and I never could get rid of it.”

  Ted made the poem sound like a bad cold he couldn’t shake. “ ‘Charge of the Light Brigade’ isn’t too romantic. Better to stick with flowers and candy.”

  “Yeah. Maybe I should try some flowers,” Ted said unhappily. “She might like flowers.”

  Nick looked at him sharply. So Ted already sensed there was trouble in Paradise. Did he know the trouble involved Jeff Lindstrom?

  IV

  “Where’s your dad tonight?” Jimmy asked.

  “Out looking for that girl. Alison something. Mrs. Collins was talking on the phone and she said Alison was crazy as a loon. I read about loons in the encyclopedia. The article didn’t say anything about loons being crazy.”

  “I told you not to read so much and who cares about loons, anyway?” Jimmy held up the Polaroid. “Got my dad’s camera again. Tonight’s perfect for going to the Saunders house and getting a picture of the killer.”

  Paige ran the toe of her tennis s
hoe over a clump of crabgrass. “It’s kind of early.”

  “Yeah, but it’s been a gloomy day. It’s almost dark an hour earlier than usual. Besides, your dad’s gone and Mrs. Collins will be jabbering on the phone for hours about this crazy Alison person. It’s the perfect time.” He paused. “Unless you’re too scared.”

  Paige’s blue eyes flared. “I told you I’m not scared!”

  “My mom says actions speak louder than words. If you’re scared, you can just stay here and I’ll tell you all about taking a picture of a murderer. It won’t be as exciting as being there . . .”

  “I have a feeling I’ll get caught.”

  “You always have a feeling you’re gonna get caught and you never do.” Jimmy draped the camera strap around his neck and hopped on his bike. “Are you coming or not?”

  Paige looked up at the dreary, pewter sky. All day Mrs. Collins had predicted rain, but it had never come. The hours had simply spun out in gloomy endlessness. She was bored. She wanted to please Jimmy. Getting a picture of a mad killer was the chance of a lifetime.

  “Okay, I’ll come,” Paige sighed.

  She climbed on her bike and pedaled behind Jimmy. As she passed the lighted kitchen window, she saw Mrs. Collins sitting at the table talking animatedly into the phone receiver. She’ll never miss me, Paige thought.

  V

  Andrew had been called back to the hospital for an emergency surgery at six. He hadn’t wanted to leave Natalie alone and suggested she come with him. “Dad, you could be in surgery for hours,” she’d said. “I don’t want to spend the whole evening sitting in your office. I’ll be fine here.” He’d fussed because the locks had not yet been changed but at last gave up when he saw she was determined not to accompany him.

  Now she rinsed the plate from which she’d eaten her elaborate dinner of a grilled cheese sandwich and potato chips. Blaine sat nearby, alternately gazing at her and the package of jerky strips lying on the counter. “You’ve already had dinner, so two jerky strips for dessert. That’s it,” Natalie pronounced, knowing that before bedtime Blaine would be enjoying at least two more strips and a couple of giant biscuits. She needed to gain five to ten pounds before she reached normal weight.