I had just managed to get my pulse back to normal, when our meal came.
Dru tasted one of her tequila prawns and pronounced it “delicious.” Ace grunted his appreciation of the grilled salmon with mango chutney. Wayne poked at his tostada. And I stared at my bean burger, wondering if I could eat it. I snuck a look at Gail. She shoved a forkful of fettucini in her mouth and looked back at me. I picked up the burger and bit into it.
“Yum,” I mumbled through my mouthful, banishing all thoughts of Harmony. Or at least trying to. “The mango relish is great.”
I swallowed hard and wondered why it seemed so important to eat the damn burger. A duel of nerves with Gail, with fettucini and bean burgers as our chosen weapons? But why duel with Gail in the first place? Because she was the murderer? I snuck another glance at her. She was still watching me out of the corner of her eye as she ate. I forced myself to take another bite and suddenly my viewpoint shifted. What if Gail thought I was the murderer?
“So, Kate,” she said to me quietly. “How do you feel about your mother?”
After I had finished choking on my bean burger, I told her I felt “just fine” about my mother. She didn’t ask me any more questions.
It was deep into twilight by the time everyone had finished eating. The patio lights buzzed on as the waiter came back with dessert menus.
“None for me, thank you,” Clara said and stood. Then she murmured, “ladies’ room,” and turned away from the table.
“Me too,” I announced, popping out of my seat like a jack-in-the-box.
The rest room had a Looney Tunes poster, a painted plaster of Paris laughing mango and two stalls. Clara was washing her hands when I came out of my stall. I couldn’t wait any longer.
“Do any of these guys act like murderers to you?” I blurted out.
She sighed and suddenly I saw the age in her serene face. It was in the wrinkles around her eyes and the hollows beneath them. I even thought I could see more gray hairs than before in her black pageboy. Maybe it was the lighting in the bathroom.
“I wish I could tell you that I recognized the murderer among them,” she said slowly. “But I just can’t. Oh, they’re an odd bunch. Bill Norton seems very depressed as well as alcoholic. And Mrs. Norton appears to be in complete denial about his condition. I’d guess that Trent Skeritt is quite distressed beneath his smile. And Ingrid Skeritt is certainly upset, but that would seem to me to be a normal reaction to these circumstances.”
She turned to the mirror above the sink and stared, apparently lost in thought.
“What about Gail?” I asked.
Clara smiled gently. “I would guess that Gail is a very emotional woman trying very hard to be unemotional,” she replied. “A common malady among psychotherapists, I can assure you.”
“But not necessarily a murderer,” I finished for her.
“No,” she agreed, the smile leaving her face. “I’ve known a few murderers in the course of my work. A man who killed his wife. A much younger man who killed his mother. And a mother who killed her own child.” She shook her head sadly. “Each of them was quite clearly psychotic. The mother heard voices telling her to kill her child and then herself, but—” She broke off suddenly. “I didn’t mean to go on like this, my dear,” she apologized. “Sometimes the despair weighs on me.”
“I understand,” I told her. And I did. That’s why I had left psychiatric work twenty years ago.
“Anyway,” she said more cheerfully, “the only murderers I’ve known have been obvious in their insanity. If the murderer in this case is one of Mrs. Caruso’s relatives, then he or she is not so obvious.”
I nodded glumly. Clara wrapped an arm around me and hugged. For a moment, I felt absurdly childlike and protected. Then she removed her arm.
Neither Wayne nor I said anything more about the murder until we had dropped Clara off at her apartment and were cruising back down the highway.
“Remember Harmony’s baseball bat?” I asked then.
Wayne nodded.
“Shouldn’t it have been—” I began.
“By the door with the water gun,” he finished for me. So, he had thought of it, too.
“Do you think it was gone because the murderer used it to…” I took a breath. “Because it was the weapon?” I finished.
“Maybe.” He shrugged. “But maybe it’s just somewhere else in the condo.”
“Do we talk to the police about it?” I asked aloud. Not that I really wanted to be grilled by Detective Sergeant Upton another time if I could possibly avoid it.
“Not yet,” Wayne answered softly. Then he turned toward me. I wished he’d keep his eyes on the road. The speedometer was pushing eighty. “We have to figure this thing out soon, Kate. Everyone’s coming to the funeral tomorrow. But after that, I don’t know how we can keep them here.” Then, to my relief, he turned his eyes forward again.
I didn’t bother to ask Wayne who he thought could have swung the baseball bat. They all could have. The Skeritts were damn sturdy people. Hell, between them they could have made up a whole baseball team. Or a basketball team, I thought. They were all tall enough.
Felix was waiting for us under the light on the deck when we got home.
“Howdy-hi, you guys,” he called out, stroking his mustache predatorially as he came down the stairs to greet us.
Wayne stepped forward, holding up his hand like a stop sign. “Not talking about the murders,” he growled.
“Hey man, no problemo,” Felix assured him. He leaned his head to the side to peer around Wayne in my direction. “Just wanted a little heart-to-heart with Kate here about my sweetie pie. Man, Barbara’s gone totally bonkers on me since I moved in with her! Says I have weird habits. This from a woman who channels dead aliens from the planet Gonzo.” He put his hands together as if in prayer and rolled his eyes up in his skull. “Ooglee Booglee, Squiglee Ooglee, speak to me, oh dear departed Gonzola.” Then he dropped his hands in disgust. “Holy Moly, it’s enough to—”
“Get to the point,” Wayne ordered.
“I thought maybe Kate here would know why my old lady’s so pissed at me, that’s all,” he said, looking at us with wide, soulful eyes. “I don’t have a clue.”
I thought for a moment. It seemed to me that Barbara had used the adjectives “gross” and “cheap” among other things. But before I could think of a gentle way to tell Felix this, he opened his mouth again.
“Speaking of clues,” he said. “Word is the La Risa oinkers still don’t have diddly on their top two murder cases. But I thought you guys might—”
“Out!” Wayne and I shouted at once.
“Poor Felix,” I said as he steered his old Chevy out of the driveway. “He probably really doesn’t have a clue why Barbara’s mad at him.”
Wayne just turned and stared at me, then slowly shook his head and walked up the stairs. Felix was clearly a taste he had never acquired.
Wayne was already pacing the living room by the time I came through the front door.
“Let’s go for a walk,” I suggested when he stopped at the opposite wall and turned.
“Okay,” he said and stomped out the door and down the stairs without another word. After the minute it took me to figure out that our walk was already in progress, I raced out after him, only stopping to close the door behind me. I caught up to him on the street. It was dark there, lit only by the deck lights and glowing windows of the houses we were passing. And we were passing them mighty fast as Wayne marched ahead.
I had wanted to talk to him as we walked but I didn’t have a chance. I was too busy panting with the effort to keep up with him. I felt like a dachshund following a German shepherd, doing double time to make up for my short legs.
After half an hour of jogging behind him, I managed to gasp, “stop, turn around,” and “slow” before sitting down on the cold hard pavement.
He turned around and stared for a moment into the darkness, then bent his head down to look at me where I was sitting.
“Kate,” he murmured. “What are you doing on the ground?”
“Resting,” I panted.
It was only when he squatted in front of me and scooped me up in his arms that I realized he was crying. I felt the wet shock of his tears first and then heard the rasp of his breathing.
“I’m sorry,” he sobbed. “I’m so damn sorry.”
Somehow, I was pretty sure this wasn’t just an apology for walking too fast.
Then he began to march again, carrying me in his arms as he did and weeping.
He probably would have carried me all he way home if I hadn’t asked him to put me down. And even at that, I had to ask three separate times before he heard me.
By the time we got home I was tired and sore. And very worried.
I led Wayne straight to the bedroom. He didn’t resist as I pulled him along by the hand, or as I helped him to undress and tucked him into bed. When I bent down to kiss his forehead, he stared up at me, his eyes blank.
“Are you all right?” I whispered.
“Fine,” he said without blinking.
“Will you call me if you need me?” I asked.
“Yes,” he answered.
“Close your eyes, sweetie,” I ordered.
He closed them. I turned out the light.
I tiptoed out of the bedroom and shut the door softly behind me. Then I gave in to the luxury of a few moments of pure panic. Was Wayne insane with grief or just insane? Being carried in his arms as he wept had not been romantic. It had been scary. Damn scary. He was out of control. He was suffering terribly and I didn’t know how to help him. Maybe he needed professional help.
And then I thought of Clara. She would know what to do. Wouldn’t she?
Clara answered my phone call on the second ring.
“Kate, my dear,” she said. “I was just thinking of phoning you.”
“About what?” I asked quickly, impatient to talk to her about Wayne.
“My answering service has just given me a very strange message. It came in about a half hour after we all left the Laughing Mango.” She paused.
“And…” I prompted.
“Someone called for me. The woman who took the message wasn’t sure if the caller was a man or a woman. She said the voice sounded ‘fuzzy.’ In any case, this someone said he or she had a job offer for me, to care for a relative in Arizona, and promised to leave an airplane ticket and cash for me in my mailbox if I would leave a confirming note tonight on the community bulletin board at the laundromat across the street. And to top it all off, the caller said he or she would pay twice my usual rates as well as the airplane fare and lodging in Arizona. All very mysterious, I think.”
“It sure is,” I whispered. The telephone receiver felt cold against my face.
“Of course, I can’t really consider the offer,” Clara said slowly. “I have my regular clients to look in on. But it does seem strange. The caller apparently didn’t even leave a phone number. I’m wondering if this has anything to do with the two deaths.”
“Have you told the police yet?” I asked carefully.
“Told them what?” she asked back. I heard her chuckle over the phone line. “That someone offered me too much money?”
“This isn’t funny,” I argued. “The caller might be the murderer—” I stopped mid-sentence. Why would the murderer want her out of town? “Do you know something?” I demanded.
“Not that I’m aware of,” she said slowly. “And believe me, I have asked myself that question over and over again.”
“I think you should talk to the police,” I told her. “Or come and stay with us where it’s safe—”
“Listen, my dear,” she put in, “I’ve worked with psychotic patients most of my adult life and none has harmed me seriously yet.”
“But this could be the murderer,” I protested. Why wouldn’t she listen? “If you won’t call the police, then leave the note and I’ll watch who reads it—”
“Just forget I mentioned it, Kate,” she interrupted firmly. “I didn’t mean to trouble you—”
“But, you—”
“Now, now,” she scolded me. “Don’t make me feel bad. No one’s going to sneak up on this old woman.” She paused. “So why did you call me, my dear?” she asked calmly.
It was like arguing with a rock. She was worse than Wayne. Worse than me, even. I sighed and told her about Wayne. At length.
“All very natural under the circumstances,” she assured me. “His grief will probably come and go in cycles for some time. Along with periods of numbness and renewed shock and anger. And guilt. But eventually it will all pass into acceptance. Don’t forget, Wayne has a great deal of inner strength. He’ll make it through. Just let him know it’s okay for him to be having these feelings. And I would certainly be glad to talk to him again if you think it would help.”
“Tomorrow morning,” I suggested quickly. I could kill two birds with one stone this way. I could get Wayne some help and have another chance at talking Clara into going to the police.
“Okey-dokey,” she agreed. “I’m free from nine to eleven.”
“We’ll come by at nine then,” I said and hung up.
When I tiptoed back into the bedroom, Wayne was asleep and snoring softly. Maybe the walk had done him some good. I undressed and crawled in beside him, then willed myself to think only positive thoughts and dream sweet, nonviolent dreams. It didn’t work any better than it usually did.
The next morning, I woke from a nightmare about an alien from another planet, probably the planet Gonzo. The alien had at least a dozen tentacled arms, and each one of them waved a separate baseball bat as it chased me down the darkened street Wayne and I had traveled the night before.
My eyes popped open and I saw with relief the sunlight floating in through the skylight. I lay there for a few minutes basking in the brightness before I noticed Wayne next to me. He lay on his side, propped up on one elbow. And he was smiling.
“Whatcha looking at?” I asked drowsily.
“You,” he whispered. “You’re beautiful.”
“Do go on,” I ordered.
He was quick to comply. “You’re smart too,” he told me. “And compassionate. And sexy—”
I rolled over on top of him.
“Oof,” he said, and then quickly added, “And as light as a nightingale’s wing.” He almost got through it with a straight face, but not quite.
That walk had done him more good than I realized, I decided as I bent my head down to kiss his welcoming lips.
Later, as we lay together with our arms wrapped around each other, he whispered, “Don’t let me forget the joy again, Kate.”
“I won’t,” I promised. Then I remembered Clara’s advice. “Or the sorrow, or the anger, or the love,” I added. “It’s all fine. All of it.”
“Okay,” he said solemnly and held me even closer.
I peeked over his head at the clock. It was almost eight.
“Hey, we gotta get going,” I told him.
“Why?” he asked. “The funeral’s not until this afternoon.”
“I promised Clara we’d visit.”
His brows lowered to half-mast. So much for joy. I had a feeling we might get into the anger portion of the feelings-that-were-fine-to-have soon.
“I wanted her to talk to you,” I explained further.
He unwrapped his arms from around my torso. “I’m okay,” he said impatiently. I kept my grip on him.
“I know,” I said softly. “But do it for me, all right?”
“Okay, fine,” he growled ungraciously. “But remember, she’s a suspect. Could be dangerous.”
“I’ll drive,” I added quickly.
His brows came down even further, but only for a moment. Then his homely face split into a grin.
“Forgot negotiation skills when I was describing your attributes earlier,” he said.
I kissed him once more. Damn, it was good to have him back.
An hour or so later, we
were traveling up Highway 101 on our way to Clara’s. I was glad to be driving again. Not that my old brown Toyota was in the same class as Wayne’s Jaguar. (Actually, it wasn’t even in the same species.) I had just finished telling Wayne about Clara’s mysterious message from her answering service when I saw the green sign announcing the turnoff to her La Risa apartment.
“Don’t like the sound of it,” Wayne commented quietly. “Did she call the police?”
“No,” I told him uncomfortably. “I couldn’t talk her into it.”
Wayne frowned.
I pushed a little harder on the accelerator as I took the turnoff.
I had just parked by the curb in front of Clara’s apartment building when I heard a siren in the near distance. As I opened my door, the sound grew closer.
- Twenty-One -
And then I saw where the sound was coming from. There was an ambulance moving toward us. As we watched, it pulled to an abrupt stop in front of the apartment building, and two attendants, one male and one female, jumped out and ran into the entrance.
Clara? No, I told myself. Not necessarily. The ambulance could have come for anyone. This was a big apartment building, with a lot of occupants. Already, a few of them were emerging from the ground-floor units. And others peered out over their balconies from up above.
“I heard a cry and this big thud, so I went upstairs to look,” someone was saying. I spotted the speaker, a gray-haired woman standing in a knot of people at the front of the building. “I thought maybe she had a heart attack. But her door was wide open. She was just lying there on the floor, bleeding….” Her voice trailed off into what sounded like a sob.
Bleeding, but alive?
“Was she breathing?” someone asked.
“I think so,” the gray-haired woman said. “But she didn’t say anything when I talked to her. She looked so…” Her voice trailed off again.
The female attendant came jogging back out the entrance.
“How is she?” someone called out.
“She’ll be fine,” the attendant called back quickly. I had a feeling that would be her answer no matter what the condition of the patient. But the words still offered a small measure of relief. Whoever the injured woman was, she was apparently alive. “Now step back please,” the attendant ordered and rolled a gurney out of the ambulance and into the building.
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