“Tell me about it,” Laura moaned. “I was hoping to take Emma for a big walk today. But we can’t complain—the weather’s been great so far this fall.”
Clare slipped into her coat and was about to walk out when Laura asked, “So what are your plans for staying on? Are you giving yourself a deadline?”
“I don’t know about Gil, but I’ll have to have one. I’ve already scheduled too many things.”
“You’re going to stay here, though, aren’t you?”
Clare hesitated. She hadn’t considered where she would stay. “Isn’t the student who’s helping you going to be living with you during the week?”
“Yes, but she doesn’t come until tomorrow afternoon.”
“Then I’ll go to a hotel.”
“Oh, Clare! I hate to think of you spending all that money on a hotel. Maybe we can work something out.”
Clare buttoned up her coat and grinned. “Now you sound like my mother.”
“Yeah, well, someone has to do the job when the real one is unavailable.”
“I think Emma needs one hundred per cent of you, Laura honey. I’ll give you a call if I’m going to be here for dinner. Is that okay? Maybe we can order in—my treat.”
She waved a goodbye and went out the door. Her car was behind Laura’s in the drive, almost at the sidewalk. She clutched her coat tightly around her neck and ducked her head against the rain. While she was fumbling for her keys, she noticed a movement at her right, from the side of the house. She spun around to see a boy in a nylon windbreaker with a hood over his head dashing toward the street.
“Hey!” she hollered. She dropped her purse onto the hood of the car and took off after him.
He headed for the nearest intersection and was about to run across the street when a car pulled in front of him, forcing him to a halt. His head swerved her way and as Clare got closer, she recognized him. Jason Wolochuk. As soon as the car made its turn, Jason sprinted across and rounded the corner. There was no way she’d catch up to him, but at least she knew whom to confront when the time was right.
Clare ran back to the car, got her purse and climbed inside. She waited, her heart pounding, while the engine warmed up. It was obvious that the boy had been sneaking around, maybe spying on her and Laura in the kitchen. Clare shivered. At least it wasn’t the middle of the night.
Then it hit her. Jason had to be the note sender. He’d been in Lisa’s English class. She wondered how he knew where she was staying, but then remembered that the day she’d gone back to see Lisa Stuart, Jason had appeared in the classroom door. He could have been out in the hall listening in the whole time. Hadn’t Clare mentioned to Lisa that she was staying with Laura and Dave Kingsway? He could have easily looked up their address in the phone book. What she couldn’t figure out was his motive for doing such a thing.
She reversed onto the street and headed for Gil’s house. Maybe he’d have an idea. As it turned out, Gil had a suggestion instead.
“Why don’t we just go see him and find out?” he asked as soon as she filled him in on what had happened.
They were standing in the middle of the tiny front hall of his parents’ bungalow. Taped cartons were stacked along the wall and Clare could see more in the living room to her left. “Sure,” she said, looking around her. “But why don’t we make some plans first? I mean, we want to know what we want to ask him.”
“I know exactly what I want to say to him,” Gil muttered.
The grimness in his face startled her. He seems to be taking this a lot more seriously than I am, she thought. She moved past him toward the living room. “You’ve got everything packed up, I see.”
“Almost. I’m giving the rest of the furniture and appliances to the local Rotary Club for distribution to people in the area. The rest is being picked up on Monday by an outfit in Hartford.”
“So you told me.” The room now looked very different from the one she remembered. When they were dating, Gil’s house had been a second home for Clare—a place to hang out after school. Gil’s mother didn’t work and always had a supply of homemade cookies or other treats on hand. Clare and Gil would chat in the kitchen with her, load up plates of goodies and head off to his bedroom or the living room to listen to music and do their homework. The lack of frills in the Harper household was more than compensated for by the warmth. It had always been a stark contrast to Clare’s own home and single mother struggling to maintain a certain lifestyle.
For the first time, Clare realized how the bank manager might have automatically suspected her mother of embezzlement. She had worked a lot of overtime and always had bills to pay. But then, her mother’s love of clothes and other luxuries ate up a lot of her hard-earned money.
“The place doesn’t seem the same, does it? Without the people, I mean.”
Clare turned to Gil, standing at her side. “Not at all. But I suppose the people are what make a house a home.”
“Nicely put,” he said with a smile. “Just like a writer.”
“I hope my writing isn’t as corny.”
“Corny is okay sometimes,” he murmured.
He was so close to her she could detect a faint scent of aftershave. She felt light-headed suddenly and stepped farther into the room, away from him. “So where will we be working?”
“I thought the kitchen. I’ve still got the table and a couple of chairs. Plus, the coffeemaker.” He looked at her for a moment before turning on his heel and heading for the kitchen, at the end of the front hall.
Clare watched him go, thinking he was such a contradiction of emotions. One minute interested in her and the next, coolly aloof. But then, wasn’t she herself behaving the same way? Liking the feel of him close to her, then feeling giddy by his presence? She took off her coat and draped it over an armchair in the living room, then proceeded on to the kitchen. When she got there, he was making coffee.
“Oops! I said I’d bring coffee but that little incident with Jason completely distracted me. Sorry.”
“No problem. I’ve kept a small store of items for the next few days.” He flicked on the machine and said, “Take a seat.”
Two pens and pads of paper lay in the center of the table. “You’re all set, I see,” Clare said. Suddenly she questioned what they were doing. It seemed so amateurish, like something kids would do.
Gil was taking milk from the fridge and when he turned around, he commented, “You look like you’re having second thoughts about this.”
He’d always had a talent for reading her mind, she realized. Except when it counted the most—the night they’d had their big fight in the park. She shook her head, more to toss aside thoughts of the past than to reply to his question. “Just that the Jason thing has me a bit rattled. I can’t understand why he’d do something like that.”
“We don’t know yet that he did.”
“It must be him. Too much of a coincidence.”
“Then as I said, we should go see him.” The coffeemaker stopped bubbling. “After a cup of coffee,” Gil added. He poured two mugs and brought them to the table, along with the small container of milk. “Sugar?” he asked.
“Please.” Clare hung her purse over the back of her chair and reached for the coffee. It was hot and strong, just what she needed.
“I thought we should start by making some notes about the day Rina was killed. Jot down what both of us remember.”
Clare raised her eyes from her coffee to his face. There was no avoiding the past any longer, she thought. Perhaps this is why I was having second thoughts when I got here. “Okay,” she said. “Should we both jot down things and then compare notes?”
“Fine.” He passed a pad of paper across the table to her along with a pen.
And while Gil lowered his head and began to write, Clare stared at her blank paper for a long time. Where to start? How to convey in point-notes the swirl of emotions of that day? She watched as Gil’s pen scrawled across the paper. He was obviously having no such qualms about recording his mem
ories.
His head jerked up then, catching her staring. “Sure everything’s okay?” he asked softly.
She wanted to say no. To ask how either of them could so blithely write down what happened seventeen years ago, as if mere words could convey the confusion and the pain of betrayal. Clare’s eyes fixed on his and he must have seen something in hers for he tossed his pen down and said, “This isn’t going to work, is it?”
She shook her head. “There’s too much inside,” she tried to explain. “Years of…I don’t know…blame and doubt. How can we simply write it all down, as if the story belonged to other people and not us?”
Something flickered in his eyes. She saw his jaw tighten, as if he were trying hard to contain an emotion he didn’t want expelled into the room right then. Finally, he said, “We can’t, Clare. All we can do is articulate the events of that day and if to do that we have to pretend it happened to other people, then so be it. At least the bare bones of the story will come out. As for the rest of it—the part that impacted on you and me—” he stopped, his eyes intent on hers “—I think we should look on that as a work in progress, don’t you? Something that will hopefully mend with time and…and perseverance.”
Clare nodded, afraid to speak. He sounded as if he intended this fledgling partnership of theirs to go beyond their stay in Twin Falls. And the tiny spark of hope that suddenly flared inside told her that was what she wanted, too. The thought of being able to repair the damage of seventeen years ago and perhaps come up with something new—even just a friendship—was both thrilling and frightening at the same time.
“All right,” he said, dropping his gaze. “Let’s finish our coffee and look up Jason Wolochuk. I’ll go hunt for the phone book. I know there’s one around here somewhere.” He left the room and Clare slowly lowered her head onto her hands. This, she told herself, is the craziest thing you’ve done in years. And also, she had to admit, the most exciting.
THE WINDSHIELD WIPERS lazily swung back and forth. Gil thought he could turn them off now, since the rain had let up considerably. But there was something soothingly monotonous about their movement. Besides, it was easier to allow himself to be mesmerized by the wipers than to make conversation with Clare, hunched in the passenger seat next to him. He risked a glance.
She was chewing on a fingernail and peering out her window at the unassuming frame bungalow they were parked in front of. Back home in the kitchen, he could have sworn she was going to burst into tears any second. The thought had frightened him. Mainly because he knew he’d have instantly taken her into his arms and from there…. Well, he didn’t want to think about that.
Not that he hadn’t contemplated such a possibility over the past week. But once he found himself mentally heading in that direction, he stopped himself, reminding himself that until they’d resolved old issues there wasn’t a lot of hope for a future between them. And now that he was back in Twin Falls and with Clare again, he realized how much he wanted that. Besides, he needed to stay focused on the murder investigation.
“Ready?” he asked, darting his eyes at her again. She turned her head and gave a husky yes. “Okay, then. Remember what we agreed on? We want information so our approach isn’t going to be confrontational as much as inquiring.”
“I can imagine you in a courtroom,” she said, casting a faint smile.
“More like a boardroom, I’m afraid.” Gil reached for the door lever and pressed down. “Let’s go.”
He led the way up the walk leading to the house and stood at the door until she joined him on the front stoop, then rang the bell. They waited. He pressed the buzzer again. This time, there was a flash of movement in the drapes covering the main front window of the house. Finally, the front door opened a crack.
The upper part of a woman’s face appeared. “What do you want?” she asked.
“Mrs. Wolochuk?” Gil ventured.
“I don’t want anything,” she muttered, about to close the door.
“I wonder if we could speak to you about your son, Jason? It’s about some trouble at school.”
The door opened, revealing a gaunt woman in her mid-forties. Her long, straggly salt-and-pepper hair was tied back in a loose ponytail and her suspicious eyes peered at them from a sallow face. She gave them a quick once-over, obviously debating whether or not to let them in. Then she mumbled, “Better come in,” and leaving the door ajar, turned away into the interior of the house.
Gil glanced at Clare and winked. So far so good. He felt only slightly uneasy about misleading Mrs. Wolochuk, implying they were officials from the school. But he’d assured Clare the ploy was more likely to get them in the door. “Ready?”
Clare nodded and he led the way inside. The house reeked of stale cigarette smoke and Gil tried not to grimace as he entered the living room. Mrs. Wolochuk was curled up on a sofa that had seen better days, a half-filled mug of coffee at her elbow along with an overflowing ashtray. The room was strewn with magazines and newspapers, as well as various articles of clothing.
Gil turned toward the blaring television and frowned. “Do you mind?” he asked.
From the look in her face, she did. Still, she pressed the mute button on the remote. “So what’s he done now?” she began as she lit up a cigarette.
Gil heard Clare come into the room behind him and as he craned his head around, Mrs. Wolochuk inhaled sharply.
“I know you!” she snapped. Her deep-set eyes beaded in on Clare, hovering nervously in the doorway. “You’re that writer. Clare Morgan. The one who did the book on Twin Falls.”
Gil thought Clare’s face paled. She cleared her throat and said, “Yes,” without bothering to correct the woman about the novel. He could understand now her frustration at continually having to clarify the book to people.
“What’s this about then? She’s no teacher.” The eyes fell on Gil. “Who are you?”
“No, we’re not teachers,” he began.
“Then what’s going on here?” Her voice rose to an indignant pitch. She didn’t invite them to sit and Gil wasn’t sure he wanted to, anyway. He saw Clare gingerly perch on the edge of what looked like a dining-table chair. That left a sagging, stained armchair for him. He decided to remain standing.
“We’re here about something that happened at school,” Gil said. He gave a brief summary of Clare’s visit to Lisa Stuart’s class, prompting another snort from the woman. When he finished mentioning the note and Jason’s hanging around the Kingsway home that morning, the growing fury in the woman’s face had begun to abate.
“Jason would never do anything like that,” she uttered, obviously offended by the suggestion. She took a long drag on her cigarette. “He’s got his share of problems with schoolwork, having a learning disability and all, but he’d never stoop to something like that. Never!”
“I used to be a teacher, Mrs. Wolochuk,” Clare said. “And one thing I learned was that one should never say ‘never’ about kids. They hide a lot more than we think.”
The eyes narrowed in on Clare. “And you don’t believe in that, do you? Hiding?” she sneered.
“I don’t know what you mean.”
The lips curled around the cigarette. “Isn’t it obvious? You wrote that book to stir things up here. To make sure the talk started all over again.”
Gil felt a shiver ride up his backbone. He was tempted to intervene, catching the confusion in Clare’s face. But he held back, curious to hear for himself what she had to say in response.
“What talk?”
An expression of sheer incredulity crossed Mrs. Wolochuk’s face. “About the murder of that girl. The one in your class.”
Gil intervened. “Do you know anything about that case, Mrs. Wolochuk?”
Her frowning face pivoted to his. “Why should I?”
“Just wondering why this has come up when we were simply talking about the note Jason left.”
“You say he left.”
“I think it’s pretty obvious, don’t you? Is he here?
Can we talk to him?”
“He’s out. I don’t know where. He never tells me.”
“Any idea when he might be back?”
“None at all. Like I said, he doesn’t inform his mother about his plans.”
The bitterness in her voice said it all, Gil thought. “What about your husband, Mr. Wolochuk? Is he here?” He looked over at Clare who was watching him with eyes that were getting bigger every second. “Wasn’t Mr. Wolochuk one of your teachers at Twin Falls High, Clare?”
She nodded, keeping her eyes on his. Then she seemed to realize where he wanted to go and turning to the woman across the room, said, “He was my chemistry teacher. The best I ever had.”
Gil watched Mrs. Wolochuk’s reaction.
“That so? Then you’d be the first to say it. From what I recall, Stan shoulda spent a lot more time on his teaching.”
Gil frowned. Something in that, he thought. “What do you mean, Mrs. Wolochuk?”
She sank back into the sofa. “Nothing,” she muttered, her face closing up. “So when Jason shows up, I’ll ask him about the note. Get him to write you a little apology.” She laughed.
Gil bit down on his lip. The woman’s bitterness was obviously going to taint any information they might get from her. He looked over at Clare and raised an inquiring eyebrow. She got his message and stood up.
“We should leave then, Mrs. Wolochuk. But you never told us where your husband is. I thought I might see him, talk about the old days.”
That elicited another peal of laughter. “Go right ahead, dear. We’re divorced, in case you hadn’t heard. Stanley lives in Hartford now. He’s in the phone book. Give him a call.”
Clare turned to leave and Gil followed. They’d just entered the hall when Mrs. Wolochuk cried after them. “Tell that no-good scumbag he owes me last month’s child support while you’re at it.”
When Gil closed the door behind him, all he could utter was a relieved, “Whew!”
Clare was already walking down the sidewalk. “You’re not kidding.”
Gil was just catching up to her when he saw someone crossing the street and heading for the bungalow. A youth in a navy-blue windbreaker. Jason.
Past, Present and a Future (Going Back) Page 14
