Watching for Willa

by Helen R. Myers

  Although Willa had been anticipating Starla’s arrival, the moment she swept into the store with her nose in the air, she barely spared her a glance. All she could think of was the poor woman who had run out of time. No more mistakes. No more dreams. “That’s terrible. Have they identified her?”

  “She’s a coed who attends one of the Houston schools. Do you realize what this means?”

  Actually, she didn’t have a clue. Nor did she approve of Judith’s easy dismissal of the young victim. “Mrs. Denton, please don’t get me wrong, but I don’t think—”

  “He’s uncontrollable now.”

  She couldn’t keep up. “Who?”

  “Your neighbor. My ex-husband.”

  “You can’t be serious.”

  “Do you know where he was last night?”

  Willa was tempted to tell her. Then she remembered that she couldn’t speak for Zach’s whereabouts earlier. She certainly wasn’t going to admit that to Judith. But she also wasn’t going to let Judith’s announcement cloud her opinion of Zach.

  “Mrs. Denton, I don’t think—”

  “We need to meet. Will you make time for me at three? Perhaps you can take a late lunch.”

  Under the circumstances, Willa didn’t think she would find her appetite again today. Even if she could, Judith Denton was the last person she cared to share a meal with. “No, that won’t be possible.”

  “This is for your own sake as well as some innocent victim’s whose life you might help save. Don’t turn me down.”

  The threat was unmistakable, the intent unforgivable. Even if she hadn’t recognized what Judith was doing, Willa couldn’t allow anyone to get away with such arrogance or manipulation. “I’ll be here until closing, and I’m sure I can arrange to take a break if you stop by, but I hardly think discussing someone else’s misfortune over a meal is anything either of us has in mind.”

  “You’re right, of course” came the clipped reply. “Then I’ll see you shortly.”

  Unbelievable, Willa thought, closing her eyes a moment to recuperate. And wouldn’t Zach be upset if he knew what she had agreed to do. She had to be careful, of course. What he had accused his ex-wife of was beyond comprehensible. A woman like that couldn’t be trusted. On the other hand, the mall was a public place and relatively safe; and Willa did need to find out what Judith was up to.

  That poor, poor girl…

  “Are you okay?”

  Willa opened her eyes and smiled at Sophia, who’d come to ring up a gift basket of bath items. “Yes, thanks. But would you hold the fort for a moment? I need to go in the back and talk to Starla.”

  Stabbing her pencil into her bun, the black woman nodded. “Sure. It’s still quiet. I’ll sound the alarm if I need help.”

  After patting Sophia’s shoulder in thanks, Willa went to her office where, as she’d suspected, her assistant was placing her purse in the file cabinet drawer they shared for that purpose.

  “You can save the lecture,” Starla said rather testily. “I had car trouble. It wasn’t anything I could help.”

  Great, Willa thought, reaching over to her chair and into her tote bag for the newspaper she’d brought from home. This was what she needed—an attitude on top of everything else. So much for hoping that her friend had realized she’d made a mistake.

  “I wasn’t about to lecture, and I’m glad you’re all right. Do you need time off to take care of repairs or anything?”

  “It’s taken care of.”

  Not the warmest of responses, but Willa decided to leave well enough alone. With an absent nod, she focused on the front page of the paper. While it wasn’t a large paper by any stretch of the imagination, Vilary’s was one of the few small-town papers that put out a Sunday edition. What she read made her grateful that she hadn’t seen this earlier.

  “Oh my gosh!”

  Starla must have seen her expression because she came to look over her shoulder. That answered one of Willa’s questions.

  “You didn’t know, either?” The gratifying thing was that for an instant their personal problem seemed to have taken a back seat.

  Starla shook her head. “I was so ticked off over my car that I didn’t bother paying attention to anything but getting here. Linden Leahy…” She read the first paragraph aloud. “I don’t think I know her.”

  Knew. Willa winced at the automatic correction. The name wasn’t familiar to her, either, but she would guess anything that the girl had been a blue-eyed blonde. “Look—the police say she’d run out of gas and that her car was spotted late last night near here. That’s what prompted such a quick search.”

  “Why on earth did he take her way over to your side of town?”

  “I don’t know, but it would seem he was someone who’d stopped to render aid.”

  “The wrong someone.” Starla rubbed her bare arms. She was wearing a fuchsia linen shift today and an assortment of shell jewelry, which always earned her compliments from customers. But it often left her feeling chilly, even when there wasn’t such frightening news. “Thank goodness one of my neighbors at the complex was around to help me out, or that could have been me.”

  “Was it that nice security guard you mentioned who lives below you?” Willa asked, hoping it might be. If Starla could get her mind off Ger Sacks…

  “Uh-uh, it was what’s his name. Elias. The guy from Lavender’s.”

  She thought she’d had all the bad news she could handle for today, but she’d been wrong. Of all the names Starla could have mentioned, Willa didn’t want to hear that one. And how did you ask the difficult questions without raising unwanted suspicions—or resentment? “Roger Elias…well. It’s lucky you two were leaving at the same time, wasn’t it?”

  “Mmm. Did you know he’d been hurt? He has the nastiest bruise on his cheek. Kind of a scratch.”

  “That’s too bad. How’d he get it?” Willa asked, hoping the question sounded casual.

  “I have no idea. It would have been impolite to ask, wouldn’t it?”

  Having heard the first shadow of hostility returning to the younger woman’s voice, Willa nodded. “No doubt you’re right.”

  “But even though I used to think we had nothing in common, I’m considering giving him the benefit of the doubt.”

  “Meaning what?”

  “Meaning that he asked me out, and I said yes.”

  As Starla tossed her braid over her shoulder and strode out of the office, Willa cast a final glance down at the paper and shook her head. Then she followed. “Starla, could I have a word with you?” Smiling at a customer who was headed back to the dressing rooms, she drew the taller woman back into her office. This time she shut the door.

  “Please don’t take this the wrong way,” she began, holding up her hands when she saw the beginnings of a mutinous expression. “But are you sure this is a good time to start meeting new people? Taking into consideration what’s going on around town…”

  Starla crossed her arms and her Cupid’s-bow mouth flattened with anger. “This isn’t any of your business. I was merely making polite conversation, not asking for your permission.”

  Besides that, Willa had no room to talk when anyone could say the same thing to her about Zach. But in her case, he’d already done the warning.

  “You’re my friend. I care about you.”

  “Do you? Or could it be—now let me guess…” Starla tapped her chin and pretended to study the ceiling. “Why, don’t tell me you’re interested in him, too?”

  That was uncalled for. Setting her hands on her hips, Willa demanded, “Say that again.”

  Although her confidence waned somewhat, Starla held her ground. “I think you heard me.”

  “Yes, but I’d hoped I was wrong, because you know what? That’s two,” she said, holding up her index and middle fingers. “For the sake of our friendship, don’t push for number three. Now please relieve Sophia up front. She’s going to unbox and set out some of the new loungewear that came in yesterday.”

 
“It’s my job to put out the new merchandise when you don’t do it!”

  “No,” Willa said quietly. “It’s a privilege I bestow on my friend. Since you’re making it clear I may be wrong about our relationship, I have every right to choose any employee I care to.”

  And with that she opened the door in silent dismissal. Starla stalked out, and Willa shut it behind her. She needed a moment alone to soothe her nerves.

  Oh, Zach. I hope you’re having a better day than I am.

  “May I come in, Mr. Denton?”

  Zach pressed the remote control button to let Detective Pruitt enter, already knowing why the man was here. He’d read the paper shortly after Willa left. The news about the girl had left him shaken, and sorely tempted to telephone Willa at work just for the reassuring sound of her voice.

  What a difference a day made.

  He descended in the elevator and wheeled out to meet the weathered-looking cop, whose suit pants suggested that the man had done some searching near Cox Creek himself. “I know you can’t accept a beer, but would you care for a soda, Detective? I believe there’s something canned in the refrigerator. Bottled water, if you prefer.”

  If the man was surprised, he hid it well. “That’s very hospitable of you. I’ll take the water. It’s been a hot day.”

  “In more ways that one,” Zach murmured, leading the way to the kitchen. Too late he noted out of the corner of his eye the mess in the study. Pruitt didn’t miss it, either.

  “Little accident?”

  “A mere fly in the ointment of life. I decided that even though men have been known to lose up to ten pounds during a chess tournament, it’s an overrated game.”

  “Why’s that?”

  “Because although it’s about mental acrobatics, the central piece, the one everyone’s eye is on is the weakest. Virtually useless. A fraud. I’m talking about the king, Detective. The king is a crawler. We have that in common.”

  The cop cleared his throat. “Well, I don’t know anything about the game, myself. I’m a poker man.”

  “Good for you. Instant gratification. I would imagine that for someone in your line of work that’s a welcome change.” Zach stopped before the refrigerator, aware he’d thrown his visitor off-balance. As he pulled open the door, he wondered what the cop would say about the concept that chess was also about offense, that without a loss of the opponent’s balance, there could be no win. But he knew better than to share it. Pruitt was entertaining, but he was no fool.

  “So you got a bit steamed over the game, did you?” the aging law-enforcement officer asked, murmuring his thanks as Zach handed him one of the glass bottles.

  “Afraid so.” Zach motioned to the old-fashioned opener screwed to the wall. “I thought I’d save you from having to ask the embarrassing question of whether or not I have a temper, Detective.”

  No hint of a smile eased the lines on the weary, gray-tinged face as Pruitt used the device. “Oh, I’m not shy, Mr. Denton. Were you playing alone?”

  “Would you want someone witnessing your strike against futility, Detective?”

  Nodding, the cop peered at the label before taking a long swallow, downing almost half the contents of the bottle, then uttered a belly-deep sigh. “That’s very refreshing. It’s amazing what they do to water these days, isn’t it?”

  He glanced around the kitchen and Zach knew he was taking mental notes: how the counters were virtually bare, the stove seemingly untouched—although Willa had cooked him a mouth-watering breakfast only hours ago—how the room, like the rest of the first floor appeared virtually uninhabited.

  “You should see my wife’s kitchen,” Pruitt suddenly announced. “She collects salt-and-pepper shakers. There isn’t an inch of space in our kitchen that isn’t covered with the things. But you know what? Not one set has any salt or pepper in ’em. Says neither is good for me, so I have to collect what I can from the hot-to-go places and hide ’em in my pocket. People are funny creatures.”

  “I don’t cook, and I don’t have a maid,” Zach replied, leading the cop closer to the point. The vibes he was suddenly getting from the detective weren’t good. “If you need someone to verify my whereabouts at a certain time, I can’t help you.”

  Pruitt looked down at him and beamed. “I wish everyone had your knack for catching on, Mr. Denton.”

  “Well, we all have our jobs to do. I have a publisher to appease, and I assume this isn’t going to be your last call today.”

  “So you’ve read the paper?”

  “Only a short time ago.”

  The cop watched bubbles rise in his mineral water. “It was a terrible thing. She was a such a pretty girl. Do you have any children?”

  “I think you know I don’t.”

  “Just refreshing my memory.” Pruitt shook his head after giving Zach a sidelong glance. “No parent should have to live with the knowledge that their child’s last moments were filled with terror and pain.”

  Zach remained silent, remembering his own so-called parents. To share that would be tantamount to putting a loaded gun to his head.

  “On my way over here, I was trying to understand how a person could do that to another person. There was so much passion involved. It’s different than war. Were you in the service, Mr. Denton?”

  “No.”

  “I was a marine in Nam.”

  Zach eyed the man’s burr cut. “I would never have guessed.”

  “Ugly situation created by ugly men. Let politicians run a war and you have a mess every time. Slaughter is reduced to a job, soldiers are told to be dispassionate machines. But what happened last night…it’s different, you know? Of course, you do,” Pruitt said, snapping his fingers. “It has to be similar to the way you write your stories. Now there’s some dark stuff…and look at you—you don’t seem like someone who’d go out and do any of what you put in those books just so you can make it real to your readers.”

  “You’ve read my work, Detective?”

  The man smoothed his out-of-fashion tie. “Well, when you have a celebrity like yourself in a community and folks are always discussing this book and that, it makes you feel sort of funny not to be able to say you have the thing at home, too.”

  Zach was incapable of putting any amusement or warmth into his smile. “Unlike some, I write to be read, not simply to make a list and get a fatter royalty check, Detective.”

  “That’s the first thing I noticed when I started reading your work. You’re very passionate with your prose—if that’s the correct term? It’s all personal to you. You really take the reader inside a character’s mind, make him understand the reason a mind twists and how a victim is chosen and feels. How do you do it, Mr. Denton? How does a man like yourself so obviously together create something that frightening and sick?”

  “It’s called imagination, Detective.”

  “Well, when they were handing it out, you were given yours and a few other people’s share, I’ll tell you that.” Pruitt finished the rest of his drink. “You know what else impressed me? You’re sneaky in choosing your victims.”

  “Sneaky?”

  “Mmm. They appear randomly chosen—people in the wrong place at the wrong time and all that—and yet they fit a mold.”

  Zach swore silently as the detective carefully set the empty bottle on the counter. He could almost feel the room closing in around him, and he knew it would be foolish to pretend he didn’t understand what the cop was driving at. “Are you saying that the young girl who was murdered last night fit the mold of the women that have been terrorized by the stalker, Detective?”

  The older man shoved his hands into his trouser pockets and studied him for several seconds before murmuring, “Thank you again, Mr. Denton. Does it make you uneasy to know that someone may be styling his crimes after your methodology?”

  “It’s not a new concept,” Zach said with a negligent shrug.

  “No, sir, I’m not referring to the crimes themselves, rather the logic for choosing the victims.�
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  Zach’s stomach burned as if a stream of battery acid were dripping into it. “Then all I can say is that I pity you, Detective. I know I’m not reassured with the thought that there’s two people walking this earth who have to deal with what goes on in my mind.”

  “I’m glad to hear you say that, Mr. Denton. And feeling the way you do, you shouldn’t mind telling me where you were last night between the hours of eleven and two.”

  A droplet of sweat trickled down the back of Zach’s neck into his T-shirt as he thought of the scream…of how Willa had been wandering outside for several minutes before entering his house…of that damned unlocked window. Had his instincts been off? What would have been different if he’d ignored his hunch and kept driving?

  I wasn’t supposed to come back. He knows I kept Willa with me. He killed the girl to punish me!

  “Mr. Denton? Is something wrong?”

  Only that he felt sick to his stomach. Again. And so damned helpless and manipulated.

  “I’ve been fighting a virus,” he murmured, using the excuse to massage his abdomen. “And to answer your question, I was here. Why do you ask?”

  “Because we found this near Linden Leahy’s body.”

  From his pocket Pruitt drew a small plastic bag. Inside was a slender piece of gold. It was a pin, maybe a tie tack. An expensive one of at least eighteen carats in the hard-to-miss shape of a fountain pen.

  Zach wondered what showed on his face. If he reflected anything close to the murderous emotions churning inside him, he expected Pruitt to get the wrong idea and haul out his handcuffs at any moment. But the lawman would be wrong. The pin wasn’t his…but he knew whom it belonged to.

  “Yes, Detective?” he asked, hoping that a lifted eyebrow offset his inner turmoil.

  “It means nothing to you?”

  “Why should it? Because it’s a pen? I use a computer. And as you can see—” he extended his arms to indicate his uniform of jeans and T-shirt “—I’ve no reason to wear jewelry.”

  “I understand,” Pruitt murmured, as if filing this information away for later consideration. “Most important, you didn’t leave here at all last night?”