He kissed me on the forehead and slammed the door behind him.
Chapter 17
Knowing that I would get no sleep after Mitch’s last remark, I dressed and went to the office. There was work to do; not just the preparation for filling the orders from the show, but also something that I dreaded, packing up Gwen’s personal items and returning them to her family. It was my responsibility, one that I could not shirk.
After I checked in with the guard, I bought a newspaper and rode the elevator alone. For once, the darkness of the rooms frightened me and I turned on all the lights as I made my way to my office. I pulled the curtains aside, and opened the door to my apartment. The room smelled heavily of disinfectant with only a slight undertone of blood. Taking a deep breath, I slowly walked up the spiral staircase to my loft bedroom. I was glad I had accepted Mitch’s advice and his recommendation of a cleaning service. The sheets had been stripped away and were gone, the walls and ceiling had been sponged off, but the mattress and carpet, although damp from their cleaning, still showed the faint brown stains from Gwen’s blood. I shuddered and went back down the stairs, making a mental note to get them replaced before I sold the business.
At my desk, I made a list of prospective buyers for Griffin Designs; all the thrill I had in this business dissolved with the death of Gwen. I could not continue, did not need to continue. The money I had made in the past ten years, along with that netted from the sale, would be tucked away into some bank account with a different name for my use later on. I would be well provided for and could devote my time to the tracking of the other vampire in this city; I did not believe that Larry was responsible for Andrews and the others. Let the police postulate on how the murders were done, with their theories of syringes and pumps—I knew the truth of it. And I would find him.
But I would have to be quick. I knew that now; Mitch was too discerning and our relationship could never continue. He was sharp and intelligent, and sooner or later the proof would overwhelm his disbelief. Already he was raising questions that he should never have thought to ask. Thank God he had more sense than to believe the superstitions of his Romanian ancestors, otherwise the next time the stake was at my heart, he would be wielding the mallet, not shooting the one who was.
I laughed humorlessly; how ironic, I thought, that Mitch should be the one with the roots in the old country; I was merely a Kansas pioneer with bad luck.
Getting up from my desk with a sigh, I went down the hall and got two boxes from the storage closet, then stopped off and started a pot of coffee.
Gwen’s presence was still very much alive at her desk. As I packed, I almost expected her to come bouncing down the hall, berating me for interfering with her possessions; I felt like an intruder here, more of the ghost than she would be. Oddly enough, I did not believe in ghosts; I had seen too many die in my lifetimes, none had ever returned to speak to me or to punish and torture me. They were dead and I hoped in a better place, one that perhaps I would never attain.
There was something belittling about the two packed cartons that represented Gwen’s work here. I moved them to one side, planning on delivering them later tonight at the funeral home. Gently, I pushed in her chair and whispered a goodbye.
After splashing my face with cold water in the bathroom, I filled my mug with coffee and went back into my office and closed the door. I read the paper, noting the time and place of Gwen’s viewing, then continued to make notes on the work I had ahead of me. When I glanced at the clock I realized that it was only a little after three. None of the calls could be made until tomorrow morning. I was not hungry, but restless, and dawn was still four hours away. In the outer office, I pulled aside the drapes and looked out on the city. Spreading my arms, I leaned against the glass, my cheek on the window pane. The surface was cold and I could hear the slight howl of the wind. Here and there people walked, cars drove by and the sky was dark, with a small crescent moon just beginning to show. I walked out of the office, leaving the lights blazing and the doors unlocked, heedless to everything but the beckoning streets, the beckoning night.
That night I remember as being my last in that city. Perhaps it was just the last time I felt I belonged there. That night was for closing the doors of the corridor of my waking world. And I walked all the streets that for ten years I had considered my territory.
The Ballroom of Romance was dark when I passed; I envisioned Max at his desk, deep within the club, reviewing his books, totalling the receipts of tonight. I wondered if he was angry or amused at this evening’s events. I was tempted to ring the night bell but thought better of it and moved on.
Around the corner, there was a small coffee shop. It was open all night and the lights were bright. Few people were inside, but outside three women lingered, looking cold and lonely in their short skirts and high heels. One of them was a friend of Linda’s, I had met her once and the three of us had sat in the diner over coffee and cigarettes. She recognized me and waved, but I shook my head, turned around and headed back the other way.
As I passed the office again, I looked up. Where I had left the curtains parted a thin slot of light shone. I should go up and turn them off, I thought, but continued my walk. Not pausing at the hotel, nor acknowledging Frank’s wave, I quickened my pace. Before I realized it, I was outside Mitch’s apartment building. I stood in the shadows and looked up to his windows. They were dark, was he sleeping or just not home? I longed to climb the stairs and open the door, to curl up into his arms and remain there until dawn. Further up the street was the alley where I had fed on the runaway, the alley where I had surprised the man called Sammy, and the pool hall to which Mitch, Chris and I had gone. I looked at my watch, it was still early, just a little after four. What the hell, I thought, I could use a drink.
Some inner sense warned me before I pushed open the door. I peered through the window and saw Mitch—there was no mistaking his profile and the way he sat in his chair. He was at the table we had occupied that night, and was talking earnestly to someone who looked familiar. I moved away, but not before the man looked up and recognized my face as I recognized his. Sammy stood and pointed, but I was gone before Mitch could turn around. I pulled off my shoes and ran silently, through the alleys and side streets, not slowing until I was back at the office. Outside the doors, I glanced up and down the street and saw no one. I put my shoes back on, and calmly entered the lobby. The guard looked up and smiled at me.
“It’s only you, Miss Griffin. Back so soon?”
“Yes, I’m afraid so. It’s getting too cold to walk.”
“You shouldn’t be out by yourself anyway. As you well know, there’s some strange goings-on around here.” He hummed slightly to himself and then went on. “I read in the paper that they got the scum that killed Gwen. A real shame, that was, she was a sweet girl. I was off that night; I hate to think of it. Maybe if I’d been here that guy couldn’t have got in.”
“You mustn’t blame yourself.” I reached over and patted his hand, wishing I could take that advice myself.
He grasped my hand. “Thank you, Miss Griffin. You get upstairs now and get warm. Your hand is as cold as ice.”
I smiled at him and moved away.
“Take care, now,” he called as the elevator doors closed.
The pre-dawn hours dragged and when the staff finally arrived, their shocked expressions and reddened eyes told me that the news of Gwen’s death had made the rounds and taken its toll. At ten, overly conscious of the empty desk outside my office and the dismal pall that hung over everyone, I sent them all home with pay for the next two days. Switching all but my private phone line to the answering service, I called my attorney and outlined the plans I had to sell Griffin Designs. He had tried to talk me out of it, as I knew he would.
“But, Deirdre, think of all the money you’ll be losing. You built the company up from nothing and now that you are showing a good profit, you want out?”
“That’s right, I want it sold. Quick and dirty. Can you han
dle it?”
“Well, sure we can handle it. But don’t you think you should think about it? It’s a pretty big step for you.”
“I have thought about it. All I want is enough to live comfortably for the next ten years. And the provisional two-month stay for the employees with the new owner. Is that unreasonable?”
“No, it’s a steal. I can think of several people right now who would jump at the chance. Even for much more than you’re asking.”
I laughed. Of course the higher we sold for, the bigger his percentage would be. “Get what you can for it, Fred. I’m fed up with the business; I just want out.”
“Okay, you’re the boss.” He hesitated and I knew what he was going to say. “Deirdre, I was sorry to hear about Gwen. The whole thing was pretty horrible, huh?”
“Yes.” My answer was curt, to forestall any discussion of the event, but I suddenly remembered that he and Gwen had dated for a while, before Nick came into the picture, and softened my response. “But they tell me, for what it’s worth, that it was probably quick; that after the initial blow, she would have died instantly.”
“Even so, it was horrible.”
“Yes.”
“Well, I guess you’ll be going to the funeral home. If I don’t make it, please give my condolences to her mother.”
“I will, thank you. Give me a call tomorrow and let me know how everything is going on the sale.”
I hung up the phone and checked to see that everyone had gone home, then locked the front door and turned out the lights.
Going back to the loft, or even the apartment was out of the question, so I curled up on the couch in my office, closed my eyes and slept.
The cab driver spoke very little English, and although he had no trouble finding the funeral home, he could not understand that I wanted him to wait. After repeated attempts to collect his fare, and my attempts to get him to stay, I finally gave in and paid him. Unceremoniously, he dumped the two cartons and me on the steps of the building. “Damn,” I swore, watching as he drove away, “now how the hell am I going to get home?”
“Don’t worry about it.”
I turned around and jumped when I saw Mitch walking out of the door. “What the hell are you doing here?” I was shook up enough—funeral homes upset me terribly—and I didn’t really want him around, looking over my shoulder, asking questions, especially after seeing him last night at the pool hall. It didn’t take much imagination to recreate the story Sammy must have told him.
He gave me a suspicious glance. “Sorry, I thought you might want some company. I knew you would be here tonight, being as this is the only night viewing.”
“And what is that supposed to mean?”
“Nothing.” He walked past me and picked up the cartons. “Do these go inside?”
“Yes, thank you.” I followed him up the steps and in the door. He put the boxes down in the corner, next to the sign that announced the names of the dead. There were four others, in addition to Gwen DeAngelis. Seeing her name there was a shock, it was so final and seemed so matter of fact. I must have stared at that sign for a long time because finally I became conscious of Mitch’s hand on my arm. I shuddered slightly and looked up at him. “I am sorry,” I said in a hushed voice. “I hate these places.”
“Most people do.” His voice was harsh and I lowered my eyes. “Look,” he said in a softer voice, but tightened his grip on my arm, “I’ve already been in and made my condolences. If you’d like to go alone, I’ll understand and wait outside.”
“That would be nice, Mitch, but you needn’t wait.”
“I’ll wait,” he said.
“But I may be a long time,” I explained hoping he would just leave. “It could be hours. In fact I’ll probably stay until closing.”
“Take as much time as you like. I’ll wait. We need to talk.”
I looked up at his face again. It held no expression, not anger or distrust or even love and his eyes were cold. His words echoed in the empty hall like a death knell and I knew then that there was no avoiding our confrontation.
“Well then, I’ll see you later.” I moved from his grip and went into the viewing room.
The first thing I noticed was the profusion of flowers and was thankful their fragrance balanced out the smell of death that was so pervading at the entrance. They also helped to alleviate the smells of life; even so, in a crowded, hot room with so many humans gathered together, I could always scent their individuals odors, some sweet, some bitter, all intriguing to me. But masking it was the overpowering scent of the funeral baskets, and I thought that I could stay without losing my control.
Gwen’s mother was the first person I recognized out of the sea of people. She stood guard next to the casket, a small, dark haired woman dressed in black, worrying the beads of a crystal rosary in her hands. Mrs. DeAngelis was a woman, strong in her faith, who had already buried her husband and two sons. But Gwen had been her favorite, and I knew this death would break her heart. She looked up, our eyes met and, giving me a sad smile, called me to her.
I slipped through the other mourners and reached her, but said nothing. Instead, I hugged her against me, giving and taking comfort. Finally, she broke away and gently led me to the kneeler in front of the coffin. I knelt, my head down for a time, then lifted it to look at Gwen’s face.
She looked better than I had imagined she would. The undertaker had done his job well, applying color to her bloodless skin. Her hair, I noticed with an irreverent smile, had been styled, not the way Gwen liked it, a mass of unruly curls that often hung down in her eyes, but as her mother liked it, smooth and sculptured. On the occasions I had accompanied her to her mother’s house, Gwen’s hair had often been the topic of heated but unmistakably loving discussions. I resisted the urge to reach out and toussle it slightly; instead I stood up and laid my hand on her cold ones and leaned down to kiss her forehead.
A tissue was pushed surreptitiously into my hand, I used it to wipe away my tears then turned to Mrs. DeAngelis.
“I’m so sorry,” I said simply, not being able to produce anything to justify this death.
“I know, my dear.” She twisted the rosary in her hand again and her voice became distant. “She was a good girl, she never did anything to deserve this.” Her fingers caressed the silver crucifix attached to the beads. “I know the Lord has His own reasons, but why He needed to take her now, and this way, I’ll never understand.” Her words were angry and drew attention from the people gathered. A young man, tall and well built, rushed to her side, giving me a dark look.
“Mother, you’ve been standing all day, let me get you a chair.” He walked her across the room and sat her on a sofa. She was crying helplessly now, and I made a step in her direction. The man stopped me and gestured for several ladies to sit with her. When she was settled in he came back over to me.
“Hello, Nick.”
“Deirdre.” There was anger in his voice, directed at me. “I’d like to talk to you outside, if you don’t mind.”
“But,” I looked over to where Mrs. DeAngelis sat, “I can’t just leave her like that.”
“Of course you can. What’s it to you, anyway?” He took my arm and led me, not too gently, through the people and out of the room.
He looked around to see if we were unobserved, then hissed at me, “This is all your fault, you know.”
“My fault?” I knew that it was, that Gwen would still be alive if she had not been associated with me. But how had Nick reasoned that out?
“You had no right to take her away from us, from me. I know you never liked me, never thought I was good enough for her; but I loved her and you had no right to introduce her to your friend or to interfere with our plans.”
“But, Nick, I never introduced her to anyone. She met Larry on her own; I had nothing to do with that. I tried to talk her into going back to you, to try to set things straight.”
“There was nothing to set straight. We were going to be married.”
I looked at him intently. “That’s not what she said.”
He met my gaze defiantly for a minute, before his anger faded and was replaced with sorrow and guilt. “I know we had a little disagreement, but I never really expected her to go out and pick up some other guy. Why would she do that?”
“It just happened, Nick. There was nothing anyone could have done about it. And she loved you, you know that, don’t you? She loved you very much.”
“Did she?” He began to cry silently, with just the horrible trembling of his shoulders and his head to indicate it.
“Of course she did.” I gently touched his shoulder. He didn’t push me away so I wrapped both arms around him and held him tightly while he cried. I could feel the tension in his body slowly relax and when he stopped, his face, though tinged with tears, was lighter somehow.
“I’m sorry,” he said, disengaging himself from my embrace, “I didn’t really mean to take this out on you. I know it wasn’t your fault, or mine even. I just feel so helpless without her.”
“As do I, Nick. And if it is any consolation, the bastard that did this to her is dead too. No parole, no life sentence; just a nice cold slab in the morgue. And no one deserves it more.”
“Jesus,” he said, in a surprised tone, “you really hate that guy.”
“I would have killed him myself, if I had been able to.” Perhaps it was the look on my face, or the determination in my voice, but Nick shivered slightly.
“Remind me never to get on your bad side, Deirdre.” He gave a shaky little laugh. “I don’t think I’d like it much.”
“Probably not. Do you feel better now?”
He thought for a moment. “Yeah, I don’t know why, but I do. Thanks, I wasn’t able to cry before.”
“Well, I think you should probably go back in now.”
“Yeah, you coming?”
I shook my head. “I don’t think so.”
“Will you be at the funeral tomorrow?”
Hunger Page 22
