by Stacy Juba
"I'll talk to your editor," Eric said. "I'll-"
"Don't bother. What's done is done. Besides, I told her off." Kris arched over the stove, fussing with the spatula. A trail of flour streaked her apron.
He spun her around and pulled her to his chest. "Talk to me, Kris. Don't shut me out."
Eric cupped her chin. Her heart felt like it would crumble into a million pieces.
"I don't know what to do," she said in a rush. "I can't go back to the 9-to-5 rut. Those hours kill me, but most night jobs are crappy. This was quiet and exciting at the same time. I had a chance to build a career."
"What about another paper?"
"I don't have much experience and the job market is lousy. And another paper could have different deadlines. I could still get stuck on a day shift. Except for Bitchy Barbie, it was the perfect job."
Eric kissed her cheek and held her by the waist. "It won't be easy, but I'll help you. We'll scour the want ads and employment web sites together. Whatever I can do, you just say the word."
"Help me solve Diana's murder. I just got a threatening call. The person told me to leave it alone, and that what happened to Diana could happen to me."
Frowning, he stepped back. "You're kidding. Did the voice sound familiar? Like Jared? Or Alex Thaddeus?"
"It sounded disguised. I'm pretty sure it was male, but I can't even swear to that."
"What about that *69 service? Isn’t that supposed to let you identify your last incoming call?" Eric picked up the cordless telephone.
"I didn't think of that. Let’s try."
As he dialed, Kris hung near his shoulder. Eric listened a moment.
"It was denied on that number," he said, clicking off. "Let's call Lieutenant Frank."
The phone shrilled in his hand.
"I hope it's our friend," Kris said. "I want some answers."
His face grim, Eric passed her the receiver. He tilted his head, leaning in close as she mumbled hello.
"I've got information," Dex said. "When I was packing, one of Bruce's cop sources called and tipped him off that there's a hot lead on the Ferguson case."
"A lead? What do you mean?"
"Jacqueline's not running a story, because no arrests have been made. But a suspect's wife went to the cops and claimed he lied about his alibi."
"Who's the suspect?" Kris asked.
"Some loser who's in the police log all the time for domestic assault and battery," Dex said. "Vince Rossi."
Chapter Nineteen
25 Years Ago Today
The Vilicon Corporation of Needham will move its headquarters and entire
operation to the Grove Industrial Park in Fremont.
"Look, Lieutenant, is Vince Rossi a suspect or not?" Eric asked into the phone.
Kris chewed a burned cookie and propped her elbows against the counter. According to Dex, Vince Rossi had been charged with domestic assault and battery against his wife Gina several times. Last year, their son had robbed a convenience store.
Eric muttered goodbye and hung up. Kris straightened.
"That was useless," Eric said. "Lieutenant Frank claimed that lots of people get crank calls, and having your name in the paper makes you more vulnerable. He said if you keep getting them, to let him know."
"Glad he's so concerned. What about Vince? Is he taking that seriously, at least?"
"He wouldn't tell me, but he confirmed they were interrogating Rossi."
Kris brushed flour off Eric's shoulders and kissed him firm on the lips. "Then there's only one thing to do. Come on. We're taking a ride."
"Where?"
"Gina Rossi's house."
***
Ramshackle. Kris could think of no other word to describe the house. Peeling paint and dirt brown smudges rotted its pear green exterior. No wonder neighbors complained when the Rossis fought. You could reach out the window and touch the next house.
A bleached blonde in her late forties answered their knock. Yellow frizz grazed her shoulders, curling around dangling rhinestone earrings. Blue eyeshadow caked her eyelids and a lipstick stain marred her front tooth. Glaring through the screen door, a barking German Shepherd nosed the leg of her tight-fitting jeans.
Gina Rossi folded her arms across her wrinkled denim shirt. "Easy, Sparky," she said in a throaty, two-pack-a-day voice. "What're you guys supposed to be, Jehovah's Witnesses?"
"We're working with the Fremont Police on the Diana Ferguson case," Kris said. "We'd like to talk to you about your husband."
"My husband, huh? You got all night? Come on in."
She clutched the dog by his collar and chained the wooden door that blocked the screen. Exchanging glances, they followed her into a cramped living room heavy with cigarette smoke. Kris picked her way past a squeaky rubber dog bone, a dish of Alpo and an empty pizza box with a damp stain in the center. Gina Rossi gestured to the overstuffed floral-patterned couch. Circles ringed the coffee table from too many drinks without coasters.
Lighting a cigarette, Gina knelt on the dusty shag rug. Crumbs and black dog hair threaded the coarse wool. Growling, Sparky spread out beside her.
"What're you, cops?" Gina asked.
"Diana Ferguson was my aunt," Eric said.
"Ah. I suppose you want to know if my husband did her in."
"Do you think he did?" Kris asked.
Gina blew a smoke ring. "He needed me for an alibi. What does that tell you?"
"I thought he was throwing a party," Kris said. "Why did he need an alibi?"
"Vince left for a couple of hours. He got into an argument with someone and split." Gina took another drag on her cigarette. "When Diana turned up, he knew the cops would suspect him. He begged me to say we hung out at my place."
Eric leaned forward. Sparky growled again. "Do you know where he really was?"
"Your guess is as good as mine. He said he went drinking by Stella Lake, but how do I know he wasn't lying?"
"Were you and Vince seeing each other then?" Kris asked.
"Hell, no. He was a friend of my big brother and I had a crush on him. Vince figured if anybody would lie for him, it would be me. I was stupid." Gina grinned without mirth. "In a way, you could say Diana Ferguson changed my life. Vince took me out to pay me back. That's when I got knocked up with Vince, Jr."
She thumped Sparky on the back. "Out of jail three months, now he's back in the slammer for robbing a convenience store. Vince was furious, but he visits Vinnie every weekend. I think we should give him some of that, what do you call it, tough love, you know? Leave him alone for awhile. Except Vince says we can't abandon him. I don't want to abandon Vinnie, I just want to show him that we don't condone that type of behavior."
She didn't condone robbery, but she forgave murder? The morals of this family baffled Kris. "Do you really think your husband killed Diana?"
"Maybe," Gina said.
"But you had a child with him. You married him. Why would you marry a killer?"
"You calling me a liar? I don't know where Vince was that night, but he sure as hell wasn't with me. Read the what-do-you-call-it, statement, I gave the cops. If it wasn't for me, Vince would've been in deep shit."
Gina rolled up her shirt sleeve and pointed to a black and blue mark. "See what kind of husband he is? If he can beat his own wife, then why couldn't he kill some girl who embarrassed him in front of his friends? Diana just dumped Vince, not caring that he'd have to see her at the bar."
"All Kris asked is why you got involved with him," Eric said.
"He didn't hurt me back then. I knew him my whole life. How was I supposed to know he was a monster? And you can tell the cops that. He's a monster with a capital M."
Headlights flashed through the window. Sparky's ears shot straight up and a snarl rumbled deep in his throat. He sprinted to the front door.
"Oh, shit," Gina mumbled. "Vince."
Fists pounded on the metal part of the screen door. "Gina! Open up! I want my damn key."
Her eyes wide, Gina turned t
o Eric. "Come with me. Please."
Eric strode into the kitchen. Kris hurried after him, Gina at her heels. She stood against the wall and laid a reassuring hand on Gina's quivering shoulder.
"What the hell did you tell the cops?" Vince yelled through the door.
Gina squeezed her eyes shut as if summoning her strength. "That's what you get for hitting me!"
"Who's here, Gina? I saw the car, I know someone's here."
"People working with the police. If you don't get lost, we'll call the cops, I swear to God."
Eric opened the door a crack, keeping the chain fastened. "Leave her alone."
"You! Is your girlfriend here, too? Hey, you in there, doll?" Vince hollered over the steady barking. "How about coming out to play?"
Ignoring Eric's warning look, Kris stalked closer to the door. "Yeah, I'm here, Rossi," she called back. "If you don't leave, we're getting the police over here, too."
"If you drag me into Di's murder, you're gonna pay."
"Why, do you have something to hide?" Kris shouted.
"Bitch. Both of you gals are bitches. Hey, Gina, you'd better wise up. You can't make it without me." Vince booted the door with a harsh clank.
Eric pushed Kris behind him, blocking her and Gina with his body. They waited in tense silence. Kris grabbed the phone, ready to dial 911. She let out her breath as the car screeched out of the driveway.
"We're calling the police," she said.
Gina snatched away the phone and cradled it against her breast. "No."
"What do you mean?" Eric asked. "You're not safe here."
"Vince loves me. He wouldn't hurt me -- no more than he usually does." Gina wiped her mascara-rimmed eyes with a crumpled tissue. Nicotine stains climbed down her knobby hands. "He's never done anything except rough me up."
"But Gina-" Kris began.
"Last time he hit me, Vince took me to a bed and breakfast down the Cape. He was so sorry. You don't know how sweet he can be."
Kris turned away to think, and fingered a dusty bowling trophy on the mantel. Had Diana seen that "sweetness" too? Maybe she'd believed she could change him and make Vince loving all the time. "You deserve better than this."
Gina pushed back her frizz with both hands. "You don't understand. Vince is right. I can't make it without him. We'd had a bad fight, so I decided to teach him a lesson and get a restraining order. Then I saw the newspaper story. I figured the cops would put a scare into him.
"I don't think he did it. Vince was real shook up by Diana's death. How violent it was. I was the only one who saw him vulnerable. With everyone else, he pretended not to care. I think that's why the cops came down on him so hard back then. I really screwed things up."
"What if he comes back?" Eric asked.
"He won't, not tonight. He'll go drinking with his buddies, then pass out." Gina sighed. "It'll blow over, and he'll move in again. He always does."
They stayed another twenty minutes, until Gina had calmed down. Kris and Eric didn't speak much on the way to her apartment except when they stopped to order Chinese take-out.
But neither felt like eating after they got home. Eric left the white cartons on the kitchen table and collapsed beside her on the couch. He leaned forward and stroked the sides of his face. "Maybe we should give up."
Kris pinned him with an incredulous stare. "You’re kidding me, right? After all this?"
"Vince is dangerous. Whoever made the call is dangerous. I don't want you getting hurt."
"For God's sake, Eric, we can't let some pathetic jerk like Vince Rossi, or a crank caller, scare us off. We've hit a nerve."
"I don't want you getting hurt," he repeated.
"I can take care of myself. If you want to quit, fine. I'm staying on the case."
"Why are you so damn driven to solve this mystery? So far, this investigation has cost you your job. Do you want to risk your life, too?"
Kris laced and unlaced her fingers. "If necessary."
He tugged the ends of his hair. "Jesus, Kris. Do you think my family wants that? Do you think my grandmother can take one more tragedy? Don't be crazy. Diana was my aunt, not yours. This has gone far enough."
"No!" She jumped up and paced a trail past her reclining cat.
"It has something to do with Nicole, doesn't it? You can tell me."
"No. I can't."
"You're shutting me out again. I think we can have something special together, but we have to trust each other first."
Her pulse drummed, beating against her throat. "I ..." The words stuck in her vocal cords. It would be such a relief to say them. Finally.
Eric moved over to her. Deep worry lines etched his forehead. He massaged her wrist, giving her as long as she needed.
She loved him. God, how she loved him. Kris couldn't hide this secret from Eric any longer. Either he'd understand ... or he wouldn't.
"I ... I ... it was my fault," Kris burst out. "If I hadn't been selfish, Nicole wouldn't have been killed in the first place."
He hugged her and smoothed down her ponytail. Kris pressed her head into his shoulder. Now that she had started, she couldn't hold back. "We were walking home from school. I was jealous that Nicole wanted to make new friends and was chummy with my sister, Holly."
She told him about her lie in trembling fits and starts. Eric remained silent, his arms folded around her waist.
"Our neighbor, Randolph Coltraine, saw her walking home in the rain and offered her a ride," Kris said. "We think she tried calling her mother from the ice cream place, but Aunt Susan had gone out with a friend, then had car trouble. Nicole got impatient and left on her own. Coltraine had just moved in a few months ago, and no one knew him that well. I thought he was weird. I never would've gone with him."
"Nicole made a bad decision. It wasn't your fault."
"I put her in that situation. It's not fair. You make one mistake, just do one thing wrong ..."
"You were twelve," Eric said. "Kids do dumb things. Believe me, I'm around them every day. There was no way you could know something horrible would happen."
"There's more. After my parents told me Nicole was dead, for just a second, I was relieved she couldn't tell. What does that say?"
"That you're human and it took awhile for reality to sink in. Your world had been shattered. The mind has built-in defense mechanisms."
Kris dried her eyes on her sleeve. "I wanted to tell my parents the truth, but it upset my mother when I mentioned Nicole. I knew she'd be happier not knowing. I almost confessed to my father, but I couldn't do it. He's happier in the dark, too. Eventually, I stopped thinking about Nicole every day, but I've had insomnia and nightmares for years. The images won't go away, no matter how hard I try to control them."
Eric touched her cheek, brushed the hollow of her neck. "It must've been hard to bottle your emotions all these years, but it's great that you finally had the courage to say it. You've got to stop punishing yourself."
"You don't think I'm to blame?"
"Of course not, but I can see why you'd feel that way as a kid. It's like my friend, Paul. He was the same age when he blamed himself for his parents' divorce. It's easier to feel guilty than powerless."
"What do you mean?"
"It's hard to accept things you can't control. Especially for a kid, but you're not a kid anymore, Kris. You've got to remember that Nicole made a mistake, too. She got in a car with a man she barely knew, someone who should've raised a red flag. That caused her death, not what you did."
"I hated her for being so trusting. So weak." Kris wrestled away from Eric and circled the room, her hands webbed into tight fists.
She heaved a throw pillow onto the floor and Chipmunk scooted down the hall. "Why did Nicole get in the damn car? Nothing would've happened if only she'd kept walking, or if she’d waited at the restaurant until she reached her parents. I wouldn't have had to live the rest of my life feeling like a ... murderer."
Kris lowered herself onto the edge of the couch, startled by the
depths of her anger.
"Maybe you had more common sense than Nicole," Eric said. "She had faults, just like you did, just like everyone. You can't forget that. No one’s perfect."
"It hurts to be mad at her," Kris whispered. "It's easier to hate myself. I'd give anything to turn back time and be nice to her. Tell her how much she meant to me."
"Don't you think other people have that same wish? Everyone has stupid arguments. My grandmother yelled at Diana a few days before she died. She tried to sympathize, and Diana accused her of prying, and they both lost their tempers. It haunts my grandmother, but she's learned to focus on the good times. You need to forgive yourself, too."
"I'll try, but I don't know if I can." Tears welling in Kris's eyes, she began to sob. Eric drew her close and she fell into his embrace.
Maybe this was what it meant to have a weight lifted. Maybe it leaked out drop by drop in a rainfall of tears.
Chapter Twenty
25 Years Ago Today
The Fremont Bicentennial Commission meets to plan events for next year's celebration.
Kris stared up at the black rock palace. Red hot flames spewed from the turrets, belches thundering like dynamite. She turned to see a ferry floating down the sooty river.
A three-headed mongrel barked from a boulder, surrounded by water. He yelped again, louder. Rusty iron gates creaked open and the ferry slipped toward the dock.
Shrilling, the Furies soared out from between stone walls. They whipped past Kris, snakes coiled around their heads, hissing with forked tongues. White-faced, a young woman stepped off the boat.
The scene changed to a dark forest. The girl darted past Kris, clutching her silver bow. She reached out, imploring. Branches sprung out of her feet, leaves out of her hands.
Gasping, Kris woke up. Eric stirred in bed beside her. She nestled against his warm back and threaded her hands through the light hair matting his chest. What a bizarre dream. She shuddered in her flannel pajamas. It hadn't been her typical Nicole nightmare, but the images were frightening nonetheless. She focused on the comforting rhythm of Eric's breathing.
