Ring Around the Rosy

by Roseanne Dowell

  “Miss Weston, Detective Morgan will call you right back,” the emergency operator said a moment later. Susan hung up, and the phone rang almost immediately.

  “Dave, he called,” she said. “Just now, he called.”

  “Okay, calm down,” Dave said. “I’m on my way. Oh, and sit down away from the windows. I don’t want you moving around the apartment.”

  * * *

  Damn it, the killer was watching her, knew what she was doing. Where was he? Dave needed to keep her on the phone until he got there.

  “So tell me, why did you want to be a reporter anyway?”

  “Because I love writing, and I always have to investigate everything. Why did you become a cop?”

  “I come from a family of cops, from my great-grandfather down to my father, me, and my brothers. We’re a long line of cops. He veered around traffic and just missed hitting a car.

  “I just recently made detective, my one big dream fulfilled.”

  Dave did a quick scan of the neighborhood as he pulled in front of her apartment. Nothing appeared out of the ordinary, no one lurked nearby. Could it be one of her neighbors? He raced up the steps to her apartment house. Luckily, Horace let him in.

  * * *

  Susan opened her door. “There’s going to be another murder, probably someone named Willie, but he didn’t say when. He said watch for Wee Willie Winkie,” she blurted, not giving Dave time to get in.

  “How does that rhyme go? Wee Willie Winkie runs through the town... How does the rest of it go? I don’t remember.” She felt light-headed. Anxious. Couldn’t breathe. It was hard to think. She wanted to throw herself into his arms. Why was she so scared?

  “Calm down, Susan.” Dave led her to a chair. “Let me get you something to drink. Sit, take deep breaths, and try to relax.” He went into the tiny kitchen and opened cupboard doors, found a glass, filled it with water, and brought it to her. “Do you have anything stronger than water around here?”

  “Lemonade, soda, or beer, in the fridge.” She sipped the water and inhaled a long deep breath then exhaled slowly. ”This is fine.” Feeling a little more relaxed, she leaned back in the chair.

  “Upstairs and downstairs in his night gown, rapping at the windows, crying through the locks are the children all in bed...” She stood up and recited as the rhyme came back to her.

  “For now it’s eight o’clock,” they finished together.

  “The murder is going to be at eight o’clock, isn’t it? That’s broad daylight. Unless he meant eight o’clock tomorrow night. So far, something about every rhyme was part of the murder. A pudding and pie at George’s scene, the candlestick at Jack’s.”

  Susan paced the apartment, a habit developed while plotting a story, getting the facts straight in her mind. “The next one is going to be named Willie, and he’s going to be murdered at eight o’clock, maybe wearing a nightgown.” She shook her hair out of the clasp, then pulled it back up and clicked the clasp in place.

  “That’s how these are going, aren’t they. What’s the connection? Do you have a suspect? You know for sure now it isn’t me.” She turned to Dave, who stood grinning at her as she rambled.

  “Speaking of you not being a suspect…” He pulled the evidence bag from his pocket, removed the bracelet.

  “I didn’t place it into evidence. I never really considered you a suspect.” He handed her the bracelet. “No, we don’t have a suspect. So far, we haven’t been able to figure out a connection between the victims, other than they lived around here. We’re checking to see if they went to the same schools. Maybe it’s someone who knew them long ago. We don’t know yet.”

  She hoped he knew she was going to print this. The public had a right to know this information, and she was a reporter.

  The way he looked at her and cringed, he knew.

  “Come on, Susan, that was off the record.”

  She shrugged. “I have a job to do.”

  “Let’s put those shades up, shall we?” He changed the subject, but Susan noticed the tightness in his jaw. He wasn’t happy with her. At least he didn’t leave. She didn’t want to be alone.

  While he measured, she cut the shades, liking the silence. Too bad she hadn’t known how easy they were to install, she’d have done it long ago. These were a new type that you fit to the window yourself. Dave hung the brackets.

  The way his hair fell to the side begged her to run her hands through it.

  This wasn’t good. She had to stop this nonsense.

  The window looked strange with the shades drawn. Good thing she had picked the off-white rather than the stark white. Not too bad, considering she preferred the open look with just a valance to add some color. Besides, she liked the look of the exposed wood.

  Thankfully, Dave had mounted the shades on the inside so at least the wood still showed, but they blocked the city lights, and she missed the view from her living room. The ones in her bedroom didn’t matter because the light from the parking lot and the morning sun interrupted her sleep, but she missed looking out at the city.

  “Want some coffee?” she asked when they finished. She still didn’t want him to leave. He made her feel secure and comfortable. Nothing had ever rattled her like this case.

  Maybe Ernie was right, maybe she was too involved. No! She almost stamped her foot. This was silly, she was a grown woman. Why not admit she liked having Dave around?

  He shook his head. “One cup, then I have to leave,” he said. “I‘m still on duty. And I don’t want you to answer the phone anymore. Let the machine pick it up.”

  He followed her into the kitchen. “I’d feel better if you’d find someplace else to stay. This guy might be watching you. Is there anyone you’ve come in contact with lately that’s been acting strange? Maybe it’s someone you know and wants to get your attention.”

  Surprised, she turned to look at him. “That’s ridiculous. Why would someone want my attention?” No one she knew was capable of murder. At least, she didn’t think they were. But maybe it was only an acquaintance. It didn’t have to be someone she knew well.

  She shook off the thought. “That’s just plain ridiculous.” Still, she knew both victims. A tremor ran up her spine.

  “Just a thought,” he said. “All the same, I want you to be extra-cautious, more observant of people around you, who you come into contact with and their reactions. Just use your reporter’s intuition and observation, okay. And don’t forget — screen your calls, and call me immediately when he calls again.”

  He finished his coffee, stroked her arm, and looked at her.

  Desire smoldered in his eyes. Susan tried to look away, but his gaze held her captive. Tingles of excitement started in the pit of her stomach. Her breath came in short gasps. He moved closer. She tried to back away, but her legs wouldn’t budge. She didn’t like the affect he had on her. She’d always been able to resist men, but not him.

  His gaze locked on her lips. He was going to kiss her, and she wasn’t going to stop him. He leaned toward her, and the phone rang.

  “Leave it,” he mumbled before his mouth joined hers.

  The machine picked up, and her mother’s voice came on.

  Dave pulled away, breaking the mood. “I better go.”

  Electric sparks still surged through her body from his kiss. Never had she been so attracted and so aggravated by one person before in her life. She ignored the phone. She’d call her mother back tomorrow. She needed to think.

  No point going to bed. Sleep wouldn’t come. She took out her laptop. Writing helped relieve her stress. She wrote aimlessly, not about anything in particular, just whatever came to her mind.

  Later, she looked at the screen and realized she had listed people she came into contact with. Ernie Reed, her editor, Hilda Banks, one of the secretaries at the paper — they had lunch a few times; Angelo Meliti, the owner of the little grocery store around the corner — she shopped every day. Of course her mother and sisters and her friends, Jack and Jill, but that was
ludicrous. They couldn’t possibly be suspects.

  Greg Platt, her neighbor. She only saw him occasionally, and they only spoke briefly. She didn’t know anything about him or his personal life. Didn’t care to. Noah Gold and Dan Hill, the seasoned, experienced reporters from the paper; and Justine Miller, the food editor — but she didn’t have much contact with them, other than to say hello.

  Then there were the photographers, Ray Logan, Gloria Klubnik, and Gary Rosenberg. She had worked with all of them regularly, but didn’t know any of them well, didn’t socialize with them. Ray had asked her out once, but he wasn’t her type, so she turned him down. He didn’t seem offended.

  She and Gloria had lunch or dinner whenever they worked together, but it wasn’t a personal friendship. She knew nothing of her outside of work. And Gary, she shrugged, Gary was just Gary. No, none of these people seemed suspect to her.

  Oh, then there was Angelo’s son who worked in the store, a bright boy, friendly. He was going to college. What was his first name? Tony — that was it. She didn’t see him often. Usually Angelo was behind the meat counter. She added him to the list and printed it out.

  Now to the news story.

  The Nursery Rhyme Murders

  According to the police, the only connections between Georgie Porgie and Jack be Nimble are the area they resided and their ages. Both George Lucas and Jack Murphy, aged 31 and 32 respectively, lived in the Thayer Crossing neighborhood.

  Her neighborhood. Susan sat back. She knew both victims, and the killer called her. Was Dave right? Was she in danger? Was someone doing this to get her attention?

  But why would he kill for it? It didn’t make sense. Something still nagged at her. She couldn’t help think there was a connection.

  She put her hands back on the keyboard and typed.

  Neither was employed in the immediate area. George worked at a bank on the East Side of town, and Jack taught fourth grade at a suburban elementary school. According to police sources, there are no suspects in the case.

  If anyone found out Dave was her source, she had a feeling he’d be in big trouble. Well, no one was going to find out from her.

  There, she hit the fax button on her laptop and sent the follow-up story. She still didn’t care to divulge the phone calls. Both victims had lived within a few blocks of her. Maybe their paths had crossed, too. Mrs. Meliti said George shopped in the grocery, and she had seen Jack in there several times. Did they know each other? What was the connection? The motive? Did they know their killer?

  She stood and stretched. Her body tense from exhaustion. The sun was coming up, but thanks to the shades, her room wasn’t bathed in sunlight. She lay down on her bed, not even bothering to undress, and pulled the sheet to her chin. Bella jumped onto the bed and curled up next to her, fitting her body in the curve of Susan’s arm. Her last thoughts, before she fell asleep, were of Dave and that kiss.

  * * *

  Dave maneuvered his car through traffic. Thoughts of Susan took over his mind. That wasn’t the Susan Weston he talked to on the phone, the self-assured woman he encountered a couple days ago. No, she was scared. Sure, she tried to hide it, but he saw the trembling. And the way she threw herself into his arms. Not that he minded.

  He grinned. Even now, he felt the softness of her body. He probably should have booked her bracelet into evidence, but what the hell, who was going to know? Why slow down the investigation? He’d have to be more careful what he said to her, though. Tomorrow’s public was going to know the police were clueless.

  She sure recovered quickly enough. One minute, a frightened little thing, and the next, an investigative reporter. Maybe that was part of her plan. Appear helpless to get him talking. Damned if he’d let that happen again.

  Yeah, she had a job to do, but damn if she was going to manipulate him. Still, her fear was real. She couldn’t fake that terror- no one was that good an actress.

  Too bad he had to leave her. She looked so vulnerable, so trusting. His laughter startled him. He shook his head. Susan was getting to him. His lips still felt warm from hers. “Damn it.” He slammed the steering wheel. What the hell was he doing? She’s a witness. It was against everything he believed in to become involved with a witness.

  He pulled into his drive. He had to quit this. But damn it, he hadn’t been able to resist the look in her eyes. She wanted him as much as he wanted her.

  Chapter Four

  The ringing phone woke Susan several hours later. She rubbed her eyes, sat up, and tried to listen to the machine, but couldn’t hear it. On her way to the bathroom, she caught the sound of the voice, but couldn’t hear what he said.

  She played it back while she called Dave from her cell phone. “Don’t forget Wee Willie... Oh, and Susan, I don’t like the shades.” Click the line went dead. Oh God, he was watching her. Thankfully, Dave answered on the first ring. Did the man never sleep? She showered and changed while she waited for him.

  When Dave arrived, he took the tape and wasn’t very social, leaving immediately with the same words of caution. He looked tired, with dark circles under his eyes, his wavy hair in desperate need of a comb.

  Susan had a full schedule with numerous errands to run, and lunch with her mother and sisters. After feeding Bella, she got ready for the day.

  ***

  Something stuck out of her wiper blade — a single red rose. She pulled it out and held the limp flower, looked around, and wondered who left it.

  Shrugging, she threw it on the passenger seat, got in her car, and started it. First stop — the dry cleaners, a name not on the list. She didn’t know Vincent personally, but stopped in fairly often with clothes to be cleaned.

  Maybe the rose was from Dave. She grinned, not able to keep her mind off the wilted flower while she drove. Nah, that wasn’t his style. He wasn’t the secret admirer type — he’d hand it to her.

  Something didn’t feel right. Who put the rose on her car? And why? Dave had said maybe someone wanted her attention. She didn’t like the sudden bitter taste in her mouth. She swallowed. This whole thing unnerved her. Usually the calm, steadfast person in a crisis, she had suddenly turned to jelly.

  The bell on the door tinkled as she walked into the dry cleaners. Dave’s words rang in her head. Be cautious, be observant.

  Vincent smiled a hello and turned to get her clothes. She didn’t even have to show her receipt. He knew her by sight. The small dry cleaning shop was clean, with a long oak counter between Vincent and the customers. Overhead hangers spun around a rack while Vincent pushed a remote until her clothes came within reach. He reached up to get the clothes and pushed his dark hair off his forehead. His smile reached his dark, almost black eyes.

  The odor of dry cleaning fluid smelled especially strong today. She paid for her cleaning and hurried out of the small shop. Other than thank you, Vincent hadn’t said a word.

  He couldn’t be a suspect. Nope. Though she didn’t know him well. His, like many others in this small neighborhood, was a family-run business. He always appeared polite and pleasant, sometimes making small talk, and sometimes not, like today, when he was busy. Susan almost bumped into her friend, Jill on the way out.

  “Hey, Susan, how’s it going?”

  “Not bad. How are Jack and the kids?”

  “They’re good. How about we get together next week for lunch?” Jill looked at her watch. “As usual, I’m in a hurry.”

  “Sounds good,” Susan said. “Give me a call.” She hurried to her car.

  Next stop — the post office to mail a package. She parked in front, and again remembered Dave’s words. Lord, she was getting paranoid. Heck, she didn’t even know anyone at the post office. Still, she took in everyone with a quick glance. A man at the counter looked familiar, but she couldn’t place him.

  Waiting in line for her turn, she tapped her foot impatiently. Fortunately, the small post office wasn’t too crowded.

  A chest-high table where patrons could fill out forms or address letters divided
the sales counter from the line. Only two clerks worked the counter.

  “Hi, Susan,” Greg, her neighbor, said from behind her.

  She hadn’t noticed him come in. Two people stood between them. She smiled and nodded her hello. She didn’t feel like talking, but she observed the dark good looks of her neighbor. Medium build with a pleasant, ordinary face, dark complexion — probably tanned — and blonde hair, he stood almost a head taller than the people between them.

  He didn’t look like a killer, although what a killer looked like, she had no idea. Past news stories from friends and neighbors of killers always described them as ordinary, normal human beings. Could a killer be standing behind her? She shook the feeling.

  “I saw your story in the paper this morning. Nice touch, the nursery rhymes headlines.” Greg seemed determined to make conversation.

  “You wrote that story?” The man behind her touched her shoulder. “Do the police really not have any suspects?”

  Shoot. She couldn’t take this. She stepped out of line and ran out of the post office, ignoring the stares.

  In her car, she took a deep breath. Why did she feel the need to escape? She started her car and suddenly burst out crying.

  Good grief, was she going crazy? All because of a stupid flower.

  There was probably a perfectly innocent reason for it. Maybe Dave had left it, or maybe someone made a mistake, meant to put it on another car. This wasn’t like the self-assured woman she thought herself to be. Levelheaded — that’s how people usually referred to her. Nothing levelheaded about her now.

  She picked up her cell phone and dialed Dave. She’d find out if he left the rose. He answered on the first ring.

  “Hi, Dave, sorry for bothering you, but I have a question. Did you leave a single red rose on my windshield?”

  “No, why?”

  “Because someone did.”

  “Don’t throw it out. It’s probably nothing, but I want to see it.”