Since Dave visited at such odd hours, she had given him the keys a few days ago. Besides, she liked to wake up in the morning to the smell of fresh-brewed coffee. Something about it seemed homey.
Sitting down at her computer to write while the story was still fresh in her mind, she thought about the victim before she started typing. Sally had a reputation and Susan hoped, for the family’s sake the news media didn’t pick up on it.
Sally in the Water
“Sally in the sea, Sally caught a black bird. You can’t catch me” was the challenging rhyme left by the nursery rhyme murderer on the body of his latest victim. 31-year-old Sally Arnold. Ms Arnold’s body lay in a large puddle near the abandoned Fletcher Factory.
She is the first murder in a little over two weeks. Like the previous murder, there was no forewarning. A homeless person looking for a place to sleep found the body.
Sally Arnold, a single mother of two children ages 8 and 10, lived in the same neighborhood as the other victims. As far as the police can tell, they had no connection between the victims. They didn’t work together or socialize.
Susan left off there. She’d add more tomorrow, after she talked with Dave. She picked up Bella and crawled into bed, exhausted.
Chapter Thirteen
The aroma of fresh brewed coffee and bacon frying woke Susan early the next morning. She stretched, jumped out of bed, combed her fingers through her hair, and went to greet Dave. She just might be able to get used to this. Heck, who was she kidding? She was already used to it.
Dave handed her a cup of coffee when she came into the small kitchen. With a quick kiss on her cheek, he took her in his arms and nuzzled her hair with his chin.
Susan cuddled closer against his chest. Her breast perked up at the close contact. Fresh coffee and welcoming arms, what a way to start the day. Content to stay that way, she noticed the time on the clock behind him. Eight o’clock. She’d have to hurry. It was almost time to meet Gary at the Playhouse. Good thing Dave was here — she hadn’t set the alarm. The interview was scheduled for ten. Preferring to stay in Dave’s arms, she pulled away reluctantly.
After grabbing a piece of bacon and foregoing breakfast, she drained a quick cup of coffee, walked to her car, and stood for a minute, inhaling the fresh autumn air and smoldering scent of burning wood, probably from someone’s fireplace. The crisp autumn air had turned the leaves, the trees exploding in a multitude of color. For all of its beauty, Susan thought it a sad time of year. Winter wasn’t far away, and it wasn’t a season she looked forward to or enjoyed.
She hated the winter cold that engulfed her body, and the discomfort of layering clothes to protect against the elements, rain, sleet and snow. The snow always presented a challenge, fighting slippery roads that drivers, like herself, didn’t know how to drive on, let alone maneuver through gnarled traffic jams and accidents on the icy streets.
But today, the sun sparkled off the rusts and golds of the trees. Enjoying the cooler autumn day, Susan drove with her window partway down, radio blaring country music. She turned it down when she approached the Playhouse in the center of town.
Gary stood out front, waiting for her, his camera equipment at his feet. She slipped her car into an available parking space, grabbed her purse and notebooks, and hurried to meet him.
Though she loved the old Playhouse and its historic architecture, the festival, a part of the Playhouse Square’s annual open house and arts festival, didn’t interest her. Fortunately, the interview went quickly, and Doris Potter, the Director of Education for the center, was well-prepared and answered all of her questions with a professional, efficient attitude.
Gary offered to buy her lunch, and she accepted. Not having time for the breakfast Dave had fixed, her stomach had started growling midway through the interview.
They lunched at a deli down the street from the playhouse, with a counter for orders to go in the front of the restaurant and a few tables in the back. They also sold loaves of rye bread, corned beef, and other luncheon meats by the pound. Susan inhaled the delicious aromas and followed Gary to the back of the building, past a counter with stools, to an area where six tables of four were set.
It wasn’t a fancy restaurant, and could do with some remodeling and decorating, even her untrained eye noticed, but it had a reputation for the best corned beef sandwiches around.
The pungent odor of corned beef, garlic, and sauerkraut made her stomach growl even louder. She ordered the corned beef on rye. Though her mouth really watered for a Reuben with the sauerkraut, she thought better of it.
Gary made quiet conversation, not pumping her for information on the nursery rhyme case the way Ray had. Instead, he talked of his dream to publish a series of coffee table books.
Never having a serious conversation with Gary that didn’t pertain to work, it surprised her when he revealed this about himself.
“I’m really interested in nature photography,” he told her.
“That’s terrific. I hope you realize your dream. Have you taken many photos?”
“Oh yeah, mostly flowers. But I go to the Cuyahoga Valley National parks and take photos of birds and deer.” Gary’s voice held a tone of pride. “Every spring, I photograph the Blue Herons nesting near Peninsula, Ohio.”
“No kidding. Wow! I had no idea they nested there.” Not being a nature fanatic, she had no idea about any of it, and truth be told, she didn’t much care. But Gary displayed exuberance she’d never seen in him. Not that she’d ever had an opportunity to talk with him at length before.
All in all, it was a pleasant lunch, and unlike the lunches with Ray, she stayed until the end and allowed Gary to pay, but she insisted on leaving the tip. Not that it mattered; it was a tax write–off, anyway.
Susan walked to her car, half afraid to look at it and heaved a sigh of relief. No roses, thank goodness. She got in and drove home, enjoying the quiet peacefulness of the day.
Chapter Fourteen
Susan arrived home and played back her answering machine, relieved there were no messages. She returned her mother’s call and was pleased to hear her father planned to go back to work soon.
“But the days go by so slowly,” her mother complained.
Susan understood. Her mother wasn’t used to staying home. She had her own job. Luckily, she also had a lot of vacation time built up, and was able to stay home while her father recovered.
The police still didn’t have a suspect in the shooting. From all witness accounts, it sounded like a random act of just being in the wrong place at the wrong time. Either that or he foiled a robbery attempt. A crime like that in the Riverdale area caught everyone off guard. Made people nervous. Susan certainly understood that. It didn’t seem to matter which neighborhood you lived in-crime happened everywhere.
Susan still resented the fact that Hill had made reference to her and the murders. And, it didn’t take the Riverdale Rag long to pick up on it. Her name was still splattered across the paper every time something new came up in the case.
Clare visited her parents every day. A gnawing guilt ate at Susan that she wouldn’t be able to visit for a couple of days. If only Kate wasn’t so far away. At least Clare and her mother were able to leave her father long enough to go grocery shopping. Not that her mother couldn’t do it on her own. She was more than capable. But she seemed to enjoy the company — even Clare’s, now that she had finally calmed down.
“I swear, Susan,” her mother’s voice brought her back to their conversation. “Something’s going on with your sister. All she talks about is Steve, and how much time he’s spending away from home. What’s going on there? Do you know?”
“She’s the same way with me.” Susan feigned ignorance. Far be it from her to tell her mother what was going on. That was up to Clare. She wished she didn’t know herself. Too bad Clare had confided in her. Although Susan figured the poor girl had to confide in someone.
Instead of whining, Clare should do something about it. What, Susan had no ide
a. She’d never been in that situation. But there had to be something. What her sister needed to do was throw herself into her work.
At least Clare had a job now. The woman had catered to Steve too much, to all of them, actually. She never did anything just for her. Steve and the kids were Clare’s life, which worked for a while. Susan bet if her sister would have had a job a long time ago, she wouldn’t have given in to that jerk.
Something told her Steve might have found her a little more interesting, too. Maybe he wouldn’t have taken Clare so much for granted. Susan sighed as she hung up the phone. These weren’t things she could tell her mother, and Clare had to figure it out for herself.
After the phone call, Susan sat down to write the playhouse story.
Festival on Playhouse Square— The weekend promises to be filled with a wide variety of activities. Face painters, dancers, and stilt walkers, in colorful costumes, will parade along sidewalks filled with karaoke performers. The Plaza has been turned into a dance floor for anyone caring to take advantage of the lively tunes performed by various bands.
Hitting the send key on her computer fax, the story was now on its way to the newsroom. She probably could have added more, but Ernie said space for this story was limited.
Exhausted, Susan leaned back and closed her eyes. The only thing that kept her going was the thought of seeing Dave. Not wanting to fall asleep, she decided to make him another dinner.
But first, she needed to make a shopping list. Tapping the pencil on the counter, she drew a blank about what to cook and pulled out her favorite cookbook. She quickly decided on meatloaf, garlic mashed potatoes, with creamed cauliflower-broccoli-carrot medley as the vegetable. She grabbed her keys, hurried out the door, and kicked the two roses lying on the floor.
Annoyed, she slammed the door, locked it, and raced down the steps. As usual, on the way to Meliti’s Market, she went past the park.
For some reason it seemed to beckon to her. Silly, but she paused and turned up the path. How often had she come here with Jill and the kids? Up to now, she had avoided even walking past it, going around the block to Meliti’s. With the cooler temperatures and most of the kids in school, only parents with preschoolers came here now. Seemed they came in groups. Probably afraid to come alone, and who could blame them. She passed a few joggers and turned away from the place Jack and Jill had been found. She’d probably never go back there. She stopped near the swings and remembered Jack pushing his son.
Susan sat on one of the swings. God, how she had loved swinging, loved the feel of the wind on her face, the feeling of flying. She pushed back and held her feet up, releasing the motion of the swing, leaned back, and pumped. Higher and higher, until she thought if she didn’t stop, the swing would go over the top. Still she pumped higher, as if swinging higher could make her forget. Make all her problems go away, like she could throw them to the wind.
Swinging had always given her a sense of freedom. But not today. Today, she felt trapped Trapped in sorrow for her friends, trapped in anger against the bastard who had taken away so many innocent lives. Tears rolled down her cheeks as she tried to forget. But she doubted if she ever would.
Finally, she quit pumping and coasted until the swing slowed enough for her to put her feet on the ground and stop. She slid off the swing and watched it sway back and forth. She’d probably never come back here. She had loved this place once. Now, it was a bitter memory.
She hurried past the water fountain and refused to look. Everything here held a painful memory. Too many lives were lost here. Susan pulled her jacket tight around her. Suddenly cold, she hurried out of the park, and, at the entrance, turned and took one last look. No, she’d never come back. She turned up the street and hurried into Meliti’s Market.
As usual, the sweet aroma of pastries and sauces made her mouth water, enticing her to try something different, though there wasn’t too much different she could try. She had bought every homemade sauce from the Marinara to the Alfredo. At one time or another, she had purchased all the prepared meals. The prices were a little higher here, but the warmth, friendliness, and delicious food made it worthwhile, and she liked to contribute to the small businesses in her neighborhood, rather than the huge grocery chain stores.
Trying to put the murders and roses out of her mind, she walked up and down each aisle; looking at items she had no intention of buying, just to kill time. She spent extra time in the produce section picking out the broccoli and cauliflower, then wandered around in front of the pastry counter, hoping old Mrs. Meliti would stop and gossip. Angelo’s wife said hello, but there was no sign of the elder Mrs. Meliti. Instead, Tony cornered her at the meat counter and asked her about the case.
“I knew those guys,” he said. “And Mr. and Mrs. Shipman used to come in here all the time with their kids. Ms. Arnold, too.” He shook his head. His shoulders drooped and he spoke in a monotone voice.“I can’t believe it. Why would anyone want to hurt such nice people?”
An overwhelming feeling of sadness hit Susan. She didn’t have an answer, and though Tony had always been friendly, he had never talked on such a personal level before. Tears burned her eyes and she bit her lip.
Tony ground the meat fresh instead of taking it out of the case. Smiling a sad smile, he handed her the meat and winked. “I added a little extra. No charge.”
Funny what the death of someone you knew did to a person. All of a sudden, you realized life was short and material things didn’t matter. She smiled back and took the groceries up front to check out. Such a good-looking young man, no wonder the women were crazy about him and tagged him with the nickname. He was personality plus.
Amanda, Tony’s sister, checked her out with no conversation other than her normal hello and have-a-nice-day comments. Like a robot, she rang up the groceries, the total opposite of Tony, shy and reserved. But her beauty rivaled that of any model. With her long black hair, olive complexion, and tall, slender build, she could easily be a cover girl.
Susan walked the two blocks to her apartment, taking her time going home, and taking pleasure in the cool crispness of the fall day. She liked walking along the street, enjoying the architecture of the neighborhood. Major renovations were taking place on many of the homes and buildings, restoring them back to their glory days. She loved the Thayer’s Crossing area, loved the history of the place and the old Victorian homes. She could imagine what it must have been like way back when.
An eclectic neighborhood, Thayer’s Crossing was first developed as an upper-middle-class neighborhood with large lots and fancy homes with lots of gingerbread. It soon changed to accommodate the laborers in the industrial valley when the wealthy residents moved to the suburbs.
Susan loved the ornate churches with soaring towers and onion domes. The area became known as Thayer’s Crossing after one of the bridges in the area. Now people in the area were afraid to go out at night. She wanted her safe neighborhood back.
Susan especially loved the old Victorian style homes in the area. In fact, the whole Victorian era fascinated her. Maybe she’d do an article on the area. It certainly held a lot of interest for her. If she had to write “fluff pieces,” at least she could do one about something she enjoyed.
If she believed in reincarnation, she would have thought Thayer’s Crossing was part of her previous life. Funny, Clare also had a fascination for Victorian, even buying antiques of the period.
Susan envied Clare’s ability to hunt down the pieces, going to auctions and visiting antique stores and flea markets. Of course, Clare had the time and the means to do it, not having to support herself, and Steve provided well. Kate, the total opposite, liked the sleek new modern look. Funny, Susan thought, how the sisters were so different.
“Hey Susan,” someone yelled as she walked along, oblivious to everyone around her. So absorbed in the renovation projects and the autumn colors, she had forgotten what Dave said about being observant. Normally, her writer’s eye took in the surroundings as well as the people.
Susan nodded; glad they were almost to her apartment. She didn’t feel like talking. She hurried along with Greg at her side.
“I was wondering,” he said. “If you’d like to have dinner with me sometime.”
Why were men so interested in asking her out all of a sudden? Had she blossomed into a raving beauty overnight or something? First Ray, now Greg. Darn, she hated being put in this position. He probably wanted to pump her about the murders, too.
“I’m sorry. I’m kind of involved with someone.” The same refusal she gave Ray, only this time, it was true. This time, she was involved with Dave. Susan gave him her most winning smile. Who would’ve thought she’d be able to say that twice in one month, or at all for that matter.
Who would’ve thought she’d find someone interesting enough to be involved with, or more to the point, someone who found her interesting enough. It never mattered before — not until Dave. Of course, Dave wasn’t most men. He was special. And if her scanner came across with something, especially the murder, Dave became involved, too.
“Oh, are you involved with that cop that comes around?” Greg looked dejected. “I thought it was just part of the investigation, although I noticed him leaving at all hours.”
Was Greg watching her? Goosebumps ran up her spine. She didn’t much like the idea of Greg spying on her. Grateful, they had reached her apartment and she didn’t have to answer, she unlocked her door and went inside. Dave sat at her counter.
She looked at her watch. “You’re early.” She set the groceries down and went into his arms. He seemed tense, uneasy.
“What is it? What’s wrong?” she asked as she snuggled against his chest.
“A lot of things, really. I got reamed out today by my boss for not booking your bracelet into evidence. Now he’s questioning your innocence. That story did a lot of damage to your credibility, and the retraction didn’t help. Not to mention your father and the story the Riverdale Rag ran about you.”
Ring Around the Rosy Page 12
