A Cold Christmas (14 page)

He squeezed Ollie too tight and the cat made a “mrmr” sound of protest. “It's freezing out here, you retard cat. Why don't you go home where it's warm?”

He saw the black minivan again. Just like the other time, it drove by real slow. What did Baines want? It was like he was watching them. Trying to scare them? Looking for him? Looking for Dad?

Zach was glad now that Chief Wren hadn't been home last night. He'd had this stupid idea of telling her about Baines. Something Sam might have thought up with maximum brain power.

Zach felt hollow. He didn't know what trouble his dad was in, and he didn't want to make it worse. He didn't know what Baines might do to Mom and the Littles. He didn't know if spewing to the cops would make everything worse.

Pushing Ollie aside, he pulled up the hood of his sweatshirt and slithered down the tree. Before leaving the shadows of the trees, he looked for the black minivan, but didn't see it. He cut through three backyards, scaled two fences, and then went out to the sidewalk.

Head down, he jogged along. Whenever a car passed, his shoulders hunched up like they were afraid there was a target painted back there or something. He was sick and tired of the cold. Why couldn't it be warmer? Even snow would be warmer than this.

He needed a plan, some way to take care of this mess.

17

It was perfectly fine for Pastor Mullett to talk about Christian charity and those less fortunate, but Ida Ruth Dandermadden gave a lot of money to the church and just how would he feel about Christian charity if she decided to take her money elsewhere?

Billy Forrester Dandermadden had been a good man, God rest his soul. She had married him in this church and been faithful to him ever after. There were no standards today. Everything going from bad to worse. She wouldn't put up with it. Not for a minute. God's will was God's will and that was that.

None of this saying it's too bad and everybody is doing it. Next thing, we'll have divorced people in the pulpit.

We'll just see about this organist. Ida Ruth knew a few people who thought the way she did, and it was her God-given duty to set things right.

She put down the baby jacket she was knitting for the Elsons' new grandson, went to the kitchen, and looked up a phone number. With force, she punched in the numbers.

“Marsha, it's Ida Ruth. Have you had time to think about what I told you?”

“Of course I've thought about it. You said it was important, but I'm just not sure it's very kind—”

Ida Ruth tapped her foot while Marsha Arendal dithered on. Failing, poor dear.

“—and she does play real nice and she has—”

“Yes, dear, I know she can play the organ. Evan Devereau wouldn't have hired her otherwise, but that doesn't change the fact that it's improper for a divorced woman to be playing for church services.”

“But, Ida Ruth, the poor thing has three children. Children need to be fed and have clothes on their backs.”

Ida Ruth took in an impatient breath while Marsha went on about nonessentials. When she could stand it no longer, she broke in. “She should have thought of that before she got a divorce. I'll call you again. I need to get ready for my quilting session. You just think about what I can do to that grandson of yours.”

“Gunny? But he's a good boy! Why—”

“Just think about what I told you and what could happen if you don't do what I say.”

She hung up, tucked her knitting in its bag, and trudged to the bedroom, where she added a strand of pearls to go with her crisp white blouse. It might be only the girls, but Ida Ruth liked to look nice no matter where she went. People had no standards today. Her green shawl, her quilting bag, her knitting bag, her coat, and she was ready.

So cold, so cold. She hugged the coat around her as she made her way to the garage. Was it ever going to warm up?

The car groaned and coughed and shook before the motor finally started with a roar. Must get Roy to take a look at it. While the car warmed up, she worked for fifteen minutes on her knitting. When the time was up, she tucked the knitting away and sedately backed down the drive.

Even after stopping for pastries, hers was the only car at Pauline's when she pulled up in front. The others were late again. Couldn't they understand promptness was important?

She snatched her quilting bag and went up the walk. Tapping on the door, she pushed it open and called out, “Pauline?”

“Here.” Pauline Frankens came from the kitchen wiping her hands. “I was just finishing up some dishes.”

“I brought the pastries. I didn't want you to stand on that knee. How is it?”

“Oh dear, Ida Ruth, I think it's better. Isn't it irritating getting old? It gets in the way of so much. Next thing we'll be quilting at the old folks home, dribbling onto the fabric.”

“That sounds absolutely disgusting.”

Pauline went back to the kitchen to finish the dishes. Ida Ruth followed.

“Have they arrested that woman yet?”

“What woman?”

“Don't be obtuse, Pauline. You know very well who I mean.”

“No. Why would Caley be arrested?”

“For killing that man.”

“Nobody's been arrested as far as I know.”

“What are they waiting for?”

“I believe they want to know who did the killing first,” Pauline said with exasperation.

“Somebody has to do something about that woman, and I'm not one to shirk my duty.” Ida Ruth sniffed.

The doorbell rang and a voice cried out, “Yoo-hoo! We're here.”

“Make yourselves comfortable,” Pauline called. “I'll be right there.” She let the soapy water out of the sink, dried her hands, and collected the dishes of nuts and chocolate candies.

Pauline could see that Ida Ruth was irritated with her, but she was not going to go along with her old friend's getting Caley James removed from playing in church and that was that.

Ida Ruth made it clear how she felt about “that James woman” playing the organ in church. Throughout the entire afternoon, she made it clear.

When the other two left, Ida Ruth helped Pauline straighten up. “Do you need anything before I go?”

“I don't think so, Ida Ruth. Thank you.”

“Then I'll let myself out. You sit down and rest that knee of yours.”

*   *   *

It got dark so early these days, and Ida Ruth had to admit she was tired. She had loved Billy Forrester every day of her life, and there was never a better man who walked the face of this earth, but she must admit she was just as glad she didn't have to fix his supper when she got home.

In the old days when Billy Forrester was alive, she'd have to come home and fix him a big meal when all she really wanted was a nice bowl of soup and maybe a piece of toast. Being a widow was hard, but it was freeing not to have to answer to anybody.

The back porch light wasn't on. Tsk. Now, she was sure she'd turned it on before she left. Burned out, most likely. She'd have to tell Roy to change it.

Awfully dark. Feeling carefully with her foot, she found the bottom step and groped for the railing. Too many stairs to take easily anymore. When they bought this house, she could run up these steps and think nothing of it.

Maybe it was time to sell and move in with Roy. Holding tightly to the railing, she pulled each foot up to the next step.

Just as she was congratulating herself that she was almost there, she heard a crack. The railing splintered. It gave way. She felt herself falling.

18

Bonnie plopped on the edge of her mother's bed. “Mommy?”

“Mmmm?”

“Mommy!”

“What, darlin'?”

“Don't you think you should get up now?”

Caley rolled onto her side and rubbed her grainy eyes. “What time is it?”

“Five o'clock, and Zach is gone and Adam is watching television again. I told him not to but he is anyway.”

Caley wondered why she was still asleep at five o'clock in the afternoon, but it was too much for her. She snaked an arm out from under the bedcovers and circled thumb and forefinger around Bonnie's wrist. Up. Yeah, up. Her head pounded and her face felt hot. She'd had wild dreams of rapists and murderers breaking into the house. Dragging her feet to the side of the bed, she dropped them to the floor.

“Do you need some help, Mommy?” Bonnie took Caley's hands and tugged.

With supreme effort, Caley managed to get herself seated. It did nothing for her aching head. “Where did Zach go?”

“I don't know. He said he'd be back in a really short time and I should have some cereal. Mommy, I don't like Froot Loops. Could we get something else?”

“Sure. Next time I go to the grocery store.” If I live that long.

“I made some coffee. Would you like some?”

“No!”

Bonnie's face crumpled.

“Nice of you, honey, but I think I'd like to get up first and drink it in the kitchen.” She sat with her elbows on her knees and her hands propping up her head. What did the kitchen look like? Grounds all over, yesterday's coffee spilled, and water splattered from trying to wash the pot.

“You go get your robe on and I'll meet you in the kitchen.” She groaned as she rose unsteadily to her feet.

In the kitchen, the ceiling light shined down on the mess. Maybe the only thing to do was move and let whoever came along next deal with it. She stumbled over peeling linoleum and caught herself on the doorframe. Her pounding head didn't appreciate that at all. She poured herself a cup of Bonnie's coffee. Black and thick as paving tar. Bonnie had scooped in about a cup of grounds.

“How is it, Mommy? Do you like it?”

“It's delicious, sweetie. It's just what I needed.” She took a gooey sip. “Adam,” she yelled, “turn off the television.”

“Aw, Mom.”

“Now!” Caley gritted her teeth and got up for milk, added a goodly amount to the coffee, and sat back down. “Do you think you could get dressed, Bon? I've got to go to work pretty soon.”

Bonnie tipped her head to one side and studied her mother. “You don't look like you should go to work?”

Caley ruffled her daughter's curls. “I don't feel much like it, either, but who'll buy Froot Loops if I don't go to work?”

“Mommy! I told you I don't like Froot Loops.”

“Right. I'll try to remember that. See what you can do about getting dressed.” Caley got up, swayed a little, and caught herself on the edge of the table.

The doorbell rang. Bonnie skipped off to answer.

“Hi,” Susan said. “I need to talk with your mom.”

“She's drinking coffee. Would you like some?”

Susan followed the child to the kitchen. Caley James rose and cinched the belt of her robe. “Oh,” she said. “Was there something—”

“A couple of questions,” Susan said. “I'll try not to take up much of your time. Are the children all right?”

Caley put a protective arm around her daughter. “They're fine. Why shouldn't they be?”

“That was quite a traumatic experience.”

Caley's hand tightened on her daughter's shoulder.

Bonnie looked up at her mother. Maybe because her mother squeezed her shoulder so hard.

“Go and get dressed,” Caley said.

The little girl trotted off.

Caley looked at Susan, eyes dulled with fever. “What questions? I really need to get ready for work.”

“Who looks after the children while you're working?”

“Ettie. Their grandmother.”

“I need to hear about the man who's been following you.” Susan sat down at the kitchen table, and after a few seconds Caley sat across from her.

“Tell me about this man.”

Caley rubbed her eyes and took a gulp of coffee. “How do you know about—” She squeezed her eyes shut, then opened them wide.

“Tell me about him.”

Caley drank more coffee. “Not following me. Here. Hanging out. Behind the garage, across the street, around the neighborhood.” She rubbed her face. “A shadow. He seemed to be there, but when I looked he'd be gone.”

“You only saw him watching your home? Did you report this?”

Caley started to shake her head, then winced. “I didn't think anybody'd believe me. Probably think I was crazy. People around here think I'm crazy enough as it is. And I wondered if he was camped out in the abandoned paper factory.”

“What did he look like?”

“What does a shadow look like? Fog?”

“Could it have been Holiday?”

“The repair man? Why would he hover around?”

That was going to be Susan's very next question. “What reason could there be?”

“None. Unless the man was—”

“What? Unless he was what?”

Caley seemed to be trying to shake herself out of a fugue. “Nothing. I was going to say an ax murderer, but that's too scary.” She rubbed her eyes, crossed her arms on the table, and rested her head on them.

“I need another look in your basement, but you needn't come. Go ahead and get ready for work.”

“I'll come with you,” Caley said, tight-lipped.

She went first down the wooden stairs and flipped on the light switch.

With only two bare bulbs to illuminate the entire area under the house, the basement was shadowy and dim.

“What are you looking for?” Caley asked.

“We still haven't found the murder weapon.” What Susan was searching for was anything that would tell her what had happened here. She needed an army of searchers to do it right.

What she had was herself. Get on with it. She pulled on a pair of latex gloves and opened the box nearest the furnace. Old clothes, out of style and mildewed. Another box, more old clothes. Another box, old clothes. A little theater group would have a treasure trove down here. She quickly went through the box, not bothering with pockets. Bad police work, but Armageddon could arrive before she finished if she tried for thorough.