A Killer Past (5 page)

‘I
HAD
TO
get away from Mom,’ Shannon said, wandering into the kitchen and opening the refrigerator. ‘She is absolutely driving me crazy.’ Shannon grabbed a can of soda and popped it open before facing Mary. ‘Was your mother ever like that?’

Mary thought back to her childhood – her real childhood – and grinned. ‘We had disagreements.’ Out-and-out fights, she remembered. Especially when Mom was high on drugs. ‘So what’s the problem?’

‘School.’ Shannon flounced back past Mary, into the living room, where she flopped down on the couch. ‘You heard her last night. All she can talk about lately is college. She wants me to apply to the University of Michigan, Harvard, Yale. Every college in the universe.’

‘Those are good colleges, and you have the grades.’

Her granddaughter looked at her as if she’d just joined the enemy, and Mary realized she’d missed something the night before. ‘I thought you were excited about going to college.’

‘Like, yeah.’

‘OK.’ Mary tried another approach. ‘What would you like to do?’

‘What you did.’ Shannon sat up straighter and faced her grandmother. ‘After I graduate, I want to travel. You didn’t go to college right after you graduated from high school, and you did fine.’

‘Don’t use me as an example.’
Please
, Mary prayed. ‘I was lucky. If my parents hadn’t died and left me money, I wouldn’t have been able to move here and open a bookstore, wouldn’t have met your grandfather.’

‘Are you sorry you traveled?’

Mary sank into the easy chair opposite her granddaughter. How to answer? What to say? ‘No,’ she admitted. ‘I’m not sorry I traveled. I enjoyed going to foreign countries.’
At least I did when I wasn’t afraid of being caught.
‘I enjoyed learning about other cultures.’
Even when the lessons and training went on and on, day after day, until they were sure I wouldn’t make a mistake.
‘But things could have turned out different.’
I could have been the one who was killed.
‘I’m sorry, but I think your mother’s right. You should go to college first. Get that degree. Then, after you graduate, if you still want to travel, I’ll see to it that you have the money to do so.’

‘Maybe you could travel with me.’

Mary chuckled. ‘Honey, I’ll be eighty … or close to eighty by then.’

‘I mean now. Next summer. We could go to France. Dad said you speak perfect French, better than the teacher he had in college. I’ve always wanted to go to France. You could take me places you went, show me what you saw.’ She leaned forward, excitement dancing in her eyes. ‘We’d have a wonderful time.’

Mary leaned back in her chair and closed her eyes, flashes of memory taking her back fifty years to a mansion just outside of Paris where she seduced René LeMond. She remembered the look of surprise on his face when she inserted the needle and injected the aconitine, remembered how close she’d come to being caught, and the headlines the next day.

‘Don’t you want to go back?’ Shannon asked, a note of concern in her voice.

Mary opened her eyes and looked at her granddaughter. ‘What’s the saying? “You can’t go back.” That’s how I feel about France. It was an exciting time, but I was in my twenties then. I fell in love with Paris, with the countryside and the people. It wouldn’t be the same now, and it wouldn’t be the same for you if I were along.’

Especially if I were along.
She wondered if anyone over there
would remember her … recognize her. Would she be considered a hero for eliminating one of France’s vilest sex offenders or simply remembered as a murderer? Whichever, she wouldn’t want Shannon knowing.

‘So you’d make new memories. Please,’ Shannon insisted.

The doorbell rang and both Mary and Shannon looked that way. Shannon moved first, hopping off the couch. ‘I’ll get it.’

The girl was at the door before Mary could rise to her feet.

‘Trick or treat’ she heard tiny voices sing out.

‘Oh, aren’t you two adorable,’ Shannon responded.

Mary watched Shannon scoop a handful of candy from the bowl near the door and drop it into the two pumpkin-shaped plastic baskets the children held. Shannon had the door closed and was halfway back before Mary took two steps away from her chair.

‘Weren’t they the cutest ever?’ Shannon said.

Mary shook her head and eased herself back into her chair. ‘I don’t know. I barely saw them.’

‘Well, they were. Absolutely adorable.’ Her granddaughter plopped herself back on the couch. ‘You know, you don’t have to get up. I’m here so you don’t have to exert yourself. Dad worries about you. He thinks you fell down the stairs.’ Shannon looked toward the steep staircase that led up to the second floor. ‘Did you?’

‘No, I did not fall down the stairs.’ At least she could be honest about that. ‘I just bruise easy.’

‘Well, Dad worries. That’s all he talked about during lunch, how you shouldn’t be alone, that you’d be a lot better off if you went into that retirement home.’

The doorbell rang again, and again Shannon was on her feet. ‘Just stay where you are. I’ll get it.’

The next time she came back to the couch, Shannon took a gulp of her soda, then sighed. ‘I told him you weren’t ready to go into a retirement home, that you’re too active for something like that. I mean, didn’t he read that article about you? You work out more than most of my friends do.’

Mary didn’t even start to move the next time the doorbell rang. Her body ached and her lack of sleep the night before had her content to sit in the chair and watch her granddaughter bounce up
and down, oohing and aahing at costumes, and giving out candy. Between trick-or-treaters Shannon’s conversation skipped around from one topic to another. School. Her friends and what they were doing. Her boyfriend, Aiden. How he didn’t want her to get her hair cut short, but why should she listen to him, because she’d wanted to go to a party tonight, but he was off with his dad, up north somewhere, so what right did he have to tell her to keep her hair long?

‘What does he think of your idea of traveling around Europe?’ Mary asked.

‘He thinks it’s a neat idea. He’s already signed up for a European biking trip next summer, and when that ends, he’s going to stay over there until he runs out of money. We figured we could meet up in Paris.’

‘Aah.’ Now Shannon’s plan made sense. ‘And if you aren’t there?’

‘It will be a real bummer.’

The doorbell rang again, and Shannon took off to answer it.

‘Mom’s dead set against me going,’ Shannon said when she returned, ‘but if you went with me, I think I could talk Dad into it. And it would be good for you, too.’

Mary chuckled. ‘How’s that?’

‘Dad would see you aren’t feeble, so he’d stop harping about the retirement home.’

Shannon was working every angle, which reminded Mary of her own mother. Samantha Coye was a user of more than drugs. She used the johns who paid for her services, the government programs that paid for their food and housing, and even her daughter.

‘What did your parents say when you told them you were going to Europe?’

Shannon’s question brought Mary back to the present.
Her parents?
Shannon meant the made-up, loving couple who gave their daughter everything she ever wanted, loved her dearly, and tragically died just before Mary Smith turned thirty. The parents who had the money Mary ‘inherited,’ the money she used to move to Rivershore and open a bookstore forty-four years ago.

She needed to be careful what she said. She not only had to make sure she didn’t say anything that didn’t match past stories, she also
needed to phrase her response in a way that didn’t give Shannon the wrong idea. Although she didn’t always agree with her son and daughter-in-law, in this case she thought Robby and Clare were right. Shannon should go to college after she graduated from high school. A trip to Europe and joining up with her boyfriend were not in her granddaughter’s best interest.

‘They were very upset,’ she said. ‘Begged me to reconsider. And now that I look back, I realize they were right. I should have gone to college first, and then traveled.’

‘But once you took off, were gone, they supported you, right?’

‘They …’ Mary wasn’t sure what to say. ‘They were very upset.’

‘How did you get over there? Fly? I’ve been checking. Every so often they have cheap tickets. How much money did you take with you?’

Mary thought of the private jet that took her on her first journey to Europe, the elegant clothes she was given to wear, and the fine hotel they booked her in. Her job was to seduce a man, get him alone, and allow her partner to eliminate him. She didn’t need money. Everything was taken care of for her. All she had to do was play her part.

‘I …’ Funny, no one, not even Harry, had ever asked her how much it cost her to go to Europe. ‘I don’t remember,’ she finally said.

‘I’ve been saving my babysitting money, along with what you gave me for my birthday.’ The doorbell rang again, and Shannon rose to her feet. ‘I have almost five hundred. I know it’s not enough, but by the time school’s out, I’ll have more.’

‘Shannon, I don’t think you should go, not until—’

The moment Shannon opened the door, the chatter of the children ended Mary’s advice. She knew she couldn’t be heard over the youngsters’ excitement. ‘Here you go, now,’ Shannon said. ‘No fighting. There’s enough for everyone. Hey, you guys better get home. It’s getting dark.’

Mary saw Shannon start to close the door, then hesitate. Her granddaughter was looking at something outside.

‘Grandma, do you know anyone who drives a black car?’

‘A black car?’ A frisson of fear brought Mary to her feet.

‘I keep seeing one go by, real slow. At least, I think it’s the same car.’

‘Let me see,’ Mary said and limped over to the doorway.

Clouds darkened the sky, and a chilling breeze brushed against her cheeks. Standing beside her granddaughter, Mary watched a black sedan drive slowly by, its tinted windows up so she couldn’t see who was in the car.

‘I guess it could be a parent,’ Shannon said and grabbed a piece of candy from the basket by the door for herself.

‘I suppose it could be,’ Mary agreed, but she closed the door and turned off the porch light. ‘I think that’s enough for tonight. The little ones should be heading home to bed, and the older ones shouldn’t be bothering an old lady. Right?’ She forced a smile and steered her granddaughter toward the kitchen. ‘How about a cup of hot chocolate?’

J
ACK
PASSED
A
group of teenagers walking along the side of his street. He couldn’t tell if the bandana tied around one boy’s head and the patch over his eye was supposed to be a costume or if the kid had been injured in a fight. One of the girls was dressed like a hippy, and another one wore a crown on her head. He supposed they were out trick-or-treating, but he drove by slowly, just to let them know he’d seen them, and also, if any cars were damaged during the night, he could identify them.

Most of the houses along his block had turned off their porch lights, the glow of televisions and some upstairs bedroom lights the only signs that people were at home. ‘One more Halloween down,’ he said to himself as he pushed the remote for his garage door.

He hoped VanDerwell and Mendoza had an easy night. Twenty-four years ago, when he was a rookie assigned to Halloween night, he’d had it easy. Back then they didn’t have the gangs and gang fights. Waxed windows and egged cars made up the bulk of the
night’s mischief. Nowadays the chief doubled up patrols and had even asked Jack to be on standby. Considering how many beers he’d downed at the Shores Bar and Grill, he hoped he didn’t get called.

His house was dark when he went inside, but he didn’t bother snapping on a light until he reached the living room. After twenty-four years of living in the same house, he had no problem finding his way around in the dark. With a sigh and a burp he sank down onto his couch and lit a cigarette.

He’d stayed at the bar long after Officer Mendoza left but had moved to a stool at the counter. Crystal was on duty behind the bar, and Jack liked talking to her … teasing her about her current boyfriend. Maybe he was drinking too much, but it was a helluva lot better than coming home to an empty house.

Jack turned his head so he could see the family photo sitting on the end table beside him. Taken back when his boys were in their teens and his wife was healthy, the picture was his favorite link with the past. The photographer had come to the house and after several shots taken with them seated on the couch and then standing in front of the fireplace, he’d suggested they go outside in the back yard. There they gathered in front of the hedge, a slight breeze ruffling Barbara’s hair and the sun giving her skin a rosy glow. John was half-turned toward the garage, and Jack could almost hear his oldest son grumbling about having to get to a softball game. Richard, on the other hand, stood almost at attention. They should have known even then that Richard would be a career Marine.

When the proofs were delivered, Barbara picked the picture where they were all standing in front of the fireplace and had a twelve by fifteen made of that one. It now hung in their bedroom. Jack had preferred this one. For him it captured his family best: Barbara’s natural beauty, John’s energy, and Richard’s natural leadership. Jack even liked the way he looked back then: happy.

How quickly the years had passed since that photo was taken. With Barbara gone, it all seemed like a dream. He wished he’d spent more time with his family and less on the job. Now all he had was the job and even that would be ending soon. Two more years and he would retire. Then what?

He sighed, put out his cigarette and lit another.

John wanted him to move to Virginia. But if he did, who would look after Barbara’s father? The old man rarely recognized him anymore, but with Barbara’s mother gone and no other living relatives around, Jack felt it his duty to drive to Kalamazoo and visit the nursing home at least twice a month. And what about his own parents? His sisters were always nagging that he didn’t visit their mother and father often enough. He knew he should, that they, too, would be gone soon, but the drive to Chicago always seemed so far, and brought back so many memories: the first time he saw Barbara, their wedding, the birth of their sons, and the death of his partner.

He had enough memories.

Most of the time what he wanted to do was forget.

He took a long drag on his cigarette and slowly let out the smoke. He was getting maudlin, that’s what he was doing. Well, if he was going to cry in his beer, he might as well have another one. Or maybe it was time to switch to Scotch. A couple of shots should help him sleep.

He stubbed out his cigarette and pushed himself up from the couch. He was halfway to the cabinet where he kept his liquor when the telephone rang. A glance at the clock on the television confirmed it was nearly ten o’clock.

Calls after nine o’clock always worried him.

Had his father-in-law passed on? Was something wrong with one of his parents? With John? Richard?

Jack worried about his younger son’s safety. As a general, Richard shouldn’t be in the fighting, but nowadays no one was safe. Those terrorists would love to take out a command headquarters.

Jack changed direction and stumbled toward the kitchen. Damn, maybe the chief was right, maybe he was drinking too much. His hand shook as he raised the receiver to his ear. ‘Rossini speaking.’

The racing of his heart slowed as he listened to the voice on the other end, his breathing taking on a more natural rhythm. Finally he spoke. ‘How old an old lady?’