Anonymously Yours (5 page)

I rounded my shoulders. “That’s an understatement.”

“Just think about it,” he continued. “If you did walk in at an inopportune time, you probably startled the lady in the chair once she realized you weren’t her intended victim. You said yourself you ran out without looking back. She probably peeled out as fast as you did—in the red Toyota.”

He almost had me convinced, but then I remembered something else. “I suppose all that is possible, except for one important detail.”

I heard another long, drawn out sigh. “What?”

“Well, if I wasn’t the intended victim of a practical joke, then it must have been meant for Michael Black. But he’s supposed to be out of town.”

Justin seemed to consider the idea before offering another explanation. He appeared determined to find a plausible answer for what happened. “Maybe the woman didn’t know he wouldn’t be here.”

I shook my head slowly. “Then how did she get inside?”

Justin held me away from him, a look of concern distorting his handsome features. “Now look,” he said, his impatience showing. “Don’t try to make this out to be something mysterious.” He paused for a moment, studying my reaction. “If this wasn’t someone’s idea of a practical joke, then how did a dead woman get up and drive off in a red Toyota? They’re both missing, and they were both here this morning. And Michael Black is out of town. How else do you explain it?”

I sighed in exasperation. “I don’t have another explanation, Justin,” I admitted. “But I know there has to be one.”

He turned away and threw his hands in the air. “It was a joke, Denise,” he insisted, his voice shrill. “A sick joke, perhaps, but a joke, nonetheless. It’s the only thing that makes any sense.”

I closed my eyes, letting my shoulders relax. His theory did make sense, I realized. Why couldn’t I just accept that it was a joke and let it go? Was I reading more into this than there really was?

Justin’s hand on my shoulder startled me. I gasped at his sudden touch.

“Feeling better?” he asked. I could hear the hope in his voice.

“Yeah, I guess so,” I answered, avoiding his probing gaze. I still wasn’t convinced, but I decided to let it go for the moment. I still had questions, but I didn’t want to get into them with Justin. He seemed determined to convince me to stay out of it.

He put his arm around my shoulder and steered me toward the front of the house. “Good,” he said. “Now let’s go to the diner and have that dessert I promised you.”

We’d just emerged from the corner of the house, when a distant voice startled us. “There’s no one home!”

We turned suddenly to find a woman seated in a white wicker chair on her porch across the street. Long gray hair cascaded around her narrow shoulders. Bony fingers flew across a threatening pair of knitting needles. Justin flashed me a warning look, then put his hand against the small of my back, urging me forward.

“Michael left about ten o’clock last night,” she shouted. “Did you need to see him about something?”

“Nothing that can’t wait,” Justin answered. He continued pushing me along the sidewalk out of her sight. “We’ll catch him another time.”

We didn’t stop walking until we reached the intersection. I spun around, my mouth open wide. “What the heck was that all about?” I asked.

Justin paused and leaned against a street lamp. “That’s Alley the Snoop,” he said. “She watches everything that goes on in the neighborhood.”

My mouth dropped wider. “Then why didn’t you let me talk to her!” I shouted. “Maybe she saw something this morning. Maybe she can clear this whole thing up.”

“Yeah, maybe,” he said. “But maybe she can also point to you as the person who was there this morning, and who called in a crank call to the police! Do you want to have to explain to them what you think you saw?”

I let my breath out slowly. “No, of course not,” I admitted. It didn’t even make sense to me. How would I explain a missing corpse to the police? Not to mention the public ridicule I would have to confront. But I wasn’t giving up. I still had every intention of finding out what happened in that house. I wouldn’t rest until I knew for sure.

“I didn’t think so.” Justin put his arm around my shoulder and led me across the intersection. “Then let’s go to the diner. I’m parched.”

Moments later we slid into a booth near the front window of Winslow’s Diner. The aroma of burgers and fries permeated the air. A waitress I didn’t recognize dropped off a menu and promised to return shortly for our order.

Justin picked up the menu. “So what do you recommend for dessert?”

I drummed my fingers on the Formica table and stared absentmindedly out the window. An old, rusty, beat-up van entered the parking lot. Several teenagers jumped out and crowded into the diner.

“Looks like the afternoon rush is here,” Justin remarked. “That should make your boss happy.”

I smiled. “I’ve never figured out how Mr. Winslow makes a go of this place,” I said. “If it weren’t for the school age kids, this place would be empty most of the time.”

“No big surprise there,” he said. “Especially since the menu consists mainly of fast food cuisine.”

The waitress returned to our table and Justin handed her the menus. “Maybe he just has exceptionally good fast food,” Justin said, reaching for my hand. “Speaking of which, you didn’t answer my question.”

I wrinkled my eyebrows. “What question was that?”

“I asked you what dessert you’d recommend.”

Although I’d never tasted it, I’d seen many adults come in and purchase whole apple pies. I assumed there had to be a reason it was so popular. I suggested apple pie for dessert.

“Sounds good.” He turned to the waitress. We’ll have two of those and two iced teas,” he told her. “And throw on a couple scoops of ice cream,” he added.

From the corner of my eye, I spotted Mr. Winslow peering out from behind the kitchen door. I wondered when he’d finally arrived since he was nowhere to be seen this morning. He caught my gaze and walked toward us.

“Welcome to Winslow’s Diner,” he said with a smile. “How does it feel to be waited on for a change?”

His friendly attitude surprised me. I couldn’t recall ever seeing the man’s teeth unless they were clenched. He greeted Justin with a handshake, then turned his attention back to me.

“Miss Thomas, were you able to return Michael Black’s wallet this morning?” he asked.

“Uh...no…he wasn’t home,” I stuttered. “I thought I’d just leave it at the cashier’s booth in case he comes back in for it.”

He put his hands behind his back and spun around. “That’s fine. I’m sure he’ll notice it’s missing sooner or later. Enjoy your lunch.”

His abrupt appearance and departure still had me perplexed when our apple pies arrived. The ice cream had already begun dripping down the sides.

“Umm. This is delicious,” Justin said, as he scooped a huge bite into his mouth. He pointed his fork at my plate. “Are you going to eat yours or just play with it?”

“I was just thinking,” I said. I sliced off a piece and took a small bite.

“About what?”

“Michael Black ordered apple pie last night, but he didn’t touch it. Not one bite.”

“So?”

“So, he obviously had something on his mind. I mean, why bother to come in, order something, then get up and leave suddenly without eating any of it? And to top it off, in his rush to leave, he forgot his wallet.”

Justin placed his fork on the table along with his elbows. “It doesn’t mean he was planning to kill someone, Denise.”

“No, it doesn’t,” I admitted. “But it does seem to indicate that he had something weighing heavily on his mind.”

“But you keep forgetting something, Denise,” Justin said, his voice stern. “There was no body. Nobody killed anyone. It was a joke.”

I took another bite of the pie, mulling over the possibilities. “Yeah, you’re probably right,” I finally agreed. It would take a lot more than my gut feeling to convince Justin that something was amiss. “It must have been a joke,” I said. I finished eating slowly, not really tasting anything. Something was bothering me about this whole mess, but I couldn’t put my finger on it. I knew I wouldn’t be able to let it rest until I remembered what it was.

“I’ll need you to work late tonight, Miss Thomas.”

Mr. Winslow’s unexpected voice startled me. My breath caught in my throat, causing me to drop an entire tray of dishes. I cringed, awaiting his wrath.

It was ten o’clock at night and my regular shift had ended five minutes ago. The last customer had just exited the front door.

I could still feel my boss’s imposing presence as I bent to gather the broken dishes from the floor. The bell above the door indicated someone else had entered. Several voices carried throughout the small diner as Heather welcomed them inside. Tray in hand, I stood and turned. Four men in dark suits took a seat at an empty table.

“I’ve promised these gentlemen the use of the diner for an hour,” Mr. Winslow said. His mouth curved into an awkward smile. “You’ll need to stay and offer them pie and coffee.”

It wasn’t an unusual request. The diner didn’t draw large crowds at any one time. Mr. Winslow often opened up his diner for meetings. But I was usually warned in advance.

I’d already worked a full eight hours, four hours longer than my normal daily schedule. I was tired. My feet ached. All I wanted was to go home and soak in a warm tub.

But money was tight. I needed a new phone. I needed a place of my own. So I agreed.

In the kitchen I deposited the tray of broken dishes into the trash, then selected an assortment of cups, saucers, and silverware. I returned to the dining room and distributed them around the table. At the beverage station, I placed coffee granules into a paper filter, then added water and turned on the switch. Gathering small packets of sugar and creamer, I returned to the table. “The coffee will be ready in a few minutes,” I told them. “What can I get you gentlemen for dessert?”

It was his eyes that I noticed first. Narrow slits as black as coal. They appeared to look right through me, sending chills of panic throughout my body.

Michael Black raised his dark head slowly. The corners of his mouth contorted into an evil grin. “I’ve lost my wallet,” he said. He pushed his chair back and stood, taking a long stride toward me. “Can you help me find it?”

I forced myself not to react. I backed up slowly, bumping into something soft. I gasped and spun around. Mr. Winslow’s face was just inches from mine. My heart beat so hard, I was sure he could feel it as well.

“Help him find it, Miss Thomas,” he said. “It’s good customer service.”

I willed my legs to move. With an awkward stride, I backed away from the table. Behind me, my hands fumbled for something to steady myself. My heart beat so erratically, I thought I would collapse. Five sets of eyes followed me to the front door. I breathed a sigh of relief when I felt my hand grasp the handle. Without turning around, I shouldered the door open, thankful to feel the warm night air seep into my lungs.

“You can’t leave.” Heather’s harsh voice roared. “You have customers.” Her emerald eyes sparkled. “That’s not good customer service.”

I bolted out the door. My legs flew across the parking lot. At the intersection, I punched in the red button on the streetlight, willing the “walk” sign to appear on the screen. I had one leg out, preparing to cross the street, when Justin’s voice stopped me.

“Denise,” he said. “I can give you a ride.” The voice was distant, faint.

I braved a look behind me. An unexpected bolt of lightning sliced against the night sky, illuminating the diner’s front window. Images of Heather, Mr. Winslow, and the four men in black stood silhouetted against the pane.

I heard the roar of an engine, then Justin’s voice again. “Get in,” he said. “You’ll get drenched.”

I spun back around, Justin’s Malibu in front of me. I reached over and opened the passenger door.

And screamed.

Michael Black’s coal black eyes squinted from the driver’s seat. His expression remained deadly, uncaring. “Get in,” he said. But it wasn’t his voice I heard. It was Justin’s.

I slammed the door shut and ran.

My lungs threatened to burst against the strain. My legs weakened, but I couldn’t give in. I had to get away.

The soft, ominous glow of evenly spaced streetlights lit the way as I continued running. But it wasn’t my house I saw when I arrived. It was Michael Black’s house.

A bolt of lightning shrouded the corkscrew willow in a haunting radiance. The flowers that had once lined the driveway were now uprooted and lying on top of the Toyota like a funeral hearse.

My legs had a mind of their own. I staggered up the front steps and pushed the front door open with the tips of my fingers. Inside, the black leather-upholstered furniture was now blanketed in dust and cobwebs. Behind me, the door slammed shut with a deafening bang, propelling me forward. I gasped, stumbling backward. Catching my balance, I spun around and pounded my fists against the door.

Then I heard a voice. A woman’s voice.

I stopped pounding. My breath quickened and I rotated slowly. In the corner of the dark living room, the overstuffed leather chair spun around, hurling a skeletal figure onto the floor.

My scream vibrated off the walls. My legs refused to move. Behind me, my hands scrambled for the doorknob. My back flush against the door, I finally closed my hand around the knob. Without turning around, I yanked it open. With lightning speed, I bolted around. And ran. Down the front steps, past the Toyota, and into the street.

A patrol car entered the subdivision. I flagged him down. When he pulled up beside me, I bent to my knees, trying to slow my breath. “There’s a woman in that house,” I told him. “The address is 1342 Benton Street. Michael Black lives there. I think he killed her.”

I finally managed to stand up straight. I turned and pointed to the house.

And felt the blood drain from my face. The house had disappeared. A vacant lot with a “for sale” sign now occupied the empty space.

The officer put his hands on my shoulders. “Okay,” he said. “Let’s get you home now.” He opened the back door of the police cruiser.