Death in a Funhouse Mirror (41 page)

"Can't say I'm too fond of the idea either." We didn't linger in conversation. I was tired and still had to hang up my new clothes before they got wrinkled, and now that I was in for the night, he was hot to get out there and serve and protect. I saw him to the door, locked it behind him, and lugged my stuff into the bedroom. I hung up the first five things and then ran out of energy. Ignoring my mother's voice, permanently installed in my head, which was ordering me to stay awake and finish the job before everything turned into a mass of wrinkles, I slipped off my shoes, fell across the bed, and sank into sleep.

I was sitting in my car, parked behind a screen of shrubs, watching Helene Streeter come out with a dog on a leash, turn away from me, and walk off down the sidewalk. As she walked away, I was conscious of a stir of activity around me. Ahead of me, in another parked car, the window went silently down and Eve stuck her head out, eyes fixed on her mother. In the dark house beside me, there was a brief flash of light as the curtains stirred. I knew that Martha Coffey was in there watching. Away in the distance, a man was waiting, hidden in the bushes. I knew he was there more by instinct than anything else, a sense of pale skin in the shadows. A shiny dark car came slowly down the street and pulled over fifty feet ahead of Helene. She approached it, leaned down, and said something to the occupant. Her head flew up once, white teeth exposed in a smile. A trace of laughter floated toward me on the still air.

She bent down again, and this time she pulled back violently, her arms clutched protectively around herself. The dog, no longer controlled, wandered off down the street, sniffing curiously at the bushes. The car moved silently away, turned a corner, and was gone. A movement caught my attention and I looked away from Helene. Silent dark shapes were moving down the street toward her. The figure from the bushes. Eve was out of her car and walking. Cliff came out of the house, down the walk, and strode briskly toward his wife. Martha Coffey came out, closed the door carefully behind her, paused and checked to be sure it was locked, and then went to meet the others in the street. They approached Helene, who had fallen to her knees, and clustered around her.

I heard a scream and then another cry, more muffled. Something was wrong! They weren't helping her. No one had left the circle to go for help. I groped for my car phone, picked up the receiver, tried to punch in 911, but the receiver was a banana, and all it did was yield under the pressure of my fingers until the skin split and ooze burst out all over my hand. I tossed it out the window, heard the clink of hard plastic hitting the street, and looked out at the shattered receiver. Then I started my car and drove toward them, my fingers sticky on the steering wheel.

I pulled up beside them, wiped my hand on my skirt, and lowered the window. Cliff was the first to turn away, handsome in a mango polo shirt and carefully creased slacks. Rays from the streetlight glinted off the knife in his hand. "It's always good to see you, Thea, but I'm afraid this isn't a good time. Maybe tomorrow?" he said, gazing at me with his intense, caressing blue eyes.

Eve was next, brusque and unfriendly. "Go away, Thea. We don't need your help. We've got everything under control." Blood was running up the blade of her knife and across the back of her hand. She shook it off impatiently. Behind her, on the ground, Helene moaned, a low, animal sound.

"Oh, be quiet," Martha Coffey said, nudging her with a foot. "I suppose you think we're just terrible, don't you?"

"Why did you do it?" I barely managed to choke out the words.

She shrugged. "For the good of the neighborhood. She was very disruptive."

The fourth person straightened up and stared at me with blank, incurious eyes. Waldemar. Still wearing headphones. Still tuned out. He was shuffling his feet to the music, making little bloody tracks in the street. None of them seemed concerned about what they were doing.

"Who was in the car?"

"Can't you guess?" Eve said. "Who's missing?"

I honestly didn't know. "The patient's angry husband? The one who was stalking her?"

Eve shook her head. "Guess again."

"A jealous lover?"

"Think globally, act locally," Eve said.

"I don't understand. What does that mean?"

"Nothing." She laughed. "Absolutely nothing. I was just testing your ability as a detective."

"Eve, don't be provocative," Cliff said. "Thea did her best."

"Oh, yeah, sure. She can't even figure out who was in the car."

"Rowan," I said, realizing who was missing. "It was Rowan."

"That pansy wouldn't know a blade from a hilt. Come on, Thea. Guess again."

"Eve, dear, you're being very rude to your friend," Martha Coffey chided. "Just tell her, please, and then we'd all better get out of here. Oh, look what that boy has done!" She reached out and grabbed Waldemar by the elbow, pointing toward his feet. He looked down, shrugged, and took a few steps back.

"Don't worry about it," Eve said, "I'll just kill him on the way home and leave him beside the road."

"Eve, you mustn't make this a habit...."

"Why not, Cliff?" she interrupted. "Okay, Thea, no more games. It was Lenora in the car. I'm surprised you didn't figure that out. Now, Cliff, you go home, wait five minutes and then call the police. Goodnight, everyone. Thanks for coming." She stuck two fingers in her mouth, whistled loudly, and a flying carpet floated up. Waldemar helped her aboard, climbed on himself, and they disappeared into the sky.

Cliff walked down the street, tossed his knife over a hedge, and then walked back past the body and on to his house. Martha Coffey stared at her knife blade unhappily. "Guess I'd better go and wash this. We're having roast beef tomorrow." On the ground, Helene lay staring up at us, a surprised expression on her face.

My car phone was ringing but I couldn't answer it because the receiver was gone. I fumbled around in my purse, found the canister of stun, plugged it in and said, "Hello?"

Eve's voice, low and harsh and furious. "You bitch. You searched my apartment, didn't you."

"You have a phone on your carpet?" I said, sleepily. The stun made a pretty good receiver. I could hear everything she said. "The receiver turned into a banana," I muttered. "Martha went home to wash her knife and Cliff's gone to call the police. Don't you worry about falling off the edges?"

"What the hell are you talking about, Thea? Are you drunk? Why did you take my pills?"

"You're the one with the thirst for gore, not me. Anyway I didn't take them, that was your father. I'm going to drive home now. Someday take me for a ride on your carpet. Not in the winter, though." I unplugged the stun and put it back in my purse. It wouldn't stay. It fell out, landing on the floor with a crash. It was the crash that woke me up. Not fully, but enough to pick the receiver up off the floor and put it back in the cradle. Then I went back to sleep, but everyone else had gone home and they didn't return to trouble my dreams.

 

 

 

Chapter 27

 

Morning, as was its habit, came too soon, but it came in the form of a glorious spring day with bright sun and birds sounding giddy with joy. I found myself humming in the shower and smiling over coffee on the back deck. I finished hanging up my new clothes, chose a crisp white linen shirt, flowing navy and white skirt and a navy jacket, and got dressed, feeling a little like Cinderella. The answering machine was still blinking—machines never get tired—and I went on ignoring it. I even remembered to put my alarm and stun in my briefcase. I braided my hair and wrapped it around my head in a coronet, secured it with pins, and put on some big gold earrings. Then I grabbed Vivaldi and went to work.

It was one of those days when it felt good to be alive, a feeling that didn't even dim when I greeted Roddy Stokes and got a sneer in return. Lisa was waiting for me in our gloomy borrowed office, but today she'd jazzed it up with a couple of bright posters and a jar of flowers. She'd also picked up croissants and coffee. "Morning, boss," she called as I came through the door. "How do you like the decor?"

"Don't tell me you're getting attached to this place? Looks like you're ready to move in."

"Oh." Her face fell. "You don't like it?"

"I do. I'm just amazed that you had the energy to do this."

"Must be the weather. Makes me lively. Or maybe it's because my baby-sitter's plans fell through so she was able to take Charlotte today, and when Josh's mother called him last night to complain that I was deliberately keeping her away from her grandchild, he firmly but politely explained to her that when I'm working I have to know I have reliable child care. You could have knocked me over with a feather. So I guess I was inspired to reach out and do a little something extra myself."

"Like going down to the basement and looking through the boxes you still haven't unpacked and finding two old posters?"

"Exactly. And cutting off a handful of flowers from the bed beside my front door. I got the jar from the women in the office." She handed me a croissant. "I can work the whole day after all."

"How'd your mother-in-law take it?"

"Besides calling Josh? She told me that I'm selfish and a bad mother and that I'm depriving her of an opportunity to bond with her grandchild. Nothing unexpected. That's a nice outfit. New?" I told her about my shopping spree with Mrs. Merriam. "Sounds perfect. I hope you got her phone number for the next time you need clothes."

"I've got Suzanne."

"Oh, right. I hope she's having a wonderful time. Just imagine those beautiful sand beaches, luscious meals, snorkeling through turquoise water."

"And unbridled lust." She looked a little shocked. I handed her a schedule. "Here's your list. They have us both scheduled until seven, but we can ask Roddy to cancel some of yours."

She gave a little shudder. "Ugh. He's repulsive, isn't he?"

"I think so. Cliff says I'm unsympathetic and should be more understanding."

"Well, that makes two of us. Mr. Paris is so charming. Maybe he keeps Roddy for contrast."

We stopped by and endured Roddy's scorn long enough to explain that Lisa's schedule needed changing. That was long enough. His toadlike inertia gave new meaning to the word "sullen." As the door closed behind us, Lisa said, "Phew. I feel like I need to go wash after that." She shook her hands like she was trying to shake off something nasty. "Things can only go uphill from here."

We arranged to meet briefly before five and went off to interview. At noon I came up for air with the discomforting feeling that I'd spent my morning with the Stepford Wives. The picture of Bartlett Hill that I was getting sounded too much like a party line, like they'd all just come from a meeting where they'd decided what they would say. I wondered if Lisa's impressions were the same. I hadn't brought a sandwich but I wasn't really hungry. What I yearned for was some air, so I took a long walk around the grounds, cautious when I passed other people. In my last interview, I'd heard an anecdote about a seemingly mild patient punching a complete stranger in the nose. It made my own nose ache just thinking about it.

I was lying under a tree, letting the wind shower me with apple blossoms, when Rowan Ansel came by. "I've been looking for you," he said.

I sat up and brushed the petals off my shirt. "Why?"

He seemed surprised at that. Probably another one of the misinformed people who think I'm sweet. "I wondered how things were going."

"Not bad," I said. He apparently didn't realize that I was imitating his behavior in yesterday's interview.

He shifted restlessly from one foot to the other, looking annoyed. "Too soon to reach any conclusions?"

"Right." Talking with him had been like pulling teeth. Unlike the day he'd hit me with the door, when he'd been confiding and talkative, yesterday he'd been formal, cold and unresponsive, making no secret of his displeasure that I refused to talk about Eve.

He tried again. "Cliff is unhappy with what you've been doing."

"I'm surprised to hear that. This project was his idea."

Now he was really annoyed. "Not the project. What you're doing for Eve."

"He told me."

"Oh. I didn't realize that. And you've agreed to stop?"

"I'd already stopped."

"You need to try and make her understand..."

"Do I look like a miracle worker to you?"

"Excuse me?"

I stood up, picked up my jacket and shook it, and draped it over my arm. "It would take a miracle worker to get Eve to understand anything she doesn't want to understand. You ought to know that. I've got to get back. Full schedule this afternoon."

"But you're her friend," he said.

I stepped around him onto the path.

"Wait a minute, I'm not finished...."

"But I am."

He grabbed my arm and jerked me roughly to a halt. "I said hold on."

"What do you think you're doing, Dr. Ansel?" I said, staring pointedly at his clutching hand. He released me, but not before he'd made sure I understood the depth of his anger. I could see the marks on my bare arm where his fingers had been. For an instant, standing close to him, I was aware of the fresh, manly scent of his cologne. Something in my mind stirred and I almost had the memory I'd been trying to recapture since I was attacked, but as I reached for it, he spoke and it flitted away.