Gingerbread Man (5 page)

Mallory nodded. "I'll tell you what, Maddie.
How about you let me come on over and take a look through those
files in the basement, hmm? See if I can figure out what this pushy
young fellow is looking for."

"Well, if you think it's important,
Chief."

"I do. And Maddie?"

"Yes?"

"Let's just keep this between you and me for
right now. All right?"

***

THE WIND OFF the lake had kicked up during
the morning, and it didn't seem too eager to let up. When Holly
walked the fifty-three steps from the police station to the
Paradise Cafe, she had to tug her denim jacket's collar up, and bow
her head. Leaves flew like flocks of brittle birds, and the air was
heavy with unshed rain. Holly walked into the cafe at one minute
past twelve, closed the door against the wind, and reached up
absently to finger comb her hair. A leaf drifted loose and floated
to the floor, landing squarely in the middle of one of the neat
square tiles. For a moment her gaze remained on the floor, its
perfect checkerboard pattern, straight, predictable lines, square
corners.

Glancing up, she saw her mother sitting at
their usual booth, and waved to her as she started across the
red-and-white tiled floor. She felt out of sorts and distracted.
Even after Vince O'Mally had left the station this morning, her
routine had never really fallen into place again. She'd answered
the phones, filled out forms, paid bills, done some filing—all the
usual things, but she'd done them with the feeling that something
was off. She was running behind. Her pattern, broken. And she kept
wishing she could undo the day and start it over again, the way she
could have done with a row of knitting. Just take the end of the
yarn and pull it all out, all the way back to the spot where the
pattern had become altered—then start over again from there.

If she could do that, though, she'd pull that
thread all the way back to October 10, 1983. Start
that
day
over.

She forced herself not to think about that.
Things were off today. And there was a niggling in the back of her
mind, but she was ignoring that, as well. She was very good at
ignoring things. It only took concentration. She'd had lots of
practice.

"Honey?"

She looked up, realizing she had walked all
the way across the diner to the table where her mother waited, and
shaking herself, she managed a smile as she slid into the booth.
"Hi, Mom. How did your morning go?"

"Holly... honey, are you all right?"

Startled, she searched her mother's face. "Of
course I am. Why would you think otherwise?"

"Well..." She reached across the table,
covered Holly's hands with her own. "You were counting just
now."

Holly rolled her eyes. "Oh, I was not."

"You were. You were counting as you crossed
the room. Your steps, I think. Very quietly. Sweetheart, did
something happen this morning?"

Holly tensed and gazed around the diner,
wondering if anyone else had noticed her odd behavior. Counting.
Dammit, she had stopped counting
years
ago.

Oh, hell.
He
was here, sitting on a
red vinyl-topped stool at the counter, and watching her. He lifted
a hand in greeting. She pursed her lips, nodded hello, and looked
away.

"Should I make an appointment with Dr.
Graycloud?" her mother asked.

Holly bit her lip, swallowed her anxiety, and
turned back to her mother with a forced smile. "I was thinking
about floor tiles for the dining room," she said. "Like
these—different colors, of course—but the texture and the quality
of these are just what I had in mind."

"Floor tiles." The words were heavy with
doubt.

"Uh-huh. I was thinking about square footage
just before I walked in here. I just didn't realize when I started
figuring how many tiles we'd need, and what it would cost, that I
was counting out loud." She made her smile broader. "I guess I was
more into my planning than I thought I was."

Her mother still looked doubtful, but Holly
knew she would believe her. Her mother would want to believe her
too badly to give in to suspicions. But if this nonsense kept
up….

Her mother looked past her, distracted by
something. And Holly turned to follow her gaze.

Vince O'Mally was bearing down on them,
carrying a coffee carafe he must have charmed away from Tracy, the
teenage waitress. Not saying a word, he reached for the coffee mug
in front of Holly, flipped it upright, and filled it. "Coffee's on
me, Red," he told her.

"That isn't necessary," Holly said.

"Sure it is. You told me yourself you never
got a cup this morning." He glanced across the table. "You haven't
introduced me to your friend." As he spoke he lifted the pot and
arched a questioning brow. Doris nodded and Vince filled her cup as
well.

"I'm Doris, she said with a smile. "Holly's
mother."

Holly didn't like the man. Something about
him set her teeth on edge. Still, she said, "Mom, this is Detective
O'Mally—"

"Vince," he said.

"Right. Vince. He's with the Syracuse Police
Department. Their special library crimes unit or something." He
shot her an amused look as he took her mother's hand in
greeting.

"It's a pleasure, Ms. Newman."

"Call me Doris," she said. Then she turned to
Holly. "And how is it you two know each other?"

"I had some business with the chief this
morning," Vince said before Holly could answer. "There was a mishap
with the coffee, the pot got smashed to bits, and I think it was
partly my fault. I doubt Holly ever got her morning caffeine."

"Really?" Doris looked from Vince to Holly
and back again. "And, um... are you here at the cafe all alone?"
When O'Mally nodded, Holly knew what was coming but couldn't speak
quickly enough to prevent it. "Well, why don't you pull up a chair
and join us?"

Vince glanced at Holly, but where she
expected to see a smirk of triumph in his eyes, she saw only a
question. Reluctantly, she nodded. Only then did he say, "Thanks, I
think I will." He pulled up a chair from a nearby vacant table, and
sat down at theirs.

"What brings you to Dilmun, Detective?"

"Oh, just vacation time. I have a couple of
weeks to fill. Thought someplace quiet would do me good."

"I'd say you came to the right place. We used
to live in Syracuse, you know. Liked it so much down here we never
wanted to go back."

"Really?" Vince glanced at Holly. "You didn't
mention that."

She only shrugged. But she sent her mother a
pleading look. They didn't talk about that time, that place. They
just didn't. Her mother was breaking a sacred, if unspoken, vow by
even mentioning it.

"How long have you been living here?" Vince
asked.

"Gosh, must be going on five years now."

"And where in Syracuse did you live?"

Holly set her cup down on the table. Hard.
Her mother, who had been about to answer him, closed her mouth and
they both looked at Holly, brows raised. "Will you two excuse me
for a minute?" She got to her feet. "I just... uh... I'll be back."
Holly hurried into the restroom, closed the door behind her, stood
there, and realized she'd counted again. She'd counted the steps to
the restroom, and she had no idea if it had been aloud or not.

She braced her hands on the sink, and stared
into the mirror. "Okay, so what's going on with you, huh?" she
asked her reflection.

"You okay, Holly?" a small voice asked.

Holly turned to see Bethany Stevens standing
there looking up at her with eyes big enough to swim in.

Holly swallowed hard, and plastered a smile
on her face. "Hey, you. What are you doing out of school?"

"Half day today. Good thing, too. It's tough
this year."

"Yeah, I'll bet. I heard you got Mrs.
Predmore."

Bethany nodded. "She's not mean or anything.
Just gives lots of homework."

"Second grade is like that."

Bethany came up to the sink, turned on the
tap, and washed her hands. "Me and Mom decided to have lunch out.
Dad had to go out of town this week, so it's just us." The little
girl stood on tiptoes to look into the mirror, fussed a bit with
her long blonde hair.

"So, have you decided yet?" Holly asked.
"About the Halloween party?"

Beth shrugged. "What do you think, Holly? Do
you
think I'm too old to dress up for Halloween?"

Holly smiled, and wished for the times
something so small was the major dilemma of the day. "Bethany, I
still dress up for Halloween," she said.

"I sure would like to see the inside of
Reggie's place."

Holly lifted her brows. "Me, too."

"Mom says he used to have one of these
parties every single year, before he moved away. She says they were
the best parties anywhere, when she was a kid."

"My aunt Jen told me the same thing. That
spooky old house of his has to be the best place around for a
Halloween party."

"Yeah." Bethany nodded hard. "Maybe I will
go. If you really think I'm not too old."

"You're definitely not too old."

Bethany smiled up at her. "Will you help me
figure out a costume?"

"We will put together the best costume Dilmun
has ever seen." She clasped Bethany's hand, led her to the door,
and they walked out together.

Halfway to the table, Bethany looked up with
her bright blue eyes and said, "Having you next door is like having
my very own older sister. I always wanted one, you know."

Holly's smile froze in place as Bethany
turned and ran to join her mom at their corner booth.

HIM.
IT'S HIM! What the hell is he doing
here? I know his face. He's the cop who found the bodies. His face
was splashed all over the papers. And now he's here. Jesus, sweet
Jesus, does he know? Is he onto me?

Oh, God, he's talking to
her
of all
people!

Okay, wait. I need to get a grip, here. He
may not know anything at all about me. About her, maybe, but that's
okay. That's okay, that won't tell him a fucking thing. It would
explain his coming out here. Talking to her. But that's all. Maybe
that's all.

Son of a bitch found my place. Found my
sugarpie and her goddamn brother before I could put them to rest.
Of course, the boy wouldn't have gone beside her. He didn't belong.
He got in the way.

Holly is a basket case. She's crazy. He'll
find that out soon enough. She won't be any help to him at all.
She's fucking crazy. Everyone knows it.

But why is he here? Why is he lying about
what he's doing here?

To protect the crazy bitch, maybe. Yeah.
Yeah, that could be it. He has to know I won't let her talk to
him.
He figures if I know what he's really after, I'll have
to shut her up, just in case. But she may not know, either. If she
did, she 'd have run her mouth about it long before now, wouldn't
she? Fucking ungrateful little brats usually did if you let
them.

Still, that nosy cop might not know a damn
thing. Not yet. Not yet.

But what if he does?

Hell, I've got to be sure.

***

HOLLY DIDN'T GO straight home from work. She
started to. She walked along her usual route, back through the
strip, where the shops were mostly closed now, all the way down to
the leading edge of Lake-view Road. Her home, her safe, comfortable
haven, was five houses ahead on the right.

So why did her eyes keep wandering along
Shoreline Drive's beach-hugging loop? Why was her body turning to
take that stretch of road, even though it meant turning right into
the brisk, chilly wind? And why on earth were her feet carrying her
amid the rustling leaves, along the gravel road that was all but
deserted at this time of the year?

She didn't know. She did know that it was a
mistake. Disaster always followed when you took the long way home,
she'd learned. You just didn't veer from your routine. You stuck to
a plan, and in that way you could be in control.

She wasn't in control right now. And that
scared her.

The lake was dotted with dancing whitecaps,
and the wind nipped at her nose and cheeks, grazing them. The
closer she walked, sneakers crunching over gravel, the more intense
that wind became. Trees lined the left side of the road, their
limbs shedding any remaining leaves rapidly, their colors fading
like the color of an old man's eyes. Tall reeds, cattails, and muck
stretched for several yards along the roadside. As she passed those
waving, whispering rushes, the sky seemed to darken by degrees. It
was as if every breath of wind blew a little more of the daylight
away. It was completely unlike her not to go straight home. And she
hadn't gone through all those years of therapy not to know why that
was, but she refused to think about it. She'd come this far. She
might as well keep going.

She needed to find out what the weary, craggy
Syracuse cop was really doing in her town.

She finally passed by the marshy area to
where the ground became firm and dry and green with tall, lush
grasses as it sloped gently down toward the lake. The water was
dark today. Every whitecap seemed designed to contrast with the
midnight hue of the water. The chill wind that had kicked up with
the stranger's arrival only grew stronger.

She rounded a curve, and the grasses stopped
standing tall and lush and became neatly clipped. Crewcut lawns on
duty, and every fifty feet or so a small square log cabin at the
ready. Each had a narrow gravel driveway, and a small wooden dock
of its own. Each had a porch. She knew the cabins well. She had
spent a few weeks of every summer in one of them as a child.

She'd always loved the way they smelled, and
she inhaled that same scent now. Aging cedar touched by freshwater
and a hint of fishiness.

Holly sighed. "So get on with it, already,"
she muttered. She veered off the road onto the private drive that
lined the row of lakefront cabins. Most of them were obviously
vacant. One or two were occupied by fishermen out for a long
weekend. Those were the cabins with oversized, four-wheel-drive
SUVs parked in their gravel driveways, and small motorboats tied to
their docks.