Night Corridor (15 page)

"But you weren't in there for killing anyone, were you?"

"No. No." Her answer came with something between a laugh and a sob.

They both turned as the door opened and a customer entered the shop.

"Well then. There you are." He smiled at her. "You sit awhile, read your book. Everything will be fine, my dear. Have a little faith."

He left her alone and went to wait on the customer. She sat for a few minutes, turning pages in the book, then rose and left the store, relieved that Mr. Goldman was still busy with his customer. She had to admit, she felt better having told Mr. Goldman about Mike, even if it didn't change anything.

Thirty-One

It had begun to snow while she was inside the bookstore, heavy fat flakes that fell straight down, quickly turning the streets white. Nothing to do now but go back to her room. She would buy a newspaper on the way and check the want ads. But she would need a reference?

She must have looked like such a crazy woman to everyone, standing there with that knife in her hand. Who would hire her now? She forgot about the newspaper. At least she still had a little money in the bank, so she wouldn't starve and she could pay her rent for a while. Unless she was arrested for threatening someone with a deadly weapon.

She arrived at her building just as Ethel Crookshank pulled up alongside her. in a battered red Volkswagen. "Are you okay, Caroline?" she asked, getting out of the car.

"Ethel. Yes, I—I guess so. I'm sorry I caused so much trouble. I…"

"You didn't cause the trouble, dear. I know what's been going on. You were merely standing up for yourself. And about time, too. Don't you worry. I talked to Frank and Mike's services will no longer be required. Frank wants you to come back. You're a good little worker, Caroline. Everyone likes you. We're also putting you out in the restaurant full time. We've got a new dishwasher starting tomorrow."

She felt both stunned and overwhelmed with gratitude and this unexpected kindness. At the same time, she didn't want to be responsible for someone getting fired.

"But Mike didn't really hurt me, he…"

"Stop that. Of course he did. It hurts a lot to be constantly embarrassed and humiliated. And it was obviously having an effect on you. Anyway, you're not the first young woman he's gone after. Just so you know."

"I'm really sorry. I…"

"Stop apologizing, Caroline. But keep an eye out for him. Mike doesn't like to be crossed."

Thirty-Two

In mid December, people's minds turned happily from murder to Christmas. Phone calls to the department had trickled to a stop. All leads in the case had gone nowhere. Detective Tom O'Neal was in his office, going to the files yet again. More fine-tooth combing. Looking for a clue they might have missed.

Parents of both victims called often, and Tom had nothing new to tell them, which depressed him. Lorraine Winters' mother's voice was familiar enough that he now recognized it when she said hello, detective. Rosalind Gibbs' mother didn't call as often, mainly because she didn't expect to find closure. Or maybe there couldn't be any anyway, because no matter what happened, her daughter, who had wanted to be a nurse since she was a little girl, wasn't coming back. People grieved differently. It was obvious though that she didn't believe Rosalind's boyfriend was guilty. Actually, neither did he nor Glen. His alibi checked out and he was devastated by his loss. So much for Tom's promises to find the killer and bring him to justice. And the more time that passed, the less likely it was that that would happen.

Jeffrey Denton was still in his radar, however. He had no prior convictions, but that could just mean he never got caught at anything. They were keeping an eye on him.

Pearl Grannan's murder was another story. They were waiting for a match of the tires and tracks, and it was a good bet they'd be filing charges against her husband for first degree murder. It appeared from the evidence, and his own strange behavior, that Fred Grannan had used the recent killings to try to cover his own crime against his wife. After Fred Grannan killed her in a fit of rage, he'd transported her body in the trunk of his van, dumping it where it was found by the hiker. With the help of luminal, the trunk revealed more than traces of her blood, though Grannan had obviously tried to clean it up.

But Denton might be good for the other two. He knew Winters, even went to her funeral. Other than teaching kids piano, he was pretty much a loner, white, mid-thirties, fitting the profile of many serial killers. Which could mean Caroline Hill was in danger, living downstairs from him.

"Never knew a musician who was a murderer," his partner said, rationalizing that musicians released their frustrations and tensions, through their music. Tom reminded him that Charles Manson was pretty damn good on the guitar. Wrote a lot of his own stuff, in fact.

Tom's office door was partly open and he could see one of the secretaries hanging a sparkling blue star on the wall, taping branches of cedar on either side. The smell wafted in to him.

Everyone needed a break, and Christmas provided it. No one wanted to think about a murderer running loose at this time of year; they wanted to think of decorating, cooking, school pageants, shopping.

Even though plagued with darker thoughts because his job demanded it, Tom was no exception. He wondered about what to get his kids this Christmas. Money would probably be most welcomed. He didn't see them often enough to know what they might like. Mary had always looked after Christmas. Maybe that was part of the problem, why he was alone at Christmas. Well, no sense crying over what he couldn't change. He hoped she was happy with the dentist. No, he didn't. Yeah, a part of him really did. Mary deserved to be happy.

Like most people in St. Simeon, he too needed to turn his face to the light. But rather than sugarplums and fairies, to Tom, that meant he needed to hear and see the ocean. The ocean made you feel small and insignificant in the scheme of things. He needed to run on the beach with his dog, and let all the ugliness of the world wash out to sea. Even if it did wash back in and roll over you as soon as you took your eyes away.

Thirty-Three

This would be Caroline's first Christmas celebrated in her own little corner of the world.

She was on her way home from work, admiring the bright decorations in storefront windows, the twinkling lights and garlands of red and green. With the lights reflecting on the snowy sidewalk, and Carols piped out into the street, window-shoppers were enticed inside.

She let herself be enticed into Natalie's Boutique where she purchased a periwinkle blue wool scarf for Ethel, and was treated by the shopkeeper to a glass of hot, cinnamon-flavored cider. She'd already bought Mrs. Bannister's gift, a fat cookie-jar with the lid the likeness of a cat face.

Caroline thought of her friends at the hospital. For a moment, she missed singing the Christmas Carols with them while Mrs. Green thundered away on the out-of-tune piano.

Not that she would really want to be back there. She was enjoying her job as a waitress. Every day was a little easier. What with all the shoppers out in full force, they'd been very busy at the restaurant lately, and would probably get busier as it grew closer to Christmas. Harold was talking to her again, but he was shyer now, and there were no more cookies left outside her door.

She smiled at the Salvation Army Santa on the corner ringing his bell, and stuffed a bill into his pot. Turned suddenly, as she felt someone close behind her, her heart constricting at the perceived threat of a hand on her shoulder.

Only busy shoppers scurrying in either direction.

"Something wrong, Miss?" the Santa asked.

No, nothing."

She wished him happy holidays, and tried to recapture her sense of good cheer.

It was snowing again when Caroline headed home, struggling with her packages and the small fir tree she'd bought from a teenage boy selling trees in front of the hardware store. The smell of it so close to her face, brought to mind other Christmases, not those at Bayshore, but Christmases from her childhood. How could she have forgotten? Carols playing on the old stereo. Her father trimming the tree, while her mother served them eggnog with sprinkles of nutmeg on top. Yes, the birth of the baby Jesus was well celebrated in her home.

As she neared her building, she saw the blond man going up the stairs. The piano player. Tall and slender, he was wearing a camel hair coat with the collar up, a white wool scarf draped about his neck. His fair hair was speckled with snow. She took him all in, in an instant.

Seeing her, he smiled and came back down the steps. "Hello. Miss Hill, isn't it? Please, let me help you with that."

He had such a lovely voice. Deep and resonant. She wondered if he sang as well as played the piano. "Thank you," Caroline said, as he took the tree from her arms. She brushed the needles from her coat, which gave her a moment to contain herself. He was very handsome. It was the first time she had seen him up close, but she knew who he was from his dress, the way he moved. "You're the piano player," she said.

He shook the snow from the tree before taking it inside the foyer, and she liked how thoughtful he was. "Guilty as charged. I'm Jeffrey Denton. Hope my playing doesn't disturb you. I use the headphones when I think of it. That way, only I can hear it."

She preceded him up the stairs. Outside her door, he stood the tree against the door and removed his gloves, and extended a hand. "Jeffrey Denton. Nice to meet you finally, Miss…"

"…Caroline Hill," she said. His hand was warm from being inside the glove, and the warmth traveled through her. "I'm happy to meet you. I… I like it very much when you play. I'm always sorry when you stop."

"Well, then, I have your permission to forego the earphones."

"Yes, you do." He had seemed so serious, but now she saw the playful grin and knew he was teasing her. She looked to the tree for refuge. "It's just a little tree," she said. "But I wanted my room to feel Christmassy."

"It's a lovely tree. I've seen you from my window, Caroline. I guess considering we both live in this building, it was inevitable that we meet. I'm sorry it took so long."

"Yes. Well, thank you very much for your help. I'd better…"

"I…uh, I'd like to get you know you better. Maybe you'll consider having a Christmas drink with me. Some wine and music. I hope you won't think me too bold. I…"

"Yes, please. I would like that. When?"

The instant the words were out, she knew by the raising of his eyebrow that she had answered too quickly, too eagerly and felt the color flood her cheeks. Hearing him play on those late nights, she came to feel as if she knew him, but she didn't really. He was a stranger to her. What must he think?

Yet, as far as she could tell, he seemed pleased that she had accepted his invitation, even relieved, and she realized he'd thought she might refuse him. As she'd refused Harold. Harold, who she still saw now and now, talked to, but who was always quick to scurry off. She had hurt him, and she was sorry about that. But Harold felt more like a younger brother than someone she would date. Jeffery Denton, on the other hand, was making her feel things she hadn't felt since William.
You should be afraid, Caroline
.
You should run like the wind away from him
.

"Christmas Eve, if you don't have other plans," he said, burying his hands in his pockets, tilting his head so that a lick of dark blond hair fell over his brow.

"No. I have no plans. That would be nice. A glass of wine to toast Christmas." Her father had approved of wine during the holidays, and had poured a little into her glass that last Christmas at home. Even Jesus drank wine.

"And each other," Jeffrey smiled. "We'll toast each other. I'll knock on your door about eight, then. I'm looking forward to it, Caroline."

She walked about her room smiling to herself, feeling all fluttery inside. She had a date for Christmas Eve. Imagine. She wondered if he would try to kiss her. She imagined his mouth on hers, and felt a surge of excitement mixed with shyness. Even disbelief. He was so nice-looking, and smelled good too. Of the outdoors and of shaving lotion.

She studied herself in the mirror. Tried to see herself as Jeffrey Denton might see her. Blue eyes, smoky lashes, dark shiny hair. A nice mouth, full lips. Soft for kissing?

What should she wear? She had nothing suitable in her closet. Most of the stuff hanging on hangers were second-hand and didn't fit right. The truth was, she wanted to buy something new for this special occasion. She'd go back to Natalie's Boutique, and ask for her help in choosing the perfect dress. It's my money, after all, no one can tell me what to do with it.

She felt like a young girl again. She had missed so much of her life. Now she wanted to seize it with both hands. She must be careful, though. As Nurse Addison had said, people will take advantage of you if you let them. But the words were like a vaccination that didn't take, and Caroline was already counting the minutes until Christmas Eve.