Night Corridor (23 page)

Caroline would be happy too. She would understand that this was her destiny. He would come for her New Year's Eve, at midnight.

She was different from the others, he told himself for the millionth time, as if he'd needed to convince himself that this was so. Not some common slut like his mother, like those other women he'd mistaken for special. He knew she'd felt the connection with him too; he'd sensed it deep within himself. He heard it in his head like a small click. Like finding the right series of numbers on a wall safe, hearing it open.

She would wear the brooch he'd given her, on their trip, pinned to the collar of her navy coat. She looked so pretty in that coat, with the little tam and scarf. So pure and sweet.

He smiled to himself and walked on up the street. Not long now.

Fifty-One

When Lynne arrived home from Caroline's, her mother was sitting on the sofa in her camel-haired coat, clutching her purse in her lap, waiting to be taking back to her house.

"I'm so glad you're back, dear. I've enjoyed my visit, but I must go home now. Walter will be wondering where I am."

Before she could get up, Lynne sighed, set the bags on a chair and went to sit beside her. She looked into her eyes and saw the anxiousness there, the smile that wavered. When she tried to stand, Lynne put a hand on her arm. "Wait, mom. I've missed you. Let's talk a few minutes, okay?"

"Oh. All right, dear." At least she still knows me, Lynne thought and was grateful. For how long, as she'd told Caroline, no one knew. Not her doctor. No one. Only God.

It was a near disaster that finally prompted Lynne to bring her mother here and put the house on the market. Her mother had set about cooking a turkey dinner for her young family, the members of which had grown up years before and had children of their own. She had turned the oven up full-blast and the grease splattered on the walls of the oven, setting off a small fire. Luckily, a canvasser for some charity was ringing doorbells in the neighborhood at the time, had heard her mother's cries, smelled smoke and called the fire department.

It wasn't just that she'd set fire to the oven; that could happen to anyone. As a young bride, Lynne herself had once set a pot of grease on fire while trying to make doughnuts. Joe'd been summoned to more than one flare-up of similar origins. But with her mother's condition, it was just a matter of time before something more terrible occurred. She didn't want to think about what could have happened if that canvasser hadn't happened along. Lynne would never forgive herself if anything had happened to her mother while she was trying to make up her mind about what to do. In the midst of Lynne's thoughts, her mother said, "Walter's dead, isn't he, dear?"

Lynne held back her tears and took her mother's hand. The bones felt fragile. Fragile as her mind had become. The hand that had brushed Lynne's hair, bandaged a scraped knee.

"Yes, mom. Daddy's gone."

"I forget sometimes."

"I know, mom. He's here in spirit though; he's still with us."

She helped her mother off with her hat and coat, unable to remember when she'd been so tired. She was hanging the coats in the closet, when she turned to see Joe standing in the archway, trying to look cheerful, as if everything was just the same as it had always been. Tall, solid Joe, hair thinning, mostly gray now, but always her loving husband right there beside her, wanting to make the bad things go away. Well he couldn't, but he sure as hell made things easier to bear. She didn't know what she'd do without him.

"Got tea on." He smiled at the two of them, his eyes questioning. "Everything good?"

"Good as gold," Lynne said, as she put an arm around her mother's shoulders and the three of them went out to the kitchen. Over tea and sandwiches, she told him about her visit with Caroline, including the matter of the mysterious gold brooch. "I told her she needed to take it to the police."

"Good advice. Do you think she will?"

"I think she would have already if she wasn't afraid they might not believe her. If she hadn't been at Bayshore. Yes, I do think she will, Joe. I'll phone her in a couple of days though. Just to make sure. I'll wish her a happy New Year. I think it will be too. I have a good feeling. More tea, mom?"

Fifty-Two

The pressure was on to find the killer, this latest murder having fuelled new fears in the community. Natalie Breen had been well known around town and well-liked. Her murder made every woman in town feel threatened. Not only did she not fit the physical description of the first two victims, but she also wasn't sexually assaulted or robbed, which was strange in itself. The brutal nature of the killing told Detective O'Neal there was something personal about it, yet Gloria, (which she had asked him to call her,) insisted her mother wasn't seeing anyone, and hadn't been.

"She never stopped feeling that she was still married to dad," she told him. "Even though he was gone from this earth. I like to think they're together now."

He was standing in her living room waiting for her to finish going through the receipts from December 31st. She remembered the brooch being in the window, had seen it earlier that day when she and David dropped into the store for lunch, picking up a Pizza on the way. Pineapple topping, her mom's favorite.

The room was large and comfortable, fancier than he was used to, with plush ash rose sofa and chair, white wall to wall carpeting, blond furniture. The woman had enjoyed the pleasant surroundings her hard work had afforded her.

"There's no receipt for it," she said from the small roll top desk where she sat going through the receipts. "And yet it was gift-wrapped, you said."

"Beautifully, according to Caroline Hill."

Animated sounds issued from the den where David was watching cartoons. Tom wondered how he was handling all this. Neither of them would ever feel the same way about Christmas. But maybe especially Gloria. David was young and kids had a way of bouncing back.

"Mom had an artistic bent," she said sadly, but with pride. "Well, then, whoever she wrapped it for must have killed her. What other explanation could there be? It wasn't cheap, but it wasn't the hope diamond either. Who would kill someone for a two-hundred dollar brooch?"

"People have been killed for a pair of sneakers, their jacket. A couple of bucks. But I don't think your mother died for the sake of a brooch. There's another reason. I just don't know what it is yet. But I will."

He was promising again. Something about her made him want to protect her. Not the same as just wanting to find a killer, which was his job. He wanted to be there for her, take care of her and David. He hadn't felt like this about a woman in years. Nuts, he'd just met her. It wasn't because she was beautiful, either, although he saw beauty in her. Her fair hair needed washing and her eyes were swollen from all the tears. And she'd lost weight even since he'd last seen her. Aside from that, he was too damned old for her. But that didn't stop him from feeling an urge to beat the hell out of her ex for hurting her, which made him about as mature as a high school kid.

"Can't you check the wrapping paper for prints?" she asked. "The killer's would be on it, wouldn't they?"

"Did that, but nothing. Only your mom's thumb print. He probably wore gloves."

She let out a weary sigh, said wistfully, "We ate the Pizza in the back room. You could hear if a customer came in, there's a little bell above the door. That was the last time I saw mom alive."

He could only nod.

"I could feel him when I was in the store, you know. I could feel his insanity. The terrible violence he unleashed on my mother hung like residue in the air." More tears leaked from her eyes and he resisted the compulsion to go to her and put his arms around her. "She must have been so terrified," she said. He saw her mentally pull herself together. "Would you like a cup of coffee, Detective O'Neal?"

He said he would. Against his better judgment he also said, "If I'm to call you Gloria, please call me Tom."

Fifty-Three

All New Years' Eve day, Caroline couldn't quiet the anxious feeling she had that Jeffrey might not show up tonight. The last time she saw him, he'd seemed irritated, and she hadn't heard from him since. Well, she'd just be ready for nine o'clock, which was the time he said he'd call for her and if he showed up, fine. If not, fine too. She knew it would hurt. She also knew she'd get over it.

Lynne called to wish her a Happy New Year, and Caroline guessed it was an excuse to see if she'd turned the brooch over to the police. She didn't mind. It was only because she was worried about her. A 'mother hen' she'd called herself. I don't think I need that anymore, Caroline thought. I just need her to be my friend.

She swept her hair back from her face, which looked kind of Audrey Hepburnish with the dangling rhinestone earrings. The rhinestone belt made the dress look totally different.

He knocked on her door at ten to nine and she almost ran to answer it. He looked very handsome in a shirt and tie, and topcoat. They took a cab to the club. His car was in the shop. In the cab, he said, "You really look stunning, Caroline. I can't take my eyes off you."

At his words, a warm glow of pleasure washed through her.

The big room was decorated festively, draped with blue and gold crepe paper, streamers and garlands. A big glittery sign on the back wall wished everyone HAPPY NEW YEAR!

The air in the room was charged with excitement. Caroline was relieved to see that only a couple of the women were wearing long dresses, and in fact, one woman, a redhead, wore jeans and a purple sequined top.

Jeffrey found a small table off by itself against the wall, then went to fill their plates with goodies from the buffet table, including two glasses of spiked punch from the punchbowl.

As they enjoyed the food and punch, Jeffrey told her about his father who had fought in the war. She, in turn, talked about her own father serving in Korea and thought about his passionate letters to her mother. It was nice here, she thought, though she preferred the small piano bar where they'd gone Christmas Eve. Gradually, it got too loud to hear each other.

As the band was tuning up for the next set, the redhead in the sequined top was up on her feet, whirling around the room, a glass in her hand. "Play
I Can't Stop Loving You
," she yelled, evoking a burst of laughter from the crowd. She responded by telling them what they could do with themselves.

"I'm sorry. Not exactly the Ritz, is it," he grinned sheepishly. "But the tickets were cheap. You wanna leave?"

"No. Not yet. I've heard worse language, believe me."

The band obliged the redhead and Jeffrey drew Caroline to her feet. "I'm not much of a dancer," she whispered in his ear, but he just smiled and pulled her closer and led her in a slow dance to the middle of the floor. She tried to keep a space between them, which made her steps awkward. He laughed lightly, a very fetching laugh. "Relax, Caroline," he murmured, and drew her ever closer. A small sigh escaped her as she gave in and let him guide her around the floor. She followed him easily. Too easily. She danced as if she had always danced or at least it felt that way. She was quite happy to dance the night away, in Jeffrey's arms.

Soon, however, the place became so crowded you couldn't walk onto the floor without bumping into someone, and the noise ended any chance of conversation. Perfumes mingled with perspiration and liquor. Anxiety began to creep over her and it was getting hard to breathe.

She withdrew from his embrace. "I need to get some air, Jeffrey."

"Sure." Looking concerned, he got their coats. Outside she leaned against the red brick building and breathed in the crisp winter's night air, let it calm her. She looked up at the dark blue velvet sky strewn with stars and an almost full moon.

"Are you okay?" he asked.

"Fine now. It's such a beautiful evening. I hope I haven't ruined it for you."

He laughed. "Hardly. You're right; it is a lovely night. Anyway, I'm just happy to be with you, wherever we are." He glanced at his watch. Eleven-thirty. Feel like walking?"

"Yes, please. I love to walk."

The street was tree-lined, their branches silvered with frost. As they walked, the noise from inside the club grew fainter, finally dying away. Overhead wires sang in the sharp night air.

For a time they walked silently, holding hands, collars turned up against the cold, their breaths visible in the cold air. "Will your friends think it odd your leaving before the midnight hour?" Caroline asked.

He laughed. "I didn't know a soul in there. My dad used to frequent the place; he had a lot of friends who did too, many gone now. Like I said, the tickets were reasonable. You don't make big bucks teaching kids how to play the piano. And I'm still waiting to be discovered as a composer. I'm a very poor catch, Caroline."

"No, you're not." She smiled. They were passing Gleneton, the street where she once lived and she averted her eyes. With her hand in his, for a moment she recalled walking alongside William, the way their hands had fit together, entwined. Then William receded to that far place in her memory, and she was back with Jeffrey again.