Stranger in the House (19 page)

“Where are your suitcases?” the woman asked.

“I put them in the bedroom in the house,” said Iris, turning to face her. “I’m sorry I’m late, Angelica.”

The woman put her strong, clay-caked hands on Iris’s shoulders. “I wasn’t worried about you. Yet.” She drew Iris close to her, and the two women kissed each other gently on the mouth. Iris sighed and pulled herself away from the lingering embrace. Angelica released her and walked over to a little stove and sink on the side of the studio. She poured a cupful of boiling water into a ceramic mug and handed the mug to Iris, who sat down on a stool and rested the mug on the counter.

“Herb tea,” said Angelica. “Looks as if you need it.” Iris sighed again, and Angelica cocked her head to one side and smiled at her. “What’s the matter?”

Iris shrugged her shoulders like a dejected child.

“You didn’t tell him, did you?” said Angelica.

Iris looked at the other woman beseechingly. “I tried to tell him. All day I wanted to tell him. But I couldn’t find an opportunity. And then tonight I went back, after I had started out for here, and I told myself that that was it. That I was entitled to my happiness and that it was time to speak up and tell him. And I started to…but then I couldn’t.”

Angelica lit a cigarette and held it between her teeth as she shook the match out. Then she took a drag and removed it and had herself a sip of tea. “Maybe you don’t want to tell him,” she said. “Maybe you don’t really want out of the marriage.”

Iris looked up at the other woman with woeful eyes and shook her head slowly. “Oh, no,” she said. “I am going to get out of it. I promise you that.”

“Don’t promise me,” said Angelica archly. “I mean, don’t do it for my sake. If you can’t take the pressure and the scandal, well, I understand. I’ll be your backstreet girl.”

Iris reached out for Angelica’s hand, and squeezed the dusty fingers between her own. “No,” she said. “This is the first time in my whole life that I have ever really been happy. I feel as if I were asleep before I met you. Now I know what I was missing in life, and I want to live with you. I don’t care what people say.”

The other woman squinted at her and took another drag on her cigarette. “It’s not going to be pleasant. He will make it miserable for you.”

“He told me tonight he was satisfied with our marriage.”

“Satisfied.” Angelica snorted. “Honestly, Iris, I don’t know how you have put up with him as long as you have. The way he treats you is inexcusable. I don’t see why you should care how he feels about it.”

“I can’t help it,” said Iris apologetically. “I feel guilty. I’m afraid I never really cared for him. I married him to please my father, and I haven’t been much of a wife to him, you know. And the scandal of this is going to be awfully hard on him.”

“You don’t have to make a public declaration and do time in the stocks, you know,” Angelica said. “Lots of people get divorced these days. The whole world doesn’t have to know why.”

Iris looked up at her friend with shining eyes. “I want the whole world to know,” she said. “For the first time in my life I’m in love, and I feel like shouting it.”

“You’re so sweet, Iris,” said Angelica kindly. “You’re a bit naive, but that’s something I love about you.”

Iris blushed, and tears sprang to her eyes. She wiped them away quickly. “I will tell him,” she said. “In a couple of days. Maybe I’ll just call him and tell him I’m not coming home when Sunday comes around. I just don’t want to spoil these next few days we have together,” she said earnestly.

“All right,” said Angelica. “Whatever you think will be easiest on you.” She put out her cigarette and smiled. “I’d better check the kilns. Don’t go away.”

Iris shook her head and followed her raptly with her eyes. “I won’t,” she said.

As Gus deBlakey was rolling down the front blind of the La-Z Pines Motel, he saw a sight that made him grimace. A pair of the Methodists, husband and wife who were in town for the big Methodist convention, were striding up toward the office with that look on their faces that said, “The toilet’s stopped up, and we’re paying good money for this room.” Gus looked at them reflectively. He recognized them all right. They were in cabin 17. Well, it surely was the cleanest one in the place. It had been scrubbed down pretty well after that guy was found swinging in there.

Gus had an inkling now of what the problem was. Someone probably had told them about the guy’s hanging himself in their cabin, and now they didn’t want to stay there. He hoped, briefly, that the word didn’t get around on cabin 17, or he’d be stuck with one useless piece of real estate.

The door to the office opened with a jingle, and the middle-aged husband and wife came in.

“Evening, folks,” said Gus, pasting on a smile. “What can I do you for?”

The husband, who had steel-rimmed glasses and hair the same color, cleared his throat. The wife just stood next to him, looking indignant.

“Well, sir,” said the husband, “my wife and I are staying down there in one of your cabins.”

“Seventeen,” said the wife.

“That’s right,” said the husband. “We’re members of the Methodist Church. Here for a convention.” The man held up the Gideon Bible as if by way of explanation.

“It’s a pleasure to have you folks,” said Gus. “How do you like your room?”

“The room’s just fine,” said the man, “but we aren’t too happy about this.” The man wrapped both hands around the Bible and gave it a little shake.

Gus looked at it with a frown, wondering if the Methodists used another version of the Good Book in their religion. He didn’t know too much about Methodists, although if they were anything like the Baptist conventioneers he’d had last year, they’d be complaining because they didn’t have a minibar.

“Disgraceful,” the woman stated, sniffing at the Bible.

“We put those in all the rooms,” Gus started to explain. “It’s an old custom. For the weary traveler.”

“I know that, sir, and a fine custom it is. But this Bible in our room has been defaced.”

“Defaced?” said Gus.

“My wife wanted to read a few passages this evening, and when she opened it up, this is what she found.” The man opened the book and held it up for Gus to see. Gus swiveled around to have a look. The margins of the page he indicated were covered with scrawled handwriting lapping over onto the text. Gus could see at a glance that some of the words were of the obscene variety. He quickly lifted the Bible from the man’s hands and put it behind the counter.

“I am so sorry about that, sir,” he said, going into a drawer and bringing out another copy, which he offered the offended conventioneer. “You do get the occasional guest who has no respect for the Lord’s Word. I’m terribly sorry.”

The woman opened the new Bible and looked through it. “That’s better,” she announced.

“Will that be all?” Gus asked, worried that there might be more.

“That’s fine,” said the man, putting his hand on his wife’s elbow. He turned to Gus as he reached the door. “I wouldn’t keep that lying around here, you know. Some child could get his hands on it and have a terrible shock.”

“I’ll take care of it,” Gus assured him. After the couple had gone, Gus took the Bible out from under the counter and began to examine it curiously. He leafed through the pages until he found the offending section and turned the book upside down and sideways to read what was written there.

It was that nut, he thought, deciphering the passages in Jeremiah that had been amended by Rambo’s jerky handwriting. The writing did not make much sense; that figured, to Gus’s way of thinking, and he soon gave up trying to figure out the gist of it. Gus was just about to stash the defaced book away under the desk when he noticed that in one corner of the page was written, quite clearly, the name Edward Stewart and, beneath it, a phone number.

Gus pondered it for a while, wondering if that name, or any of this crazy business, would be of any use to that detective who had come over to the hospital. The detective had wanted to know if Rambo had been in contact with anyone during his stay here. Could this Edward Stewart be some friend of Rambo’s who might know something? Gus thought for a moment that it wasn’t a good idea to get involved, but he didn’t see himself as one of those kind of people you heard about in New York City who never bothered to call the police, even when they heard their neighbors screaming bloody murder. He fished in the pocket of his shirt and pulled out the card with the detective’s name and number on it. It wouldn’t hurt to give him a call, he thought.

Picking up the phone, he dialed the number of the Stanwich police station and waited. He looked up at the clock while it rang. A gruff male voice answered, identifying himself as Sergeant McDonough and announcing the Stanwich police station. Gus squinted down at the card in his hand and asked to speak to Detective Mario Ferraro.

“He’s not here now,” said the cop at the other end. “Can I help you?”

“Off duty, is he?” Gus asked, trying to sound knowledgeable. “When do you expect him?”

“Actually,” said the policeman, “he went away for a couple of days. Who’s calling, please?”

Then Gus remembered. The detective had said something about taking his son off to college. “When’ll he be back then?” said Gus, unwilling to go into a whole long explanation with somebody else.

“A couple of days. He’s due back in on Friday.”

“I see,” said Gus, looking down at the writing in the Bible. He would be curious to see what, if anything, the detective would make of it.

“Can anyone else help you?”

Gus shook his head. “No, I don’t think so. I’ll give him a call when he gets back. Friday, you say?”

“Want to leave a message?”

Gus hesitated. “No,” he said at last. “It’ll keep. I’ll call when he gets back.” He hung up the phone and put the Bible back under the counter. Then he picked up all his keys and switched off the light in the office, leaving the emergency number facing out on the door. He decided not to tell his wife about it. She’d tell him he should have minded his own business. But as he locked the door and went out toward his car, Gus felt a lot better for having done his duty as a citizen.

T
he morning sun fell across Anna’s shoulders as she crouched down in front of the clothes dryer, pulling out the warm laundry and folding it into a plastic basket. She heard Tracy’s sneakered steps in the kitchen and called out to let her know where she was. Tracy appeared in the doorway and then came over to where Anna was working. She bent down and kissed her mother briefly on the cheek.

Anna felt a flutter of surprise and pleasure at the kiss, the first sign of affection from her daughter in what seemed weeks. She tied two socks together and affected a jaunty tone. “You’re up early.”

“Mary Ellen invited me to go sailing on their boat with her older brother and his girlfriend.”

“That sounds like fun.”

“Are you wearing perfume?” Tracy asked.

Anna stood up and put the laundry basket on top of the machine.

“Lipstick and everything,” Tracy said. “Where are you going?”

Anna took a deep breath. “To the airport,” she said.

“The airport?” Tracy cried.

“Your father is going to Boston on the shuttle this morning. I’ve decided to see his plane off.”

“Oh,” said Tracy, trying not to betray her happiness at this news.

“We have some things to talk about,” said Anna. “Will you take these up to your room, darling?”

Tracy accepted the pile of folded clothes from her mother.

“I was thinking of asking Paul to go sailing with us,” the girl announced offhandedly.

“That was a nice thought,” Anna said “But I’ve got him scheduled at the hospital this afternoon. More tests. I’m going to take him with me to the airport and then we’ll go to the hospital. We should be back from the airport before noon.” She didn’t want to tell Tracy about her renewed fears over the basement window.

“He gets to go see Daddy off, too?” the girl asked, a note of petulance in her voice.

“You can come, if you want,” said Anna. “Although I don’t know how your father and I are going to get a chance to talk with both of you there.” Mother and daughter were silent for a moment.

“No,” said the girl reluctantly, “I’m going sailing. Can you drop me at Mary Ellen’s?”

“Sure,” said Anna. “Wake Paul up for me, will you? We’re going to have to leave before long.”

“Okay,” said Tracy. She glanced at the little stack of sweat socks and dungaree shorts on the washer. “Is that his stuff? I’ll take it up.”

Anna rubbed her daughter’s back between her shoulder blades for a moment. Tracy pretended not to notice. Clutching the two piles of laundry, she headed off through the house.

Anna walked into the kitchen and sat down at the table by the phone. She had been up most of the night, but she did not feel tired. On the contrary, her entire system was racing, and she was anxious to get going.

After her discovery of the opened window she had carefully checked the house and then called the police. The officer she spoke to could barely conceal his impatience. He explained to her that they did not generally come out to investigate windows that had been opened. He advised her not to worry, and said that they would send someone only if she insisted. Anna had debated it and then decided to insist. An officer had dutifully arrived, checked the house in a perfunctory manner, and assured her she had nothing to be concerned about. Anna had ignored the officer’s indulgent manner and, after he had left, tried to put the open window out of her mind and concentrate on her other problem.

The long night, alone in her bed, had given her plenty of time to think about what Thomas had said. He had been to bed with another woman, and now he wanted to be forgiven and to make it up to her. All night she had wrestled with her feelings, unable to decide what to do. She had fallen asleep at around 4:30
A.M
., and when she awoke, she knew.

Now that her mind was made up, she could hardly wait to get going. She had one phone call to make now, before they left. It was still early. In all likelihood Edward had not yet left for work. Anna dialed the Stewarts’ number and waited for several rings.

The glass doors of the apartment house lobby were opened by a small-boned, balding man in aquamarine livery. “Good morning, sir,” said the doorman politely. “Lovely day, isn’t it?”

“Yes, isn’t it?” Thomas mumbled, slipping into the elegant lobby.

“Whom did you wish to see, sir?” the doorman asked. Thomas recognized the doorman as the same one who had been on duty when he had left with Gail the previous morning. He wondered if the man remembered him and was just being discreet. He felt as if the gold of his wedding band was flashing on his hand. “Miss Kelleher, please. On the twentieth floor.”

“Who’s calling, please?”

“Mr. Lange.”

The doorman nodded and walked over to the house phone on the desk in the lobby. Thomas sat down in one of the lobby sofas and placed his bags on the floor. He had to be at the airport in an hour and a half, but he felt that he couldn’t leave without talking to Gail, as much as he dreaded it. After having left Anna the night before, he had gone to a hotel, where he had been up most of the night with his thoughts and a bottle of bourbon. This morning he was weary, and his head ached; but at least he did not feel guilty.

“You can go up, sir,” said the doorman.

“Thank you,” said Thomas. He stood up, picked up his bags, and went to the elevator. He figured that Gail would not be too surprised by what he had to say. They had hardly spoken after he told her he was meeting Anna for dinner. He had collected his bag from her apartment, telling her that he was going to a hotel because he needed to be alone that night to sort things out, and although she had tried not to let her feelings show, she had answered him in monosyllables.

He had considered not telling her anything at all. He knew he could just avoid her at work, and she would get the message in no time. The last thing he felt like this morning was having an ugly scene with her. But it was too cowardly a way out.

He walked down the carpeted hallway to her door and rang the bell. After a few moments the door opened, and she was standing before him, dressed up for work. He met her eyes briefly and then looked down.

Gail looked him over quickly and gave a slight laugh. “Moving in?” she asked.

Thomas did not smile. “I’m going to Boston today,” he said.

“I know,” she said, stepping aside to let him in.

He did not look at her as he passed into the living room. He could feel her eyes on him, appraising him, anticipating what he was about to say.

“I’m sorry about last night,” he said. “I should have called you when I got back to the hotel.”

“I didn’t really expect to hear from you,” she said. She walked over to where he stood gazing out her windows at the skyline. He glanced over at her and saw in the harsh daylight that there were dark circles under her eyes which she had mostly concealed with makeup.

“How was your meeting with Anna?” she asked. He thought about trying to explain it to her, but he did not know where to begin. How, he wondered, do you explain something, when you don’t even understand it yourself? He turned to face her. “I’ve made a mess of things, Gail. I just didn’t use my head. Now I’m afraid I’m going to hurt you, and I never intended to.”

Gail nodded, but there was a remote look in her eyes, as if she were answering him from miles away. “No,” she said softly. “I don’t imagine you did.”

Edward hung up the phone and returned to his chair in the dining room. What a piece of luck, he thought. What an incredible piece of luck.

Anna had called to ask him if he had seen or heard any sign of a prowler the night before. At first he had felt panicky, hearing her describe the open window, but he was able to assure her, as the police had, that there was absolutely nothing to worry about, that all had been quiet.

And then she had told him about the airport. She was taking the boy with her to the airport. What better place to abduct the boy than the sprawling, anonymous airport? He could easily think of some story to lure the boy off without being seen by either of his parents. Once he had the kid in his possession, it was just a matter of hiding the boy in the house and waiting until darkness fell to get rid of the body. Perfect. So simple. He only wished he had known about this last night, so that he could have gotten some sleep. Edward brushed the crumbs from his croissant off his fingers onto his plate.

Now, however, it was time to move. He checked his watch. They would be leaving soon. He decided to get ready quickly because he wanted to leave right behind them, keeping his distance of course. Tonight, he thought, this all will be over. He felt a huge sense of relief at the thought. He would have dinner at the club in peace, knowing that his potential accuser was safely dead and buried, somewhere far enough away, and all his worries buried with him.