Summer Shadows (30 page)

“It would have been too late. If he had wanted to kill you, no one would have gotten there in time to save you. It was a stupid,
stupid
move. You should have waited. You should have gone to Mrs. Jurta’s house, called 911 - called
me
- and waited. We can handle things like this. We’re
supposed
to take the risk, not you. Geez, Julia!” His voice broke. He stopped in front of the window, his back towards her.

After a moment, she said again, “I’m sorry, Robert.”

Robert looked out over the crowded parking lot and took a few deep breaths.

“No, I’m sorry,” he said after a moment. “I’m acting like an idiot. It’s just that you were hurt. You could have been killed.” He paused. “And I wasn’t there to stop him.”

“You couldn’t have known. I didn’t call.”

He faced her then. “That should help, but it doesn’t.”

There was a moment of silence while Julia mentally regrouped. Then gently, she asked, “Was anyone else hurt?”

He shook his head. “No. Everyone’s fine, just a little shaken up.”

“Then he didn’t hit anyone when he was shooting?”

“He didn’t shoot. Mrs. Jurta remembered that she was carrying and tried to stop him with a nine millimeter. Fortunately for him, she’s a lousy shot. The only thing that got hit was the neighbor’s car. I think Mrs. Jurta will be hearing from their lawyers any day now.”

She sighed in relief and fell back against the pillows. Everyone was safe. She was the only one wounded, and that had been her own fault, the result of poor decision making. Hadn’t Miriam been accusing her of that ever since she’d been made guardian?

A few minutes of uncomfortable silence went by, with Julia wondering how to break it and Robert obviously unwilling to. Then he sighed, and ran a hand through his hair, smiling faintly.

“Look, Jules,” he said. “I know I shouldn’t have come in here yelling at you like that. I apologize. My reaction was way out of line.”

She shook her head. “No, it wasn’t. I put your daughter in harm’s way and I’m sorry.”

“It’s not just her…” He stopped, seeming ambivalent. “Look, promise me that if something happens, you’ll call me first, okay? I can’t be everywhere, but let me do my job, all right? Please?”

Once again, she felt like she was losing herself in his dark eyes.

“All right,” she whispered.

He took her hand. “Thanks,” he said.

Somehow, Julia broke away from his gaze and sat up straighter in her bed. “Can you tell me what’s been happening since I’ve been out of commission?”

He looked grim again. “All right. I need to get some facts from you and tell you a few before you give an official statement. Why don’t you tell me exactly what happened from the time you left the party until you can’t remember any more.”

There wasn’t much to tell. She told him everything, answered the few questions he had, and waited as he finished jotting down his notes. She had time to think about his reaction earlier. It was kind of flattering, really.

“Do you have any suspects?” she asked.

Robert shook his head. “We think he was wearing gloves because we didn’t find any fingerprints on the tools he left behind.”

She frowned. “But why was he prying up the floorboards? Was there anything under there?”

He put his notepad back into his shirt pocket. “Okay,” he said. “This is where I report to you.”

He had arrived just ahead of the other squad car and in time to see Mrs. Jurta still toting her automatic. Mrs. Jurta said that a man came running out of the house, too fast for her to identify him. The intruder had shoved her aside and jumped into a pick-up truck, and Mrs. Jurta recovered herself enough to pull out her gun and fired several shots at him - but only hit the neighbor’s car.

When they investigated the back room, several of the floorboards had been pried up, and they found something wrapped in old painting rags. And when they unwrapped these, they found…

“The missing Stephanie Langs?” Julia guessed.

“The sketches, yes,” he said. “How did you know?”

“It was just a guess. The Lang murder seems to be coming up an awful lot lately. In fact, I found a signed picture of her in an old lamp-table, and I was going to ask you to take a look at it.” She stared wide-eyed at him. “This is getting creepy. How did those get into my house?”

“That’s what we’ve been wondering, too,” he said. “You’re right, the sketches were all there, including several that had not been listed as missing. They’re unfinished, our resident expert tells us, and it’s possible that the cataloguers weren’t aware of their existence when they made the list.”

“But that doesn’t make sense,” Julia insisted. “Brad Lang made the list with the museum expert, according to Bernard’s research. Why would he steal them only to omit them from the list, when the robbery was his cover story? And how did he have access to my house? I don’t remember seeing his name on the list of previous owners.”

Robert shook his head. “I don’t know. Maybe he had an understanding with the owner at the time, a girlfriend, maybe.”

“There’s no mention of that in any of the stories.”

“That only means he was more discreet than his wife. We have no reason to suppose that she was the only one cheating.”

“No. Only I got the impression that he was far too busy with his career to spend time with his wife, let alone a girlfriend. Will the discovery of these sketches reopen the case?”

“They have to be authenticated first,” he replied. “After that, who knows? To be honest, if I wasn’t so concerned with catching the man who broke into your place, I’d be cracking into the old case files myself. Don’t throw away that picture you found, whatever you do. It may be important.”

She leaned back against the headboard. “We’ve felt drawn to that old house ever since we moved in, the kids and I. It’s so weird to think that there might actually be a connection.”

Robert cleared his throat. He was rubbing his hands together, seeming uncomfortable.

“That’s not the only connection to that old house,” he said, and Julia gave him a sharp look. She suspected this had to do with Ron.

“Last night, at about the same time as you were getting hit over the head, a couple of the neighborhood boys discovered a squatter in the old Lang house. After they chased him out, they – broke in themselves. Dylan O’Reilly was one of the boys… And I’m afraid Ron was with him.”

She gaped at him. “That can’t be. I left them at the Ojacors’ house.”

“Apparently, they left early and were hoping to catch a ghost on film. Dylan has been staking the house out and thought he saw paranormal activity. What he actually saw was a squatter. We’ve impounded the tapes and cameras and are going over them now for clues as to who the person was who was living there.”

Julia stared in disbelief.

“From what the boys told me, they were outside looking in when they startled a man. He ran outside, Ron tried to stop him, and the suspect kicked him.” Catching her expression, he quickly added, “He’s all right. The paramedics looked him over and gave him a clean bill of health. He has a fat lip but other than that, he’s fine.”

Her hands were shaking. She pressed them against her eyes, trying to steady herself.

Robert said, “We found out about it when the boys accidentally tripped the alarm system by opening the front door. What’s confusing is whoever was living in the house knew enough to dismantle the alarm on the back door while leaving the rest of the system intact. The other strange thing is what the boys found in the living room, where the squatter was camping out – clippings referring to the Lang murder. An incident room, if you will. He grabbed some of the evidence when he ran. Mostly, it was copies from library film, but some of it was from newspapers at the time of the murder. Stuff that even the Mones had a hard time locating.”

Julia moved her hands from her eyes to her mouth, then spoke through them. “But – why would he have that?”

“We don’t know. Maybe he’s obsessed with the case. He probably selected that particular house because it was the scene of the murder.”

“If he’s obsessed, he’s dangerous.”

Robert nodded. “The lawyers in charge of the house are installing a new alarm system as soon as our boys are done there. They’re going to get in contact with Brian Lang, who, I hear, is out on parole right now, somewhere down south. In the meantime, the chief is putting extra patrols in the neighborhood until this squatter is caught. We’re hoping that he left some identifiable fingerprints, but the going is slow because the boys messed up some of the evidence. It’s been a busy night.”

“Do you think that the squatter and the burglar are the same person?”

“They can’t be. At the time Mrs. Jurta was shooting at your burglar, their intruder was escaping out the back door. In fact, the boys remembered hearing the shots and actually thought that he had fired them. It’s a miracle that none of them were hurt.”

“Oh my God,” she said and meant it as a prayer. “Oh my God. I can’t even…” She began to tremble, and he leaned forward to put a hand over hers.

She squeezed it gratefully.

“I don’t know what I would have done,” she confessed, and drew a shuddering sigh. “We rely on him so heavily. I don’t think I could have handled it. Those poor kids…”

“No need to go there. Nothing happened to him.”

“What now? A breaking and entering charge? What will that mean?”

“The chief is sorting that out. The fact that Ron left me a message on my phone to report the illegal activity will play in his favor. I don’t think he’ll get much more than a slap on the wrist, maybe some community time if the judge is in a bad mood. The media have already gotten a hold of the story, by the way. They’re calling it ‘a modern twist on the Hardy Boys.’”

“Oh, poor Ron,” she whispered. “He’s going to be so humiliated.”

“It’ll be good for him,” he grinned. “A good way to remember not to go along with everything your friends tell you to do. I’ll be around, whatever the outcome, to make sure that things go smoothly.” He looked at his watch. “I’ve got to get going. I’ve got a bunch of reports to fill out. I’ll keep you informed. When are you getting out?”

“Maybe this afternoon, if the tests come back all right.”

“Just send me a text and I’ll come and pick you up.”

She flushed a little. “Oh, no, really - that’s okay.”

“Do it. Besides, I’ll probably have more to tell you by then.” He stood over her and his smile faded. “Are you all right?”

She nodded and looked at her hands. “I’m fine,” she said.

“Really?”

“I… I don’t think I’ve really had time to process everything. It’ll probably hit me a week from now, and one of the kids will find me in a puddle on the kitchen floor, stuffing myself with ice cream. But really, everyone’s been so kind – I don’t know how I’ll be able to pay them all back.”

He gave her hand a squeeze. “Everyone is just pleased to be able to help.”

Julia let her head, which was growing increasingly heavy, fall back against the pillows. A wave of exhaustion washed over her.

“Thank you so much for coming, Robert. Thank you for everything.”

“Get better, Jules.” There was an odd, low tone to his voice as he spoke.

Then he was gone, and the nurse took his place.

“Ready for the next round of tests?” he asked.

41

R
on trailed slowly after Mrs. Ojacor, rubbing his sore jaw. The hospital was not very busy, and few nurses and staff were visible in the hallways. It was very quiet and smelled of antiseptic and plastic - familiar, but not comforting.

The last time he’d been in a hospital was back when he was seven or eight. They’d gone to visit his dad’s aunt, who was dying of cancer. She was a wizened little old lady in flowered pajamas, an oxygen tube up her nose, and great dark patches on her skin. She couldn’t sit up or move very much, but she had been excited to see them and wanted to touch Ron’s face. Ron tried to avoid her, but his grandmother kept pushing him back within reach, oblivious to his discomfort.

“Your aunt is going to be tired,” Mrs. Ojacor reminded them gently. “So we’ll have to be very quiet and calm.”

She was holding Dana’s hand and Amelia was on the other side of her. Both girls were wearing the same dress, but in different colors, with their hair pulled up in the same high, tight ponytail. Amelia had explained to Ron that they were twins today. Each held a sad bunch of flowers that they had cut from the Ojacor’s little garden.

Jack’s warm, moist hand was tight in Ron’s. The little boy slept badly the night before, sharing a makeshift bed with Ron on the Ojacor’s living room floor. He kept asking Ron if they could go home. When told no, he would start crying, asking if Aunt Julia was dead. No matter how many times Ron assured him that she was fine, and that they had to stay away from the house until she was well, the boy wouldn’t understand.

Jack asked, “Is this where Aunt Julia is?”

“Yes,” Mrs. Ojacor answered.

“Is she dead? Like Mom?”

“No, she’s just hurt,” Ron said, ignoring the tight feeling in his chest.

They reached the elevator and waited for the doors to open. Jack looked thoughtfully at Mrs. Ojacor for a moment.

“Our Mom died, you know,” he offered.

“I know,” Mrs. Ojacor replied soothingly.

The elevator door slid open and she ushered them inside, pushing the button for the third floor.

Jack stood next to Mrs. Ojacor, his face pinched, as though he was thinking something through. It was the first time that Ron had ever heard Jack talk about their parents’ death to someone outside of the family. Even inside of the family, he never verbalized it beyond asking where Mom and Dad were, and then bursting out into tears. He hadn’t done that in quite some time. Ron wondered why he was talking about it now; it had to be because of Aunt Julia’s injury.

Jack looked up at Mrs. Ojacor.

“My Dad died, too,” he said quietly. “Aunt Julia said that they went to Heaven, but I don’t know for sure, because I haven’t seen it. Where is Heaven?”

“It’s where God is,” she said, her tone solemn.

“Aunt Julia said that God is taking care of Mom and Dad until we can see them again.”

“She’s right, you know. He’s taking very good care of them.”

“That’s good,” Jack said. “They were very nice. They didn’t want to die, you know. But they had to because God missed them and wanted them with Him. I think He wanted Mom to make Him chicken fingers.”

Mrs. Ojacor smiled. “Did she make good chicken fingers?”

“Yes. She put lots of sauce on them. Dad liked them best. Granddad says that Dad is playing golf with St. Peter now. So I guess they are both happy, except that they miss us a lot.”

“You must miss them a lot.”

He nodded. “When the lightning scared me, Mom hugged me. Now, Ron does that.”

Ron took Jack’s hand, pulling him close. He saw that Dana’s eyes were shiny, like she was about to start crying.

“When we see your aunt, we have to be very careful,” Mrs. Ojacor said. “Her head is still hurt and she needs peace and quiet.”

They were at the door. It was open, but a curtain was drawn, dividing the room in two. Mrs. Ojacor knocked gently on the door jam.

Ron didn’t want to enter the room. He didn’t want to see Aunt Julia looking like Great Aunt Alice. She wasn’t supposed to be ill or wounded – she was supposed to be healthy and well. He didn’t want to see the tubes, the bruises, the withered expression, and tired eyes. He wanted Aunt Julia out of the hospital and back home, sanding the walls with him and laughing at the jokes that they made.

If Aunt Julia doesn’t recover, we’ll be split up. How am I supposed to be the man of the house then?

He flushed with anger and helplessness, thinking about the intruder breaking into their home. The emotions roiling inside him were powerful, but this was no time to be angry. The kids needed him to be strong, now that Aunt Julia was wounded.

As she called out for them to come in, Julia’s voice sounded stronger than he expected, but perhaps the excitement of seeing them had given her a temporary lift.

The hospital room was small. Equipment and furniture lined the narrow quarters. Yet when Mrs. Ojacor pulled back the curtain that divided the room, sunlight flooded the tiny area and made it feel welcoming.

At the sound of Julia’s greeting, Jack wrenched his hand from Ron’s and wriggled past the others.

“Aunt Julia! You
aren’t
dead!”

“Careful, Jack,” Mrs. Ojacor said, but her warnings went unheeded. The two little girls broke ranks to run around the bed as Dana burst into tears.

“Aunt Julia,” was all she could manage.

Julia looked bright and alert, with her hair neatly combed and her face clean and smiling. She was sitting on top of the bedding, dressed in a hospital gown. She was attached to monitors, and there was a bandage wrapped around her head, and dark circles shone under her eyes. But she was laughing and hugging the kids, trying to thank Mrs. Ojacor.

“It’s all right,” she murmured to Dana as she hugged her. Jack climbed into the bed and snuggled up against her. “It’s all right, guys, I’m fine. How are
you
all doing?”

“Okay.” Dana’s voice sounded hoarse. “We thought that he killed you.”

Julia sighed heavily. “I thought so, too. It was stupid for me to go into the house like that, but thank God we’re all safe. I’m so glad to see you. You must have been so scared when Mrs. Jurta started shooting.”

Dana nodded.

Amelia shrugged. “I wasn’t, really. My dad takes me to the shooting gallery sometimes, so I’m used to guns.” Then her cocky façade crumbled and she wrapped her arms around Julia’s neck. “I’m just glad you’re okay.”

Julia stroked her head, then reached to trace Dana’s face with her hand. That started another flood of tears that Mrs. Ojacor stepped in to tend to.

Ron felt separate from the scene. He was in too much trouble to be any help. He was, after all, a felon - or so Mac had told him last night when they were questioned by the police.

Julia noticed him hovering near the foot of the bed and gave him a welcoming smile. Ron smiled back, but stayed where he was. She had to be upset with him for his stunts at the Lang house, and there would be a long lecture in his future. He decided to stay back – the little kids needed time, he decided.

“Ron.”

Julia gently slid Jack off to the side, then Dana, and gestured for him to come closer. As he did, he saw that her smile was pained but genuine.

“Are you all right?” she asked.

He nodded silently.

Suddenly, she pulled him into her arms and held him.

“Oh, Ron,” she sighed into his hair, “I almost lost you.” Her grip tightened.

Ron felt like he was melting on the inside. Aunt Julia knew what had happened earlier, she knew about the house… But she was still glad to see him. Something inside threatened to give way, but he held it in tightly as he returned her hug.

He was loved.

For a few seconds, he felt almost whole.