The Killing Edge (2 page)

L.C. dried with a large terrycloth towel and examined her reflection in the full length mirror. Her breasts were a little too small and her nose a little too large, although Will often said that it showed her good New England heritage. The legs were long, although marred by the still-red scar along one thigh. As long as she didn't wear a bikini it wouldn't show, she thought, and then smiled at the touch of vanity.

If she insisted, they could drive the Ferrari tonight, although with the snow that might not be the best idea. The red car was her job. Several years ago it had been driven off an embankment by a slightly intoxicated actor who was playing at a nearby summer theatre. It had been totaled by the insurance company, and she had been able to buy it for parts. It had taken a year to rebuild the magnificent machine. It had a 3-liter engine in V-12 formation, three Weber carburetors lay in a valley between the heads that revued to 7,000 rpm and developed 280 horsepower. Will hated it, and said it wasn't driven, it was aimed. If Eddie Bennett was any good they might be able to enter it in production class this spring. She shook her head. She had never seen the man drive, the idea was preposterous.

Considering the storm, the morning's choice of clothing had been excellent: white pants, boots, blouse and fisherman's knit sweater. She scrubbed grease from her nails, made a few hasty passes at her closely cropped hair, dressed quickly, and went back to the office.

As she picked up the sales papers to take them to Jane Ellen's desk, she found herself looking at the two pictures in the silver frame on the edge of the desk.

L.C. sat down heavily and stared at the photographs.

She was in the water trying to swim away from the dock and her attacker. The ice had broken away near the ladder, but a little farther out it hardened to a thick crust. She turned toward the shore a few feet away and fought the ice with her elbows as she tried to reach shallow water.

It had been years since they had died, and often days would pass without conscious thought until, as if from a hidden thundercloud appearing over a mountain range and sweeping across the land, the loss would strike. It sapped her strength and removed coherent thought until she sank into a dark void of depression.

The loss of her husband and her father consumed her, and she lay her head across her arms and wept.

Today was the anniversary of their deaths, a fact she had repressed all day in a round of ceaseless activity. It had been such a senseless thing, and now it welled to the surface, not to be ignored.

Frank had worked so long and hard at the service station, and they had just obtained the dealership. The main building was still under construction and she had been working in this very room. Five years ago it had been a bare and functional room without furnishings or paneling. They had taped to the walls several travel posters of places they'd promised each other they'd eventually visit. She had kept the books on a card table and typed the correspondence on a small metal bench they'd bought at a junk sale. They had both been filled with the wonderment of the future.

She had been working at the card table near the window when out of the corner of her eye she had seen her father pull the police cruiser onto the service station apron and park beyond the pump island. It had been his habit, during his rounds, to stop at the station, grab a soft drink from the vending machine, and exchange a few words with Frank.

On that day five years ago, as she had idly watched from the window, her father had parked, gotten out of the cruiser, and taken three steps toward the station when the shotgun blast knocked him backwards.

She had screamed as the young man with the shotgun had backed from the station office. The gun had wavered nervously from her fallen father back to Frank in the station door. Her husband had hesitated a moment, and then begun to run across the apron toward her father.

The second blast had knocked Frank from his feet and killed him instantly.

Her father had managed to fire three times before he died. The heavy magnum shells cut through the young man with the shotgun until three men lay dead on the apron beyond her window.

L.C. cried without sound against the polished surface of her desk.

She reached shore and pulled herself onto the grass now covered with a light layer of snow. In panic she hobbled, splay-footed toward the house, hearing the clump of boots on the dock behind her. She tried to cry out, but only guttural choking sounds came from the depths of her throat.

“Let's not do that,” a deep voice said softly from the doorway.

She looked up at Will in the doorway and brushed tears away with the back of her hand. He was a man of large proportions, with a thick neck, massive shoulders, and hips that gave him a chunky appearance. During the past year, as he spent more time behind a desk, his abdomen had begun to protrude over his belt. His features were deeply cut with a quality that could change from sternness to compassion almost instantaneously. He smiled as he stepped into the room.

“I remembered,” she said.

“I thought I'd find you under the hood of your red monster.” She didn't answer. “I know what day it is,” he said quietly.

“I thought I had fooled myself enough to let the day drift by. I almost made it.”

“You look ready. How about lobster at the End of the Pier?”

“You'll spoil me.” She slipped a Kleenex from the center of the desk and dabbed at her eyes. “You know I have a weakness in that area.”

“Spoiling isn't exactly what I have in mind when I buy lobster dinners prefaced by cocktails and accompanied with good wine.”

“You can't afford all that.”

“I figured we'd go dutch.”

“That spoils the seduction.”

“It works if I pay for yours and you pay for mine.”

“Oh, Will … my God!” L.C. threw herself across the room and fell into the large man's arms. He held her tightly against his chest as she buried her head in his shoulder with small tremors quivering along her back.

“It's all right, Laura, it's all right.”

“Five years, Will. Five years, and right now I miss them both as if it were yesterday.”

“Try not to think about it.”

She was being carried and dragged across the white-green lawn. She struggled, but the hands on her arms made her powerless, while the slippery ground and unsteady purchase of the skates made it impossible to run. The back door was pushed open and she stumbled into the mudroom to fall to the floor with a whimper. She half turned and began to crawl across the floor until the hands grabbed her arm and leg and began to pull her through the house.

“It was such a senseless thing,” she said. “Two good men dead, the one who did it was only sixteen.”

“It was bad luck, L.C. The kid had already cleaned out the register. If your father hadn't pulled up at that exact moment, if he had been two minutes later …”

She pushed out of his arms with determination. “O.K., it was five years ago, we won't think about it anymore tonight. You really want lobster?”

“Absolutely. Luigi says he'll let us in the kitchen to pick our own.”

“I'm famished,” she said although it wasn't true. “Let me straighten up a sec.” She went back to the bathroom and stood before the mirror. She dabbed at her eyes until a cool blue gaze was reflected back, and then a few more brushes to realign the hair. She adjusted a small white beret and went back to Will.

She left the office without a backward glance and let him turn off the lights and lock the door. In the showroom, Vic Mange was at the small sales desk huddled over a telephone in whispered conversation. Jane Ellen, she thought, and made another mental note of things to do tomorrow.

Vic waved and covered the mouthpiece. “Take it easy, you two. Weather report is for over a foot.”

“Close it up, Vic. We're not going to sell anything tonight.”

“Right, L.C.”

Will took her arm as they walked in the falling snow toward where their cars were parked. “I was working on a 710 a while ago. I think it's the diode, but I should have checked the alternator bearings,” she said.

“For Christ's sake, L.C. knock it off. My car or yours?”

“That almost sounds like an improper suggestion.”

“Mine then,” he said as he opened the door of the unmarked police car. “That damn thing of yours idles at sixty.”

“You shouldn't put chains on until the snow's deeper. It's bad for the road bed.”

“It's SOP to put them on as soon as it starts. Come on, our clawed friends are waiting.”

The weight of the body across her hips made it impossible to kick out. Hands fumbled at her clothing, unzipped her jacket, unbuttoned the blouse, wrenched off the skates. Naked, she cried in terror.

Will Barnes turned away from the car agency and drove cautiously down Main Street toward the shore. They were both quiet, the only sound came from the swish of the wipers and the clack of the chains.

“I hired a new service manager today,” she finally said.

“It's about time. You need someone in the shop.”

“It was odd. I made up my mind faster than I usually do. I think it's because he reminds me a little of Frank.”

Will looked over at her for a quick moment and then back to the road. “Oh.”

“He seems to know what he's doing, but it's only on a trial basis. Do you know that this buggy of yours needs a valve job?”

Will laughed. “How can you tell?”

“Listen to it, you big lug.”

“The only thing I hear is that you sound better.”

“I'll be even better after a martini.”

“How about two or three?”

“I'll consider it.”

They let the snow-night close around them and lapsed into the comfortable silence of people who've known each other a long time. L.C. turned to lean against the door. She watched the large police officer drive with nonchalant ease. He drove as he did most things in life, with care and precision, always ready to take quick action if necessary.

It had been the three of them for so much of her life. At first Will and Frank were constantly engaged in mysterious boyhood things and barely tolerated her. In high school they changed as they became aware of her as a person. The attention increased until she began to date Frank. Even then the two men had been dissimilar. Frank was reckless, car crazy, spending all his free time working on a stock car, and entering his first local race at eighteen. Steady Will, with them when he wasn't working, was always ready to loan Frank a few dollars for gasoline or parts.

Reluctantly Will had broken away and started to date Cathy Newcomb. Then it had become the four of them, through school and afterwards—so many places, so many times. They had all married—Will and Cathy, she and Frank. Frank eventually bought the service station and Will joined the force to serve under L.C.'s father.

The bond between her and Will had grown stronger when, two years after Frank's murder, Cathy had died of cancer.

Will turned off Main onto Forum which ran toward the point that jutted into the Long Island Sound. The End of the Pier restaurant was easily the most popular dining place in town. In the summer it was overrun with tourists who often waited over an hour for a table.

“The reservation wasn't necessary with the snow getting worse,” Will mumbled.

“There'll be a lot of accidents tonight. Did you leave word where you'll be?”

“Yep. But barring a pileup, McCarthy should be able to handle things.”

The restaurant parking lot was almost deserted and they were able to park by the door. As they entered the vestibule, Luigi, carrying his ever present supply of oversized menus, met them with a smile.

“Mrs. Converse, Chief Barnes, a table by the window?”

“To see the snow,” L.C. replied.

It was pressing against her neck and she couldn't breathe. Oh, Mother of God, please.… the words choked in the depths as the pressure increased. A hand fought free and clutched at the thing across her neck. It was one of her skates. Her attacker was pressing the skate blade deeper and deeper into her neck.

Cocktails were served and they looked out over the dark water as snow swirled against the window. The presence of the man across the tttable filled her with an inner warmth and dulled the pain of earlier memories.

“I told the kids that if they needed me tonight they could reach me through headquarters,” he said quickly.

“You must expect a lot of accidents,” she said with a half smile.

“That wasn't exactly what I had in mind.”

“You're supposed to wait until after dinner to make that kind of suggestion.”

“I intend to bring it up then too.”

“Uh huh. You're persistent.”

They looked into each other's eyes until L.C. turned away to stare at the turbulent waters beyond the point. Their table was in a corner of the restaurant with large windows to either side. Looking past Will she could see the dimness of the sound, to her side the Pennicut River ran past Lantern City and joined the bay.

She knew that if she were to turn she would be able to see the lights of the town flickering in the distance, perhaps even the large Converse Motors sign mounted on the showroom roof.

After the deaths of Frank and her father she had closed herself in the back bedroom of the house at the corner of Main and Forum streets. She had gone past the realm of despair and entered into a dark place she never knew existed. She had never been sure how many days had passed before the room's door was shoved open and Will had come in, thrown open the curtains, and commanded that she dress.

“No,” she had told him. “And get out.”

He had grabbed her shoulders. “Listen, you're going to lose everything, do you understand that?”

She remembered answering dully that she already had.

“The business. All that you and Frank worked for,” he had said. “Now, there's a guy from the bank downstairs. Raleigh Bridger, their new loan officer. He thinks that just maybe something can be done.”