Tippy Toe Murder (18 page)

Pink slippers, strings tucked in.

“Is this right? Is this fifth position?”

Seated in a creaky old rocker on the cabin
porch, Caro looked up from her needlepoint. Lisa, in her swimsuit and ballet
slippers, had neatly put her feet in a close approximation to fifth position
and was struggling to straighten her body and keep her balance.

“Almost,” said Caro encouragingly. “You’ve
almost got it.” She smiled, watching the little girl’s intense concentration as
she tried to bring her swaying hips under control; then she returned to her
needlework. If she was honest with herself, she had to admit she really enjoyed
teaching the little girl she’d come to think of as Lisa. Where she had once
been merciless with her college students, now she could relax and watch a young
dancer develop. Immature muscles could not be forced into the proper positions,
they had to be gently stretched, and coaxed to turn out.

Caro would have been the first to say she’d
had an extraordinarily rewarding life, but there had been no room for marriage
or motherhood. In her day a woman had to choose; it was unthinkable to have
both a career and a family.

How long had it been? Almost three weeks
since she’d left home and driven to the tourist information center at the Maine
border. As instructed, she’d left her own car at home and used a secondhand car
bought for cash through the want ads. Once she was at the information center,
she’d looked for a woman in a lobster hat and followed her to the section of
the parking lot reserved for campers. Caro brought her car alongside a
twenty-two-foot Winnebago and in seconds the transfer was made. Lisa was
buckled into the front seat, a duffel bag was thrown into the back, and Caro
became an instant grandmother.

Watching Lisa practice the five positions,
Caro nodded approvingly. The dark smudges under Lisa’s eyes were gone, and her
cheeks were now tan and plump. Her little body had also rounded out, thanks to
Caro’s old-fashioned notions about feeding children. In her day boys and girls
ate nursery food, dishes rich in milk and carbohydrates, so Caro cooked
pancakes, macaroni and cheese, rice pudding, and tuna wiggle for Lisa. And
carrots, lots of carrots.

Lisa wasn’t used to these kinds of meals
but she ate heartily. Caro was surprised at how much this pleased her. Somehow
she’d never pictured herself in the role of grandmother bountiful. She blushed
to think how she used to castigate her students if they gained an extra pound
or two.

Most dramatic of all, Caro thought, was the
change that had occurred in Lisa herself. The anxious hunched-forward slump and
the scuttling run were gone. Nowadays she threw her shoulders back when she
ran. Best of all, her nightmares had stopped and the little girl slept deeply
and peacefully through the night.

Caro didn’t know how long they could hope
to stay undiscovered in the woods. At best, the unheated cabin was a summertime
solution.

For the time being, however, things were
working out. Caro believed their time together had done Lisa no harm, and she
hoped it had done some good. As for herself, she was wholeheartedly enjoying
the present, taking each day as it came. She refused to worry. Tomorrow, she
thought to herself, would take care of itself.

Students are responsible for their
belongings.

“Damn.”

Philip Roderick stared at the brittle and
faded crayon drawing in his hand, crumpled it in disgust, and tossed it away.

The trail he’d been following had petered
out—it was a road to nowhere. He was alone in the woods in his black Saab,
surrounded by relentless green forest.

He got the topographical map and a compass
out of the glove compartment and climbed easily out of the car. He’d been
driving for hours, and it felt good to stretch his long legs and muscular
frame. He unfolded the map, spread it out on the hood of the car, and studied
it.

A cloud of gnats buzzed around his head,
and he waved them away, annoyed. He didn’t like the woods. The outdoors was
dirty and uncomfortable; it was certainly no place for Melissa. He couldn’t
wait to take his precious girl back to civilization. The car was filled with
lavish presents for her—Madame Alexander dolls, party dresses, and a huge
stuffed teddy bear.

It was suddenly clear where he’d gone
wrong, he realized, checking the compass. Restarting the car, he retraced his
route and soon found another trail that showed signs of recent use. When he
realized he was approaching a cabin, he braked and reached for his binoculars.

Propping his elbows on the steering wheel
to steady the glasses, he raised them to his eyes. He scanned the clearing, the
cabin, the porch. When he caught a glimpse of the old woman at the door, his
attention was riveted.

His hands tightened on the binoculars, and
his body tensed. Anger burned through him. She was poisonous. He hated her. The
old witch. She’d wrecked his marriage. Always there, always meddling. She’d
fastened herself on Louise. It was the one tie he’d been unable to break. She’d
turned Louise against him.

Even now, after the trial and the
publicity, he still loved Louise. He’d always loved her, from the first moment
he saw her. It was the way she moved, the way she tossed her shiny golden hair,
the way she lowered her eyes when she spoke. He’d never wanted anyone so much
before. It was more than an obsession—it had been an overwhelming physical
need, like an addiction. He’d had to have her.

He’d courted her carefully, knowing he
couldn’t bear rejection. He’d showered her with notes and flowers. He’d taken
her to the most expensive restaurants and the plays it was impossible to get
tickets for. When she was with him, he enjoyed knowing her safety depended on
him. He’d phoned her constantly, craving the sound of her voice when she said
his name. He thought his heart would break when he finally heard her answer the
minister, “I will.” She was finally his.

She was everything to him, so he hadn’t
understood her need for other friends. “Why do you want to go out with your
girlfriends when you could be with me?” he’d ask. “Let’s have lunch at that new
French restaurant downtown. I’ve heard it’s great.”

Her lashes would flutter, her lips would
form a little half smile, and she’d obediently call the girls and say her plans
had changed. Gradually, the friends disappeared from her life; even her mother
and sister rarely called. Only the old hag was left, sticking her nose in where
it wasn’t wanted.

A man has a right to a peaceful home, he’d
told Louise. Especially a man who works hard and provides extremely well for
his family. He required a more private lifestyle in which he could indulge his
desires. After all, the demands of his extremely sensual nature were best met
in secret.

He believed in the old saying that a man’s
home was his castle. In his home, he was the absolute lord and master. That was
how it had been in his father’s house. When he was a boy, he remembered, his
own father had been quick to order him to take down his pants so he could apply
the belt. “Spare the rod and spoil the child,” or “This hurts me more than it
hurts you,” his father used to say as his lips twitched in a little smile.

Of course, he now knew the old man had been
having his little joke when he said that. Whipping his son hadn’t hurt him at
all, it had given him enormous satisfaction. Just as he himself derived
tremendous pleasure from punishing his wife. The dread in her eyes as he bound
her, letting his fingers linger over her skin, and her cries of pain when he
lashed her gave him a sense of power and control like no other.

At first, when Louise told him she wanted a
divorce, he hadn’t believed it. She was as much a part of him as his arm or his
leg. He’d felt as if he were being drawn and quartered when she said she was
leaving him. “Those whom God hath joined together let no man put asunder.” That’s
what the wedding service said, and that’s what he believed. He wouldn’t let her
leave, and he certainly wouldn’t let her take Melissa.

Melissa. He’d adored her from the first
moment he saw her, red and wrinkled in the doctor’s hands. “Is she all right?
Is everything there?” he’d anxiously asked.

A few months later when he was bathing her,
he’d been unable to resist the temptation of slipping his smallest finger
inside her. He just wanted to make sure she was complete, he rationalized. Her
eyes had widened in surprise, and then she’d smiled and chortled. She liked it,
he decided, there was nothing wrong with it. She was his, after all, just like
her mother. She belonged to him. And now he was going to get her back.

Caro stood in the cabin doorway, looking
out. The woods were quiet and still, the air was filled with golden light.
Inside, the plain pine walls shone like honey, and bits of mineral in the
fieldstone chimney sparkled. Blood-red wild roses, stuffed in a quart jar and
set on the table, glowed like jewels in the sunlight. Caro could even see a
line of fragile bubbles caught between the water and the glass wall of the jar.

She took a deep breath of the sweet, woodsy
air and thought how lucky she was. The old place was full of memories that comforted
and warmed her, like the old sweater she pulled around her shoulders on chilly
afternoons.

Hearing the gentle hum of an approaching
car, she looked up and saw Philip Roderick’s black sedan pull into the
clearing. Fighting the urge to flee, she forced herself to stand and face him.

At least the little girl she called Lisa
was out of the way for the moment, she thought thankfully. The child was
playing in the woods, out of sight of the cabin. Caro hoped she would remember
the instructions she had repeated so often.

Over and over she had told the little girl,
“If someone comes to the cabin you must run and hide until they leave and it’s
safe to come out.”

Caro concentrated on taking steady, regular
breaths and willed her heart to stop beating so frantically. She clasped her
hands together and straightened her back, watching as Roderick mounted the
steps and crossed the porch.

She remembered things Louise had told her
about Philip, shameful secrets she could barely speak out loud. How causing
pain gave him pleasure, how he loved power and thrived on fear. No matter what
happened, she told herself, she mustn’t let him think she was afraid.

“Philip,” she said, in what she hoped was a
conversational tone. “What a surprise.”

“Where is she? Where’s my daughter?” he
demanded, looming over her.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,”
she answered, taking a step backward but looking up at him with steady eyes.
Feeling her hands tremble, she shoved them in her pockets.

He was taller than she remembered, and
stronger. Physically, she was no match for him. Without any weapon, with no way
of calling for help, she was extremely vulnerable. She would have to rely on
her wits to defend herself and the child.

“Why don’t you come in and talk to me?” she
said. “You must be thirsty after your long drive.”

Her only hope was to convince him she was
alone in the cabin. Fortunately, she was neat and tidy by nature and all traces
of the child were tucked away.

“Take a seat,” she suggested, casually
going to the refrigerator.

“Okay,” he said, smiling easily and pulling
a chair out from under the table.

Maybe it would work, she thought, reaching
for the pitcher of lemonade and pasting a smile on her face. Maybe she could
win him over.

“We haven’t gotten along very well in the
past, have we?” she said. “I can understand why you think I’m hiding Melissa.
But I’m not. In fact, I’d like to help you find her.” She poured a glass of
lemonade and set it on the table.

“Really? I’m surprised,” said Roderick.

“Absolutely. Stability is everything for
children, and I know you’ll provide a good home for her.”

“You’re good,” said Roderick, with a
calculating nod. “But you’re not good enough.” He held up a small pink sock. “It
was on the chair.”

“Where did that come from?” she exclaimed.
She even managed a little laugh.

“You’re lying,” he said, grabbing her arm
and pulling her toward him.

She had underestimated Philip Roderick, she
realized with a sinking heart. She hadn’t fooled him, and now she was firmly in
his grip. Struggling against him, she tried to think of a way to free herself.
She couldn’t bear to think what would happen to the child if Roderick found
her.

“Stand still,” he commanded, and she found
herself obeying. Panting from fear and exertion, she watched as he took a
length of sturdy cord from his pocket. Bits of self-defense films ran through
her mind. A knee to the groin, a quick thrust of the hand, two fingers extended,
to his eyes. But even as she remembered the movements she knew she couldn’t
perform them. She was overpowered in every way, she realized. She was old and
tired. Her best hope was to avoid angering him.

“Put out your hands,” he ordered.
Humiliated, she did, even though they were shaking. “Don’t be afraid,” he said
softly. “I don’t want to hurt you. I only want my daughter. Where is she?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,”
she answered, trying to sound convincing.

“Cut the crap,” he growled, grabbing the
upper part of her arm and dragging her to the doorway. “You’re violating a
court order, you know. I’ve got custody of Melissa. You’re breaking the law.
Tell me. Now. Where is she?” He tightened his grip on her arm.

“I don’t know,” insisted Caro, blinking
back tears that stung her eyes. She hoped with all her heart that the little
girl would stay safely in the woods, far from the cabin.

“You’re not fooling me. I know she’s here
with you,” he said, grabbing her arms by her bound wrists and twisting them
painfully. “Call her.”

Caro gritted her teeth against the pain. “Let
go of me,” she said. She hated the way her voice sounded—weak and pitiful.

He glared at her, eyes narrowed in disgust,
and raised his hand. She turned her head just as his fist crashed into her jaw.

Moaning, she collapsed against the doorjamb
and slid to the floor. Her ear roared, the raw skin on her jaw burned, she felt
as if the top of her head would explode. She gently explored her mouth with her
swollen tongue and tasted blood. Cowering against the doorjamb, she hardly
dared to look at him. She was terrified he would hit her again.

“Do it now,” he ordered. “Call her.”

When she remained stubbornly silent he
hauled her to her feet.

“Bitch, bitch, bitch,” he muttered, shaking
her by the shoulders. Her vision blurred, but she saw his mouth, spitting the
words out at her through his teeth. She tried to turn away.

She suddenly felt herself flying across the
room, so quickly that she didn’t have time to react and break her fall. She
fell like a rag doll. She felt blows, kicks jarred her spine, her hips, and she
curled into a fetal position. It was dark, and everything was slipping away.