08 - December Dread (9 page)

I leaned my head the rest of the way out. A man had broken off from the main group in front of Natalie’s house and was making his way toward us. He was an inch or so taller than Adam but beefy, his shoulders poking through his coat like armor. His expression was as inviting as stone, but Adam seemed to know him.

“Agent Briggs,” Adam said, when the man was within ten feet.

“De Luca. You still around?”

Adam smiled crookedly. “Looks that way. You can get rid of me anytime. Just solve this case.” His voice was pitched light and easy, but his eyes and mouth were tight.

Agent Briggs grunted and brushed ice off his bushy mustache. “I’ll see what I can do.” He turned his attention to me, and I felt reduced to the confidence and brains of a six-year-old. “Something we can do for you here, ma’am?”

“No. I mean, I don’t think so.” It felt important suddenly that he not think I was an ambulance chaser. “I went to high school with Natalie.”

“So you’re not a reporter like him?” He jerked his gloved thumb at Adam, balancing as much loathing as he could on one word.

Don’t lie to the FBI. Don’t lie to the FBI.
“I’m here as a friend. I heard about Natalie on the news last night, and I’m concerned for her family. I’m worried about the rest of us, too. Do you have any information on the killer?”

“We know he’s a bad man.” He delivered this understatement in a flat voice.

I couldn’t tell if he was being sarcastic or just tired of answering that question. Either way, his response made me defensive. “That wasn’t information, it was
un
formation. As in, it was very unformative.”

His eyes narrowed. “What’d you say your name was?”

The words “Lola Clambaker” bubbled up in my throat, but I held them back with great effort. “Mira James,” I mumbled.

He shrugged. “Sorry, Mira James, for the
un
formation. I’ve got work to do.”

I watched his retreating back, and it wasn’t until the grinding sound of boots on snow disappeared that I realized Adam was chuckling. “I think you’ve made a friend for life.”

“He’s not a real people person, is he?”

“Supervisory Agent Walter Briggs is the best in the business. We’ve both been on this case too long. I think he’s a good man but no, he’s not the warm and fuzzy type. So,” he said, leaning back into my window. I smelled the soothing scents of cinnamon and aftershave. “You did know Natalie?”

“I haven’t seen her since high school, but I used to know her. As much as you can know anyone at that age, I suppose. Have they figured out how the killer targets his victims?”

His eyes grew pained again. “If they did, they’d have him. But no, other than their appearances, and some career choice similarities, none of the victims seems to have any connection with each other, though I heard Briggs is looking into a possible resort area in Mexico three of them visited at different times. You didn’t happen to know the first Minnesota victim, the one from White Plains, did you?”

I shook my head.

“Good for you, bad for the case.” He reached into his back pocket and pulled out a silver case. He slid a business card from it without removing his gloves, pulled a pen from his pocket to scribble something on the back, and handed it to me. “It’s too cold to stay out much longer, don’t you think? Here’s my card. Give me a call if you remember anything that might be relevant. I put Briggs’ number on the back, too. Like I said, he’s not a man whose time you want to waste, but if you get something good, he should know. Okay?”

“Sure.” I took the card and considered telling him I was also a reporter, except it would be like telling Michael Jordan that I dribbled a little in my spare time. The
Chicago Daily News
was one of the biggest papers in the Midwest. “See you around.”

“Yep.” He tapped my window ledge and gave me a little wave. As I drove away, I wondered what level of skill and education were required to become a real reporter, one with an actual beat. He only seemed a few years older than me. Grayer, certainly, and reserved in a way that was hard to pinpoint, but I assumed that was a natural byproduct of covering a rampaging serial killer for three years.

I noticed my gas gauge was inching below empty. I pulled into a Munch-N-Go station, filled my tank, and went inside to pay and buy a bag of corn nuts. For a couple months I’d been trying to kick the corn nut habit because they smelled bad. Also, I felt like corn was the bully of the grain world and wanted to start giving other foods and maybe even a legume or two more attention. Too bad the nuts of the corn plant were so delicious. I was choosing between plain and ranch-flavored—the latter being fairly poor marketing if you think about it—when a conversation at the front of the store caught my ear. Some guy in an ill-fitting suit was trying to sell a line of candies to the woman behind the counter. It was his nasal accent that stood out.

“Salted caramels are our best-seller. We’re famous for ’em.”

“Where would I put them? I don’t have any counter space as it is.”

“Not to worry. Check this out!”

I inched away from the corn nuts so I could see what he was referring to. He held a tiered metal basket that he hooked to the cigarette pack dispenser over her head, where it dangled in previously unused space. Each level was stocked full of a different kind of candy. Saliva began to pool in my mouth.

“Wow,” she said, and it sounded like she meant it. “Well, I’d have to talk to my husband first. Do you have a card?”

“I have one right here. Take some complimentary candies, too. I hope to hear from you soon.”

He bent down to grab his materials, and I caught his profile. It was pointy, his generous nose and mouth close together at the bottom of his face and his eyes up high in his forehead. He wasn’t disfigured, exactly, but if you rolled him in brown fur, he’d at least place in a guinea pig lookalike contest.

“Thank you! These are delicious. You drive safe now, okay?”

He turned back toward her, and I heard a smile in his voice. “Will do.”

I grabbed the plain corn nuts and a pack of peppermint gum and made my way to the counter. “Gas on pump two,” I said.

The woman smiled at me. “Nice weather, isn’t it?”

I glanced outside. The day was gray, but it wasn’t snowing and the roads were clear. “Sure.” I pointed at the pile of caramels. “Are you going to start carrying those?”

“I don’t know. I just got them. Want to try one?” She slid over a candy about the size of my pinkie finger, creamy brown caramel in a clear wrapper. The outside read “Chi-Town Candies Famous Salted Caramels” in fancy white script.

“Thank you.” I tugged on each end of the wrapper and it untwisted. I popped the caramel into my mouth and went a little weak at the knees. It tasted of fresh butter and sugar with a hint of salt to keep it from being too sweet. “Oh. My. God.”

“I know.” She smiled. “I think I’ll be able to convince my husband we need these.”

“Please do,” I said. I paid for my purchases. By the time I reached my car, the salesman was gone.

With nowhere else to go, I returned home, deep in thought on the drive. How could such a large police and FBI force be trying to find the same man, with no success? Where would the killer strike next? My head was thick with the dark possibilities.

My mom wasn’t home when I arrived, but she’d left a note that she was playing bridge with friends and would be home this afternoon. That must have been where I’d seen her going earlier today, if it had in fact been her. I fixed myself an early dinner of a cheese and pickle sandwich on wheat bread with a side of ruffled black pepper potato chips and tried watching TV, but was too fidgety. I couldn’t find a book that held my attention, either. I considered redecorating my bedroom, but realized that I didn’t have the materials I’d need, specifically a sledgehammer and a bucket of white-out. I was about to alphabetize the spice rack when my mom arrived home, glowing and humming.

“You must have won big at bridge.”

“What? Oh, I did.” She smiled. I noticed her mouth seemed a little dry, her eyes a little red. I leaned in to sniff her. She pulled away. “Mira! What are you doing?”

“I saw you today, going into the alleyway in town. That’s where the drug dealer used to live.”

She squinted at me. “How would you know where the drug dealer used to live?”

“Everyone knew. You weren’t ‘playing cards’ with the pot man, were you, mom?”

“Mira!”

“Just asking. You seem extra happy.” I couldn’t actually remember the last time I saw her this smiley. She must have been happy when she was younger. She’d told me stories about her friends in high school, being on the cheerleading squad, waiting tables after practice at her parents’ restaurant. On the rare occasions when she talked about it, she remembered a lot of laughter in her teen years. Then, one day, my dad drove in on his motorcycle, got her pregnant, married her, and headed off to war. Her parents had died shortly after he’d returned, my grandpa to a heart attack and my grandma to cancer. Mom had made the best of everything that came her way, but I didn’t remember much laughing in the house growing up. Life’s trials must have sanded her natural joy down to a steady optimism.

“Can’t I just be grateful that my only child is home with me for the holidays?”

“I suppose.” I was acting over-protective, and on top of that, I was starting to feel itchy again. I spotted the little slip of paper I’d stuck on the cork board, advertising the self-defense class. The class started at 7:30. I glanced at the clock. It was 6:45. “I’m thinking of taking a self-defense class for women. It’s at the Tae Kwon Do gym in Richmond.” It was only a half an hour drive and would get me out of the house.

“Sounds wonderful. When’s it start?”

“Last night, but I bet it won’t matter that I missed a night. It runs from 7:30-9:00 all week.”

She turned, but I caught the look of disappointment on her face. “I was hoping we’d have time to talk tonight, but I think a self-defense class is a great idea. It’s important to be safe. You have fun.”

“Thanks, mom.” I walked over and gave her a hug. “I love you, you know? It’s just hard to have all this free time on my hands. I’m used to working two jobs. Having so little responsibility is making me antsy.”

“I could write you up a chore list if it’d make you feel better.”

I was happy to see the twinkle had returned to her eyes. “That’s a fantastic idea. You can pay me a quarter for each one I cross off.” I changed into sweats and sneakers, grabbed my boots in case I landed in a ditch and needed to walk somewhere, and drove off.

I didn’t know what to expect at my first self-defense class, and my chest felt a little tight as I walked through the doors of the chiropractic clinic and followed the signs to the gym in the basement. Descending the stairs, I heard yelling and smelled clean sweat. The stairs ended in a hallway that doubled back on itself.

This is the right thing to do. You’re not a loser. There will be lots of women here who don’t know anything about self-defense either.

I tried keeping up the mantra, but I found myself unable to take the right turn into the gym. I sighed. I’d been exposed to too many new situations and ghosts in the past three days. I just didn’t have it in me to subject myself to one more. I yanked my duffle bag close to my body and turned to ascend the stairs, feeling like a huge hairy failure.

“Chickenshit says, ‘Mrs. Berns?’”

My head popped up. A tiny, shadowed figure stood at the top of the stairs. “Mrs. Berns?”

“Uh-hunh. Thought so. Running scared, are you? That’s what I told your mom would happen, as a matter of fact, when I called to find out where you were. She invited me over, but I said I needed to stage an inter-detention first. So here I am.”

“Mrs. Berns!” I couldn’t stop myself. I took the stairs two at a time and lifted her off the ground in an embrace, my heart soaring. I hadn’t realized how much I’d missed her. “What are you doing here?”

She hugged me back and then pushed me away. “You ever been to Fargo? With my family? It’s about as interesting as reading an aspirin bottle, except you’re also in Fargo. With my family. Couldn’t get out of there fast enough. Figured I’d invite myself to your doublewide for Christmas. You’re a lot of things, but boring isn’t one of them. ’Course, when I found out you came back to Paynesville, I had to alter my plans slightly.”

My grin threatened to separate the bottom half of my head from the top. Mrs. Berns was my best friend in the world, tough, funny, frisky, and always there when I needed her. Like now. “Did you tell my mom you’d be staying?”

“She insisted.”

“Good.” I pulled her toward the door. She was going to make everything at my mom’s house fun. “Let’s get out of here.”

She dug her heels in. “You wish. I didn’t wear a sweatband for nothing.” Indeed, a 1980s-style braided headband held her dandelion fluff hair into place and accented her bright pink and aqua blue tracksuit and matching tennis shoes.

“Or your tracksuit?”

“Nah, had that on all day. Who’s got time for zippers at my age? Now come on. Let’s find out how to bruise us some neuticles.” She pushed me back down the stairs and into the gym.

Thirteen