Caroline took her at her word and once she started talking, everything spilled out. Or almost everything. She told her about Mike Handratty and about the man who came to her rescue, and about how much she enjoyed going to the park, although it was too cold now. She told her about Mr. Goldman's asking her if she might like to work in a bookstore someday. She told her about Jeffrey Denton.
"He teaches piano and composes music. We went to a small lounge on Christmas Eve. A little piano bar and had wine and talked. He's very nice, Lynne. I had a lovely time."
This last came out involuntarily, in her blurting fashion, as if confessing to some indiscretion. She rushed to show her the new dress and boots, and her mother's earrings, and Lynne admired them, saying she was sure she had looked stunning in them.
Caroline had been even more starved for someone to talk to than she knew and she'd always been able to talk to Lynne. That hadn't changed. Lynne had listened intently the whole time Caroline talked, and now was looking both pleased for her, despite a certain wariness in her eyes. Being a mother hen again, Caroline smiled to herself.
"That's wonderful, Caroline. Really great." After a beat, she reached into her bag hanging over the back of the chair "Oh, you reminded me, I have something for you. I hope you like them. I guessed at the size."
They were blue leather gloves, matching the bag Lynne had given her when she left Bayshore. They fit perfectly, like a second skin. Soft and buttery, like the bag. "They're beautiful," she said, and held up her hands to better admire them in their new gloves. "Thank you so much. I don't have anything for you."
Lynne laughed. "Seeing you looking so terrific is enough of a present for me," she said. "I don't think you realize how well you've done, Caroline. It's really pretty amazing."
"It's because of you, and Dr. Rosen. You were always so nice to me. You always…"
"Like I said, you're easy to be nice to. But you're the one who deserves the credit. You're making it all on your own. You should be very proud of yourself."
They talked some more. Lynne told her that Olga Farmer had died. Passed away in her sleep. She was eighty-five."
"Not so tragic when you're eight-five, is it," Caroline said.
"No. There are worse things," she said, and Caroline knew she was thinking of her mother. She felt a heaviness come over her. Her own problems seemed so small in comparison.
"What's wrong, Caroline?"
She had to tell someone. Rising from the chair, she went to the bureau and got the small bag. She showed Lynne the brooch. "It's too expensive. I have to give it back."
"Your friend—Jeffrey gave you this?"
"I—I'm not sure. But someone left this outside my door in the night. Hung it on the doorknob. I don't know who else it could be."
She wanted to tell her about the man in the park, about her feeling of being stalked, but she didn't want her to worry. And about the figure she had seen running from the house last night. Could it have been Jeffrey? But she didn't want to appear fragile in Lynne's eyes, or paranoid. She didn't want to seem like a patient anymore. They were friends now, Lynne had said.
"If it was your friend who left this hanging on your door," Lynne said slowly, as if working out some difficult problem in her mind, "then he must be very shy not to give this to you in person."
"No, not really. Maybe he just wanted to surprise me. Anyway, he's not home now. I think he might be with his mother. She's not well."
Lynne was frowning at the logo on the bag. "Natalie's Boutique. That's the woman who was murdered last night." She looked into Caroline's eyes. "Caroline, you have to take this to the police."
She nodded, knowing Lynne was right. "I will," she half-whispered, feeling a tremor of fear at Lynne's firm insistence, at the alarm she saw in her eyes. "I'll give it to the police."
"Good. How well do you know this—Jeffrey?"
"Not very. But he's a nice man. He wouldn't hurt anyone, I'm sure of it."
Lynne nodded and patted her hand, then rose from the table and crossed the room, her heels clicking lightly on the linoleum floor. Being the thoughtful person she was, she'd changed her boots at the door.
She was looking at the photos Caroline had hung on the wall, the ones she had taken from the album in the trunk, and framed.
"This is a picture of you with your mom and dad, isn't it?" Lynne asked over her shoulder.
"Yes."
"What a delightful looking little girl you were. You all look so happy here, Caroline. This one alongside it you'd be in—fourth, fifth grade here?"
"Fifth. It was taken in the summer."
"And is this your grandmother?"
She was referring to the picture in the small oval frame. "Yes. I was named for her. I think we were all happy then."
Returning to her chair, Lynne laughed and said was sorry she'd eaten most of the cookies and cakes.
"I'm really glad you liked them. You're my first visitor."
"Oh, Jeffrey hasn't been here?"
"No." She felt herself blushing. "Not yet."
Lynne looked thoughtful. Then she told her that Dr. Rosen had had a mild heart attack and was retiring with his wife to Florida. Caroline was stunned at the news. Dr. Rosen had seemed invincible to her, so strong, always there to help his patients, to listen. But she knew that no one was invincible. "I hope he'll be okay."
"I think he'll be fine now. It was a good wake-up call. He was overworked and his body let him know it. They'll enjoy Florida. All that lovely sunshine." She smiled. "Caroline, I want you to know how proud I am of you. I know it hasn't been easy."
"No. It hasn't. Sometimes I worry…"
"What? What do you worry about? You can talk to me, Caroline. You know that."
"Well, I really like Jeffrey. A lot. What if I start to like him too much, and it doesn't work out. How do I know what happened to me before…?"
"…Won't happen again? Well, anything's possible, I suppose. But that was a different time, different circumstances. You were just a girl. You're a woman now. You've faced a lot of obstacles and overcome them."
Her answer was comforting.
"On the other hand," she went on, "don't give your heart away too easily. But you're a strong woman, you've proven that. And we all take chances in life; there are no guarantees. No one knows that better than you. I think whatever happens, you'll be just fine. But if you need to talk, by all means give me a call. I mean that—night or day." To prove it, she wrote her name and number on a piece of paper and handed it to her.
Caroline was happy she'd gotten the phone installed. It rang only once since she got it and that was when Ethel called asking her to trade shifts with another waitress.
Forty-Six
Driving home, Lynne thought how much she had enjoyed her visit with her old patient, who wasn't anyone's patient anymore. And that was where the dilemma lay. I spoke to her as if she were a child, telling her to give that brooch to the police. I had no right.
And yet Lynne was afraid for her. Caroline was a young, attractive woman who lived on her own. She was vulnerable. As smart as Caroline was, and as strong, which she had proved herself to be, she was not sophisticated in the ways of the world. Because of her years inside the walls of a mental institution, she possessed a child's naivety. Though not an innocence. She had been through too much for that.
I'm sure I managed to frighten her, Lynne thought, stopping for a light, and maybe that's to the good. But maybe I overreacted. The brooch might easily have come from a shy admirer. Whether from this Jeffrey Denton or the landlady's nephew, who knew? Someone else who lived in the building? Definitely from someone with a key to the front door, she thought, unaware that Caroline had had the same thought.
Why do I have a nagging feeling she was holding something back? she wondered.
***
It was early evening when Caroline, clutching the little lavender bag with the brooch inside, went back upstairs to knock on Jeffrey Denton's door. She had heard him go up awhile ago and now she could hear him inside, at the piano. The angry notes were coming fast and furious, louder than her thumping heart. He was clearly upset about something. Just let me get this over with, she told herself.
She didn't knock right away though, but stood in the doorway listening to him play with a fury that was disturbing. She thought of Lynne's words: "How well do you know this Jeffrey, Caroline?" Had she really said that? Even now Caroline found it hard to believe Lynne had sat across from her in her kitchen, talking to her, just like she used to at the hospital.
Her last words before heading out to her car had been, "You've come a long way. But you need to be careful. There's a maniac out there, and he's killing women. Especially women living alone.”
I can take care of myself, she thought, and squared her shoulders. The anger had drained from his playing which was softer now, so she knocked on the door. The music stopped at once and she heard his footsteps crossing the room. And then he was standing in the open doorway, seeming different in faded jeans and a white, open-necked sweatshirt, a thatch of hair fallen over his brow. There was a coldness in his eyes she'd not seen before, though it vanished at once upon seeing her. He looked surprised, but definitely not displeased. "Caroline. Hi."
"I tried your door this morning before I left for work, but you weren't home. Or maybe you were sleeping. You look upset, Jeffrey. Is anything wrong?" She could still hear the ring of the piano keys releasing their fury into the room, and out into the hallway. He definitely had no inclination to turn down the volume on this occasion.
"No, nothing. Please, come in."
She took in the room behind him, much like her own but for the wallpaper patterned with beige and brown stripes and a big electronic piano standing against the wall by the window. Sheet music and books were everywhere, some even stacked on the floor by the piano. The mad artist, she thought, and felt a small tremor slip through her.
He glanced over his shoulder and shrugged. "I agree. I'm not much of a housekeeper, I'm afraid. I spent the day at my mother's. Not a great time for her as I mentioned. But please, do come inside. I'll play something for you more in keeping with the season, if you like. Perhaps Silent Night?" He laughed. Inappropriately, Caroline thought. "Did you have a nice Christmas day?"
"I did," she said. "A friend came to visit." She had promised Lynne she would let the police know about the brooch, but she needed to first ask Jeffrey if he had brought it for her. "No, thank you. I Just wanted to…"
He opened the door wider. "Please." His voice, and his eyes, had warmed. His eyes were hazel, but held a glint of green in their depths, like mysterious pools.
Standing so close to him, she felt something deep within her pulling her to him, like a magnet. The way Mr. Rochester had described his feelings for Jane Eyre. 'It is as if I had a string somewhere under my left ribs, tightly and inextricably knotted to a similar string situated in you…'
She chastised herself for being such a romantic fool. Yet the force of her attraction to him couldn't be denied. Fighting it, she handed him the bag. "No thank you, it's late. I won't come in. I just came to return this, if in fact it was you who left it hanging on my doorknob. I appreciate your kindness. But I can't accept it. It's much too expensive."
He raised an eyebrow and tentatively took the bag from her hand. "Maybe I should see what we're talking about here." After a brief examination of the brooch, he said, "It's very nice, but not something I would have chosen for you. And I didn't." He handed it back. "I'm sorry. You say you found this hanging on your doorknob?"
Caroline's face was burning with embarrassment. "Yes I heard someone out in the hallway in the middle of the night."
The eyebrow went up again. "And you thought it was me?"
"Well, I thought… it might…"
"It's not my style to prowl outside the doors of unsuspecting young women, Caroline."
"I'm sorry. I feel stupid."
"There's no need. Unless you're seeing someone else, I suppose I'm the likely candidate." He cocked his head at her, and smiled. "It appears I have competition."
"No. You don't." She did not return the smile.
"I've—uh, seen the way our landlady's nephew looks at you with those hound dog eyes. I think he's got a crush on you. Could he…?"
"No. Harold bought me cakes and cookies. He wrapped the box in Christmas paper so he intended it as my gift. We're friends. That's all."
"Perhaps he's hoping for more. I can't fault him on his taste, even though I am a little jealous." He was teasing her. He wasn't jealous at all.
He was looking at the bag again. "Natalie's Boutique," he said.
A casual observation, no change of expression. No other comment. He didn't know then. Or pretended not to know.