"I owe you an apology," he said unexpectedly.
"Oh?"
"When you knocked on my door Christmas night, I was in a bit of a mood. My mother had been crying most of the day, digging out old pictures of dad. I also knew I was a suspect in the murders. The detectives came back twice to interview me. Then they put a tail on me."
"Are you sure?"
"I'm sure. It's because Lorraine Winters used to live in the building and I went to her funeral. I knew the girl, for God's sake."
"Did you—go out with her?" She was sorry she'd asked the question as soon as it was out of her mouth, but he seemed to take no offense.
"We were neighbors. We passed the time of day when we met coming or going from the building. Nothing more. But she seemed like a lovely girl and I was very sorry about what happened to her."
She was surprised to see that they were standing in front of their building, as if she'd been in a kind of trance and just woken up.
"Listen," Jeffrey said. "Can you hear the horns?"
She listened. And suddenly fireworks exploded in the night sky, a spectacular starburst of electric blues. Then another…
boom…boom…boom
…one after the other, displaying a kaleidoscope of colors—gold, silver fuchsia, green, reds—a burst of flowers lighting the midnight sky. As she looked on with the wonderment of a child, she felt Jeffrey's arm go around her.
"The city holds these fireworks down by the docks every year," he said, just as another chorus of horns blew in celebration. He glanced at his watch, then at her. "Happy New Year, Caroline," he said, and took her into his arms and kissed her.
There on the deserted sidewalk, wrapped in the magic of the night, he kissed her long and tenderly, and finally with an urgency that matched her own. Without words, he unlocked the front door and he followed her upstairs, a hand at the small of her back.
Caroline was trying to think clearly, trying to rein in the passion flowing through her. And then they were in her room and somehow their boots were off, and he was unbuttoning her coat, then his own, tossing them. One part of her wanted to surrender to her desire while a rational part of her was flashing red lights, warning her of a barrier ahead, and the very steep cliff beyond it.
His warm hands were gently cupping her face and he was kissing her again and again, his mouth searching and hungry. Murmuring her name, he guided her toward the sofa, kissing her throat as they moved, her eyes, and then they were on the sofa, her fingers wound in his hair as if with a will of their own; it was thick and silky. William's hair had had a lighter feel, like a child's hair. Everything is going too fast. This isn't right. No, no. He wanted to swallow her up. She would need him. She didn't want to need him.
"No, no, Jeffrey," she gasped, pushing him away, fighting them both.
He groaned at her resistance. "I want you, Caroline." His breath warm against her cheek, he murmured, "Please, I know you want me too."
"I do, but I'm not ready, Jeffrey. I'm sorry." She sat up and readjusted her clothes. She was shaking, her own breathing not quite under control.
The glaze of passion was still in his eyes, mixed with frustration. "No, no, it's okay. I didn't mean to pressure you." Running a hand through his mussed hair, he stood up. "I thought…" He picked up his coat from the floor and brushed it off.
Most of Caroline's coat had managed to find the end table. She hung it in the closet. "I'm sorry," she said, walking him to the door. "Would you like some coffee before you go?"
He grinned like she'd said something incredulous. "I'll take a rain check, okay?" He kissed her lightly on the corner of her mouth. "Sleep well."
She was silent. She had ruined everything. She was about to close the door when he asked, "Do you work tomorrow?"
"No," she said, puzzled. "I worked Christmas day so I have it off."
"Great. I'll take you to lunch? How's one o'clock."
"Fine." The dark feelings evaporated and she was happy again.
Down in the foyer, Buddy melted into the shadows, fists closing and unclosing, rage born of yet another betrayal pounding through his veins.
Fifty-Four
Detective Tom O'Neal spent New Year's Eve with his dog, Jake. They'd had pizza earlier to mark the occasion. Tom had a couple of brews and now they were walking along the beach, a big white moon lighting their way along the stretch of sand, and reflecting silvery off the water. The night was cold but invigorating, helped to clear his head.
Looking toward town, he could see the bursts of fireworks blooming in the night sky, but he couldn't hear them, which made them almost dreamlike. The whooshing of the waves rushing at the shore near his feet accompanied his thoughts.
Earlier, he and Glen had poured over the facts of the case again. He was beginning to have his doubts Jeffrey Denton was their guy. He'd have to be a complete moron. Though he did fit the profile—early thirties, lived alone, close to his mother. But bad guys usually weren't that bright, despite popular belief. And Glen had told him he thought Denton picked up his tail. And why the hell would he savage Natalie Breen like he had, then hang that brooch on Caroline Hill's doorknob, knowing it would connect him to the killing? Didn't make sense. Nothing about this case did.
There could be other victims for all he knew. Missing women they'd figured were runaways, others no one reported missing. Prostitutes were prime targets for these predators. The guy could be a transient, moving from state to state. A salesman, a truck driver. He'd had the thoughts before and now they returned, running full circle in his mind.
Then there was the landlady's nephew who'd been hesitant to answer their questions, but maybe only because he had some challenges. Although Tom didn't discount that there might be more ominous reasons. Caroline had said he'd asked her out to a movie and that she'd turned him down. When Tom mentioned it, he'd hung his head, said that that was okay. She was still his friend. It was clear the landlady, very protective of her Harold, hadn't liked them questioning him.
They'd also interrogated Handratty who swore he never touched 'that crazy bitch'. Though they questioned him for four hours, they couldn't break him down and get to him admit what really happened to him that night, even when it was clear they all knew the truth, that only one man had put him in the hospital. When they started pushing him about the killings, he shut down altogether and demanded to be permitted to make a call to his lawyer. As it turned out, he'd actually called his mother, but now was lawyered up.
Other thoughts inserted themselves in the mix. Mainly of Gloria on her own in that house with David. Who knew where the bastard would strike next? You couldn't put a squad car on every house. And he couldn't play favorites.
A wave snuck up on him, rushing over his sneakers before he could jump out of its reach, sending a shock of cold seeping through the canvas.
Jake was running ahead of him, nosing under logs, checking stuff out, tail wagging happily. Every so often, he would turn and look in Tom's direction to reassure himself that everything was cool.
Fifty-Five
Mrs. Bannister met Caroline at the bottom of the stairs next morning and invited her in for tea. "Aren't you looking spiffy. Day off?"
"Yes." Once Caroline decided to revisit the house she grew up in, a strange urgency had overtaken her and she was anxious to be on her way. "I'm taking the bus to Gleneton Street," she said, but Mrs. Bannister had already taken her hand and was drawing her inside her flat.
"I—I guess I can come in for a minute."
As she followed the landlady down the hallway, she found herself looking for the kitten Mrs. Bannister had offered her, but Mimi wasn't to be seen among the menagerie of felines who had taken up post on various pieces of furniture. Not that she had changed her mind.
Stepping into the kitchen, she was surprised to see Harold sitting at the table, eating Cheerios from a blue bowl. He explained he didn't have to go in till ten this morning, smiled at her and went back to eating. There was a Cheerio stuck to the corner of his mouth.
"What number, dear," Mrs. Bannister asked, as she poured their tea. "I know a woman lives over on Gleneton."
"Number 264. Near the Bay. You put that model airplane together yet?" she asked Harold.
"Yeah, you wanna see?" Before she could answer, Harold was gone. Sometimes he seemed like he was no more than ten or twelve. But she was happy he liked the gift she'd bought him.
As soon as he was out of earshot, the landlady eased herself into a chair. "That was a thoughtful gift, Caroline. You're a good girl, but I have to tell you I'm not happy about that police car cruising by at all hours, slowing down when they pass our building. The neighbors will think we're selling dope or something. They questioned poor Harold for over an hour. They were asking him about a gold brooch someone hung on your door. They thought it might have been him. Did you tell them that?"
So Mrs. Bannister hadn't asked her in because she wanted company. She was angry about the police talking to Harold. "I told them I thought it might be possible," she said truthfully.
"Why didn't you just ask him? Or me? Anyway, Harold doesn't have that kind of money if he did want to buy you something so extravagant. Did you consider that Mr. Denton might have left it? I've noticed you two are quite an item."
She was probably watching out her window and saw us kissing, Caroline thought. "Yes, I did ask. He says he didn't. I'm sorry about the police questioning Harold, Mrs. Bannister. I guess they have to talk to everyone who knows me, and who knew Lorraine Winters, since she lived here at one time too. They'll find the killer soon, I'm sure, and then all this will be over."
She sipped her tea, eager to be on her way and was glad when Harold came out with the model. It was blue and white, and very pretty. "You did a great job, Harold. It's beautiful." The Cheerio was gone from the corner of his mouth.
He beamed, then grabbed his jacket, gave his aunt a peck on the cheek and started out the door. Mrs. Bannister intercepted him, taking the airplane from his hand. Harold laughed and was gone.
"He didn't finish his breakfast." She shook her head in dismay and removed his bowl from the table. Her tone softening, she said, "Well, I hope you're right about them finding that monster, dear." She set the airplane on the fridge.
Mr. Denton is a tad older than you isn't he? Not that it matters. My own dear Harlan was twelve years older than me and we had a good life together. Oh, we had our differences, mind you, everyone does, but I miss him. He was a good man, Harlan was. So, you're going to check out your old stomping grounds, are you? Would you like some company? I have a few errands to do downtown."
Caroline begged off. "This is something I need to do on my own." Her landlady looked hurt, and Caroline confided her reason for going. "I was lost for a very long time, Mrs. Bannister. Fragmented, my doctor used to say. Some of the missing pieces are still back in that house. I need to collect them. Or say goodbye to them, once and for all."
Mrs. Bannister walked her to the door. "I'm having the lock changed on the front door today, Caroline. It's not cheap, but better to be safe. You'll have a new key when you get back, so the old one won't fit. Just ring the bell. And good luck to you, dear."
But luck, in the good sense, would not follow her on that cold January day.
Fifty-Six
It was a cold gray day but thankfully Caroline didn't have long to wait before the bus pulled up, and she was glad to step into inside, where it was warm. She slid into a seat halfway down the aisle where she could look out the window, and watch for her stop.
Gazing out at the passing landscape, the houses and stores now familiar to her, she began to relax in the comfortable seat.
At the next stop, a woman and a little boy with curly blond hair got on, and took the seat in front of her. The boy immediately knelt on his seat facing Caroline, and grinned at her. She smiled back and said hi, just as his mother slapped his leg lightly and told him to sit down and behave.
It was not far to Gleneton, and so her bus stop came up before she was quite ready to get off. But there was no help for it. Seconds after she rang the bell, the bus jerked to a stop, air brakes hissing. She stepped down onto the sidewalk amidst the smell of diesel and cold air that carried the briny smell of the bay, triggering a flood of childhood memories.
She looked after the bus as it pulled away, and waved to the little boy who was waving to her. Admired her hand in the pretty blue glove Lynne had bought for her. Standing there on the deserted sidewalk, she felt abandoned by the bus, which was silly. Yet a cold dread had settled in the pit of her stomach. She knew it was just being on this street after so many years that was effecting her. Like coming through a long, dark tunnel into the light. She wasn't fully adjusted yet, that was all. She'd be fine.