Razzamatazz (A Crime Novel) (17 page)

Neither he nor the Griffings were going to the cemetery, but he couldn't bring himself to leave. The hearse pulled away. Cars followed, yellow flags attached to their aerials designating their right to be in the procession. When the first car passed, Colin got a glimpse of Higbee, his head on his wife's shoulder, tears streaming down his cheeks.

A man next to Colin said to a woman, "You'd think the father would have a little dignity. Besides, he should be taking care of his wife, it's harder on her."

Colin wanted to tell him he was wrong. It hurt the father just as much, perhaps more, because he felt responsible. Wasn't he supposed to guard his children against such eventualities? He admired Higbee not giving a damn what people thought, experiencing his grief now instead of later like Colin had.

When the cars were gone the small groups began breaking up, dribbling away. Hallock and Copin stood on either side of the church, watching. Colin knew they were hoping to get an idea, a clue. He started toward Hallock but was stopped by a furious expression crossing the man's face. Then Colin saw the scruffy figure of Jim Drew approaching the chief.

"Get the hell away from me. Drew," Hallock spat.

"But, Chief," Drew pleaded, "I gotta talk to ya. Gotta tell ya about it."

Frantically, Hallock glanced around, then relaxed some, seeing that the reporters had left. He motioned to Copin with a nod of his head.

Copin took Drew by the arm. "Come on, Jim, let's go."

"But I gotta talk to the chief. It's important. I gotta tell him about the little girl."

"Yeah, yeah, we know. Let's go for a walk, you tell me about it, okay?"

"I... I guess."

Copin and Drew started down Main Street toward the town. Colin looked back at Hallock. A muscle was jumping in his cheek.

Mark said, "Everybody's got a breaking point. I guess Hallock just couldn't hear a fake confession about the murder of a little girl."

Colin wondered what Hallock would think of his story, the murders of his children and wife. He wished he could tell him but knew that was a Pandora's box he'd better leave closed.

Wednesday afternoon Annie said to Sarah, "I'm having dinner with Colin on Saturday night."

"1 think that's great," Sarah said.

They were sitting in Annie's office in the basement of the parish hall. The room was small and comfortable, with a new couch, flowered curtains, an oak desk and chair.

"Is it?"

"What do you mean?" She wished she could have a cigarette but the Please Don't Smoke sign was staring her right in the face.

"I guess I mean, is it really great to be going out with Colin Maguire? Is there something I should know about him?"

"Know about him?" Sarah fussed with her hair, twirling a curl.

"He's intelligent and very nice but there seems to be, oh, I don't know, something odd about him. No, that's not right. It's not that he's odd or weird, he's—guarded."

"Guarded?"

"Sarah, why are you repeating everything I say?"

"Repeating everything you say?"

"See? You're doing it again. And please don't say, 'doing it again.'"

Sarah laughed. "I'm sorry. I guess I'm distracted," she lied.

"Is it Mark?"

"No."

"Is everything okay between you?"

"Fine."

"Why don't I believe you?"

Sarah shrugged. "I'm dying for a cigarette, that's what you're picking up."

"If you'd give up the vile things then you wouldn't be distracted when you come here."

"True. But I'm not giving them up, so lay off," she gently chided. "And Mark and I are okay. It's tough sometimes. I wonder if he's thinking about her, missing her."

Annie nodded and thought of Bob. What would she have done if Bob had had an affair? It was impossible to imagine.

"He says he loves me and that he doesn't miss her or anything. Still, I can't help wondering from time to time. Trusting him again is going to take awhile."

"It's bound to."

"And he understands that." She smiled dreamily, thinking back. "Sometimes Mark's so sweet and thoughtful. He sends me love cards in the mail. You know the kind I mean?"

"Yes." Bob had sent her cards like that. She recalled one that had said 'Life is just a chair of bowlies.' There was a picture of an overstuffed chair with hundreds of bowls in it. Inside he'd written, "For my darling. I can't tell you how much I admire what you're doing. I long to be the preacher's husband. Love you forever." But forever had turned out to be never.

"What is it?" Sarah asked.

"Nothing."

"You were thinking of Bob, weren't you?"

"Yes."

"Oh, Annie," she said sympathetically. "I feel like a dope worrying about Mark and Amy. I should be grateful I still have him."

"Just because my husband died doesn't mean you don't have a right to feel insecure, Sarah."

"I know."

"No, you don't."

"No, I don't."

They laughed, reached out and squeezed a hand.

Sarah said, "You were talking about Colin." She didn't really want to go back to that subject, but Annie was her friend and didn't often ask for anything.

"I was just wondering what it was I detected in him, as if he had a secret or something. Dumb, I know."

Sarah wanted to tell her that it wasn't dumb, in fact, was perceptive, but her loyalty had to be with Colin on this. If he wanted to tell Annie about Nancy and the children that was fine. It wasn't her place to tell her. Still, she had to say something. "He has a few problems. Nothing serious."

"Like not being able to ride in a car with anyone?"

"Yes."

"What's that about?"

"Why don't you ask him, Annie?"

"I will."

"He's a terrific guy. We've known him for ages. He and Mark went to the University of Michigan together."

"Did you know his wife?"

Sarah was startled. What had Colin told her? She nodded, hoping Annie would clue her in.

"Was Colin driving the car?"

Obviously he'd said Nancy had died in an automobile accident. But what should she say now? "Maybe you'd better ask him."

"So that's why he can't be in a car with someone else." It was said more to herself than to Sarah. "What was she like?"

"Nancy? I don't know. I liked her, but I didn't know her that well. They lived in Chicago and we only saw them a few times a year. But when we did we had a lot of fun. And our kids liked their kids and..."

A look of surprise had come over Annie's face.

"Oh, shit. He didn't tell you about the kids, did he?"

"No. How many?" Annie asked quietly.

"Two."

"They died with Nancy?"

"Yes." At least that much was true.

"Oh, poor Colin."

"He's suffered terribly." After a moment Sarah said, "I think it's great you're going out with him. For both of you."

"Thanks. I have to admit I feel slightly nervous. It's been a long time since I dated. I've even found myself worrying about what I should wear." She laughed. "High-school time."

"I don't blame you. I always hated dating, didn't you?"

"Loathed it."

A knock at the door made Annie look at her watch. "Just a minute," she called. "It must be Mrs. Ludwig, a little early."

"I have to run anyway. If I don't speak to you before, have a good time Saturday. He's really an awfully nice person."

It was not Mrs. Ludwig waiting in the hall; it was Burton Kelly. "Burton, what are you doing here this time of day?"

He glanced at Sarah, then back to Annie, obviously not wishing to answer the question in front of Sarah.

"Never mind, come on in."

Annie and Sarah said their good-byes. Inside her office, Annie told Burton she had a two o'clock appointment and asked him what she could do for him.

"I'm going to come right out with it, Annie. I like you very much and I always enjoy talking with you. Some of our talks have been very edifying. You're an amazing woman."

"Thank you." She felt extremely uncomfortable, wished she could deflect him somehow, but didn't see a way.

"I'm not just saying all this to flatter you." Kelly's sandy hair lay in neat strands across his large head. "I'm only trying to throw a little light on the subject. You know, of course, that I've never married?"

She nodded.

"People around here think it's because of my mother. Because I lived with and took care of her until she died." He laughed, but it sounded like a snarl. "Well, it's not true. I haven't married because I've never found anyone suitable to marry."

Uh-oh, Annie thought.

"As you well know, the rate of divorce in this country is extremely high. I have no intentions of becoming one more statistic. Marriage is a very serious proposition. And I would never enter into it unless I was totally sure about the woman and my feelings for her."

She had to say something. "I think that's very wise, Burton."

A thin film of sweat covered his forehead like a veil.

"Is it too hot in here?" she asked. "Should I open a window?"

"Yes. Yes, that would be nice. But let me do it."

Annie watched him move stiffly across the small room as if he were a robot. How could she keep him from saying what seemed inevitable? She felt helpless, out of control, and prayed Karen Ludwig would arrive.

"There," Kelly said, "much better." His mouth twitched several times and he tried to pass it off as a smile. "All right, where was I? May I sit down?"

"As I said, I have a two o'clock appointment. She's late but she should be here any second. Maybe you should come back later, as we planned."

"I'd like to go on now. I'll come right to the point. I would be greatly honored if you'd have dinner with me on Saturday night."

Annie was so relieved she almost sighed audibly. Then she realized that even though it was a dinner invitation instead of a proposal of marriage, she still had to reject him. "That's very nice of you, Burton, but I'm afraid I can't."

"Why?" he demanded, eyes growing cold.

"I have other plans." Immediately she was sorry she hadn't made another excuse. This way would only allow him to ask for another time.

He smiled, showing small uneven teeth. "Then Friday?"

"No. Sorry." Before he could ask again she added, "I don't think it would be a good idea, Burton."

"What do you mean?"

She felt she must be forthright. "I gather you mean to invite me to dinner in a—a romantic way. If I accepted, it would be unfair."

"Is there someone else?"

Colin, she thought. Stupid. "No, not really."

"I never know what 'not really' means," he said acidly.

"There's no man in my life at present." That should be direct enough, she thought.

"Then why can't you have dinner with me?

"Because I don' t want to give you the wrong idea. I like you, but I'm not interested in you as anything but a friend."

"How do you know?"

"I don't feel I have to go into all my reasons. I think you should accept my answer like a gentleman."

His face folded, cheeks sucked in as if she'd slapped him. "I see." He moved past her to the door, stood with his back to her. "Is it something I've said or done?"

For a moment she wanted to comfort him, but knew it might seem patronizing. "No, it's not you," she lied. She couldn't bear to hurt him further.

"Thank you," he whispered, and left.

She felt terrible. In divinity school they'd talked about this sort of thing happening and how to handle it, but it was much different in reality. Burton Kelly was a living, breathing human being and she'd rejected him. She only hoped his fragile ego was left intact with her inference that the failure was on her part, not his.

Damn you, Bob, she thought. If you'd lived, this sort of thing wouldn't come up. I wouldn't have pathetic Burton Kelly asking me out. Then she thought, I wouldn't be having dinner with Colin Maguire either. For the first time since he'd asked her she knew she really wanted to go. The knowledge surprised her. And pleased her, too.

LOOKING BACK—75 YEARS AGO

One of the best and most successful conventions ever held by the W.C. T.U. of Suffolk County met in Seaville last Monday. The churches, the schools, and the members and friends of the local Union extended a most cordial welcome to the delegates. The sincerity of this welcome was proven on every hand by the open churches, the tasteful decorations, the generous hospitality, and the beautiful music.

NINETEEN

As planned, the women arrived before Hallock left for the station. There were four. Julia Dorman was the youngest at twenty-nine. Divorced for a year, she was tall, angular, and blond. At fifteen she'd had a botched abortion in the back room of a bar and now couldn't have children. Hallock thought it accounted for the downward turn of Julia's mouth.

Anne Hulse was the oldest of the five. Born in Poland, she immigrated to America at nineteen, married Bob Hulse at twenty, and lived in New York City most of her married life, while summering in Seaville. Three years before, they'd moved to Seaville full-time. Anne's sweet smile and tender gaze gave her a beatific look. Her only child was married to a black man. Although Anne was far from being racist, she admitted that Mary's life had been made difficult because of the interracial marriage.

Florence Barker was middle-aged. Her delicate features were framed by copper-colored hair, and when she smiled she was almost pretty. But she seldom smiled; her mother-in-law lived with Florence and her husband, and the situation was barely tolerable.

Sandy Roach, thirty-seven, married to a science teacher at Seaville High, was like the group mascot. She was small and feisty and always urging the women on to one more cause, one more meeting. Hallock thought of her as a perennial cheerleader, with her short, yellow curly hair, pink cheeks, cherry-red mouth. Her indefatigable nature made her a champion of more causes than any of the others. She would be invaluable in this cause.

In fact, they all would. Hallock was pleased that Fran had been able to enlist these particular women and had told her so the night before.

Four new telephone lines had been installed. The phones were all touch-tone, all black.