The Taint (13 page)

FORTY-SIX

“Mrs. Frey,” Joyce stood in the doorway. “I just had a call from your husband, and he’ll be down to pick you up in a few minutes.”

The woman sat, very still, in a chair by the bed.

“Thank you,” she said finally, and gave a little nod.

“Is there anything I can help you with?”

“No, I’ll just wait for Martin.” She folded her hands in her lap.

Joyce watched her for a minute but she seemed lost in thought and did not look up.

“Mrs. Frey’s very quiet,” she said when she got back to the desk.

“Amanda’s not very outgoing, at least with adults.” Nathan finished writing orders, closed the chart and looked at Joyce. “She’s great with kids.”

“Well, she looks better, anyway. The last time I saw her at church I thought she was too pale.”

“She’ll be fine if she takes it easy. Not that I expect her to.” He searched the chart rack. “I’ll go talk to Frank now.” He started to walk away and then stopped. “By the way, I told Rachel about us.”

“What did she say?”

“That it’s about time.” He looked either way down the hall. “Nobody’s looking.” He grinned and came back to her, leaning down and kissing her lightly on the lips.

“That’s nice.” She put her arms around his neck for a second kiss, and lingered.

“Ahem.”

They parted and turned.

The Reverend Martin Frey bowed and gave a thin smile. “Good morning. I’ve come for my wife.”

Rev. Frey assisted his wife into their car and tucked a blanket around her legs. “Now we’ll be home soon,” he assured her, getting into the car and starting it.

“Yes dear,” she said. She kept her eyes straight ahead on the way home.

“Don’t worry about making lunch, either, there were plenty of left-overs from the potluck. Not as many people came this year,” he sighed and glanced at her. “Not that it has anything to do with the food, I’m sure, but maybe we could do something a little different for our next one. Beef Wellington, I was thinking. Something with a little sophistication.”

“Yes dear,” she said.

“I’m glad you agree. I have to tell you, I was a little worried that you might take it personally. But, I understand that down in the city they’re having great luck with stuffed grape leaves.” He reached out and patted the blanket where he estimated her hand would be. “It is a shame, but we do have to compete.”

“Yes.”

“And the summer camp. I’ve talked to some of the parents and they think you’re doing a marvelous job—I reassured them that you wouldn’t delay opening—but I’ve been thinking that maybe we should concentrate on more substantial matters. I told them how well you speak French and they were very enthusiastic about a French theme. You could give lessons, and cover a little history, cook them genuine Gallic meals . . . I know this doesn’t give you much time to prepare, but you can start out simple with just a few flashcards, some slides, maybe crepes suzette . . .” Another sideways glance.

“It sounds wonderful.” Her voice was barely audible.

“Oh, and one other thing. A few of the parents were wondering if they might leave their children overnight on occasion. A little vacation away from the kids.” He looked at her again. “And you’re so good with them, all of the kids love you. I didn’t think you’d object . . . ?”

After a moment: “No.”

FORTY-SEVEN

Melissa Davis flounced out of the living room and made her way noisily up the stairs and to her room.

Summer school. Just what she needed.

She threw herself dramatically on the bed, burying her face in the pillow while listening for the sound of footsteps, but apparently no one was following her.

They didn’t want her around, that much was clear. She was in the way. Not that she hadn’t expected it because the moment her mother had announced that she was marrying Tony, Melissa
knew
things were going to change.

The fact that Tony was only twenty-two and her mother was thirty-five had a lot to do with it. Eliminate the fourteen year old daughter and suddenly mother could pass for . . . twenty-nine? By all means, eliminate the daughter. Ignore that fact that her new step-father was a lot closer to her age than her mother’s.

Not that they would admit to it, but Melissa’s budding figure was the fly in their ointment. She got off the bed and stood sideways in front of the full-length mirror, sucking her stomach in.

As if she could help it. Was she supposed to stop puberty?

When she exercised, as she did every day, in her leotard and leg warmers, Tony was always around. Her mother objected, but not openly. Even at her tender age Melissa knew that her mother could never come right out and accuse Tony of ogling. No, mother was more subtle; a new sweatsuit to cover every young inch of her, errands to get Tony out of the house and even—this was the lowest—tempting her with chocolate and pasta, designed to make her pudge out.

Her own mother!

And lately Tony had started with the games, rough-housing and tickling her, chasing her until she collapsed, giggling helplessly while he made her say uncle.

So. . . summer school.

She flopped back down on the bed, covering her eyes with her arm. There had to be a way to get out of it. She and Jennifer were the oldest kids last year, and she hadn’t seen any new male blood in town.

There had to be a way to make her mother see that she was too old for Play-Doh and fingerpaints.

Then she knew. She wouldn’t ask her mother at all. She would ask Tony—he was her step-father, after all.

Tony made her feel funny. Kind of nervous and squirmy, like waiting to see the dentist when you know you need a filling. He had brown liquid eyes and curly black hair and he was always tan. He wore pants without rear pockets and expensive leather shoes and he smelled . . . none of the boys she knew had ever smelled like that.

He kind of smoldered, throwing hot glances at her and smiling with perfect white teeth, looking hungry. She thought he could teach her a lot more than summer school could.

She got up and put on her tightest jeans and the blue sweater that Jennifer said made her eyes like sapphire. And went looking for Tony.

Jennifer Rogers looked at her father in disbelief.

“French? You want me to learn French during my summer so-called vacation?” She groaned and sat back, throwing her fork on the plate.

“A little education wouldn’t hurt you,” Stan Rogers said. “Heaven knows you get little enough during the school year.”

“But Daddy . . .”

“You’re going.” He took a sip of wine and regarded her over the rim of the glass. “You can get into too much trouble without supervision.”

“Like what?” It came out more sarcastically than she had intended.

“Don’t ‘like what’ me. Or do you think I’ve forgotten your little hitchhiking episode? If Mrs. Freeman hadn’t come along, who knows what might have happened? You could have been . . .”

“Raped and murdered . . .”

“. . . raped and murdered.” He pointed a finger at her. “There are men out there waiting, and the way you dress . . .”

“Everybody dresses this way.”

“They most certainly do not, and I’m not going to let you spend the summer hanging out, half-dressed, while some crazed sex-killer . . .”

Her mother, who had been more than willing to stay out of it, looked up from her plate and cleared her throat. “Stan, not at the table, please.”

“The point is,” he continued, “I want you where you’ll be safe . . . and the church summer school is just the place.”

Jennifer looked at her mother pleadingly.

“I’m sorry, Jennifer, but I agree with your father. It isn’t safe for a girl your age to be wandering about. Besides, you enjoyed yourself last summer . . .”

“The matter is settled,” her father interrupted. “You’re going.”

They finished the meal in silence.

Later Jennifer sat Indian-style on Melissa’s bed and watched admiringly as Melissa tried on a pair of jeans she had altered into very short shorts.

“Your rear end is hanging out,” Jennifer said.

“Fantastic.” She looked over her shoulder into the mirror. “Mom’ll split a gut.”

“My dad would kill me.” Jennifer took a pack of cigarettes out of her clutchbag and put one between her lips. “Got a lighter?”

“There’s matches in the drawer.” She faced front, her legs spread and her hands on her hips. “Wow,” she said to her reflection.

“It’ll really impress all those nine year olds in summer school,” Jennifer coughed, exhaling.

“I don’t plan to go to summer school.”

“What? You just told me your mother . . .”

“. . . wants to get rid of me. But I’ve got a way to get out of it, at least part of the time.”

“What? Burn down the church.”

“Watch.” She opened the bedroom door and stuck her head out. “Tony!”

“Rattle the windows, why don’t you.”

“Well, I can’t exactly walk out there dressed like this.” She looked out the door. “He’s coming.”

Jennifer ran a hand over her hair and moistened her lips, lounging as seductively as she could on the bed.

Melissa left the door open about an inch and moved to stand in front of the mirror, then reached down, touching her toes.

“Not fair,” Jennifer hissed, “Rosy cheeks!”

Tony Buono came into the room, hesitating only momentarily at the sight of his step-daughter’s derriere. He smiled at Jennifer.

“We were just having a drink,” he said to Melissa who had stopped exercising and was facing him, her hair wild about her face.

“We want to ask you a favor,” Melissa said, “but it has to be a secret because Mom wouldn’t like it.”

“Oh?”

“Tomorrow’s the first day of summer school, but we were wondering if we could get you to take us swimming instead.”

A flicker of something in his eyes.

“We know this great place, real secluded, but it’s too far to get there on foot.”

“Can’t it wait until the week-end?”

“It’s only private during the week . . .”

“It’s the best place to go skinny-dipping,” Jennifer added, her heart racing. She caught Melissa’s look of approval.

“What if it’s still raining?”

“That’s even better, swimming in the rain.” Melissa smiled secretively.

“Like Gene Kelly,” Jennifer put in, and then blushed.

“I don’t know . . .”

Melissa threw herself at him in a way that had been beneath her dignity since she’d turned ten, hanging on his arm and bouncing. “Please, it’ll be so much fun, I promise.”

“All right.” He disentangled her from his arm. “But just this once.”

“Oh thank you.” She kissed him at the corner of his mouth.

They watched him go and waited a minute to be sure he was out of listening range.

“Oh, Melissa,” Jennifer gushed, “I don’t know how you can sleep at night with him here under your very roof.”

“All he has to do is call Mrs. Frey in the morning and we’re free.”

“For tomorrow, anyway; he said just this once.”

“After tomorrow, he’ll want us out of school as much as we want to be out.”

“Melissa . . . what do you think will happen?”

“I don’t know, but I can’t wait.” She sat at the foot of the bed.

“He sure is gorgeous.” Jennifer closed her eyes and sniffed. “I could go crazy just from his aftershave.”

“Jennifer.” Melissa was very serious. “You won’t ruin everything, will you?”

“Ruin everything?” She was wounded.

“By being such a good little virgin. I mean, Tony’s a grown man, he’s gonna expect something . . .”

“You mean . . . ?”

Melissa nodded.

“How do you know?”

“I’m not a kid, you know.”

“But you’re a virgin too.”

“It’s different with me. I mean, I’m not a good virgin, I’m sort of a reluctant one.”

“That’s so cold . . . and unromantic.” Jennifer regarded her friend. “Like blueprints. I want to be swept off my feet.”

“You watch too many movies. It’s gotta happen, and it might as well be someone like Tony. I mean, would you rather Todd Lane put his disgusting hands on you?” Her lip curled.

“But you know what happens to those girls in those movies . . . after they’ve, you know, done it, and they’re still naked . . . wham! The mad slasher.”

“Grow up, nothing like that ever happens in real life.”

FORTY-EIGHT

Earl returned from down the hill just as Jon arrived at the town hall and he waited for Earl to catch up to him before entering the sheriff’s office.

“Nice drive in the rain,” Jon said and looked up at the sky where the clouds were beginning to break up.

“I never seen such a mess in my life,” Earl said. “I took the stuff for the crime lab and those samples from the hospital straight over to the air freight service, and you’d think I wanted the guy to flap his arms and fly off with them himself, the way he acted.”

“Well, at least they’re on the way,” Jon held the door open.

“I do believe that guy better hope I never catch him breaking no laws up this way.”

“Any laws,” Jon corrected.

“I honestly don’t know how you lived all those years in the city; I’ve never met so many rude people.”

“Calm down, you’re gonna blow a gasket.”

“Yeah, you’re right. Some people aren’t worth getting mad over.” He poured coffee into a mug. “You think it’ll be clear enough tomorrow to go out looking for Nora and that ranger?”

“Well, I think we’re going to have to whether it’s stopped raining or not.” He sorted through the mail.

“I had a feeling you’d say that.”

He went into his office and sat at the desk, opening the mail and separating it into stacks according to urgency. Considering the number of unsolved murders, very little of it seemed pressing.

The typed reports on the latest victims were in. He skimmed through the technical terminology, which was somehow more brutal for all of its detached stance. This had little to do with those agonized faces.

He tried to imagine how it must feel to have someone’s hands closing off the air, the certainty of death, the frantic need to breathe. Who had been killed first? Most probably the man. He must have known that his wife was in danger, and yet, had he called out? If he did, why didn’t she escape?

The brief interviews conducted with the neighboring campers gave no indications that anyone had cried out. No screams, no shouted warnings.

Why were all of these victims going silently to their deaths? Cruz was carrying a rifle, but he hadn’t fired it, nor used it as a club.

He wasn’t sure, despite Rachel’s insistence, that Louisa was one of them. Wendall Tyler was almost a classic sociopath, caring little for others. Did he love his wife, as Rachel proposed, or was he after the money? Never discount the money. People killed for seventeen cents, savagely. So, perhaps, had Wendall.

He looked at his watch. He had promised to meet Rachel and Nathan at the hospital at seven to stand by while she tried to hypnotize Tyler. If he could be hypnotized.

Admissions made while under hypnosis were not looked on favorably by the courts. Still, if it broke through the man’s transfixion . . .

A last memo from Delia Naughton, the head of the town council, suggesting a meeting soon to discuss the current problems and their fiscal impact. Money again. He made a note on his calendar to call her in the morning before he went off duty.

Then he got up, unplugged the coffee machine, locked his desk drawer and strapped on his gun. He had every intention of spending the night patrolling the roads. The storm may have been the reason no one was out last night but he had little reason to doubt that whoever was out there would strike again.

He wanted to be ready for him.

He turned off the lights and called out a good-night to the dispatcher, then went to his truck and headed toward the hospital.