The Way You Look Tonight (25 page)

She fought to keep her expression composed, in spite of her churning emotions. ‘Steve and I have two young children,' she said, rummaging in her purse for her billfold. She withdrew her driver's license and handed it to Jean. ‘I don't visit Emily with Steve because I have to stay home with the kids.'

Jean looked at the picture on the license and handed it back to her. ‘I understand. It's not like you can really visit with her anyway.'

‘But I was told she does say something now and then.'

‘Oh, yes. She could talk if she wanted to, but she won't.'

‘I think the problem is a bit more complicated than mere obstinance,' Deborah couldn't help retorting.

‘Are you a doctor?' Jean flared.

‘No.'

Jean shrugged, then looked at Joe. ‘Who's he?'

‘Joe Pierce. He is a very good friend of the family and working with the police in their search for my husband.'

Jean looked at him dubiously. He met her gaze with his own, and Jean's eyes dropped. Deborah put her license back in her purse as Jean came around the desk, clearly, if not graciously, intending to take them to Emily's room. ‘Sometimes she says several words together,' Jean said. ‘At least, I think they're several words. You can't really understand her when she does that. Other times she says one word very clearly.'

‘Is it the same word?'

‘Yes. Usually it's “Steve”.'

‘Not Mom or Dad?'

Deep creases formed between Jean's eyebrows. ‘No, I don't believe I've ever heard her mention them, although they come to see her most weekends.'

‘Does she say anything else?'

‘Christmas.'

Deborah and Joe both looked at her. ‘Christmas?'

Jean raised her shoulders. ‘Your husband said she loved Christmas. She says it just as plain as day. He always brought her gifts.'

Deborah felt stricken. Christmas was yesterday and there had been no present from Steve, nor had she brought one. It had never occurred to her that Emily was aware of the holiday.

‘Here we are,' Jean said, stopping beside a heavy wooden door. ‘She has a private room. Those are hard to come by around here. Ready to go in?'

‘Yes,' Deborah murmured, although she didn't feel ready at all. She'd visited Emily years before, when she and Steve were first married, but he'd controlled the visit then, talking to his sister as if she understood every word he said and keeping up a steady stream of chatter that had taken the awkwardness from the encounter. Now Deborah was in charge, and she didn't know what to do.

Jean swung open the door. Emily was sitting in a chair facing a large color television. A soap opera was playing. Emily's eyes were fixed on the show, but it was impossible to tell whether or not she comprehended anything. As they drew nearer, Deborah spotted a trace of gray in her long, brown hair, which had grown dull since her last visit. Her skin also looked paler and dryer than when Deborah had seen her last. She was wrapped in a kimono-style robe made of silk and bearing a delicate pattern in lilac and yellow. Someone had tied back her hair with a lilac ribbon, and her feet were encased in white leather house slippers.

Joe paused in the doorway, but Deborah walked directly up to her. ‘Hello, Emily,' she said softly, kneeling beside her chair. ‘You probably don't remember me, but I'm Steve's wife, Deborah.'

Emily's face remained immobile. Up close, Deborah could see that her long-lashed green eyes were just as beautiful as ever, but her lips were chapped and tiny lines surrounded them. Still, even in this unadorned condition, she bordered on beautiful. Marring the picture, though, was a jagged scar on her forehead where she'd been hit by the pipe, and a narrow ligature mark around her neck where her assailant had drawn a wire tight, cutting the fragile skin.

‘I've brought a friend with me to visit you,' Deborah went on brightly, trying to mimic the way Steve had talked to her long ago. ‘This is Joe Pierce. He works with Steve.'

Joe slowly stepped forward. Deborah sensed his reluctance and was surprised. She had thought nothing fazed Joe, but apparently the sight of this lovely, eerily motionless woman daunted him. ‘Hello, Emily,' he said in a bright, unnatural voice.

Jean lingered at the door. Deborah wished she would go, but didn't want to ask her. Besides, maybe there was a reason why she stayed. Maybe she didn't quite trust these two strangers around Emily. Or maybe Emily was prone to unexpected outbursts of some kind. Deborah decided to ignore the woman, and sat down on the bed beside Emily's chair while Joe stood, uncomfortably tapping his fingers on the television top.

‘You're wearing cologne,' she said. ‘It's very nice.'

‘It's
Charlie
,' Jean piped up. ‘Ever since she came in here she's worn it. She gets really riled up if we don't put it on her every day. Her mother said she always wore it before…well, you know.'

‘I've always liked the fragrance,' Deborah said.

‘It's okay. I like
Giorgio
myself, but I can't afford it.'

How fascinating, Deborah thought. She turned her attention back to Emily. ‘I suppose Steve has told you about your niece and nephew,' she continued, thinking she sounded like a fool, chattering gaily away to someone as unresponsive as a statue. ‘Their names are Kimberly and Brian. They're very bright, but full of mischief. I have a picture here…' She fumbled for her billfold again, then drew out the most recent picture of the children, smiling broadly and unnaturally for the camera. She held the picture in front of Emily, who blinked and said nothing.

‘We also have a dog,' Deborah went on. ‘Her name is Scarlett. Kim named her after Scarlett O'Hara. Steve told me
Gone with the Wind
used to be your favorite book. I have a picture of her, too.' She displayed a photo of Scarlett, her eyes turned alien red by the camera's flash, clenching a rawhide chew bone in her mouth. What on earth am I doing, rattling on like an idiot and showing Emily a photograph of the family dog? Deborah thought. She started to put the picture away, feeling foolish, when suddenly Emily said, ‘Sex?'

Deborah jumped at the sound of the voice, rusty from disuse, issuing from the immobile face. ‘Sex?' she repeated, glancing at Jean, who looked stupefied, then grinned. ‘What are you talking about, Emily?'

The right corner of Emily's mouth lifted slightly. ‘Sex,' she said softly, affectionately.

‘Was Sex your dog?' Deborah asked desperately.

Joe looked at Deborah with humorous disbelief. ‘A dog named “Sex”?'

Emily gazed at the picture. ‘Sex. Christmas.'

Deborah glanced at Jean, who spread her hands in bafflement. ‘This is a new one on me. I never heard her say “sex” before.'

Deborah turned back to Emily. ‘Was Sex a dog you got for Christmas?'

‘Christmas.' Very slowly, Emily raised her hand toward the photo. ‘Sex.'

Deborah handed her the picture of Scarlett. Emily's hand closed loosely around it and dropped back to her lap. ‘Sex,' she said again, this time with a note of sadness.

Deborah felt like crying. What was Emily trying to say? Whatever it was, it had something to do with a dog, but certainly ‘Sex' hadn't been its name. They would probably never know. For now she must be satisfied with giving Emily the photo. That would have to be her Christmas present.

She looked at Joe, who seemed to realize suddenly that she expected him to do more than shift back and forth like a restless elephant. He came over and knelt opposite Deborah beside Emily's chair. ‘Hi, Emily, I'm Joe,' he said stiffly. ‘Deborah wanted to visit you at Christmas, so I brought her.'

‘Christmas.'

Deborah looked at Jean again, who commented, ‘She's a regular chatterbox today. I haven't heard her say this much for ages.'

You don't have to talk like she's not in the room, Deborah thought in irritation. Obviously Emily understood quite a bit of what was going on around her.

Joe smiled at Emily. ‘Do you remember the last time you saw Steve?'

The corner of Emily's mouth that had lifted earlier fell back into place. ‘Ed.'

‘Ed?' Deborah repeated.

‘He's an orderly here,' Jean said. ‘Always makes a big fuss over her. She's confused.'

Joe tried again. ‘No, Emily, not Ed, your brother Steve. He came to see you.' His eyes shot to a plant in a pot swathed in red foil sitting on the chest of drawers. It was oleander. ‘Did Steve bring you the plant?'

‘Steve. Christmas.'

Deborah looked at Jean, who nodded. ‘He brought that the last time he was here. Gave us all kinds of instructions about how to take care of it, like we don't have enough to do around here without running a plant nursery.'

Deborah's feeling towards Jean had turned from annoyance to dislike. Her petulant voice grated on her nerves.

‘Did Steve bring you the plant for Christmas?' Deborah asked.

Abruptly, Emily turned her head, lifted her hand and ran it down the length of Deborah's hair, which she hadn't pulled back in the braid. ‘Sally!'

‘Sally?'

‘Sally Yates,' Jean said, and Deborah felt as if a jolt of electricity had passed through her.

‘She knows Sally Yates?'

‘Yeah. Sally used to work here. Not for long, though. Found out she could make more money somewhere else. Quit a few months ago. The old geezers here were devastated. She was kind of pretty and had a body like some fashion model. Probably spent all her free time doing exercise. She flirted like crazy with the old guys, acting like they were Kevin Costner, or Richard Gere, or Favio.'

‘Fabio,' Deborah corrected absently. Jean scowled. Obviously the woman couldn't stand Sally Yates, but Deborah wasn't concerned with Jean's personal feelings. She was still reeling from the news that Sally had actually worked in the nursing home. ‘Did Mrs Yates spend much time with Emily?' she asked.

‘Sure. Another one of her special pets. Brushed Emily's hair. Did her nails. Put make-up on her.'

‘Did my husband know Sally?'

‘I guess so. I don't keep up with everyone's social lives.' Jean seemed to become aware of her catty tone. ‘I feel real sorry for her, nearly being killed and all. And then it happened again.'

‘What do you mean, it happened again?' Joe asked sharply.

‘She regained consciousness and someone got in her hospital room night before last and tried to slit her throat. Sally wasn't hurt – a nurse surprised him. He stabbed
her
in the abdomen. She's going to live, but she's so scared she can't remember what he looks like. Or else she's lying. Sally won't say anything, either. Not that I blame them. I wouldn't want some homicidal maniac out there thinking
I
could identify him.'

Deborah had begun to tremble inside. She wanted to ask a dozen questions, but not in front of Emily. Jean might think the patient had the awareness of a stone, but Deborah knew better.

She turned back to Emily and forced another bright smile. ‘Emily, did you enjoy Christmas? Did you enjoy seeing Steve last week?'

Emily abruptly dropped the strand of hair she'd been caressing. She stared again at the television, but Deborah was aware of her hands tightening almost imperceptibly. ‘Emily, are you listening to me?' she asked, leaning closer to her. ‘I asked if you enjoyed seeing your brother—'

Suddenly Emily gasped, her eyes widened, and she screeched, ‘Steve, no! Hurt! Steve, hurt!'

Deborah nearly fell backwards in shock and Joe jumped to his feet. Jean ran to Emily. ‘You'd better leave,' she ordered, while trying to restrain Emily's flailing hands.

‘But what's wrong?' Deborah asked in horror.

‘I don't know. You upset her,' Jean said accusingly. ‘I've only seen her like this a couple of times, years ago.' Emily's hand caught Jean sharply on the cheek, and the woman cursed. ‘Great. Now we'll have to give her Thorazine and that causes her to have periods of apnea. Hold
still
, dammit! I'll probably have to sit with her the rest of the whole damned day.' Another nurse passing by the door stopped. ‘Get Dr Hatten,' Jean snapped, then looked at Deborah. ‘Please get out. Now!'

Deborah and Joe rushed from the room, but even in the hall Deborah could hear Emily keening, ‘No! Steve, hurt! No!'

One

They sat in the Jeep in the parking lot of the nursing home for ten minutes while Deborah drew deep breaths, trying to calm down. Emily's terror at the mention of Steve's name had sent her reeling. Was it true that
Steve
had been her attacker? Could he possibly have done something so awful to his own sister? And was she only the first of several victims?

‘You're white as a sheet, Deborah,' Joe said. ‘Had enough for today?'

‘Believe me, I'd like to head for home as soon as possible, but I can't. I still want to get into the Robinson house, providing they aren't back yet. But we can't do that until dark.'

‘So what do we do in the meantime?'

‘I would give anything to know the name of Steve's girlfriend at the time of Emily's attack. Maybe she could tell us something.'

‘Pete didn't give you her name?'

‘He said he didn't remember. However…'

Joe raised his eyebrows enquiringly. ‘However?'

‘I did promise him I'd stop in to see his grandmother Violet. Maybe I can get the name from her.'

Joe smiled. ‘Very resourceful.'

‘I'm learning a lot about myself lately.' She withdrew the address Pete had jotted down from her purse. ‘Do you mind?'

‘I'm a willing chauffeur today. Just tell me where we're headed.'

Two

‘We'll make this visit short, I promise,' Deborah told Joe fifteen minutes later as they climbed out of the Jeep in front of Violet Griffin's attractive brick home.

‘I don't mind, but don't forget we have at least one more stop to make and the sky isn't looking good. The radio said snow by midnight, but I wonder if it's going to hold off that long.'

Deborah looked up and frowned. ‘You're right. Maybe we should just forget this—'

The front door of the house swung open and a short, round woman with fluffy white hair stepped out. ‘Why, hello!' she called in a high, fluting voice. ‘Deborah. And you must be Joe. I talked to Petey today and he said you were coming to Wheeling.'

Deborah could never get used to hearing the woman call her slightly proper and dignified grandson Petey. But then he'd been reared by his grandmother since he was ten.

‘I was hoping you'd stop by,' Mrs Griffin went on, motioning them into the house with staccato waves of her plump arm. ‘Petey didn't say you would for sure, but I hoped. Deborah, you're even prettier than when I saw you last Christmas. A little thin and pale, but pretty as a picture.'

‘Thank you, Mrs Griffin. I hope we're not bothering you. I know you're looking after your friend.'

‘She's doing just fine. Sleeping like a baby in the guest room right now. And no more of this “Mrs Griffin” business,' she went on, pulling at the sleeves of Deborah's coat before she got it off and fluffing her long hair. ‘I'm Violet or Vi. That goes for you, too, Joe.'

Deborah saw a faint smile hovering around Joe's mouth as Violet began tugging at his jacket. Deborah half expected the woman to fluff
his
hair when the jacket came off.

‘Now you two come right inside and warm up. I baked a cake just in case you stopped by. It's vanilla with vanilla icing. Do you like vanilla? I thought that would be safest. It isn't everyone's favorite, but I've néver met anyone who hates it. A piece for both of you?'

‘Just a small piece,' Deborah said. ‘We can't stay long.'

Violet's blue eyes sparkled behind her glasses. They were young eyes for a woman Deborah knew to be in her late seventies, but her complexion was florid from high blood pressure. ‘I'll fix two big pieces and you just eat what you can. There's fresh coffee, too. You go into the living room and I'll be right there.'

‘Do you need some help?' Deborah asked.

‘No, no. Just relax. Sit by the fire. I just love a fire on a cold, dreary day like this, don't you?'

Without waiting for an answer she dashed into the kitchen. Joe shrugged, grinning, and they walked into the living room. A natural stone fireplace dominated one end. A fire crackled cheerfully inside. Early American furniture sat on a huge braided rug surrounded by shining oak floors. A console television set with a large screen flashed a game show although the sound had been turned down. Everything looked new, a sharp contrast to Mrs Dillman's pathetically worn decor.

Deborah wandered over to a wall where a grouping of photographs hung. A couple in 1940s wedding garb posed stiffly, their eyes wide above tremulous smiles. Violet and her new husband, Deborah guessed. Another picture showed a young man who looked remarkably like Mr Griffin. Judging from the clothing style, Deborah assumed it to be the Griffins' only son, Pete's father. Below it hung a photograph of a dark-haired woman holding a baby. The baby was obviously the focus of the photo, but the woman stood out with her large, smoky eyes and beautiful half-smile. Next was one of young Pete in a Boy Scout uniform, then one in a graduation cap and gown. Beside these hung the image of Adam as he'd looked a couple of years ago.

‘Oh, I see you're admiring my collection,' Violet said, carrying in a tray. ‘I'm a great believer in letting people see what a wonderful family I have, especially my boys.'

‘Your son was a fine-looking man,' Deborah said, sitting down and accepting a piece of cake so large it threatened to overflow the sides of the plate.

‘Yes, my Nelson was a handsome devil.' Her curiously unlined face grew troubled. ‘But maybe that wasn't such a blessing. He always attracted the wrong kind of women. That wife of his…well, if it weren't for her, my son would be alive.'

Pete had told Deborah his parents died in a car wreck. She didn't know what Violet meant and she felt uncomfortable pursuing the subject, but the woman didn't need prompting. ‘She was loose. Man-hungry. I thought she might change after Petey came along, but she didn't. Couldn't get enough men, and with Nelson being a salesman and on the road so much, she had the perfect opportunity to pursue all the men she wanted. His daddy and I told him to leave her, but he wouldn't. He stayed, but he drank. Then one night, one horrible night, he drank too much and went out in the car and…' Her lower lip trembled. ‘At least he died instantly. That's what the doctors told me. He never felt a thing.'

Deborah was nonplussed by this outpouring, especially after the scene with Emily, but she felt it wouldn't be polite to switch the subject abruptly. ‘Didn't his wife die in the wreck with him?'

Violet looked vague. ‘What? Oh, yes. The neighbors said they had a terrible argument and Nelson left, probably coming to see me, and she ran out and jumped in the car as he was pulling away. Left Petey playing in the yard. Thank God she didn't drag him along. At least
he
was spared. And what a good boy he's always been. I think I would have lost my mind if it hadn't been for him.' She shook her head. ‘Isn't it odd that he married someone just like his mother? Liked the men too well.'

Deborah stared. She'd never heard anything about Hope and other men, but then Pete's code of manners would not allow him to paint Adam's mother in a bad light to outsiders, even though she'd left him.

‘Hope was a pretty girl,' Violet went on, ‘but I never cared for her. She was strange. And deserting her family like she did! That was unforgivable. For years I was afraid Adam would be odd like her, but thank goodness he took after his daddy.' She paused and smiled. ‘But listen to me run on. I never wanted to turn into one of those old ladies who ramble. Forgive me, Deborah. You're the concern now. Petey says you haven't heard a word from Steve.'

‘No, I'm afraid we haven't.'

‘You must be out of your head with worry.'

‘It's a hard time.'

Violet shook her head again and made a clicking sound with her tongue. ‘I remember Steve when he was young, before all that trouble with Emily. He and Petey were good friends.'

‘I know,' Deborah said. ‘What was Steve like in those days?'

‘Smart. Wonderful in sports. Let me see…what was it the boys played?'

‘Basketball.'

‘Oh, yes. I used to go to the games, although I didn't understand them. But the other parents came. The Robinsons were always there. They were so proud of Steve.' She frowned and set down her cake plate. ‘But they never seemed to
love
him like they did Emily. They thought the sun rose and set on that girl. Called her
angel
.' She smiled mirthlessly. ‘She was no angel, I can tell you.'

Deborah felt Joe grow alert with interest beside her, but he wisely remained silent. It was Deborah who asked, ‘What do you mean?'

‘She was boy-crazy. And sneaky.' Her eyes widened. ‘Oh my, she's your sister-in-law and so sick. I shouldn't have said those things. I just couldn't help being mad at the Robinsons for the way they treated Steve.'

‘Violet, Pete told me Emily was secretly married, but he didn't know to whom. I don't suppose you heard any rumors…'

‘Rumors? I've heard a hundred. But I don't know anything definite. I don't even know if she was really married, although Petey said Steve told him she was. In any case, it would have been illegal and the man went his merry way, which was best for everyone. The whole thing was such a tragedy. And now this. Poor Steve.'

Deborah sensed from the woman's demeanor that she knew nothing of the FBI's suspicion that Steve was a serial killer, and she was grateful to Pete for keeping that information to himself.

‘I guess the boys did things besides go to school and play on the same basketball team,' Deborah said, keeping her tone casual. ‘They probably double-dated.'

‘Oh, yes.'

‘I don't suppose you remember any of Steve's girlfriends.'

Violet looked at her waggishly. ‘Now, honey, you're not looking for someone to be jealous over, are you?'

The idea was so ludicrous that Deborah almost laughed sarcastically, then reminded herself that Violet had no idea why she was asking such a question. ‘It's just that I know so little about Steve when he was young. He never talked much about his years in Wheeling.'

‘Well, he was quite popular, I remember that. More popular than Petey, I'm afraid, although Petey did have a girlfriend.' A look of distaste crossed her face and Deborah realized Violet hadn't liked the girlfriend. She hadn't liked his wife Hope, either. Was she jealous of any woman with whom Pete became involved? But she wasn't interested in Pete's past.

‘Was there anyone special for Steve?' Deborah prodded. ‘Anyone during his senior year of high school, maybe?'

Violet threw her a puzzled glance. ‘This certainly seems to mean a lot to you.' Deborah couldn't again claim idle curiosity, but Violet was clearly a gossip who didn't need much excuse to spill her knowledge of people's private lives, so she simply smiled sweetly. ‘Well, dear, it's hard to remember so far back,' Violet went on predictably. ‘But yes, there were a couple of girls. Jennifer Stratton was one. His parents adored her – her daddy owns tons of land around here. They're quite affluent. But for some reason they broke up. Petey said the Robinsons were unhappy about
that
, let me tell you, Steve giving up a girl with rich parents. Then he started seeing someone they didn't like. Let me see now…what was her name? Oh yes, her name was the same as the girl on that television show. The one that lived in a bottle.'

‘You mean
I Dream of Jeannie
?'

‘Yes, that's it! Jeannie. Jeannie…Arnold. She moved away, became a nurse, and married some man named Burton or Bertram.'

‘A nurse?' Deborah repeated. ‘Jean Bartram who works at the nursing home?'

‘The nursing home?' Violet frowned ferociously. ‘Why, I think I did hear something about her moving back here a couple of years ago. But I don't know where she works. Does she have blonde hair?'

‘Yes.'

‘She would be in her early thirties, but I've heard she hasn't aged well. Did you meet her earlier today?'

‘Yes. She took us to see Emily.'

‘But she didn't say anything about dating Steve?'

‘Not a word.'

‘Well, maybe she thought you might not like it, dear.'

‘Did you know Artie Lieber?' Joe asked abruptly.

Violet's eyes fluttered behind their glasses. ‘Heavens, no! We couldn't afford anyone to do lawn work. My husband did everything, and later Petey. There wasn't much money in those days. My husband wasn't a go-getter like Petey. We didn't even live in this house. We had a tacky little thing hardly big enough to turn around in. It's because of Petey that I live so well now. He's a very generous man.'

She nearly glows when she talks about Pete, Deborah thought. She wondered what it was like to receive such unqualified love from a parental figure.

‘Oh my!' Violet exclaimed, her gaze fastened on the window. ‘Would you look at those snowflakes? Big as pennies.' She clicked her tongue again as if the weather were being particularly naughty.

‘We really must be going,' Deborah said. ‘We have another stop to make before we head home.'

‘Oh? Where?' Violet asked.

We're going to break into my in-laws' house, Deborah felt like saying. How would Violet react to that nugget of information? ‘I left something at the nursing home when we visited Emily,' she substituted.

‘I see. How is the poor girl?'

‘The same.'

‘She doesn't talk, does she?'

‘No,' Deborah said, unwilling to discuss Emily's disturbing outburst.

‘Fifteen years of silence. I can't imagine it, me being such a talker and all. I suppose she doesn't know Steve is missing, Well, of course she doesn't. How silly of me. But his parents! They're off on that Hawaiian trip they take every year. Do they know?'