Twenty-Five Years Ago Today (11 page)

Eric nodded. "I should tell you, I still
think this investigation is a bad idea."

"Then why did you come? So you could spy on
me?"

He glanced at her sideways. "You haven't seen
my grandmother's hopes come crashing down, or watched my mother cry
at holidays. Diana was more than a story."

"I know. Believe it or not, your family isn't
the only one that's tragically lost someone."

"I never said we were."

They didn't talk for the rest of the ride.
Eric parked in front of a gray shack on the town outskirts. Red
neon glared in the octagonal window, spelling out "Rossi's Saloon."
Cars and pickups clustered on the slushy hill.

Her pulse fluttering, Kris walked ahead of
Eric. She didn't need him leading the way. The interior was larger
than she had expected with dim connecting rooms that reeked of beer
and sweat. A loud Johnny Cash song twanged from the jukebox, the
booming baseline throbbing in her ears.

Some guy in greasy denim overalls and hiking
boots leered at her from a stool, black stubble prickling his chin.
Behind the bar, a yellowed girlie calendar hung taped to a
dust-streaked Budweiser mirror.

Charming.

The bartender flattened his palms against the
black-topped counter. Rattlesnake tattoos decorated his flabby
forearms and the buttons of his threadbare shirt strained to keep
his belly from hanging out. He grinned at Kris.

"Hey, baby, what can I get you?" he
yelled.

"We're looking for Vince Rossi. And the name
isn't 'baby.'" Kris shrugged out of her bulky winter coat and
folded it over her arm.

"Whatever. He'll be glad to see a honey like
you. Hey, Vince! You've got visitors."

A man strode out from the kitchen, his tight
tee-shirt showing off a well-muscled build. White strands wove
skunk-like through his slicked back dark ponytail. His leathery
olive-skinned face and the whiskers of his goatee glistened with an
oily sheen. He chewed on something as he regarded them coolly.
"Who're you?"

Kris opened her mouth to speak, but Eric beat
her to it. He raised his voice over the music. "I'm Diana
Ferguson's nephew. We're looking into her death and wanted to ask
you a few questions."

Vince Rossi stared at them for a few seconds,
bent over and spat a wad of tobacco into the wastebasket. Dark
slimy tobacco juice drooled down his lips. Kris shuddered in
revulsion. Vince motioned her and Eric toward a shadowed room away
from the jukebox. Wooden chairs hung off the edges of three round
tables.

Kris squinted at a framed photograph on the
wall. Vince, twenty years younger, stood with his arm around a
stooped older man, perhaps his father. The man had Vince's dark
hair and coloring, but weariness filled his eyes and the flannel
shirt hung off his rail thin body. His face sullen, Vince balanced
a toddler on his shoulders. He'd been good-looking back then in his
denim jacket and jeans. Some women would consider his light stubble
sexy. Kris didn't.

Vince rested his body against a table. "Diana
Ferguson? You're a little late, aren't you? Besides, you're talking
to the wrong person."

Kris resisted the urge to back away from his
cherry tobacco and beer breath. "Are we? I understand you knew
Diana quite well. You must have a theory on who killed her."

"And who are you, doll?" Vince Rossi looked
her up and down. His charcoal eyes glittered, lingering on her
legs, then her breasts. He grinned. His gums pulled away from
uneven yellowed teeth with black specks in the cracks. A couple
guys stopped their pool game and elbowed each other.

She swallowed her disgust. "A family friend.
Come on, we want your opinion, Vince. Take Jared Peyton. What did
you think of him?"

"The guy was a psychopath." Smirking, he
spoke to the breasts contained under Kris's turtleneck. "He'd call
Di at the bar and threaten her."

"Were you at the bar the night she died?"
Eric asked.

Vince's head shot up and his square jaw
locked. "I've been through this with the cops. I was throwing a
party."

"But you must have your suspicions. Do you
think Jared was obsessed with her?" Kris sidled closer, granting
Vince a better view of her chest. Dex had never mentioned this
aspect of investigative reporting. So much for the sweet and
innocent routine.

"You can bet your life on it, doll. He didn't
treat her right. She'd get off the phone with him in tears."

"Some people might think you were jealous of
Jared," Eric said. "Didn't you guys get in a fight?"

"I knew he was an asshole, so I clobbered
him."

"What about Diana?" Kris persisted. "Was she
the type you'd expect to get into trouble?"

"If you want the truth, we were a couple of
kids. If she hadn't gotten herself killed, I would've forgotten
her. I guess Aunt Di didn't make a lasting impression."

Eric's hands balled into fists at his sides.
"Listen, you-"

"Let him talk," Kris murmured.

"I wasn't gonna kill a girl in some jealous
rage, when I didn't even care about her," Vince went on. "Now
unless you're gonna order something, piss off. You've got no
business on my property. Unless the doll here wants to stick around
for awhile." He winked at Kris.

"Tempting as that is, I've got to run," she
said. "Are there any other people we could talk to from your
father's bar?"

"Good luck tracking them down."

"What about Raquel D'Angelo?"

"She's probably onto her fifth husband. Who
knows where she is. Besides, I gave you everything you need. Jared
Peyton killed Diana. Problem is, doll, you're twenty-five years too
late to catch him."

Eric and Kris headed back to the supermarket
without talking. Kris frowned out the window. Why would a girl like
Diana choose to work in a dive? She could have gone to college. Or
art school. She had real talent. Why would she give a punk like
Vince Rossi the time of day? She'd gone from Vince to a smooth art
lover like Jared Peyton. It didn't make sense.

Kris wanted Eric's opinion, but he glared
straight ahead, fingers clenched around the steering wheel.

"I don't believe a word that came out of
Rossi's mouth." Eric pulled into the parking lot and turned off the
engine. "He wouldn't remember her if she hadn't gotten killed?
Bullshit."

"He was trying to protect himself," Kris
said.

"Yeah, but even I remember Diana."

Her head jutted up. "Really? What do you
remember?"

"Don't you want to take out your
notebook?"

"That's not fair."

Eric paused, then answered, "You're right.
I'm sorry. But what do you expect out of these interviews? A
confession?"

"Of course not. I'm just trying to meet the
players." She waited a moment to cool down. "Look, Eric. You were
two when you lost someone you loved. My cousin was murdered when I
was twelve. She was like a sister to me. It ripped our family
apart. Our only comfort was knowing that her killer is behind bars
and will be for the rest of his life."

"Look-"

"I know what it feels like to have your
family in unbearable pain," Kris interrupted. "I wish you'd trust
me."

She opened the car door and climbed out.

Chapter 10

25 Years Ago Today

Plans for a two-story, 80-bed nursing home at
a 24-acre site are unveiled at a Fremont Zoning Board of Appeals
hearing.

T
wenty-eight years
ago, Raquel D'Angelo could have modeled with her lustrous raven
hair, sultry dark eyes and high cheekbones. Kris turned to the
senior biographies in back of the yearbook. Raquel had belonged to
the prom court and History Club.

The Fremont High School History Club.

Kris frowned. It struck a familiar chord --
and not from Diana. She scribbled Raquel's address, then gathered
her belongings from the library table. She had to get to the
newspaper.

Recognition flooded over her a few hours
later at work. Kris leaned back in her seat, her shoulders
stiffening. She'd read about the History Club on microfilm. She
knew it.

Kris scrolled through her computer files.
There it was, an item she had typed for the "25 Years Ago" column a
couple weeks earlier: Fremont High School History Club member
Patricia Addison wins a state award for her Greek mythology
essay.

She'd associated the club with modern
history. Not ancient history and beliefs, like the stories
reflected in Diana’s paintings. Kris made a mental note to contact
the adviser, Alex Thaddeus. Mr. T. Of course, when Patricia Addison
had won the contest, Diana was long gone. Another adviser could
have taken over, or Alex Thaddeus could have switched topics.

She found the original article about the
essay contest, but it told her nothing. Kris moved on to her next
task, searching the telephone directory. Four D'Angelos, none at
Raquel's old address.

Kris scoped out the newsroom. All the
reporters were out on assignment. Jacqueline flitted back and forth
to the design department. Dex squinted at his computer screen.
Neither editor would be in earshot if she told a few white
lies.

But not one of the D'Angelos had ever heard
of Raquel. Kris skimmed the resident directories for Raquel's
former neighborhood. She jotted names of older people, who may have
lived there longer, and copied their numbers out of the phone
book.

On her first try, an elderly man demanded
that she speak up. By her third attempt, Kris expected another "no"
to echo in her ear. She grasped the receiver tighter as a woman
told her, of course she remembered Raquel.

Two minutes later, she had a phone number and
address in Hyde Park, New York. Raquel D'Angelo Rivera answered on
the second ring, her voice upbeat. It turned somber after Kris
explained about the investigation.

"I'd feel better if we could talk in person,"
Raquel said. "Could you come to Hyde Park this weekend, by any
chance?"

"I'd love to," Kris said.

"No one's spoken Di's name to me in twenty
years. I thought everyone gave up. I thought he got away with
it."

"Who?"

Raquel sounded surprised. "Jared Peyton, of
course."

***

Kris bought a Greek mythology book at
Treasures in the Aisles. Customers explored the shelves, nibbling
butter yellow pound cake. So this was how used bookstores survived.
Bribery. She cut herself a thin slice at the counter and poured a
cup of ice water. She joined Cheryl on the couch, anxious for more
discussion on Diana.

Cheryl sipped her apple cinnamon tea and
balanced a paper plate on her knees. "I'm glad you came. I needed a
break. Why the interest in mythology?"

"I thought it might help me understand
Diana," Kris said. "Do you remember Alex Thaddeus?"

"Boy, do I! What a hunk. All the girls were
madly in love with him. When I started substituting, I couldn't
wait to get a peek at him. Diana and Raquel worshipped him."

Kris smiled at her enthusiasm. "Was he
gorgeous?"

"Definitely, but he had charisma, too. Alex
would hold doors open for you, and if you complimented him on his
History Club, he'd go on and on thanking you. He had a way of
making you feel like you were the only woman in the room." Cheryl
laughed. "I was married, so I was immune to his charms, but the
other young female teachers would fall all over him."

"Does he still teach?"

Cheryl's face grew pensive and she shook her
head. "I don't think so. Not at Fremont High, at least. Eric's
never mentioned him."

"Eric?"

"My son teaches music at Fremont. I hope you
didn't mind him joining you at the bar. He asked if I'd heard from
you."

Eric Soares, a teacher? A dozen questions
flew to Kris's lips, but she kept her tone brisk. "Of course I
didn't mind. Tell me more about Diana's crush."

"Her junior year, she'd tell us how Alex had
helped her with her homework, or taken them on a field trip. Senior
year, Diana didn't mention him much. After our father died, her
world fell apart. I'll never forget the pain on her face after she
told him goodbye. While he was on his deathbed, we took turns
telling Daddy how much we loved him. He died at home, in his sleep.
He was finally in peace."

"I wish I'd had a chance to tell my cousin
goodbye," Kris said.

Sighing, Cheryl set the paper plate on the
floor. "It's hard, isn't it? It hits me out of the blue. Tiny
things will remind me of Dad or Diana, especially on holidays. I
hated seeing all the cards for 'Mom and Dad.' I'd storm out of
stores, cursing Hallmark. Now I make cards on the computer."

A golf ball-sized lump lodged in Kris's
throat. "I'll never understand why some people are spared and
others die early. Is it bad luck? Some grand plan?"

Cheryl knotted her hands in her lap. "I don't
know. I've asked myself those same questions. We were struck twice
in such a short time. Losing my dad was awful enough, but what
happened to Diana was ...unreal. It took me a long time to accept
her death. When the phone rang, for a fraction of a second, I'd
wonder if it was her. Sometimes, I'd see a girl walking down the
street with Diana's long dark hair and my heart would pound."

Kris opened and closed her mouth, overcome by
a strange urge to talk. She'd never felt this safe discussing
Nicole. "Once, I was sitting alone in my room and thought I felt
Nicole's presence. I called out to her and was terrified she'd
answer. There was this empty silence, and it hit me that I'd never
hear her voice again."

Tears gushed down Cheryl's cheeks as her
upper body trembled with a quiet burst of sobs. "Oh, Kris, I miss
my family. I didn't spend enough time with my father. And Diana.
She was depressed. I ... I should've helped her, tried to find out
what was wrong."

Her eyes warm, Kris laid a hand over Cheryl's
palm. "Nicole and I had a fight. Right before she died."