Twenty-Five Years Ago Today (21 page)

"Thanks, Dex. For everything."

"You've got a real future, Kid. Did Diana's
family like the article?"

"They were thrilled. They expected a hatchet
job."

"Good. We didn't give them one. Stay in
touch, you hear me?"

"I will." Kris hugged him, a lump hardening
in her throat.

She ran into Bruce in the parking lot. He
slid his aviator sunglasses halfway down his nose and peered over
them. "Leaving so soon?"

"Go to hell, Bruce." Kris opened her car
door. She wouldn't waste her time exchanging insults with a
moron.

"Maybe if we'd been friends like I wanted,
this wouldn't have happened," he said.

"You mean if I'd gone on a date with you? Or,
God forbid, if I'd gone to your apartment? I'd rather be
fired."

"Loser," he muttered.

"You're the only loser here." Kris slammed
the door.

***

After a long sleepless night, Kris met her
father for lunch near his work and related the whole story. He
leaned back against the narrow booth and touched the earpiece of
his bifocals. Wrapped hamburgers and warm fries sat on the table
before them.

"Oh, Kris. You shouldn't have stirred up
trouble with your boss."

"You don't understand, Dad. I had to. I've
got to help this family."

"At the risk of your job? You were so content
there. You're letting this unsolved murder take over your
life."

"No, I'm not." She squeezed a packet of
ketchup onto her fries, avoiding his concerned face.

"Of course you are. You just met these
people, didn't you? Why is this Diana Ferguson so important to you?
I know you want to help the family, honey, but you can't take away
twenty-five years of suffering. You shouldn't have put that burden
on yourself. Are the Fergusons going to give you a job? I don't
think so."

She had disappointed her father, the person
she respected most in the world. Years ago, Kris almost told him
about Nicole. Her dad had tucked her into bed, as he had done for
several months after Nicole was killed. Kris had gazed up at him
and he gave her a loving smile. She kept quiet. She couldn't stand
the pain that would flash into his eyes.

He wouldn't have wanted the truth. Her father
preferred denial. He even pretended the damaged relationship
between her and her mother was normal. He should have suspected why
Diana's murder impacted her. Some part of him should have connected
it with Nicole. Kris adored her dad, but he viewed the world
through blinders.

She peeled the crinkly paper off her
hamburger. "Let's tell Mom the paper was cutting back. I don't want
to listen to her criticism."

"She's your mother, Kris."

"Come on, Dad. She'd rather believe I was
laid off. After all, she can't tell her friends I was
fired
." A dry laugh bubbled in the back of her throat. Tears
slipped down her lashes as her shoulders rocked with gales of
chuckles.

"I mean ... can you imagine the scandal?" she
managed to blurt out.

Silent, her father bit into his
hamburger.

***

Kris bundled herself in an afghan and
stretched out on the sofa. She rested a cool compress on her tight
forehead. She had the headache from hell. Chipmunk leaped up and
pawed over her legs. "Sorry, Chip, I'm in no mood to play."

She groaned as the phone jangled. It was
probably a telemarketer. Then again, it could be Irene Ferguson
with a tip. On the fourth ring, Kris dragged herself to the kitchen
extension.

"Yes?"

Nothing.

"Hello." More impatiently, "Hello?" She
almost hung up. Until ...

Breathing. And a husky voice. "Leave it
alone."

"What? Who is this?" she demanded.

"Leave it alone."

Coldness touched her back, like an icicle
drawing a straight line. A crank call. It must be a prankster
playing a sick joke. "Who is this? Leave what alone?"

"What happened to Diana Ferguson can happen
to you," the voice whispered.

Chills slipped up to her collarbone. "Who the
hell are you?"

"Pray you don't find out. I'll be watching
you."

Kris slammed down the phone and drew the
blinds shut. It could have been a crank call. Any wiseguy could've
seen her name in the newspaper.

But the voice had sounded insistent. Not only
that, it seemed muffled. Hoarse. Disguised. As if she might
recognize it.

Bruce. Maybe he was playing a game,
retaliating after the scene in the parking lot.

Or maybe it was Diana's murderer. She could
have been talking to a killer. That meant she was getting close.
Damn it, Kris didn't feel close. Over the past few days, she'd
grown more perplexed. How was she supposed to know whether the
caller was a crank, or legit?

Cookies. She'd make chocolate chip cookies
and clear her head. When in doubt, pig out on chocolate. So what if
it had caffeine and kept her awake that night? She'd never fall
asleep, anyway. For the next half hour, Kris concentrated on the
exact measurements of sugar, flour and butter. In between stirs,
she gulped red wine, a nice buzz lightening her head.

A knock rapped on the door. She dropped the
cookie sheet, and dough balls scattered the tiles. Kris squinted
through the peephole and exhaled. Eric waited in the corridor.

"What's going on?" he asked as she opened the
door. "I called the paper. They told me you don't work there
anymore."

"I got fired."

"Fired! What happened?"

She brushed past him into the kitchen. Eric
followed her and blinked at the mess.

"You want to know what happened?" Kris
snapped. "My bitchy editor decided we don't work well together, and
my mentor was forced to retire because he let me rewrite Diana's
story. Bad luck follows me like a dark cloud. Get away while you
can."

She bent down and slapped a clump of cookie
dough onto the tray.

Eric knelt beside her. "You rewrote the
story? Why?"

"Why do you think? It was slanted, implying
that Diana asked for what happened to her. I didn't want to hurt
Irene."

"Kris, you didn't have to do that. You
should've told me what was going on."

She emptied the dough into the wastebasket,
jerked on her oven mitt and yanked out the first tray.

"I'll talk to your editor," Eric said.
"I'll-"

"Don't bother. What's done is done. Besides,
I told her off." Kris arched over the stove, fussing with the
spatula. A trail of flour streaked her apron.

He spun her around and pulled her to his
chest. "Talk to me, Kris. Don't shut me out."

Eric cupped her chin. Her heart felt like it
would crumble into a million pieces.

"I don't know what to do," she said in a
rush. "I can't go back to the 9-to-5 rut. Those hours kill me, but
most night jobs are crappy. This was quiet and exciting at the same
time. I had a chance to build a career."

"What about another paper?"

"I don't have much experience and the job
market is lousy. And another paper could have different deadlines.
I could still get stuck on a day shift. Except for Bitchy Barbie,
it was the perfect job."

Eric kissed her cheek and held her by the
waist. "It won't be easy, but I'll help you. We'll scour the want
ads and employment web sites together. Whatever I can do, you just
say the word."

"Help me solve Diana's murder. I just got a
threatening call. The person told me to leave it alone, and that
what happened to Diana could happen to me."

Frowning, he stepped back. "You're kidding.
Did the voice sound familiar? Like Jared? Or Alex Thaddeus?"

"It sounded disguised. I'm pretty sure it was
male, but I can't even swear to that."

"What about that *69 service? Isn’t that
supposed to let you identify your last incoming call?" Eric picked
up the cordless telephone.

"I didn't think of that. Let’s try."

As he dialed, Kris hung near his shoulder.
Eric listened a moment.

"It was denied on that number," he said,
clicking off. "Let's call Lieutenant Frank."

The phone shrilled in his hand.

"I hope it's our friend," Kris said. "I want
some answers."

His face grim, Eric passed her the receiver.
He tilted his head, leaning in close as she mumbled hello.

"I've got information," Dex said. "When I was
packing, one of Bruce's cop sources called and tipped him off that
there's a hot lead on the Ferguson case."

"A lead? What do you mean?"

"Jacqueline's not running a story, because no
arrests have been made. But a suspect's wife went to the cops and
claimed he lied about his alibi."

"Who's the suspect?" Kris asked.

"Some loser who's in the police log all the
time for domestic assault and battery," Dex said. "Vince
Rossi."

Chapter 19

25 Years Ago Today

The Vilicon Corporation of Needham will move
its headquarters and entire

operation to the Grove Industrial Park in
Fremont.

"
L
ook, Lieutenant, is
Vince Rossi a suspect or not?" Eric asked into the phone.

Kris chewed a burned cookie and propped her
elbows against the counter. According to Dex, Vince Rossi had been
charged with domestic assault and battery against his wife Gina
several times. Last year, their son had robbed a convenience
store.

Eric muttered goodbye and hung up. Kris
straightened.

"That was useless," Eric said. "Lieutenant
Frank claimed that lots of people get crank calls, and having your
name in the paper makes you more vulnerable. He said if you keep
getting them, to let him know."

"Glad he's so concerned. What about Vince? Is
he taking that seriously, at least?"

"He wouldn't tell me, but he confirmed they
were interrogating Rossi."

Kris brushed flour off Eric's shoulders and
kissed him firm on the lips. "Then there's only one thing to do.
Come on. We're taking a ride."

"Where?"

"Gina Rossi's house."

***

Ramshackle. Kris could think of no other word
to describe the house. Peeling paint and dirt brown smudges rotted
its pear green exterior. No wonder neighbors complained when the
Rossis fought. You could reach out the window and touch the next
house.

A bleached blonde in her late forties
answered their knock. Yellow frizz grazed her shoulders, curling
around dangling rhinestone earrings. Blue eyeshadow caked her
eyelids and a lipstick stain marred her front tooth. Glaring
through the screen door, a barking German Shepherd nosed the leg of
her tight-fitting jeans.

Gina Rossi folded her arms across her
wrinkled denim shirt. "Easy, Sparky," she said in a throaty,
two-pack-a-day voice. "What're you guys supposed to be, Jehovah's
Witnesses?"

"We're working with the Fremont Police on the
Diana Ferguson case," Kris said. "We'd like to talk to you about
your husband."

"My husband, huh? You got all night? Come on
in."

She clutched the dog by his collar and
chained the wooden door that blocked the screen. Exchanging
glances, they followed her into a cramped living room heavy with
cigarette smoke. Kris picked her way past a squeaky rubber dog
bone, a dish of Alpo and an empty pizza box with a damp stain in
the center. Gina Rossi gestured to the overstuffed floral-patterned
couch. Circles ringed the coffee table from too many drinks without
coasters.

Lighting a cigarette, Gina knelt on the dusty
shag rug. Crumbs and black dog hair threaded the coarse wool.
Growling, Sparky spread out beside her.

"What're you, cops?" Gina asked.

"Diana Ferguson was my aunt," Eric said.

"Ah. I suppose you want to know if my husband
did her in."

"Do you think he did?" Kris asked.

Gina blew a smoke ring. "He needed me for an
alibi. What does that tell you?"

"I thought he was throwing a party," Kris
said. "Why did he need an alibi?"

"Vince left for a couple of hours. He got
into an argument with someone and split." Gina took another drag on
her cigarette. "When Diana turned up, he knew the cops would
suspect him. He begged me to say we hung out at my place."

Eric leaned forward. Sparky growled again.
"Do you know where he really was?"

"Your guess is as good as mine. He said he
went drinking by Stella Lake, but how do I know he wasn't
lying?"

"Were you and Vince seeing each other then?"
Kris asked.

"Hell, no. He was a friend of my big brother
and I had a crush on him. Vince figured if anybody would lie for
him, it would be me. I was stupid." Gina grinned without mirth. "In
a way, you could say Diana Ferguson changed my life. Vince took me
out to pay me back. That's when I got knocked up with Vince,
Jr."

She thumped Sparky on the back. "Out of jail
three months, now he's back in the slammer for robbing a
convenience store. Vince was furious, but he visits Vinnie every
weekend. I think we should give him some of that, what do you call
it, tough love, you know? Leave him alone for awhile. Except Vince
says we can't abandon him. I don't want to abandon Vinnie, I just
want to show him that we don't condone that type of behavior."

She didn't condone robbery, but she forgave
murder? The morals of this family baffled Kris. "Do you really
think your husband killed Diana?"

"Maybe," Gina said.

"But you had a child with him. You married
him. Why would you marry a killer?"

"You calling me a liar? I don't know where
Vince was that night, but he sure as hell wasn't with me. Read the
what-do-you-call-it, statement, I gave the cops. If it wasn't for
me, Vince would've been in deep shit."

Gina rolled up her shirt sleeve and pointed
to a black and blue mark. "See what kind of husband he is? If he
can beat his own wife, then why couldn't he kill some girl who
embarrassed him in front of his friends? Diana just dumped Vince,
not caring that he'd have to see her at the bar."