Vengeance Is Mine (12 page)

At eight-thirty Brian gave up and cleaned his brushes. He was too upset to do any serious work. Maybe there was something good on television.

The original dining room was now the den, complete with built-in cabinets for the television and stereo. Brian turned on the set and went through the channels, but there wasn't anything that he wanted to watch. Tomorrow he'd call and subscribe to cable. The only things he liked on commercial television this season were
Murder, She Wrote
and
Crazy Like a Fox
.

Brian gave up on television and switched on the stereo. The dial was set at KSJR, the local classical station. “Welcome to our special presentation of Symphony Number Six in B minor, opus fifty-four by Dmitri Shostakovich.”

There was the sound of applause, and Brian settled back in his leather sling chair to listen. He wasn't familiar with this symphony, but his records were still sealed in cartons. There was no way he'd unpack them tonight.

It didn't take long for Brian to realize that he wasn't in the mood for Shostakovich. The Symphony No. 6 started with a movement that could only be described as brooding. He'd been hoping for a nice light string quartet or maybe a little Tchaikovsky. Music was supposed to soothe you when you felt rotten. Brian turned off the stereo and looked out the front window. There were lights on at the Newman Center. Perhaps there was a special mass for Norm Ostrander.

“Oh, stop it.”

Brian spoke aloud. He simply had to snap out of this. He hadn't started that fight in the first place, and there was no way anyone could blame him for Ostrander's death. He'd been perfectly justified in defending himself. Even Steve said so.

A nun and a priest were standing on the sidewalk in front of the Newman Center. Brian watched them walk up and down, trying to keep warm. They must be waiting for a ride. Brian felt sorry for them. It was cold out there tonight.

As the priest passed under the streetlight Brian noticed the purple skullcap he was wearing. He'd have to remember to ask Greg about it. Red was for cardinals. He was sure of that. But what did purple mean?

Brian closed the drapes and wandered into the kitchen. It was only a quarter to nine. The hockey game should be in full swing by now. It couldn't hurt to get out the Volvo and drive past the park for a quick peek.

It only took a second to grab his parka and take his car keys off the nail by the back door. Brian made a five-minute search for his moon boots before he remembered that he'd lent them to Greg. He'd just have to make do with his tennis shoes.

The back porch light wasn't working. Brian flicked the switch a couple of times, but nothing happened. Either the bulb was burned out or there was something wrong with the wiring. At least once a day he discovered another thing to fix. It was just as Greg said: You bought other people's problems when you moved into an old house.

He saw it just as he opened the back door. The chicken leg was right here by the light switch. Wait until he showed Judith. Now she'd have to admit he was right.

Brian locked the back door behind him and headed for the garage. The prospect of making Judith admit she was wrong had done wonders for his morale. The back sidewalk was slippery, and Brian stepped over the worst patches of ice. Wearing tennis shoes was hazardous in the winter, but most of his students came to class in them. Maybe it was macho or something.

It felt good to have somewhere to go. Brian opened the garage door and hurried to his car. The owner's manual recommended a full five-minute warm-up in cold weather, but Brian was too impatient to wait that long. He counted to thirty and backed out into the driveway. The Volvo could finish warming up while he closed the garage door.

Brian didn't see the nun until he'd shut and locked the garage. She was standing by the car, waiting for him. She looked exactly like the nun who'd been standing in front of the Newman Center. Perhaps she wanted a ride.

“Good evening, Sister. Did you need a lift?”

“No, thank you.”

Her eyes moved to the left, and Brian turned to see the priest in the purple cap. Then something heavy crashed down at him.

Brian ducked to the side. His reflexes were excellent, but his tennis shoes slipped on the icy driveway. Brian fell awkwardly. He had just enough time to wish for his moon boots before a heavy blow erased the last thought from his mind.

 

 

Sister Kate was dreaming about elevators again, the same dream she'd had for the past three nights. She could hear the motor humming as it rose toward the floor above her. Now the door was opening and the Holy Mother got out. There was a brilliant golden halo around her head.

She heard the footsteps of the faithful as they came to worship at the Holy Mother's feet. Sister Kate knew she should go to worship, too, but she had lost the key to the elevator. She was stuck down here alone.

Sister Kate sat up in bed and switched on the light. Her heart was pounding in her chest. She had to find the elevator key right away.

“Good heavens!”

It took a moment to shake the dream, and then Sister Kate laughed at herself. Guilt had a startling effect on the mind. She had planned to look for the elevator key, and she'd forgotten again.

There was a pad and pen on the nightstand. Sister Kate wrote herself a note in big block letters.
“FIND KEY!”
Then she switched off the light and settled back down. It was only nine-twenty, but she was terribly sleepy. She'd taken her antihistamine right after dinner and she'd fallen asleep during the first five minutes of ABC's
Monday Night Movie
. Everyone had been excited about seeing
The Ten Commandments
on television. Sister Kate kept her views to herself, but she hadn't liked the movie when it came out in the fifties. Now that she thought about it, she'd fallen asleep then too. Thank goodness Cissy had offered to tuck everyone in bed for the night after the movie was over at midnight.

The television was still going in the dayroom. Sister Kate recognized Charlton Heston's voice as she drifted back to sleep. Perhaps this time she'd dream about Moses parting the Red Sea, especially if Father Murphy took a shower when the movie was over.

 

 

Brian's house was completely dark. Alan pulled up in front and let the Buick idle for a minute. The nun and the bishop were gone, and there was no one to see them.

“Do you think he's gone to bed already?” Junior sounded disappointed, and Skuza patted his arm.

“Naw, it's only nine-thirty. Drive around the back, Gross. Maybe we can see something from there.”

Alan turned the corner and pulled in the alley. He parked next to the row of tall pine trees that lined the back of Brian's lot.

Junior opened the car door. “Okay, let's go. If anyone asks, we can say we're looking for a lost dog or something.”

All three boys got out of the car. They walked down the alley and peered through the pine branches at Brian's garage. The Volvo was parked in the driveway, and the door was open on the driver's side.

“He's just getting out of the car.”

Junior was so excited he almost forgot to whisper.

“I'll sneak up on him. You two wait here and get ready to back me up.”

Alan and Skuza nodded. Junior deserved to throw the first punch. They watched him approach the car cautiously and freeze as he reached the door.

“What's he doing?”

“I don't know.”

Junior whirled and ran back toward them. His face was as white as the snow in the driveway.

“Junior, what happened?”

Junior's mouth opened but no sound came out. He turned away and swallowed hard.

“I never hit him! You guys saw me, didn't you? I swear I never even touched him!”

“Sure, you were just standing there. What's wrong?”

“His head's all—oh, Jesus, let's get the hell out of here. He's
dead!
”

CHAPTER 14

Pat Krueger glanced up at the big old-fashioned clock over the bar. It was eight-thirty, and the hockey game wouldn't be over until eleven. Then the rush would start. Right now the Tattletale Bar was deserted except for the booth in the corner. Herb Swanson, Arnie Dietz, and Spud Nuhoff were holding a wake for Norm.

“Bring us another round, Pat. Make 'em doubles!”

Pat frowned. Herb and his friends were getting a little smashed, but Pat didn't want to eighty-six them while he was working alone. He'd give them one more weak one and cut them off when Sam Carlson came in at nine. Sam was six-four, and he weighed close to 300 pounds. Nobody argued with the Hulk when he said it was time to leave.

“Y'wanna join us, Pat? We'll toast good ol' Norm.”

“Can't do it, Herb. The boss'll fire me if he catches me drinking on the job.”

“You're chicken, Pat. There's nobody here to squeal on you. You got something against Norm?”

“Nope. Norm was all right. He never gave me a bit of trouble in here.”

“They oughta hang that pansy that killed him, don'cha think?”

Pat grunted a noncommittal reply and glanced back at the clock. Twenty minutes to nine. He didn't want to get involved in a drunken conversation about Norm, but Herb was still holding on to his arm.

“Tell you what, Herb. This round's on the house. In honor of Norm.”

“Hey, that's real white of you, Pat. Y'know what we oughta do? We oughta go find that little pansy and fix him so he can't beat up nobody.”

“That'd be stupid, Herb.” Spud reached out for his drink and downed half of it in one gulp. “The cops'd know you did it right off. Anything happens to Brian Nordstrom, and they'll lock you up for it.”

“Yep.” Arnie nodded solemnly. “They'll lock you up and throw away the key. You gotta figure out some other way t'get even.”

Pat shifted uncomfortably. He really didn't want to listen to this, but Herb showed no sign of letting go of his arm.

Spud frowned and scratched his head. Even though he'd been guzzling the booze all night, he seemed to be more sober than Arnie or Herb.

“Maybe we oughta go after GALA. Norm hated that bunch of queers.”

“Spud!” Herb released his hold on Pat and clamped his big arm around Spud's neck. “You're right! Let's go get 'em right after we finish this round.”

Pat made his escape as fast as he could. Those three were trouble. He had just picked up the phone to call Steve Radke at the police station when four college girls trooped in the back door.

“Hi, Pat. Remember me?”

The tall, thin redhead raced up to the bar and slid onto a stool. Pat remembered her vaguely. She'd been in last Friday with a group of college girls, and they'd all ordered Long Island Iced Teas. Those things were a real pain to make. Maybe they ought to copy D.B. Searle's and make up a whole batch in one of those juice dispensers the movie theaters used.

“I never forget a pretty face. The name maybe, but never the face. Let me see now . . .”

Pat stalled for time. She looked like a racehorse with those long legs. That was it! Filly . . . Phyllis.

“Phyllis, right?”

“Right.” Phyllis laughed and tossed back her hair. “I want you to meet my roommates, Stephanie, Margie, and Julie. They all want to hear your Grain Belt joke.”

Pat put down the phone and gave them his standard bartender's grin. He was probably worrying for nothing. Herb and his friends were just blowing off steam. They'd forget all about GALA before they even finished their drinks.

“One Grain Belt joke coming up, right after I take your order. Name your poison, ladies.”

“We all want Long Island Iced Teas. We just love the way you make them, Pat.”

 

 

“What's happening out there?” Michele poured a cup of coffee for Greg. He looked half frozen.

“Schwagel's in the penalty box, and the Locker Room Jocks just scored again. The Red Carpet Sweepers are getting trounced.”

“The game's not over yet.” Steve pulled out the flask Greg had stashed under the counter and added a shot to his coffee. “You look like you could use this. The wind's blowing pretty hard out there. Somebody just told us it was twenty below with the wind-chill factor.”

Greg rubbed his hands together briskly and cupped them around his coffee. “Thanks, Steve. Help yourself if you get cold.”

Steve put the bottle back in its place under the counter. “I'll wait until later. I'm officially on duty tonight.”

“How's the snack bar doing?”

“It boggles the mind how people can drink cold beer in this weather, but we're into our fourth keg already.”

Michele nodded. “Add over three hundred hot dogs to that and about fifty gallons of coffee. The hot chocolate's not far behind. I had two hundred packets when we opened, and there're only about thirty left.”

There was a roar from the crowd, and Steve climbed up onto the counter to look.

“Schwagel's out, and it looks like he just scored. The Red Carpet Sweepers are making a comeback.”

“I'd better get back to work.” Greg finished his coffee in one gulp and put on his heavy wool gloves. “Halftime's coming up, and I've got lots of WinterGame buttons to sell. When's Judith coming in?”

“Any minute now. She figured she could be here by ten. Then she'll count the money and make the deposit. Zapp Bank's set up a special account for us.”

“Zapp Bank.” Greg laughed. “I've lived here all my life, but that name still gets to me. One of these days I'll open an account just so I can have it on my checks.”

 

 

Judith hung up the phone and smiled. Toni was coming home tonight. Toni had said the seminar was boring, the hotel room was awful, and the weather in Chicago was even worse than it was in St. Cloud. Judith had known what that meant. Toni was miserable without her. It was wonderful to know that Toni had missed her just as much as she'd missed Toni.

At least she hadn't spoiled Toni's seminar with the news about the St. Cloud killer. Judith had been very careful not to mention a thing. She didn't want Toni flying home early just because she was worried. It was much better this way. Toni had made the decision herself.

It was already ten minutes past nine. Judith glanced down at her plaster-covered smock and decided that she didn't dare appear in public this way. She had to change in a hurry so she could catch the end of the hockey game and pick up the bank deposit. Toni wouldn't get here until three in the morning, and that gave her enough time to really make the place look spiffy. The loft didn't look all that bad, considering she hadn't picked up anything since Toni left last week.

Judith walked quickly through the bedroom she shared with Toni and grabbed a clean pair of jeans and a turtleneck sweater from the pile of clothes on the dresser. She was smiling as she stuffed the rest of them into the drawers. She wasn't the neatest person in the world, but Toni loved her. And she was trying not to be such a slob.

It didn't take more than a quick glance around the bedroom to see the difference in their personalities. Toni's blue-and-white-flowered nightgown was folded neatly on her side of the bed while Judith's red flannel pajamas were tossed in a crumpled heap on the floor. Toni's nightstand was precisely arranged, Kleenex box on the right, the book she was reading on the left. Judith's was cluttered with candy bar wrappers, a half-eaten bag of garlic and onion potato chips, and an open bottle of Excedrin. Judith hadn't slept in the bedroom since Toni left for Chicago. The couch in the living room was lumpy, but it was depressing to sleep in their king-sized bed alone.

Judith jumped as something brushed up against her leg. Then she laughed and scooped up Lord Greystoke, the big gray tomcat that had adopted them last winter. He was old—the vet guessed his age at somewhere between nine and eleven—but he was still an incredible mouser. He roamed all night in the studio downstairs, and every Sunday morning they'd find the body of a mouse or rat placed neatly on the landing at the top of the stairs. Toni was disgusted the first time it happened, but Judith explained that Lord Greystoke was just paying his weekly rent. Now Toni praised him lavishly when they picked up the little bodies. The rodent damage to her weaving materials had stopped completely since Lord Greystoke moved in.

“What's the matter, Greystoke?”

Judith frowned as the cat jumped from her arms. The hackles rose on his back, and he streaked out the door, heading for the studio. There must be a mouse or rat downstairs. Lord Greystoke was practically catatonic unless he was mousing.

Did she have time for a shower? Judith glanced at the clock and decided to risk it. She could still be at the rink by ten-fifteen at the latest. She turned on the water and threw her clothes in the hamper. Then she wouldn't have to pick them up later. Even though she'd resisted like crazy, she was learning good habits from Toni after all.

 

 

C
LEARWATER
F
ARM
. Spud read the sign out loud. “Turn in here, Arnie. She lives upstairs in that old barn. They had pictures of it in the paper last year.”

“Maybe we better put these on.” Arnie reached under the seat and pulled out three ski masks. “The wife keeps 'em here for when we all go out with the snowmobiles.”

Spud's ski mask was a little tight, but he pulled it on anyway. It was a good idea. There were times when Arnie was plenty smart. They sure as hell didn't want to be recognized.

All three men piled out of the truck with Spud in the lead. Herb staggered a little, but he managed to stay on his feet.

“We'll go in through those old doors. Then nobody can see us from the street.”

Spud forced open the old barn door and motioned for Arnie and Herb to follow him. It was dark inside, but a little light came through the window. All sorts of rock slabs were sitting around, and it reminded Spud of a graveyard. He jumped a foot when something moved in the corner.

“Christ! What's that?”

Herb and Arnie froze. Spud forced himself to walk across the floor and peer behind a block of granite sitting on a pedestal. He wasn't about to admit that he was scared.

“It's only a frigging cat. C'mon, you guys. Be real quiet.”

All three men were as quiet as drunks could be as they headed for the stairway to the loft. Spud led the way to the top and stopped on the landing to listen.

“We've got it made. The shower's running. Break that lock, Herb, and let's catch her when she comes out.”

Herb gave an obscene laugh as he broke the lock on the door. “You get t'go first, Spud. It was your idea. Then me and then Arnie. She doesn't know it yet, but we're gonna do her a big favor tonight.”

 

 

Judith turned off the water and stepped out of the shower. She felt much better. Now she had to hurry and get dressed. She didn't want to be too late.

One of Toni's flower-printed bath sheets was draped over the back of the hamper, and Judith wrapped it around her body securely. Then she opened the bathroom door and stepped out.

“What the—”

Herb and Arnie grabbed her before she had time to react. Herb clamped a hand over her mouth and Spud ripped off the bath sheet.

“Hey, that's not bad.” Spud grinned, and the ski mash pulled tight across his face. “Wait'll you see what I got for you, baby.”

Judith tried to kick out, but the three men just laughed and held her tighter. She managed to get her mouth open slightly and bit down as hard as she could on the hand that was covering her mouth.

“Bitch!”

Herb jerked his hand back and slapped Judith's face hard. “Don't do that again. You make us mad and we get real mean.”

Judith's heart was pounding, and her throat was dry with terror. Her knees sagged weakly as they dragged her over to the bed and forced her down. Judith looked up in horror as the tall man unzipped his pants. Oh, God, they were going to rape her!

Now the tall man was kneeling over her, jerking her legs apart roughly, and all of them were touching her, grabbing, hurting, fingers probing in places that made her shudder with revulsion. She screamed, but one of them clamped a hand over her mouth so hard that she whimpered in pain. All she could think of was Toni. Thank God Toni was still in Chicago. Then the room was closing in, getting smaller, growing dimmer. She was in a darkening tunnel, traveling backward, rushing away from the light at the entrance. She tried to scream again, but the darkness folded around her, and she escaped completely into deep, comforting blackness.