Vengeance Is Mine (6 page)

Steve poured amaretto into his coffee and sighed. “I don't like it any better than you do, but I've got to hold Brian until the court sets bail. It's the law.”

“It's not that bad, Greg.” Michele held out her cup, and Steve poured a generous shot into her coffee. “Brian says he doesn't mind spending the night in jail.”

Judith nodded. “I think jail's the safest place for Brian right now. Herb and Norm belong to the Defenders of Decency. When those rednecks find out about the fight, they'll be hell-bent on revenge.”

“We've been battling the Defenders of Decency ever since the clinic opened,” Michele said. “And they tried to stop WinterGame. Do you suppose this had anything to do with Brian's advertisement on television?”

“It's possible.” Steve nodded. “Let me call the hospital and see how Norm is doing.”

In a few moments Steve was back. He looked grim.

“Norm's in critical condition. That means we'd better find a good lawyer right away. Brian's facing a possible charge of manslaughter.”

Michele got up and headed for the phone. “I'll call Dale Kline.”

“Dale Kline?” Judith looked shocked. “He's the most expensive lawyer in town.”

“I think I can talk him into taking Brian's case for free. Believe me, Judith. Dale Kline owes me one.”

CHAPTER 6

Bishop Donahue readjusted a white pawn so that it sat in the exact center of its square. Sister Kate's curiosity must have gotten the best of her this morning when she checked his room. The books on his desk had been moved, and he was sure she had touched his white pawn. He had known it would happen sooner or later. Sister Kate was very impressed with religious artifacts and relics. This chess set was definitely an antique, but Bishop Donahue doubted that it had actually belonged to St. Thomas Aquinas. If one took the Italian art dealers at their word, St. Thomas had owned at least a dozen carved chess sets for every year of his life.

Chess had served Bishop Donahue well in his time at the Vatican. It was a favorite pastime of the clergy, and Cardinal Rossini had taught him to anticipate the complicated permutations of each small move on the board. An orderly mind was the key to the game.

A snowplow rumbled past on East Lake Boulevard, and Bishop Donahue glanced at the clock on his desk. It was past two in the morning. The snow removal crews were working overtime now that the snow had stopped falling. The major streets would be plowed by the time the sun came up.

The streetlight in the center of Lake George Park cast a bright glow over the unbroken sheet of white snow. It had been broken since last summer, but no one had bothered to fix it until this afternoon. City Hall must have been flooded with complaints after Ray Perini's death. Sometimes it took a drastic act for people to notice what was wrong around them.

Deliberately the bishop cleared his mind. This was not the time to dwell on the fate of the Black Pawn. Ray Perini had been captured. It was a necessary part of the game. Now it was Black's move, and Bishop Donahue must be ready to counter the inevitable attack.

In less than an hour he had explored the possibilities. Black's next move would be revealed to him on the news tomorrow. Bishop Donahue was fully prepared.

 

 

Michele closed her eyes and curled up in a ball, but that made her back ache. She'd never been able to sleep on her side. She tried turning over on her stomach, but then there was nowhere to put her arms, and she couldn't breathe with her nose buried in the mattress. If she turned her head so she could breathe, her neck hurt. If she slid down in bed to raise her arms over her head, her feet stuck out from the blankets. There were too many parts of the body, that was the trouble. It was impossible to arrange everything in a comfortable position.

Michele shivered and pulled the blankets more closely around her. The romantic evening she'd planned had turned to disaster, but it wasn't Steve's fault. Before he'd left, he'd asked her to meet him for breakfast at ten.

Her bedroom faced the street, and Michele heard a car drive past outside, tires muffled by the blanket of snow that had fallen. The courthouse clock chimed three times. It was three in the morning, and she had to be up at seven. Michele had never had trouble getting to sleep before the divorce. Her classmates in premed had admired her ability to catch forty winks on a break between classes, curled up in a plastic chair in the lounge. Now things were different. Dereck had given her something besides the divorce: insomnia.

She really had to get some sleep. Michele decided to try the trick that Louise had suggested. Before Louise had taken the job at the clinic, she had worked in the children's ward at the hospital. She said she'd told stories about sleepy baby animals to her young patients when they were restless at night.

Michele felt a little foolish as she pictured a family of baby birds, chirping softly in the warmth of their nest. Now the mother bird was settling down to protect her babies as they slept.

They huddled close to her, warmed by her soft downy feathers. It was a charming image, but it didn't make her sleepy.

Perhaps rabbits would do it. Michele pictured five baby bunnies, curled up tightly in their nest. Or did they live in burrows? Maybe she'd better stick to things she knew. Badgers lived in burrows, but Michele always got them mixed up with woodchucks. A woodchuck was another name for a groundhog. That reminded Michele of Groundhog Day. Last Sunday had been the second of February, and Minnesotans always celebrated when the skies were gray on Groundhog Day. If the groundhog came out of its burrow and saw its shadow, there would be six more weeks of winter.

Michele sat up and switched on the light. She was wide-awake. It was a good time to write a letter to her mother. Her mother expected a weekly letter and a phone call on Sunday. She didn't seem to mind if the contents of both were the same.

The bedroom floor was cold, and Michele felt around under the bed for the orange wool socks she used as slippers. They weren't in their usual place. She sighed as she remembered throwing them in the laundry basket when she'd straightened up the apartment. Steve probably wouldn't have noticed, but she'd wanted to be sure everything was perfect. Just as she'd anticipated, Steve had insisted on checking every room to make sure it was safe when he brought her home. He had confessed it was probably unnecessary, but her apartment was only seven blocks from the place where Ray had been killed. Michele was flattered by his concern. It had dampened her enthusiasm only slightly when he did a quick walk-through and then said his good-byes in the hallway outside.

Michele hopped from throw rug to throw rug until she reached the living-room carpet. Hardwood floors were beautiful, but they were cold in the winter. Perhaps she ought to think about carpeting the bedroom.

The fireplace was ready to light. Michele had arranged everything before she met Steve just in case she decided to ask him in for coffee after their date. She struck a match and watched the kindling catch fire. Cords of wood were cheap in Minnesota, and there was no reason why she couldn't enjoy her fireplace alone.

Vivaldi's
Four Seasons
was already in the tape deck. Michele switched it on and adjusted the volume. She wished she could remember which cut was “Winter,” but it didn't really matter. No one had ever written music that sounded like winter in Minnesota. Who'd want to listen to howling winds and sleet rattling against the windows?

Michele got a Diet Coke from the kitchen and grabbed the half-finished bag of Doritos that was hidden behind the couch. She settled down with her pen and paper and tried to think. Should she tell her mother the truth about her date with Steve?

Michele laughed out loud as she pictured her mother's reaction. She'd be here on the next plane from Houston to help Michele pack her belongings.

Suddenly Michele felt sleepy. She leaned back against the couch pillows and shut her eyes. The heat from the fire was warm against her cheek, like Steve's lips when he'd kissed her good night at the door. Snow fell softly against the window, a light brushing sigh that matched her deep, even breathing. Michele fell asleep wondering what could possibly go wrong at breakfast.

 

 

Margaret Whitworth closed the notebook with a snap. The courthouse clock chimed the half hour, and Margaret glanced at her watch. It was three-thirty in the morning. She'd spent the whole evening rereading her notebooks, the private little lists she kept of odd phrases and names. Margaret was fascinated by the English language, and she'd kept notebooks for years, stacked in a pile under the table by the bed. Howard had complained that she was wasting her time compiling lists that no one would ever read, but Margaret enjoyed her little hobby. And the new list that she'd started last week was already one of her favorites. By the time she was through, it would be filled with names that fitted a person's profession. “Goodbody Mortuary” headed the list. It was a large undertaking firm in San Diego. Then there was “Doctor Morte,” a pathologist at the Mayo Clinic. He'd appeared in a news clip last Tuesday. And this afternoon, right here in St. Cloud, she'd spotted the best one of all, “Dr. Pull, D.D.S.” He had an office above Dan Marsh Drugs. Margaret knew she'd walked past the building directory for years without noticing his name.

Margaret took off her reading glasses and slipped them into the case. She was tired, and she might just break tradition tomorrow. The world wouldn't fall apart if she didn't show up at her office until noon. She was beginning to appreciate the concept of self-indulgence. At her age she deserved to take a little time off and enjoy herself.

Howard would have been shocked at her attitude. Margaret smiled as she clicked off the light. He had always been immersed in his work. Even when she'd dragged him to France on vacation, he'd taken along his briefcase filled with papers.

Margaret's smile grew as she remembered strolling down the Champs-Élysées and stopping at a sidewalk café to enjoy a glass of Pernod. Several handsome Frenchmen had made overtures, and she almost wished that she'd encouraged them. Howard had spent the entire vacation in their hotel room making transatlantic business calls. No wonder he hadn't liked Paris.

There were six pillows on the bed. Margaret reached for her favorite and hugged it tightly. She never thought she'd miss Howard's rattling snores, but she did. Perhaps women weren't made to sleep alone. The bed was too big and too cold.

Jane had been saving money for a heated water bed. She'd shown Margaret the brochures. Perhaps it wasn't such a silly idea after all. Margaret laughed out loud as she made up her mind. She'd call in the morning and order the best one in the showroom. Even slightly-past-middle-age ladies had the right to a warm bed.

 

 

Steve settled down on Chief Schultz's couch and propped his feet up on the end. The couch was too small to accommodate his six-foot-three-inch frame, but he could sleep anywhere when he was tired. No one expected him to spend the night in the office, but Steve wanted to stay close just in case something else broke loose tonight.

Brian Nordstrom was doing all right, considering what he'd been through. Steve had checked on him earlier, and Brian had been full of ideas about making the jail more hospitable. Steve chuckled as he remembered Brian's plan of painting the cots and commodes forest green with panoramic nature scenes on the walls of the cells. If he made the jail too comfortable, people would commit crimes just to get in.

Brian had some strange ideas, but he seemed like a nice guy. So did his roommate, Greg. Steve liked both of them just fine as long as he didn't think about what they did together in bed. Maybe he liked women too well even to think about any other possibilities.

Michele. A grin spread across Steve's face. She was sexy and smart, an unbeatable combination. He'd spent all afternoon looking forward to their date, and he hadn't thought of Diane once. That was a record. What Steve had assumed was a permanent pain might prove to be temporary after all.

Steve closed his eyes and imagined what might have happened tonight. He almost wished he'd taken Michele up on her invitation for a nightcap, but it had been past one by the time they'd left Brian's, and he'd been anxious to check in at the station. At least he'd had the presence of mind to ask her out for breakfast after their date had been blown all to hell.

The courthouse clock chimed four, and Steve imagined the hands of a clock, slowly turning until they reached seven-thirty. Three and a half hours away. On the dot of seven-thirty he'd wake up. It worked every time. Steve called his system the brain clock. He imagined the minutes ticking away as he dropped off to sleep. Only five hours and fifty-eight minutes before he saw Michele again.

CHAPTER 7

“That's a wrap, Michele. It looked fine from here. If you want to wait around, we can run it for you.”

Michele hoped the rumor about television's adding ten pounds wasn't true. She really wanted to see what she looked like, but she was already late for breakfast with Steve.

“Thanks, Kevin, but I'm rushed for time. I'll watch it when it airs.”

Kevin Reilly was Margaret Whitworth's right-hand man at the station. He had a shock of red hair and freckles to match. Everyone swore he was a miracle worker, and Michele was tempted to ask him to substitute a gorgeous actress's body for hers.

Michele stepped carefully over the cables and hurried to the green room to get her purse. She was just slipping into her jacket when Dale Kline rushed in. He looked very uncomfortable when he saw her.

“Good morning, Dale.” Michele looked around, but there was no one else in earshot. “I put Cindy on the executive express to the airport.”

Dale nodded. He looked very relieved.

“Uh . . . Michele? I told everybody I was sending Cindy to boarding school so she could get a better background in science. Does that sound all right to you?”

“Fine, Dale.” Michele smiled. She could afford to be magnanimous now that the problem was solved.

“Brian's case is shaping up, Michele. Right after I got him out on bail, Mrs. Whitworth called me. She wants an interview on
News at Noon
. I figure Brian can use all the favorable publicity he can get.”

As Dale straightened his tie in front of the mirror, Michele noticed that he had dressed for the interview. Brown suit, beige shirt, and a muted plaid tie. He looked like a successful, extremely conservative lawyer. It was a real change from the sweater and chinos he'd been wearing at the office yesterday.

“I don't think we'll have any major problems. No judge in his right mind'll believe that a little guy like Brian attacked two great big thugs like Herb and Norm. I'm trying to get Judge Wozniac. He put Norm away for six weeks last year. One count of drunk and disorderly, three counts of destruction of public property, and a DUI. All we need are a couple of good character witnesses for Brian. Men that look macho, with wives and kids, if you know what I mean.”

“Is there anything new with Norm Ostrander?”

“He's still on the critical list, but I wouldn't worry about it. Guys like Norm are too mean to die. He'll probably be out picking another fight before Brian even comes to trial.”

“I hope you're right.” Michele zipped her jacket and moved toward the door. “Give a good interview, Dale. I'm counting on you.”

It was a little past ten when Michele got to Dan Marsh's Coffee Shop. Steve was saving a booth in the back. Michele hung her jacket on a hook and slid across the red plastic cushions.

“Sorry I'm running late, Steve. Have you been waiting long?”

“Just long enough to order you a hot caramel roll and a cup of coffee. You look great, Michele. I expected you to have dark circles under your eyes.”

Michele felt her cheeks warm in a blush. It was a good thing Steve hadn't seen her earlier. It had taken two coats of foundation to cover the circles Steve had expected, but she certainly didn't have to tell him that.

The waitress hurried over to their booth, balancing their order on her arm. “Anything else for you today?”

“If Esther's back there, tell her I want eggs and bacon, the usual way. Michele?”

“Oh, this is fine for me.” Michele looked down at her huge caramel roll. It had to be at least 500 calories, and that was a conservative estimate. She'd have to watch what she ate for the rest of the day, or she'd never be able to get into the new dress her mother had sent her. Of course, she could eat just half, but that called for more willpower than she possessed.

“Sugar?”

Steve smiled as she nodded. He poured two heaping teaspoons of sugar into her coffee, and Michele added another 40 calories to her mental tally.

“Brian caught me just as I was leaving the office. He wants the whole WinterGame committee to come over for dinner tonight. Beef Stroganoff. We're supposed to meet at his house at seven.”

“Brian's Stroganoff is heavenly.” Michele picked up her coffee and took a sip. So: 540 calories for breakfast plus another 2,000 if Brian served his usual feast. That was about 1,400 over her self-imposed limit. She'd have to starve tomorrow.

A plate of Land O' Lakes butter patties rested next to the caramel roll. Michele unwrapped two and let them melt over the top of her caramel roll. In for a penny, in for a pound. Suddenly her diet wasn't important anymore. She'd be spending the evening with Steve.

Michele used her fork to cut off a piece of roll and sighed as she popped it into her mouth. The caramel stuck to her teeth. Dan Marsh's rolls were messy to eat and worth every calorie. She gave Steve a rapturous smile and crossed her fingers under the table, something she'd done as a child when she was telling a lie.

“I really hate to bother you, Steve, but my car's not working. Do you suppose you could pick me up tonight?”

 

 

Mother Superior frowned and clasped her hands together. They had just seen the in-depth report about Brian Nordstrom's fight.

“I just can't believe that sweet boy did anything wrong. He looked so nice on the television. I think someone made a dreadful mistake.”

“You may be right, Mother.” Sister Kate nodded. “I've heard a lot about Herb Swanson and Norm Ostrander. They went to St. Mary's Parochial. Sister Margaret said they were always the rowdiest boys in her class.”

Monsignor Wickes licked his lips. “And they were drinking. There's nothing more dangerous than a mean drunk. That Nordstrom boy was probably in fear for his life.”

“Well, he didn't learn hand-to-hand combat in the army.” Major Pietre laughed loudly. “The other side was only wounded. We taught our men to kill!”

“This news is depressing.” Gustie looked toward the door. “Isn't lunch ready yet?”

“Shh. Here's the boy's lawyer.” Father Murphy leaned closer to the screen. “I hope he's a Lutheran. No Catholic should defend a homosexual.”

It was difficult for Bishop Donahue to sit quietly through the rest of the news. Black had moved by advancing Dale Kline to defend the Black Pawn. And Bishop Donahue's White Rook, the Defender of Decency, had been seriously injured and was in danger of being captured. There was no other possible interpretation. He had to study the board immediately and block the advance.

Sister Kate frowned as the bishop got up and walked toward the door. “Don't leave now, Bishop Donahue. Lunch will be ready in just a minute.”

“Thank you, but I'm not hungry.” Bishop Donahue turned and gave her a smile. “Do you think I might have a sandwich later in the day?”

“Oh. Well . . . of course.”

There were rules about eating at regular times, but Sister Kate was so shocked by the Bishop's smile that she agreed without giving it a second thought. He seemed much more pleasant and alert today, and he'd been totally enthralled by
News at Noon
. Archbishop Ciminski and the doctor were right. The new television was doing Bishop Donahue a world of good.

 

 

Sister Cecelia had prayed all afternoon. Her mind was in turmoil, and she was tempted to take just one forbidden tranquilizer, but she was sworn to obedience. The bishop needed her to be alert for the evening ahead.

The sky was beginning to darken outside and Cissy knew it was time to go downstairs. As she passed Bishop Donahue's door he looked up from his chessboard and smiled. Suddenly Cissy felt much better. His smile was a reward for her loyalty and devotion. She smiled back shyly and hurried down the stairs. Bishop Donahue was counting on her. She would do everything in her power to make certain he succeeded in accomplishing his duty.

 

 

“I'm at the law library in the courthouse. In case of emergency, contact me there.”

Dale Kline waited for the beep and set his answer phone to play the new message. It was already past seven, and he had to do research for a pleading on Monday morning. While he was there, he'd locate references for Brian Nordstrom's case. It was good therapy to keep busy. Then he wouldn't think about Cindy. He had lost his daughter. He had no one to blame but himself, and the reality was wrenchingly painful.

Dale threw his coat over his shoulder. It was only half a block to the courthouse, and he didn't bother to put the coat on as he dashed across the icy street. There were seventeen steps to the door, and Dale forced himself to climb them on the run. Lawyers got plenty of exercise in St. Cloud. The courtrooms were on the second floor, and the lounge was in the basement. Duluth residents claimed their women had the shapeliest legs because the city was built on a hill, but Dale was sure St. Cloud lawyers could give them a run for their money.

Local lawyers were given keys to the courthouse law library when they passed the bar. Dale found the right key on his chain and hurried down the stairs to the lower level. The library was predictably deserted. It was Saturday, and everyone else was enjoying the weekend.

The cleaning crew was working in the hallway, polishing the solid granite floors. Even with the door closed, he could hear the swish of the machines and the occasional shouted comment. Dale was glad there were other people in the building. The courthouse was eerie when it was completely deserted. Steps echoed hollowly along the corridors, and it had all the charm of a classic horror movie. Even though Dale was sure that Ray Perini had been hit by one of his mob connections, he checked the door again to make sure it was securely locked from the inside.

He had almost five hours to work before the watchman made his rounds. Dale pulled several books from the shelves and placed them next to his yellow legal pad. The courthouse lobby stayed open until midnight, part of the city's new extended hours policy. Dale had laughed when he read the new hours. It seemed ridiculous for the lobby to remain open when all the offices were closed, but the midnight curfew was policy now, and Dale doubted that it would be changed in the near future. At midnight the watchman, hired expressly for that purpose, would check the premises and lock the outside doors.

Dale set his alarm watch for ten minutes to twelve and opened the first book. In no time at all he was lost in the intricacies of an involved Minnesota statute.

It was a few minutes past eleven when Dale heard the sound of heels clicking on the polished floor of the lobby above him. The cleaning crew had left some time ago. Vaguely he remembered the mop buckets clanging as they stored their things in the janitor's closet next door.

The footsteps grew louder as they descended the stairs. A moment later there was a soft knock on the library door.

Dale stuck a paper clip on the page he was reading. He walked to the door and squinted through the peephole. A nun stood waiting patiently in the corridor outside. There was another figure in a black cape standing behind her, a second nun or perhaps a priest.

For a moment Dale was perplexed. Then he remembered the pledge he had signed for the Catholic Children's Fund. They must really need money badly to track him down in the law library after eleven o'clock on a Saturday night.

There was another knock on the door, a little louder this time. Dale sighed and bowed to the inevitable. He fixed his face in a welcoming smile and unlocked the door.