Читать книгу See No Evil - Gayle Roper - Страница 11

Gray and I walked back to the model house in silence, Sergeant Poole, Officer Schumann and the police photographer following. They wanted to see the evidence of the shot. The reporter trailed along, too. I had been right. It did hurt to walk barefooted on this stony dirt.

As I limped along, I couldn’t get the picture out of my mind of the distraught Mr. Ryder all but collapsing as they wheeled away his wife’s body. I rubbed my arms to get rid of the emotional goose bumps, but they weren’t the kind I could rub away.

Gray saw the motion, and he looked from me to my old Caravan.

“Why don’t you just go on home, Anna?” he said. “It’s been a hard night. I’m sure the sergeant wouldn’t mind if I showed him what he needs to see.”

I sighed again. “I wish I could just leave, but I’ve got to go inside. My purse. And I’ve got to finish hanging that treatment before it gets too wrinkled.”

“Okay, get your purse, but then go. It’s after eleven. You’ve got to be beat. Finish the window tomorrow.”

“I can’t. I’ve also got to pin the drapes up off the floor so the rug can be installed tomorrow.”

Gray frowned. “I’m not much of a decorator, but wouldn’t it have been easier to wait until the rug was in to hang the things?”

“The rug was originally laid yesterday, but the interior designer—”

“That would be you.”

“No, not me. The woman I work for. She took one look at the rug and screamed, ‘It’s the wrong color green! Too yellow. Too yellow. Get it out of here!’ I was hanging the treatments in the master bedroom at the time and heard the whole thing.”

“So a new rug in a different shade of green arrives tomorrow.”

“Yep, and since I don’t know what time, I have to leave everything ready tonight.”

Gray nodded. “Let me get another shirt from my gym bag, and I’ll help.” He reached behind the seat of his silver pickup, parked behind my Caravan, pulled a black nylon bag out, and rooted around until he found a gray T-shirt. He pulled it over his head.

He wrinkled his nose. “A bit ripe. I wore it to play basketball today at lunch, but at least I feel decent. I’d advise you not to get too close though.” He smiled, and in spite of the emotional intensity of the evening, my toes curled.

Oh, for goodness sakes, Anna, get a grip!

We walked to the house and went inside. We found Sergeant Poole in the living room, staring at the ceiling. I looked up, and there was a hole where the bullet had struck. I hadn’t noticed it before.

“See it, Schumann?” Poole bellowed.

Schumann’s voice floated down the stairwell. “It’s lodged in the side of a night table.”

Rather the night table than me. I walked to the Tuscan Vine draped over the slipper chair.

“Let me hold the material for you.” Gray reached out a hand. “I promise not to bleed on anything.”

“What are you doing?” Poole asked, his gaze suddenly fixed on me.

I stopped, startled, one foot on the ladder. “I need to finish hanging this treatment.”

The sergeant shook his head. “Not tonight. The crime scene guys need to go over the room first.”

Gray made a noise of distress, then held up a hand as Poole glared at him. “I understand, Sergeant, but it does make things difficult for me and for Anna.”

“They shouldn’t be too long in here. Just pictures and the removal of the slug. Oh, and scrapings of the blood for analysis. I’ll let you know when the coast is clear.”

“There’s a rug being laid tomorrow,” I said.

“Not until we’re finished here there isn’t.”

“And the model house opens to the public Saturday.”

“Probably.”

Recognizing an immovable object when I saw one, I nodded at the sergeant and carefully laid the lovely silk fabric over the slipper chair again. This time I took care to smooth it.

“Go on home, you two,” Sergeant Poole said. “We’ll make certain the place is locked when we’re finished.”

I grabbed my purse. As Gray and I walked out of the room, the sergeant called, “By the way, the place looks very nice.”

“Thanks.” Nice. We had been going for a lot more than nice.

Gray walked to my Caravan with me. I smiled at him, uncertain how to end the evening. On one hand, I’d just met him. On the other, we’d shared a pretty intense experience. Before the situation became too awkward and for want of a better idea, I stuck out my hand to shake good night. “I’m glad you were here. I’d have hated to go through all this alone.”

He waved my thanks away. “I’m going to follow you home to make sure you get there, okay?”

I was impressed and felt warmed right to the cockles of my heart, wherever those were. “You don’t have to do that.”

“I know. I’d just like to.” He paused. “You don’t live, like, miles and miles away, do you?”

“No, about ten minutes.” Which, out in western Chester County, was nothing. “Really, I’ll be fine.”

“I’m sure you will be. Still, I won’t sleep unless I know you’re safe. It’s a guy thing.”

“Protect the ladies?”

He shrugged. “What can I say?”

My stomach growled, and I flinched. So feminine and becoming.

He laughed as I pressed a hand against my middle. “Me, too. I never did get any dinner.” He checked his watch, something he’d been doing off and on all evening. “I think the only place that’s probably still open besides Wawa or Turkey Hill mini-marts is the Wendy’s window. Is that okay with you?”

I nodded, unreasonably glad I’d get to spend a bit more time with him. “We can pick something up and take it to my house.”

Gray climbed into his truck and followed me to Wendy’s and then to the three bedroom brick ranch I shared with Lucy and Meaghan in a modest neighborhood set on a hilltop. On the way we passed my favorite house, a beautiful and unique place that was part restoration of a great historic barn and part new construction with lots of windows and gables. Somehow it all worked, and as I stared up the long maple-tree-lined drive, I grinned. My window treatments hung in that house.

I pulled into the drive of our ranch, a far cry from the mansion I admired from afar, but a whole lot more user-friendly. I parked in the turnaround, the place designated for my Caravan since it was by far the worst of our three vehicles, and the weather couldn’t possibly do it any harm. Gray pulled up in front of the garage door.

I climbed down from the van, glad he was with me. The strips of woods between the houses might be a welcome privacy screen most of the time, but tonight they looked like menacing hiding places for assassins looking to take out witnesses. I walked quickly to the front door of the dark house, Gray right behind me.

“Looks like everyone’s in bed,” I said as I unlocked the door.

We had just stepped into the entry hall when the bedroom hall light flicked on. A very tousled Lucy appeared in her Girls Rule, Boys Drool sleep shirt, talking as she came. Her red curls corkscrewed wildly about her head, and her big black cat Tipsy lolled in her arms.

“And just what took you so long, Miss Anna?” she asked. “I was getting worried about you over there in that unpopulated place all alone.” Then she saw Gray. An appalled expression on her face, she darted back out of sight.

“That’s Lucy,” I said around a laugh. “And the furry monster in her arms is Tipsy. Luce, this is Grayson Edwards.”

“Hi, Ed,” Lucy called, and Gray rolled his eyes. “What a shame Anna can’t keep you, ’cause you look nice enough, the little I saw of you, tall, handsome, but you’ve seen me looking yucky, so you’ve got to go.”

Now it was my turn to roll my eyes. Lucy was an original, and she said anything that popped into her mind, often in one long run-on sentence. Gray looked a bit thunderstruck, though he was smiling.

“Go to bed, Lucy.” I gestured for Gray to follow me to the kitchen. “I’ll tell you and Tipsy all about it tomorrow.”

“Yeah, I guess I’d better before I embarrass you more.”

“What makes you think I’m embarrassed?”

“Hah! I know you, kiddo. Good night, Ed.” Her bedroom door clicked shut.

“Is she a teacher too?” Gray asked, his eyes dancing.

I nodded. “We all teach at Amhearst North Intermediate School. Lucy teaches English.”

“I bet her classes are a riot.”

“This is sixth to eighth grades we’re talking. All classes are a riot if you don’t watch out.”

“Didn’t you say there was a third one of you?” he asked.

Just then a snore echoed down the hall.

“That’s Meaghan. She has sinus issues. And when she falls asleep, nothing wakens her, except maybe her own snoring.”

“And what does she teach?”

“She’s the guidance counselor,” I explained as we unwrapped our fries and square hamburgers at the kitchen table. “Want a soda?”

He nodded and waited while I got two cans from the refrigerator and two glasses from the cupboard.

“Don’t dirty a glass. I’m fine with the can,” he said.

“This is an all-girl household.” I poured the sodas and handed Gray his drink. “We use glasses for company.”

“Waste of a clean glass.”

“I bet you usually drink your milk right out of the carton.”

“Unless my mother’s visiting. Then I put my manners back on so she thinks she did a good job raising me.” He took a swallow. “And I usually also say grace whether Mom’s around or not. Do you mind if I say it now for both of us?”

“Please do.” As I bowed my head, I glowed inside. Handsome, successful and Christian?

“So,” I said after his amen, “did your mom teach you to pray too?”

He nodded. “Janet Grayson Edwards is the queen of prayers. ‘There’s nothing too big or nothing too small to talk to the Lord about,’” he said in an obvious quote.

“Sounds about right to me,” I said.

Gray unwrapped his second burger. “Well, I can tell you, I don’t remember ever praying as hard as I prayed tonight when the shots started flying—”

“Shot,” I said automatically and wanted to shoot myself. I could hear my frustrated father saying, “Anna, you don’t have to correct every little thing.” I breathed more easily when Gray didn’t seem to notice.

“—at least not since I took my tests to be licensed as an architect.”

“The worst part was the look on Ken Ryder’s face.” I was suddenly no longer hungry.

Gray fiddled with a fry, swirling it around and around in a blob of catsup. “Not finding a pulse was pretty bad too.”

I made a sympathetic noise. “Was she a good friend of yours?”

“Not really. Business acquaintances, both of them, though I knew Dorothy better than Ken.” He set the fry down. “And I liked her. She was pleasant. Nice. Very good at what she did. Knew just what she wanted in the house. Only changed her mind every other day.”

A thought hit me, filling me with horror. “Do they have kids?”

Gray shook his head. “Thankfully, no. She’s all businesswoman. You got another soda?” He held up his empty glass.

When I walked him to the door a half hour later, he took my hand in his, sort of a shake but not quite. “You did great tonight, Anna,” he said. “It’s been a pleasure meeting you.”

Warmed by his compliment, I watched his truck back down the drive and disappear into the darkness.

Lord, they don’t come much hotter. What do You think? Better than Glenn? I rolled my eyes. Of course he is; almost everyone is. We both know that, right?

When I heard no celestial He’s yours, girl, I sighed, flicked out the lights, and headed for my bedroom. I wasn’t sure I wanted him or any man anyway. I still had too many bruises from before. I wasn’t even halfway down the hall before Lucy was right behind me, Tipsy prowling at her feet.

“Okay, Anna, give,” she demanded. “Where did you find him?”

“You’re supposed to be asleep,” I told her. I glanced at the cat weaving through her legs. “You, too, furball.”

“With a handsome, unknown dude like Ed in the house? No way. I want details.”

So I recounted my evening yet again, finishing, “I thought my heart would break for him. I can’t imagine what it would be like to have someone you loved murdered.”

For once Lucy was dumbstruck. She stared at me, emotions flitting across her face. Finally she said, “I can’t decide whether I’m more appalled at what you went through or more excited that Ed was there so you didn’t go through it alone.”

“Gray.” I pitched my one remaining sandal into the closet. I pulled my T-shirt over my head and tossed it at the hamper.

“Whatever. You know who I mean.” Lucy looked thoughtful. “I wonder what it’s like to be named after a color.”

I pulled on my sleep boxers and top and headed for the bathroom to brush my teeth. Lucy followed and said, “At least his mother’s maiden name wasn’t magenta or chartreuse. It’d be hard on a guy being named Chartreuse.”

I paused in the middle of brushing and just looked at my housemate.

“Well, it would.”

I mumbled through the foam, “I’m sure you’re right.”

Lucy’s face crumpled suddenly. “Oh, Anna, you could have been killed. Right this very moment Meg and I could be having broken hearts over losing you.” She threw her arms around me, foam and all.

“Easy, Luce. I’m fine.”

“I’m not.” She gave me a hard squeeze. “Lord, thank You for keeping her safe!”

I rinsed, turned, and gave Lucy a hug in return. One of the best things that happened to me four years ago when I began teaching at Amhearst North was that Lucy, a veteran of one year, took me under her wing.

“Don’t stand too near Mrs. Meanix, the English teacher, when she’s excited,” she’d told me the first day in the teachers’ lounge. “She spits, sort of like a llama. And watch out for old Mr. Simmons.” We both looked at the skinny old man who taught math and should have retired ten years ago. “He’s got roving hands.” When all I could do was sputter, Lucy nodded vehemently, her eyes dancing. “I kid you not. And whatever you do, don’t smile until after Thanksgiving.”

“What?”

“My father’s advice,” Lucy said. “He’s a teacher, too, though in New Jersey. ‘Remember you are not their friend, Lucy,’” she mimicked in a deep voice. “‘You are their teacher. Don’t smile till after Thanksgiving. Don’t send your discipline problems to the office. Take care of them yourself. And whatever you do, don’t take off one day every month like so many women.’”

Lucy turned big brown eyes to me. “I’m afraid to get sick except on weekends, but I don’t want to get sick then because I’ll miss all the singles’ stuff at church. So I have a policy never to get sick.” She grinned. “You have to come to church with Meg and me. You’ll love it.”

Lucy introduced me to Meg. The three of us clicked, and soon I found myself living with them, enjoying the third bedroom and as unwilling to get sick on weekends as Lucy and Meg. There wasn’t a day that went by that I didn’t thank the Lord for these special friendships.

But tonight I was more than ready for solitude and a good sleep. I knew Lucy would be happy to stay and talk until all hours, so I shooed her with a flick of my hand and a smile on my face. “I’ve got a lot to do tomorrow, girl, so good night.”

Lucy paused in my bedroom doorway. “Be sure you dream of Ed.”

Right. Last time I dreamed of a man, he left me. Boom. Gone. Pain. Still, there was something about Ed. Gray.

I eyed my bed and the black furry boneless creature filling half of it. “Luce, you forgot Tipsy.”

I put a hand under the cat and pushed. “Off, buddy.” Moving not an inch, he turned his great head and showed me his fangs. I pushed harder.

The cat smiled, I’m positive, as Lucy gathered all twenty pounds of him close.

Moments later, snuggled under the floral print Martha Stewart sheets and summer blanket from Kmart, I found I couldn’t sleep. Every creak of the house, every chug of the refrigerator’s motor, every snore that came from Meaghan’s room, every hum of the air-conditioning system going on or off made me go rigid.

He’s not here, my practical self assured me.

How do you know that? my irrational self countered.

He doesn’t know who you are or where to find you.

But he saw me. How spooky is that?

Very. Now go to sleep!

I wish.

The whole situation was preposterous. I was an art teacher, for goodness sakes, the original good girl. I painted on the side, and not even all that well if the truth be told, though I’d never admit it to my father. I sewed curtains and drapes for people for extra cash. I made fabric pictures—“fabric mosaics” Lucy called them—for the fun of it. I spent more time at church than I did at the mall. Any previous dealings with bad guys were absolutely nonexistent, any run-ins with law-enforcement authorities almost nonexistent. Almost.

Once I’d called in a child abuse report about one of my students. Once I’d gotten a ticket I couldn’t afford because of my penchant for being heavy-footed. Once when I’d glanced at my watch and seen I was going to be late for a date, I’d accidentally walked out of a store with a pair of gloves in my hand. I’d rushed right back in to pay for them, probably passing the store detective coming after me to arrest me.

I’d committed one of my two serious offenses when I was six years old. I lifted a chocolate bar at a Wawa mini-mart. When I climbed into the car eating it, Dad marched me right back to the store and made me apologize. He paid for the candy, then made me work off the price by helping him with his annual garage cleaning. He made certain the task took all day.

You’d think that between the mortification and the sore muscles over the chocolate-bar incident I’d have learned my lesson, but I guess I’m just slow. Once, as a teen, I kept too much change at Kmart, using the undeserved five dollars to buy a colorful scarf. I still had the scarf, but I had yet to wear it. I kept it to remind myself of the fine line between evil and good, guilt and grace. I’d returned the five dollars as soon as I’d gotten my next babysitting job.

That was about as close as I ever came to lawbreaking and lawbreakers, Skip Schumann excepted, if mouthiness and disrespect were breaking the law. Evil people, really bad guys, couldn’t usually be bothered with ordinary goody-goody people like me. They thought we weren’t any fun, and we sort of thought the same about them. We went our separate ways.

Until tonight.

I squeezed my eyes shut again and tried to get comfortable in my very comfortable bed. Lucy sneezed, Meaghan snored and I sat bolt upright, trying to see through the darkness. I told myself over and over that it was only Luce and Meg, but my nerves, busy jitterbugging up and down my spine, didn’t seem to grasp that truth.

Light. I needed light. If he came after me, I wanted to see him, rather than be taken unawares. I reached for my bedside lamp. As soon as I snapped it on, all the shadows dissipated, and all my fears quieted. Just seeing that everything was normal made all the difference. With a sigh that was a combination of relief and fatigue, I slid down and pulled up the covers. I was asleep in seconds.

I was up at eight the next morning, down at the police station by nine, and down in my basement workshop by ten. Lucy and Meg left to run errands, and I sewed. If I was lucky, I’d have almost everything done today. The rug should be down by then, assuming the cops were finished, and I could run to the model and work before the development became deserted. I was not staying there alone ever again.

Praise music rang from my boom box, and I sang along, almost drowning out the muted roar of the sewing machine. In a momentary pause of both the machine and the CD, a muffled, “Anna, open this door,” sounded.

What in the world?

“Anna!” A fist beat rhythmically on the front door.

The music started again and I lunged for the off switch.

“Anna, come on!” The doorbell rang and rang, and knocking continued unabated.

I hurried upstairs. It sounded like Gray, but why was he banging on my door in the middle of the day?

I caught sight of myself in the mirror in the front hall. Yikes! I quickly combed my hair with my fingers and stuffed it back in the red rubber band I found in my shorts’ pocket.

“Anna!”

“I’m coming! I’m coming!”

I threw the door open to find Gray, today wearing a black T-shirt and jeans, looking like an August thundercloud about to hurl lightning bolts at anyone within range. He had the day’s Amhearst News in his hands.

He stalked into the house. “Look at this!” He shoved the paper at her.

Staring at me from the front page above the fold was a picture of Ken Ryder, looking stricken. Standing beside him, hand on his shoulder, was Gray, and standing beside Gray, looking heartbroken, was me.

“Ken Ryder, husband of victim Dorothy Ryder, being comforted by friends Grayson Edwards and Anna Volente,” read the caption beneath.

“I didn’t even know the picture had been taken,” I said. “That reporter must have done it.”

Next to the picture were my head sketches of the red-shirted man. Beneath his picture were the words: “Do you know this man? Wanted for questioning in the murder of Dorothy Ryder.”

I put my forefinger on the face of the red-shirted man. “The drawings reproduced well.”

“That’s not the only likeness that reproduced well,” Gray muttered. He dragged a hand through his hair.

I stared at him. “What?”

He pointed to my face, then to the caption beneath.

I went cold all over. “He knows who we are.”