Beneath a Buried House (Detective Elliot Mystery Book 2) (31 page)

On the other end of the spectrum, another unsettling notion lay in the facts, and though this didn’t feel right, unlike his gut instincts, the possibility supported logic. He’d felt the presence of someone other than Justin Stone in the woods and in the valley by the old houses that night. And the only other person he’d actually seen, one who’d seemed to appear from nowhere, was Donegal’s own chief of police, Jed Washington.

At the apex of Elliot’s confusion, he heard something other than the noise of traffic, a familiar voice, one which he surely did not expect, and he wondered briefly if he truly had taken the first steps down the path to insanity, though when he turned toward the voice, she was there and as real as ever. She wore a gray wool coat with a red scarf thrown around her neck, the color of the accoutrement complementing quite seductively the pink of her cheeks. It was Cyndi Bannister.

Elliot stood, and while no thoughts came to mind that he could verbalize, he suspected his expression told her how he felt, because she came to him, falling against him and laying her head on his chest. Tears came to Elliot’s eyes as he drew her near and kissed the top of her head, for she looked not at him but at the ground, and when she did give in and allow herself to face Elliot, he saw that she, too, was crying.

“I’m sorry, Kenny.”

Elliot shook his head. “When you didn’t show up at Polo’s, I thought you’d changed your mind. And I thought you wouldn’t want to see me again.”

“No, it’s nothing like that. It’s just . . . Well, I knew what you meant when you said you had something important to talk about. Because I’d been thinking about it, too. I was scared, didn’t trust my feelings, wasn’t sure of what I might say or do. So I left for a few days to think things over. It was wrong of me. I shouldn’t have put you through that.”

“Do you trust your feelings now?”

Cyndi looked away for a moment, staring across the barren plants that would bloom into lush azaleas in the spring. When she turned back, she said, “I’ve never met anyone quite like you, Kenny. I’m still not sure what that really means, but I’m willing to take it one step at a time, if you are.”

“Absolutely.”

The word came out of Elliot’s mouth without hesitation, almost without thought, an involuntary reaction of speech, though his feelings for Cyndi were anything but involuntary.

“Good,” Cyndi said. A smile brightened her face. “I talked to my parents. They want to meet you.”

Elliot thought about that for a moment. In a few seconds, he’d gone from one step at a time to meeting the parents. Then again, nobody ever said that expression came with a speed limit. “Sure,” he said. “I’d like that.”

She pulled away and straightened her coat. “Come on, let’s go.”

“Right now?”

A curious look crossed her face. “Why not?”

“Do they know we’re coming?”

She shrugged.

The air lacked movement, but that did little to dull the edge of the cold. Elliot pulled his coat together and buttoned it. “All right.”

With that, Cyndi turned and started up the hill, toward her car.

Elliot followed. About halfway to the parking lot, he asked, “How did you know I’d be here, at the park I mean?”

Cyndi shook her head. “I was about to ask you the same question.”

They walked in silence, and when they reached the parking lot, Cyndi pulled her keys from her coat pocket and unlocked her car.

“I’ve been thinking,” Elliot said, “about my occupation, whether or not I should give it up, you know try something else.”

Cyndi said nothing, but Elliot saw a glimmer of hope in her eyes.

 “You know how I feel about it,” she said, breaking the silence. “But I won’t ask you to do that. I love you, Kenny. Cop or not, that’ll never change.”

“Did you just tell me that you loved me?”

Cyndi hesitated, as if to ponder the thought herself. She took the lapels of Elliot’s coat and pulled him toward her, her face seeming to reflect a profound epiphany. “I’ve never said that to a man before.”

Elliot searched her eyes for sincerity. He found it difficult to believe that someone as attractive and seductive as Cyndi would never have cause to utter such words, even if only in the heat of passion. “I’m flattered, perhaps even amazed.”

“That’s what I like about you, Kenny. You’re so honest. It’s almost scary sometimes.”

“I’ve never thought of honesty as being frightening.”

“You wouldn’t, would you? You’re a most unusual man. But you belong to me now, and that’s forever.”

Elliot could resist no longer. He pulled her close and brought his lips to hers, lingering in the pleasure. Afterward he said, “I love you, too. And that’s forever.”

Chapter Thirty-Eight

The Bannisters lived near 3rd and Lewis, close to the university where Doctor Bannister had worked. The red brick cottage, an eighty-year-old bungalow preserved by hard work and diligent maintenance, looked in good enough shape to have been constructed yesterday. The driveway, which consisted of parallel strips of concrete separated by grass, ran beside the house, ending at a one-car garage, also immaculately maintained. The nice but modest home of a college professor.

Having rung the bell and been invited in by her parents, Cyndi and Elliot now stood inside while Mr. and Mrs. Bannister hovered close by, staring at Elliot, sizing him up. He felt like a teenager that’d brought his date home past curfew. The Bannisters seemed kind and gracious, though Elliot detected a hint of sadness behind their smiles, as if they privately lamented the loss of a loved one. He wondered if they’d had other children.

Seeming to sense his discomfort, Cyndi placed her hand on his shoulder. “Mom, Dad, this is Kenny, the guy I’ve been telling you about.”

Doctor Bannister, a lean man with graying hair, stepped forward and shook Elliot’s hand. His dark eyes shone as he introduced himself, telling Elliot in a not-so-convincing tone to call him George.

Elliot wondered if the one-car garage at the end of the drive housed an old British sports car, the kind associated with college professors. “Nice to meet you,” he said.

Then, like members of a bluegrass band taking turns at the microphone, Doctor Bannister stepped aside and back, allowing the missus to come forward and take her turn in the spotlight. Elliot wondered if she might display her hand for a kiss, but instead she extended it, taking only his fingers, squeezing them gently. “Why, you’re a fine-looking man, Mr. Elliot. I’m Evelyn.”

She sounded Scottish, her accent, perhaps due to years of American influence, having faded to the point of being only slightly detectable. “Come sit with us.”

Still holding Elliot’s hand, she spun around and led him into the living room.

Elliot glanced back to see Cyndi, covering her mouth to stifle a giggle.

In the room where they sat, two couches faced each other in front of a fireplace, and a Navaho-pattern rug with red overtones covered part of the hardwood floor. Evelyn Bannister seated Elliot on the west end of the first couch with his back to the front door, while, to his surprise, Cyndi sat across from him with her mother, a wiry little woman who’d kept her figure through the years. She reminded Elliot of a retired athlete, perhaps spending years on the ice with a pair of skates.

The dining room table, its chairs and the china cabinet, which Elliot could see from his position, consisted of polished maple, as did the arms of the couches and the coffee table between them. On the coffee table, which separated the couches, a tray of cookies sat beside an English teapot with matching cups. Evelyn Bannister filled one of the cups and offered it to Elliot. “Thanks,” he said. He glanced at the cream and sugar but decided against it, afraid that he might become clumsy and break the fancy dishes.

The room grew quiet. For a moment, the soft tinkle of spoon against china filled the void, but afterward Elliot heard the gentle
thunk
,
thunk
of a clock sitting on the fireplace mantle. When he bit into a cookie he’d taken from the tray, a crunching sound echoed through his head. Finally, Mrs. Bannister asked, “Are you from Tulsa, Mr. Elliot?”

“No. I grew up in Porter, about thirty miles east of here.”

Mrs. Bannister smiled. “We go there every year. George always gets overheated, the festival being in July, you know, but the peaches are worth it. Cyndi could take it or leave it, but I believe George would climb to the moon for a piece of my peach cobbler.”

“I would at that. And on to Mars, if the truth be known.”

Evelyn Bannister raised her shoulders and smiled over her teacup. “True love is forever, wouldn’t you say, Mr. Elliot?”

Elliot rested his cup and saucer on his knee for support, hoping the action would keep the cup from rattling. For reasons he didn’t understand, Mrs. Bannister’s loaded question, probably intended to let him know he’d better not hurt Cyndi’s feelings, caused him to think instead of Carmen Garcia, his high school sweetheart. His leg jiggled the teacup, and he planted his heels on the floor. “Yes, ma’am.”

As silence returned, Doctor Bannister set his cup on the table and stood. “If you don’t mind, Mr. Elliot, I’ve something I want to show you.”

Elliot gladly rose and followed Doctor Bannister out of the room. When they reached a doorway at the end of a hall, his short-lived relief faded. Like a kid peering across the threshold of the principal’s office, he realized the preliminary was over, and the inquisition was at hand. With a slight gesture of his head, George Bannister offered Elliot the privilege of entering first.

Books lined the walls inside the office, neatly arranged on shelves that towered from floor to ceiling. In the center of the room sat a two-sided desk made of mahogany.

Doctor Bannister strolled into the room. Elliot halfway expected him to open a closet and slip into a brown tweed jacket. He didn’t have to conceptualize the pipe. As soon as Bannister sat at the desk, he pulled one from a drawer, packed it with tobacco, then struck a match, hovering the flame over the bowl until it lit. Afterward, he threw the match into an ashtray and motioned for Elliot to join him.

Elliot sat in the chair on the other side of the desk.

Bannister blew smoke into the air. “Cyndi was barely sixteen the last time she brought a young man home for our approval. I take that to mean she’s rather serious about you.” He paused to draw on the pipe. Seconds later, he added, “The question is, how do you feel about her?”

Elliot considered his answer. A few hours ago, he’d thought Cyndi was out of his life. Now he was sitting in her dad’s office, hearing what sounded like a premarital speech. He wasn’t sure if his hesitancy sprang from confusion over his feelings or fear that they might again be ripped from his heart if he acknowledged their existence. “I’m in love with her, Doctor Bannister.”

Bannister continued to smoke, looking past Elliot at something beyond the window. When he returned his attention to Elliot, he held the pipe in his teeth and spoke around the stem. “I’m inclined to believe you. But there’s something you need to know. Cyndi is the best thing ever to happen to Evelyn and me. We love her dearly.”

“I understand. And you have my word that I will always respect her and treat her well.”

He smiled. “I’m glad to hear that. She’s a spirited woman. Quite a handful in the beginning, surprise around every corner, pleasant ones for the most part. And of all the rooms in the house, she fancied this one. Always in here. Always reading. I didn’t mind. Nothing was ever bothered or left out of place. She’s quite intelligent, you know.”

Elliot looked around the office, trying to imagine a young Cyndi and what books she might have chosen. “It’s one of the things I find attractive about her.”

“Indeed. But I wonder if you know the extent of it.”

Doctor Bannister opened the top drawer on his side of the desk and pulled something from it. Reaching across, he handed Elliot a silver frame, which held a photograph of a child sitting in the same chair he now sat in. The shot had been well taken, clearly showing the face of a little girl, her eyes cast studiously onto the pages of an American history book. “This must be Cyndi?”

“One of the few childhood shots I have of her. Having her picture taken terrified her, she screamed at the site of a camera.” He shook his head. “But she outgrew it.” He glanced toward the doorway. “She never knew about this one. I still put it away when I know she’s coming. Silly of me, isn’t it? And beside the point anyway. Look at what she’s reading. That’s what I wanted to show you.”

Elliot glanced at the photo, but he’d already noticed. “Not exactly Doctor Seuss, is it?”

Bannister relit the pipe. “She never cared for children’s books. Of course I wondered about it, but she seemed happy. I never gave it much thought until she came to the breakfast table one morning, when she was ten years old, and struck up a conversation with me concerning the life and times of Thomas Jefferson.”

Still holding the smoldering match, Bannister continued, “I could’ve been talking with a graduate student.”

Elliot studied the photo, noticing the undeniable features of the child’s face. It was Cyndi all right. He handed the photo back.

Bannister stashed it away. “Evelyn thought we should have her evaluated. At ten years of age, she tested out with an IQ of 130. She’s a genius, Mr. Elliot. She tries to hide that from others. I don’t know why. But when she decides to know you, she’ll know you to the core.”

Elliot wasn’t sure what to say, so he remained silent. He’d known Cyndi was special, but according to Doctor Bannister it went much further than that. It was something to think about. Would he be able to keep her entertained, not being on her level? He decided it didn’t matter.

“You’ve done quite well for yourself, Mr. Elliot. Cyndi’s a rare and beautiful person. Keep her happy, and you keep me happy.”

“You have my word,” Elliot said. “I work long hours as a detective. Cyndi and I have talked about it. She says she understands, and is willing to cope with it, if it’s what I want. It is important to me, more than just a profession, but Cyndi comes first.”

Doctor Bannister stood. “Just remember what I said.”