Chosen for Death (33 page)

"At first," she said, "there was just two of them. A big dark guy. Handsome and mean looking. He drove one of those Bronco-things. Red. And this other guy, a young boy. Too young for her, I mean. Sometimes he'd come with the guy in the jeep, and sometimes by himself. He—the kid, I mean—had a real nervous way of acting. Always looking over his shoulder. Jumpy. Like he knew he shouldn't be here, which he shouldn't have. But I knew him, so I told his mother, and then he stopped coming. Then it was just the big guy. I didn't like him. He used to do rude things...""Hold on," I said. "You knew who the young kid was?" She nodded. "Who was he, then? Did you give his name to the police?"

"Of course not," she said. "I told his mother. She wouldn't want her son mixed up in something like this. A sex crime."

"What's his name?"

Her smile was sly. "I ain't telling you," she said.

"Yes, you are," I said. "Either to me or to the police. Your choice. And I can tell you that the police aren't going to be too pleased that you withheld information about a murder." I headed for the phone. "I can call them right now."

She clawed the air, summoning me back. "Don't do that. I don't want the police coming around here. I don't like 'em. Not that I like you, either. It was Kevin. Mrs. Harrington's boy." She sank back on the sofa, sulking. I'd met Kevin. And I knew who the big dark guy was. That left the third.

"What about the third guy?" I said. "Did you know him?"

She shook her head. "Nope. Never saw him before."

She wasn't volunteering anything now. She was too angry at what she'd already been forced to disclose. She sat there glaring at me, daring me to ask her any more questions. Any information I got I was going to have to work for. Which was OK. I had plenty of experience with reluctant people, admissions directors and other staff members who viewed our presence as a threat to their jobs and their competence. Naturally they weren't forthcoming. I enjoyed the challenge. "Describe him for me," I said.

"I didn't see him very well," she said quickly. "I don't remember."

"Of course you do, Mrs. Bolduc," I said. "Take a few minutes and search your memory and I'm sure it will come to you. I can tell, from the way this apartment is decorated, and from the speed with which you picked out the things which don't belong here, that you have a very good eye for detail. Maybe it would help if I asked you some questions."

She tried glaring at me again, forgetting that I was glare-proof. Her glare was becoming chronic. It was an odd personality trait, this refusal to cooperate just for the sake of not cooperating. Lorna had it, too. Maybe it was something in the water. It must have been a lifelong habit, too. The scowl lines were etched deep in her face. Ignoring the message she was trying to send, I began the game of twenty questions. "Was he tall?"

She nodded. "About as tall as you, maybe taller," she said.

"Light hair or dark?"

"Light."

"Curly or straight?"

"Sort of curly." Each response was minimal. Nothing volunteered, the words spat out through tight lips. I'd never wanted to hit someone before, at least not since Michael and I stopped using physical force to resolve our differences, but I was having a hard time restraining myself now.

"How old?"

"I can't say. Young. Her age. He always kept his face down. I never saw him clearly. She must of told him I was watchin'. And why shouldn't I? I gotta know what my tenants are doin'. My property, ain't it? That's all I can tell you," she snapped. "I've gotta go. Finish up and get out of here. I don't want you around. No more of you disgusting young girls, goin' around acting all holier than thou all day and screwin' your brains out all night. Don't think I don't hear things." She stood up and marched purposefully toward the door.

I could picture her, yellow face pursed, her ear pressed to the wall of Carrie's bedroom. It was pathetic. "One more question," I said. "How did he get here? Did he have a car?"

"I never saw one," she said. "They came in her car."

"Did he spend the night?"

"No. He'd stay late, but not all night. Not that I noticed anyway. No. They'd just come in and do their dirty business. Then they'd both come out together, and she'd drive him somewhere and come back alone. That's all I can tell you," she said, and was out the door before I could ask anything more.

It wasn't much, but it was more than I had before. Maybe Lorna would know who this guy was, if I could find Lorna. If she'd talk to me once I found her. Otherwise, all I knew was that Carrie had had a young blond boyfriend. And I had no more time to spend tracking him down, even if I knew how. I had to get back to the business of running a business. The best I could do was pass the information along to Andre and let him carry on the detective work. He'd have a good time with Mrs. Bolduc. I didn't imagine he'd have a lot of patience with her rude remarks about our disgusting physical relationship. I was disappointed that I'd failed Carrie, but that was just the way it was. I couldn't think of anything else to do. Today, driven by emotion, I'd been changing my mind like a traffic light. It was time to get back to work, back to discipline and routine. In the struggle between good and evil, I'd lost, and I didn't like it one bit.

I got another box and vented my frustration by throwing her books into it. I piled trash novels, feminist tracts, Jane Austen and Thoreau—why is it all college students read Thoreau?—haphazardly into the box. In went the complete set of Poe, a gift requested during her most morose period of adolescence. Two coffee-table cookbooks. A Reader's Digest condensed book, which seemed an odd choice for Carrie. As I tossed it in, it fell open, spilling a wad of papers into the box. It was a fake, a hollow book in which Carrie had stored some papers. Papers the murderer hadn't found after all. I gathered them into a pile and dumped them on the floor. With trembling hands, I picked up the top sheet and began to read.

Chapter 26

I sat cross-legged on the floor reading Carrie's diary, my schedule forgotten, certain that here, finally, she would give me the information I needed. The first entry was from mid-July, meticulously dated and recorded in her small, neat handwriting.

July 17th. Hello, new diary. I'm starting you today and I've got a great hiding place—inside this dumb hollow book I found yesterday at the bookstore. Why am I hiding you? Because that pointy-nosed snoop of a landlady comes in and prowls around, looking through my things when I'm at work. It's bad enough being spied on. I won't have her reading this as well. So, the hiding place. She won't find it. She is allergic to books. Bet she hasn't read one in years.

My feet hurt! Glad I don't plan to make waitressing my life's work. But sometimes good things happen, like today. Today a real neat guy came into the restaurant looking for a job. They didn't have anything for him, and he looked depressed, so I gave him a Coke when Mr. Hoggins wasn't looking, and told him I'd heard they were looking for a busboy at the Homeport. He left to check that out, but he was waiting outside when I finished my shift, and asked if he could see me sometime. He looked sort of young, so I asked him how old he was. He said he bet he was the same age as me, and asked how old I was. I said 21. He said so he was right, we were the same age. We went walking by the harbor and had ice cream. We both like black raspberry. If Charlie knew about this, he'd kill both of us.

July 21. Today, my day off, I met my new guy again. I'm not even going to write his name here, just in case Mrs. B does find this. She loves to cause trouble for people, like she did with poor Kevin. My guy says his parents wouldn't like it if they found out he was seeing me. They like to choose the girls he goes out with, girls who are the same religion. Parents sure can be a bore. Even parents that choose you, like mine.

Tonight Charlie wants to take me someplace nice for dinner. I have a sexy new black slip dress that will drive him wild. He likes it when I look sexy and innocent at the same time. He's been like that ever since I really was innocent. In a way, if it weren't for him, I'd still be innocent. Him and a few other guys. Sometimes I wonder why I bother with men. They aren't very nice. Maybe this new guy will turn out to be nicer.

Charlie's changed a lot since he came out of prison. Sometimes I think he really loves me and this relationship might go somewhere. Then he knocks me around or ignores me or treats me like shit to impress his friends and I know deep down he's the same old Chuck. So why can't I stay away from him? I called Thea for advice but she didn't call me back. I guess she's fed up with me unless maybe she's still mad at me because I wouldn't agree to give up searching for my real mother. She never meant any of that anyway. She was just being the good daughter. Sometimes I wonder how someone as smart as Thea can be so dumb about the family. They say jump and she says how high and doesn't even realize she's doing it. I feel sorry for her, though. She's so sad. Makes me wonder if it's worth it to fall in love.

It was hard to keep reading. Carrie's diary was so much like her, written the way she talked. I had the eerie sense that she was here, telling me this. That I wasn't reading at all, she was right here, and I was listening to her. But I had to face facts. I was only reading Carrie's words; she'd never again be here to talk to me. Maybe that premonition I'd had this morning that something was about to happen had been about finding this diary.

I unfolded my stiff legs, got a box of tissues, and went back to the diary, skipping the next few entries, which were full of details about life at the restaurant. She and Lorna might have been friends, but she didn't have a very high opinion of Lorna's character. It seemed that Lorna had her priorities very clear—herself first, last, and always. And Lorna also had her eye on Charlie, though he didn't seem to be looking back. There was a casual reference to Kevin. Carrie felt sorry for him, amazed to find someone even more lost than she was. Kevin's parents, by treating him like a helpless baby, had made him unable to think for himself. Embarrassed by this, Kevin solved his problems by taking drugs.

I didn't see Kevin as a killer. Like Carrie, I found him too helpless. I scanned the entries for references to Charlie and the third guy. A few days later they both popped up again.

July 24. The shit hit the fan today all right. Mr. Hoggins put his hand up my skirt while I was putting ice in some glasses, and Mrs. Hoggins saw him do it. She took one of the glasses of ice, poured it down inside his pants, and said maybe that would cool him off. I thought she was going to fire me, but she didn't. She just told Lorna to take over my tables and told me to take the rest of the day off. I must have looked worried, because she said I wouldn't be fired, she just needed some time to straighten Mr. Hoggins out. I would love to have stuck around to see what happened, but I want to keep the job, so I grabbed my purse and left. Hated to lose those tips to Lorna. I'd got my lunch crowd eating out of my hand. Literally.

Over by the library I met my friend coming out with a stack of books. He is taking some summer courses, but he said it was too hot to study and suggested we go swimming. We walked home to get my car and drove
out to Megunticook Lake. It was the first time I'd seen his body. He's not a hunk exactly, he's a little too thin and lanky, but he's so young and perfect it almost makes me cry. He swam like a pro. I loved watching him. Afterward we came back here and made love. I told him to hide his face so Mrs. B. wouldn't see it. He won't tell me who his family is, just that they are prominent and wouldn't want us dating.

It was the first time for him. He didn't say so, but I could tell. I found it very sweet. I tried to make it nice for him, but I didn't have to worry. Men are born to screw. Lying there, after, we looked just like twins, with our flushed faces and wet blond curls. I asked him when his birthday was. He said November. So he wasn't 21 yet, only 20. But at least he isn't my brother, even if we do have the same weird longer second toe and love the same music. I worry about stuff like that sometimes. When you don't know who you are, you don't know who your relatives are, either.

I had to meet Charlie later, so I offered him a ride home, but he would only let me drive him down to Rockport, where he said he was meeting his father. What a pair we are! My identity is a secret, and he wants his to be. We're the mystery twins!

July 26. Mom and Dad are coming to see me. I just hope I can get through it without a fight but it won't be easy. She doesn't even know that she treats me like a slightly inferior moron and always has. It's as though, despite all that "chosen" bullshit, she somehow got an inferior product and can't help showing it. Dad doesn't see it, either. She has him so cowed.