Haunting Refrain (28 page)

John, gathering mutilated photographs from the dining room floor, listened as she described the contents of the box. He dumped the scraps on the table and wiped a smudge of black powder off one of the pictures, frowning. “You don’t get anything from this stuff?”

“I wish I could see him,” she said, working her way toward the kitchen. “The pictures I get don’t happen all the time. And when they do, it’s usually just a quick flash. And I can never find my own things. I loose coffee cups and keys all the time. This is so different. I’ve never had anything like the intense visions that came with the sweatband. And I hope I never do again.”

John followed her into the kitchen, dropping his collection of trash in the waste can. “Why don’t you pack some things, and then we can get something to eat. We can clean up tomorrow and see about fixing that window.”

“Good idea.” His casual use of
we
warmed her. “Suddenly I’m ravenous. Would you like to go to the
Black Forest
? I’d like to see Helmut, in case his neighbors have told him I was checking on him. I want to apologize. This spy business isn’t for me. I feel horribly guilty about it.”

“Don’t. But I’d like to see Helmut, too. See how he reacts to you. Having his wife run off with someone gives him more reason to dislike women, not less. And if he was already disturbed, that could have been the blow that sunk the soufflé, so to speak.” He grinned, ruffling her hair, and pushed her out of the kitchen.

“Is this a professional hazard?
Bad metaphors?”

“Okay, okay.” He laughed,
then
sobered as they neared the stairway. “Why don’t you let me get your clothes? Just tell me what you want, and you can wait down here.”

“No. I can do it.” She didn’t want to face her ravaged room, but neither was she ready for John to be picking out her underwear. Anyway, she needed to see what was salvageable. Grabbing her gym bag, still sitting beside the door where she had left it when she came home, she gave John a parody of a smile and marched up the steps.

Except for the bed, the actual damage wasn’t as bad as she had thought. A few blouses and some slacks lay on the floor in front of the closet, as if he had grabbed at them in passing. Mostly, things were thrown around the room. Some of her underwear had been torn apart, but most of it had just been raked out of the drawers. She quickly stuffed a bra and some panties into the satchel. As she picked up a scrap of peachy lace, a queasy wave hit her stomach. Her throat tightened. A clenched fist gripped the panties, while a knife, held tightly in the other hand, slashed at them. Eerily familiar hands reached for her neck as rage swept over her like a hot wind. She staggered back, clutching her throat.

“Kate!” John grabbed her, folding her in his arms, stroking her back as she pressed her face to his chest. “What did you see?”

She pushed herself away and straightened. Still a little shaky, she cleared her throat and then, husky-voiced, said, “I’m okay. It was just his hands, and the violence of his anger. He wanted to strangle me, even though he was holding the knife. I still can’t see his face.”

“But you could see his hands? Describe them.”

“Big. He was wearing thin gloves, the kind doctors wear. The knife was in his right hand.” She shivered, pressing a hand to her stomach.

“How about a ring?
A watch?”

She shook her head.

“Picture the hands.
Any hair showing above the gloves?”

“Dark sleeves down to the gloves.
Nothing else.”

“So we know for sure there won’t be any prints.”

“I don’t think so.” She realized that he accepted her vision.
Amazing.
Amazing how gratifying it was for him to believe her.

“Come on, Sherlock. We need to eat. Get your clothes and let’s go. Don’t force me to look in your refrigerator again.”

“After we eat, I want to check on
Venice
. She must be home by now.” She took a pair of khakis from a hanger and a blue chambray shirt from the floor. Pausing, she surveyed the closet with its drunken spill of clothes. A silky buttermilk shirt slithered to the floor. She snatched it up and slung it over her arm, nodding to John. “Let’s go. I dread seeing Helmut, but it’s something I have to do. This day can’t get any worse.”

They dropped Kate’s car and bag at John’s and returned to the Mustang. He cleared a stack of papers off the front seat and then drew her into his arms. “God, I’m glad you were with me last night.”

* * *

Damn her eyes! Did Kate think she could hide from him? He had to get her; she kept edging closer to him. He knew it, could sense it. He had to find out where she was staying.

And
Venice
was still alive. How? How could she possibly have survived that blow? He had hit her hard, squarely on the head. She had just crumpled and collapsed, with not so much as a whimper. At least she hadn’t seen him—he was sure of that. Maybe he’d get lucky, and she would lose her psychic ability.
So much for
Venice
.

It was Kate he had to get rid of, but how? He took the Browning automatic out of his drawer and carefully laid it on the table, placing the magazine beside it.
Fourteen shots.
He wasn’t all that good with a gun, had bought it only for protection, but if he were close enough, it would do the job. He would have fourteen chances. Anyone could do it with that.

He hated having to resort to a gun. He hated Kate, and he wanted it to be more personal. It
was
personal, especially now, when she had tricked him. She should have been home. It was her fault he’d lost his temper. She should have been home.

He could feel things closing in on him. This time he had to get it right. Maybe he’d contact his new friend, create a little diversion.

* * *

Customers occupied two of the tables in the
Black Forest
. A woman in khakis and a plaid shirt stood beside one, holding a small pad and a pen. She looked up when John and Kate entered. “Have a seat. I’ll be with you in a minute.”

They took the table farthest from the other diners. “He must have found a waitress,” Kate said.
“Even though she doesn’t look like one.”

The woman, tanned and athletic-looking, came to their table and gave them an easy smile. “Hi. I’m
Nan
. Been here before?”

Kate nodded, finding herself smiling in return.

“The menu hasn’t changed.” The woman nodded toward the blackboard. “What’ll you have?”

After they ordered, Kate said, “Would you tell Mr. Kusch that Kate McGuire’s here? I’d like to see him if he has a minute.”

“Thought you might be.
He’s not very happy with you, but I’ll see what I can do.” She tucked a sun-streaked hank of hair behind her ear and crossed to the swinging doors in long, easy strides.

John watched her go. “She must know him pretty well. She seemed to know all about you.”

Nan
returned with tall glasses of iced tea and a small bowl of sliced lemon and mint. She winked at Kate. “I’m working on it.”

By the time
Nan
brought their food, Kate’s appetite had waned. She looked up at the woman and nodded toward the kitchen. “Is he very angry?”

“Don’t worry. He’ll be fine by the time he gets out here, and he’s all bark anyway.”

Kate cut her schnitzel into small pieces and stirred them around on her plate. “I can’t eat,” she announced, slapping her napkin on the table. “I’ll go to the mountain.”

“Sit down, Kate. You can’t go back there. This man may be a murderer, and if so, you’re high on his list.”

“I don’t believe
it’s
Helmut. He’s surly, not psychotic.”

The kitchen doors swung wide and Helmut appeared, filling the space. He marched quickly across to them and stood over Kate, red-faced. Wiping his hands on his apron, he said, “So. You are not such a friend after all, eh, Kate? Why do you snoop around my house?”

“Oh, Helmut, I’m sorry. It’s these awful murders—I had to find out what happened to Gisela.”

“Murders?
You think I had something to do with that?” He rocked back on his heels, dropping the apron. “You think I killed Gisela?” The big man sank into a chair, stunned.

“No, she doesn’t,” John said, rising to his feet to deal with this mountain of a man. “I’m the one who wanted you checked out because of the connection with Charlene Nelson, and I figured you could easily have known Kelly Landrum, so many students come here.”

“I cannot believe it. Charlene worked here only for two months. She was a good girl, very hard-working. I would never hurt her.”

Kate laid her hand over his. “I’m sure you wouldn’t. But I couldn’t just depend on my feelings.”

He carefully lifted her hand off his and stood. “Eat your dinner, Kate. We will not speak of this again.” There was
a certain
finality to the way he returned to the kitchen.

“I’ve lost him. He’ll never forgive me.” Kate was miserable.

“He’ll come around. Give him time,” John said.

“No, I don’t think he will.”

Nan
came out of the kitchen, her friendly smile replaced by a disapproving glare. “Helmut said
dinner’s
on the house, but you shouldn’t come back. You really hurt him. I thought you were nosy. I didn’t know you thought he was murderer.”

“I don’t,” Kate cried. “I just had to be sure.”

“You’re wrong about him. He’s a nice guy who was married to a flighty bitch, that’s all. He’s told me all about it.”

* * *

A dark-haired woman in blue jeans answered
Venice
’s door and ushered Kate and John into the living room, where
Venice
lay on the divan, propped on pillows. Martin rose from a chair close beside her. The woman returned to the far corner of the room and picked up a book, leaving them to talk.

Kate kissed
Venice
, gently squeezing her hands. “I’m so glad you’re home. How are you feeling?”

“Much better, my dear.
Much better indeed.”
She turned to Martin, smiling. “Shall we tell them?”

“Yes,” he said, taking her hand. “
Venice
and I are going to be married as soon as she’s able.”

John shook his hand and turned to
Venice
, planting a big kiss on her lips. “Terrific. I’m happy for you both.”

“Wow! This is a surprise,” Kate said, hugging Martin. “Has this been a long time in the making, and I was just too dense to see it?”

“Too long.
I’ve been after her for years, but it took this little incident to make her see how precious time is,” Martin said. “Now we just have to keep you two safe until it’s over.”

“That reminds me,”
Venice
said, and took a small velvet pouch from the coffee table. “Kate, Ramses wants you to have this. He said to keep it with you.”

“He did, did he?” Loosening the string tie, Kate slid a small crystal sphere about the size of a golf ball out of the blue bag. She held it up to the light. A small formation near the center suggested an eye. “It’s lovely,
Venice
. Thank you.
And Ramses, of course.”

“Just keep it with you. Ramses thinks it will be important.”

They talked a few minutes more, but Kate, not wanting to spoil their happy evening, didn’t mention the break-in at her house or her run-in with Helmut. After a short time,
Venice
’s eyelids drooped and she yawned behind her hand.