Home for a Spell (11 page)

It’s for the better
, I told myself.
Marcus needs this
.
When he has his degree in hand, he’ll thank me for not letting him postpone going back
.
This is the perfect solution.
I kept repeating those things to myself as we silently drove the five blocks separating Marcus’s bungalow from the apartment complex, each of us caught up in our own preoccupied thoughts. Or maybe we were just tired.

September mornings can be a beautiful thing in Indiana. The long, hot, dog days of summer were for the most part behind us, and the occasional rainstorms were returning our grass to a lovely green hue. A welcome respite from the desiccated desert of August, even though we all knew it would be brief. Just a matter of time before the nights, and even the days, turned cool, nipping at the trees and dressing them in glorious fall color. But today, the sun was filtering through green, green leaves with that special soft quality only seen in the early morning hours, and the world around us was preparing for the coming day with the usual sounds of television, garage-door openers, lawn mowers, barking dogs, and aging school buses rattling down the streets. Since we would be stopping before going to the store, I had decided that Minnie would be better off staying at Marcus’s for the day—alone, but with her steady supply of friends, the birds, fluttering outside of her favorite window for company, she would be fine.

Marcus pulled his truck into the parking lot I indicated, the same that Lou had parked in just the day before. He looked over at me and smiled. It was encouraging, but I wasn’t feeling it. “Ready?”

I didn’t say anything. I couldn’t. Instead I got down out of the truck, hopping in place on one foot to keep my balance as I reached for my wayward crutches.

“Here, I got ’em.” Marcus to the rescue. I was going to miss that.

The sign in the window of the apartment complex office still said “Closed,” but the door was standing ajar and appeared to have been propped open. Obviously Locke was waiting for me to arrive and just wanted me to know it was okay to come on in. Girding my loins, I made my way up the sidewalk, my purse bumping clumsily between my side and one crutch with each step. Marcus had offered to carry it for me, but I had refused his offer gently. I needed to know I could do this. I needed to know I could take care of myself. And I needed for Marcus to know it, too, so he wouldn’t worry about me overmuch.

Marcus got to the door before me and quickly sidestepped around me to hold it wide so that I could pass through freely. There had been nothing propping the door open, just the stopper on the hydraulic door hinges that could be set to hold the door for you if you needed to go through with your hands full. The lights in the office were off.

I poked my head in the door. “Mr. Locke?” I called out. “Hello?”

The office, or at least the part of it that I could see, was empty.

Of people.

The mess that met my surprised gaze completely made up for that. My mouth fell open, taking it all in.

“Hooooollllllyyyyy coooowww,” I whispered, drawing out the words.

Marcus came up behind me and stopped short, too. He let out a long, low whistle.

Someone had done a number on the office. Files had been emptied and scattered over the floor, along with shards of ceramic from broken coffee mugs, and glass, too; drawers had been rifled, and chairs had been overturned and flung about. Worse were the pieces of what appeared to be electronic components, circuit boards, and wires, crunched and battered underfoot.

Marcus swore softly under his breath. “The computer rebuild.”

He was right. The computer Uncle Lou had just delivered yesterday was the unfortunate source of the electronic doodads and thingamabobs littering the area around the desk. Not to mention the metal casing, which had been beaten into a crunched and dented shadow of its former self.

“Wow,” I murmured. “Wow, wow, wow. Who could have done this? Burglars?”

“Why would they destroy one of the only things of value here to be taken, if that were true?”

Good point, that. Offices for inexpensive apartment complexes weren’t known for having a lot of high-end stuff around. Lots of low-budget furniture, maybe a computer or two. Not even a lot of cash hanging around. Which meant if the damage was caused by would-be burglars, they were either too stupid to choose a viable target or too inexperienced to know better.

Which meant . . .

I looked around, suddenly nervous, hoping we had not caught said someone in the act. Could they still be there, lurking in the shadows? Hm. Nowhere to hide. Not in this room, at least. There were two rooms leading off, though, and the doors
were
closed. One lead to a bathroom, I knew. The other perhaps to some kind of storage or utility closet? That was my guess, but I couldn’t know for sure.

“Should we—?” I asked Marcus, but he cut off the question with a sharp shake of his head. He held up a finger to his lips and took my arm, guiding me gently back out the door.

“Don’t touch anything,” he muttered, the words understandably terse. “You go back to the truck. Lock the doors. I’m going to have a look around.”

Tom had tried that with me once. It had worked. For a little while. This time, though, I really didn’t see the need. “It’s broad daylight, Marcus. Whoever it was that did this, I’m sure they’re long gone. They wouldn’t stick around for the manager to arrive and catch them in the act.” I paused then as the office hours caught my eye. “As a matter of fact, he should be here already. Maybe he’s just running late.”

“Maybe.”

Why couldn’t Marcus sound more convinced? Darn it, now he was making
me
jumpy.

“What is that over there?” He pointed toward the grassy yard and the obviously new building at its center, with the fenced area beyond.

“It’s the new health center that belongs to the apartment complex,” I explained. “I saw it yesterday.”

“Well, it looks like it’s open for business.”

He was right. There was a light on inside. Just a tenant working away the pounds? “Should we go see?” He opened his mouth, but I had seen that look in his eyes before, and I quickly said, “I am
not
going back to the truck by myself. Either we both go and check it out, or we both go back to the truck.”

Exasperated, he just shook his head. “You are one stubborn woman. Did anyone ever tell you that?”

“Maybe. Once or twice. So what’s it going to be, angel?”

He gave a small if reluctant smile at the misquote from his all-time (and old school) favorite movie and let out his breath in a resigned sigh. “Fine. But I go in first. You stay behind me.”

“Deal.” It was better that way, anyway. Crutches didn’t really allow for a smooth, silent ninja entrance.

He was speedier than I was, but then, I think that was his intent. Having long legs on his side, he covered the ground in between the office and exercise center fast, fast, fast, leaving me to follow as quickly as I could manage—no mean feat considering that I had three legs to deal with to his two. I cursed my slowness as I saw him make a sneaky approach from one side of the industrial steel door with its long and narrow window, bending down to look in from a low vantage point. I wanted to call to him to ask him what he saw, but I gritted my teeth against the urge and concentrated instead on just getting there myself, one hop-step at a time. I was even more intrigued when he turned back to me and again held a finger to his lips to caution me to remain silent. I was just within a step or two when he opened the door to . . .

Nothing.

And no one.

I sighed as the tension released from my shoulders. My breath came out more forcefully than I meant for it to, and I realized just then that I’d been holding it. “Whoever it was, they must be long gone by now. They probably didn’t even come through here. The place is spotless.”

Marcus nodded. “What’s through that door?” he asked, indicating a similar door on the other side of the equipment-and mirror-filled room.

“The pool.”

“Should we?”

I shrugged. “Why not? And then we should either find Locke or else call the police, I guess, huh?”

“Finding Locke would be my first choice,” Marcus said with a wry grin.

“Understood. Well, let’s go check the pool area, in case someone heard us coming and went out that way?”

This time we crept on quiet feet toward the door together—or, as quiet as my crutches would allow me to be. The one on the right had developed a squeak a few days before, with only a month’s mileage on it. Guess they just don’t make things like they used to.

We paused together at the door, our eyes on each other. “Ready?” Marcus muttered, waiting for my nod. “All right. One . . . two . . . three!”

On three, he yanked the door open, and we peered out into the swimming pool area together.

The first thing that I saw was the shoe lying upturned on the perfect, new concrete surrounding the pool. A scuffed loafer that had seen better days, with heels beaten on the edges and soles worn smooth. Not exactly appropriate pool wear.

I had seen that loafer before. Just the day before actually. On Locke.

That feeling of something being off? It was back again. Bigger and better, this time.

“Maggie.”

I dragged my attention away from the shoe and blinked up at Marcus. His expression was stoic and grim, but he didn’t look down at me. His gaze was focused straight ahead.

The pool.

I hadn’t gotten that far yet. My gaze had been snared by the shoe, and immediately my mind had started whirring around why that worn loafer might be there—none of the possibilities good. The best I could come up with is that Locke had interrupted the intruders in mid-destruction and had chased after them, losing his shoe in the process. But now, I was going to have no choice.

I made myself look toward the pool.

At first, I thought someone had dumped some clothes in the water. Or maybe that’s what I had hoped. A floating heap of clothes to go along with the single shoe on the surrounding concrete. Like, maybe it was the last laugh of the burglars or intruders or vandals, whatever the case might have been. That could have been an acceptable supposition. Unfortunately, such desperate Pollyanna optimism fell swiftly by the way-side when faced with harsh realities.

Such as the bare foot poking out of the soggy clothing.

“Oh! Oh! Oh!” I whispered in repeat mode.

And that’s how my day went swiftly from promising to completely sunk in sixty seconds.

But not as sunk as Locke’s.

Locke’s day was dead in the water.

Literally.

“Is he”—I had to swallow against the rising gorge in my throat—“is he dead?”

“Yes. His face—”

He didn’t need to tell me. I could see it myself, now that I knew where in the heap of soggy clothes to look. Not that I wanted to. Gazing unflinchingly on the face of death was not tops on my To Do list. Ever.

I took an involuntary step back. My heel bumped something as I did so, something heavy. I froze in an instant and looked down at my feet . . . and felt the gorge make the northerly climb again. The thing my foot had nudged was a weight. A hand weight, to be precise. One that matched the set lining the spanking-new racks in the health facility. The thick smear of rusty color on one chunky end of it, though . . . that was different. That was . . .

My head stopped spinning, and I regained control of my faculties long enough to move away from the offensive object, fast, fast, fast.

There was zero chance that this was an accident . . . This was murder, plain and simple.

As plain and simple as a crime like murder can be.

Another murder in Stony Mill.

Criminy.

This hadn’t just happened. From the look of him, Locke had been in the water awhile, maybe (probably?) all night long. At least I could feel safe in the knowledge that whoever had done this to him was probably not still hanging around.

Now that we both realized we had breached the scene of yet another suspicious death in Stony Mill, we were loath to move lest we destroy some kind of evidence. I clung to Marcus, my arms locked around his waist, my crutches held loosely as I used his body for support. But more important than physical support, his personal energy was now my shelter from the storm of horror and dismay from which neither of us could hide our faces.

Gradually I became aware that Marcus was not just holding me. I had felt movement just above my head, and I knew he was scanning the area around us. I shook my head, feeling the soft material of his T-shirt rub against my cheekbone. “They aren’t still here,” I told him. “They wouldn’t stay to watch him be found.” I don’t know why I knew that to be true, but I did. The person who did this was not here.

We stood there a few moments longer just like that, huddled together, before I felt Marcus reach into his pocket and pull out his cell phone. I stood there, within the circle of his arms, listening to his voice rumble through his chest, listening to his steady heartbeat as he gave the 911 operator the address and let them know the “nature” of the emergency.

Nature had nothing to do with this emergency.

The sirens could be heard for miles, wailing, shrieking, clamoring on the clear September air.
Just another day in Stony Mill
, I thought. We had far too many of them. Every time it happened again, I thought, this could be it. This could be the one to break the spell we’d been under. This could be the last. Over. Done.
Finito
. And every time, I was lulled into a tragically false sense of assurance, to dream again, to hope.

I was so afraid that hope was lost to us. That fear sunk in a little more with each bad thing that happened, month after month after month.

A wise man once said, nothing to fear but fear itself, Margaret Mary-Catherine O’Neill. I always thought he was right. Doesn’t do to worry, little girl. Keep your head out of the clouds. Stick to the sunshine.
The wise, crackly voice of Grandma C came in my ear that time, as real as Marcus next to me, but still ethereal somehow. Tinny. Things were changing in my extrasensory world. I was only beginning to grasp how. I hoped someday to understand why. For now, all I could do was accept the changes with some level of grace and dignity. Keep on keepin’ on.