Horoscope: The Astrology Murders (9 page)

“Me, too,” Julie said. “Love you.”

“Love you, too.”

Kelly waited for Julie to hang up before she placed the receiver back on the phone on the night table. Meow was rubbing against her, waiting to be petted. She stroked the cat’s soft red fur and hoped that her lies had convinced her daughter. Then she looked toward her study and remembered the voice of the man who had threatened her. The mere thought of it terrified her.

H
E SAT AT HIS
worktable, opening the surveillance equipment. There was something intriguing about the boxes that the miniature cameras came in. Perhaps it was the fact that equipment so technically advanced and so important could come in such tiny, nondescript cardboard containers. He tore open the first box, took out the camera, and held it in his hand. It was even tinier than the box and weighed almost nothing.

He glanced at the computer he had set up. He’d brought it with him when he moved, a gift from his old job in Silicon Valley. A gift of sorts. All his boss knew was that one day the computer, like the new surveillance equipment they’d bought but had yet to install, was missing. He’d liked working there. He’d liked knowing his boss had valued his skill at programming. He’d even thought his boss was about to promote him. Then he’d found out he had to leave. It was her fault, of course. Kelly Elizabeth York’s. Everything was her fault.

He thought about his mother for a moment, but she really wasn’t whom he wanted to think about. He wanted to think about Kelly Elizabeth York. As of tonight, he’d walked by her house twice. He’d figured out a plan for how he would get in, and he was pretty sure it would work. One way or another, he
would
get in. That was a given.

This last time he’d passed her house, he’d seen her in the
doorway, waving to a couple who were getting into a cab. Some people would’ve said she was beautiful. He didn’t see her that way. The only thing he saw when he looked at her was that she deserved to die.

I
T WAS SUNDAY. KELLY
had opened her eyes briefly at nine thirty a.m.—just long enough to check the clock—and gone back to sleep until one fifteen. Keeping her eyes open this time, she noticed that Meow and King were no longer in the room.

She roused herself from her bed. The house was colder than it had been. Glancing out the window, she saw that the day was gray and sunless. Since it was her day off, she threw on her favorite jeans, a T-shirt, and an old cable-knit sweater she’d bought on a vacation with the kids in Cape Cod. She gathered her hair into a ponytail and fastened it with a rubber band. There was no point in wearing makeup, because there was no one to see her, except possibly Emma. As she walked down the stairs, she wondered if Emma was going somewhere with Donald today or if she was staying home in her apartment. Sometimes Emma liked to spend Sundays in front of the television, watching old movies.

Kelly was walking down the staircase from the second floor to the first when she heard the familiar two-note chime of the doorbell. She wasn’t expecting any clients; there was no mail delivery on Sundays, and if Donald had come to see Emma, he would go to Emma’s front door, not hers. She had no idea who would’ve come unexpectedly. Could it be Julie or Jeff paying her a surprise visit? It seemed unlikely; they had too much work to do for school. The doorbell chimed again, and she felt her body
tense. Could it be the man who had made that phone call?

Her body remained tense as she slowly approached the front door. She was grateful that it had a peephole and two locks. Just as she reached the door, King bounded in from the kitchen and jumped up on her to announce that he was there. She rubbed his nose, reassured by his presence. He stayed close to her as she peered into the peephole and, through its distorting lens, saw a dark-haired man looking at the door, waiting. He was about her height, five foot ten, and he was wearing a leather jacket and jeans and carrying some kind of bulky equipment. She’d never seen him before in her life.

“Who is it?” she asked, making the effort to sound firm.

He glanced down to the peephole. She knew he couldn’t see in, but the subtle movement of his head and eyes seemed intimate somehow, and feeling his presence so close to her increased her anxiety.

“Chris Palmer,” he said from the other side of the door. “We have an appointment at two thirty to take new photos of you for your column. I’m a little early. If you want me to come back—”

That was why he was carrying equipment. He was a photographer. And it was true. She had made the appointment for the photo shoot. She’d scheduled it for her day off so that it wouldn’t interfere with seeing clients. “No, that’s okay,” she told him. “Come in.”

Kelly unlocked the bottom lock, then the top lock, and opened the door. She stepped back into the entry hall, a foot from the threshold, so that she wouldn’t become scared and have to control her anxiety in front of the photographer.

He came in and deposited a large metal box and a tripod in the hall; then he turned around and headed out again. “I’ll be back soon. I’ve got more in my truck.”

As Kelly closed the front door, she heard Emma open the door near the kitchen that led up from her apartment.

When Emma saw Kelly, she said, “So you finally got up, Sleeping Beauty!”

Kelly laughed. “I guess it’s about time.”

Emma glanced at the metal box and the tripod, which King was circling and sniffing. “I thought I heard someone at the door.”

“The photographer from
Luminary World
magazine. I forgot he was coming. I’m going upstairs to change. He’ll be back in a few minutes. If you’d just let him in, I’d appreciate it.”

“I put some coffee up for you,” Emma said as Kelly started up the stairs.

Kelly climbed three steps when she heard King howl and gnash his teeth—the kind of sound that did not bode well. She turned around and saw that the front door was open and King was no longer in the entry hall. She ran down the stairs to the open doorway. Standing with her feet on the inside edge of the threshold, her right hand holding tightly onto the doorjamb, she looked up the block toward Central Park and didn’t see King. She turned toward Columbus Avenue and saw him running west on 85th Street, chasing a white-and-brown terrier. Her heart palpitating, she forced herself to stick her head out of the doorway a little farther and scream out to him. “King! King!”

The dog paid no attention; he just kept running after the terrier.

Fear rose from Kelly’s stomach and seized her body. She desperately wanted to run after him, but she couldn’t move. Her heart beat even faster at the prospect of going out onto the street. Her face, her limbs, her torso broke out in perspiration, and she found it hard to breathe. She choked out, “Emma! Emma!”

Emma hurried out of the kitchen into the hall. “What’s
wrong?”

“It’s King,” Kelly said between quick, labored breaths.

Emma looked at Kelly, and then she moved toward the open door as fast as her overweight body would let her. As Emma rushed toward her, Kelly met her eyes. She didn’t know what she would say to Emma if she could catch her breath long enough to speak. Then she saw in Emma’s gray eyes that she didn’t have to say anything: Emma knew, and seeing Kelly in pain hurt her. She didn’t waste a moment saying anything. She gently touched Kelly on the arm as she passed her and went down the steps.

Her feet on the inside edge of the threshold, Kelly watched as Emma reached the sidewalk and headed west to pursue King.

“King!” Emma shouted. “King! Come here!”

For a while, Kelly could see Emma running toward Columbus Avenue, but soon she was out of her line of vision. The only way she could continue watching her go after King was if she went onto the front stoop, and that was something that every cell in her body told her she couldn’t do. Looking out the front door into the bleak October day, she was filled with dread that if she stepped outside, the world would just swallow her up. It made no rational sense, but she
couldn’t
move beyond that threshold; she felt that if she did, she would die. Her feet were planted on the threshold; her hand was gripping the doorjamb for dear life; her body shook with terror, and she was permeated with shame that she was so scared. Tears streamed from her eyes down her cheeks. One thing she knew: this had nothing to do with that phone call. She’d experienced this for weeks every time she opened the front door. She had become powerless, and as much as she’d searched for an answer, she still didn’t know why.

She stepped back into the hall and wiped the tears away with the back of her hand.

Nearing Columbus Avenue, Emma was out of breath. She loved King, and she enjoyed walking him, but this was something else. Once again she told herself that she had to lose weight, and once again she admitted to herself that liking food as much as she did, she probably never would. She saw that King and the terrier he’d been chasing had stopped at the fire hydrant near the corner. Giving herself a mental pep talk, she picked up her pace and got to the hydrant while the dogs were sniffing each other. She grabbed King by the collar. While she caught her breath, he looked up at her with his blue eyes and voiced a forlorn howl in protest of her ruining his good time.

“I know. I’m a meanie,” Emma told him. “But you’ve got to come home now.” She looked at the terrier to see if he had a tag and found that he didn’t even have a collar. “Be careful crossing streets, you hear?” she advised him.

As Emma pulled King back toward the brownstone, King gave his playmate a parting howl, and the smaller dog barked a bright goodbye.

“You shouldn’t go running out like that, King,” Emma chided him. “You don’t want to upset Kelly, do you?”

King glanced up at her as if to apologize.

“You’re a good dog,” she said reassuringly. “I know you love her.”

Emma found herself thinking about Kelly and what had just happened. It was the first time anything like that had occurred—the first time she had seen Kelly frozen in the doorway, the first time Emma had seen with her own eyes what she and Sarah had known intuitively was right: Kelly was afraid to leave the house.

Climbing the steps to the brownstone with King, Emma saw
that the door was open and Kelly was waiting for them in the entry hall. Emma brought the dog into the house and let go of his collar. He ran up to Kelly and licked her hand.

“Thank you, Emma,” Kelly said. There were a hundred apologies in her voice. “Thank you.”

Emma closed the door and then turned to Kelly. Kelly looked awful. Her eyes were pink, and she’d obviously been crying. The worst part was that she looked so ashamed of herself.

“Why don’t you go wash your face and get dressed,” Emma suggested. “That photographer’s going to be back any minute.”

Kelly stood there, looking at Emma. She wanted to explain herself, but the words wouldn’t come. How could she make Emma understand her when she didn’t understand herself? Instead she just said, “I love you, Emma.”

Emma’s eyes grew wet with tears, too. “Come on, now, darling,” she scolded softly. “You don’t want to keep him waiting.”

HERNANDEZ WAS IN
Jennifer McGraw’s living room. He’d just about finished looking through the books in her bookcase, and he was feeling discouraged. He’d taken each book from the shelves and opened it, looking for an inscription or something that might have been placed between the pages. Most of the books had been purchased during Jennifer’s college days, and she had written her name and dorm address on the inside covers. A scrap of paper fell out of the art history book he’d just pulled from the top shelf. He picked it up and read it. It was a long-ago note that Jennifer had written to herself; all it said was “library 7 p.m.” Not too helpful. He wasn’t eager to share his lack of progress with Giordano, who’d remained at the station, researching the database.

“Tom!” Hernandez heard Officer Allen Kim calling him from the den. He could always tell when Kim was excited because it was the only time Kim raised his voice. “Come here!”

Hernandez put the note back in the book and walked into the next room. Kim was holding an astrology magazine. He showed Hernandez the cover. Emblazoned across the top in large red letters were the words
You and Your Sign
.

“This could be a link to the killer,” he said. “He wasn’t the only one into astrology. So was the victim.”

K
ELLY SAT ON THE
living room sofa facing the camera. She’d taken Emma’s advice and washed her face. She’d also used eye-drops to wash away the pinkness from her eyes and put on eye makeup and lipstick, brushed her blond, curly hair so that it fell more or less behind her shoulders, and changed into her favorite blue silk dress. The dress had a scoop neck, which showed off her Pisces necklace, with the two delicate silver fish that symbolized her sun sign, against the pale skin of her chest.

She reminded herself once again that the photographer’s name was Chris Palmer. She was still ruminating on the fact that even if it had meant losing King, whom she dearly loved, she had not been able to go out of the brownstone onto the street.