Mother's Day (22 page)

No, she thought. No friend would do what you have done. “Greg, if you care anything about us, you’ll give yourself up so that we don’t have to be hounded night and day and have our house torn apart by police every time we turn around because of you. Stop torturing us.”

“Karen,” he said, “somebody planted that bloody room key in my van so the police would find it and accuse me. I have to find out who that someone is or I don’t have a prayer. You know. You said yourself you thought there was more to Linda showing up here than met the eye. You were right. I asked her why she came back. She said she came back to settle a score. While I was in her room, someone called her, and she arranged to meet this person at a bar that night. The night she was killed. I heard her say the name of the place. When she hung up, she said, ‘Speak of the devil.’ That was all. I didn’t ask who it was because it didn’t matter to me. At the time, all that mattered was that she didn’t intend to destroy my family.”

Karen looked at him coolly, as if she didn’t care what became of him. And at that precise moment, she did not. “So, tell the cops and they’ll find this guy.”

“Do you think anyone would believe me, after all these lies?”

Karen made a sound that was somewhere between a laugh and a sob. “No,” she said, shaking her head.

“And if I don’t get back right away, that cop is going to be joining us.”

“Karen,” he pleaded, “please, wait. I need to find out who the person was she met that night. But I need that photo of Linda that Jenny has in her bedroom mirror. It’s a recent picture. The one that was in the paper was her high school graduation picture. It doesn’t look a thing like her. I need to show that picture to some people. I need to find someone who saw them that night.”

“That’s insane,” said Karen. “You’ll be caught.”

“I have to try.”

“And you want to involve Jenny in your crimes? As it is, she’ll probably spend half her life on a psychiatrist’s couch trying to sort through all the lies you told her.”

Greg’s face looked tortured. “Does she hate me?” he asked.

Karen hesitated and shook her head. “No,” she answered truthfully. “Amazingly enough, she doesn’t seem to. She’s being incredibly tough about it all.”

She saw his eyes well up. “What a kid,” he said hoarsely.

Karen turned away from him. Her husband. Her mate. He looked ill, tired. In spite of herself, she had the urge to enfold him in her arms and make him better. She fought off the temptation. I must be crazy, she thought. Finally she said gently, “What are you hanging around here for? Why don’t you run away? They’re going to catch you. If you’re not going to turn yourself in, why don’t you get as far from here as possible? Go to Canada. Where are you staying, anyway? Do you have food? Or a roof over you?”

“I keep moving,” he said. “And as for going away, I ! can’t. Everything worth living for is here. I just want a I chance to clear myself. That’s why I need the picture.” Karen’s expression hardened. “If you decide to get the picture for me, leave it in I our secret place in the gazebo. I’ll check there every ! day.”

He walked over to the window and put one foot on | the sill. “I love you,” he said.

She heard him drop to the ground outside. She did ; not turn around. She opened the classroom door and ! walked back to the auditorium. As she reached the doors, she nearly collided with Officer Ackerman, who was coming around the corner. “Where were you?” he demanded. “The ladies’ room,” she hissed. “I checked there when you were gone so long.” Karen felt steely inside. “That dispenser was out of sanitary napkins,” she said. “I went to another one. Okay?” She was amazed at how readily the lie came to her lips.

The young cop reddened.

“Excuse me,” she said frostily. “Can I get back inside?”

Officer Ackerman let her pass. Karen walked to her seat on rubbery legs and sank down, her mind reeling. She hated herself for protecting Greg. She should have screamed. She should have called for the cop. It was insane even to listen to him. She looked around the auditorium. She could not let Jenny know she had seen him.

She had to hide it. She had to act normal. She wondered how she would be able to sleep that night. She doubted she would sleep at all. She wondered if, over the swell of young voices singing, anyone could hear the hammering of her heart.

Valerie McHugh, wearing black tights and a Day-Glo-decorated T-shirt, shuffled into the police station behind the stout, sweatsuit-clad figure of her mother. Both women were smoking. Ida Pence shook her grizzled gray head and rummaged in her pocketbook for the paperwork from the courthouse, then handed the cop on duty the receipt showing that Edward McHugh’s bail had been paid.

, “I swear, I don’t know why you want him,” said Ida wearily to her daughter. “He’s nothing but trouble. Never has been any good, never will be.”

“Where else is he gonna go, Ma?” Valerie whined. “Besides, the kids love him.”

“Just a minute,” said the officer, examining the papers and then passing through some closed doors to where the cells and the rooms for questioning were situated.

“He doesn’t even live home anymore,” Ida protested. “I don’t know why I help you. I should just let him rot in there.”

“He’ll live home now,” said Valerie with grim satisfaction.

Ida rolled her eyes. “Big deal. I’m really getting my money’s worth.”

“We’ll pay you back, Ma. Cross my heart.”

“Yeah. Not in this life,” said Ida.

Phyllis Hodges, who had been seated on a stiff-backed bench ever since they’d arrested Eddie and brought him in, watched the women without much interest. She did not realize that the prisoner they were discussing was her peeper—the motel employee who was her new favorite suspect in the murder of Linda Emery. Walter Ference had promised to speak to her after he questioned Eddie, and she’d been waiting there obediently ever since. Now her mouth dropped open as the officer on duty at the desk emerged with Edward McHugh in tow, followed closely by Detective Ference.

She leapt up from the bench at the sight of the pasty-complected night clerk and yelped in protest. “Why are you letting him out?” she cried. “This man is a murder suspect.”

Valerie, Ida, and Eddie all turned and stared at her. Eddie looked away first. Ida sized up Phyllis with a long-suffering expression. “This is what he was looking at?” she asked shrewdly. Valerie looked peevish. Ida shook her head.

“Don’t forget, Eddie,” said Walter. “Don’t go far. We’re going to need your testimony.”

Eddie looked at the ground and nodded. “I know,” he said.

“This is an outrage,” said Phyllis.

“Come on,” said Ida wearily. “I’m parked near a hydrant. I don’t want a ticket to boot.” Valerie tried to take Eddie’s arm, but he shook her off as he followed his mother-in-law’s wide figure out the station door, all three enveloped in a cloud of cigarette smoke.

Walter came over to Phyllis and sat down on the bench, motioning for her to sit down beside him.

“I don’t want to sit down,” said Phyllis like a recalcitrant child. “I want to see justice done. That man had access to Linda Emery’s room and was probably peeping at her, too. It could have gotten out of hand, turned violent. An innocent man could be taking the blame for his crime.”

“Phyllis,” Walter said patiently, “make up your mind. First you were sure Mrs. Newhall did it, then Mr. Newhall, and now Mr. McHugh.”

“Don’t patronize me, Walter,” Phyllis warned. “I’m not just Stan Hodges’s little girl anymore.”

“I know that,” said Walter.

“You have to admit, that little pervert was probably spying on her.”

Walter looked around the nearly empty vestibule of the police station. “Sit down,” he said. She stuck out her chin defiantly, but Walter persisted. “I’ll tell you something, off the record.”

Phyllis immediately perched on the edge of the bench. She made a bargain with herself. Maybe I won’t put it in the paper, she thought, but it can go in the book. “What?” she asked.

“He was peeping at her all right. He saw Newhall in the room.”

This was gratifying, a confirmation of her flawless reporter’s instincts, but not enough to appease her. She folded her arms across her chest. “Newhall admitted he was in the room. That’s nothing new.”

“Yes, but he said he didn’t lay a hand on her.”

Phyllis felt a sudden surge of interest. “McHugh saw him hit her? Or drag her out or something? How do you know he’s not just saying what he thinks you want to hear?”

Walter stood up. “Let’s just say that Mr. McHugh has testimony that will seal our case against Newhall.”

“Don’t leave me hanging, Walter.”

“See you in court,” said Walter with a brief smile. “Once we apprehend Mr. Newhall, that is.”

Phyllis sat back against the bench, her mind racing, as Walter waved and returned to his office. A witness. The peeper who saw the crime. It was too good. It couldn’t wait for the book. She mentally examined the “off the record” agreement she had made for technicalities. There had to be a way to say this in the paper without actually saying it. It was all in the way you phrased it. She decided to go home, and feed the cats, and see if she had a brainstorm in the process.

The waitress slapped two eggs, toast, and coffee down on the paper placemat
in front of Bill Emery. Bill stared at Phyllis Hodges’s article in the morning paper and did not seem to notice the food in front of him.

“Is that it?” she asked. “Buddy, yoo-hoo?”

Bill looked up from the paper, a dazed look in his eyes.

“You want anything else?” she asked.

Bill looked around the booth as if he had lost something there. “Someone’s joining me,” he muttered.

“Well, give me a holler when your friend arrives,” she said, moving on toward the next customer.

“Sure,” said Bill. He turned back to the paper.

After a few minutes he was joined by a slim young woman wearing dark glasses and her hair in a ponytail with loose, gold tendrils waving around her face. She slipped into the booth across from Bill and swept the diner with a guilty gaze, like a mole meeting a contact. Bill looked up and studied her attractive face and frame dispassionately.

“Do you want to order something?” he asked.

She shook her head. “I can’t eat,” she said. “I’ve been too upset.”

Bill pursed his lips and nodded.

“I see you’re reading that article,” she said. “About the guy who was peeping in your sister’s room at the Jefferson. Unreal. It sounds to me like he saw her with the killer.”

“It sounds to me like this Hodges woman is just spinning theories.”

“I don’t think so,” said the girl. “I think she knows something.”

Bill rubbed his face with his hands. “Christine, what did you want to talk to me about?”

“Don’t take that tone with me, Bill. I have a right to be upset.” She removed her dark glasses. Her blue eyes were bloodshot and puffy. “I have not been able to sleep or eat for days.”

“Is that why you haven’t been coming to work?” he asked. “Your mother has been giving me the runaround when I call. I hope you haven’t been crying on her shoulder about me.”

“I haven’t been at work because I didn’t want to see you,” she hissed. “And of course I haven’t told my mother. She’d be ashamed of me.”

Bill picked up a fork and poked it into his eggs. The yolk ran down in a river across his plate. He had hired Christine Bishop as a salesgirl three months ago. Their affair had begun almost the day she started work.

“Do you want to tell me about it?” he asked.

“This is wrong, Bill,” she said. “I mean, I’ve known all along that it was wrong, but this is different. Lying to the police…” She scanned the diner nervously again.

“Keep your voice down,” he complained.

Christine hung her head, and her voice was small and squeaky when she said, “If my parents ever knew what I did…”

“Well, they won’t know unless you tell them,” said Bill.

She pulled a paper napkin from the dispenser and dabbed at her eyes. Then she began to shred the napkin. “Why in the world did you want to meet at the Jefferson when your sister was staying there?”

“I didn’t know she was staying there. It was a mistake.”

“This whole thing is a mistake,” Christine said quietly.

They sat in silence. Bill glanced at the newspaper again, then back at the girl. “Look,” he said, “I’m as sorry as I can be. I never meant to get you involved in something like this. But the best thing we can do is just keep it to ourselves and let it blow over.”

“Bill, I’ve been doing some serious thinking.”

“About what?” he asked, his eyes narrowed.

“About us.”

Inwardly Bill recoiled from the word. Why did women always want there to be an “us”? There was no “us” in his mind. Even with Glenda, where “us” was official, he didn’t feel it. He had never felt that with any woman. Then a strange thought struck him. Maybe he had, once, long ago, when he and Linda were kids together…

“Bill,” Christine said in a shrill voice, “are you listening to me?”

“Yes,” he said. “What about us?”

“I think it might be best if we didn’t see each other anymore.”

Bill looked at her warily. “Well, that would be difficult,” he said. “I mean, we see each other every day. We can’t just deny our feelings “

“I took that into consideration,” Christine said archly. “I think it would be best if I got another job.”

Bill frowned. “Christine, listen, I don’t blame you for being upset. Let me make it up to you. I know you’re mad at me right now, but…”

Christine shook her head and wiped away a trickle of tears. “No, I’m…it’s not that. I think this whole thing with the police is God’s way of telling me that I shouldn’t be doing this. Well, I mean, I knew I shouldn’t be sleeping with a married man, but this is kind of like a big warning. You know…to stop doing this. To start living the right way again.”

Bill pressed his fingertips together until they whitened. “Are you thinking…do you feel like you have to tell the police about…you know…us being there, at the Jefferson?”

Christine looked at him in amazement. “Do you think I want everyone in the world to know that I was meeting a married man at a motel like some tramp?”