Ring Around the Rosy (28 page)

Muffet, the name from the phone
conversation came back to her. Muffet, muffet.

“Maybe it’s a maiden name.” She
set her fork down and looked at Dave. “We need to get a copy of the year book
from twenty-five years ago. I’ll check with the school in the morning. She
jumped up from the table and pulled out her lap-top.

When Will It End?
, she
typed. She knew someone out there had information on the killer. Maybe they
weren’t aware of it.

A tall man in dark-gray shirt,
medium build, with a large nose. His head always covered by a hat, no one had
been able to identify hair color. There had never been enough light for
witnesses to describe eye color.

Not that anyone other than the
victims had gotten that close to him.

That description fit a lot of
people.

She typed aimlessly, no reason for
what she was writing.

Dave stood by her side, touched
her shoulder, leaned down to see what she’d written. He hit the save button and
closed the lid, pulled her up, and took her in his arms.

He kissed her ear. “You didn’t
answer if you play dominoes,” he whispered.

Susan burst out laughing. Talk
about spoiling a moment. She pulled away, looked into his eyes, stood on tiptoe
and whispered seductively in his ear. “No. Will you teach me?”

Realizing the absurdity of the
moment, she tickled him, which caused him to return the favor. They found
themselves rolling around the floor when the phone interrupted their horseplay.

Rolling over, Dave rose up on his
elbow and leaned on his hand, alert, listening for the inevitable message.

“Hey diddle, diddle, I have the
fiddle. Are you done with the dish and the spoon? I’m not a little dog, but I
laughed to see the last sight. And there’s no cow, but there sure is a moon.”
The line went dead.

They sat up and looked at each
other. “Now he’s talking in riddles. What’s that supposed to mean? Do you think
he knew we had dinner together? The reference to the dish and the spoon.”

Dave shook his head, hand on his
chin, looking thoughtful. “I don’t know, Susan. I don’t know what any of it
means. I have to get this guy.”

The playful mood of the evening
ended. “I better go.” Dave picked up his jacket just as his cell phone rang, and
her police scanner announced an unidentified body had been found, female,
white, late twenties-early thirties.

Susan grabbed her jacket and
followed Dave. There was no doubt in her mind they would identify the body as
somebody named Muffett.

They arrived at the scene, a park
on the outskirts of town. This wasn’t his usual neighborhood. The victim lay
posed on a mushroom shaped toy, her cloudy blue-eyes stared like the other
victims, her face filled with terror. Her long, blond hair tangled with dirty flecks
of dried leaves clinging to the strands. In her hand, the rhyme ‘Little Miss
Muffett sat on a tuffet, did the spider bite her?’ A large black plastic
spider, like the ones found in Halloween decorations, clung to her arm. A bowl
of milk, probably to represent the curds and whey, spilled on her lap, and
around her neck hung a medallion that Susan had won in the sixth grade.

This time Dave stayed with her. He
waited.

Susan gasped. “I knew who she was.
I knew her as Carey Jones. Muffett must have been her maiden name. Dave, that’s
my medallion.”

Susan turned away from the scene.
These people had so much to live for, and in a blink of an eye, their lives
were snatched from them. What drove this maniac? Surely, he was crazy. Sane
people didn’t go around killing each other for the fun of it. There had to be a
reason, a common connection. What were these people to him? So far, they had
all attended the same school, grown up and been killed in the same
neighborhood,

Susan knew the police were
checking former students, but you couldn’t question someone without cause. A
few had come forward, friends who had stayed in touch and felt the loss of the
victims.

These people weren’t friends with
each other. Most of them hadn’t even been in the same class. They knew each
other from back in their school yard days.

Susan left to write the story,
oblivious to the crowd that had gathered. She didn’t see Ray until he stood
next to her, and she jumped when he touched her arm.

“Hey, Susan, need a ride?”

“Oh, uh, oh.” She shook his hand
off her arm. “No, I have a car, thanks. Did you get some pictures?” She didn’t
want to sound too unfriendly — after all, she still had to work with him. He
explained he had heard the call on his scanner while he walked her to Dave’s
car.

“Hey, new car?” He opened the door
for her.

“Huh?” Susan was so used to using
Dave’s car that she didn’t even notice it. “Oh. No, it belongs to a friend.”
She slammed the door, cutting off further conversation, and pulled away,
leaving Ray scratching his head.

Driving to her apartment
frustrated, confused, and full of contempt, Susan tried to sort out her
feelings. There’d be another message waiting for her. He’d be gloating like he
always did. He thought he was smarter than the cops, leaving virtually no clues
as to his identity.

It had to be someone familiar with
crime scenes and the new technology. He didn’t leave even a smidgen of trace
evidence. It was almost as if he wiped the crime scene clean. What drove him?
What horrible anger inside his head made him commit these crimes against
innocent men and women?

She believed it had something to
do with his past, maybe from his childhood. Many killers were driven by
traumatic experiences from their youth. What horrible thing happened that led
him to kill?

She went into her apartment, sat
down, opened her laptop, stared at it, and her mind went blank. The image of
Carey Muffett Jones wouldn’t release her. The long, blond hair tangled with
leaves and her jeans, ripped and covered with dirt, indicated she had been dragged.
Carey had been killed elsewhere, her body dragged, even though there weren’t
any marks on the ground. The killer took great care in cleaning up the scene.

Little Miss Muffet
she
wrote, stopped, and stared at the words.

Her heart wasn’t in it. She had
seen too much, was too personally involved — something a good reporter knew not
to be. She stood and walked around the small apartment, her mind working
overtime. Her stomach tightened, and nausea rose to her throat.

Every time she closed her eyes,
the vision of Sally Arnold popped into her mind. Her hair had the same tangled
appearance, her jeans the same tears. Was she also killed someplace else and
her body positioned near the old warehouse? Shaking the image from her mind,
she went back to her laptop, sat down, and began typing.

The bright moon cast shadows on
the body of Carey Muffett (Jones), age 31, the latest victim of the nursery
rhyme murderer. The cause of death has not been determined, but from bruises on
her neck, police suspect strangulation. The victim clutched the nursery rhyme,
“Little Miss Muffett,” in her hand.

Susan stopped typing. She couldn’t
give too much away. She wanted to scream in the headlines for whoever was doing
this to turn himself in — he was sick. Shaking herself, she continued the story
with a few more details, hit the send button, and poured herself a cup of stale
coffee left over from dinner.

The message light blinked rapidly
on her answering machine. She ignored it, not wanting to hear the gravelly
voice, boasting of his latest victim. There had to be something the police were
missing, something to identify this monster.

Was it a cop? She curled up on the
chair, leaned her head back, and fell asleep.

Chapter Twenty-Four

Dave kissed her awake and poured
them each a fresh cup of coffee.

“You sleep sound.”

Stretching her legs, she stood and
went to shower. She couldn’t believe she had slept in the chair all night.

When she finished, Dave stood next
to the answering machine. She nodded, and he hit the playback button. She
didn’t really want to hear this, wanted to block out the sound of the raspy
voice.

“X shall stand for playmates ten,
V for five stout stalwart men. I for one, as I’m alive. Who’s the next to take
a dive?”

Dave replayed the tape, pulled it
out, put it in an evidence bag, and tagged it.

Susan opened her computer and
typed in the words of the latest rhyme. “This is too much. Now he’s talking in
riddles again.”

She read the words over and over.
“Were these people playmates? Is he going to kill ten of them? I remember this
poem. It’s how we leaned Roman Numerals, except for the last part. Who’s the
next to take a dive? Is this a clue how the next one is going to die? At a
swimming pool? Lake? Off a diving board?”

Dave sat next to her and stared at
the screen. “This guy has me completely baffled.”

The phone rang, and Susan
shuddered. Please, not twice in a row. The machine picked up, and her mother’s
voice came over the line. “Susan, it’s me. Mom.”

Susan grabbed the phone. “Mom, how
are you?”

“I’m good. Susan, I’m worried
about Clare.”

“Why, what’s wrong?” Susan’s legs
went weak. “Is she sick? Mom, what’s wrong?”

“I mean this whole thing about the
divorce. Clare’s not strong like you and Kate. I don’t think she can live
alone.”

Susan sank down into a chair. Was
that all? Darn, her mother scared her. She thought something horrible had
happened. “She might surprise you, Mom. Clare’s a lot stronger than anyone
gives her credit for. Besides, she’s pretty much been living alone for years.”

“Yeah, like when she almost passed
out when your father got shot? That girl doesn’t have a strong bone in her
body.”

“And you’re telling me this why?”

“I need your help.”

Susan didn’t like the sound of
this. “With what?” She was almost afraid to ask.

“I want her and the kids to move
in here.”

Susan took a breath. “I don’t
think that’s a good idea, Mom. For one thing, the kids would have to change
schools, leave their friends. They’re going through enough with the divorce.
They don’t need to deal with moving and changing schools, too.”

“Oh, maybe you’re right, but…”

“You know this is probably the
best thing for Clare. She’s never lived on her own. I think she’ll be fine.”

“I don’t know, Susan. I don’t
think she can handle it.”

Susan knew this wasn’t going to be
easy. “Have you talked to Clare about it?”

“Yes.”

“And what did she say?” Susan knew
exactly what Clare said. They had talked about it last week.

“She said no.”

“Then there you go. It’s Clare’s
life, Mom. You have to let her live it. Clare’s not shy. If she needs help, she’ll
ask. Besides, she’s so much more confident since she got her job.”

“Well that’s true, I guess. Even
your father noticed that.”

“See? She’ll be fine.”

“Okay, then. How about you? How
are you doing?”

“I’m fine, Mom. How about you and
Dad?” Susan wanted to hang up, but she couldn’t think of a way to do it
tactfully. Dave lay down on the couch and winked at her.

“We’re fine. Listen, honey. Can
you come here for a few days?”

“I guess. When?”

“Now, tonight?”

“Tonight?” Susan looked at Dave.
“Hold on a minute.” She moved the phone from her ear. “My mom wants me to come
there for a couple of days. Can you pick me up there tomorrow night?”

“Sure. No problem. Just give me
the address.”
 
Dave looked up and moved a
strand of her hair.

“Are you sure everything’s all
right, Mom?” Susan didn’t have a good feeling about this. Her mother never
asked her to spend the night.

“Everything’s fine. I’ll see you
later.”

“Is everything okay?” Dave pulled
her down next to him when she hung up.

“Yeah, just my mother being a mom.”
Susan cuddled against him. She could fall asleep in his arms.

Boy, she had it bad.

She ran the tip of her finger
across the stubble on his chin and up across his lips. Her heart did a flip.
When had she grown so used to him being around? Maybe he’d be around a lot
more. Giddiness overcame her, and she almost giggled aloud.

Great, now she was making a fool
of herself.

Silly as it seemed, she was going
to miss him.

Dave took her fingers and pressed
them against his lips, opened his mouth slightly, and nibbled them one at a
time. Heat smoldered deep inside her, right down to her toes.

Lord what this man did to her.

Somehow, she managed to stand. She
needed to put some space between them. “I have to pack.”