Ring Around the Rosy (6 page)

Later, she looked at the screen
and realized she had listed people she came into contact with. Ernie Reed, her
editor, Hilda Banks, one of the secretaries at the paper — they had lunch a few
times; Angelo Meliti, the owner of the little grocery store around the corner —
she shopped every day. Of course her mother and sisters and her friends, Jack
and Jill, but that was ludicrous. They couldn’t possibly be suspects.

Greg Platt, her neighbor. She only
saw him occasionally, and they only spoke briefly. She didn’t know anything
about him or his personal life. Didn’t care to. Noah Gold and Dan Hill, the
seasoned, experienced reporters from the paper; and Justine Miller, the food
editor — but she didn’t have much contact with them, other than to say hello.

Then there were the photographers,
Ray Logan, Gloria Klubnik, and Gary Rosenberg. She had worked with all of them
regularly, but didn’t know any of them well, didn’t socialize with them. Ray
had asked her out once, but he wasn’t her type, so she turned him down. He didn’t
seem offended.

She and Gloria had lunch or dinner
whenever they worked together, but it wasn’t a personal friendship. She knew
nothing of her outside of work. And Gary, she shrugged, Gary was just Gary. No,
none of these people seemed suspect to her.

Oh, then there was Angelo’s son
who worked in the store, a bright boy, friendly. He was going to college. What
was his first name? Tony — that was it. She didn’t see him often. Usually
Angelo was behind the meat counter. She added him to the list and printed it
out.

Now to the news story.

The Nursery Rhyme Murders
 

According to the police, the only
connections between Georgie Porgie and Jack be Nimble are the area they resided
and their ages. Both George Lucas and Jack Murphy, aged 31 and 32 respectively,
lived in the Thayer Crossing neighborhood.

Her neighborhood. Susan sat back.
She knew both victims, and the killer called her. Was Dave right? Was she in
danger? Was someone doing this to get her attention?

But why would he kill for it? It
didn’t make sense. Something still nagged at her. She couldn’t help think there
was a connection.

She put her hands back on the
keyboard and typed.

Neither was employed in the
immediate area. George worked at a bank on the East Side of town, and Jack
taught fourth grade at a suburban elementary school. According to police
sources, there are no suspects in the case.

If anyone found out Dave was her
source, she had a feeling he’d be in big trouble. Well, no one was going to
find out from her.

There, she hit the fax button on
her laptop and sent the follow-up story. She still didn’t care to divulge the
phone calls. Both victims had lived within a few blocks of her. Maybe their
paths had crossed, too. Mrs. Meliti said George shopped in the grocery, and she
had seen Jack in there several times. Did they know each other? What was the
connection? The motive? Did they know their killer?

She stood and stretched. Her body
tense from exhaustion. The sun was coming up, but thanks to the shades, her
room wasn’t bathed in sunlight. She lay down on her bed, not even bothering to
undress, and pulled the sheet to her chin. Bella jumped onto the bed and curled
up next to her, fitting her body in the curve of Susan’s arm. Her last
thoughts, before she fell asleep, were of Dave and that kiss.

* * *

Dave maneuvered his car through
traffic. Thoughts of Susan took over his mind. That wasn’t the Susan Weston he
talked to on the phone, the self-assured woman he encountered a couple days
ago. No, she was scared. Sure, she tried to hide it, but he saw the trembling.
And the way she threw herself into his arms. Not that he minded.

He grinned. Even now, he felt the
softness of her body. He probably should have booked her bracelet into
evidence, but what the hell, who was going to know? Why slow down the
investigation? He’d have to be more careful what he said to her, though.
Tomorrow’s public was going to know the police were clueless.

She sure recovered quickly enough.
One minute, a frightened little thing, and the next, an investigative reporter.
Maybe that was part of her plan. Appear helpless to get him talking. Damned if
he’d let that happen again.

Yeah, she had a job to do, but
damn if she was going to manipulate him. Still, her fear was real. She couldn’t
fake that terror- no one was that good an actress.

Too bad he had to leave her. She
looked so vulnerable, so trusting. His laughter
 
startled him. He shook his head. Susan was getting to him. His lips
still felt warm from hers. “Damn it.” He slammed the steering wheel. What the
hell was he doing? She’s a witness. It was against everything he believed in to
become involved with a witness.

He pulled into his drive. He had
to quit this. But damn it, he hadn’t been able to resist the look in her eyes.
She wanted him as much as he wanted her.

Chapter Four

The ringing phone woke Susan
several hours later. She rubbed her eyes, sat up, and tried to listen to the
machine, but couldn’t hear it. On her way to the bathroom, she caught the sound
of the voice, but couldn’t hear what he said.

She played it back while she
called Dave from her cell phone. “Don’t forget Wee Willie... Oh, and Susan, I
don’t like the shades.” Click the line went dead. Oh God, he was watching her.
Thankfully, Dave answered on the first ring. Did the man never sleep? She showered
and changed while she waited for him.

When Dave arrived, he took the
tape and wasn’t very social, leaving immediately with the same words of
caution. He looked tired, with dark circles under his eyes, his wavy hair in
desperate need of a comb.

Susan had a full schedule with
numerous errands to run, and lunch with her mother and sisters. After feeding
Bella, she got ready for the day.

***

Something stuck out of her wiper
blade — a single red rose. She pulled it out and held the limp flower, looked
around, and wondered who left it.

Shrugging, she threw it on the
passenger seat, got in her car, and started it. First stop — the dry cleaners,
a name not on the list. She didn’t know Vincent personally, but stopped in
fairly often with clothes to be cleaned.

Maybe the rose was from Dave. She
grinned, not able to keep her mind off the wilted flower while she drove. Nah,
that wasn’t his style. He wasn’t the secret admirer type — he’d hand it to her.

Something didn’t feel right. Who
put the rose on her car? And why? Dave had said maybe someone wanted her
attention. She didn’t like the sudden bitter taste in her mouth. She swallowed.
This whole thing unnerved her. Usually the calm, steadfast person in a crisis,
she had suddenly turned to jelly.

The bell on the door tinkled as
she walked into the dry cleaners. Dave’s words rang in her head. Be cautious,
be observant.

Vincent smiled a hello and turned
to get her clothes. She didn’t even have to show her receipt. He knew her by
sight. The small dry cleaning shop was clean, with a long oak counter between
Vincent and the customers. Overhead hangers spun around a rack while Vincent
pushed a remote until her clothes came within reach. He reached up to get the
clothes and pushed his dark hair off his forehead. His smile reached his dark,
almost black eyes.

The odor of dry cleaning fluid
smelled especially strong today. She paid for her cleaning and hurried out of
the small shop. Other than thank you, Vincent hadn’t said a word.

He couldn’t be a suspect. Nope.
Though she didn’t know him well. His, like many others in this small
neighborhood, was a family-run business. He always appeared polite and
pleasant, sometimes making small talk, and sometimes not, like today, when he
was busy. Susan almost bumped into her friend, Jill on the way out.

“Hey, Susan, how’s it going?”

“Not bad. How are Jack and the
kids?”

“They’re good. How about we get
together next week for lunch?” Jill looked at her watch. “As usual, I’m in a
hurry.”

“Sounds good,” Susan said. “Give
me a call.” She hurried to her car.

Next stop — the post office to
mail a package. She parked in front, and again remembered Dave’s words. Lord,
she was getting paranoid. Heck, she didn’t even know anyone at the post office.
Still, she took in everyone with a quick glance. A man at the counter looked
familiar, but she couldn’t place him.

Waiting in line for her turn, she
tapped her foot impatiently. Fortunately, the small post office wasn’t too
crowded.

A chest-high table where patrons
could fill out forms or address letters divided the sales counter from the
line. Only two clerks worked the counter.

“Hi, Susan,” Greg, her neighbor,
said from behind her.

She hadn’t noticed him come in.
Two people stood between them. She smiled and nodded her hello. She didn’t feel
like talking, but she observed the dark good looks of her neighbor. Medium
build with a pleasant, ordinary face, dark complexion — probably tanned — and
blonde hair, he stood almost a head taller than the people between them.
 

He didn’t look like a killer,
although what a killer looked like, she had no idea. Past news stories from
friends and neighbors of killers always described them as ordinary, normal
human beings. Could a killer be standing behind her? She shook the feeling.

“I saw your story in the paper
this morning. Nice touch, the nursery rhymes headlines.” Greg seemed determined
to make conversation.

“You wrote that story?” The man
behind her touched her shoulder. “Do the police really not have any suspects?”

Shoot. She couldn’t take this. She
stepped out of line and ran out of the post office, ignoring the stares.

In her car, she took a deep
breath. Why did she feel the need to escape? She started her car and suddenly
burst out crying.

Good grief, was she going crazy?
All because of a stupid flower.

There was probably a perfectly
innocent reason for it. Maybe Dave had left it, or maybe someone made a
mistake, meant to put it on another car. This wasn’t like the self-assured
woman she thought herself to be. Levelheaded — that’s how people usually
referred to her. Nothing levelheaded about her now.

She picked up her cell phone and
dialed Dave. She’d find out if he left the rose. He answered on the first ring.

“Hi, Dave, sorry for bothering
you, but I have a question. Did you leave a single red rose on my windshield?”

“No, why?”

“Because someone did.”

“Don’t throw it out. It’s probably
nothing, but I want to see it.”

Could the rose have something to
do with the case? Was she in danger?

“Okay, I’ll keep it.” God only
knew what he expected to get off of it. There wasn’t any identifiable card or
even florist wrap to help figure out where it came from. Maybe they could get
some fingerprints off the rose. She shrugged, tired of second-guessing him.

She remembered Dave’s kiss and
smiled, feeling a little more light-hearted. At least she’d see him again
later. He had promised to stop by after his shift. That meant he wouldn’t be
working.

Not that cops were ever ‘not
working’, but technically he’d be off duty. Did that make it a social visit?

She looked at her watch. She’d
have to hurry to be on time for lunch.

Susan did a sweeping glance of the
restaurant, ever observant with her writer’s eye for detail. She loved this
little place. The quaint antiques mingled with new quilts. The smell of rich brewed
coffee wafted up to fill her nostrils, blending with the rich aroma of
raspberry and other flavors from the exotic teas.

The owner had a brainstorm when
she combined these three businesses into one. Quilters and antique hunters
frequented the little tearoom that sat nestled in the back corner of the long
room. Upstairs housed fabric and finished quilts, though some fabrics and
quilts were scattered around the shop to entice visitors to explore further. A
shop designed for women, the menu featured mostly light fare — soup, salads,
and croissant sandwiches, but the food was good, and the pleasant atmosphere
made it worthwhile.

Susan hurried through the shop to
the small restaurant. With quick kisses and hugs for her mother and sisters,
Clare and Kate, she apologized for her tardiness.

“So what else is new?” her mother
teased while she hugged Susan.

Susan laughed. Her mother had her
there — punctuality wasn’t one of her strong points. Never had been.

“Actually, you did pretty well
today,” Clare said. “You’re only ten minutes late. That must be a new record
for you.”

Susan stuck her tongue out at
Clare and sat down. The waitress approached. Still upset about the rose, she
only ordered a salad, hoping her mother wouldn’t comment. She was normally a
big eater, though she managed to keep a slender figure — a fact Clare never let
her forget.