Robards, Karen (28 page)

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kitchen window he could see them sneaking up the outside steps, then heading hand in hand for Donny’s car. Listening to them getting it on had been fun, too. Z71

No, exciting was more the word. Real exciting. Lately he’d been heading over to Caroline’s at night to watch her undress for bed. Not that she knew he was there, of course. But her bedroom was on the ground floor and her curtains didn’t quite close in the middle and if he got up real close and put his eye to the glass he generally got quite a show.

He debated whether he wanted to go over there tonight. It was only a block away, and he could cut through the yards in about three minutes, but he’d already had a reafly big day and he was dead beat.

It had been a good day. A full day. He’d dropped off his present forJessica-his two presents—and picked up his memento and then hung around to watch as the judge lady, true to form, cafled the police. He would have hung around longer, maybe come back at about eleven or so that night to see if his second present had been discovered-the judge lady would be calling the cops twice in one day, a record-but it was raining and so he’d decided to go to a movie instead. In the end, he’d sat through three for the price of one and gotten home just in time to listen to Donny, jr., and Caroline in the basement while he finished off the rice pudding.

The rain had stopped, though, so he guessed he could anible on over to Caroline’s. He would only be gone maybe twenty minutes max, and then he could come back and go to bed in happy anticipation of his mom’s explosion in the morning, when she found out that somebody had eaten up all the pudding.

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She would know who, too. Donny,jr., didn’t even like rice pudding.

What the hell. He grabbed a baseball cap and acket

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from the closet in the hall, just in case it should start raining again, and headed out the back door.

The air was cold, the grass was wet, and every time he accidentally brushed against a bush he got showered with icy droplets. The one fence he had to climb-it was one of those wood, four-board, farm-type fences-was slippery. His left foot slid off the bottom rail just as he straddled it, causing his groin to crash painfully into the top board.

He was still limping and cursing under his breath by the time he got to Caroline’s house.

Squeezing through the opening in the hedge into her backyard, he saw that she and Donny, Jr., were standing on the sidewalk in front of her house, kissing and groping as they said good night. He watched envyingly until Donny managed to drag himself away and head back toward the street where his car was parked. While Caroline was waving at Donny, Little Brother got himself in position to get a bird’s-eye view of the peep show.

Sure enough, Caroline went inside, went into her bedroom, and turned on the light. With his eye to the window, he was able to get a pretty clear view of most of the far side of the room, including her closed door and the light switch. Fortunately her closet was in his line of vision, as was the foot of her bed. Tonight her cat, a fat white Persian, sat on the foot of the bed. Like himself, the c2t watched with rapt attention as Caroline began to undress.

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God, she was pretty, just like Donny, Jr., to get the prettiest girl in school for a girlfriend, He always got

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the best of everything, always had, all their lives. If his mom was cooking steaks for supper, she’d always give Donny, jr., the biggest one. He needed it, she’d say. She bought him the best, most expensive clothes, because he looked so good in them, she’d say. They’d paid for half of Donny’s car, and all of his insurance. He’d had to scrounge up the funds for his own motorcycle, and he had no insurance. Everything Donny wanted, Donny got. Little Brother got the leavings, if he waslucky.

Caroline’s room was painted blue, which he knew was her favorite color, probably because it matched her eyes. Her bedroom furniture was white, with little bits of gold around the edges that was probably some sort of fancy style, though he didn’t know what it was called. He could see her dresser, which was on the wall opposite the window, with its attached mirror. She stood in front of the mirror, brushing her hair.

Although her back was turned to him, he could see her face through the mirror. Actually, he could see the whole front of her body to the waist. He hoped she stayed there while she undressed.

She didn’t, of course. She turned away from the mirror, and walked to the left, out of his line of vision. When he could see her again, she was just wearing her bra and jeans. God, she looked good like that, so slim and sexy, with her tits swelling up over the silky blue bra and her skin all creamy.

The only thought that marred his pleasure as Caro—

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line reiched for the fastening of her jeans was that Donny, Jr., got to do more than watch. He got to …

She stopped, with her hands on her waistband, staring like she heard something that startled her. It couldn’t have been him, he hadn’t made a sound, and anyway she was looking to the left, toward her bed. He shifted a little, so that he could see what she was looking at.

The big white cat was sitting on the end of her bed, just like it had been before, only now it was staringfixedly at the window. At him.

just like it knew he was there.

Shit. Before he could get away, before he could jump back or duck or anything, the curtains whipped apart in front of him and there was Caroline, staring through the glass at him.

He almost pissed in his pants.

He dropped like a stone to the ground, hoping she wouldn’t be able to see him through the glass, through the darkness. A slice of light from the window cut across the grass just in front of his head. Then the slice turned into a sliver as she let the curtains fall together again.

He took a deep, shaken breath. Getting caught playing Peeping Tom would be bad. It would be worse than bad, in fact. Everyone would think he was some kind of pervert. His parents would shit… .

“Donny? Donny, is that you?”

Unbelievably, she was outside, coming around the corner of the house, looking for him.

Looking for Donny, Jr.

Scrarnbling on all fours along the side of the house

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away from her, he realized something: He was wearing Donny, jr.’s, Chicago Bulls baseball cap-the one made of black suede with a big red bull on the frontand Donny, Jr.’s, jacket. She must have seen enough of him through the window to think he was his older brother.

Thank God she didn’t know who he really was. If he could only get away …

“Donny? What are you doing?”

A prefabricated metal tool shed ad oined the house in back, and he crouched in its shadow, in the angle it made with the house. He huddled there with a coded hose and a bunch of overturned flower pots and a hoe and shovel and a sack of fertilizer as big as he was, his heart pounding, the lower part of his Jeans getting all wet from the grass. If he tried to run across the yard, she would see him. His onlv hope was to hide until she was gone. If he was lucky, she would just walk on by… .

But when, in his whole life, had he ever been lucky “Donny?”

He dared to glance up, and he saw that she was coming right toward him. It was obvious that she saw him, saw Donny, Jr., rather, because she was approaching without any kind of hesitation at all.

“Donny?” Her voice was soft and sweet and nrystified. She’d put her sweater back on, he saw, before she’d left the house.

There was nothing to do but stand up. He did, and she came right up to him.

“I thought you went home. Did you forget some—

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thing? I …” Her words broke off at the saine time as her hand touched his arm. Her eyes widened.

“You’re not Donny,” she said accusingly. The story of his life.

“I . - .” he began, but his throat closed and he couldn’t say another word.

He didn’t have to. She was mad now that she knew who he was, jerking her hand awav from his arm, her face screwed up as if she smelled an awful stink, her voice harsh and hateful. s

“You were spying on me, weren’t your Peeping in

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my xv ndow, watching me undress! Weren’t you? Weren’t you? You’re sick, did you know that? Sick and gross and disgusting and… . Wait till I tell my parents. They’D call the police. They’ll call your parents. Donny’ll beat the crap out of you, believe me, and that’s probably the best thing that will happen, you little worm.” She turned to head back into the house, tossing her hair, fury in every line of her slender body.

“Caroline, wait… .” He caught her arm. He couldn’t let her go, couldn’t let her tell her parents and the police and everybody. He had to stop her, had to make her see reason, but he couldn’t think of anyth1w to say.

“Get your hand off me, you pervert!” She jerked her arm out of his hold and stomped off toward the front door.

He couldn’t let her go, couldn’t let her do it, had to stop her somehow… .

Panicking, casting his eyes wildly around for help, he spotted the shovel. Only if he had to . . “Caroline …” He ran after her, caught herjust as

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she got to the corner of the house, grabbed her arm again and spun her around. “Caroline, please, don’t tell anybody … …

She laughed contemptuously in his face, and that’s when he knew he’d have to do it, he had no choice or she was going to tell… .

In the last seconds, as he swung the shovel up and brought it down right on top of her head, he could see in her eyes that she knew what he was going to do, knew that she was dead, that he was going to kill her. And she was afraid… .

When the shovel hit she was just opening her mouth to scream. It hit so hard that it bounced back up off her skull of its own volition, like a rebounding ball. The thunk was solid, sick sounding, like a pumpkin splatting open on concrete. He was still listening to its echoes as she crumpled to the ground.

Then, for good measure, he hit her in the head again.

For what seemed like an eternity he stood there, looking at her as she lay limply at his feet, blood trickling from her nose and mouth and ears and pouring from the open wounds in her head. Then he shook himself out of his stupor, took off Donny’s jacket, and wrapped it around her head. He couldn’t leave a trail of blood for the cops to follow.

He’d have to hide the body until he figured out what to do.

Sweat was pouring off him, rolling down his face like rain, dampening his shirt, but he didn’t feel hot, he felt cold. Picking Caroline up-limp, she weighed a ton, far more than he would have expected for such a

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slender girl-he carried her flaccid body away froni the house, in case her parents should wake up and come looking for her—

First thing-, first-ent back Setting her down beyond the hedge, he w

her head had rested and dug up the bloody spot where

on the ground, then covered it with fresh sod unearthed from a remote corner of a neighbor’s yard. By the time that was done and he got back to Caro—

Z71 line, he knew exactly what he was going to do.

ot upset at all, because as black as He was smiling, n

things had looked in the beginning, they were going to work out for the best in the end—

Little Brother had finally figured out a way to w

SUALLY, ON SUNDAY MORNINGS, Grace got ,_&up early to enjoy the peace and quiet. Her modus operandi was to schlep downstairs barefoot in her nightgown, make coffee, retrieve the paper from the front porch, drink two cups, eat a bagel, and read the paper before going back upstairs to shower and dress. Today, however, mindful that Marino was somewhere in the house, she showered and dressed first, in pale khakis, a black turtleneck, and black flats, and if truth be told took extra care in putting on what little makeup she wore.

Thus it was almost ten before she walked into the kitchen.

He was sitting at the table with a half-eaten bowl of cereal and a glass of orange juice in front of him, orie section of the paper propped against his coffee cup, the others strewn haphazardly across the tabletop. His black hair was curling at the ends, wavy on top, and still damp, making it obvious that he’d taken a shower. He was frowning slightly as he concentrated on whatever

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article he was reading. A heavy growth of beard shadowed his lean jaw, and he still wore the same flannel shirt and jeans he’d had on the previous night.

He hadn’t really come prepared for a sleep-over, of course. It occurred to Grace to wonder what he’d slept in, but she banished the thought almost at once.

Dwelling on the tantalizing possibilities was not going to help her composure.

“Good morning,” shed said briskly, walking into the kitchen as if there were not the slightest awkwardness in the situation, and heading toward the coffee pot. As his cup attested, he’d already made coffee. The welcome aroma wafted through the air.

“Morning.” He looked at her over the top of the paper, ate cereal, and tracked her movements as she poured herself a cup of coffee; then he smiled at her as-after taking a reviving sip of the hot, strong brewshe finally looked his way again. “I helped myself to breakfast. I hope you don’t mind.”

“No, of course not.” She returned his smile with a quick, slightly impersonal one as she crossed to the refrigerator. just because he had kissed her yesterdayno, correction, they had kissed each other, and so hotly that her heart pumped faster every time she allowed herself to recall the details-did not mean that they were in the throes of some deathless romance, she cautioned herself, as she had done about half a dozen times since awakening. Those kisses might mean a lot, or they might mean very little. She was not even sure how she felt about thein herself, and for all she knew he might be the kind of man who made a pass at every

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