Slice (21 page)

F
ORTY-SEVEN

“
N
o,” Jessie mumbled into the phone. “It can't be true.”

But it
was
, Gert Gorin assured her. She'd just gotten a call from a lady she knew who worked at the school. Mrs. Whitman had been murdered in her classroom last night. Her throat had been slit from ear to ear.

Jessie hung up the phone and began shaking all over. She was glad that Abby was upstairs in her room, unable to see her. How could she possibly give her this news? The shock of Inga's death had only just begun to wear off. Now Jessie had to tell Abby that her teacher was dead, too.

She wouldn't tell her the grisly details, of course. Nor would she share what she and surely the police were fearing: that the same person who killed Inga had also killed Mrs. Whitman.

But why? In God's name, why?

Suddenly Jessie felt cooped up, like a tigress pacing in a cage. She had to get outside. Pushing open the screen door and letting it bang behind her, she strode across the grass toward Abby's swing set. She plopped herself down on one of the swings, holding the chains in both hands. She began to cry.

What was happening? She had come back to Sayer's Brook to start over. She had returned feeling strong and capable, and within a month everything had unraveled. She couldn't help but feel both deaths had something to do with her return to town. It was as if Emil was still out there, stalking her, trying to terrify her. Aunt Paulette had dreamed of a tall, dark man who was coming for her. . . . Emil had been tall and dark. But Emil was dead! This was crazy! She had to keep reminding herself that Emil was dead! Gunned down by federal drug agents. Emil was dead!

But he had had friends. . . .

Emil may have been the leader, but there had been many lieutenants in their drug-and-porn business. The cops had caught some of them; they sat in jails at this very moment. But others were still at large.

Yet why would any of them want to terrify her?

Jessie wiped her eyes. Perhaps she was feeling sorry for herself. Perhaps she was personalizing this in a way that wasn't accurate. If the same killer had struck both times, maybe it had nothing to do with Jessie or Emil. Maybe it really was random—a terrible coincidence. Or maybe, with the news of Inga's death, a copycat killer had decided to leave his own mark on the town.

Or maybe, some old associate of Emil's was trying to get even . . . to take revenge on Jessie for providing evidence about the murder of Screech Solek and, in the process, disrupting their very profitable drug-and-porn trade.

She shivered. As a theory, it seemed far more possible than just some random copycat killer.

And maybe she shouldn't be so quick to dismiss Aunt Paulette's vision of a tall, dark man. . . .

“Is there anything I can do, Jessie?”

She jumped at the voice, coming from behind her. Looking around, Jessie saw John Manning, standing there in his black T-shirt and black jeans.

“I saw you from my window,” he said. “I could not in all conscience allow you to just sit here without coming by to offer my help. My offer last night to be of assistance was sincere.”

She looked up into his deep, dark eyes. “So then you know?”

He nodded. “Once again, Gert Gorin has been ringing the neighborhood with the latest news.”

“It's devastating,” Jessie said.

Manning sat down on the second swing beside her. “I'm sure Abby will be crushed.”

“I have to be very careful how I tell her.”

“Of course. Especially after . . .” The author's voice trailed off.

“I can't deny that I'm freaked out,” Jessie said. “I mean, the two deaths . . . so similar. And both connected to Abby and me.”

“I expect we'll both be questioned again.”

Jessie looked over at him. “I can understand the police questioning me, but why would they question you?”

Manning sighed. “Because they seem to want to believe the worst about me. Even Mrs. Gorin asked me where I was last night.”

“She's too nosy for her own good.” Jessie looked at Manning intently. “What did you tell her?”

“I told her it was none of her business and hung up on her.” He gave Jessie a rueful smile. “I have a bit of a temper, I'm afraid.”

Jessie stiffened on the swing. Just how much of a temper did John Manning have? Should she be frightened sitting next to him? He was a tall, dark man, after all. . . .

“In fact,” Manning continued, “I was home alone all night. Caleb was off, visiting friends in the city. It was just me, so I'm afraid I won't have much of an alibi.”

“There's no reason to suspect you had anything against Mrs. Whitman. On the other hand, I saw Mrs. Whitman yesterday. I'm sure the police are going to want to know why I was in her office.”

Jessie remembered the kindness Mrs. Whitman had shown her, and started to cry again.

“She tried to be good to Abby,” Jessie said, her voice breaking. “And now, just like that, she's gone . . . her life just snuffed out, like a candle.”

Manning reached over and placed his hand on Jessie's shoulder.

“You know, when my wife died,” he said, “I thought a great deal about life and death. How quickly, and unexpectedly, death can creep up on us. The line between the living and the dead is really very thin and tenuous.”

Jessie nodded, composing herself. “That's for sure. It's still hard to accept that Inga is gone.”

Manning sighed. “I've come to believe that when someone close to us dies, a part of ourselves dies, too. After all, we're connected in so many ways. . . . Their energy has blended with our energy. I think that's why grief is so hard. It's a physical thing, a physical loss—like losing an arm or a leg—as well as an emotional one.”

Jessie nodded. “Inga had become my best friend.”

He smiled sadly. “I can't claim that I was still madly in love with Millie when she died. We had our problems and our differences. But, nonetheless, she was still a part of me. We had been married for eight years, courted for two before that. There were things about me only Millie knew, and vice versa. Did I lose my great love, my life's soul mate when she died? No. But I still lost something. I lost a part of myself.”

Jessie was watching him as he spoke. She saw real feeling in his eyes as he talked of his wife's death. Real compassion. Real grief.

“I'm sorry,” Jessie said quietly.

“I suppose you've heard the rumors that I had something to do with Millie's death.”

Jessie looked away. “I know all too well how people talk.”

“People thought I didn't show enough emotion when she died. They had no idea what I was feeling. All the guilt . . .”

“Guilt?” Jessie asked.

“I knew Millie wasn't happy,” Manning told her. “She had never taken very well to my success. She was uncomfortable by all the attention we received—well, that I received. And I admit . . . in our unhappiness, I wasn't always faithful to her.” His eyes shone for a moment with suppressed tears. “I'm not proud of that. I'm not happy that I caused Millie any additional pain.”

“Do you think . . .” Jessie stopped, unsure whether she should continue her thought. But then she decided to finish the question. “Do you think, in her unhappiness, she took her own life?”

“I thought so at first. And I felt tremendously guilty.” Manning looked off toward the sky. “But she had never given any indication of it. She was unhappy, but she wasn't depressed.” He smiled sadly. “I think it was just a tragic, freak accident. She was making baskets that day out on the deck, you know. She was taking your sister's class, and wanted to prove she could make a basket on her own to show everyone that evening.”

“Yes,” Jessie said gently. “I know.”

“The wind had blown several bands of wicker onto the roof. I think she climbed up over the railing so she could reach them . . . and then she fell.”

Manning covered his face with his hands. It was Jessie's turn to reach over and place a hand on his shoulder.

“But you know,” Manning said, looking up at her, “for all the problems Millie and I had, I still feel her presence. You see, when someone matters to you, when someone comes into your life in a significant way, you never really lose them. That's the corollary to the idea I expressed earlier—that a part of us dies when someone we love dies. While that's true, I think a part of them lives on in us—a real, physical, energetic part of them. I'm sure you still feel Inga with you.”

Jessie smiled. “I do. Especially sitting here, on the swings she painted and restored.”

Manning nodded. “At the risk of sounding a bit like some cut-rate Buddha, I do believe we are all connected, and not just in a theoretical way.” He looked intently over at Jessie. “Have you ever watched fish swim in schools? In an aquarium, perhaps, or on a television nature program?”

“Yes,” Jessie replied.

“Well, then, you've seen how they all move together, in the same exact movements, instinctively. There might be a few here and there that occasionally fall out of line, but generally their movements are all the same, as if they were one single organism.”

“I know what you mean. Birds, too, flying in V formations.”

“Precisely. And I think that, from a great distance somewhere in the cosmos, that is how we humans must look. We are all moving together, connected, one organism.”

Jessie smiled. Somehow the image of a school of fish swimming together, all in formation, comforted her.

“Forgive me if I sound a bit too metaphysical,” Manning said. “I'm an amateur philosopher, it's true. But I've been reading quite a bit. Preparing for a new book, where my vampires and monsters reflect a bit on existential themes.” He smiled. “Even they occasionally need to give some thought to life and death and love and hope.”

“I suppose they do,” Jessie said.

They shared a smile that seemed to chase away all the despair Jessie had been feeling just minutes earlier.

But then they heard the slam of a car door.

They looked up. A police cruiser was parked in the driveway. And Detectives Wolfowitz and Knotts were trudging up the hill toward them.

“Well, they get points for predictability,” Manning quipped.

“Good morning,” Wolfowitz called as he got close enough.

“Good morning,” Jessie replied.

“Except that it isn't,” the police detective said, breathing a little heavier from his walk up the hill, a few beads of sweat popping on his age-spotted forehead. “Not a good morning, I mean.”

“You're speaking of Mrs. Whitman's death,” Jessie said.

“I am.”

“I got a call a short while ago. I was devastated.”

“I understand you were at the school yesterday to speak with her,” the detective said.

“I was.”

“May I ask what you spoke about?”

“My daughter. I was worried about how she was doing in class.”

“Why were you worried?”

Jessie sighed. “The night before, Abby had left the house with a friend to play in the old barn in the woods. I wasn't able to identify the friend and asked Mrs. Whitman if she knew a boy by the name of Aaron.”

“Did she?”

“No. But she was very helpful and very kind.”

“Did she indicate she was worried or upset or fearful in any way?”

Jessie shook her head. “No. Not at all.”

Wolfowitz moved his attention to the other swing. “How about you, Mr. Manning?”

“I never met the woman.”

“Where were you last night?” the policeman asked.

“Are you asking where I was when Mrs. Whitman was killed?”

A small smile played with Wolfowitz's lips. “Let's say, between seven and ten last night.”

“He was here,” Jessie volunteered, before Manning had a chance to reply.

She wasn't sure why she said it. The words just came out of her mouth, without her even thinking about them.

She could feel Manning looking at her, but she kept her eyes on the policeman.

“He was here?” Wolfowitz asked. “With you?”

Jessie nodded. “He came by my house asking if Abby was all right. He'd heard about her adventure in the barn the night before from Mrs. Gorin.”

“Why would Mrs. Gorin tell Mr. Manning such a thing?”

“Why does Mrs. Gorin tell anybody anything?” Jessie replied.

The detective narrowed his eyes at Manning. “Is this true? Did you come by here last night asking about her daughter?”

“Yes,” Manning said. “I came by.”

“What time was that?”

“About seven-thirty, maybe a little earlier.” Jessie decided to elaborate on the alibi she was providing Manning. “He came in, and we talked for quite a while.”

“What did you talk about?”

Jessie looked over at Manning. “Oh, lots of things. Life and death and love and hope.”

“How long did he stay?” Wolfowitz wanted to know.

“For a couple of hours, at least.” Jessie knew that by saying this, she was giving Manning an alibi that precluded him from having the time to get into town during the hours of seven and ten.

Detective Knotts was taking all of this down.

“Well, that's all for now,” Wolfowitz said. “But I may have more questions.” He looked at Manning. “For both of you.”

“Anytime, Detective,” Manning replied.

The two policemen turned and headed back down the hill. Neither Jessie nor Manning said a word until they were both in the cruiser and backing out of the driveway.