Tell Me No Secrets (38 page)

Jess spun around on the heels of her boots. Except for the open window and the stereo, nothing appeared to have
been touched. “Nothing seems to be missing.” She started toward her bedroom.

“Don’t go down there, Jess,” Adam warned.

Jess stopped, turning toward him. “Why not?”

“Because you don’t know what, or who, might be waiting for you,” he reminded her. “Christ, Jess, you, of all people, should know better. What’s the first thing the police advise when you think your place has been burglarized? They tell you not to go inside,” he continued without waiting for her response. “And why do they tell you that?”

“Because whoever broke in might still be there,” Jess answered quietly.

“Let’s get out of here and call the police,” he said again.

Jess took two steps toward him, then stopped dead. “My God!”

Adam spun around, then back to Jess. “What? What’s the matter?”

“Fred,” she said, her voice shaking, her hand pointing toward the birdcage.

For an instant, Adam looked confused, unable to focus.

“He’s gone,” Jess shouted, running to the birdcage, peering in through the bars, checking the inside to make sure the small canary wasn’t hidden underneath the paper that lined the bottom. But the bird was definitely gone. “Somebody opened the cage door and let him out,” Jess cried. “He must have flown out the window.”

Even as she spoke, Jess realized the unlikelihood of the canary having successfully navigated its way through the billowing curtains without someone’s firm hand to guide it, the virtual certainty of its having frozen to death once tossed into the hostile night. Tears once again filled her
eyes and she started to cry. “Why would anyone do that? Who would want to hurt a poor little bird,” Jess moaned into Adam’s arms, the unwanted image of a small boy’s mutilated pet turtle appearing before her eyes.

They called the police from Walter Fraser’s apartment, waited there while two officers looked through her apartment.

“They won’t find anyone,” Jess said as Walter fixed her a cup of tea and insisted that she drink it. “He’s long gone.”

“You sound like you know who it is,” Adam commented.

“I do,” Jess nodded, telling them briefly about Rick Ferguson. “Did you hear anyone go up the stairs, Walter?” Jess asked. “Or see anyone suspicious?”

“Just your friend here,” Walter remarked, winking at Adam, fitting his round body into a green velvet tub chair.

Jess looked toward Adam.

“He was pacing around outside,” Walter continued. “Waiting for you, I guess.”

“What about the music?” Adam asked quickly. “Do you know what time the volume went up?”

“Well, I was out most of the afternoon,” Walter told them, his eyes tracing back through the events of his day, “and when I came home, the music was already blaring. I thought it was unusual, but then I thought, who am I to complain? Besides, it was Placido Domingo, so it wasn’t exactly hard to take.”

“You didn’t hear anyone walking around upstairs?” Jess asked.

“If I did, I guess I assumed it was you.” He tapped her hand reassuringly. “Drink your tea.”

The police asked the same questions, received the same
answers. They’d found no one in Jess’s apartment. Nothing in the other rooms appeared to have been touched.

“You’re sure you didn’t leave the window open yourself?” one of the officers, a young woman with short red hair and a spotty complexion, inquired, pad and pencil ready to jot down Jess’s response.

“I’m very sure.”

“And the stereo and the birdcage, there isn’t a chance …?”

“No chance,” Jess replied testily.

“We can send someone over to dust for prints,” the older male officer, whose name was Frank Metula, offered.

“Don’t bother, Frank,” Jess told him, thinking him grayer than the last time she’d seen him. “He didn’t leave any prints.” Jess told them of her suspicions, that there was already a warrant out for Rick Ferguson’s arrest.

“Would you like an officer to watch the house tonight?” Frank asked.

“There’s already somebody keeping an eye on me,” Jess told them. “A detective my ex-husband hired.”

“He’s been watching the house?” Adam asked.

“No, unfortunately. He’s been following me, so he wouldn’t have seen anything.”

“We’ll drive by every half hour or so anyway,” Frank Metula volunteered.

“He won’t be back,” Jess told them. “At least not tonight.”

“I’ll stay with her,” Adam said, his voice brooking no arguments.

“That gun in the night table by your bed,” the female officer remarked, “I assume you have a license for it?”

Jess said nothing as the young woman followed her older partner out the door.

She lay on top of her bed, wrapped in Adam’s arms.

Several times, she drifted off to sleep, wandering in and out of strange, unsettling dreams where everything was larger than life and nothing was as it seemed. The dreams would disappear as soon as she opened her eyes. Each time she moved, she felt Adam’s arms tighten around her.

After the police left, she and Adam had returned to her apartment, stumbling toward her bedroom, collapsing on top of the bed, fully clothed. There’d been no fumbling for buttons, no attempt at romance. They’d simply lain there in each other’s arms, Jess occasionally closing her eyes, opening them to find Adam watching her.

“What?” she asked now, sitting up, rubbing at the sleep in her eyes, brushing some hair away from her face with her hands.

“I was thinking how beautiful you are,” he said, and Jess almost laughed.

“I have no makeup on,” Jess told him. “I’ve been wearing the same sweats all day, and I’ve been crying half the night. How can you say I’m beautiful?”

“How can you think you’re not?” he asked in return, gently massaging the muscles in her back.

Jess arched her back, pressed against his hands. “I keep hearing those damn toreadors marching through my brain,” she said, referring to the music that had been playing when they’d first come home. “It’s funny, I never really liked
Carmen.”

“No?”

“Another uppity woman who doesn’t respond the way a man wants, so he kills her. I get enough of that at work.”

Adam’s expert fingers worked their way into her sore muscles. “Try not to think about any of that now. Just relax. Try to get some sleep.”

“Actually, I’m hungry,” Jess said, surprising herself. “I can’t believe how no matter what happens, I’m always hungry.”

“Want me to fix you one of my special omelets?”

“Too much trouble. How about I just pop a few frozen pizzas in the microwave?”

“Sounds wonderful.”

She pushed herself out of bed and shuffled toward the kitchen, hearing her mother call after her to pick up her feet when she walked. Adam was right behind her as she opened tile freezer door and pulled out the package of frozen pizzas.

“Just one for me,” he said.

Jess placed three small frozen pizzas on a plate, feeling Adam’s arms encircle her waist. She fell back gently against his chest, letting his weight support her, confident he wouldn’t let go. She felt his lips in her hair, on her neck, the side of her cheek. Slowly, reluctantly, she pulled out of his embrace, carried the plate of pizzas to the microwave oven, pulled open its door.

Immediately, she felt a giant wave of revulsion sweep through her body, filling her stomach and threatening to drown her from within. She brought her hand to her mouth, gasping in silent horror at what she saw.

The small canary lay stiff on its side, its spindly feet extended straight in the air, its yellow feathers charred and blackened, its eyes glassy in death.

“Oh my God,” Jess sobbed, falling backward, her body caving forward, nausea causing her head to spin and her legs to wobble.

“What is it?” Adam asked, rushing to catch her before she fell.

Jess opened her mouth to speak, but no words came. In the next instant, she was vomiting all over the floor.

S
he woke up to the smell of fresh coffee.

Adam was sitting at the foot of her bed, extending a full mug of black coffee toward her. “I wasn’t sure if you’d feel like eating,” he said, shrugging apologetically, “so I didn’t make anything.”

Jess took the mug from his hand, downed a long sip of coffee, swishing it gently against the side of her mouth, trying to rid herself of the unpleasant taste that still lingered. She vaguely remembered Adam washing her off, getting her out of her wet clothes and into her nightgown, insisting she lie down, tucking her into bed.

“How do you feel?” he asked.

“Like I’ve been hit by a train,” Jess said. “Like someone’s knocked the stuffing right out of me.”

“Someone did,” he reminded her.

“Oh God,” Jess moaned. “My poor Fred.” A sob caught in her throat as she watched her hands start to shake. Adam
reached over to steady them with his own, lifting the coffee mug from her hands and placing it on the night table beside her. “That was some night,” Jess remarked, and almost laughed. “l mean, when was the last time you had an evening like last night? You take a woman to dinner, and next thing you know, you’re being interviewed by the police and scraping roasted canaries out of microwave ovens.” Jess bit back a fresh onslaught of tears. “Not to mention your date throws up all over you.”

“Actually, you missed me,” he said softly.

“Really? You must have been the only thing I missed.”

“Just about.”

“Oh God, the thought of cleaning up that mess. …”

“It’s already done.”

Jess stared at him with a gratitude that was almost palpable. “And Fred?” she whispered.

“He’s taken care of,” Adam said simply.

Jess said nothing for several seconds, her sniffling the only sound in the still apartment. “I’m a real treat,” she said finally, swiping at her tears with the back of her hand. “Stick with me.”

“I intend to,” Adam said, leaning forward, kissing Jess gently on the lips.

Jess pulled back self-consciously, hiding her mouth behind her hands. “I should take a shower, brush my teeth.”

He backed away. “I’ll see what I can rustle up for breakfast. Think you could eat anything?”

“I’m ashamed to say, yes.”

He smiled. “You see, it wasn’t so bad after all, was it?”

“What?”

“Throwing up. The very thing you feared the most.
You did it—spectacularly, I might add—and you lived to tell the tale.”

“I still hated it.”

“But you survived it.”

“Temporarily.”

“Go take your shower. You’ll feel a lot better.” He kissed the tip of her nose, then left the room.

Jess sat for several minutes in bed, staring toward the window, imagining the cold air pressing its face against the pane, like a small child eager to come inside where it was warm. It looked to be a beautiful day, she thought, clear and sunny, only a hint of wind rattling the bare upper branches of the trees. She wondered what fresh terrors the cold sun was hiding. Look at me too long, it seemed to say as she approached her bedroom window, and you’ll go blind. Get too close and I’ll reduce you to a pile of ashes.
“Hohh!”
she barked, but the sun held fast, undaunted.

She’d never realized before how quiet her apartment was without the subtle song of her canary. That song had always been there, she realized, heading into her bathroom, starting the shower, slipping out of her clothes. Such a gentle sound, she thought, closing the bathroom door, hearing Adam busy in the kitchen, stepping inside the tub, pulling the shower curtain closed. So soothing, so constant, so life-affirming.

Now silenced.

“Goddamn you, Rick Ferguson,” she whispered.

He was getting closer, cleverly orchestrating his every move in order to achieve the maximum effect, Jess realized, positioning herself directly under the hot spray of the shower. Exactly what he’d done with Connie DeVuono. The effortless, unseen break-ins, the mounting campaign of
terror, the sadistic slaying of innocent pets, scaring the hapless woman half to death before moving in to finish her off. So, he was still pulling the wings off butterflies, Jess thought, recalling the smile that had sent shivers through her body the first time she’d seen him. The smile had said it all.

“Hohh!”
Jess cried, spinning around quickly, her fingers twisting into sharp claws, slicing through the steam. Her heel slipped on the bottom of the tub. She skidded, lost her balance, fell forward, her arms shooting forward, the wrist of her left hand smacking sharply against the tile wall, her right hand grabbing for the clear plastic shower curtain, pulling on it, hearing it snap, break away from its hooks, then miraculously holding, supporting her weight, permitting her to regain her footing. “Goddamnit,” she said, throwing her head back, her wet hair whipping against the top of her spine. She took several deep breaths, filling her lungs with hot air.

She reached for the soap, rubbing it harshly across her body and into her hair. She didn’t have the patience for shampoo. Soap would do just as well, she thought, feeling the lather growing between her fingers as she worked it into her hair, suddenly reminded of the shower scene from Alfred Hitchcock’s
Psycho
.

In her mind she watched a hapless Janet Leigh begin her innocent ablutions, saw the bathroom door creak slowly open, the strange shadowy figure approach, the large butcher knife rise into the air as the shower curtains were pulled open, the knife coming down against the screaming woman’s flesh, again and again and again.

“Jesus Christ,” Jess exclaimed loudly, impatiently rinsing the soap out of her hair. “Are you trying to do Rick Ferguson’s job for him? What’s the matter with you?”

And then she heard the bathroom door open and saw Rick Ferguson walk through.

Jess held her breath, trying to force a scream from her mouth, to make any kind of sound at all.
Hohh!
she thought wildly, but no sound emerged. Rick Ferguson stood watching her for several seconds from the doorway as Jess reached over and twisted the shower taps to Off. The water trickled to a stop. And suddenly he was striding toward the tub, his arms extended, reaching for the curtain. Where was Adam? Jess wondered, fumbling for whatever weapons were at hand, seizing on the soap, preparing to hurl it at Rick Ferguson’s head. How had begotten inside? What had he done to Adam?