The Spider Bites (2 page)

There was a crowd on the sidewalk ahead of me. Two men in uniform were trying to hold it back. I crossed the street to the park and stood beside a tree. The air stank of burning furniture and water on charred wood. And worse things.

The wind rose and blew some of the smoke away. I could see what was going on. Across the street was my old house. I'd lived there for three happy years. Then I'd gone back to it in December, when Angela threw me out. To hide and lick my wounds. It was the closest thing I had to a home.

Two paramedics were carrying a body bag on a stretcher. Someone had died in the fire.

CHAPTER THREE
SUSANNA

T
he paramedics pushed the stretcher into an ambulance. The driver yelled at someone. I could see his problem. He was stuck. There was a fire truck in front of him and three police cars beside him. Men in uniform were standing around, doing nothing. He walked from group to group. At each one he pointed at his vehicle. It was almost funny, but it wasn't.

Five minutes later the fire truck left. The cops in uniform climbed into their cars. They turned around and left. Things were winding down.

The ambulance made its way around the remaining vehicles. It drove off at a slow, steady pace. Its emergency lights and siren were off. There was no need to hurry. It was going to the morgue, not the hospital. The streetlights came on. It was beginning to get dark. The crowd started drifting away. Only a handful of curiosity seekers were left. What were they hoping to see? More bodies?

A woman came running up the street toward the house. Her black coat flapped behind her in the wind. Her hair was blowing across her face, getting in her eyes. She saw the little crowd of people and slowed down, gasping for breath. She pushed back her hair and bent over. Someone from the emergency team walked over to her and patted her shoulder. She straightened up and said something. He shook his head.

The streetlight was shining full on her face now. It was Susanna, Cheryl's daughter. But where was Cheryl? I hadn't seen her in the crowd. She should have been home by now. Maybe she was next door. Susanna buried her face in her hands. The man patted her shoulder again. She moved away from his touch and reached into her pocket for a tissue. Then she turned and stared at the remains of the house.

What she was thinking? Poor Susanna. The building had been her home for all twenty-six years of her life. There wasn't much left of it now. I started walking toward her. I needed to find out what had happened. But I stopped. What she needed was someone to comfort her. This was not a good time for asking questions.

I slipped away before she saw me.

* * *

I walked into the hotel and headed for the elevator. But what was I supposed to do in my room? Sit on the bed and watch television? I turned and went into the bar. In this neighborhood late afternoon was a dead time for selling beer. The bar was almost empty. Four men were sitting at a round table whispering to each other. Setting up a deal, I thought. But it wasn't my business. Not at the moment. The waitress came by carrying a jug of cold draft and four glasses on a tray. It looked good.

“Coffee,” I said. “And a glass of water.” I wanted to keep a clear head.

The television above the bar was set to the local news channel. Half the screen flashed pictures. Another section was giving the local traffic report. But with no sound, none of it made any sense. The waitress set down my coffee and glass of water.

“Two-fifty,” she said.

I dropped a five on her tray. She reached for change.

“It's yours,” I said. “And could you turn up the sound?”

“Those guys asked me to turn it down,” she said.

“I'll move closer. Just turn it up a bit.”

“You're the boss,” she said.

I moved to the table next to the bar. I was just in time for a Breaking News flash. An excited-looking young reporter was standing on the street outside Cheryl's house. She pointed at the ruins and told us the house was beyond saving. Then she tried to get the neighbors to talk.

“It's terrible,” said one.

“Was there someone in the house?” asked the reporter, looking around.

“Dunno,” said the first neighbor.

“The owner,” said someone else. “Poor woman.”

“Did you know her?” asked the reporter.

“Everyone knew Cheryl,” said another. “Sort of.”

The reporter smiled, nodded and turned to the camera. “The fire that may have killed the popular woman who lived in this house started between two thirty and three this afternoon. One neighbor has told me that she heard an explosion. Whatever might have caused the fire, the house is beyond repair. We know that at least two bodies have been recovered from the ruins. Their identities are being withheld until their families can be notified. The owner of the house is believed to be one of the dead. The second victim may be a tenant who lived in the basement apartment.”

“Thanks,” I said to the waitress and stood up. “You can turn the sound off again if you want.”

* * *

I figured Susanna would still be somewhere around the old neighborhood. One of her friends or her mother's friends would have taken her in. I headed back to the site of the fire.

I stopped on the sidewalk to check things out. Three men were setting up huge outdoor lights. New teams of firemen and police were poking through the rubble. Susanna was standing on the porch of a house two doors away. She was clutching the porch railing. She was so still she looked like a statue. Her eyes were fixed on the men working in the ruins. I walked over to the porch stairs.

“Hi,” I said.

She turned her head and looked straight at me. There was no expression at all on her face. I don't think she even saw me standing down there.

“Susanna,” I said. “It's me, Rick. I just heard about the fire. I'm sorry. Is there anything I can do?”

She stared at me.

“My god. Rick? Is that you? But you were killed in the fire!”

CHAPTER FOUR
THE MAN IN THE BASEMENT

“O
f course it's me,” I said. “Who else?” She moved over to the top of the stairs to get a better look.

“You've changed. You look different.”

“That doesn't matter,” I said. “Listen, Susanna, I'm worried about you. You can't just stand on the porch out here in the dark.”

“What am I supposed to do?”

I didn't have an answer to that. “I have to talk to you, Susanna.”

“About what?” she asked.

“What have they told you about the fire?”

“Nothing, Rick. And I'm going crazy. They won't tell me anything. I'm so scared.”

She looked cold, standing there on the porch. She was shivering. I had to get her into someplace warm. Right now.

“No need to be scared,” I said. “Come on, Susanna. Come with me. Let's go grab a pizza.”

* * *

We walked back toward the familiar, comforting sound of traffic going home. It was getting to the end of rush hour. We reached West Central, and Susanna seemed to relax a little.

The pizzeria was crowded with people waiting for takeout. I found us a quiet table at the back and ordered a large pepperoni pizza with extra mushrooms.

“Is that okay?” I asked.

“It's what I always have,” said Susanna.

“I know. I remembered,” I said. “But people change.”

“I don't,” said Susanna.

“I guess not. You never did like change, did you? Even as a kid.”

She stared across the table at me.

“I can't get over how you look. What happened?”

“Nothing much,” I said. “I've been on a farm. Working hard. I lost some weight and grew a beard. It's still me. You look different too.”

She glanced down at her outfit. She was wearing a red dress and expensive-looking brown boots. She had tied a brown and red silk scarf around her neck. There were blond and silver streaks in her dark hair, and her face was covered in makeup. She looked like a model. I was more used to seeing her in jeans.

“Oh,” she said, “I just had my hair done. I had a date tonight.” Her eyes filled with tears. “It seems kind of stupid to be dressed like this now.”

“Don't worry about it. Tell me about the fire.”

“I can't. I don't know anything. I was at work today.”

“How is the job going? Are you still working at 52 Division?”

“Yeah,” she said. “It's going well. I've been meaning to thank you.”

“What for?”

“Recommending me for the job. All the guys there are really nice.”

“You like cops?” I asked, trying to smile.

“Most of them,” she said. “Anyway, like I said, I had a date. So I took the afternoon off to have my hair done.”

“You got dressed like that to have your hair done? Do you have to do that?”

Her cheeks turned red under her makeup. “Of course not. I put it on before I left work. I thought maybe I wouldn't have time to go home and change. Anyway, it was almost five o'clock before I got back to the station. They told me about the fire.”

“And you came over.”

“They told me Cheryl was dead, and I came over.”

The waitress set the pizza down on our table. Susanna stared at it. Like she had never seen pizza before.

“Help yourself,” I said, pushing it closer to her. But my mind wasn't on pizza. I was wondering why she always called her mother by her first name. I had asked her that once before, and she had laughed. “Cheryl thinks we're like friends. Not like mother and daughter,” she had said.

I still wondered.

She pulled off a wedge of pizza and took a bite.

“It's too hot,” she said. She waved it in the air to cool it down. “You know, all the way home, I kept thinking I had to cancel my date. After spending all that money for my hair. And getting my makeup done too. And my nails. I even had to take a half-day off work without pay.”

I must have looked shocked. She shrugged her shoulders.

“Stupid, eh? It's funny the weird things that go through your head like that.”

“Was the date something very special?”

“No. Just dinner and a movie. But I was really looking forward to it. And instead, here I am, eating pizza.” She took a huge bite, swallowed and then took another huge bite.

“With me. Sorry about that.” I tried to think of something better to say. I couldn't.

So I sat and watched her finish off the second slice as fast as the first one. I've had to tell a lot of people that someone very close to them had died. The bad news takes them in different ways. Some scream and cry. Some reach for the liquor bottle and get drunk. Others just go still. Like they were frozen inside. But I'd never come across someone who ate pizza and talked nonstop. It was weird. Maybe other people do that too. I don't know. It takes all kinds.

I didn't ask her about it.

“Why did you say you were scared?” I said.

“Did I say that?”

“Yeah. On the porch. You said you were scared.”

She blinked and took another piece of pizza.

“Well—wouldn't you be scared? I mean, I could have been home. I would have died in the fire too. Maybe someone wanted to kill us both.”

“But whoever it was must have known you'd be at work,” I said.

“I guess. But then they told me that you'd been killed too. You and Cheryl. There were two bodies. And here you are. If the second one wasn't you, who was the man in the basement?”

CHAPTER FIVE
ALONE

“T
his is so weird,” said Susanna, taking another slice of pizza. “If you hadn't come back today, we would have buried that guy, thinking he was you. Who was he anyway?”

I shook my head.

“I don't know who he was, Susanna.”

“You mean we'll never know?”

“I didn't say that. These crime-scene guys are geniuses at sorting out burnt and fragmented evidence. They'll probably have a confirmed id in a matter of days. But you must have known it wasn't me in the apartment.”

“Not really. Of course I noticed someone had moved in a few days ago. But I lived on the third floor,” she said. “And I'm at work all day. I didn't know who it was. I asked Cheryl. She said it was none of our business. It was your apartment. You could do what you like with it.”

“She did?”

“Yes. I thought maybe you were hiding out down there. Weren't you wanted for questioning?”

“Listen, Susanna. Everyone knew where I was. I wasn't hiding. They knew how to reach me, night or day. Cheryl, the guys at 52 Division, the big brass running the investigation. Everyone.”

“You weren't hiding?”

“No.”

“So why did you leave?”

“I wanted to get away for a while,” I said. “Cheryl knew that.”

“She didn't tell me,” said Susanna, frowning. “But I can't believe she'd lie to me.”

“And you never saw the man in the basement?”

“No,” she said slowly.

“And you never heard anything?”

She glanced up at me.

“Well…I thought I overheard Cheryl call him Fred.”

“Really?” I said. “Are you sure?”

“No, not completely.”

“But you still thought it might be me down there?”

“I thought maybe it was one of her jokes. I mean, calling you Fred. Then I wondered if he was a new boyfriend. She could have been sleeping with him. I don't know. She never talked about her private life.”

“I really don't think Freddie was Cheryl's kind of guy, Susanna.”

“How would you know? What did you ever know about her? God—men can be so stupid.” She spat the words out.

“I guess we can be,” I said. “Sometimes. But Cheryl…”

“Look, Rick. I don't want to talk about her, okay? Not tonight.”

“No problem,” I said. “Are you going to be all right?”