Authors: Susan Crandall
Seeing Red (12 page)
He hesitated taking it, his eyes wide. “Damn . . . I mean, dang, Ms. Greene.” His breath was short and his words choppy. “You coulda warned me.”
She laughed. “Wouldn’t have mattered, Daniel. You never stood a chance.”
The girls sent up a cheer, clapping and shouting:
“Way to go, Ms. Greene!”
“I wanna do that!”
“Show us!”
“Oh, I will. You’re all going to be kick-butt women. And at the end of the program, I’m going to give you some real live football players of your own to take down to prove it.”
Ellis saw the light in their eyes. She was giving them what they wanted most in this world—power. Nate had given it to her; now it was her turn to pass it on.
At the end of the class, Ellis waited until all the girls were safely on their way home before she picked up her backpack and walked the forty yards to her car. It felt good, doing something positive instead of dwelling on things she couldn’t change. After this class, even though Hollis Alexander was back among the general population, she felt just a little more in control.
That had been Nate’s gift to her, the sense that she could defend herself, that she was more than a helpless victim. And that most precious gift resonated in her soul every day.
When she reached her car, there was a single long-stemmed red rose tucked under the windshield wiper.
She looked around.
The park was empty except for a minivan and a mother with two young children heading toward the playground.
The rose had a black satin ribbon tied around the stem with a note:
Some things are worth waiting for.
Although it was unsigned, it had to have been Rory. Why couldn’t he just leave things alone?
Shame quickly swept over her. He knew this was a rough time for her. He was trying to be supportive.
It would be rude not to respond.
But she had to stay firm.
Rory’s summer job was house painting. He was currently working on a Victorian over on Pinckney Avenue. She drove there and parked on the street. Rory was high on a ladder, painting the fishscale shingles in the front gable. He looked down at the sound of her car door closing.
By the time she’d reached the ladder, he was on the ground.
“Hey, there. This is a pleasant surprise,” he said, smiling.
“So was the rose.”
“What rose?” Something flashed in his eyes, something that made Ellis uneasy.
“The one you left on my car while I was teaching class.”
With a shake of his head, he said, “I got here at five-thirty this morning.”
“Oh.” She waved a hand in the air. “It must have been Daniel. I had him help with my demonstration today.”
“Doesn’t sound like Daniel; he never even gives his girlfriends flowers—says they’re a waste of money.” There was just a hint of jealous challenge in Rory’s expression.
“Hmm. Must have been Dad,” she lied. That note didn’t contain something her dad would say.
Rory looked at her for a long moment with disapproval in his eyes and a frown on his face. Then he said, in the tone he would use with a student suspected of cheating on a test, “Is there anything you want to tell me?”
“No.” Like she’d come prancing over here telling him about getting a rose from an anonymous gifter if she was seeing someone else. She turned and started toward her car.
Stopping and turning back to him, she said, “On second thought, there is something I want to say to you. We’re taking a break. As in,
not dating.
If I’m getting flowers from some other guy, it’s really nothing for you to disapprove of.” She hurried on toward her car.
“Ellis!”
She ignored him. As she drove away, he was still standing there staring at her with his hands on his hips.
It took the entire drive home for her to stop grinding her teeth.
She picked up the rose off the passenger seat and stared at the card.
Some things are worth waiting for.
It was typed, not handwritten.
Nate? No. Not after the way they’d parted yesterday.
Maybe Rory was messing with her.
“
I got here at five-thirty this morning.
”
He hadn’t said he hadn’t left. That had been her own mental leap.
When she’d first told him she wanted them to stop seeing each other, Rory’s first assumption was that she’d found someone else. Although she’d always been truthful with him, he didn’t look convinced when she assured him he was wrong. Was he so suspicious of her that he was trying to trick her into confessing to seeing someone else?
As much as she didn’t want to believe it, she couldn’t think of any other explanation.
She stopped at the trash can and dropped the rose inside before she headed up to her condo.
Greg slumped low in the seat of his Corvette, even though the windows were tinted far too dark for anyone to see him from across the street in the daylight. He’d been sitting outside the big old house on St. Phillip Street—the halfway house that was Hollis Alexander’s new, no doubt tax-dollar subsidized, home—since four a.m.
Greg was thankful that Bill and Marsha had delayed his coming to Charleston. He’d been so blinded by rage that he would likely have ended up in jail. Now he felt calm—like the green sky before a tornado.
He’d cast out the possibility of forcing Alexander to do something to break parole. The way the system worked, the man would be back out in no time.
Lorne Buckley hadn’t said it, but Greg could tell by the look in the prosecutor’s eyes that he thought Alexander would attack another girl. It was only a matter of when. Someone had to take matters in hand and prevent that from happening.
Over the past few hours, Greg’s thoughts had turned to thinking of ways to do Alexander in, ways that would appear accidental. But all of his dreamed-up scenarios were flawed.
He decided the best thing to do was study the man and his habits. Then maybe he could figure out a way for Hollis Alexander to simply disappear. Parolees took off all the time in order to resume feeding their sick need for violence.
The front door of the house opened. A figure emerged from the shadow of the porch.
Alexander climbed into an old blue cargo minivan.
When Alexander pulled away from the curb, Greg started his car and followed.
Hollis noticed the car tailing him right away. The Vette hung back a couple of cars, as if it wasn’t too conspicuous to hide in the flow of traffic. It didn’t take a genius to figure out who was driving it.
Hollis parked at the curb a block before he reached Heidi’s House of Hounds. He jumped out of the van and waited for the Vette to catch up. Then he stepped directly in front of it.
Unfortunately, the car stopped short of making contact with Hollis’s legs. Two more feet and he could have thrown himself on the ground and called 911.
The street was fairly narrow, with parking on both sides. Several cars stopped behind the Corvette.
Hollis raised his hand, walked to the driver’s side window, and tapped on the glass.
After a moment, the window went down.
“Mr. Reinhardt”—Hollis looked down at the man behind the wheel, pleased that he looked so thoroughly haunted—“I’m going to have to request that you stop harassing me.”
In a heartbeat, Hollis was shoved backward by the driver’s door.
He raised his hands in front of his chest. “I only made a civil—”
Greg Reinhardt’s face was mottled a satisfying red as he poked Hollis in the chest. “You filthy, depraved animal! I’m going to do more than harass you, you dirty son of a bitch!”
Hollis backed away, looking frightened and calling for help.
A man jumped out of the car behind Reinhardt’s and rushed forward. “Here, now! I’m calling the police!” He held his cell phone high.
Reinhardt shoved Hollis in the center of his chest. Hollis made the most of the attack and sprawled on his backside in the street. The Good Samaritan rushed to help him up.
Reinhardt got back in his car, slammed the door closed, and took off with a squeal of tires.
Once Hollis had finished taking the Good Samaritan’s information as a witness, he thanked his rescuer profusely. Then he walked the last block to work, his heart singing with his good fortune.
He entered wearing his brightest smile. “Good morning, Miss Heidi.”
She looked up from the schedule book, gazing over half-glasses and smiled back. “You look like the cat that got the cream.”
He headed past the front counter. “What can I say? I love my job.”
And with any luck, I’ll be long gone in a week.
“You might not think so when you see who’s first for a bath this morning. Beatrice is a Great Dane with an aversion to water and people who don’t belong to her. You’re going to have your hands full.”
“Bring her on.” If there’s one thing he could do, it was handle a bitch.
He paused before pushing the swinging door open. “Mind if I make a phone call first?”
“Of course not. Use this one. I’m going back to feed the hungry hordes.”
Hollis waited until he heard the dogs start yowling and barking at Heidi’s entry into the kennel; then he pulled a slip of paper out of his pocket and dialed.
The phone was picked up on the third ring. “Yeah?” The man sounded sleepy.
“Is this Curtis?”
“Yeah.”
“Franklin B. gave me your number. I’m in need of your services.”
“Huh. He tell you anything else?”
“He said you blew up the chemistry lab at St. Simon’s High School, and your sister’s name is Sheila.”
Curtis gave a gruff laugh. “What can I do you for?”
“Social. Birth certificate. Driver’s license.”
“Six hundred.”
“I need it next week.”
“Seven hundred.”
Hollis didn’t respond. The man was gouging him. Franklin had said five hundred would get it done.
Curtis said, “Ticktock, my man. You need it fast, time’s movin’ on.”
Hollis finished the deal and hung up. Seven hundred. He should have made a stink. But when it came time to split, he needed to have everything ready. He didn’t have time to find another source. Besides, he was in too good of a mood to let a greedy piece of shit like Curtis ruin it.
His key to Justine’s exterior basement door still worked. Everything in his secret room was just as he’d left it. His meeting with Wayne Carr had gone according to plan. And now Greg Reinhardt had just handed Hollis another weapon.
It was becoming clear; God was on his side. Those who deserved it would receive their just punishment. Each one carefully planned. He just had to take his time and do it right.
A
t five o’clock, Ellis had just finished drying her hair after her shower when she heard a knock at her front door.
For one foolish moment, her heart leapt at the thought it might be Nate.
But the gate hadn’t called. It had to be someone already on the approved list, her family . . . or Rory.
God, don’t let it be Rory.
Looking out the peephole, she saw it was her uncle.
She let him in.
He handed her a neatly folded newspaper. “This was in your paper box.”
He was unshaven—a first that she could recall. Uncle Greg was meticulous about his appearance. His bloodshot eyes were sunken into bluish pools of flesh.
“Are you okay?” she asked.
Instead of answering, he flung his arms around her and pulled her into a fierce hug. She didn’t realize he was crying until she felt his breath hitch and a scalding tear fall on her shoulder.
Ellis kicked the door closed and kept very still, her arms wrapped lightly around her uncle’s waist.
After a few minutes, he whispered, “I miss her. After all this time, I still miss her so much.”
At that moment, it became so clear. As a child, she’d thought all grief was the same, that she and everyone around her hurt equally. She’d had no idea that there were degrees of grief—like burns on the heart. Some, like hers, were painful but eventually healed, leaving an ugly scar as a reminder. But her aunt and uncle, their grief, a parent’s grief, seared deep. They’d been left with bloody wounds that would never close and scar. Time could only reduce the amount of blood flow, but the wounds remained forever fresh.
“I know,” she whispered back. She didn’t try to placate him or trivialize his raw emotion by saying she missed Laura too. Nothing she felt could ever match his heartache.
Finally, he pulled away and wiped his face with the palms of his hands. “I’m sorry to barge in here like this . . . .” He didn’t look her in the eye.
She didn’t want him be embarrassed or regret coming to her.
“I’m starved,” she said, wondering when he’d eaten last. “Come into the kitchen and I’ll make us omelets.”