Valentine (31 page)

“The arraignment?” Barney widened his eyes, the perfect audience.

“Yeah. After he killed ’em. Cut their throats while they were asleep. Went to prison, but he’s out now. He broke his parole. Had all these state troopers here a few years ago, askin’ questions. Oh, well, I’d think twice about buyin’ that house, I was you.”

“Why?”

For the first time, she stopped knitting. Her hands were still in her lap as she looked up at him, then down the street at Victor’s house. “It’s haunted. I’ve never seen him, but I think he comes back there. Every now and then, not much lately. The Olsens down the road, number five, they say so, too. We’ve all heard things, mostly at night. Voices. Music, sometimes. We’ve seen lights in the windows. Stuff like that.”

“Have you reported this to the police?”

She went back to her knitting. “Nah. None of my business.”

Barney watched her. “Aren’t you afraid of him?”

“Of who? Victor?” The old woman laughed again. “Why would he want to kill
me?
I’m not his mother!”

Barney forced himself to smile at her witticism. He looked at his watch: four o’clock. He would have to wait for nightfall to do what he was going to do. “Anywhere around here to get something to eat?”

She jabbed a thumb in the direction of the main
highway. “East, next exit. There’s a
real
town there, with a mall. Lots of restaurants in the mall.”

“Thanks. Who owns the house now? I mean, who’s selling it?”

“Big Joe’s sister.”

He nodded. As he left her porch and walked back down the road, she called after him. “So, are you gonna buy it?”

“No, I don’t think so.” He grinned. “I wouldn’t want to crowd him.”

Her dry cackle followed him all the way to the car.

After Mike left the range, Jill remained for another hour, setting up her own targets, loading, and shooting. She was growing used to the feel of the weapon in her hand, and she was actually beginning to like the sense of power it conferred. As for her aim, the worst she’d done all afternoon was narrowly miss the target, and that had happened only twice. All her other shots were within the circles, nearly half of them in the center two.

When the sun began to set and the light faded in the little glen, she put the gun in her purse and went across the baseball field to the main house by the lake. Ruth Monk was the only person there, sitting near the fire with what Jill was flattered to see was a copy of her own new paperback,
Murder Me.
All the writers were probably in their cabins, hard at
work. I’m the only one who doesn’t have a project, she thought as she waved to Ruth, who held up the book and raised her eyebrows before going back to it. Jill smiled at the compliment and went over to the little table in the comer of the room that held the colony’s only telephone. The cabins did not have phones, or televisions or radios, or any other form of distraction. Newspapers were not allowed in the compound, and even modem hookups for personal computers were discouraged. Gwen and Mike had the only television, in their bedroom. This place was here so that people who were easily distracted could get some serious writing done.

The handmade sign sticking out of the wicker basket beside the instrument read:

Jill dropped a five-dollar bill in the basket and placed two calls to New York City. Neither Tara nor Nate was home. She left a brief message on Tara’s machine, wishing her the best on her date tonight. But when she heard Nate’s deep voice on his machine, she immediately hung up, remembering their conversation from two nights ago.

She’d broken Gwen’s rule and stayed on the phone with him for fifteen minutes, trying to explain that she hadn’t meant to hurt him. She’d left town abruptly because she just wanted to get away for a while, and she hadn’t asked him to come with her because he had a show coming up, and that’s what he should be worrying about. Nate was actually somewhat mollified until he’d asked her where she was calling from and she’d refused to tell him. Then he’d started yelling again, and she had said a quick good-bye, promised to call him again soon, and hung up.

Now, she couldn’t think of a suitable message to leave on his answering machine. She wasn’t going to explain to him that she was hiding from someone who had broken into her apartment to give her another grisly gift, who had bugged her telephone and her living room, who had murdered two people and had probably murdered three others as well. If she told him any of these things, he’d insist on knowing where she was, and he’d come out here to hold her hand instead of being in New York getting ready for his opening, which is what he should be doing.

With a little grimace, Jill took the five-dollar bill out of the wicker basket and replaced it with two singles. She’d call Nate later. And she promised herself that, after this, she’d never withhold things from him again.

She went back to the kitchen and offered to help Gwen with dinner. Her offer was gratefully accepted.

The phone was ringing as Tara came into her apartment. She dropped the dry cleaning she’d just collected—the red dress she would wear to dinner tonight—and picked up the receiver.

“Hello.”

“Hi, Tara, it’s Doug.”

“Hello there! I’m just getting ready for—”

“Umm, listen, Tara. I’m afraid I’m not going to be able to meet you tonight. Something—something’s come up. Business. I’m sorry about this, but I promise I’ll make it up to you.”

“Oh, sure, that’s okay. I understand.”

“Thank you for being so nice about it. I—I’ll call you in the next couple of days, okay?”

“That’ll be fine. I’m sorry about tonight, too. Don’t work too hard. ‘Bye.” She hung up quickly, hoping she hadn’t sounded too disappointed, too desperate. She hadn’t really been aware until this minute just how much she’d been looking forward to tonight.

She looked over at the plastic-covered red dress. Oh, well, she thought. Later. He’ll call in the next day or so, and we’ll try this again.

I hope.

After dinner, Jill helped Gwen load the dishwasher and straighten up the kitchen. Then the two women went out into the living room, got hot water for herbal tea from the pot on the sideboard, and sat together on a couch, away from the others. Barbara Benson and Craig Palmer were playing chess at a little table by the fire, and Jeffrey Monk was imparting to Wendy Singer some arcane information she needed for the mystery she was writing. Something about poisoned darts, if Jill had heard them properly. Ruth Monk was again reading Jill’s novel, and Mike had retired for the night.

They sipped their peppermint tea in amicable silence. It was Gwen who began the conversation. With a glance over at the others, she turned to Jill and spoke in a low whisper.

“Are you pregnant?”

Jill turned her head sharply to stare at her friend. She thought about denying it, then realized the futility of lying. She nodded. “How did you know?”

Gwen laughed. “Oh, please! You’ve never met my three sisters. Seven babies between them in the last five years! I know all the early warning signs. You usually have wine with dinner, but you’re suddenly not drinking alcohol. Or coffee, or eggs and bacon, or any of that stuff. You put your hands on your stomach; you’re always touching yourself there.
Never mind how I know. What are you going to do about it?”

“I’m not sure. I think I want it, but I want it to have two parents.”

“Does Nate know?” Gwen asked.

Jill shook her head. “Not yet. It’s one of the reasons I came out here—well, that’s not true. There’s only one real reason I came out here. I told you and Mike about that. As for the baby, well . . . I don’t know.”

“Do you think Nate will marry you?”

“Yes. He’s already asked me to marry him.”

Gwen reached over to pat her friend’s arm. “Well, then, what’s the problem?”

Jill smiled. “You don’t know him: you and Mike only met him once, at that party in New York a few months ago. He’s—well, he’s an artist. Very intense, very focused on his career. And now, with this new series he’s done. . . .” She shrugged. “I just don’t think now is the right time to broach the subject with him.”

Gwen took Jill’s hand in her own small, warm one and smiled her Earth Mother smile. “Darling, he’s asked you to marry him. You obviously want to accept. The baby is just more good news—for both of you. Anytime is the right time.”

Jill nodded. “You’re right, of course. You’re going to be a wonderful mother someday.”

Her friend smiled. “And very soon, I hope. Oh,
Jill, it’s wonderful news! Tell Nate. I’m sure he’ll be delighted.”

“Yes,” Jill said slowly, “I think so too, now that I think of it—now that I’ve decided to decide.”

“Excuse me?”

Jill smiled. “Nothing. Yes, I think Nate will be happy. And he’ll make a wonderful father.”

Gwen nodded. “Well then, that’s it. Darling, when you know it’s right, that’s all you have to know. Everything else is just not important.”

Jill stared at her friend, thinking, Yes. That’s true. When you know it’s right. . . .

She decided, then and there, to have a long, honest talk with Nate as soon as she got back to New York City.

Barney sat in his car, waiting. He’d parked by the side of the road here, at the beginning of the long row of houses, over thirty minutes ago. He checked his watch: nearly eleven. There was a moon tonight, and the sky above western Pennsylvania was fairly clear. The moonlight shone down on the row of houses extending up the hill away from him, transforming them with its usual magic from shabby fossils into what they had once been: a line of respectable residences for the employees of the paper company. A few lights winked from the smaller houses in the valley below, the homes of the former
factory workers who had lost their livelihood some twenty years ago. He wondered briefly what they did for a living now.

He’d taken the old woman’s advice and made his way to the mall in the neighboring town. And what a culture shock that had been, he reflected. There, not three miles from this forgotten ghost town, was a bustling small city, with several other affluent towns nearby, populous enough to necessitate a rather large shopping center.

His first stop was a bank of pay phones. Using his Calling Card, he placed two calls. He told Jane that he’d be spending the night in Pennsylvania and flying back tomorrow or, at the latest, Thursday. She told him to keep warm, and he told her he loved her. Then he called his office and told Verna where he was and what he was doing. He instructed her to tell Jill Talbot that Victor Dimorta had apparently had plastic surgery. He also told her to suggest to Jill that she stay put wherever she was hiding until after Valentine’s Day. Verna said she’d convey the message, and told him to keep warm. He told her he loved her, too.

He’d had a long, leisurely dinner in a steakhouse at the mall. Then he’d wandered into a housewares store that had a small hardware section and made two purchases. After that, he’d gone to the multiplex
cinema at one end of the center and sat through a really terrible horror movie.

Now, having killed enough time, he was back in Mill City, ready for action. He glanced up the road. The houses immediately flanking the Dimorta residence were obviously deserted, but lights still shone from the front windows of the old woman’s house two doors away. He’d wait a little longer.

Presently, her living room light went off, and another light came on in her second-story front bedroom. He waited until that, too, was extinguished, then ten minutes more. Now the whole row of twelve houses was dark except for the occasional porch light.

Barney got out of the car. Gasping at the sudden assault of freezing air, he pulled his coat closed and buttoned it. Then, as silently as possible, he walked up the road toward number 7. Once there, he glanced up and down the hillside drive. A bitterly cold wind was blowing, causing the bare trees along the road to sway and rustle. He fancied he saw something, some movement in the bushes beside the porch of the house next door. As he stared, a thin, mangy-looking black cat slid out from the clump of dead bushes and crept away down the street. He was alone here, alone with a few sleeping neighbors and a starving cat.

Making his way carefully in the darkness, he went
around to the backyard. The cheap padlock on the back door was visible in the moonlight. He pulled the newly acquired screwdriver from his coat pocket and set to work. Two minutes later, the door swung open.