Approaching Menace (2 page)

Her reflection switched to the news. Two women died on nearby beaches. The first had been alone after dark. Was the new victim, too?

Stirring strawberries into cottage cheese, she resolved that she would avoid the beaches at night. Not that she went to them anyway. She’d gone a few times with Andrew shortly after they met, but soon her job and the rudiments of caring for her brother set constraints on her time.

His treatment was finishing when she got back to him. “One great meal,” she said, “ready for one great guy.”

His chipper attitude had departed. Her brother seemed barely able to smile. But he tried. “I am great, aren’t I?”

She nodded. Josie unhooked the venous and arterial tubes from his arm and taped his shunt. She weighed him and recorded his weight while he went off to the bathroom. Discarding the used tubes in a red plastic bag required for contaminants, she then covered the bag in the large trashcan that their mother had coated with pretty wallpaper and hidden behind his chair.

Colin remained quiet when he returned. This concerned Josie. Normally he didn’t talk when something bothered him, or if he felt weak or sick to the stomach. Sometimes, although he seldom admitted it, he was worried.

“I have something to confess,” Josie told him.

He sat on his chair and looked up, his cheeks almost bleached of their little color.

She stood in front of him and frowned. “I broke your glass.”

He lifted his shoulders and dropped them. “That don’t matter.”

“It doesn’t? I thought you’d raise heck and say I owed you my next paycheck.” She wished he would complain. Colin loved his special glass. Royal blue and spotted with white soccer balls, the glass had been a gift from their dad the last time he came home. It was right before the final time he left them.

“Maybe I can find another one like it,” she said.

“I don’t
care
, Josie. I’m not a kid anymore.”

No, even if you’re just eight years old, you are no longer a kid, she concluded. But he needed to care. His stern expression said he was angry. At her?

He directed his gaze away, his mind apparently far from this room.

Colin cocked back in his recliner. His lips pursed, his eyelids drooped, and heavy breaths left his nostrils. He coughed and turned toward the wall, curled into fetal position.

“How about if I let you rest a minute?” Her fingers soothed his brow. His forehead was cool. That was good. She left the room while he squeezed into a pale ball against the celery-colored cushions.

Josie set their places and tinkered in the kitchen, though there was little that required straightening. Their mother, insisting they call her Sylvie, had everything arranged. Four dainty chairs surrounding the round glass-topped table remained in place on the forever-mopped ceramic floor. The white curtains with tiny mauve dancing girls needed no adjustment beside the polished windows that overlooked the patio. Josie saw that no item in the kitchen Sylvie had looking like the rest of the spotless dollhouse needed adjustment.

“I’m ready.” Colin stood in the doorway.

Josie returned to the den and took his pressure the final time. “Looks good.” She recorded the numbers and his weight. His eyes remained diverted. “Can I do anything?”

His shook his head, then trailed off to the kitchen.

What a ridiculous question, Josie considered. Can I do anything? “Sure,” he might answer. “How about a new kidney? And while you’re at it, how about getting me new parents?”

He wasn’t talkative at the table, so they ate in silence. Josie did notice him eyeing the clear drinking glass holding his tea. His gaze shifted toward her eyes and then lowered.

“You okay?” As soon as she said it, Josie wished she hadn’t. He never liked to be pampered. He didn’t like reminders of his problem.

He speared a strawberry slice with his fork and nodded.

Immediately after dinnerColin went off to his room. Josie scraped their dishes and set them in the dishwasher. Flicking on the patio light, she took the trash out, noting the stagnant moist air had been replaced with a cool freshness in the storm’s aftermath.

She passed near the swing on their covered patio and stepped on wet grass to reach the garbage can hidden behind a large hibiscus bush near the garage. Standing in the dark, she could scan the sky, making certain the horrid weather had moved on. The moon wasn’t visible. Long gray clouds stretched like skeleton fingers, a reminder of what had just come.

Do the other people who were kids at the party still panic when
storms come too close?

She shuddered, regretting that she’d lost touch with all those she had known as children. But she had moved. So had many of them. Discarding her garbage bag, she wiped her shoes on the mat outside the door when she sensed someone’s presence.

On the draped edge of light from the patio stood a man. He stared at her.

Hairs raised on Josie’s neck.

The man’s shoulders slumped forward. The shadowed darkness didn’t hide the fact that his jacket fit badly. The legs of his pants fell toward the soles of his shabby dress shoes. Above these telltale items, her neighbor locked gazes with her.

“Maurice, can I help you?” she asked, trying to still her voice.

He didn’t answer. Instead, he shifted his bulk. His face remained bleak as it emerged from the light’s outer circle, and he came forward.

Cropped with brown hair, Maurice Exely’s head seemed to tuck into his neck while he scurried. His pants flopped as he scooted across the cement behind Josie and out into her dark yard. Scuttling to the left, he neared the thick pampas grasses separating their lawn from his.

Why had he been here? She had only seen him when he cut grass with his push mower. Most people in the neighborhood used riding mowers or hired grass cutters, but he always trudged away, sweating behind his machine. “Look at how neglected his lawn looks,” Sylvie recently pointed out, and Josie said he was probably depressed since his grandmother died. She told her mother not to worry. Soon Maurice would be out there again, getting his lawn as neat as before.

Maybe he needs a ride, she considered. He had been standing in front of their garage. She wondered why he’d left so suddenly when she spotted headlights pulling into the drive on the opposite side of her yard. She glanced back to where Maurice ran. A shape slithered between the bushes’ green spikes. Then the branches closed together as though no intruder moved through.

Josie knew little about him. She’d seen him walking downtown once. He’d never married. She had no idea what his voice sounded like. Soon after she moved here, his grandmother said he and Josie were the same age. Whenever Josie saw him since Mrs. Exeter’s death, he resembled a large lonely child. And never, not even while his grandparent lived, had those jackets or slacks fit him correctly.

I could offer to fix them, she thought, then immediately dismissed the idea. Proposing to alter his clothes would say she had noticed a problem and that might hurt his feelings.

Shaking her arms, she continued to feel her shoulders knotted. News of the murder and the thunder and lightning had combined to disturb her.

“Josie! Hey, Josie!” a child called from a tan SUV parking on the driveway to her right. A smiling face framed by straight golden hair stuck out the rear window.

“Hello to you, young lady,” Josie said and walked across to the Allen home. Six-year-old Annie Allen bounded out of the SUV with all the energy of a basketball team. She dove into Josie’s widespread arms and almost knocked her over.

“We went get some ice cream,” Annie said

Josie forced a scowl. “And none for me?”

The child smiled, her shoulders lifting to a shrug near her ears. Behind her, a figure padded toward them.

LauraLee Allen, on a perennial quest to lose thirty pounds, had to have looked absolutely stunning when she was slightly younger. With thick wavy hair slightly blonder than Annie’s, crystal blue eyes, and a constant tan, LauraLee retained much of that beauty.

“Nope, only Annie got ice cream.” LauraLee swiped a napkin across the chocolate steaks staining her child’s chin. “Her daddy spoils her so much.”

LauraLee glanced at Josie while attempting to hold Annie still and rub off the brown smears. “She sure likes you, hon. Ever since you watched her for me, she talks about you all the time. It’s Josie this and Josie that.”

Josie smiled. “Any time.” More doors slammed as men slipped out the front doors of their SUV.

“No wonder,” one of them said, walking near. “Our neighbor’s quite a girl.” Randall Allen smiled. His dark brown hair sported a fresh cut, and he wore a sports coat and slacks that fit him well, the exact opposite of the neighbor from the other side of Josie’s yard.

The man who left the front passenger seat did not come near like the others.

Annie screamed. “I gotta go make!”

“Then hurry. I told you to go before we left,” LauraLee said and strode off behind the child scampering to the house, calling over her shoulder, “See you later, Josie. Come by soon. We haven’t gotten to visit lately.”

“I will. Bye, Annie.”

“Bye!” The girl half-ran and half-hopped to the door at their side entrance.

Hurrying to her, LauraLee passed the tall figure headed in the same direction and unlocked their door. Josie did not recognize the man.

The motion detector light had come on, and the stranger stopped and turned. He was older than Mr. Allen, with an unusual yellow cast lighting his slim gray beard. Some gray also seemed to mottle his black hair. Along with his tailored suit, he wore a bow tie. Through dark-rimmed glasses, his eyes studied Josie.

She looked away.

“How’s your family?” Randall Allen asked.

“Everyone’s fine.” Josie tilted her head toward the man. “Mr. Allen, is that your new partner?”

“Babineaux? Yes, he’s coming to dinner.”

She shivered. “That horrible storm. It made the temperature drop.” She rubbed her arms. “Were you out in it?”

“Yes, I almost had to pull over, but it didn’t last too long.”

Lightning bolts crashed in Josie’s mind as clearly as if cameras were flashing. And then that dark void. Colin had been lost inside it.

“I hate to drive in weather like that,” she said, peering at her house. Lights lit only one window. Colin was alone. “I need to get back. Nice seeing you, Mr. Allen,” she said and rushed back to her brother.

* * *

Lightning splintered the sky, making the air surrounding him crackle as he stepped out of his car. Trembling, he smiled. This display intensified his desire for the young woman. Weather like this drew out her fear.

A few minutes later he stood inside the bamboo paneled office and stared out the window at the storm wrapping itself around the city’s morning skyline like a ravenous python about to devour breakfast. Thunder reverberated above the sound system’s easy listening music. He imagined the thunder rolling through his shoes and up his torso. She was somewhere out there.

From behind the wide redwood desk smelling of polish sat the doctor who did not want to be called one.
Shrink
was more like it. The client knew the man at the desk liked that title even less, but he was one.

Dr. Malcolm Hanover kept that aromatic unlit pipe clamped between his bleached teeth. The thunder’s complaint hushed. Hanover’s sound system made an annoying sputter. The clean straight nails of his fingers continued their
tap, tap-tap, tap, tap-tap
rhythm on that damn shiny desktop.

Hanover stared from his red leather chair that creaked when he leaned his lanky body forward or back. Unblinking eyes gazed from beneath thinning hair that must have once been orange. If that hair hadn’t been slicked to the side, Hanover’s round face might not resemble a globe. If Hanover had any insight at all, decided the client, he would interpret his client’s plans and call the police and her.

The client stirred, warmth spreading while he thought of her. Of what he would do to her. His eyes crinkled with his tight smile. Perspiration wet his armpits. Beyond the busy traffic he watched on Mobile’s main thoroughfare, she was waiting.

He would let her know his intentions. And then, then he would do what he wanted

Hanover rapped his fingernails on the desk, making the client’s forehead furrow. Those nail strikes were giving Hanover’s customer an order. Speak up. Give me a glimpse of what is going on inside you.

No, thought the client. You will continue to see only the shell, a man in a suit, beyond the green plants strewn like a jungle beside your wall. Don’t you know your greenery carries the stench of musty soil?

You obviously know little.

The client watched the gray-blanketed afternoon. “Rain’s coming.”

“So it seems.” Hanover’s tapping stopped.

Outside, a crash resounded.

“Thun-der,” said the client. He liked the word’s sound, enjoyed the way it felt rolling through his mouth. And she—she didn’t like thunder at all.

“Let’s get back to our discussion.” The chair squeaked as Hanover left it.

We
never had a discussion, thought the client;
you
did. His outer vision let him spy the doctor moving toward him.

“You are here for a reason,” the doctor said. “I know it’s not of your choosing.”

The client grunted. Absolutely not.

“But you were accused of those atrocities.”

And I will do them again.

Getting no response, the therapist continued. “Because of that, you paid a price.”

The client nodded, still staring outside but no longer noticing what was out there. Public humiliation for being accused had been much more of a price than was necessary. Hanover had no business mentioning those other things. He’d said that himself during their first session.

“You were found guilty of the other charge.” The therapist’s voice rose in a tone hinting of superiority. “I know you had counseling. And I’m sure it helped.”

Yes, I can control some urges now. Some of them. I cannot get caught stalking them.

“But to make certain you won’t revert to that behavior, you need to meet with me. And the judge did not order you here to check the view outside.”