Chill Waters (28 page)

He glanced at the roses lying across the passenger seat. Maybe she knows I’m out here and is deliberately ignoring me. Hoping I’ll go away? No. That wasn’t like Rachael. Rachael wouldn’t do that to him.

He needed her. He always had. He just didn’t know how much. He’d got bored sitting behind a desk, that was all. And Lisa became a fever in him. A fever broken, Thank God. He was used to the road, to the freedom. So he’d picked up a few women in the towns he’d traveled through; he’d handled it, hadn’t he? He never brought trouble home. It was all innocent. Didn’t mean anything.

I’ll beg her on my hands and knees if I have to. And maybe my kids will start speaking to me again.

Especially Susan. He and Jeff didn’t hit it off that great, anyway.
Seeing you coming out of that hotel in Dayton with the blonde, whose name Greg couldn’t even remember, (if he ever knew it) didn’t help.
Lousy timing, he thought, crushing his cigarette out in the ashtray. He shivered inside the overcoat; the car was cooling.

How was I to know Jeff was in Dayton on a computer course? He’d felt hot shame looking into his son’s eyes that morning. No point in trying to bluff it out, either. Jeff knew. He’d kept on walking, pretending not to know his father. At home, he never spoke about it, but it was always there, between them.

And now he’s going to make me a grandfather. Great. Knowing Rachael, she probably thinks it’s cool. Maybe the idea would grow on him. Never mind that she had told him on the phone not to come here, or even call her again. It didn’t matter. He’d make her change her mind. Wasn’t he the best-damned salesman in town? She’d said so herself. Yeah, his wife was a class act.

From the moment he laid eyes on her, sitting behind the typewriter, long dark hair fallen forward as she typed a mile a minutehe knew she was special. The new girl. She didn’t come on to him like the others. Always helpful, though. Sweet. A little on the shy side. He liked that about her.

A light tapping at his window scattered his reveries like a flock of sparrows from a gunshot. He turned to see a stranger’s face smiling in at him, motioning him to open the window. Curious, apprehensive, Greg pressed the button. The window sighed open. Did she send him out here to give me the bum’s rush? “Greg Timmins,” he said in his best salesman’s voice. “I’m here to see my wife.”
She’s still legally married to me. The
divorce isn’t final yet.
Was she living with this guy? Jealousy twisted hot in his gut. But he wouldn’t be smiling, would he, if that was the deal? He’d be ticked that I was here. No, Rachael wouldn’t shack up with anyone. She had principle. His wife believed in the sanctity of marriage.

Catching a sudden, horrifying glimpse of shiny, moving metal, Greg’s heart lurched, as if it was trying to escape his body in pursuit of the sparrows that had taken flight.

Adrenaline flooding his veins, he dove away from the blade being thrust through the open window at him. But you could only go so far in the front seat of the car, and the knife’s blade, though intended for his throat, slipped between his ribs instead, with the ease of a knife through cheese.

At first, Greg felt nothing at all, and then a slow, sharp burning started up in his side, quickly escalating into a scalding pain that spread and deepened. Warm blood spilled from his wound, soaking his new shirt and jacket.

He must be more ticked off then I figured,
was his final thought before darkness enveloped him.

Scurrying around to the other side of the car, Charlie dragged the dead weight of his newest victim into the passenger seat. Propping him up, he fastened the seat-belt around him. Breathing hard from the exertion, he slid into Greg Timmin’s place behind the wheel.

The key was in the ignition; Charlie turned it. The engine revved to life.

As he drove with his mute passenger beside him, Charlie thought, for some reason, of Ruth. How he’d gone back and smoothed down the wisps of hair so that her death would not look suspicious, only a heart attack, not unexpected. He’d been about to leave again when he noticed that bewitched was on, credits still rolling. He knew it was one of her favorite sitcoms. He liked the rightness of that, the way events had come full circle. Sort of like in those Greek tragedies Doctor Whittaker used to tell him about. He’d likened Charlie’s own life to a Greek tragedy. Charlie couldn’t recall which one.

“When did you first begin to look at Marie in a sexual way, Charlie?”

Twelve. Around twelve when he began to notice her small round breasts under the pajama tops when she came down to breakfast. And her child-woman shape in the leotards and short skirts she wore to her dance class.

But she became happy again, didn’t she, Charlie. Like a puppy starved for her big brother’s attentions. She adored you, Charlie. Until you…

“Shut up,” Charlie shouted, twisting around in the seat as if expecting to see the doctor sitting in the back. But only the man beside him, whose head lolled to one side, shared the space with him.

No Doctor Whittaker with his mild, interested eyes, his hand holding the yellow pencil, tap, tap, tapping on his green blotter. Just the tires humming softly over the snow-covered pavement.

Thirty-Five

Charlie banged the receiver into its cradle, checked his watch in the light of the phone booth. After midnight and she still wasn’t home. He waited another ten minutes then tried again, letting the phone ring a dozen times before hanging up.

His heart was a block of concrete in his chest. He’d go back to the house and wait for her. She had to come home sooner or later. And when she did… He turned to leave and there stood the grinning fool who could easily have been cast in a key role in
Deliverance.
The guy who owned the welding shop. He’d been hitting the sauce, stank of it.

“We gotta stop meetin’ like this,” Nate laughed, a phlegmy, disgusting sound that made Charlie’s want to puke. “Someone else gettin’ it with the little piece tonight, ole pal?” He grinned drunkenly.

Too bleary-eyed to see the danger that surfaced in Charlie’s eyes, Nate slapped him good-old-boy like on the back. “The hell with her. They’re all tramps, ya know. Can’t trust ‘em far as you can throw ‘em.” He gave Charlie a sly wink, which seemed to suggest he knew things.

What? What did he know?

“Don’t know what you’re up to, exactly, buddy, and don’t much care either. Ain’t no skin off my hide what you do. But I do know that guy you left in the car back there ain’t goin’ to be doing no blabbing, either. If you get my drift.”

“Not sure I do,” Charlie said softly, having to work hard at keeping his voice even.

“Hey, don’t try to con a con, pal. I passed you in my truck not five, ten minutes ago.” Nate’s voice grew quieter now, steady, almost sober. “You was headed in this direction, walking. I knew I seen you before. Thought you was a gimp. You ain’t though, are you? Yeah, I knew you looked familiar. It was right after I passed that Mustang parked on the shoulder of the road.” He grinned, licked wet lips, as if already tasting the spoils of his victory.

Charlie knew now where this was going.

“I says to myself, ‘Now what’s that fellow doin’ walking along this road at night, without even a flashlight. Gonna get hisself killed.’ Then I see your face, and I remember. But I don’t see no cane, no limp. Something not right here, says I. So I do a u-ee, go back to check out the car. Just a hunch, you know? Just a funny feeling I had. I kept telling myself on the way there that I was prob’ly way off base and the driver just pulled off the road for a little shut-eye. That’s until I look in and see all that blood. And the friggin’ knife-handle sticking out of him.”

He was clearly enjoying himself. Charlie let him rave. Charlie was thinking.

“Now, Nate Prichard ain’t a greedy man, but maybe we can do each other a favor, you and me, work something out.”

“Maybe. What have you got in mind, Nate?”

“Look, maybe the guy was hittin’ on your woman, and you did him. Good riddance as far as I’m concerned. And I sure as hell ain’t got no love for the cops. So why don’t you and me head on over to the shop for a few drinks and a little dealin'’. I got me some real good whiskey stashed."

“Sounds fair enough,” Charlie smiled. He draped an arm around his newfound friend’s shoulders. “Lead the way.”

Rachael and Peter had been sitting in her drive for the past ten minutes, talking and enjoying one another’s company, reluctant to end what had been a perfect evening. “I want you to know,” Peter said, “that I had a terrific time tonight, Rachael. And it’s because of you. It’s been a while since I’ve danced orwell…”

“I know,” she said softly. “Me too.” Despite his losses Peter Gardner exuded life. She knew that his mother (Iris’ sister) and father were killed in a tour bus crash when he was twelve, which was when he’d come to live with Iris. And then to lose his young wife of cancer. Yet there seemed no bitterness in him. Or at least it didn’t show. “It must have been very hard for you after your wife died.”

“To put it mildly. But, as the old saying goes, ‘Life goes on.’ Even when you wish to hell it wouldn’t.” His face took on a boyish, hopeful expression that touched her heart. “And then, sometimes life surprises you.”

Yes. She knew what he meant. She had felt the same way tonight. Carefree. Young. But she was not ready for a new relationship. For a while, she had thought she never would be again. Her divorce wasn’t even final. But she also knew that she’d given Peter every reason tonight to believe she was ready to hop into bed with him.

But it wasn’t going to happen. Not tonight anyway. It was the wine and the night itself that had intoxicated her. Had made her lose her inhibitions for a time, she told herself. But she knew better. It was far more than that. You’re falling in love with him. No doubt about it. Still, time to take a few steps back. Think with her head instead of her heart. She was just beginning to find out who she was without a man in her life. Who she was, all on her own.

She reached over and brushed the curve of his cheek with her fingertips. She smiled. God, he was so beautiful. “Friends first. Okay?”

He covered her hand with his own, squeezed gently. His touch was electric, made her secretly catch her breath. She longed to move into his arms, let his touch, his mouth, his passion fill all the neglected, hurt places. But she remained where she was.

“That’s going to be rough,” he said, kissing her briefly on the mouth. A mere peck. But enough to turn her knees to water and make her rethink her decision. “Could we start Monday?” he asked softly.

“Yeah, I’d like that.” And then she was in his arms, and he was kissing her, and it was sort of like before when were dancing. Like coming home. Then his hands were moving up through her hair, his mouth kissing the hollow of her throat. He moaned softly against her skin. It took every shred of willpower she possessed to move out of his embrace and get out of the car.

She floated up the porch steps, her head still in the clouds, and saw the note pinned to her door. Removing it, already knowing who it was from, she slipped it into her pocket. Behind her, Peter was backing out of the drive. He gave a short blat on the horn. She smiled and waved.

Inside, she turned on a light and read the note.

Dear Rachael, just wanted to thank you for everything and to tell you that I’ve moved out of the cabin. You know, the nights are getting a little cold at that. Anyway, finished the book on time, thanks to you. Count on an acknowledgement; you deserve it. Hope you had a nice time tonight, and that we’ll meet again sometime. I left your check in the cabin, on the table. My pleasure to help out, honest. Thanks again. And please forgive my clumsiness. All the best, Martin.

Hallelujah! It seemed to be her night all around. Head still woozy from the wine, and the evening, feeling like she was sixteen, she took off her boots and left them by the door, dropped the crumpled note on the end table on her way upstairs.

She hung her new dress in the closet and slipped into her nightie, not noticing that it was not folded as she had left it, or that there was a smear of blood the hem, and crept into bed. For a little while, Rachael lay reliving the events of the evening, replaying Peter’s words in her mind, seeing his changing expressions as he talked. She fell asleep feeling his arms about her, the two of them floating about the dance floor to the music. She fell asleep with a smile on her lips.

At 3:00 a.m. she was wakened by the wailing of sirens. Ignoring her wine-induced headache, and a mouth tasting like cotton-balls, she stepped into her slippers, donned her robe and hurried to the window.

Horror filled her to see the night sky alight with a rosy glow. To her left, flames leapt higher than the tallest trees, sparks exploding into the sky like fourth of July fireworks.

Behind her, the phone rang chorusing with the wailing outside her window.

“I figured the sirens would wake you,” Peter said. “I didn’t want you to worry that your own place might be in any danger. It’s not. Nate Prichard’s Welding Shop burned down. With Nate inside, unfortunately.”

“Oh, Peter…”

“I know. I’m going over there now, see how Tommy’s doing.” Rachel said she’d see him later.

Downstairs in the kitchen, she made herself a strong cup of black coffee, her eye passing absently over the small puddle of melted snow on the floor near the window. Taking her coffee into the livingroom, she switched on the local news channel.