Dancing in the Dark (12 page)

“Dance with him? I don’t understand,” said Diane.

“There was no music or anything, but I think you’d call it dancing.
He’d pull me up and press his body against me, rocking back and forth,
almost in rhythm with the waves flowing in. We must have been near the
ocean. I could hear it.”

With every word Leslie spoke, Diane was more certain that the piece
she would be offering on
Weekend Evening
Headlines
in a few hours would be mesmerizing.

“It was horrible. So horrible. The only way I could get through it
was thinking of dancing with my boyfriend Shawn.” Leslie’s voice rose
plaintively. “But the worst part is that I don’t think anyone believed
me.”

“Another young woman is missing, Leslie. Do you think people will
believe you now?”

“I hope so,” Leslie answered softly as tears welled up in her brown
eyes. “And I feel sorry for her.”

Though Carly Neath’s father said neither he nor his wife would have
anything to say to the press, Matthew thought it was a good idea to go
over to their house anyway. People could easily say no on the phone,
but when actually face-to-face with another human being, they sometimes
changed their minds. Without the intimidation of a camera crew, Matthew
felt he might have a better chance of getting the Neaths to talk with
him.

He found the house in the middle of the block on Surf Avenue. There
were no shutters or window boxes on the aluminum-sided colonial. Though
it was a bland dwelling now, Matthew suspected that beneath the worn
white siding there were the wooden boards and elaborate moldings of the
original Victorian structure. Someone’s idea of progress had left the
house totally without charm.

He knocked on the front door, waited, and then knocked again.
Matthew couldn’t be sure if the Neaths were inside or not. He pressed
his cupped hands against the window and tried to see through the glass.

“They’re in there all right.”

Matthew spun around in the direction of the voice. A very elderly
man stood on the porch of the house next door.

“I know they’re in there in case that daughter of theirs calls. They
don’t want to miss out if the police call with news, neither.”

Matthew walked away from Neaths’ front door, sensing that this old
guy, with his bony shoulders and arms sticking out of his sleeveless
undershirt, might be a good source of information. He went next door
and struck up a conversation.

“So, I guess you know Carly?”

“Yep. I’ve known her since she was a little kid. Always get-tin’
into everything, that one. It looks like she got into something bad
this time.”

“Have any theories on what might have happened to her?” Matthew
asked.

The old man shrugged his shoulders. “I have my suspicions.”

Matthew waited for the man to continue.

“You know, it’s tough gettin’ old. You don’t even think about that
now, do you, sonny?”

“Not much,” Matthew said, noticing the flaking skin at the man’s
temples. There were a couple of teeth missing from the old guy’s bottom
gums, and a vague odor of decay reached Matthew’s nostrils.

“I didn’t think about it when I was your age either. But it comes
before you know it. And it brings with it all sorts of miserable
things. For me, the worst is not sleepin’. Can’t tell you when the last
time I slept through the night was.”

“That’s too bad,” said Matthew, wishing the old codger would get to
the point. The man took a seat in the rocking chair on his porch.

“It was so hot last night. Lord, was it hot. I don’t have
air-conditionin’. Don’t usually need it here, even in the summertime.
And it costs money to run those things, and that’s something I don’t
have enough of.”

Matthew was growing impatient. He had to keep himself from tapping
his foot on the porch floor. Instead, he nodded in agreement, as if he
understood the old man’s problems.

“So I came out here to sit in my rocker because I thought it would
be cooler. But it wasn’t. I expect it was just about as hot as inside.”

Matthew anticipated where this was going and wanted to move things
along. “So you saw something from here on your porch last night?”

The man rocked. “Yep.”

“What did you see?” The old guy seemed to be enjoying stringing this
out.

“I could see Carly walkin’ up the street. That yellow hair of hers
was catchin’ the moonlight.”

“What time was that?” Matthew asked.

“About eleven-thirty, quarter to twelve.”

“Did you say anything to her, or did she say anything to you?”

“She didn’t even see me, and I didn’t have nothin’ to say to her.”

The elderly man paused, enjoying his power. After rocking for a
minute, he continued. “Well, I might as well tell you what I told the
police when they were here today askin’ all their questions. I wasn’t a
bit surprised when I saw it. You know these kids today, comin’ and
goin’ at all hours of the day and night. Even the girls. In my day, no
self-respectin’ girl would be out by herself alone at night like that.
Even here in Ocean Grove.”

“What did you see?” Matthew pressed him.

“I seen her walk right by her own house and keep on goin’.” The old
man shook his head. “Yep. She just kept on walkin’. Toward the ocean.
Late at night like that. It’s a disgrace what young girls do today.”

“So, you said you had your suspicions about what happened to Carly.”
Matthew tried diverting the man’s attention from the mores of today’s
youth. “What do you think happened?” He leaned forward to hear.

“Like I told the police. I think that guy got her.”

“Guy? What guy?”

“The one that was following along behind her. She didn’t see him,
but he sure was makin’ a beeline for her.”

A small, curious crowd gathered on the grass surrounding the red
gazebo that covered the Beersheba Well to watch the news team shooting
the interview. Diane was used to the gawks and stares, but Leslie was
not. It wasn’t that she didn’t enjoy attention, but Leslie was
uncomfortable about exposing herself in front of people she didn’t
know. Somehow, anonymous television viewers didn’t unnerve her nearly
as much as the real human beings straining to hear what she was telling
Diane Mayfield.

“
I
think that’s all I have to
say right now.” Leslie pulled at her microphone.

Diane knew better than to push. She would want another opportunity
to interview Leslie at greater length for the
Hourglass
segment if Joel decided to go ahead with it. For now, she had
more than enough for the relatively short piece for
Evening Headlines
.
And, on a more personal level,
Diane didn’t want to force anyone else’s daughter to do something
against her will.

“What time will this be on?” Leslie asked as she stood up.

“I’m not sure where the story will be scheduled in the show, but the
broadcast begins at six-thirty,” Diane answered. “Thank you so much for
doing this, Leslie. We really appreciate it.”

Diane watched the young woman make her way through the onlookers,
cut across the lawn, and head back toward the heart of town. As Sammy
and Gary packed up their gear, Diane sat back down on the well’s step
and took a notebook from her bag. She was beginning to rough out a
script when her cell phone rang.

“This call is from a federal prison,” announced the recorded voice.

Diane knew the drill. When prompted, she pressed five to accept the
call.

“It’s me.”

In spite of everything, his voice never failed to thrill her. Since
the first time he had spoken to her, back in that psychology class in
senior year in college, she’d been a sucker for his soft West Virginia
drawl. Diane got up, turned her back, and walked away from the camera
crew.

“Hi, it’s me,” she answered softly.

“Well? How is it? How was the flight? Have you hooked up with the
tour yet?” His questions were rapid-fire.

Diane bit the inside of her mouth.

“Diane? Are you there?”

“Yes, Philip. I’m here.”

“Well? How’s it going? Are the kids all excited? Tell me what’s
going on.” There was such enthusiasm in his voice, Diane hated to
disappoint him. She knew he was craving some happy news; he needed to
have something to think about after lights out, when sleep would not
come.

“Actually, Philip, there’s been a change in plans.”

“This call is from a federal prison.” The recorded voice again,
interrupting and reminding them of something they never forgot.

“What kind of change of plans?” There was wariness in Philip’s
voice. “Has something happened? Is something wrong? Are the kids sick?”
Now there was panic in his tone.

“No, Michelle and Anthony are fine,” she quickly reassured him.
There was no way Diane was going to discuss her fears about Michelle
and a possible eating disorder now. Philip couldn’t do a thing about
it, and there was no point in giving him more to worry about.

“Are you okay, honey?” he asked.

At the term of endearment, Diane felt a tug in her chest. For
richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health… Despite her
disappointment at what he had done professionally and her anger at what
his actions had done to their family, Diane still hoped that, with
time, she would be able to forgive her husband. What they’d had
together once had been so good. Even though Philip had made a terrible
mistake, she hadn’t stopped—couldn’t stop—loving
him. They had too much history. They shared two children. And their
emotional and physical chemistry had always been strong.

How she ached to be with Philip again. Not in some large room with
theater-style seating, with prison guards and security cameras
watching. Knowing that, when the visit ended, he would be forced to go
through the indignity of a strip search. Dear God, she wanted their old
life back, with all the privacy they had taken so much for granted.

“I’m fine, Philip. Really. But I had to cancel the vacation. Joel
Malcolm insisted I cover a story.”

“Ah, Di, you’re kidding.” The disappointment in his voice was
palpable.

“I wish I were, believe me, but I’m not. Instead I’m in Ocean Grove,
New Jersey, doing a story on missing girls.”

“And where are the kids? They must have been so bummed out.”

“That’s an understatement, especially Anthony. But Joel said I could
bring them with me. They’re probably with Emily at the beach right now.”

“This call is from a federal prison.” Again, the damned recording.

“I have to get back to my room for the four o’clock count, Di.” His
voice sounded heavy.

The thought of Philip standing up and being counted as a criminal by
prison officers sickened her. In fact, everything she knew about what Philip was forced to endure at
the federal prison sickened her. What she didn’t know, the things she
suspected he didn’t tell her, truly terrified her.

But he had committed a crime, and if there was any chance he or they
could go forward and live an honest life, Philip had to pay for what he
had done.

The KEY News satellite truck operator parked his rig at the
designated meeting place, the cul-de-sac at the end of Ocean Avenue.
Leaving the motor running, Scott Huffman sat back to wait for Diane
Mayfield and Matthew Voigt and whichever their crew was for this
Weekend Evening Headlines
assignment.
The view out the window was a reminder that it was a summer weekend and
he was working yet again. People in shorts and bathing suits strolled
on the boardwalk. Some were filing into a large wood-frame structure
that backed up to the beach. Others were lined up in front at a
take-out window.

Scott’s stomach rumbled, recalling that it hadn’t been fed anything
since the cheese Danish and coffee early in the morning. When he opened
the door of the truck, the hot blast of air that pushed inside tempted
him to stay put in the nice, cool cab. But hunger trumped comfort. He
got out of the van, locked it up, and joined the others waiting in line.

Scott paid for two hot dogs with the works, fries, and a root beer.
He didn’t want to stink up the truck, so he carried the cardboard tray
with his order to a bench farther down the boardwalk. He wolfed down
the late lunch, gazing out at the ocean between bites.

As he chewed, he thought about himself. He had to get a life. Sure,
the overtime was great, but he hadn’t spent a full weekend at home the
whole summer. Last month he’d been away for over a week when
KEY to America
had broadcast from
Newport, Rhode Island. It wasn’t fair to his wife and kids, and it
wasn’t fair to himself. He didn’t want to become one of those guys who
missed the important things just to have a bigger cushion in the bank.
He had to start saying no to the weekend assignments. There were other
guys who could run the satellite rig and feed the audio and video back to the Broadcast Center. Let
them
get the overtime.

Scott tossed the trash from his lunch into a garbage can and headed
back up the boardwalk, passing a guy who might have been about his own
age going in the other direction. Despite the oppressive heat, the man
was wearing pants and a long-sleeved military camouflage shirt. He was
muttering to himself. Scott couldn’t help staring at the guy. It was
clear something wasn’t quite right with him.

There’s a troubled soul who really got
screwed in the lottery of life
,
he thought. But as he
spotted Diane Mayfield waving beside the satellite truck, the pathetic
stranger was quickly forgotten.

Diane was in the satellite truck, putting the finishing touches on
her script, when her cell phone sounded. She listened as Matthew filled
her in on what Carly Neath’s neighbor said he had seen the night before.