Dying to Know (6 page)

“Him? No way, man.” Mr. Sumo looked around the fairway.

“The Man’s worried you cops are thinkin’ that. He’s clean. Clean

on both. He’s retired, for Christ’s sake.”

Bear laughed. “Bul shit. Guys like him never retire.”

“Listen, please.” Mr. Sumo pointed a finger at him and

squinted. “You gotta be careful. The Man ain’t playin’ around,

Bear. He’s retired but he ain’t dead.”

“Meaning?”

39

I stood there, listening and watching. Frustration set in—who

was this guy? His face was a nagging, deliberate memory trying

to form in my head. It was there just out of reach. The conversa-

tion wasn’t helping either. Faces and questions with no names.

Another murder—the other murder? Damn, damn, damn.

“Look, Bear, I got somethin’ else.”

“What?”

“The Man says someone is runnin’ stuff around here without

his blessin’. He’s pissed. I heard him talkin’ to New York. A

Heavy’s in town and the Man don’t like it. He told them this town

is off-limits. Ya know, he gotta live here.”

“Who’s the Heavy? What’s he here for?”

“Dunno. Could be about Tuck.” Mr. Sumo leaned closer to

Bear and poked the air. “Like I told you, Bear, street sees things different. You know, like maybe you and the lady professor did

him—or got someone to do it for her. Maybe the Heavy.”

Bear knocked away the man’s finger, grabbed his shirt, and

slammed him back against the rain shelter wal . “You bastard. I

told you to drop that. Who’s talking that shit?”

“People, just people. Don’t go bitin’ the hand that feeds you. I

never said it—but it’s out there. Somebody’s diggin’ around on

that, too. Somebody wants your ass,
paesano
.”

“Digging around?”

“Yeah, digging around on the lady professor and you, Bear.

Now settle down. I’m tellin’ you this for your own good. Some-

body askin’ questions and making it sound like you and the wife,

you know, gotta thing.”

“Who’s spreading that?”

40

Mr. Sumo shrugged.

“Find out.” Bear tapped his watch. “Time’s ticking. Get me the

name or I come for your boss.
Capice
?”

“Sure, sure. But I’m tellin’ ya’, he’s not playin’ in this one. Back off.”

Bear reached into his pocket and pulled out a wad of bil s. He

tossed several at Mr. Sumo. “You find out who’s talking about

Angela and me, Tommy. Find out fast. And you better start prov-

ing your boss is clean, too, or he’s going down. The easy way or

the hard way.”

Bear turned and headed for his golf cart.

“Yeah, yeah. And hey …”

Bear stopped and turned around.

“Watch your ass, Bear. If you get it next, who’s gonna keep my

parole clean?”

41

eig ht

When Bear left Tommy on the fairway, he seemed angry and

frustrated. He mumbled he was late for a “thing,” abandoned his

golf cart in the parking lot, and drove off. He took his frustration out on the gravel driveway.

Whatever his “thing” was, I didn’t want to be part of it.

I decided to let him cool down and headed for home on foot.

I strol ed along trying to conjure up the magic words to launch

me onto the spook-highway and materialize in my den, but noth-

ing was working. Unable to find the formula, I settled on a five-

mile fall hike to contemplate what my life—or lack of it—would

now be.

I never made it a mile.

“
Oliver—go to Angel. Go now.
”

Oliver? Who said that?

Fear gripped me. It squeezed my thoughts in a fist and

twisted. It was confusing, disorienting—I wasn’t afraid … Angel

42

was. She appeared in front of me as her terror reached out and

seized me. She was bracing herself against an unseen attack. Her

thoughts were flustered and whirled in circles searching for pro-

tection, somewhere to hide and find safety. Her voice echoed in

my head, calling me, begging me to help her.

“
Dammit, Oliver, go to her. Fol ow her.
”

The voice burned into my head. It was loud and commanding

but it wasn’t from anyone near. It came from inside. Then I heard

Angel again, begging me to reach her.
Fol ow her
… Yes. Like a distant light in the darkness, I followed her voice and it led me to her.



She was pressed against a highboy dresser, fighting to slide it

across the floor against the bedroom door. She was crying but

her teeth were clinched in determination. Something was terrify-

ing her and she was barricading herself in.

“Angel, what is it? What’s happening?”

I recognized the room from the photographs on the wall.

They were all Civil War monuments from throughout Virginia.

This was one of Ernie Stuart’s guest rooms. The Monument

Room, as Angel called it, where she slept last night.

“Angel, I’m here. What’s wrong?”

For a second, she stopped and looked around as though

searching for my voice. Then she attacked the dresser again. The

highboy stuck on the heavy corded rug. She grunted, tried to lift

it free, but failed. She ran to the window and looked out. What-

43

ever she saw—or didn’t see—calmed her, and she went to the

door and pressed herself against it to listen.

“Angel?”

Her face paled and she returned to the highboy. This time,

she succeeded in inching the dresser across the rug and against

the bedroom door. For a second, she leaned against the wall,

head cocked, straining to hear what I was sure she would not.

I was wrong.

Footsteps in the downstairs hall tromped to the foot of the

stairs and stopped. Then they moved away, lighter this time. Sec-

onds later, something crashed and rolled across the floorboards.

Then one glass—then two—shattered on the floor. The footsteps

retreated further and went silent.

“No, no, no.” Angel’s eyes flooded and she pressed all her

weight against the highboy, leveraging it tighter against the door.

“Please, go away, please.”

I tried to slip into the hal way to see who was in the house.

With the door shut, I was as much a prisoner as she. Twice, I

tried to will myself from the room, but each time, Angel’s terror

chained me to her. I couldn’t feel anything, sense anything, ex-

cept her pounding heart and her grip on me, holding me fast,

keeping me near.

Whoever was downstairs, I was helpless to seek them out.

The footsteps began again. This time, they grew louder in the

downstairs hall and climbed the wooden stairs, clacking up the

hardwood to the upstairs landing. A door down the hall from us

opened and closed. Then another.

44

Angel stiffened. She tried to muffle in a gasp but failed when

the footsteps stopped outside her door.

“Go away. Leave me alone, please.”

“Dear?” The voice boomed outside the door, and for an in-

stant, it startled both of us. “Angela? What’s wrong, dear?”

Ernie.

“Ernie? Oh, God, it’s you.”

It took all her might and Ernie’s shoulder to force open the

door and push the highboy clear enough for Angel to slip out.

When she did, she crushed into his arms.

“Angela?” He looked around her and through the half-open

door. “What on earth are you doing?”

“I was so scared.”

“Dear? Scared?” He relaxed his embrace. “What’s all this?”

“Someone is in the house.”

Ernie turned and looked down the stairwel , then back to her.

He shook his head but stopped when she began to cry. “Angela, it

was me. I was cleaning up and dropped the tray of dishes and

wineglasses from last night.”

“No, before. I saw someone.”

Ernie held her at arm’s length and tried to calm her with his

best Uncle-Ernie smile. “No one is down there. No one passed

me on the main road or my private road. The front door was

locked. There’s no one here.”

“Yes. I heard someone. I saw a man.”

“Angela. You’ve been through a lot. Maybe …”

“No. I know what I saw.”

He watched her, silent.

45

I stood beside Ernie. “Hey, go take a look around, Ernie. She’s

scared—terrified. Just look around.”

“Ernie, I …” Her hands flashed up and wiped away the fear

and confusion raining down her cheeks. “I know I saw someone.”

He eased her hands from her face and held them. “All right,

dear. I’ll look around.”

“Hurry, and be careful.”

She followed him through the house, room-by-room. With

each door he opened, she withdrew and her body tensed with

anticipation. Nothing but dusty bedspreads and a sink of break-

fast dishes waited. One of Ernie’s cats lay sleeping in the living room atop the couch, unthreatened by any intruder or their

search. A dustpan of broken glass and china waited on the coffee

table. At the front door, Ernie bade her lock it behind him and

went outside.

“I’l go with him,” I whispered. “It’s safe, Angel. Everything is

all right.”

She never even flinched.

Outside, I followed Ernie around the house in a haphazard

inspection of windows, doors, and gardens. Angel shadowed us

from inside, peeking out each window, racing to the next room

until we navigated the house and returned to the front door. We

found nothing. No scratched door latches. No jimmied window

latches. No footprints or scuffmarks in the gardens. There were

no signs of forced entry. Nothing. If there had been an intruder,

he was more ghostly than I was.

When Angel opened the front door, she was trembling.

46

“Nothing.” Ernie slipped his arm around her. “No one, my

dear. All is as it should be.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes, very. Nothing has been disturbed. As I’ve said, the door

was locked when I returned—I forgot some meeting notes and

came back. There were no other cars on the county road for

miles. No signs of anyone on my driveway.”

Angel’s tone was shallow and uncertain. “Maybe they came

through the woods. Maybe from another road.”

“No, dear.”

“Maybe …”

“No, Angela. No.” Ernie guided her to the kitchen and into a

high-back kitchen chair. “No one was here. You’ve had a very

tough couple of days.”

“No.”

Ernie sighed and went about making tea. I sat at his kitchen

table beside Angel. She gazed vacantly out the breakfast nook

windows, shaking her head in slow, almost imperceptible move-

ments. She was pale and her eyes dull with the battle between

self-doubt and disbelief. When Ernie placed the steaming cup in

front of her, she took it and sipped it.

“I know what I saw and heard, Ernie. A man—a tall man—

was trying to get into the house. I heard someone moving around

outside, rattling the windows. I thought it was you or André.

When I looked out, I saw a tall man.”

“Can you describe him more?”

She shook her head. “No, I just saw him walk around the cor-

ner of the house. I couldn’t see much from the window.”

47

“Wel , I suppose it could have been André. I left earlier this

morning and he was still here. His car is gone now. I can find out when he left if you like.”

“It wasn’t André.” She peered into her cup and the memory

seemed to scare her again. “When … when I went to the top of

the stairs, I heard someone in the living room. I called out but no one answered. I got frightened. When I turned to go to my room,

I caught sight of someone passing through the foyer.”

I leaned in close to her. “It’s okay, Angel. There’s no one here.”

Angel turned and looked right at me as though she could see

me. The thinnest of smiles edged the corners of her mouth. She

glanced down; perhaps embarrassed at any whimsical notion I

was close.

“I saw him twice. I’d swear …”

“Did you phone the police? Bear?”

She shook her head. “No, my phone is in my purse in the liv-

ing room. There’s no phone in the guest room.”

“Yes, yes, of course.” He sipped his tea, reaching out and tak-

ing her hand. “Angela, perhaps—just perhaps—it was a bad

dream. Perhaps you were thinking of the other night. You said a

man was in the foyer. Just like when Tuck …”

“No. Call Bear. Please. First Tuck … now someone was here.

Maybe …”

Ernie shook his head but didn’t respond.

“Listen, Ernie,” I said. “Call him. It’ll make her feel better.”

Angel’s eyes glistened. “Please.”

He relented. A few moments later, he was repeating the story

for the second time. When he quieted to listen to Bear, he went

48

into the living room to finish the call in private. Five minutes

later, he returned to the kitchen. He poured himself more tea and

sat down beside her.

“There. We had a good chat. He’ll come over, but he felt there

was no rush. He believes it’s stress.”

“No rush?” Angel frowned and went to the sink with her tea

mug. She was biting her lip and swirling the remnants of tea in

her mug—a sign she was confused and questioning herself. The

fear was passing and anger was filling the void.

I didn’t see any intruder or feel any danger when I’d found

Angel. It was her fear—her terror—that summoned me. Perhaps

her hold on me blocked any other sense or sight I might have