The Abduction of Mary Rose (24 page)

With all she had on her mind, she hadn't had a chance to read his book yet. She would, though. She was looking forward to it.

Frank was still turning pages. Despite the dinner he was due to attend, he was taking his time, giving attention to each face on the page. "No hand-written notes from school chums," he muttered. "Unusual." Then, "Was I ever this young?" He asked the question of the universe. "This filled with promise?"

"Sure. And you kept the promise. You're a very successful lawyer. And a good friend."

He looked gratified at that, moved on to the next page. Scanned the rows of youthful faces. Then another, and another. Soft whispers of turning pages in the otherwise quiet room.

"And Charlotte was wearing the pendant," he said, again, more to himself than to her. But she answered.

"Big as life, sitting in front of me at my kitchen table wearing it. She borrowed it from her mother's jewelry box, she said, where it's been for years. She said her mother never wore it. Didn't like it. Edna said as much to me."

"What the hell was Edna doing with it?" Frank said.

"'Ay, there's the rub. Like I said, I don't believe for one second that she found it on any beach."

He turned the next page, not answering. Contemplating.

"She was frightened, Frank," Naomi continued. "I could see it on her face, hear it in her voice, though she was trying her best to hide it from me. Seeing that necklace in my hand really shook her. Do you have any idea why that would be?"

"Not a clue," he said.

Naomi realized something fundamental had changed in her; she'd always been the sort of person who took people at their word, things at face value. But she knew now things were not always as they seemed. Forgiving was one thing. Learning to trust again was another. But she would. She refused to live in the darkness.

About halfway through the yearbook, just as Naomi was beginning to think they were getting nowhere and was about to tell him to go on to his dinner, Frank turned a page, then flipped it back again, surprised recognition on his face.

"What?" Naomi said, leaning forward in the chair.

Frank tapped a tattoo on the photo and turned the book around so she could see it. She read aloud the name beneath the photo of the young man, "Marcus Leeland."

"Edna dated him at one time, years ago of course. Before you were born. He'd been out of school a couple of years then. Lili thought he was a jerk, but Edna was crazy about him. He had that kind of 'bad boy' aura some girls are drawn to. He had a reputation as a player."

"You're kidding. Edna?" But he wasn't kidding. Frank was dead serious. She examined the photo more closely. Good-looking blond boy, receding hairline, even though he couldn't have been more than nineteen, macho type. Cocky grin. Marcus. Could it be? Edna dated him? Naomi had a hard time getting her mind around that, though her thoughts were travelling at super-speed, making connections that seemed impossible.

Aunt Edna? With her nose in air, always so critical, so proper. Dating someone so different from Uncle Harold. Edna had a side to her Naomi would not have suspected.

"God, Frank, are you sure this is him?"

"I wouldn't swear to it in a courtroom, but it sure as hell looks like him. The name's not quite right, I don't think Edna called him Marcus. Bud, Cal, something…." He stood up and re-buttoned his beautifully tailored jacket. "Gotta go. Don't go jumping to conclusions, okay? Even if it is the same guy, it proves only that Edna dated him at one time. Nothing else."

"Do you know anything else about him? Anything you remember?"

"Not off the top of my head. Uh, I seem to recall he was into restoring old cars. I've really gotta head out now, honey, but I'll think about it and get back to you."

"Do you happen to remember if he drove a dark car?"

"No. Sorry. I don't remember what kind of car I drove back then. Keep your doors locked, Naomi. Be careful. I don't like it that you're here alone. I'm worried about you."

"Don't be. I'm fine."

"Frank, did Mom know?" she asked, as he was starting down the front steps.

He turned, frowned. "Know?"

"Did she suspect who Mary Rose's attacker was? Is that why she adopted me? Out of some misguided sense of guilt?"

"No, absolutely not. She would have turned him in if she had."

"I wonder. Edna wouldn't have been all that thrilled for people to know she'd been mad for a rapist. Ultimately a killer. And Mom really loved her little sister. And we both know Mom was good at keeping secrets. "

"C'mon, Naomi. Cut your mom some slack, okay?"

She conceded with a shrug but didn't give it voice. Edna had called her a spawn of the devil. But had Edna bedded that devil? "Are you sure that…?"

"Yes, I am sure. She didn't know. And she never saw that pendant. I swear it. Never."

"If you say so."

"I do. I say so. I really do wish you'd let the police handle this, Naomi," echoing Lisa's sentiments on the subject.

"I don't have enough yet. Not to worry. It's okay. I uh, have a plan."

"A plan. I don't suppose you want to enlighten me."

"I will. But not right now. Enjoy the dinner."

* * *

The thing that kept playing in Naomi's mind was Frank saying Marcus Leeland had an interest in old cars. In restoring them. Norman Banks once worked at a place called The Body Shop. A place no longer in existence, but it was too big of a coincidence to think the two men didn't work there together, at least for a time. She had a name now. Marcus Leeland. But she still had no proof to take to the police.

Only a theory. Sergeant Nelson would have listened to her theory though, taken what she had into consideration. She wondered how he was doing. She would send a get well card, but had no address for him. She could always drop it in to the police station and ask them to forward it. Yes, she would do that.

That night she read in the paper about the murder of an eighteen year old prostitute named Marie Davis; it made the back page. Her battered body was found in a field in Lennix County, about twenty-five miles outside River's End. Though Mary Rose was an innocent schoolgirl, she couldn't help but make the connection. It happened on the same night she'd stayed over at Lisa's, though Naomi didn't think of that until later. She wondered how many people would have passed the item by, barely worth conversation at the breakfast table, saying
what the hell did those girls think would happen to them getting into cars with strangers, doing what they did?
But Naomi read the piece twice before she refolded the newspaper. A heaviness settled in her chest.

Only eighteen. She would have had family. A mother, father, people who loved her and would grieve for her. One could only hope this was so. 'There but for the grace of God', Naomi thought.

 
Later, she went back and read the write-up again. Wondering now if Marcus Leeland had killed her. Had he come here looking for me and frustrated, gone in search of other prey to vent his rage on? Easier prey? Was a young woman dead today because of her? Had the beast in Marcus Leeland unleashed its fury on someone else.

On the other hand, he wasn't the only predator around. Yet she couldn't shake the feeling that this was the work of none other than Edna's old boyfriend.

I want to see him
, Naomi thought suddenly.
I want to look at his face.

It was too late now, nearly eight o'clock, but in the morning, she'd call every body shop in town and ask to speak to a Marcus Leeland. Even if he wasn't pursuing the same line of work, someone might know him from the old days.

The sky outside her kitchen window was low and grey, threatening rain again, though the weatherman said sunny for most of tomorrow, a few cloudy patches.

Standing there, she imagined him walking across the back field, creeping up to her backdoor, and ripples of fear went through her.

She was about to leave the window when, to her right, a flash of red, caught her eye. Wondering what it was, she unlocked the door and stepped outside, the little butterfly chimes tinkling madly behind her like excited little spirits.

It surprised her to see the gas can sitting near-hidden in some bushes a few feet from her back door. As the smell of the gas wafted up to her, the implication of its being here struck her full in the solar plexus, making her feel a cold that went straight to her marrow.

She hefted the can, heard the gentle sloshing of the potentially deadly liquid inside. Must be half full, she thought, a cold dread spreading through her. She cast a quick look around her, almost expecting someone to be standing there. But there was no one. He'd obviously intended to use this gas, which he left there in his hurry to get away when he heard the doorbell ring. That had to be it. Thank God for Frank's timing. She might not have been around right now but for that.

She considered what to do with the gasoline for a long minute. Then, hoping the gas had nothing else in it that would harm her car, but deciding to risk it, she walked around to the front drive and poured the gas into her car's gas tank. Then she replaced the gasoline in the can with water, went around back again, and set it down where she had found it, in the bushes, by the door, but concealed a little better so that he would not think it had been discovered, and its contents tampered with.

He would come for her soon. There was no question of that. She had to be ready for him. One more thing to put in place, and it was done. But she was tired now. Mistakes get made when you're tired. She needed to rest for fifteen minutes or so. A power-nap, Mom used to call it.

She set down on the sofa and switched on the TV, keeping it low, a murmur in the background. A crime show, the plot of which eluded her. Molly jumped up on her lap, circling a few times before settling down. A comforting weight. Naomi patted her. "We're not going to be easy prey, are we, Molly? He's going to find himself in a fight, the bastard."

She didn't remember falling asleep. Only closing her eyes for a minute, having that power-nap and apparently went out like the proverbial light. Her dreams were more than vivid. Once, she thought she heard the crackle and popping of fire and smelled the acrid smoke filling the house, heard waves of heat stirring the little chimes by the door. Then stirring the hairs on her head. Sirens. Oh, God, the house was on fire. He'd done it. She woke in a panic, yet still hovering in that otherworldly zone between sleep and waking. Some other dimension that didn't want to give her up.

When she did sit up, she wasn't sure if she was still dreaming, or if her house was really on fire. But she saw no flames, and the smell of smoke was fading. And then she remembered she'd put water in the gas can. Even so, she found herself gasping for breath as her lungs tried to rid themselves of the choking dream-smoke.

Molly was no longer in her lap, and the room was dark, no light showing through the part in the living room curtains. The only light was from the TV. An old cop movie was playing. The sirens were far away now. How long had she been asleep?

Head aching, body stiff from the uncomfortable position on the couch, she made her way out to the kitchen, feeling like she'd been on a bender.

The owl clock on the wall told her it was twenty past three. She put the coffee on and picked up the telephone book.

Chapter Thirty-Seven

Frank called around ten that morning to tell her he remembered Marcus Leeland had lived with a maiden aunt, but had no idea where she lived, or if she still lived. He expanded some on the relationship between Edna and Marcus Leeland.