The Mill River Recluse (30 page)

“I think the batteries in this one are dead,” he said. “I should’ve remembered to get new ones.” He leaned back against the counter, looking a little disappointed. “I guess someone doesn’t want us to watch any movies tonight. However,” he said, pausing to hold up the carafe of the coffee maker, “I
am
happy to say that I have available for your enjoyment a little less than a cup of freshly brewed decaf.”

Claudia giggled as he slid the carafe back under the coffee filter. In that moment, she took a deep breath and squelched her indecision. She stepped in front of Kyle, shyly traced her hand up over his fingers, leaned into him just enough so that he put his arms around her waist.

“I don’t really want to watch a movie, anyway.”

“You don’t?” His voice was playful, and he was smiling a little, but his eyes were dark and serious.

“No. And the coffee can wait.”

He drew her tight against him as he kissed her. She felt his hands at the small of her back, moving up to cup her face. She pulled back a little and opened her eyes, then turned to glance down the hallway toward his bedroom. When she looked back at him again, her eyes told him what she was too timid to say aloud.

In the darkness, there was only his mouth and his hands. The shock of his hands,
those hands
, on her bare skin nearly took her breath away. They unsnapped her bra, slid gently over her breasts, guided the thong down over her hips. He eased her down on the bed beside him and found her mouth with his. She felt his fingertips brush her inner thigh.

The wind howled outside, shrieked and rattled against the windowpanes, but Claudia was oblivious to it all.

~~~

Leroy was in an unusually foul mood.

Since his return to work after the Jeep mishap, Fitz had relegated him to desk duty. After the photographer for the Gazette had taken a picture of the officers around the new Jeep, he had been prohibited from going anywhere near it. Both his ankles were still sore, one from the accident and the other from slipping off the damned curb outside the police station. It even hurt to drive his Camaro.

But that hurt was nothing like what he wanted to inflict on Kyle, the asshole. It was bad enough that Claudia had flat out rejected his Valentine’s Day plans.

He could’ve handled a simple rejection from her. Could’ve taken a few days to regroup and come up with a different approach. Now, though, Kyle was interfering in his business, and by the way Claudia had eagerly followed him up to his apartment, it would take an extra-special effort to distract her.

Leroy squinted out the windshield, trying to see through the snow into the window of the apartment above the bakery. The windows had remained black since the power went out, but he didn’t dare turn on his headlights while he was parked in the idling Camaro.

He had a pretty good idea of what was going on up there.

It was just his luck to be stuck with a partner who’d turn out to be a back-stabbing son of a bitch. The fact that
he
had Claudia’s panties in his pocket, but that at that very moment, Kyle was probably helping himself to what was normally
in
those panties, well, that was more than he could tolerate. Especially when Kyle knew,
knew
, that he was set on having Claudia, and then went and hit on her before he had the chance.
Scooped
her out from under him.
Burned
him. The bastard.

Leroy lit a cigarette, closed his eyes, tipped his head back against the seat-rest. He tried to remember the last time he’d been this angry. It wasn’t difficult to recall, that day in November when the witch-bitch Daisy had filed a complaint against him for threatening to get rid of her dog. Like he’d put up with a runty little mop pissing on the wheel of his Camaro! Nothing had come of the complaint, of course. Nobody’d heard his threat except Daisy, and nobody ever believed a word she said.

He’d almost done it. Almost. Even now, he still couldn’t believe how his plan to burn up that yapping kick-dog and scare the bejesus out of Crazy Daisy had almost become much more. It was so easy—reaching through her open kitchen window, lighting one of her candles, moving it beneath the curtains. The old trailer’d gone up in flames like a rocket in the night.

He hadn’t counted on the old bitch being home napping, though, or the damned dog alerting her to the fire.

But no matter. He and Kyle had taken the report from her, once the firefighters had doused what was left of the burned-out mobile home. Turns out she’d seen him running away--wearing a black ski-mask—after the dog started yapping. Of course, no one believed her that time, either.

She’d told them she didn’t have any homeowner’s insurance, so how she’d gotten that new trailer he didn’t know. Some charitable fuck must’ve helped her, and now she was better off than before.

He tapped his cigarette into the ashtray. Now he had worked himself up even more. He forced his thoughts back to the matter at hand. The question was, since Claudia was so distracted by Kyle, what did he intend to do about it?

If only Kyle were gone, out of the picture, he could have Claudia to himself. He pulled the black thong from his pocket, worked the smooth fabric between his fingers, and felt another wave of rage wash over him. As much as he wished he could just bump off his partner, he didn’t expect he could get away with it, not with Fitz watching him so closely. The old man always seemed to have it in for him, criticizing, harping about his driving. Telling him to grow up and lecturing about manners. He would’ve liked to see how the old man would’ve handled the Jeep on that ice. Probably would’ve flipped the thing, or kept going right over the snowbank into Wykowski’s house.

There had to be some way to get Claudia’s attention, some fantastic way to convince her that she’d be crazy to choose Kyle over him. A way to show her how much he loved her, that he’d do anything for her. Leroy looked out into the darkness again, but still couldn’t see anything except the faint outline of the bakery.

He ached for her.

Leroy took another drag on the cigarette, watching the embers on the end turn bright orange as he inhaled. He marveled at the power in those embers, their potential to explode into flames, to engulf everything around them.

For a moment, he sat, struck by how simple it would be. He would build upon his Valentine’s Day seductions. This time, though, he’d do it right. He’d use fire to make his surprise delivery to the school look like nothing. He’d wait for the perfect moment to prove to Claudia just how serious his feelings had become. She’d finally understand that they were meant to be together.

He switched on the headlights and revved the engine.

From now on, Leroy Underwood would be doing the burning.

Chapter 18

Mary was yellow.

At first, he thought his eyes were deceiving him, that the unnatural sallowness of her skin was merely the result of the way the light was dispersed within the marble mansion, or a result of a strange mixture of color and shadow reflecting off the sitting room walls. Then, in one terrifying instant, he realized that the interior of the house had nothing to do with the color of Mary’s skin.

“Mary, are you all right?”

Confused, she looked at him. “Why, yes, Michael, I’m fine. I’m a little tired, but other than that... why do you ask?”

He didn’t know exactly how to describe her appearance to her. “Mary, have you looked in the mirror today?”
“No, you know I don’t like mirrors. What’s wrong? Why are you acting this way?”

“I’ll show you,” he said, taking her hand. He led her to the washroom and flipped on the light. “Look at yourself, Mary. Do you see it?”

She stepped in front of the mirror, hesitating before looking into it. When she did, she saw immediately the contrast between her skin and the white wall behind her. She raised up a hand in front of her face and examined it.

“Michael, I, I don’t know what’s happening. I don’t feel any differently than I normally do.”

“Your coloring isn’t normal,” Father O’Brien said. “I think people turn yellow when there’s something wrong with the liver. You remember me telling you about old man McGee? He was yellowish for years before he died. They said it was liver disease, on account of his drinking.”

“You know I never touch alcohol, Michael.”

“Of course I know that.”

“Then why would anything be wrong with my liver?”

“I don’t know.” He lowered his voice, preparing for her reaction at what he was about to suggest. “I know you’ve never had much use for doctors, but I really think you should see one.” She shot him a fearful look, but he pressed on. “You wouldn’t have to go anywhere. Doc Richardson’s an old friend of mine. I’m sure he’d come by to see you if I called him.”

“No, oh, no,” Mary said, backing out of the washroom.

“It wouldn’t be so bad, Mary,” he said, following her. “And I think whatever is happening to you is serious.” They were back in the sitting room now, facing each other. Mary trembled.

“I can’t, Michael.”

“You can. And I think you must. A simple exam won’t take very long. I’ll stay with you the whole time. Please, Mary. I’m so worried about you. Do it for me, if for no other reason.”

Eventually, to Father O’Brien’s great relief, she agreed to a quick visit from Dr. Richardson. Two days later, he brought the doctor to the back door of the marble mansion, warning him again of Mary’s extreme reaction to strangers.

“Why don’t we leave our coats here, Fred,” Father O’Brien said as they stood in the kitchen. He took the doctor’s coat and draped it with his own over a chair. Dr. Richardson looked around the room with great interest.

“I’ve always wondered what it was like in this house,” the doctor said. His hair was graying but still thick, and the glasses he wore for his farsightedness augmented his expression of wonder. He rolled the sleeves of his white shirt to his elbows. “I don’t suppose, given what you’ve told me, that many people have seen it.”

“No,” Father O’Brien said.

Mary was waiting for them in the sitting room, clutching the ends of a shawl that she had wrapped around her shoulders. She didn’t even turn to greet them as they entered the room, although Father O’Brien felt sure she had heard them come in. She was quivering again, and wearing a black patch over her left eye.
She hasn’t worn that patch in years
, Father O’Brien thought.

He also noticed that her skin was slightly more yellow.

“Mary, this is Dr. Fred Richardson,” he said, coming around in front of her.

“It’s good to meet you, Mrs. McAllister,” the doctor said, looking carefully at her.

“Hello,” Mary whispered. She did not make eye contact. In fact, she kept her head down, as if she were cringing. Her quaking increased.

“Mrs. McAllister, there’s no need to be afraid of me. I’m here to help you,” Dr. Richardson said, taking a step toward her. She recoiled at his advance. Unsure how to proceed, the doctor looked over at Father O’Brien.

Father O’Brien had seen Mary in this agitated state many times. He hoped that she wouldn’t bolt upstairs and lock herself in her room. She had done just that three years earlier, when contractors had come to the marble house to reshingle the roof. It occurred to Father O’Brien that they should sit, so that they appeared less threatening. He lowered himself into an armchair and motioned for the doctor to do the same.

“Mary, I told the doctor you’ve not felt bad at all, just that we noticed your complexion looked a little different a few days ago,” Father O’Brien said.

Mary glanced at them and nodded.

“I also told him that you never drink anything alcoholic.” He looked at the doctor and raised his eyebrows in a silent prompt.

Dr. Richardson took the hint. “Mrs. McAllister, have you ever had any medical procedure that required you to receive a blood transfusion?”

“No,” she whispered, and drew the shawl tighter around herself.

“Have you had any unusual pain in your abdomen recently?”

“No.”

“Are there any particular foods that give you an upset stomach?”

“No.”

“Have you noticed any weight loss over the past few months?”

“A little.” She stole a glance at Father O’Brien before he could hide the new surprise and worry that clouded his face.

“Have you noticed any change in your appetite?”

She was quiet a moment before she answered. “I’m eating a little less, I suppose.”

Dr. Richardson paused before he spoke. “Mrs. McAllister,” he said gently, “I think it would be very helpful if I could examine you. It won’t take long, and you could stay on the sofa right where you are.”

Father O’Brien watched Mary. Her whole body jerked twice, and he knew she was fighting an instinctive urge to run away. Yet, she surprised him by staying put as the doctor slowly went over to her.

Dr. Richardson sat on the sofa beside her and drew a penlight and stethoscope from his medical bag. His movements were careful and deliberate. He kept his voice low and soothing. “First, I just need to look in your eye with this little light. It won’t hurt at all. Do you think you could look at me for just a second?”

Keeping her face turned downward, Mary slowly rolled her gaze up to his chin. She still wouldn’t look him in the eyes. The doctor shone the light into her one visible eye, highlighting the yellowing of the sclera. He made no effort to remove the patch to examine her other eye.

“That’s good,” he said, clicking off the penlight. “The next thing I’d like to do is listen to your heart and lungs.” He put on the stethoscope and slowly, slowly placed the end on her chest. “Try to take deep, steady breaths,” he said. Mary cringed, breathing rapidly.