Twenty-Five Years Ago Today (10 page)

They moved into the adjoining dining room.
Cheryl had set gold-rimmed fine china on the gleaming table. Floral
drapes blended with the yellow walls, giving the room a warm
inviting look. Kris drank a long swallow of wine from a crystal
goblet, the moisture on the glass dampening her clammy hands.

Her gaze rested on each of them in turn.
Michael and Cheryl sat at the ends of the table, Irene across from
her.

"Would you mind going over the night Diana
died?" Kris asked. "It might help to know what you were doing."

"I think she wants our alibis," Michael
said.

"I didn't mean-"

"It's okay. It's standard procedure to
interrogate the family."

"We went over our stories countless times
with the police," Irene said. "It made me angry. They should have
been finding evidence, not questioning us. But I suppose I
understand. Let me think."

She wrinkled her brow. "A friend and I went
to dinner straight from work. I hadn't seen Diana since morning. I
got home around 7:30 and read in bed." She looked toward Cheryl. "I
could never sleep until you and Diana were home safe.
Remember?"

"I remember," Cheryl said.

"By 2 a.m., I was panicked," Irene went on.
"I called Raquel, Diana's best friend and co-worker. She told me
Diana had left the bar hours before. Then I called Cheryl and
Michael. We decided to contact the police, but they told us she
hadn't been missing long enough."

Cheryl nodded. "Mom woke Michael and me up. I
had been here with Eric all night. I read him a couple of stories,
and watched TV until Michael got home from work. Then we went to
bed."

"I worked two jobs, went from one to the
other," Michael said, passing the bread basket down the table. "We
didn't live far from Reynold's Appliances, where my night job was,
so I got back about 10:15. I was fast asleep until Irene
called."

"None of you had heard from Diana?" Kris
asked.

"No, that's why I was worried," Irene said.
"In our house, if you were going to be late, you called."

The front door slammed and they all turned.
Eric Soares strode into the dining room in a chambray shirt and
jeans. "Room for one more?"

Kris's stomach lurched. Despite Irene's
reassurances, she had half-expected his arrival. He had embarrassed
her at work. He wouldn't humiliate her in front of his family. She
wouldn't allow it.

"Eric, what are you doing here?" Cheryl
hugged her son. Kris hadn't noticed their resemblance before, in
mannerisms rather than physical appearance, the quick smiles
contrasting with a subtle concern in their eyes. Nor had she
noticed the broad lines of his chest, hinting at the muscle
underneath.

"I've got time before the show, so I figured
I'd stop by," Eric said. "It isn't every day I get Gram's
cooking."

Irene waggled a finger. "You can join us, as
long as you keep your mouth shut about the investigation. Kris is
here on my request."

"Thanks for the welcome, Gram." Eric pulled
out a seat and glanced at Kris. "We meet again."

"What a surprise," she said coolly.

As Cheryl served stuffed chicken, Kris
summarized her visit with Jared. Stoic, Eric listened to every
word. She had no doubt he'd come to throw her off balance, not for
a home-cooked meal.

"Jared claims he never made the harassing
calls to the bar," she concluded, relieved to finish her tale.

"That's bull," Michael said. "Why would Diana
make that up?"

"Could she have been mistaken about Jared?"
Kris asked. "Tell me more about these calls. Were they hang ups? A
heavy breather?"

"It was no mistake. Her co-workers said she'd
have actual conversations. Diana knew who she was dealing
with."

Irene hadn't touched her food. She stared
over her plate. "She probably didn't want to worry me. That's why
she confided in her friends and not us."

"I don't know whether this Jared fits," Eric
said. "It's dumb to murder a girl after everyone knows you've been
harassing her."

"But it happens every day," Cheryl said. "You
always hear about women killed by jealous boyfriends."

Michael reached for another helping of
maple-glazed carrots. "Vince Rossi was no prize either. We tried to
make Diana see what a bastard the guy was, but she kept going out
with him."

"She was stubborn," Cheryl said. "Pressuring
her might have made her more rebellious."

"Where did Vince Rossi wind up?" Kris asked.
"Maybe I should talk to him, too."

"He's still in Fremont," Michael said. "Now
and then I see his name in the police log for domestic assault and
battery. He owns a bar, a dive from what I hear."

Irene bit her lip. "You shouldn't go there
alone. Can your boyfriend take you?"

Kris thought fast. She wasn't about to admit
her single status to Eric Soares. Let him believe she had a guy
watching her back. "I'm sure he’d be glad to come."

"How about if Eric went with you instead? He
might be an asset since he knows the whole story. What do you
think?" Michael turned to his son.

"I'd like to see this Rossi," Eric agreed.
"Your boyfriend won't mind if I take his place, will he?"

"No," Kris said. "But-"

"Good. How about Tuesday?"

Damn it. Kris arranged to meet him at a
supermarket midway between their jobs. She fell silent as Cheryl
brought out dessert. She didn't like this new twist one bit.
Michael complimented her on the brownies as he polished off his
second. Kris thanked him, knowing she'd lapsed into quiet.

She stirred sugar into her coffee. "Tell me
about Diana's friend, Raquel."

"Raquel D'Angelo," Irene said. "They were
friends since high school."

Cheryl chuckled. "I wonder what happened to
her. I used to think she was a bad influence."

"Raquel was nice, but wild," Irene explained.
"When she and Diana went out, you never knew where they'd wind up
or who they'd meet."

"What my mother's tactfully trying to say is
that Raquel picked up guys wherever she went," Cheryl said. "In
high school, we thought she was good for Diana. My sister was quiet
and it helped her to have an outgoing friend, but later, we
regretted that she'd ever met Raquel. It seemed like Raquel started
the trouble."

"She introduced Diana to Vince," Irene said.
"That's how Diana got the bar job. It was bad enough that she was
dating him, but then to take that awful job …"

"Do you know where Raquel is now?" Kris
asked.

"I heard she moved away," Cheryl said.

After dessert, Cheryl insisted on clearing
the table herself. Eric and Kris fetched their coats from the
closet at the same time. Convenient. Kris raised her chin a notch.
Eric Soares wouldn't scare her off this case.

Kris caught his gaze riding up her nylons, to
the skirt that hugged her waist and to her soft sweater. She thrust
on her jacket and buttoned it to her neck.

"You'll have to come over to my apartment for
tea," Irene told her. "I'll show you my photo albums."

"I'd love to see them," Kris said.

"Thank you for helping my daughter."

"Remember there's no guarantee, Gram," Eric
interjected. "Kris means well, but she's not a miracle worker."

"She can do her best."

Kris thanked Cheryl for the lovely dinner and
said goodnight. She followed Eric into the frigid night. Moonlight
shone over the snow-blanketed lawn. She rooted in her purse for her
car keys, goosebumps popping out under her nylons. "Look, your
grandmother knows it's a longshot."

Shadows marked the hollows of Eric's cheeks
and the sharp ridge of his nose. "It's easy for her to forget with
you asking a hundred questions."

"I'm doing my job. How do you expect me to
find Diana's killer if I don't ask questions?"

"Stop kidding yourself. Once you can't get
your big headline, you'll walk away."

"Don't tell me what I will and won't do. You
don't know anything about me."

Eric opened the door of his Camaro, his black
leather jacket creaking. "I know your kind. Tuesday. Three
o'clock."

"I know your kind, too. Pigheaded." Kris
stalked to her car.

He didn't trust her. It shouldn't matter.

But it did.

Chapter 9

25 Years Ago Today

Fremont's school drug education program is
praised by the Department of Education for its "thoughtful and
innovative" work.

A
unt Susan poured
cocoa at the stove as a half-dozen cats circled her feet. Her baggy
forest green tee-shirt mushroomed to the knees of her Spandex biker
shorts, the outfit accenting her lanky figure. She'd been lifting
weights to a Beach Boys CD when Kris surprised her with the
doorbell. Her aunt drew a bag of marshmallows from the cabinet, and
Kris admired her firm triceps. Aunt Susan hadn't mentioned an
exercise program. Then again, Aunt Susan hadn’t mentioned much of
anything. She seemed even quieter than usual.

Meowing, her aunt's newest cat Cantaloupe --
Cant for short -- bumped Kris's ankle. He walked under the kitchen
table, turned and nosed her other leg. Kris cringed. The cat was a
virtual clone of Nicole's beloved Marmalade with the same thick
melon fur and light blue eyes. She could hardly believe Marmalade
had been gone five years. When Nicole hadn't come home, he had
camped out in her room. He slept on her sweatshirts until his
death.

Kidney failure made Marmalade so sick. It
would have broken Nicole's heart. Aunt Susan had the cat put to
sleep after he wouldn't even raise his head. She cried more than at
Nicole's funeral, her final link to her daughter gone.

Kris had last visited, with her sister, two
years earlier. New lettuce green curtains decorated the window
above the kitchen sink. Her aunt believed green was healing. She'd
sprinkled it throughout her home, buying lime green carpets and
couches with green stripes. Leafy plants bloomed on windowsills out
of the cats' reach. Aunt Susan dressed in green on a regular basis,
as if St. Patrick's Day came every week. She balked at black and
blue, in her wardrobe and around the house.

She said she'd been bruised enough.

Kris missed Marmalade. And Uncle Neal, her
mother's older brother. It wasn't the same without his teasing.
He'd shocked everyone when he remarried a younger woman from his
office and moved to Florida. Kris's mother pressured him to stay,
but he wanted a fresh start. They met his daughter Tiffany during a
rare visit from Neal a few years back. Tiffany, then eight, had
played wiffle ball with her father and blew bubbles in the
yard.

Aunt Susan crouched and opened an aluminum
can of tuna. At the whisk of the lid, cats clustered around plastic
food bowls. She straightened and fingered the thick flaxen braid
swinging against her back. "What brings you here?"

"I haven't seen you since the wedding. I
thought I'd pop in. Now that I'm in Massachusetts, we'll have to
get together more often. How about a movie next Sunday?" Kris moved
back as Aunt Susan slid a mug of cocoa and plate of microwaved
cinnamon rolls in front of her.

"You don't need to spend your time with a
fifty-three-year-old woman."

"I'd enjoy it."

Her aunt clattered a pan into the sink. "I've
been pretty busy. I have a group of church friends. We do things on
weekends."

But Holly said you were lonely
. Kris
didn't voice the words hammering inside her brain. She sipped the
cocoa, her hurt rendering it tasteless. "Oh, well, let me know if
you ever have a day free."

Her aunt didn't want her. It couldn't have
been plainer. Kris reflected back on their telephone conversations
over the years. She'd done most of the talking. She hadn't thought
much of it then. She did now.

Aunt Susan looked around as if contemplating
other chores. Frowning, she plumped into a chair and stirred the
marshmallows in her cup into a creamy froth. "How are Holly and
R.J.? She sounded happy the last time we talked."

"They're fine."

"They seem perfect for each other."

"Yes."

Neither spoke, the kitchen quiet except for
the cats lapping tuna. Aunt Susan hefted Cant into her lap and
petted his sleek fur. Kris tore a cinnamon roll in half and pushed
a piece into her mouth.

She wiped her sticky hands on a napkin. "I'd
better head home. I'm busy working on a newspaper article. My job
has been keeping me busy."

"Are you sure? You haven't finished your
cocoa."

Kris downed another gulp. "Almost done. I've
got a lot of work to do. I just came to say hi."

"I'm glad the job is working out," Aunt Susan
said. "Thanks for stopping by."

Stopping by. It had been an hour drive.
"Thanks for the snack."

Aunt Susan walked her to the door, Cant
pressed to her chest. Kris descended the steps to the lawn. At her
car, she looked back.

The door had closed.

***

Kris brooded about Aunt Susan as she waited
for Eric in the supermarket parking lot. She and Holly hadn't seen
her much over the years. In hindsight, Kris could admit a
disturbing truth. Aunt Susan was more comfortable with Holly.

Maybe her aunt was one of the people who
believed Kris had "gotten away" from a serial killer. Maybe she
blamed her for not accompanying Nicole to the ice cream parlor.
Aunt Susan might even suspect that the girls had argued. Kris
gripped the steering wheel with gloved hands.

She had to solve the Diana Ferguson case and
do penance for Nicole, if only to stay sane.

Eric's red Camaro pulled up alongside her. He
unrolled the window and peered out. "Ready?"

She rummaged through her purse, collecting
herself. Finally, she joined him in the front seat.

They drove in silence. Kris sneaked a look at
his chiseled profile and the fine dark hair curling around his
earlobes. She reached onto the dashboard and picked up a crumpled
flyer advertising a band, Breakout. "Is that your group?"