Dancing in the Dark (19 page)

“Stop looking at me while I eat, will you, Mom? How many times have
I told you how much I hate it when you do that?”

Audrey bit her lower lip. “I’m sorry, honey. I guess I don’t even
realize that I’m doing it. I just want to make sure you’re eating.”

“Well, you’re only making things worse. It makes me nervous.” Leslie
put down her fork and sat back in her chair.

“All right. All right. I’ll stop watching you.”

Audrey went to the sink, squirted in some liquid detergent, and
turned on the water. With her back to her daughter, she scoured the
frying pan while Leslie deposited the rest of the bacon and half of the
muffin in the tote bag. She knew well enough that if everything
disappeared from her plate, her mother wouldn’t believe she had eaten
it all. By moving around the eggs and
leaving a bit of muffin, she could get away from the table with her
mother thinking she’d had enough for breakfast when in fact she’d
consumed only a mouthful of egg and a few sips of orange juice.

“All right, I’m done.” Leslie pushed back her plate. “I can’t eat
any more. I’ve got to get going.”

Her mother turned from the sink, her eyes sweeping Leslie’s plate
and then searching her daughter’s face. “Leslie, I have to tell you
about something before you go.”

“What?” Leslie asked cautiously.

“I had the news on before you came down for breakfast, honey, but I
didn’t want to tell you before you’d eaten.”

“Tell me what?”

Audrey sat down across the table and reached out to take hold of her
daughter’s arm. “Carly Neath was found at the Beersheba Well early this
morning.”

“Good,” said Leslie, her face brightening. “Now everyone will
totally believe me.”

Audrey looked down at her lap.

“I didn’t mean that was the most important thing, Mom,” Leslie added
hastily. “I’m glad they found Carly.”

Audrey looked up again. There were tears in her eyes.

“What, Mom? What is it?”

“Carly is dead, sweetheart.”

Leslie was silent.

“Leslie, honey, are you all right?”

“Yeah, I’m fine. I just don’t know what to say… Except I guess that could have been me. I realize how
lucky I am, Mom.” She picked up her tote bag and started for the door
but stopped. “I forgot Lee Lee,” she said. “I need her for group today.
Dr. Messinger wants us to bring in our favorite childhood stuffed
animal.”

She ran back upstairs to her room and pulled the tattered teddy bear
from its spot on the bookcase. Then she carefully lifted the wax paper
lining from her tote, wrapped up the remains of her breakfast, and put
it back inside the bag to discard later. She placed her beloved Lee Lee
on top.

Why hadn’t he gotten that lawyer’s beeper number or something?
Shawn’s heart pounded, and he could feel the heat in his cheeks as he
hung up the telephone. The news, all over national television, that
Carly’s body had been found left Shawn feeling panicked. Leslie had
disappeared, but Carly was actually dead. Both were his girlfriends,
and the police suspected him. Before it was for kidnapping; now it
could be for murder.

He was also ashamed. The fear that the police were going to come and
drag him away superseded any emotion he felt over Carly’s death. At the
end of the day, he was just like so many others, wasn’t he? Concerned
primarily with his own well-being.

Shawn paced back and forth in the small living room of his
apartment. He had to calm down, had to try to think rationally. The
public defender would return his call and tell him what to do.

The ringing of the telephone cut the air. Thank God, the lawyer was
calling back already. Shawn sprang for the receiver.

“Hello?”

“Shawn Ostrander, please.”

“Speaking.” It must be a secretary or receptionist calling. The
lawyer would surely be on the line in a second.

“This is Jersey Shore University Medical Center calling. We have a
patient, an Arthur Tomkins, admitted here. He has your name in his
wallet as the person to notify.”

“Is Arthur all right?” Shawn asked automatically.

“He’s in stable condition. But you’ll have to speak with the doctor
for more details.”

Shawn’s chest tightened. He didn’t want to be bothered with Arthur
right now. He needed to concentrate on what he was going to do to get
himself out of this nightmare.

“Mr. Ostrander?”

Chief Albert came out to apologize and say the press conference
would be postponed until ten o’clock. At 10:00, he came out to promise
he’d have something for the media at 11:30. Finally, at noon, he
emerged from the tiny police station and stood behind the wooden
podium, ready to make the announcement. The KEY satellite truck fed the
video and audio to the Broadcast Center for use on the local news noon
broadcast.

“Due to the urgency of this situation, an autopsy has already been
performed on the body of twenty-year-old Carly Neath. The county
medical examiner’s office has determined that Ms. Neath died of
asphyxiation.”

“She was suffocated?” Diane called out.

Chief Albert consulted his notes before answering. “She choked on
her own vomit.”

“So she wasn’t murdered?” asked the
Asbury
Park Press
reporter.

“We don’t know that,” answered the policeman. “This is an ongoing
investigation. But I can say, under New Jersey law, when someone
abducts another person and that person dies during the abduction, the
kidnapper would be considered responsible.”

“So that means you think there is someone else out there who is
responsible for Carly’s death?” another reporter pressed.

“I didn’t say that.” There was annoyance in the officer’s voice. “I
can tell you that we are looking at every possibility.” Chief Albert
glanced in Diane’s direction again.

“Of course the police understand that the community is extremely
anxious about this case, Chief.” Diane spoke in a measured tone.
“They’re terrified there’s a killer on the loose in Ocean Grove. What
would you tell them to alleviate their fears?”

“I’d tell them that the police are on top of the situation. That’s
all I’m going to say at this point, though we might have something more
for you later today.” With that, Chief Albert spun around and went back
inside the station.

With the sun so harsh she couldn’t let her girls outside, and with
all the tension and anxiety in town, Helen Richey finally agreed to
allow a television set into the tent. She asked Jonathan to go out and
buy one, only to have him remind her he already had one in the trunk of
the car. He happily set it up.

While her daughters sat at the kitchen table eating tuna sandwiches,
Helen sat in the front room of the tent, watching the clips of the
police news conference on the WKEY noon news, careful to keep the
volume low so the girls wouldn’t hear. She saw Diane Mayfield and
listened to her question about what could be done to alleviate the
town’s fears. When Chief Albert responded that the police were on top
of the situation and might have more information later in the day,
Helen shivered despite the warm air in the tent.

Carly Neath, that sweet girl, was dead. What if Jonathan had
something to do with it? What if her husband had followed the young
woman as she walked home Friday night? And what if
Jonathan had also been involved in Leslie Patterson’s disappearance
last week?

Helen switched off the television, sat back down on the wicker
chair, and tried to concentrate. The Surfside Realty business card
she’d found in Jonathan’s wallet indicated he’d had an appointment in
Ocean Grove last Thursday afternoon. If that was true, why hadn’t he
told her about it? And if Jonathan was in town on Thursday, that meant
he could have been the one who left Leslie Patterson tied up at the
Beersheba Well gazebo in the middle of the night.

Where was he now, she wondered, as she got up, walked over to the
screen door, and opened it. Helen looked up the street to see if he was
coming back from his walk to the hardware store. He was forever doing
errands, and in her heart, Helen suspected her husband was looking for
reasons to get out of the tent and away from her and the kids.

Her mind raced. What if, somehow, Jonathan had cracked under the
pressure of her demands that they live in a way he detested? That would
make her partly responsible for what had happened to Carly and Leslie
Patterson. She couldn’t live with that.

Helen went inside. “Finished with lunch, girls?” she called as she
strode resolutely toward the back of the tent. As soon as Jonathan got
back from town, she was going to encourage him to get out the big
umbrella and take the kids to the beach. Then she would be free to do
what she had to do.

Larry insisted on switching the phones over to the answering
service, locking up the office, and taking Leslie to lunch. He decided
against Nagle’s or the Starving Artist, knowing that the locals would
be gossiping about the Carly Neath tragedy and staring at Leslie.
Instead, he drove around Wesley Lake to As-bury Park and the Italian
restaurant that had been Jenna’s favorite before his daughter obsessed
about every morsel she put in her mouth.

For Larry, it was a painful hour as he watched Leslie eat very
little of her salad. He knew better than to comment. He had learned
that much at least when they were dealing with Jenna’s problem.

“I’m so glad that you’ve come back to work, Leslie,” he said as they
waited for the check. “That’s right where you should be. It’s good to
keep busy.”

Leslie nodded and spoke softly. “You know, Larry, those three days
were very, very scary. I have never been so afraid in my life. But when I was tied up and there all by myself, I
found myself thinking about how messed up my whole life is.”

Larry leaned forward to listen more closely.

“Now that I have another chance, I’ve been thinking about getting my
real estate license.”

“That would be super, Leslie.” His weathered face beamed. “You know
I’ll help you any way I can.”

“I know you will,” she said.

They drove back to the office, chatting about where Leslie could
take the real estate licensing course and how difficult the state exam
was. As Larry pulled into his parking space, they noticed that a woman
was waiting at the front door. He hurried up to meet her, apologizing
that she had been forced to wait outside in the heat.

“That’s all right,” said the honey-haired woman. “I just got here a
little while ago.”

“I’m Larry Belcaro.” He extended his hand. “And this is my
assistant, Leslie Patterson.”

The woman shook Larry’s hand, but her eyes stared at Leslie. “Helen
Richey,” she said.

Leslie took her seat at the desk near the door and picked up a
magazine while Larry ushered the woman into his office.

“What is it you’re looking for?” Larry asked. “Do you want to rent
or buy?”

“Well, actually, neither,” said the woman.

“Oh, you have a place to sell.” He uncapped his pen. “Is it here in
Ocean Grove?”

“No, it’s not that either.” Helen looked uncomfortable as she zipped
open her purse and pulled out a small white card. “I’m trying to find
out about this.” She handed the card across the desk. “You see, I found
it with my husband’s things, and I wanted to ask if he had an
appointment with you last week.”

Larry looked at both sides of the card. “Let’s see,” he mused. “Last
Thursday at four o’clock. I don’t think so.” He opened the appointment
book on his desk. “No, that’s right. I had a closing last Thursday. I
didn’t show any real estate that afternoon.”

“God, now
Evening Headlines
wants
a piece for tonight.” Matthew snapped his cell phone shut. “I tried to
talk them into sending down one of their own producers and another
correspondent, but they want you.”

“I’d be flattered if I didn’t know how short-staffed they are in
August. It’s me by default,” Diane said. “Does Joel know?”

“Yep,” Matthew replied. “Range Bullock talked to him, one executive
producer to another.”

Diane smiled. “I can just imagine that conversation, Joel reminding
him again and again how much Range was going to owe him.”

“Yeah, and we’re the currency,” Matthew declared, uncapping his pen
and flipping open his notebook. “We might as well get to it. The only
new video we have is the police presser this afternoon.”

“And we can only hope they are going to say something else before
airtime,” Diane added.

“Range said he’d like us to try to give the flavor of the town, let
the viewers see and feel Ocean Grove, get some reaction from people on
the street. Do you want to go over to Nagle’s, where Carly worked, and
see if we can get reaction from people who knew her?” Matthew asked.

“Sounds like a plan,” Diane agreed.

He hated the smell of hospitals. Shawn tried not to inhale,
listening to the squeak of his tennis shoes against the linoleum floor.
What a silly thing to focus on
,
he
thought as he walked down the long hallway
.
You
could be accused of kidnapping and murder
—
and you’re wrinkling
your nose at the scent of disinfectant
.

Shawn felt slightly better, though, since the public defender had
called him back. The attorney said that the police would already have
arrested Shawn if they’d had enough to connect him to Leslie’s and
Carly’s abductions. The lawyer assured him that unless there was
physical evidence or an eyewitness who tied him to the young women’s
disappearances, it was highly unlikely he could be convicted of
anything. Just the fact that he had dated two women who had disappeared
didn’t make him a kidnapper or a killer. Shawn was holding on tight to
those words.