Sweet Dreams, Irene (13 page)

“Do you feel safe with me?”

“From everybody but you, and that’s a kind of danger I can live with.”

“You can bring your grandfather’s chair and Cody’s scratching post.”

I laughed. “I’ll think about it. I don’t know. Maybe.”

“Say yes.”

“Maybe. And don’t press your luck.”

He grinned.

I knew that meant he thought he had won. He probably had. But I wasn’t going to let him know that right away.

W
E FINISHED
our brandies and went into the room where the Montgomery campaign was holding its victory party. Of course, at this point, they were all victory parties. A band played old standards but no one danced. Not many people had shown up yet—still early in the evening.

Gradually, tired campaigners came through the door. I thought Frank would be bored, but being an observer by nature, he kept himself busy watching the various characters and their interactions.

Something about Frank attracts women who are over seventy. I had noticed this before. I suppose they thought he was a gentleman—well, where they were concerned, he certainly was. His manner toward them was always polite and attentive. That night, there were never less than three of them paying court at one time. While he was cornered, I picked up comments from Brady Scott and other members of the campaign.

I called the office every so often and found out that the race was running very close. It was going to be a long night. Why didn’t I pick the races that were decided by eleven o’clock? I looked across the room and saw Julie Montgomery. Well, yes, this campaign was far more interesting than the sure things. I walked over to her.

“How are you doing, Julie?”

“Fine, thank you, Miss Kelly. Glad you’re still speaking to me. I thought everyone on the
Express
would hate me.”

“Well, I’m not crazy about your tactics, but I think I understand why you did what you did.”

“Sorry if I got you in trouble.”

“I’m always in trouble anyway. You might want to give Mark Baker a call, though. As for me, don’t worry about it.”

“Thanks.”

“Your dad feel confident about tonight?”

“No. And he’s blaming me. I think I’m going to go home before he finds out one way or the other.”

“I envy you. I’m here or at Henderson’s for the duration.”

“Good night, Miss Kelly. And if you see Jacob, will you please say hello for me?”

“Will do.”

I
FINALLY FOUND
Monty Montgomery and got an all-purpose quote or two from him. I had a feeling that no one would be conceding in time for the morning edition.

Frank was leaning back in a chair, looking like it was all he could do to stay awake. I sat down next to him.

“Why don’t you go home? At least one of us can get some sleep.”

“Don’t want to leave you wandering around at night by yourself.”

“Sooner or later, Frank, I’ll have to be out at night by myself.”

“Not yet. I’ll get some coffee.”

“Tell you what. Follow me over to the Lafayette. That’s where the Henderson campaign is.” Knowing Frank’s long legs don’t fit very comfortably into the Karmann Ghia, I exchanged keys with him.

The Lafayette is one of the grand old hotels that were built when Las Piernas was a thriving resort. Although the hotel itself is very posh, the neighborhood around it is struggling. The last time I was at the Lafayette, I parked on the street and my car was vandalized. I’m still too cheap to go the valet route, but this time I decided to spring for a space in the hotel parking lot.

We arrived there just before midnight. As I suspected, no one was conceding anything. The tally was too close. We walked up to Stacee, who made goo-goo eyes at Frank, but he walked over to the coffeepot after sparing her only a polite hello. Of course, as I watched him over her shoulder, I saw him make a little halo over his head with his hands. I put two fingers up behind my own head, making Stacee look between us like we were nuts.

“What do we do if it isn’t decided by late deadline and no one concedes?” she asked, covering up a yawn.

“I phone in a noncommittal story with a couple of quotes from the candidates. It’s looking like that’s the way it’s going to be anyway. Why don’t you go on home?”

“Thanks, I think I will.” She gathered her things together, went over some notes with me, and left.

She was back five minutes later. Frank and I were sharing a cup of coffee when she walked up to us, soaked to the bone.

“My car won’t start.”

Frank looked at me.

“I’m sure Detective Harriman would be happy to help you.”

As he started to get up, I leaned over and whispered, “Don’t forget your halo.”

Jacob spotted me a few minutes later and walked over. “Hi, Miss Kelly. Long night, huh?”

“Yes. Julie says ‘hello,’ by the way. She was headed home for the night.”

“How is she?”

“I don’t know. I think things will be rough for her for a while yet. But you’ll be there for her, right?”

“Yeah. I just wish there was something I could do for her. She’s done so much for me.”

We were interrupted by the return of Frank. A sopping wet Frank. He looked like he had fallen into a river. I introduced him to Jacob, who didn’t seem sure what to make of him. He asked Jacob to excuse us for a moment, and led me out to a balcony. The rain was falling in loud torrents, but the balcony was covered, so I stayed dry.

“Her battery has been stolen. That’s why her car won’t start.”

“Take her home then.”

“I don’t want to leave you here.”

“I’m okay. In another hour I’ll be so close to the last chance to make tomorrow’s paper, I’ll have to turn something in and come home anyway.”

“But Stacee—”

“I trust you. I was kidding before. Sort of.”

He laughed and took me into his drenched arms and gave me a long kiss. “Come straight home.”

“Home, huh? Okay. Now get going before I leave Stacee here to drown.”

“Straight home,” he said again, “as soon as possible.”

“As soon as possible,” I said.

L
ATER
, when I had a long time to consider this conversation, I thought about how, for once in my life, I should have done what someone told me to do. I also thought about how “as soon as possible” could be a very long time.

I
CALLED THE OFFICE
and got an update—the storm had caused some power outages, and the registrar’s computers had been down for a while. They were counting some precincts by hand. I read off a “no declared winner” paragraph and told them I’d hang around for another hour just in case something changed.

Not long after that, Jacob came over to talk to me again. He asked me about newspapers and reporting and told me more about his school paper. I enjoyed his enthusiasm.

At about 12:30 or so, a pimply faced young man in a hotel uniform came up to me and asked if I was Irene Kelly. I didn’t think a process server would go that far, so I said yes.

He said he had an urgent phone message for me and handed me a folded note. I tipped him and opened the paper. Jacob read over my shoulder—a sign that he would make a good reporter.

Miss Kelly,

Please meet me at the corner of Falcon and Briarcrest. I need your help.

Will wait until 1:00.

Sammy

“I’m going with you.”

“Jacob, your father would never forgive me.”

“Detective Harriman wouldn’t like it if I let you go there alone.”

“Ask your dad.”

I waited while he walked over to Brian Henderson, who listened to him then waved and nodded “yes” to me. I grabbed my coat and Jacob left with me. Later, when I thought about it, I suspected Jacob had said something like, “Can Miss Kelly take me home, since it’s a school night?” to his dad, but I was in too much of a hurry and lacking too much sleep to question it at the time. In all honesty, when I was a teenager, I had pulled the same kind of stunt myself. More than once.

I looked up the intersection of Falcon and Briarcrest in my map book. It was in a residential area of Las Piernas, a few miles from the hotel. At one time, its stately wood frame homes made it the most elite neighborhood in town. But it had fairly gone to seed in the last twenty years, being too far from the water to attract the kind of money that could afford the upkeep—especially the kind of dollars needed to restore such large houses.

The wind picked up, drumming the rain loudly against the cloth top of the Karmann Ghia. The defroster wasn’t working right, and I could barely see out the windshield.

“Open the glove compartment,” I said to Jacob. “Try to read the map by the lamp.”

As he opened it, a couple of white business cards with detective shields embossed on them spilled out. Jacob picked them up. “Detective Frank Harriman,” he read aloud, “Robbery Homicide Division…why do you have these in your car?”

“Uh, Frank must have left them there. He borrowed my car today.”

When it comes to looking skeptical, teenagers have it all over adults.

“Okay,” I admitted, resisting an urge to tug at my collar. “If I’m pulled over for speeding in Las Piernas, I make sure I have one of those next to my registration or my driver’s license. Do not—repeat—do
not
tell your father about this.”

The look I got for even suggesting that he would break a confidence was far more scathing than skepticism. But after a moment he asked, “Does it work?”

“Not with the Highway Patrol,” I said glumly, but noticed he discreetly pocketed one of the cards.

He called out directions, checking the map by the dim glow of the glove compartment light.

Suddenly the streetlamps went out, and houses all around us were darkened.

“Great, a power outage.”

“We’ve got to hurry,” he urged. “She shouldn’t be out in rain like this—especially with no streetlights.”

I drove as fast as I dared under the conditions. I got out at one intersection and went to look at the street signs up close—they were impossible to read from the car under that dark sky. My umbrella was nowhere to be found, so I had to dash over with my coat over my head. We were on Falcon.

I followed it until we finally found the corner at Briarcrest. We parked on Falcon. It was a vacant lot, covered with shoulder-high weeds. No sign of Sammy. I looked at my watch. It was 12:50 a.m.

“Where is she? I don’t see her!” The kid was frantic.

“Stay here,” I said. “I’m getting out to look around.”

“I’m going with you.”

I didn’t want to waste time arguing. If he wanted to get soaked, fine. I stepped out of the car into a rain that was coming down so hard it stung. It bounced off the pavement so high, it fell twice. We walked up and down the corner in each direction, and never saw her. I looked into the field and was about to start calling out for her, when I saw a place where some of the weeds had been matted down. There were water-filled footprints leading into the field.

Jacob followed me as I squished and squashed along the same direction as the prints. I heard him sneeze a couple of times as we made our way. Between the rain and weeds, I couldn’t see more than a few inches in front of my face. I was about halfway into the lot when I tripped over something. As Jacob rushed over to help pick me up, I heard him half-shout, half-wail, “No!”

I had tripped over a leg. The leg of Sammy Garden. Or rather, her corpse. Jacob kept repeating his keening, one-word lament, clutching a corner of her muddied skirt as he knelt next to her. Her blouse was torn over a gaping wound in her chest. The rain ignored our shock and disbelief, and pelted hard against us.

My concern for Jacob kept me from giving into my own fear and sense of failure. I grabbed him by the shoulders and turned him away from the figure on the ground. He held on to me, sobbing. I led him back to the car. He was shivering, wet and miserable.

“Jacob, listen to me. You’ve got to try to push that out of your mind.”

He sneezed, but didn’t answer. I wondered what Brian Henderson was going to do to me for letting his son catch pneumonia. Jacob sneezed again.

“It’s raining on her,” he said, as if that somehow was a final indignity that he couldn’t bear to have her suffer.

Oddly, I found myself in agreement. I handed him the keys. He took them with a clumsy grasp and looked up at me.

“Get in the car and pop the trunk open for me,” I said. “I’ve got a tarp in there. You stay here and try to dry off.”

He stopped crying and stared at me, but I could see he hadn’t really heard me. I couldn’t blame him.

“Jacob, please. Get in the car and open the trunk. I’ll put the tarp on her, but nothing can hurt her now. Nothing. Not even the rain.”

He squeezed his eyes shut, then nodded and did as I asked.

I heard him start the motor up as I closed the trunk. I looked through the windshield at him. He was looking down into his lap, his forehead leaning against arms crossed over the steering wheel.

I made my way over to Sammy’s body and spread the tarp, then bent down to anchor the edges. I forced myself to slow my breathing and to think about Jacob and getting out of the rain; I tried not to think about what lay beneath the tarp. Would the folks in forensics consider this disturbing the scene or protecting it? I didn’t suppose they’d be happy about it.

I thought I heard Jacob driving off and stood up. I peered through the darkness. The wind was still whipping rain into my face, but it wasn’t falling quite as hard. The Karmann Ghia was still at the curb, engine running. I had walked about halfway back to it, when I noticed a Blazer parked along Briarcrest. I knew it hadn’t been there long, or we would have seen it when we first looked for Sammy. I was just starting to feel fear climbing up the back of my neck when I was tackled from behind.

I fell face first into the mud and grass, the wind knocked out of me. Before I could react, my arms were pinned behind me and my attacker pulled me roughly to my feet. I saw Jacob climb out of the car. “No!” I shouted. “Get out of here! Go!” A big, gloved hand came over my mouth. I struggled against it, panicking as Jacob hesitated. But in the next moment, he seemed to look back toward Sammy, then got back in the car and drove off.

My attacker’s grip tightened. I lifted one foot and brought it down hard on his instep. The ground was slippery, as was the top of his boot, so I didn’t land as much force on it as I wanted to; but he yowled in pain and released me with a hard shove, causing me to fall again.

Someone was on top of me almost as soon as I hit the ground. This time, the barrel of a gun was pressed to my temple, and a voice said, “I wouldn’t try anything like that again.”

I was yanked up to my feet, and I became aware that I had two escorts for the evening; the sight of the second one and his gun must have been what convinced Jacob to leave.

Although they both wore dark ski masks, the newcomer wore no gloves. I recognized the chain of skulls tattooed on his left wrist.

“Well, if it isn’t Tweedledum and Tweedledee,” I said.

The one with the gun said, “You think you can tie her up this time, Devon? Gag her, while you’re at it.”

“The bitch almost broke my foot,” Devon whined, but he took pleasure in tying both the gag and the rope around my wrists as tightly as possible. They carried me over to the Blazer, and propped me up against it while they opened the door.

“I owe her, Raney.”

“You think I care? Go ahead. But make it snappy; that kid may already be at a phone.”

Devon wasted no time. He brought his booted foot down like a hammer on my right ankle. When I stumbled forward, they caught me and shoved me into the back seat, face first. They climbed into the front seat, Devon taking the driver’s side. They pulled off their masks. Raney turned back to me and said, “Tweedledee and Tweedledum, huh?” and brought the barrel of the gun down on the back of my head.