The cutting edge, p.23
The Cutting Edge, page 23
“Hi, Mom!” Leslie’s voice startled her mother just as she was trying to adjust the stringer that was hanging from her belt. With a clanking jingle, it fell on the porch’s wooden planks.
“Leslie,” a shocked Flo answered. “What are you doing out here at this ungodly hour?”
“We’ve been making out,” Leslie teased.
“What?” Flo demanded.
Leslie grinned and asked, “I thought you were going to Salem to look at historic homes. I didn’t know you fished.”
“Your father thought—” Catching herself, the older woman attempted to adjust her story. “I mean I thought that a fishing tournament might be good for us. You know, the fresh air, the publicity for the lake, that sort of thing. So, I told Johnathon to take me out and show me the ropes.”
Laughing, Leslie answered, “I’m beginning to get the idea. When will you be back?”
“Sunday afternoon.”
“Oh, Mom.”
“Yes, dear.”
“I think you forgot your worms,” Leslie pointed to a mass of crawling creatures her mother had knocked from a can when she’d dropped the stringer. Staring at them for only a second, Flo raced off the porch into the yard and screamed, “John, you forgot the worms.”
“Thank you for reminding me. I haven’t closed the trunk yet, so why don’t you bring them on down.”
Making a terrible face, Flo made her way up the steps, and with a grimace etched onto her face, slowly leaned over and eased her hand toward the mass of living, squirming bait. Turning her head, she swept her manicured, red nails to the porch floor, grabbed the creatures she could find and quickly dumped them in the can. Wiping the coffee grounds and slime from her fingertips onto her shirt, she picked up the can and the ice chest and moved gingerly off the steps to the car. A few moments later the Cadillac pulled out of the driveway and up the street.
“I can’t believe that,” Leslie smiled.
“Miracles can happen.” Hunter grinned.
“I guess they really do,” Leslie laughed. “My transformation is not nearly as big as the one I’m seeing in Mom and Dad. I’m liking it, too.”
65
Leslie’s cell rang as she was leaving to pick up Angel from the hospital. Brian Rosatelli was on the other end of the line.
“What do you need, Captain?”
“Nothing, Ms. Rhoads, just wanted to give you a few updates that weren’t in the newspaper stories.”
Leslie nodded as she locked the front door and headed to the garage. She would be driving her father’s Ford Escape today. “What do I need to know?”
“Not much,” came the reply. “We found a couple pieces of your jewelry at Spence’s house. A lot of pictures, too. He was much more than a fan; he was a fanatic.”
“I’m just glad you got him before he hurt someone else.”
“So are we,” the Captain agreed, “but if you need anything else, just let me know.”
“You know what the best thing about this is?”
“What’s that, Ms. Rhoads?”
“I don’t have police cars parked on my street twenty-four hours a day and I don’t have your people following me everywhere I go. So while you have taken away one person’s freedom, you’ve given mine back to me. Thank you for that.”
“You’re welcome.”
Sliding into the black Escape, she set her phone in one of the drink holders and took a long, deep breath. She was glad the guy had been caught, but she no longer felt the burning desire for revenge. In truth, what should have brought her great joy brought no emotions at all. What happened couldn’t be reversed. She would carry those scars for the rest of her life. But the police having the physical evidence to convict Spence allowed her to put away all memories of that night. Now she didn’t have to concern herself with trying to dredge up the details of what happened in that alley. If she never remembered the specifics, it no longer mattered. The nightmare was over and it was time to dream again. And thanks to a little girl and a handsome prince, she had something to dream about.
66
Well, Angel,” Leslie asked, “what do you think of my house?”
The six-year-old’s eyes were as big as saucers and her face aglow with excitement. She simply didn’t know where to look first. Taking a deep breath, she all but shouted, “I love it!”
“Well,” Leslie laughed, “it’s not Cinderella’s castle, but it will do until I find that piece of real estate at a price I can afford.”
“Is that your swing set in the backyard?” Angel asked.
Looking out the window to where the girl pointed, Leslie nodded in the affirmative. “That was mine, but Mother didn’t let me play on it much.”
“Why not?”
“She was afraid I’d fall out of the swing or off the slide and hurt myself. But she’s not here right now, so if you want to go out with me and swing, then it is fine.”
Smiling, Angel answered, “Maybe later. Right now I’d like to see the toys you were telling me about.”
“Let’s go up to my room.” Leslie pointed to the steps and the two marched forward and then up. A little later, after each of the special toys had been carefully played with, the party moved to the kitchen. As Leslie peeled potatoes and Angel tossed the salad, the little girl began to sing a little tune. Leslie strained to hear the words, but the girl’s voice was so soft she couldn’t make them out.
“Angel, that was a pretty song. Where did you learn it?”
“Oh, one of the nurses taught it to me,” she answered.
“It sounded nice,” Leslie nodded as she issued the compliment. “I couldn’t hear the words. What’s it about?”
In spite of her scarred face, the little one looked like her namesake as she explained, “Nurse Meg said it was about people’s hearts and how some people have pretty hearts and others don’t. She told me that mine was pretty. I never believed that someone who didn’t have a pretty face could have a pretty heart, until I met you.”
Smiling, Leslie nodded and sighed. “And I didn’t know what beauty was until I met you. You, you precious little bundle of joy, you showed me what real beauty is.” Setting the potatoes to one side, Leslie wiped her hands on her apron, fell to her knees, and hugged the little girl. As she did, involuntary tears fell freely from her eyes and rolled down her scarred face. Composing herself, she whispered into Angel’s ear, “So, I guess we both must be beautiful people. Isn’t that right?”
Grinning, Angel didn’t answer, just began singing her song again. A few minutes later, as they set the table, the little girl paused, glanced out the window into the front yard, and asked, “What is Hunter like?”
“Well,” Leslie smiled, “he’s tall, good looking, funny, sweet, and gentle.”
“Kind of like a prince?”
“I wouldn’t tell him that, but he’s at least part prince. He may still have some frog in him. You can give me your opinion later.”
Just then, the doorbell rang. “Great timing. That’s probably him. Angel, why don’t you go and answer it?”
Shaking her head, Angel backed toward the kitchen, casting her face to the floor.
“Angel,” Leslie whispered, kneeling down in front of the girl, “you don’t have to hide or be shy. Look at my face.”
Angel raised her eyes to Leslie’s. As she did, she lifted her right hand and traced the scars.
“Listen, Angel, if Hunter can love me, he will love you, too. You see he has the gift.”
Looking up, the suddenly puzzled girl inquired, “The gift?”
“Yes, he can see straight through our eyes and into our hearts. He will see your true beauty the second he looks into your big blue eyes. Now, take my hand and let’s open the door for him. You should never keep a prince or a frog waiting too long!”
The two walked hand in hand through the dining room and into the entry hall. There, they straightened their dresses before opening the home’s big door. Waiting for them, with a bouquet of flowers in each of his hands, was Hunter Jefferson.
“Good evening, ladies,” he announced as Leslie opened the door. “My, don’t you both look nice this evening.” Smiling, he bent over, handed Angel her flowers, and then added, “That is a beautiful dress, my dear.”
Shyly blushing, Angel politely mumbled, “Leslie gave it to me.”
“Well,” Hunter continued, “it was made for you.”
The girl smiled and looked toward Leslie. “I don’t see any frog.”
A confused look crossed Hunter’s face, “Frog?”
“Just wait,” Leslie grinned, “that part of him will hop out later.”
Still confused, he stood to his full height and gently kissed Leslie. When their lips parted, he handed her the other flowers. A second later he announced, “Excuse me for sounding rude, but I’m starved. What have you got for this hungry man this evening?”
Sweeping past his hosts, he marched to the dining room table and checked out what was waiting for him. Leslie and Angel headed for the kitchen to put their flowers in water.
“You were right, Leslie,” Angel whispered as she placed her flowers in a jar. “He can see a person’s heart.”
Nodding, Leslie smiled and pointed back toward the dining room. “And he knows how to eat, too. We better get back there or the ham and potatoes will be all gone.”
An hour later, while Angel watched an old Shirley Temple DVD, Hunter helped Leslie clear the table and wash the dishes.
“She is something,” he said as he put a plate into the dishwasher. “What can they do for her?”
“In the next few years,” Leslie began as she rinsed out a glass, “there will be several different kinds of surgeries and those, combined with makeup, should cover all of her scars. Her mouth and eyes were not affected, unlike mine, her facial muscles are rock solid, and so, she can, and I think, will, be beautiful.”
Leslie handed the glass to Hunter. “I’m not worried about the scars I can see. What concerns me are the ones hidden below the surface. It’s tough when someone who is supposed to love you creates such pain. Still, she’s young and seems pretty tough. So I believe if she can find someone to love her and help her through the difficult years then when the surgeons erase those scars, she’ll be fine.”
“I think she has already found someone,” Hunter mused.
“I wish,” Leslie answered. “But in this state, I just don’t qualify. I’ve got no job, no source of income, no home, not much of anything besides a huge place in my heart.”
“Sometimes,” Hunter smiled, “that’s enough.” Finishing the last dish, he dried his hands on a towel and took a seat at the table. After Leslie had washed and dried a pan she joined him. As she sat, he reached across and pulled her hands into his.
“This is not the way I’d planned it,” he said.
“You mean you didn’t think I’d make you help me clean up the kitchen?”
He shook his head, “No, not that! I just always figured I would do what I’m about to do with real flair. This script is good but the setting is all wrong.”
“Hunter Jefferson what in the world are talking about?”
“I want you to marry me.”
“Do you know what you just said?” Leslie asked.
“That’s not the answer that goes with the question,” Hunter shot back. “You’re supposed to say yes.”
“But you didn’t ask a question,” she pointed out.
“Yes, I did!” he argued.
“No,” she giggled, “you said you wanted to marry me. That’s a statement.”
He paused, laughed, slipped from his chair and fell to one knee. “Ms. Leslie Marie Rhoads, will you do me the profound honor of being my bride?”
“You really want to marry me?”
“I thought that you’d figured that out last night.”
“Well, talk is cheap,” Leslie answered, “And I’ve heard some good lines in my life. I just thought you might have been caught up in the moment.”
“No,” Hunter, still on one knee, said with a smile, “I want you to answer the following question. Do you love me like you have never loved anyone in your whole life?”
Not pausing to think about it, Leslie answered, “Yes. I love you that much and more.”
“Then,” Hunter grinned, “I guess you will marry me.”
“Right now, if you want,” Leslie whispered.
Laughing, Hunter leaned over and softly kissed his bride-to-be. Nodding his head, he said, “I suggest we do it right. I want a church wedding with all the trimmings. Besides, Flo would never forgive us if we don’t. This will be the social event of her life.”
Caught up in the moment, Leslie failed to notice the ringing cell phone until Hunter finally said, “I guess you’d better get that.”
“What?”
“Your cell, it has been ringing for about a minute now.”
Nodding, Leslie slowly got up and crossed the room. Picking up the phone from where it set on top of a cabinet, she cleared her throat and answered. A few seconds later she turned toward Hunter and announced, “It’s my cousin—Meg. She wants to talk to you.”
Hunter smiled and took the phone, putting it on speaker; he kissed Leslie, letting his lips linger on hers just long enough for her to get lightheaded. “Meg, what do you need?”
“Hunter, we brought a boy in here tonight—a drug overdose—and he was completely out of it. In trying to find out who he was and whom to call, we discovered a business card in his pocket with your name on it.”
“Who’s the boy?” Hunter asked as he glanced toward a concerned Leslie.
“No I.D. on him, so we don’t know his name. All he had was your card.”
“How is he?”
“He’ll make it, but it was close. Since we don’t know his parents or guardian, I thought you might want to be here when he does snap to.”
“Yeah, I do.” Checking his watch, Hunter made some fast mental computations and added, “I can be there in fifteen minutes. What room is he in?”
“Room 101, just inside the east exit.”
“Thanks, Meg, be there soon.”
Handing the cell back to Leslie, Hunter shrugged. She shook her head understandingly and followed him to the front door. “Let me know how things are.”
“I will,” Hunter assured her as he leaned over and kissed her a final time. “I love you and I’ll be back later.”
“We’ll keep the light on,” Leslie answered, “and, by the way, I love you, too.”
She watched him drive off, closed the door, and joined Angel in the den. Pulling up a chair, she let the girl catch her up on what had happened during the first half of the show, and then she paused the DVD, and the two of them went to the kitchen to pop some popcorn the old-fashioned way on the stove. After the snack and Cokes, they rejoined the movie. By the time the credits rolled, Angel had fallen asleep. Covering her with a blanket, Meg ejected the disc and flipped through the dial searching for something to keep her awake until Hunter returned.
67
A few miles away, Brian Rosatelli was working late, trying to finish a month-old report. Using the two-finger method of typing, he was spending more time correcting mistakes than he was filling in the blanks on the five-year-old monitor’s screen. Even as late as it was, he was grateful when a knock disturbed his frustrating efforts.
“Come in!” he hollered. Looking up, he was greeted by the young, smiling face of Charles Bruner.
“Have I ever told you how much I hate reports?” he asked the patrolman.
Nodding, Charles answered, “That’s what brought me up here. I’ve been doing some paperwork, too. I think I’ve got something that kind of muddies the waters on one of our cases.”
Rosatelli leaned back in his chair and waited for the cop to pitch his thoughts.
“The slasher case,” Bruner began. “Are you sure we have the right man?”
Rosatelli nodded, “I think so, but we sure can’t pry a confession out of him. Yet the fact one of the earrings that was found in his bedroom seems to have closed the book on it.”
Bruner nodded and took a seat in front of his superior’s desk. “I think he has to be the guy. A not very bright fan sees a woman he believes he loves, and when she refuses him, he turns on her seeking revenge. It just makes sense.”
“That’s the way I see it,” the captain replied. “So what’s bugging you about the case? Do you have something against a mystery that is wrapped up too neatly?”
“No,” the patrolman answered, “I like them that way.”
“There’s something on your mind, Chuck, so spit it out.”
“OK, the slashing happened on the twenty-eighth, and you and I talked around the first of the month. I think it was the fourth. Well, on that day, I wrote a parking ticket on the car you found at Spence’s house. The payment for that ticket came in today. I just posted it on his record.”
“So Spence paid the fine,” Rosatelli noted as he put his feet on his desk, leaned back, and supported his neck by interlocking the fingers of both hands.
“No,” Bruner explained, “he didn’t pay the fine. It was a guy named McCloud who paid it.”
“So he let a friend borrow a car. I don’t see that as a big deal.”
“That isn’t all,” Bruner went on. “I did a little more research, and discovered this guy McCloud had a prior conviction of petty theft and drug possession. Then, when I ran his prints through the files, I found out that McCloud is not his real name. It is Sims. Several years ago, he was the number-one suspect in the rape and murder of a young unmarried mother. There wasn’t enough evidence, so he was never indicted, but the investigating officer believed him to be the man.”
“Interesting,” Rosatelli admitted. “But I don’t see how it ties to this case.”
“I don’t know either,” Bruner replied, “but after they failed to indict this guy, he left town and moved out west. I just found out that he’s wanted in Texas for two different rape charges, theft, and possession of an unlawful substance. This guy is one bad dude.”
While the captain said nothing, his mind was turning at a thousand RPMs a second. They might have the man who slashed Leslie Rhoads in jail, but the guy Bruner has discovered might even be more dangerous. The last thing he needed was another story that would frighten the citizens of his town.
