Are you scared yet, p.28
Are You Scared Yet?, page 28
He removed his hand and she immediately felt a loss. She crossed her arms over her chest, taking care not to touch him. It had been a hot day, temperatures in the mid-eighties, but after the sun set, it had really begun to cool off. She had goosebumps on her arms and legs. Probably a little sunburn. That was what was making her chilled now.
"I don't feel like we can end, this way, Delilah. I don't know what happened. What I—"
"Just let it go," she interrupted. "For now." She rested her palms on her thighs. "Let's find who did this. Get this out of the way. Maybe I... I can think clearly then. Maybe then we can both figure out what we want."
He made a sound as if he was going to say something and then stopped himself. He rose from the bench. "Guess I'll head out."
"Good night."
* * *
The Daughter watched the exchange between the police chief and Delilah, a little concerned. They had seemed to be in a serious conversation. The Daughter hadn't seen him chastise her, but it was obvious that Delilah was upset. The Daughter didn't like to see her upset.
She didn't like the police chief, either. She didn't like the way he seemed to hold himself above others.
The Father had been that way. Thought he was smarter. Better than others. Better than The Daughter. He had used his size, his strength, to control The Daughter as well as The Mother.
In the end, his size and strength had meant nothing. It meant nothing to the fires of hell that had licked his body as he screamed to escape the burning car that would not set him free. That The Daughter would not allow to set him free.
The police chief disappeared into the crowd gathered around the dance area and The Daughter looked back at Delilah sitting alone on the bench. She looked tired. Sad. And The Daughter's heart ached for her. Perhaps the police chief didn't appreciate Delilah, didn't value how good she was, what a fine officer she was, but The Daughter appreciated her. She wished she could walk over to the bench, sit down and comfort Delilah. Wished she had the nerve.
But the time wasn't right.
Tonight was not the night. Tonight was the night to watch. To remain invisible. A need was beginning to pull at The Daughter's mind. She had not thought consciously about the next; she had not allowed herself the privilege. The pleasure. But all the same, the possibility was there. She felt it nudging. Heard it scratching.
Flirtatious laughter caught The Daughter's attention and she turned to see Marty Kyle sitting on the edge of a picnic table beside the bandstand, her pretty little feet propped on the bench seat. Lights twinkled over her head in treelike stars in the nighttime sky, casting a glow over her blemish-free skin. She threw her head back, tossing her perfect blond hair. She was talking to a man she should not have been talking to that way.
Didn't Marty know you weren't supposed to sit on the table? It was very rude. Very unladylike.
The Daughter watched the reporter with disdain. Perhaps she was pretty in the face, but she was an ugly woman inside. A woman who deserved to be punished.
But then, there were so many who deserved to be punished, weren't there?
Chapter 23
"Thank you for meeting me here so late, Sister Julie." Marty cupped her hands around the white coffee mug, seeming not-at-all to be her usual confident self. She stared into the depths of the black coffee. "I know I must have surprised you. My call. After the way I acted the other day, I was afraid your assistant wouldn't even put me through."
A lamp hung over the diner booth, casting a sharp circle of illumination on the center of the table. In the less harsh edges of the light, Marty's face somehow seemed softer to Julie than usual. She was still attractive, but tonight, without the make-up, in jeans and a black T-shirt, she barely appeared to be the same cool, polished woman who appeared each night on the local news.
Julie wondered if she has misread Marty from the beginning. She, of all people, knew that no one was truly who they appeared to be.
"I'm glad you called. "Julie dropped a plain Jane tea bag into the mug of hot water the waitress had placed in front of her. At ten thirty on a Wednesday night, and only a half hour before closing, the diner was deserted. Not even the tired, overworked owner was to be seen. "I'm afraid I didn't handle the situation very well in my office Saturday."
"No, it's okay. I behaved poorly." Marty poured some sugar from the dispenser on the table into her coffee. "I wanted my piece to be just right. I wasn't thinking about the girls. All I was thinking about was myself and getting the story right. I really needed the job."
"It was still wrong of me." Julie pressed her hand to her forehead. "I don't know what I was thinking, cornering you like that, piling my own confession on you." She tugged on the tag of her tea bag, dunking it in and out of the hot water. "What I was trying to say... it didn't come out the way I meant it."
"Yeah. You really caught me off guard." Marty gave a little laugh of disbelief. "A pregnant nun. Phew. I don't know what I was expecting, but that wasn't it."
"Well, as I said, I wasn't a nun then. I was a scared kid." Julie fished the tea bag out of the water with her spoon and wrapped the string around the bag, squeezing all the liquid from it. "I guess it's the whole reason why Maria's Place was conceived. I had no where to go when I was sixteen and pregnant. I don't know if you want to use that information in your story. I'd certainly like to talk to my bishop first about it, if you do."
"No. Don't need it. The story's a wrap. I worked all night Saturday night. Overnighted the tape Monday. I got the call a couple of hours ago." Marty brought the coffee cup to her mouth. She wasn't even wearing lipstick. "They not only want my piece, they want me. I'm hired as one of their new feature reporters."
"Marty, that's wonderful!" Julie reached across the table to grab her hand. "Congratulations."
"I start right away. I think I'm moving to Baltimore this weekend. My cousin has a lead on a sublet. Haven't decided yet if I'll put my condo in Rehoboth up for sale or hang onto it." She shrugged and stared into her coffee cup, almost seeming shy to Julie now. Certainly humble. "Maybe I should wait. See how I like the show. See how the show likes me."
Julie watched Marty for a moment. She'd always been good at reading emotions on people's faces. Marty was happy. She was scared. She was regretful. But Julie also saw hope in her eyes. "I'm glad you called me," she said. "Glad you wanted to share this with me."
"Actually, you're the first person I called. After my boss. To tell the asshole I quit." Marty glanced up. "Sorry, Sister."
Julie gave a wave of dismissal. "Can't say I haven't used a curse word on occasion, myself."
They both laughed and Julie waited for the laughter to subside. Sipped her tea. "Listen, about what you told me. About your abortion."
Marty groaned. "I don't know what was wrong with me. I didn't mean to shock you or anything. Not that you don't know people..." She let the sentence trail off, not seeming to really know what she wanted to say.
Julie tried to choose her words carefully. "Marty, you should talk to someone about this. I don't mean to get preachy, but you need to seek forgiveness from God. From yourself. You need to get some counseling."
"Tried that." She gave a laugh that was void of any humor. "I'm embarrassed to say I ended up on the doctor's couch, but not the way I should have been." She looked at Julie, waiting for her disapproval.
Julie took another sip of tea. "You're moving, making a fresh start. Why not find a new therapist? Find a church, Marty?"
"You make it sound so easy."
"It isn't. I realize that. Finding people you can trust is hard work, but you could do it. I know you could."
Marty tipped her coffee cup and took a last sip as she slid out of the booth. "Listen, I hate to run on you, but I have a zillion things to do." She reached for the check the waitress had left on the table. "I'll get this."
"Please." Julie covered the piece of paper with her hand. "Let me."
"Well, thanks." Marty lifted the strap of her purse onto her shoulder. "I just wanted to tell you about the job. And let you know that I took out the shot of the girls. I'll let you know when it's scheduled to air."
"We'll be looking forward to it." Julie smiled up at her. "Take care, Marty."
* * *
The Daughter stood in the shadows at the corner of the diner and watched through the windows as the two women said their good-byes and the reporter walked away from the table.
The Daughter's heart pounded with excitement.
She had been watching her for some time. In her heart, she had known what had to be done. Saturday night, her thoughts had simply been confirmed. She had to die for what she had done to her child.
* * *
Delilah lay on her bed, her head propped on a pillow as she stared up at the ceiling fan. Around her were piles of papers; printouts from FBI and psychology websites. She had a book on profiling and copies of the files and photos of the two murders. Plenty to read. Plenty of info to take notes on and instead she was watching the ceiling fan blades spin.
She had turned the anonymous letter in to Snowden Monday morning. He had looked at it and agreed it was strange. He had also agreed that it was probably nothing. Perhaps even a joke. Kids were out of school; it was late July. They were beginning to get bored. It might have been written as a prank. He said he would hang onto it, just the same, and if she got another one, she was to hand it over to him immediately. It had barely been admonition, but it had annoyed her just the same. Snowden had said he still had confidence she could crack this case, but she wondered if that confidence was now waning.
There was a knock at her open door. "Aunt Delilah?"
Delilah sat up, feeling as if she'd been caught playing hooky. She closed the nearest manila file, filled with horrendous photos of the Horsey Mill Pond crime scene. "Yeah?"
"I just wanted to see if you wanted some ice cream." The teen stood in the doorway. "I was going to get myself some before I went to bed."
"Sure." Delilah stacked files. "Ice cream would be good."
Callie continued to stand there.
"So what have you been doing?" Delilah asked, taking the cue. She had learned that Callie would never come right out and say she wanted to talk, but she offered definite hints when conversation was what she was seeking. Delilah just had to be smart enough to see them.
"Nothing. Reading. I called Mom on my cell to see if it would work, you know, and not charge me because she has the same phone service. The phone's really cool, Aunt Delilah. I can't believe you got it for me. I'll pay you every month, I swear, I will."
Delilah had noticed in the last few weeks that Callie was losing her accent. She no longer sounded as if she was from East Jesus.
"That's nice that you called your mom. She have anything to say?"
"Not really. Usual stuff. She said I got a letter. I have to go to court in September." She ran her hand down the doorframe molding. "She was talking about school. About me transferring to some church school." She looked down at her painted toenails. "It's expensive. I kinda feel bad about her paying for it because I screwed up. I don't think I'm going to like it there."
"Won't know until you give it a try, will you?" Delilah asked cheerfully.
"I guess not. I do think she's right. Even if my old school would let me back in, maybe it's not a good idea if I go." She continued to avoid eye contact. "Which kind of made me wonder... made me think, I don't know, maybe there's somewhere else I could go to high school." She looked up at Delilah with big brown eyes. "Like maybe here?"
"Here?" Delilah asked.
"Wait. Wait. Before you say no." Callie rushed across the room, both hands out to Delilah. "Mom said it would be all right."
"You asked your mother?"
"She agreed it might be a good idea."
Delilah was going to kill Rosemary.
"She said I should ask you. Let you think about it." Callie sat down on the edge of the bed. "Aunt Delilah, I really like it here. I like my friends."
"Honey," Delilah said gently. "You keep forgetting that Izzy can't stay. None of those girls can stay. They're all going home, once they have their babies."
"I know," Callie groaned. "So I'll make new friends. I already met this girl, Marci, at the library. She's going be in tenth grade, too. And she's not pregnant. She's never even had a boyfriend. She goes to Stephen Kill High. She asked me if I played field hockey. I did in middle school, you know. Mom made me quit because there were too many practices and she couldn't drive me, with the kids and stuff."
Delilah looked away. Callie was serious about staying. And honestly, maybe Stephen Kill High School was a better choice. Whatever Delilah was doing, she seemed to be getting through to Callie in a way Rosemary couldn't.
A teenager and a baby?
Delilah had to be out of her mind. Just the idea that she would keep the baby was crazy. But a baby and a teenager? There was no way she could be a cop and a single mother to two kids.
So maybe she couldn't be a cop anymore.
She let the idea settle in her head. It wasn't the first time she'd thought about it. The truth was, she'd become a cop because her brothers were cops. Because they said she couldn't do it. And she liked being a cop, at least she liked part of it. But the part she really liked was the people. The criminals. The victims. Just plain old citizens she came in contact with each day. She liked figuring them out. Her undergraduate degree from Georgia State was in psychology. If Paul Trubant could be a psychologist, why couldn't she? He'd gone to school nights to get his master's degree and then his doctorate. He certainly wasn't any smarter than she was.
"Will you at least think about it?" Callie asked, breaking into Delilah's thoughts. "Please, Aunt Delilah." The teen put her hands together as if in prayer.
Callie could certainly be dramatic when she wanted to be.
"I don't know, Callie," she said honestly. "I guess I can think about it. We can talk about it. With your mother," she emphasized.
"That's all I'm asking, just think about it?" Callie leapt off the bed. "I'm going to get the ice cream. You want anything else?"
"Nope." Delilah began to stack her files and printouts and place them in a cardboard storage box on the floor beside the bed. Callie brought her a bowl of chocolate-chip ice cream and slipped out of the room calling good night. The teen was so happy that Delilah was unsure how to tell her that she was afraid that mothering a teenager was just too much responsibility for her to handle. She certainly would be overwhelmed in about six months.
How could Rosemary have encouraged Callie without speaking to Delilah first?
Delilah ate a few bites of her melting ice cream, sitting cross-legged on her bed. She looked at the phone on the nightstand. Her sister would still be up. She was a night owl.
She punched the memory dial on the handset and rested the phone on her shoulder, spooning in another mouthful of ice cream.
"'Lo?"
"Rosemary, how could you talk to Callie about attending high school here before consulting me?"
"Oh, hi, Delilah, how are you darlin'?" her sister asked sweetly.
"I was fine before Callie came into my bedroom and asked me if she could go to high school in Stephen Kill. Before she told me you had already agreed to the idea."
"Well, I did say it might be a good idea. I also told her that she would have to talk to you about it."
"Rosemary," Delilah sighed, setting the bowl down on the nightstand. "You're missing the point, here. Now you've got her hopes up. I can't... I don't know that I can keep her long term. I... I still have these murder cases and—"
"I'm coming, sugar pie," Rosemary sang into the phone.
Delilah doubted the comment was intended for her. "Rosemary—"
"Delilah, it's late. Bruce doesn't like me on the phone this time of night. It's our time together. I know you can't understand that, you not havin' a man yourself, but..."
"Oh, no, you're not doing this tonight," Delilah warned. "You are not avoiding this subject. We're not tabling it for another day which will turn into another week. We have to make some decisions here, Rosemary."
"You're absolutely right," Rosemary snapped. "We do. And it's high time some of us started taking responsibility for ourselves, isn't it, Delilah? Now, I have to go. You want to send her back, you go right ahead. You put her on a plane. Daddy says he might be able to pitch in and we can send her to some kind of boarding school. I'm not having her here. I'm not having her ruin my marriage. I know I told you a long time ago that I could do this, but I can't. I'm not strong like you. I never was. I just can't do it anymore."
Delilah heard Bruce's voice in the background. She didn't wait for Rosemary to say anything else. She just said good night and hung up.
Her first impulse was to cry. Her second was to call Snowden. Instead, she unloaded the box of files, spread them out on her bed again, and got back to work.
* * *
Julie woke sometime in the night. At least she thought it was night. She was surrounded by darkness. She pushed up off the hard floor that was not a floor at all, but the ground. "H... hello?" she called out, her voice trembling.
Where was she? How had she gotten here?
Her head pounded. The back of it... She ran her hand over her hair and felt a sticky warmth. She could smell its sweet, cloying scent. Blood.
She remembered the odd call from Marty. It had been late. She'd been watering the tomato plants by the light of the security lamp out back. The party. The auction. Marty's tape with the shot of the girls.
No. Julie hung her head, trying to think clearly. The fund-raiser hadn't been today. That was days ago. Today was... Wednesday.
Nausea rose in her throat. Her head hurt so badly, she thought she might be sick. She ran her hand through her hair again. The skin was split open. It was still bleeding, but not heavily. It was so dark that she couldn't see anything, but she could feel the dampness of the blood. Blood on her shirt. Now on her hand.
Sister Agatha had brought her the cordless phone in the garden. She remembered that the tomato plants were getting so tall that the girls would have to check each plant carefully to be sure they were getting all the ripe fruit.
