Haunting Refrain (11 page)

“Both,”
Venice
said, taking the faded pants out of Kate’s hand. She reached past Kate and pulled out a cinnamon-colored dress. “Here. This is not too dressy.”

In the end, they compromised on black slacks and a black sweater. Kate put on makeup and, tired of arguing with
Venice
, agreed to wear her hair down, scrunched into soft curls. Standing in front of the mirror, she tugged at the hem of the sweater. It was a little stark. She reached for her jewelry box, lifted a heavy gold chain linked to a cabochon of red agate. With a sidelong glance at
Venice
, she dropped it over her head, appalled to discover she had wanted an excuse to look good.

“And now you can blame it on me,”
Venice
said, laughing at Kate’s startled face in the mirror. “You hardly look cheerful, but it's better than those disgusting clothes you wear at the studio.”

John took a corner table at the
Black Forest
and was studying the menu board when headlights flashed through the front window. A tan Volvo stopped at the curb and Martin Carver got out. John watched him circle the car and open both doors on the passenger side. Martin took a woman's hand and helped her from the front seat.
Ah, damn.
Venice
. Then Kate got out of the back seat, laughing.
Too busy for dinner, was she?

From the dimly lit corner, John watched silently as Helmut greeted Kate. The big baker seemed stiff tonight. He was reasonably polite to the professor, but to
Venice
he merely nodded.
Strange fellow.

As the trio moved toward a table, John spoke. “Hello, Kate.”

She turned quickly in his direction. “John!”

“I thought I'd have dinner here before our meeting.”

“We had the same thought. I finished earlier than I expected.” She blushed slightly.

“So I see.” His wide smile took the bite out of his words.

Kate stood awkwardly for a moment, but
Venice
swept by her and greeted John, suggesting they sit together. She introduced him to the professor.

Martin said, “I think I saw you at the
para
group meeting Tuesday night. I didn't realize you were the reporter who called me.”

“Yes, I was at the meeting. I'm sorry I didn't introduce myself, but I wanted to talk with
Wolynski
.”

“Did he say anything? Do you think he believed Kate and
Venice
?” Martin raised his eyes briefly to John,
then
focused again on steering
Venice
and her long skirt between the tables.

“I don't think he did that night, but the way they found the body yesterday may change his mind,” John answered, moving a chair out of
Venice
’s path. “I expect all three of you will be hearing from Lynne Waite.”

 
“Wonderful.
Just what I always wanted.”
Kate studied the menu board. “I'm hungry, and Helmut will get upset if we don't order soon.”

As they returned to the table, John held a chair for Kate. She smelled good, some light floral scent, not too sweet. “I like your hair like that.”

Venice
's pleased smile made him wonder if she had thought he was talking to her. Kate looked pained and said nothing.

“Doesn't she—”
Venice
started, but Kate cut in.

“No,
Venice
, she doesn't.” Kate's threatening tone belied the saccharin smile she directed at
Venice
.

John, watching, thought they were both a little strange. He must have missed something.

Martin, who had apparently noticed the exchange, started a discussion on the merits of German food, which kept the conversation neutral until Helmut returned from the kitchen to take their orders. They ordered schnitzel with potato dumplings and red cabbage. John asked, “Do you have German beer or wine?”

“This is a decent place where young people away from home can come for good food. I serve only coffee and tea and milk. No spirits or pop.” Helmut's blond hair appeared to bristle as his face reddened. “When the weather is warm I serve iced tea and lemon. That is all.”

“Please, Helmut. A pitcher of tea will be fine.” Kate smiled and changed the subject. She didn't want the man to take to his soapbox tonight. “John, did you know Helmut is a skilled mountain climber? He sometimes works with the rescue teams looking for lost hikers. Maybe sometime you could tell John about your experiences.”

“Yes, Helmut loves the mountains,”
Venice
put in.

Helmut glared at
Venice
, but said nothing.

“Interesting.
Where do you go?” John asked, puzzled by Helmut’s hostility toward
Venice
. Tonight he was only marginally better with Kate.

“Some of the times I climb Caesar's Head or Table Rock. I go nearby because I have only Sundays.” Helmut calmed and returned to the kitchen.

“He's getting worse,” Martin said, watching the kitchen door. “After his wife left, he became surly and withdrawn.”

“It's too bad. He's really a nice fellow, but he's very bitter.” Kate looked around the tiny restaurant at the empty tables. “This place used to be packed when Gisela, his wife, was here.”

“What happened to Gisela?” John asked.

“She just walked out one day. He said she went back to
Germany
, that she missed her family,”
Venice
answered. “I expect she's better off there. Helmut's a fine cook, but being married to such a man would be a nightmare.”

“That's a terrible thing to say,” Kate said. “He has developed this puritan streak, but—”

“Developed? He's always had it. I think Gisela got smart and left him for someone else,” Martin said.

They were interrupted by Helmut’s bringing their food. His sleeves were rolled back over forearms that looked like small hams, and a towel hung over his shoulder.
 
“I still must serve the food. Tomorrow I think I must have another waitress to come.” When they commented on the mouth-watering aroma, he managed a brief smile,
then
left them.

John joined in the conversation and soon realized he was enjoying himself without thinking of his next story, but he noticed no one brought up anything connected with Kelly Landrum. He and Martin were considering the Atlanta Falcons' chances this year when
Venice
, returning from the restroom, brushed Kate's shoulder. Kate jumped, sending her fork clattering to the floor.

“Oh, my dear, I didn't mean to frighten you.”

“It's okay. I'm just jumpy.” Kate turned to John, reminding him of their purpose. “It's this wretched business with Kelly Landrum.”

John hoped to avoid discussing it in front of
Venice
and Martin, since he knew they would be pumping him for information. He had one or two questions of his own, based on the research he had done that afternoon. “How long have you been coming to the
Black Forest
? Were any of you here much last fall?”

“I came frequently before Gisela left, but that was over a year ago.”
Venice
said. “I don't come as often now.”

“I haven’t come much recently.” Martin frowned. “And now I remember why. The man's downright rude.”

“I come with
Venice
sometimes since I started taking the classes at the college. Why?” Kate asked.

“Just wondered.
Anyone for dessert?”
John asked.

No one wanted any, and
Venice
stood and looked at Martin, saying, “I have to leave now. I can't stay with you, Kate. John will drive you home after you've had a chance to talk.”

She kissed Kate's cheek, and she and Martin were out the door before Kate could protest.

“That was a smooth exit.” John smiled, well aware of
Venice
's matchmaking efforts. He could see that Kate was embarrassed. “I'd be glad to take you home.”

“Thank you.” She said without raising her head, her attention directed at the remains of her dinner. “I'm sorry about that. I'm sure her intentions are good.”

“Yes.
The road to hell and all that.
Don't worry about it.” Checking his watch, he added, “It's still early. I was hoping you would ride over to
Jocassee
with me.” He saw her body tense, her face tighten.

“Isn't it a long way?”

“About forty-five miles.
Are you up to it?”

She drained the last of her tea and stood. “Let's go.”

John, watching Kate open her wallet, knew better than to pay for her meal. He waited quietly while she paid and then handed Helmut the money for his. They said a quick goodbye to the surly man and stepped out into the evening. John opened the car door and scooped up a handful of papers and an empty fried chicken box, talking as he dumped them over the seat and brushed it off for her. “I'd like to know more about your visions, or whatever they are. I'm not big on this stuff, but you described exactly what they found in that lake.”

“I understand. I'm not that big on it myself.” She kicked aside a plastic cup and a newspaper to make room for her feet.

The Mustang coughed,
then
struggled to life. He turned the car toward the highway. “Have you
seen
anything else?”

His emphasis on the word “seen” made her wince. “Let's establish the ground rules before we talk about Kelly Landrum. I'm not used to picking and choosing my words that carefully.”

“I won't use anything that isn't relevant. But I have to tell you that if something you tell me becomes relevant at a later time, I might have to use it.” He refused to mislead her—after all, it was his job to tell the story.

“In other words, anything I say is fair game.”

“You can't expect me to leave out something that has a bearing on the story. I can't just write around personal feelings. I either write the whole story or I don't write at all.”

“What about me? Don't I have a right to privacy? Like my name. I didn't want it used. I certainly don't want any more publicity. This wacky image you're giving me can hurt my business, and believe me, I can't afford it. People, especially older people, are very suspicious of anyone who’s different. And those are the ones who can afford portraits, in case you didn’t know.”

“I'm not giving you any image at all. I kept the part about you and
Venice
to a minimum.”

“All right,” she conceded. “It wasn't too bad, but no more.”

“I might have to mention you again. If you turn out to be right about any more of this Landrum business, I would have to. I don't want to, but I don't have a choice.”

“Of course you have a choice.
Just don't do it.”
She folded her arms across her chest and turned pointedly to look out the side window.

“If nothing else turns up, I won't.” He concentrated on the road, thinking the autopsy could prove her wrong and he would never have to use her name again. But he had to be honest with her. “I can't make any promises.”

John drove carefully through the little town of
Traveler
's Rest, watching his speed. Then, as they turned onto Highway 288 in
Marietta
, he sped up a little. The two-lane road was open in the gently rolling hills, and in the moonlight, he could see a long way. John asked her about Helmut. “I thought you were friends. Tonight he was barely civil.”