An Educated Death (39 page)

"Just sleep," he agreed. "No sex."

I put on one of my voluminous, comfortable flannel nightgowns. Joe stripped down to his underwear. We met in the middle of the big bed, nestled together like two spoons, and I was almost instantly asleep, falling endlessly down into a soft velvety blackness. Joe was a man of his word. He kept his hands to himself and let me sleep.

I slept heavily at first but then what I'd feared when I looked into the dark corners of my home, and what I'd drunk the bourbon to avoid, happened. I began to dream and they were not sweet dreams. I was walking down the path through the woods leading to the pond on the Bucksport campus. There were leaves on the trees, as there had been the one time I walked there, but the pond was frozen over and the path was an ugly wallow of much-trodden snow and mud. I was barefoot and in my nightgown and I walked along slowly, studying the ground, looking for footprints.

It was dusk. Light was fading rapidly under the trees. Behind me a branch snapped sharply. I turned and looked around, standing silently in the path, listening for sounds, but I could hear nothing except water dripping off trees and the too-loud sound of my own breathing. I walked slowly down the path toward the pond, the mud sucking at my feet. Behind me a branch snapped again, and this time, when I listened, I could hear the sound of footsteps. "Hello?" I called. "Hello? Who's there?" No one answered. In my sleep, I curled up into a tight, defensive ball.

At the edge of the pond, I found what I'd been looking for. Undisturbed footsteps. I knelt down to examine them more closely. The two sets of footprints Rick McTeague had told me about. There was a commotion behind me, the thudding of heavy feet, as a gigantic dark shape rushed up and grabbed me. I was lifted high off the ground and carried out onto the ice, which crackled and thudded beneath our combined weight ominously. "Let me go! Put me down!" I screamed as I struggled but my captor's grip was like iron.

Ahead of us, two wet, dripping figures rose up out of the pond, shattering the ice as they rose. Chunks of broken ice flew in all directions, skittering and clattering across the frozen surface. Laney Taggert and Carol Frank stood suspended in air, surrounded by clouds of rising white steam, their faces dead white and silent with glazed, sunken eyes, their arms extended toward me, their fingers beckoning. I felt myself being lifted higher and higher and then suddenly I was catapulted through the air. I flew straight at them, a long, helpless, slow-motion drift through the misty air and then, when I should have struck them, my breath held tight against the horror of contact with those ghastly dead beckoning things, I passed right through, the only sensation not of contact but of clinging wetness and intense cold.

I hit the ice with a bone-jarring crash. It broke beneath me, dumping me into the frigid water. Then Laney and Carol were with me, their icy fingers more tangible now as they grabbed the folds of my nightgown and pulled me down, down, down into the dark water. I tried to fight them, but although they seemed to be solid when they grasped at me, when I struck out at them, my hands passed through them as if they were smoke. They were killing me. There was nothing I could do to get free. All the terror I'd experienced last night when I couldn't breathe came back. I thrashed at them, flailing frantically, trying to fight my way to the surface for air.

Screaming and sobbing, I gradually became aware that someone was holding me, stroking me, speaking to me in a calm voice. "Thea, take it easy. It's only a dream. You're okay. You're okay. No one is going to hurt you." The voice went on speaking, repeating calming things, and the hands went on stroking, but it was a long time before I was calm. A long, long time before the dark images left me and I trusted that I could breathe again. And all that time, he was calm, kind, and steady, being calm for me when I couldn't be for myself. As my eyes gradually adjusted to the dark and I could see his face, I saw that his so-perfect control was achieved through serious effort. His face was strained and, as I slowly relaxed and became aware of my surroundings, I realized that our bodies were pressed tightly together and his was signaling very clearly that along with being two souls in need of care and comfort, we were undeniably a man and woman in bed together.

My feelings were scattered to all the points of the compass.

One part of me wanted to exorcise those vivid ghosts who had been dragging me down into the murky pond by the very present immediacy of sex. I craved the heat, the sensation, the release. I wanted those hands that were stroking my back so steadily, so chastely, to be more impulsive, to wander, to take liberties. Going along with that impulse, another part of me, angry and defiant, wanted to flaunt my personal freedom and sleep with Hennessey as a sort of in-your-face gesture to Andre, who had abandoned me. I had no obligation, so my thinking went, to be faithful to someone who'd walked out on me. Still another part, the clearheaded, rational me, argued that you don't throw away the possibility of a fulfilling long-term relationship for a few minutes of self-indulgent pleasure.

Nature does not want us to be rational. She likes to defeat us, to render us helpless, to show us our animal nature, mocking us with our inability to control the elements, the climate, the winds, the weather, and sometimes even ourselves, and nature almost had her way. Hennessey's hands did stray, as of course they had to, he was no saint and, like me, he was needy as hell. And I didn't say "Why la, goodness me, sirrah, methinks thee doth overreach thyself" when my body responded with an involuntary wave of desire that ran through my clenched muscles, spreading through me the way a boat's wake spreads across the surface of a pond, a roaring, primitive chanting.
I want. I want. I want.

What had Rocky said? Don't mess with the boy's head? Was I supposed to be the big kid and look after him, too? Thea the always-responsible? Thea the good. Thea the fixer. My chest was heaving and my body went on chanting
I want, I want, I want.
Oh, God, did I want! Like the good doobie that I was, I mustered enough control to say no. Gently, kindly, and regretfully, but no. It wasn't easy. It's never easy to pull back from the brink, to remove those seeking, pleasuring hands that I needed so much. But we did it. Well, okay, so I did for Hennessey what I'd done a few times for my high school boyfriend and what my girlfriends and I had pondered endlessly, wondering if technically it was a sex act. Whatever the technicalities were, it put an exhausted Hennessey to sleep. Eventually my own tide of feeling ebbed and I dropped into the deep, dreamless, restful sleep that I needed. No one came to my door and no one called me on the phone. I was hauled up on a safe little island of sleep in the turbulent sea of life.

 

 

 

Chapter 21

 

Joe Hennessey didn't even stir when the alarm went off. His face was half buried in the pillow and with his tousled hair and flushed face he looked like a little boy. I tucked the covers up around his neck and padded quietly to the kitchen, started the coffee, and then took a shower. Afterward, I wiped the steam off the mirror and peered curiously at my reflection. I didn't bother to ask if I was the fairest one of all. I was just glad I didn't break the glass. It didn't take an expert to tell me what I needed, that glance in the glass said it all. I needed rest, sun, food, vitamins, moisturizers, conditioners, a little color in my face.

"Phooey on you," I told the mirror. The weatherman said it was going to be sunny and warming, which was good news. I needed a little sunshine in my life. I put on a long black wool skirt, a peach-colored turtleneck, and a cozy cashmere cardigan. I wiped the salt off my cowboy boots and pulled them on, and put a bagel in the toaster. I was about to wake Hennessey when the phone rang. I barely had time to finish my hello before Rocky began to roar.

"Good work, detective," he said. "The desk clerk at the Monadnock Valley House positively ID'ed Drucker. We're off to talk to him this morning. Feel kinda sorry about it, though. I've always liked the guy. You'd better take it easy today... I didn't mean anything with what I said yesterday afternoon. I was edgy, that's all. Put Hennessey on."

"I'll see if he's awake."

"He damn well better be. Boy's supposed to be on duty."

"He's not a boy, Rocky." He harumphed but didn't say anything more.

I asked him to wait, poured a cup of coffee, and went into the bedroom to wake Joe. He came slowly to consciousness, grabbing at the coffee like a lifeline and staring at the unfamiliar room with bleary, puzzled eyes. I had to tell him twice before he understood that Rocky was on the phone. Then he set down the coffee, rolled over, and picked up the phone. I left him to talk in privacy.

I went back to the kitchen, smeared cream cheese on the bagel, and added a bowl of cereal. I was hungry enough to eat a horse. It was true that Lisa and I were meeting someone for breakfast, but that was over an hour away. In the past two days, I hadn't had many meals and they hadn't been substantial. I sat on my stool, eating and raising my caffeine level, watching the sun dancing on the water. It was pretty, as always, but it didn't do a thing for my gray mood. I heard the shower run briefly and then Hennessey appeared, buttoning his shirt.

"The cupboard's pretty bare," I said. "I can do bagels or toast and cereal and juice."

"Toast and cereal would be fine," he said, "and more coffee, if you have it." He sat down at the table with his back to me, staring out at the water.

"Is something wrong?"

His shoulders went up and down but he didn't say anything.

"Hennessey, is something wrong?"

"Joe," he said without turning, "my name is Joe."

I stuck two slices in the toaster and poured a bowl of cereal, sliding it and the milk in front of him. "Do we have to play twenty questions?"

He still didn't answer. I buttered his toast, carried the plate to the table, and sat across from him. "Talk to me, Joe."

He raised his eyes from the plate. He looked like someone who'd just lost his last friend. "I'm not feeling too good about last night."

"Because we didn't have sex? Or almost had sex? Or because you didn't sit outside my door like a faithful watchdog?" I said.

He shrugged unhelpfully. "Mixing business and pleasure."

"Two people caring for each other is wrong?" If he'd known me better he would have recognized the warning note in my voice. "I thought it was nice, myself, after that awful day—"

"I shouldn't have. We shouldn't have," he said.

"Shouldn't have what?" I said. "You're the one who suggested it. When I had that nightmare, I was very glad you were there." He didn't answer, just stared out the window, looking upset. I was getting annoyed with Joe Hennessey and I didn't want to get dragged down into the morass of his depression. If he was going to feel this guilty because he'd spent a night in my bed, he shouldn't have done it. We weren't children. We were both old enough to be responsible for our acts. "Eat your breakfast," I said. "I've got an eight-thirty appointment."

"Appointment?"

"Yes, appointment. In New Hampshire. For another client. Another job."

He shook his head. "I don't know about that. I'll have to check with Rocky."

"Forget it. I don't need Rocky running my life and I don't need you along. Someone from my office is picking me up. The bad guys aren't going to know where to find me. I'll be back around noon. If you and Rocky think I need a baby-sitter, you can come back then. Or," I said, being meaner than I should have been because he'd hurt my feelings about last night, "maybe Rocky should send someone else."

He opened his mouth but didn't get to answer because the phone rang. My mother had just read the morning papers and was charging full speed ahead with all her warnings and anxieties about the dangerous life I insisted on leading. I should have anticipated it, but my mind had been on other things. Life and death things.

"You have no idea how many phone calls I had to make to find you," she said. "You can't imagine how surprised I was when Suzanne told me you'd moved back into your condo." I groaned aloud. "Does that mean you and Andre have broken up?"

I wouldn't give her the satisfaction of knowing things were bad between us. I just said no.

She gave an elaborate maternal sigh. "Another murder. I just don't how much more of this I can stand, Theadora," she said, "you know that I was in to Dr. Barbour just last week and he's a bit concerned about my heart. My heart, Thea, and you know how dangerous stress can be to a person with a heart condition."

What could I say? "Look, Mom, you don't need to worry. I'm being very careful. In fact, I have a policeman here with me right now."

"Well, but Thea, a boyfriend... well, it's not the same as real police protection." I had no idea what she meant by that; Andre was as real as cops got, but before I could tell her that it wasn't Andre, she was babbling on. "That reminds me. I've called you several times about Christmas. I assume that secretary of yours has been giving you the messages. Now, I don't like to nag, you know how I hate to nag, but I need to know so I can plan. Is Andre coming with you?"