Death Angel (16 page)

“Don’t think about it. It’ll make you
crazy,” she muttered, shaking her head at the reflection in the mirror. She
mustn’t let words blurted out in shock affect her belief in him.

She dampened the washcloth and began to
wipe away the physical evidence of the attack. The cool water revived her and
she changed into clean clothes.

Downstairs, Richard and Marian had
cleaned up the mess in the hall and were out in the kitchen. He smiled as she
entered the room, wiped his hands on a towel, and crossed the room to Kate. He
put his arm around her, leaning down to kiss her cheek and pull her close to
his side.

“Are you all right, honey?” he asked.
“You took quite a tumble.”

“I’m fine. Just a sore hip.”

Richard’s mouth tightened and a flush of
color rose to his cheeks. His eyes were overly bright as if he were running a
fever. Without releasing Kate, he turned to Marian.

“It’s five o’clock so the bar is
officially open,” he said. “What can I get you? I’m going to make a Manhattan.”

“As long as you’re making one, I’ll have
one too.”

“Kate?”

“Just a Diet Coke,” she said.

“Why don’t you two go out on the deck?
I’ll bring the drinks.”

With his arm still around Kate, he
walked with them to the sliding glass doors. He kissed her once more before
releasing her, then returned to the kitchen. Even though Marian’s face was
expressionless, one eyebrow was raised.

“His protective nature’s been aroused,”
Kate said, in answer to the unspoken question. “In some respects it’s good to
see. Mike stopped by today to tell me he’s worried about Richard. I suspect
with good reason. Richard’s been under so much pressure. You know how much he
adored Jenny. Just the hint that he might be responsible for her death has hurt
him beyond belief.”

“Richard’s a very private person. In my
experience, men have a problem articulating their pain. It’s impossible for
them to express anger and pain in a therapeutic way.” Marian’s voice was
thoughtful, her normally cheerful expression somber. “Are you going to report
this to the police?”

Kate shook her head. “Neither the police
nor the press need anything more to use against us. I suspect Richard feels the
same way. Otherwise he wouldn’t have cleaned it up. We’ll just have to hope it
won’t happen again.”

“This is such a stressful time. You
should go back to the health club, dear. It’s not just Richard I worry about,
but you. You’re used to swimming and especially now, you need the physical
release.”

“I’ll admit I’ve missed it. I’ve been
swimming most of my life. It was my father who got me into it. When I was
fourteen, he found me crying about the fact I was never going to be pretty.”
Kate smiled in remembrance. “I had braces on my teeth and was covered with zits
and a fair amount of baby fat.”

“Ah, the wonderful teen years.”

“Dad said being pretty wasn’t important.
Being healthy was. He marched me off to the local Y, and signed me up for the
swim team.”

Kate leaned back in her chair, staring
up at the tops of the trees. It was soothing to watch the breeze swirl the
leaves in ever-changing patterns. She sat quietly, just following the motion
with her eyes. It was a few minutes before she spoke again.

“Over the years swimming has always been
my solace, but this time I haven’t tried it. I think it’s somehow wound up with
pleasure. How can I do something that’s pleasurable when my whole life has
fallen apart?”

“I felt the same way after George died.
People told me time would make a difference. I hated them,” Marian said. “Ah,
here comes Richard.”

Kate hurried across to open the screen
door. Richard handed out the drinks then waited beside his chair until Marian
had tasted hers.

She kissed the tips of her fingers. “You
are a true master when it comes to Manhattans.”

“I should be. Your husband taught me how
to make them.”

“George always said that the answer to
every crisis was to make up a pitcher of Manhattans, then sit back and ride out
the storm.”

It was warm outside, even in the fading
sunlight. Kate was thirsty. The cold effervescence bit into her throat as she
gulped the Diet Coke.

Mike was right, Kate thought as she looked
at the back of the yard. The daffodils were lovely. She had planted bulbs in
the fall along the picket fence. The buttery yellow was perfect against the
brown wood.

“I’d like to put in a rose garden,” she
said.

The abruptness of her words surprised Richard.
“Roses? Well, I guess we could do that. Where would you put them?”

“In the vegetable garden. Then we can
see them from the deck and the kitchen.”

“Will there be room for vegetables?”

Kate shook her head. “This year I’d like
flowers. Something beautiful.”

“No cucumbers or beans? We always have
those, don’t we, Marian?” He turned to the older woman for help.

“I’ll give you some of mine.”

“It’s not the same,” he said, sounding
like a sulky child. He eyed Kate and she kept her expression neutral. Finally,
he tossed his head in defeat. “All right. You win.”

“In this case we both win,” Kate said.
We’ll have wonderful flowers and you won’t have to spend endless hours in the
garden. We could go to the nursery tomorrow.”

“You seem in an awful hurry to get this
project started. Do you think that’s such a good idea?”

Marian jumped into the conversation. “I
think it’s a great idea. My mother had a rose garden. One Mother’s Day, my dad
bought her a rose bush. It became a tradition. Every year he gave her a new one
until finally she told him she had enough.”

“That’s funny,” Richard said as he took
a slow sip of his drink. “My father grew roses when I was a kid. I’d forgotten
all about them. I was never allowed to run around in the backyard with my
friends for fear of trampling a bush. They were special roses. Maybe rare. I
can’t recall. All I can remember is my dad spent all his spare time with them.”

“At your mom’s house in Ohio?” she
asked.

Richard nodded. “They were gone before
we got married.” He chuckled at some long ago memory. “You never met my mother,
Marian. She was a very quiet, repressed woman. She taught Junior High math.”

“She died the year after we were
married. I was very fond of her,” Kate said.

Richard reached over to take her hand.
“You’re going to love this story then. My father was a big man, overbearing. He
was the office manager and head of accounting for an automotive company in
Akron. It was summer and the roses had been particularly lush that year.
Strange, but just telling this, I can smell them.”

Richard paused to take a sip of his
drink. Kate looked over at Marian who was leaning forward in her chair, waiting
for him to continue.

“It was a weekday,” Richard continued.
“I’d been out playing with my friends. On the way home I cut through a
neighbor’s yard and jumped the fence. I was halfway to the back door when I
came to a screeching halt, and looked back at the fence.”

When he paused for effect, Kate groaned.
“Come on, Richard. What happened?”

“The rose bushes were gone.”

“Gone?”

“They’d been cut down to the ground.
Stacked neatly in a pile beside the garage. I charged into the house to tell my
mother. She was sitting in the living room, her face a picture of contentment.
Her hands were folded in her lap on top of the garden shears.”

“What did she say?” Marian asked.

“Nothing.”

Like Marian, Kate was fascinated by the
story. “Did you find out why she did it?”

“Not then. In fact one of the strangest
parts of this story is that the roses were never mentioned in my presence. It
was after my father died that I finally asked her.” Richard laughed in genuine
amusement. “She said she’d always hated the roses. She thought father spent too
much time with them. He said a man needed a hobby. He worked so many long hours
that he needed something to help him unwind.”

“On that summer morning, mother was
taking father’s suit to the dry cleaners. She found a letter in his pocket.
Apparently my father was involved in a long-standing affair. She put the letter
on top of my father’s dresser, put on a pair of leather gloves and cut down the
rose bushes. She said a man didn’t need two hobbies.”

“Way to go, Mother Warner,” Kate said.

Marian shook her head in awe. “Heavens
to Betsy. Talk about a woman scorned. Your mother sounds like quite a gal.”
   

“I suppose.” Once more Richard looked
thoughtful. “I never knew my parents very well. I was an only child, and they
both worked. At the end of that summer I was sent to military school in
Pennsylvania, and then I went off to college. I came home for the summers, but
I didn’t spend much time with them. I’d forgotten all about this until you
mentioned the roses.”

“We’ll dedicate the garden to your
mother.” Kate held up her hands to make a square. “I can see the sign: The
Blanche Warner Rose Garden.”

“Her name was Blanche?” At Richard’s
nod, Marian smiled. “How delightful. There’s a cabbage rose called Unique
Blanche. We had one when we lived in England. It’s white and has a million
blossoms. It’s an old rose, so I don’t know if the local nurseries will stock
it. I’ll go online and see if I can’t come up with a Unique Blanche. That’ll be
my contribution to the project.”

Gratitude for Marian’s thoughtfulness
flooded Kate. She smiled at Richard when he leaned over and kissed Marian on
the cheek.

“What a grand idea,” he said.

Her cheeks pink with pleasure, she said,
“If I can find one, you’ll both love it. The flowers have a glorious fragrance.
It’ll remind you of your mother. As everyone knows, revenge is sweet.”

***

“I’m coming, damn it.” Kate yelled as she
fumbled to unlock the front door.

The key jammed and she gritted her teeth
as the phone rang again. She was moving slowly, stiff from the weekend of
gardening. Juggling three bags of groceries, her purse, and her keys, she
shoved the door closed with her hip and hurried through the hall to the
kitchen. The answering machine picked up the call.

She shoved two of the bags onto the
counter, but the third caught on the edge and the plastic ripped. The contents
spilled out, cans and boxes dropping and clattering across the floor.
 

It was the last straw. In a childish
tantrum, she kicked as many of the soup cans as she could reach, watching in
satisfaction as they slammed against the wall.

“Damn! Damn! Damn!”
 

Kate shouted the words at the silent
walls of the kitchen. Her
 
own voice
brought her back to the present, and she looked in amazement at the dented cans
scattered around the room. This was the first time she had reacted in anger
instead of tears. She had been aware of the bottled up fury and had been afraid
to let it loose for fear it would consume her. Yet, after her outburtst she
felt only relief.

With a shuddering sigh, she stood up
straight and opened the refrigerator. She grabbed a Diet Coke, popped the top,
and gulped down half the contents. The caffeine gave her the lift she needed.
She made a face as she surveyed the jumble of groceries on the floor.
 

“All told, it’s been a shitty day,” she
said.

Oh,
Jenny where are you? Please don’t be gone.

She’d been in the middle of grocery
shopping when she looked up and saw Jenny. Her response had been instantaneous.
Her heart leaped with joy and her mouth stretched wide in a smile. She started
to call out but when the child moved, Kate realized her mistake.

It wasn’t Jenny.

Something about the pigtailed girl had
reminded Kate of her daughter. It had happened before, and each time the
letdown was excruciatingly painful. It brought home to her the fact that she
would never see Jenny again.
 

“Damn! Damn! Damn!”

What a limited swearing vocabulary she
had. She’d have to ask Richard for a new supply.

Reminded of Richard, she wondered if it
had been his call that she’d missed. She pressed the message button on the
answering maching. Hearing nothing, she turned up the volume and leaned closer,
but there was no message. She was reaching for the delete button when she heard
the soft disconnect sound and then the final beep. Puzzled, she pressed the
message button and listened again. Long silence, then in quick succession, the
disconnect and the beep.

The phone rang again.

She reached for the receiver, but then
decided to let the machine pick it up again. Something about the call on the
answering machine made her uneasy.
 

She fidgeted until the outgoing message
finished, waiting for the caller to speak. Once again nothing. She strained to
hear over the heavy beating of her heart. First the long waiting silence, then
just before the final beep, the soft disconnect.