dumped her at
the altar. Sad, Kate would have made a great mother, but she threw herself into
her work and spoiling her two schnauzers, Rebel and Pepper. Those were Kate’s
babies.
“You’re worried about something,
Susan,” her mother said. “I can see it in your eyes.”
Too deep in thought again, Susan
jumped at the sound of her mother’s voice. The eyes again, always the eyes.
According to her mother, Susan wore her feelings in her eyes. The woman must be
clairvoyant, but maybe it was just a maternal thing. Her mother always seemed
to know what her daughters were thinking.
Susan moved the silverware around
on the small table, wondering how much to let her mother know. No point in them
both worrying. She would only insist Susan move back home, a frequent argument.
Nope, she couldn’t tell her about the phone call. She had to deal with this her
own way. Her mother couldn’t fix the hurts anymore, couldn’t make the big bad
wolf go away.
She shrugged. “It’s really
nothing, Mom,” Susan finally answered. “Someone stuck a red rose on my
windshield, and it has me bothered, th
at’s all.”
“A secret admirer, how sweet,”
Clare teased in a sing-song voice. “You must have some idea who it is.”
Susan looked at her sister. It
wasn’t like Clare to be so tense. Did her sister know what was going on? Susan
didn’t think so, but something was wrong. The sing-songy voice was an act to cover up something. Clare never joked
that way, and she usually babbled more. Today she was exceptionally quiet.
Why hadn’t her mother mentioned
Clare’s tenseness? Of course, she might have before Susan arrived. Clare was
one of those meticulous people who always took care of herself, make-up just
so, hair always in place, but today, she had bags and dark circles under her
eyes and deep groove between her brows, a trait they had all inherited from
their mother. More than likely, they had already discussed it, and Susan wasn’t
privy to the problem for the time being.
Her mother looked worried, too,
and Susan shrugged off her own problem as probably nothing. “Someone probably
put it on the wrong car.”
“Why can’t you be content to write
feature stories?” her mother asked for the thousandth time. Plus, she kept
hinting about Susan settling down. Susan tried to pacify her, but she still saw
the worry lines around her mother’s eyes. She smiled to herself, talk about
wearing your feelings in your eyes.
Kate, as usual, was the quiet one
at lunch.
* * *
After lunch, Susan kissed them all
goodbye and walked around the mall, window-shopping, half-afraid to go home.
Taking in the surrounding stores, not really paying attention to the
merchandise in the windows, her mind raced as she tried to figure out who could
have put the rose on her car. She went through a mental checklist of everyone
she knew, but couldn’t come up with a single name.
Ever watchful of the people around
her, to see if she recognized anyone hanging around, stalking her, she didn’t
see anyone who looked familiar. After delaying as long as possible, and tired
of walking, she did the inevitable and decided to go home. There was going to
be another call. She felt it in her bones, and Dave had said, “when he calls again,”
not if.
What kind of man committed these
crimes, and why had he chosen to call her? Memory popped into her mind of the
bodies, propped up like dolls, their eyes staring blankly into space and the
looks of terror on their faces.
What was it like, she wondered, to
stare into a killer’s eyes? Knowing you were going to die and helpless to
prevent it. What were their last thoughts? None of the victims showed much
signs of struggle, so they must have been familiar with their assailant.
How did one win a person’s
confidence to move in close enough to strangle? Obviously, there must have been
an element of surprise. A man must have committed these crimes. A woman
wouldn’t have had the strength to overpower
the altar. Sad, Kate would have made a great mother, but she threw herself into
her work and spoiling her two schnauzers, Rebel and Pepper. Those were Kate’s
babies.
“You’re worried about something,
Susan,” her mother said. “I can see it in your eyes.”
Too deep in thought again, Susan
jumped at the sound of her mother’s voice. The eyes again, always the eyes.
According to her mother, Susan wore her feelings in her eyes. The woman must be
clairvoyant, but maybe it was just a maternal thing. Her mother always seemed
to know what her daughters were thinking.
Susan moved the silverware around
on the small table, wondering how much to let her mother know. No point in them
both worrying. She would only insist Susan move back home, a frequent argument.
Nope, she couldn’t tell her about the phone call. She had to deal with this her
own way. Her mother couldn’t fix the hurts anymore, couldn’t make the big bad
wolf go away.
She shrugged. “It’s really
nothing, Mom,” Susan finally answered. “Someone stuck a red rose on my
windshield, and it has me bothered, th
at’s all.”
“A secret admirer, how sweet,”
Clare teased in a sing-song voice. “You must have some idea who it is.”
Susan looked at her sister. It
wasn’t like Clare to be so tense. Did her sister know what was going on? Susan
didn’t think so, but something was wrong. The sing-songy voice was an act to cover up something. Clare never joked
that way, and she usually babbled more. Today she was exceptionally quiet.
Why hadn’t her mother mentioned
Clare’s tenseness? Of course, she might have before Susan arrived. Clare was
one of those meticulous people who always took care of herself, make-up just
so, hair always in place, but today, she had bags and dark circles under her
eyes and deep groove between her brows, a trait they had all inherited from
their mother. More than likely, they had already discussed it, and Susan wasn’t
privy to the problem for the time being.
Her mother looked worried, too,
and Susan shrugged off her own problem as probably nothing. “Someone probably
put it on the wrong car.”
“Why can’t you be content to write
feature stories?” her mother asked for the thousandth time. Plus, she kept
hinting about Susan settling down. Susan tried to pacify her, but she still saw
the worry lines around her mother’s eyes. She smiled to herself, talk about
wearing your feelings in your eyes.
Kate, as usual, was the quiet one
at lunch.
* * *
After lunch, Susan kissed them all
goodbye and walked around the mall, window-shopping, half-afraid to go home.
Taking in the surrounding stores, not really paying attention to the
merchandise in the windows, her mind raced as she tried to figure out who could
have put the rose on her car. She went through a mental checklist of everyone
she knew, but couldn’t come up with a single name.
Ever watchful of the people around
her, to see if she recognized anyone hanging around, stalking her, she didn’t
see anyone who looked familiar. After delaying as long as possible, and tired
of walking, she did the inevitable and decided to go home. There was going to
be another call. She felt it in her bones, and Dave had said, “when he calls again,”
not if.
What kind of man committed these
crimes, and why had he chosen to call her? Memory popped into her mind of the
bodies, propped up like dolls, their eyes staring blankly into space and the
looks of terror on their faces.
What was it like, she wondered, to
stare into a killer’s eyes? Knowing you were going to die and helpless to
prevent it. What were their last thoughts? None of the victims showed much
signs of struggle, so they must have been familiar with their assailant.
How did one win a person’s
confidence to move in close enough to strangle? Obviously, there must have been
an element of surprise. A man must have committed these crimes. A woman
wouldn’t have had the strength to overpower
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