Where The Heart Lies by Karen Cogan
WHERE THE HEART LIES CHAPTER ONE
White buds opened tenuously to welcome spring as sunlight flitted between their branches. Zelda hardly noticed their delicate beauty as she focused on the gray, stone building labeled Child Protective Services. Would she have married Eduardo knowing this was in store?
Her stomach tightened as Eduardo led a small girl to the car. The waif wore a faded, checked dress and long, brown braids. Tears trickled down her heart-shaped face onto a shabby Teddy Bear.
Though she was a pitiable sight, Zelda shuddered at how the child would affect her life.
She waited while Eduardo packed the tattered valise into the trunk of their navy sedan, cementing the reality Katrina would reside with them. Yet, she would never be Zelda’s daughter.
Zelda didn’t greet Katrina when Eduardo opened the back car door and urged his daughter inside. His ex-wife had been arrested for prostitution and drug abuse, thus giving Eduardo sole custody. What sort of child would come from such a home? Eduardo had scolded when she expressed reluctance to take in Katrina, insisting he would not turn his back on his child. His chastisement only served to cement her resentment.
The child’s constant sobbing grated on Zelda’s nerves like nails on a chalkboard during the trip home. They parked in the driveway of their neat, brick bungalow, complete with manicured lawn, and Katrina remained glued to the back seat. Eduardo frowned. “Come, Katrina. Now.”
Holding her filthy bear, Katrina slid from the seat. Zelda wanted to snatch the grubby thing and throw it in the trash. Yet, Eduardo would likely disapprove. She’d no choice except to allow it into her house.
She stopped to collect the mail and thumb through it, avoiding the reality of seeing Katrina settle into their home. The darkening sky matched her mood. Plump drops splashed her shoulders and she shivered in the cooling breeze of early spring. She pulled her blue cashmere sweater closer and scurried for the house.
Inside, she heard Eduardo settling the child in the spare bedroom he’d furnished with a white dresser and a single bed. Yesterday, he’d put on a frilly bedspread with hearts and dolls and hung the matching curtains. She tried to ignore the sound of his voice as he tried to sooth the child
Zelda puttered around the kitchen browning ground meat for burritos. The familiar scent of the sizzling meat felt out of place in the upturned order of the house. Supper didn’t promise to be an easy affair. Nonetheless, Zelda concentrated on getting the dish into the oven.
Upon completing her task, she wiped the speckled marble counters and swept the matching tile floor. A neat-nick, she abhorred crumbs, spills or smudges. Eduardo’s sticky little urchin would add to her workload.
She slipped into the master bathroom for a warm bath while the burritos baked. Lavender bath salts promoted relaxation in her private sanctuary. Eduardo could deal with the child. She belonged to him, after all.
Her muscles loosened as she lay in the tub. The unwelcome change in her household did not mean she would sacrifice time for her small pleasures. Her beauty, small waist, dark eyes and delicate features had enabled her to catch a successful husband whose income allowed her to stay home. His dotage made her feel cherished and protected. She shook off the disturbing realization that nothing would shield her from the intrusion of this child.
She hummed softly to herself as she closed her eyes, giving way to her sensory pleasure.
A few moments later, she heard Eduardo calling her. She frowned and stirred from her reverie. Dinner wouldn’t be done for at least ten minutes. What could he want that couldn’t wait?
She slipped out of the tub and dried with a fluffy azure towel. After slipping into a green velour pant set and slippers, she padded down the hall to the spare bedroom.
Eduardo glanced up when he saw her in the doorway. “Katrina is ready to unpack. Will you see to ordering her clothes in the drawers and giving her a bath before supper?”
Zelda cringed from touching anything the child wore, doubting it had been properly laundered. And a bath? Katrina was five years old. Couldn’t she take her own bath?
To keep peace with Eduardo, she nodded, “Of course. She’ll have to hurry. Supper is
soon.”
The child did as ordered and followed her into the bathroom. She dutifully undressed and
stepped into the tub without saying a word. Zelda handed her a rag and pointed to the soup. “I’m not touching you. So wash.”
Katrina ran the soapy rag along her small body in a hit or miss fashion. Zelda watched her with distaste. She had no idea how to take an adequate bath. Had anyone ever shown her how to wash? Zelda continued directing until it seemed Katrina had performed the task to the best of her ability. She gave her a towel to dry and handed her pants and a blouse Eduardo had bought. The delicate pink smocking on the top and pink rose buds on the pants lent a preppy style incongruent with the mussed hair and red rimmed eyes.
When Katrina had dressed, Zelda instructed her to wait in her room until supper was on the table. Then, Zelda retreated to the sanctuary of her kitchen.
Eduardo joined her. “She could help you.”
Zelda didn’t want Katrina handling the dishes. She would probably break them. “She needs to rest. Today has been hard for her.”
Eduardo looked skeptical. “She needs to fit in here, to feel part of the family.”
“Give her time.” Zelda turned back to her cooking. She heard Eduardo turn away and leave the room. If she wasn’t careful the urchin would come between them.
When dinner was on the table, Eduardo led Katrina to the table; her small face still blotched with tears. He pulled out a carved wooden chair and told his daughter to sit. She did as told with a resignation that failed to quench Zelda’s resentment.
Eduardo served Katrina a burrito with rice and corn.
He set the plate in front of her. “Eat, Katrina.”
She stared at the table, refusing his command without a word.
Eduardo frowned. “You’re here to stay. You have to eat sometime.”
His comment met with silent refusal.
Eduardo sighed. “Suit yourself. You’re the one who’ll be hungry.”
His irritation with the balky child and the strained atmosphere at the table dulled Zelda’s appetite. She longed for the way things were before Katrina arrived.
After they’d picked at the meal, Zelda cleared the dishes while Eduardo took Katrina into Zelda’s prized living room to talk. She would see that Katrina wasn’t allowed there again, for she would only soil the scarlet and gold, damask sofa and the two matching chairs. A fine Oriental rug woven in red, leaf -green and gold adorned a polished mahogany floor. The end tables and coffee table matched the floor. Antique white sheers draped the rods above the picture window where the shade would be open to let in the fading rays of light. A glass display cabinet held delicate Royal Doulton figurines. It was not a room for a child.
Zelda stewed over the intrusion while she loaded the dishes. When she finished, she joined them. Katrina sat with her feet drawn onto the sofa, arms around her knees and head buried. Eduardo faced her in a chair. Zelda wondered if all the dirt had washed off her feet.
Eduardo looked at Zelda. “She doesn’t want to talk.”
“Maybe you ought to send her to bed.”
Eduardo sighed. “You’re right.”
He told Katrina. “Go to your bed, Katrina. You’ll feel better tomorrow.”
When she didn’t move, he repeated the command. Instead of rising, she scrunched deeper into a ball.
Eduardo picked her up. She shrieked and beat at him with her small fists.
Eduardo held her out and shook her. “Stop it. Stop it now.”
Katrina hushed and began to whimper. The sound waned as Eduardo carried her down the hall. Resentment flooded Zelda , making her face grow warm. She’d not bargained for this feral child when she and Eduardo had married. What gave him the right to insist upon bringing her into their home?
He returned in a bad mood. “She’s been raised badly. What did I expect from her mother? Now we have to undo all she did wrong.”
“How do we do that?” Zelda asked.
“Discipline and love. She’s a wild thing.”
“What if it’s too late and she can’t be fixed? Things will get worse as she grows older.”
Eduardo scowled. “Don’t talk like that. It’ll take time, but she’ll come around. She’ll grow to love us.”
Zelda longed to express her opinion. Yet, she knew his temper. To disagree about something he had decided was to invite a tirade and then, cold anger for several days until she apologized enough times to be forgiven. She wouldn’t give him the chance to take out his feelings of guilt and frustration on her. She opted for silence.
“Do you think I made a mistake to take my own daughter into the house?”
Doggedly refusing the battle, she said, “You did what you thought best.”
She let him brood before offering to bring in their nightly ritual of coffee. They enjoyed sharing a small pot and listening to classical music while Eduardo unwound from the stress of owning and overseeing his plastics manufacturing firm.
She turned up the music and tried to pretend it was a normal evening. Yet, the cries for mama got on her nerves. Would the child ever go to sleep?
She finally grew quiet and Zelda felt her muscles relax. She refused to think about tomorrow when Eduardo went to work and left her with his little girl.
She picked up the crocheted baby cap she was finishing for the hospital auxiliary and wondered what it would be like to have her own child, one who belonged to her and Eduardo. They owned a thriving business and had been married for over three years. Perhaps, in another year, they would have someone to wear one of these caps.
“She must be sleeping,” Eduardo said. “I’ll check on her.”
He didn’t return right away and Zelda began to wonder what kept him. She set down her work and gave him a wary look when he finally strode through the doorway. “Is she sleeping?”
He nodded. “I rubbed her cheek until she stopped shuddering. She’s a beautiful child. We’ll see she grows up well. She’ll go to college and have a career. No early marriage for her.”
Zelda poured another cup of coffee and sipped as she listened to the music. Basking in the inspiring melody of Franz Shubert’s Ave Maria, the tension drained from her body.
Eduardo sipped from his china mug and read a trade magazine. Normalcy returned to the house. Zelda had put Katrina from her thoughts when Eduardo paused mid-way through a page and said, “She’d better behave better tomorrow.”
She laid her slender hand atop his. “Tonight was hard for everyone. I’m sure she’ll improve.”
She wasn’t sure. Yet, she disliked seeing him agitated.
He met her with a determined gaze. “I won’t allow her to turn our lives upside down.
She will learn discipline.”
“Of course she will.”
He studied Zelda. “She will not be spoiled or cajoled.”
Zelda nodded. “I understand.”
Eduardo ran a hand through his ebony hair. “You never expected t o take in someone else’s child. Are you sorry you married me?”
“Of course not. I only wish you had met me before Louisa. Then none of this would have happened.”
“In that case, we wouldn’t have Katrina. Give her time. You may be glad for her someday.”
Zelda doubted she would ever be glad to raise the child of a drug-abusing prostitute.
CHAPTER TWO
Katrina woke up in a strange room with frilly doll curtains. Panic drove her heartbeat into a rapid thud. She clutched her bear and wondered if the people who had taken her were in the house. She didn’t want to see them again. Mama would come for her. She always came for her. Maybe she was already here.
Heart calming with hopeful expectation, Katrina slipped out of bed. Her little feet padded from the flowered bedside rug onto the polished wooden floor. She hesitated at her open bedroom door, and listened. The house lay quiet.
She tiptoed down the hallway and entered an empty bedroom, different from any she’d shared with Mama, who preferred accommodations that were light and bright and smelled of her perfume.
This room held heavy, dark furniture and an enormous bed tightly made with a brown spread.
She studied the only objects on the dresser, a silver hairbrush, comb and a box of tissues.
A lace runner with a clock atop sat on the heavy chest of drawers.
She was preparing to explore the bath room when Zelda called her back. “Katrina. What do you think you’re doing? You’re not allowed in here. Don’t ever wander in again.”
Katrina had jumped at the sound of Zelda’s angry voice. She had no clue what she had done wrong since she hadn’t touched anything. She saw Zelda’s pinched lips and shouted, “Mama, Mama.”
Zelda scowled at her. “Stop it, Katrina.”
Frightened, Katrina screamed louder for her mother to come and soothe her. She wanted to breathe Mama’s perfume and feel her gentle hug. No one loved her here. No one cared if she was scared and lonely.
The woman shook her shoulders, startling her into silence. “You horrid little beggar. How dare you come into my house and make us miserable. Shut up, you hear me? Shut up.”
Katrina stared into the dark eyes and knew she wouldn’t see Mama. If she was here, she would have come. Maybe Mama didn’t know where they’d taken Katrina. Maybe she would never find her. Katrina’s grief grew deeper than she could bear. She crumpled onto the floor and sobbed as though her heart had burst.
The woman shook her again. “Stop crying and get up. Dress and eat your breakfast.
Your father insists on a disciplined schedule.”
Katrina didn’t care. She’d been taken from someone who loved her to a place she didn’t like. When she continued to cry, Zelda scooped her up with a disgusted sigh.
She tried to push away, only to be pulled against the woman’s bony ribs.
She carried Katrina to her bedroom and dumped her onto the bed. “If you choose not to dress and have breakfast, you can remain in here for the morning and miss your meal. We’ll try again at lunch.”
Zelda left Katrina staring at the closed door and wondered what she’d done so wrong to be forced to live with these people. She missed Mama and the old grandma she’d stayed with in the evenings while Mama was at work. She wished with all her heart she could make amends.
She fell back asleep with her bear, Rody, in her arms.
Later, she awoke and looked around the room at the white furniture with pretty, golden knobs on the drawers. The headboard matched, as did a shelf holding books, stuffed animals, puzzles and dolls. A tall, pink, doll house and set of dolls sat upon the floor. She was tempted to investigate. However, her experience with the mean lady dissuaded her. What would she do if she saw Katrina touching the toys?
She stayed on the bed talking to Rody until the lady returned. She pulled a shirt, pants and socks from a drawer and tossed them onto the bed. “Get dressed. Lunch is ready.”
Katrina put on the clothes while the lady stood with her hands on her hips. Then, she walked Katrina to the kitchen and pointed her toward a sandwich, apple, and glass of apple juice.
Katrina climbed into the chair and surveyed the food. Hunger rumbled inside her stomach. Her last meal had been yesterday’s lunch. She took a bite of the ham and cheese sandwich. Though she preferred peanut butter, she was too hungry to decline. She ate most of the sandwich and a few bites of apple. Then, she waited for the lady to tell her what to do.
day.”
“Brush your teeth and go play in your room. I have things to do besides amuse you all
day."
When Katrina hesitated, the woman said, “Your toothbrush is in the hall bathroom. Do
you remember where to go?”
Katrina nodded.
“Can you brush your teeth? I hope so, because I’m not doing it for you.”
Katrina nodded again. Did the woman think she was a baby? She’d been brushing her teeth for the last two years.
“Go, shoo. Don’t leave your room. And don’t make a mess.”
Katrina scooted from the chair and padded to the bathroom. She found her toothbrush and toothpaste and brushed her teeth. Then, she went back to her bedroom and tried to decide what to do. The lady told her to play with the toys. They were tempting, especially the dolls and doll house.
She set Rhody next to her and took them down one at a time, studying each one carefully. A baby doll dressed in a white cap and nightie held a baby bottle. A girl doll with brown curls wore a frilly dress. The third doll with long, blond hair came with a yellow dress and a hairbrush.
Katrina brushed the shiny, golden hair, mesmerized by the texture.
After a while, she put her back on the shelf and examined the other two dolls. Holding Rhody in front of them, she made his introduction before she pretended the four of them were on a picnic at the park that Mama took Katrina to on sunny days. She was still playing with the dolls when the lady told her it was time for a nap.
Surprised, Katrina answered, “I don’t take naps anymore.”
The lady frowned. “Oh yes you do. Put your toys away and get into bed.”
Katrina disliked the lady even more. Yet, she was also afraid of her. She put the dolls on the shelf and carried Rhody to the bed. The lady pointed to the shelf. “You have nice clean toys. Let me take that dirty bear. You don’t need him anymore.”
She reached for Rhody and Katrina pulled him to her chest in a tight clutch. “I don’t want the other toys. I want Rhody.” If the lady tried to take him, she would bite her hand.
“You are stubborn and ungrateful, Katrina. I’m going to speak to your father when he comes home. Now, go to sleep.”
She snuggled her chin atop Rhody’s threadbare head. Though she didn’t feel sleepy, she awoke later to hear her father’s raised voice outside her bedroom door. “It’s obvious she’s
attached to the bear. She’s probably had it since she was born. Of course she wouldn’t give it up. What did you expect?”
“That dirty rag probably has lice. You bought beautiful new toys. Please make her get rid
of it.”
“Have patience, Zelda. Give her time. She won’t take it to college.”
Katrina listened. She didn’t understand most of what they said. Yet, she recognized a
disagreement.
Papa stepped into the room and Katrina sat up. He smiled at her. “Did you have a nice nap?”
She nodded, staring at him. “I want to go home.”
“You are home, honey. Your mother had to go away. You live with us now.”
“I want to go with Mama.”
“You can’t. She’s somewhere children can’t go. She’s glad you’re safe with us. You can keep your bear. Did you like the other toys?”
Katrina nodded again. Yet, she didn’t believe Mama was glad Katrina was with him. She could never be glad Katrina wasn’t with her. She would find Mama and never see these people again.
Though Papa smiled, he didn’t look happy. “Would you like me to read you a story?”
Giving him a nod, she agreed. She liked books and owned only a couple at home.
They read about a chicken who thought the sky was falling. Katrina liked the story, though she wondered what happened to the animals.
At the end, he told her again how happy he was she had come to live there.
“I want you to feel comfortable here, Katrina. You may go anywhere in the house except the big bedroom. Tomorrow, I’m getting you a swing set to play on in the backyard. You’ll like that, won’t you?”
“I like the swings at the park where Mama takes me.”
“You’ll like these swings, too. They’ll be right outside where you can play on them any time you like.”
“Rhody, too?”
He smiled at her. “Yes, Rhody, too.”
Katrina thought it over. Maybe when Mama came she would push her like she did at the park. Katrina could swing by herself, but she liked it better when Mama pushed.
“You may play until dinner time. I’ll be in my study if you need me.”
Papa left and Katrina slid from the bed. She decided to stay in the room and play with Rhody and the dolls. No matter what Papa said, if she left the bedroom, the lady might be angry. She was still playing when Zelda called her for supper.
Katrina ate the rice, yet balked at eating the fish. “I don’t like it.”
Papa frowned. “That’s not polite. Finish everything on your plate if you want dessert.
We have chocolate cake.”
The situation surprised Katrina. Mama never made her eat things she didn’t like. She liked chocolate cake, yet not enough to eat the gooey fish.
“Try it,” Papa said.
Katrina stared at it and her stomach balked. If she ate it, she would be sick.
She shook her head.
Papa became severe. “It’s naughty to disobey your papa. I don’t like your behavior and you’ll get no cake. Go to your room. ”
The offer of refuge relieved Katrina. For awhile, she absorbed herself in play and forgot Papa and Zelda. Then, she recalled she was lonely and missed Mama, the cuddling and long mornings together. She missed the food the old woman made for her, chips and salsa, corndogs and French fries. And cookies. She always had cookies. She began to cry.
In despair, she made a promise to herself she would get back to them. Somehow she would find a way.
The next day, Zelda took her shopping for play clothes and shoes, and then dragged her along to cosmetic counters and a nail salon. When she finished, Zelda pointed a sharp, shiny- nailed finger at Katrina. “You need something done with that hair. I don’t intend to braid it every day. Let’s see if they can fit you in.”
Zelda’s pronouncement shocked Katrina. Mama fussed over her hair, telling her how beautiful she looked with long, neat braids. She cupped Katrina’s face in her hands when she finished fixing it and told her she looked like an angel. If Mama liked her hair, Katrina liked it, too, and wanted to keep it long for Mama. Thus, Zelda unwittingly set the stage to be thwarted and mortified.
The FLOWER GIRL BY Karen Cogan
Camilla stared at yet another lump of freshly turned earth. Flowers would have looked
nice there. They were innocent and cheerful, the sort of things that should be planted at the garden center. Camilla loved flowers and she loved Mrs. Martin, who had hired her through a program that helped mentally handicapped people find jobs.
Yet, there were no flower bulbs under this rich Alabama loam. Something disquieting lay beneath this plot that lay behind the concrete loading zone. Camilla had noticed freshly spaded soil several weeks ago. Upon excavating, she found a hand beneath the soil. Feeling sure it didn’t belong there, she kept digging. When she uncovered the shoulders and head, she understood the stranger must be deceased. She decided not to tell Mrs. Martin, what she had discovered, for she felt sure it would upset her. That seemed a poor way to thank someone, who had had been kind enough to hire her. She covered the dead man carefully and left him in peace, as one should do for the departed.
She didn’t dig beneath the new protrusion of dirt. She didn’t want to see another face.
She didn’t like the dead faces. They were too still, too cold.
Fortunately, Camilla was the only one who ever went to the back lot to fetch trees and large shrubs. Consequently, she was the only one who saw the disturbed earth.
She thought now, if she were smarter, she might be able to figure out why two bodies lay buried. Not having this gift, she doubted she would ever know. So, she shook her head and set about watering.
Mrs. Martin called to her. “Camilla, could you bring the small Magnolias? I’ve got a spot where I want to set them out.”
“Sure." Forgetting the burial plot, she wheeled the shiny metal cart to the trees and set them onto the flatbed. When she got all six trees to the front of the store, she lifted them out and displayed them under Mrs. Martin direction. The short, thin woman had the nervous manner of a hummingbird. Her shirtwaist dresses and short curly hair made her a throwback to the fifties.
When the job was finished, Camilla dusted her hands on her dirty jeans and gazed at her employer. “Thanks for hiring me, Mrs. Martin.”
“You’re welcome Camilla. You don’t have to keep thanking me. You’re a hard worker.
We’re glad to have you.”
“Thank you, Mrs. Martin.”
Mrs. Martin sighed. “I just got in an order of bulbs. Open the boxes and set the packages up for display.”
Camilla knelt on the floor and opened the boxes. Inside, were packages of tulips, lacy daffodils, and gladiolas. Camilla loved flowers. Every now and then, Mrs. Martin would give her
damaged flowers to take home. Camilla nursed them back to health and planted them in her garden.
She had a very pretty garden in the yard of the house she’d shared with Mama. She wished Mama was alive to see it. Mama had loved flowers, too. Fortunately, there were no bodies buried in the flowerbeds at home. Camilla surely would have noticed them.
She pushed the disquieting images from her mind. There was nothing she could do for the dead men and shouldn’t be staring into space when she had work to do. She began sorting the bulbs onto the metal rack, setting apart a package of Pink Cloud daffodils and re-blooming iris to buy for herself.
She had a small sum left over from her last paycheck. Even though Mrs. Martin gave her a discount, she always spent a hefty portion of it on flowers. Not that it mattered. She lived alone and had few expenses.
She was happy with what little cash she put away in her secret hiding place in a box under the bed. Sometimes when she found unexpected cash around the house, she figured Mama came from the grave to leave it. Mama had always been good to her.
A customer glanced through the bulbs. When Camilla looked up, he smiled at her. He had a tanned face like the cowboys on television. She stood to assist him, to find she was a head shorter. She dusted off her hands and smiled at him.
Until Death Do Us Part by Karen Cogan All Rights Reserved
Karen Cogan
All Rights Reserved
UNTIL DEATH DO US PART
At the edge of the water, white-capped waves began to break, harbingers of the wrath to follow. A short while ago, the clouds had been merely gray. Now they boiled with ominous darkness as they sank toward the cowering earth. The wind whipped off the lake causing the tops of the trees to sway, as if groaning under great weight. Annoyed at having his fishing trip cut short, Joe turned the car away from the lake and the storm that brewed above it.
The road back to the main highway was ravaged with ruts. He steered between potholes, aware of the heaviness in the air and the darkening of the sky. He grimaced. Everything was going against him lately, even the weather.
Rounding a sharp curve, he saw an old man trudging along the muddy roadside with a fishing rod and tackle box. The man’s face was hidden beneath the wide brim of a frayed straw hat.
Beside him, ambled a short-haired mutt of a dog. It had once been a handsome creature. But now, age had grayed its fur, caused its legs to bow and its skin to fall in loose folds.
Joe drew alongside the old man who plodded steadily along as though he were unaware of any human presence. As the thickening mist engulfed them, Joe had an odd feeling of inexistence, or, at the least another dimension.
He banished this crazy thought. The old fellow probably had bad eyesight and didn’t see Joe. He had to be soaked to the skin and in need of a ride. Joe rolled down his window. The old man turned his vacant eyes on Joe, as if he could see through him. The weathered face held a pale, ghostly pallor. A rainy night and an old ghoul made Joe’s mouth so dry he was unable to speak. He struggled to banish the foolish idea and remember he had only stumbled upon an old man who was caught in a storm.
The man looked away, dismissing Joe’s presence. As he continued his lone trek into the mist, Joe let out the breath he had been holding and pressed the gas pedal with a panicked desire to hurry down the road. There was something strange about the old fellow. As Joe left him behind, he couldn’t shake the feeling he hadn’t seen the last of him.
No more than five miles down the road, the car began a familiar shake and rattle. Joe knew the screws in the carburetor often worked loose. Why hadn’t he checked them before he started this trip? He knew the answer. He was anxious to prove to himself he wasn’t the overly cautious and predictable person Tina accused him of being.
He pulled to the side of the road and opened the trunk. Rain pelted down in huge drops that stung his back and chilled him. Nothing indicated it was going to let up soon. Fishing around in his tool box, he made one quick discovery. He had neglected to put the short-handled screwdriver inside.
Without it, he couldn’t maneuver to reach the screws on the underside of the carburetor. He used his pocket knife to tighten them as best he could and got back in the car.
He started the engine. It jolted like a mechanical bull and died as he rounded a curve. It was raining harder now. He glanced down the road, hoping not to see the fisherman. How long since Joe left him? Ten minutes, perhaps? He shivered at the thought of having the apparition catch up with him.
An old, two-story house sat across the road. Dashing through the rain, he reached the cover of the porch. The house was in need of repair. The paint was peeling off the front door and the doorbell wires hung loose outside the buzzer. The front windows were criss-crossed in spider web veins of broken glass. Joe hoped someone still lived here. If it were vacant, he would be stuck here with a dead car.
He knocked, shivering more from nerves than the chill of wet clothes. A sound of stirring came from within. The knob turned and an elderly woman peered through the crack. Her eyes went wide with surprise and Joe knew, soaked as he was, he must be quite a sight.
“My car’s broken down and I wondered if I could borrow a screwdriver. If you have any tools, that is,” he said.
The woman’s crinkled face broke into a kindly smile. “Why certainly, you poor thing. You’ve gotten all wet. Come inside and I’ll see what I can find you.”
Joe glanced at his muddy feet. “I better not. I’ll get your floor dirty.”
“Then pull your car into the garage. You can work on it out of the rain. I’ll show you where to find the tools.”
“Thanks. I really appreciate it.”
He raised the rickety garage door. The garage smelled musty, like the rot of an ancient forest. An old Buick was parked inside. Joe pulled alongside and got out, glad of shelter. Now, if only she had the right screwdriver.
The old woman appeared, carrying a cup of coffee. “Drink this. It will warm you up.” Joe sipped the hot drink gratefully.
She studied him a moment, and then said, “Now let me see. I have to think back to when I used to watch Walter work on the car.”
She squinted as she surveyed the garage. “I think you’ll find some screwdrivers in here. “
She pointed to a metal box that sat atop the workbench. Joe opened it and found a short- handled screwdriver that looked like it would do the job.
“Walter used to work on the car all the time. It was his pride and joy. I used to come out here and read the paper to him while he worked. If I were the jealous type, I would have taken a tire iron to that car.”
She tilted her head towards the Buick. “When he wasn’t fishing, he was working on that.”
Pausing, her face softened and a small smile parted her lips. Then she added softly, “I miss him a
lot.”
“Was Walter your husband?”
“Yes. We were married forty-six years. It’s hard being parted after so long.”
Joe felt a twinge of pain. Would he and Tina be together to celebrate forty-six years?
He sighed. “It’s hard, no matter how you part. My wife moved out last month. We’ve only been married two years.” He was surprised to hear himself blurting this to a stranger.
As he maneuvered around the carburetor, she said, “Walter and I broke up once. We hadn’t been married very long.”
She gave a soft chuckle. “Nowadays, they’d say we were incompatible. Our dispositions were very different. Walter was a precise person. Everything had a place. It used to drive him crazy when I’d
move things around and forget where I put them. Anyway I got tired of his constant harping about being organized and moved back with my parents. They weren’t surprised to see me. They thought I’d made a mistake marrying such an intolerant man in the first place.”
She paused, lost in the past.
Curious, Joe prodded. “You must have decided you could make it work.”
“We did. We missed each other terribly. All we could agree on was to work on the things that bothered us most and ignore the little things. It’s funny, after a few more years, those things didn’t seem important anymore.”
“I wish Tina and I could make things work. She complains I’m not spontaneous. But it drives me crazy when she does things without planning. Last month, she talked me into going on a weekend trip. It turned out there was a convention in the town she picked. We had to stay in a ratty hotel in a crummy part of town. I told her she should have let me handle the arrangements. I guess that was the last straw.”
She smiled softly. “Love sometimes means you have to accept someone and stop trying to change them. Goodness knows, Walter put up with my sloppy housekeeping for years.”
Joe tightened the last screw and rubbed the screwdriver across his jeans. The old woman was right. He had been trying to change Tina. Being an independent woman, she had resisted. He glanced at the old woman. She had a far-away, wistful look on her face again. “I wish I could touch Walter, kiss him one more time. I miss our life so much. I even miss that old gray dog he took fishing. I used to watch him come down that road while I did my knitting by the widow. He’d come in and tell me, ‘Aggie, I caught us some fish.’ He’d clean ‘em and I’d fry ’em and that dog would wait for the scraps.”
“Old gray dog?”
“Yes. He was Walter’s most constant companion, if you don’t count that old straw hat.”
The hair rose on the back of Joe’s neck. The old man walking along the road had an old gray dog.
Was his ghost coming back to his beloved wife? He was seized with a desire to get away from here.
“I appreciate your loaning me the screwdriver. Will you take a little something for your trouble?” Joe spoke hurriedly as he reached for his billfold.
“Goodness, no. I just hope you and that young lady get back together. Don’t grow old alone. You have so much life to live together.”
“Thanks. I won’t, at least if she’ll have me.”
Joe jumped into the car and backed out of the garage. He could see the old woman looking down the road. She was waiting for Walter. She knew he was coming. In his rearview mirror, Joe saw the ghost trudging along, unaware of the soaking rain. He was heading for the house.
In less than a half hour, Joe made it to the nearest town. He stopped for gas at a truck stop. Still shaken from his near miss with the apparition, he decided another cup of coffee might calm his nerves.
The café had a homey atmosphere with checkered tablecloths and a counter where the country folk could sit elbow to elbow and talk. It made him long for Tina. He hadn’t talked to her since she left. He’d been too proud to admit he missed her. When he got home, he would give her a call.
He sat down at the counter and waited for the matronly woman who was serving food. She glanced his way and gave him a quizzical smile. “You look like you’ve just seen a ghost.”
“I did. There was an old man coming home with his dog from fishing at the lake. He had the strangest expression I’ve ever seen. It still gives me the creeps.”
“Oh you must mean old Walter,” she interrupted.
“Yes. That’s his name. He was heading back to his house to see his wife. Have you seen him since he died?”
The woman smiled. “Wait a minute. Old Walter may look like a ghost, but he ain’t one. At least, not yet. He’s just an old fellow who likes to go fishing.”
She paused. A sad look filled her eyes. “He ain’t been the same though, since his wife Aggie died."
RETRIBUTION: A Romantic Suspense by Karen Cogan
CHAPTER ONE
Steve squinted into sunlight glaring off the polished hood of his Camero as he drove down the manicured boulevard. Bright blooms of begonias and petunias peeked abouve the carpet of cropped grass. Early spring brought the foothills town of Parkerville from winter snow to verdant green. Devoid of tourists and jetsetters, it offered a family atmosphere quieter than nearby Aspen and Vail in the higher elevations.
The peaceful town soothed Steve's frazzled nerves. Air combat missions in the Middle East had been his life for the last three years. Now that he was home, he could finally relax and let down his. Here, in the hamlet of his birth, danger wasn't lurking in every corner.
He parked in the lot of a corner convenience store to assuage his addiction to Oreos. A two pack a week man, he'd depleted his supply. His tour of duty had left him lean, and after being deprived for four years, a few binges didn't seem unreasonable.
An ancient Olds idled in front of the glass doors. Steve stepped past it and entered the store. The scent of coffee and pine-scented cleaner greeted him. At no time had he ever seen the floors muddy of the merchandise dusty. Whoever owned this place was lucky enough to have an employee who possessed a work ethic.
His quest for the cookie aisle turned him towards the check-out counter. His heart caught in his throat when he locked eyes with a tall youth holding a gun on the Vietnamese clerk who'd probably come over for a better life. Behind the Formica counter, the clerk stood white-faced and taut, eyes wide with fear. The Caucasian gunman with spiked, bleached hair towered over him.
Keeping the pistol on the clerk, he spoke to Steve. "Stay back or I'll waste this guy."
The warning wasn't necessary. Steve had stopped moving as soon as he'd spotted the pistol. He's seen guys like this, their mental unbalance obvious in the crazed look of a druggie needing cash.
Steve glanced around. The store was deserted. No one would either help them, or become a third hostage. He was glad of the latter.
The gunman shoved his pistol to the clerk's temple. They looked odd together, a tall white boy and a middle-aged Vietnamese. All they had in common were the beads of sweat that bubbled on their foreheads.
"The money. Now. You understand." The robber pressed the gun into the man's skin.
A rivulet of perspiration trickled down Steve's temples. He possessed a black belt in Tae Kwon Do. He'd been in plenty of competitions. Yet kicks and punches, even well-placed,
were no match for a gun.
The clerk's hands shook as he shoved the money from the register into the paper bag. When he finished, the gunman scowled, obviously disappointed with the take.
"That all you got? What kind of a place is this? Where's the rest?"
The clerk shook his head. He was panting too hard to speak. Finally, he managed. "No more."
"You have more. You have a safe. And you're going to open it and hand over the cash."
When the smaller man swayed, Steve feared he would pass out. Instead, he managed to say, "I don't know how to open it."
The gunman narrowed his cold blue eyes. "You better learn fast because we're going to that safe and if you can't unlock it, you and your customer are going to die."
He waved the weapon at Steve. "Follow him. And don't try to be a hero 'cause I'd just as soon shoot you as not."
Steve followed the clerk to the back of the store. The crazed druggie with a gun at his back made his flesh crawl. It would be ironic if he escaped being killed in battle only to come home and have this maniac blow him away.
The clerk led them to a cubicle that served as an office. It housed an old-fashioned floor safe, gray, with chipped paint and a rotary dial.
"Nothing inside," the clerk insisted. "Emptied yesterday afternoon. Owner hasn't come today."
"I'd like to see for myself," the druggie replied.
The clerk held out his hands in a helpless gesture. "Please, I already tell you. I don't know the combination."
"Then I guess this is an unlucky day for you and this clown."
He aimed the pistol at Steve's chest. Steve's heart thumped as though it would break his ribs. He had no doubt the crazy meant what he said. Consequently, he had to act. What was the worst that could happen? He swallowed hard, knowing he could die.
He moved fast, sidestepping to grasp the man's gun arm, wrenching it upwards and then back as a shot squeezed off and lodged harmlessly in the wall. Steve twisted the gun away as he'd practiced a thousand times with fake weapons. Apparently, it worked equally well with the real thing.
He retreated, pointing the gun at the assailant. The man's expression changed from surprise to fury. He poised as though he might spring for the gun.
"Don't do it man," Steve warned. "Stay where you are. I'm no more afraid to shoot you than you were to shoot me."
Steve's pulse raced in time with his pounding heart. Though he didn't relish it, he would kill the guy if he had no choice.
The young man sank to his knees, shaking so violently Steve wondered if he might be having a seizure. Nonetheless, he didn't take any chances by intervening. He stayed back and handed his cell phone to the clerk. "Do up front and call the cops."
The clerk bolted from the room while Steve focused on the robber who had stopped shaking and was banging his head against the vinyl floor, shouting obscenities so loudly Steve doubted they'd hear the sirens when the police arrived.
Nerves on edge, Steve cringed each time the robber's head went down. He tensed, wondering if the gunman would try and bolt when shouts from the police announced they'd entered the store. The clerk spoke to them rapidly as they neared the back room.
Two uniformed men rounded the corner with weapons drawn. Steve placed the pistol on the floor and kicked it out the door. "Keep your hands where we can see them," one of them instructed.
Relieved to be out of a confined space with a crazed druggie, Steve obeyed. When the assailant was cuffed, the older policeman said, "I'm Officer Davis. Come with me, we'll get this sorted out."
As Steve followed the officer to the front counter, he saw a ring of police cars outside with flashing lights keeping curious onlookers at bay.
After giving his account of what happened, Davis thanked Steve, adding, " You and the attendant will have to come in for statements. And your testimony will be needed when this goes to trial."
Two policemen led the robber through the store. Though the fight seemed to have left him, his eyes narrowed when he spotted Steve. The silent hatred chilled Steve more than if he had unleashed a barrage of threats. He watched the man's retreating back as they steered him through the door and loaded him into a patrol car.
"He'll have a history of prior arrests," Officer Davis told Steve and the clerk. "His type always does."
On the way to the patrol car for the ride downtown, the press tossed questions. Steve ignored them. He hoped to keep his name out of the paper and avoid being hounded.
No one spoke on the way downtown. Steve stared out the window, fixated by pink blooms on ornamental plums, crimson tulips, and buttery daffodils that seemed surreal after what had just happened. The peaceful aura of spring, with lazy clouds in a baby-blue sky, didn't belong in a morning filled with filled with violence. Hadn't he left that behind him when he left the military to come home? This town was filled with family folks like his sister, Megan, her husband and two kids. Crazy gunmen had no place here.
They reached the red brick building that housed the police station. Steve's palms grew damp as they parked in the lot. Though he'd never been arrested, he had an irrational fear of finding his picture on a wanted poster. His look alike, or a twin he'd never known, would be his undoing. And if he took a lie detector test, he felt sure he'd fail, not because he was guilty, but because he would feel guilty.
They walked up the sidewalk into a hive of activity. Inside, suspects were trotted from a waiting room through a swinging half-door. Steve's escort stopped to speak to an officer to an officer whose desk was nearly hidden under paperwork. The phone rang incessantly.
A secretary bestowed a smile at Officer Davis. "You guys took down a robber, I hear."
Davis nodded. "He's already in custody."
He gestured toward Steve. "This guy got him."
She shifted her attention to Steve with a look of admiration that made him feel ill at ease.
"Wow, a hero."
"Not really," Steve said. "Just lucky." He hadn't sought an opportunity to prove himself. Battle experience had convinced him that heroes were buried with pomp and ceremony, but buried just the same.
He was relieved of her doe-eyed stare we when they continued to the back room where he gave his statement to a man seated behind a cluttered table. Steve repeated exactly what had happened while the officer typed up the report. When he finished, the typist swiveled to call into the hallway behind him.
"Hey, Dana. We thing we have the guy who's committed those robberies."
"Really?" a woman called back.
A moment later, she appeared in the doorway. "Why do you think so?" She cast a curious glance at Steve.
"This guy took down a druggie who was trying to rob a convenience store. He fits the profile."
She studied Steve. "That's impressive. Our guy was always armed."
"He had a gun and he was ready to use it," Steve admitted. "I had to take a chance or die."
She pursed her lips, looking doubtful. Though she wore no hint of lipstick, her lips possessed an attractive curve.
The officer introduced them. "This is Dana Morales. She works in the violent crimes unit. And this is Steve Yarrow, our apprehender. He has a black belt in Tae Kwon Do."
"Ahh," she said. "A black belt. That explains how he got the gun."
She didn't look overly impressed, just satisfied with the explanation.
Steve studied her. She could hardly have been more than five foot two, was trim, yet too curvy to look boyish in her gray uniform. Her figure, combined with her heart-shaped face, delicate nose, and large dark eyes, made her distinctly feminine. Her dark auburn hair was plaited in short French braids that left her forehead bare, revealing a widow's peak at her hairline.
He watched her elegant brows rise with interest as she read the report. Handing it back, she said, "If you weren't trained in self-defense, he probably would have killed you. Someone shot and killed a clerk a couple of days ago. I hope this is our guy."
He hoped to have solved the crime. Listening to her made him feel as though it was his responsibility.
"They're booking him right now," the officer said.
"I'll grab Louis. We'll go over and talk to him," she said.
She dismissed Steve without a backward glance that left him strangely disappointed even though she was understandably engrossed by the robber's apprehension.
The officer filled Steve in. "Louis is our boss. He's the chief detective."
He glanced over the report, seemed satisfied, and printed it out. "We're all done here," he told Steve.
As they rode to the convenience store, Steve called the community airport where he had an interview to become a mechanic. He was appreciably late, but considering the circumstances, he hoped to be forgiven.