Part 14 (1/2)
”What's this about, Maggie?”
”The rock quarry killer has been taking...pieces from his victims. Imperfections. Deformities.”
”Like what?”
”One woman's breast implants were missing. There's what looks to be a crippled leg bone missing from another. And a man's brain with an inoperable tumor was also taken. But if Joan didn't have any physical deformities or any disease, I don't think we need to worry that she was taken by this killer.”
She pulled the envelope from her notebook, fumbled with the index card and double-checked the address. How could she not find this place? Gwen still hadn't responded.
”Gwen?”
”There may be something, Maggie. Joan's lost a lot of weight in the last two years, but when she talks about it she sometimes tells people her weight problems were due to a hormone deficiency.”
”What do you mean, a hormone deficiency? You mean a problem with her thyroid?”
”Yes.”
”Okay, it may be time to worry. I'll call Sheriff Watermeier as soon as I get back to Meriden.”
”Where are you now?”
”I'm sort of taking care of some personal business.”
”You're finally going to see him?”
”No, I'm not in Boston, Gwen. I'm not seeing Nick Morrelli. I'm not sure I'll be seeing him ever again.”
”Actually, I didn't mean Boston. I meant West Haven.”
Maggie almost tripped over the curb. She had never told Gwen about her brother. ”How did you know?”
”Your mother asked for my advice before she gave you his name and address last December.”
”You've known all along? Why didn't you say anything?”
”I was waiting for you to tell me. Why didn't you tell me, Maggie?”
”I suppose I was waiting, too.”
”Waiting for what?”
”Courage.”
”Courage? I don't think I understand. You're one of the most courageous people I know, Margaret O'Dell.”
”We'll see how courageous I am. I'll talk to you later, okay?”
She dropped the phone into her pocket and was ready to give up-so much for courage when she couldn't even find the place. Then she saw the sign pointing to Durham Hall. She stared at the building, hesitating. What the h.e.l.l. She was here. It was silly to not go in.
She stopped at the front desk where a brunette with a nose piercing and pink eye shadow held an open textbook in her lap, a phone in one hand and a bottled water in the other.
”I know it'll be on the exam. He only mentioned it about a thousand times.” She looked up at Maggie and without putting down the phone, asked, ”Can I help you?”
”I'm looking for Patrick Murphy.”
The girl glanced at a sign-out sheet on the corner of the desk. ”He's out until late this evening, but umm...You know, I think he's working. You might be able to catch him there.” She pointed across the street.
At first Maggie wasn't certain where she meant. Then she saw it, Champs Grill. A job to work his way through college, of course. It was one of the details she didn't have in any of her files.
Champs Grill smelled of greasy fries, was dark and noisy and smoky with tall-backed booths, all packed with students. Maggie found a stool at the bar and began her search, looking out into the dining area and watching the waiters, wondering if she would be able to recognize him. And if she did, what would she say? How did you tell someone you'd never met before that you were his big sister? Maybe she should have sent a Hallmark card first. Didn't Hallmark have a card for every occasion?
She saw a tall, dark-haired waiter at the corner table, laughing with the group as he took their order. Did his profile look familiar? He seemed to be the one making them all laugh and Maggie smiled, remembering how her father had been able to make her laugh so hard it hurt. She hadn't laughed as hard since. So many of her memories of her father were overshadowed by his death. Instead of remembering his jokes and his hugs, she woke up in the middle of the night able to smell the scorched scent of his flesh, despite all the efforts the funeral home had made. Instead of remembering that medallion he had given her to wear for protection, one that matched his, all she could think about was that his hadn't protected him when he ran into the inferno, only to be carried out a hero.
She fingered her own medallion now, though she kept it under her blouse. There were memories she needed to allow, reminders that didn't need to be painful. She watched the waiter in the corner and she wondered if Patrick even knew who his father was. Had his mother shared that with him? Or had that been part of the bargain Maggie's mother had made with his mother after their father's death?
”Can I get you something to drink, ma'am?” she heard the bartender ask.
”A Diet Pepsi, please,” she said, when what she really wanted was a Scotch. She turned just enough to glance at him.
”Would you like that with a twist of lemon?”
”No, I really don't-” She stopped in midsentence, staring at the bartender as if she were seeing a ghost. She was was seeing a ghost. It was as if she were looking at her father, the exact same brown eyes, the same dimpled chin. seeing a ghost. It was as if she were looking at her father, the exact same brown eyes, the same dimpled chin.
”No lemon?” he asked, smiling at her with her father's smile.
”No, thanks.”
She tried not to stare while he tossed ice into a gla.s.s and poured her soda, setting it in front of her.
”It's a buck fifty, but no hurry. There's free refills on soda.”
She seemed to have been rendered speechless and could only smile and nod. He left her to serve others and she watched, feeling like a voyeur, studying his every move, mesmerized by his hands, the long fingers. He wore his hair the same, a p.r.o.nounced cowlick giving him few choices.
After three refills and a detailed rundown of the weather she finally left, needing to get back to Meriden to meet Bonzado for dinner. She hadn't had the guts to introduce herself. Hadn't been able to come close, and yet as she got into her rental car she couldn't help feeling like she had found something, something she had lost a long time ago and didn't realize was missing until now. And she knew she would be back.
CHAPTER 44.
Luc stared at the pot on the stove. He couldn't have left it there. He had stopped cooking after he set fire to a skillet of sausages and hash browns, left on and forgotten until he smelled the smoke. From then on, he ate cold stuff, cereal and milk, sandwiches.
The pot's lid was still hot. He couldn't remember bringing out the huge roasting pot. He glanced around the kitchen. Nothing else seemed out of place. He checked the back door-closed. Kitchen windows were closed. Was it possible someone had been in here? Maybe he hadn't imagined someone following him. There had been someone hiding in between the trees. Someone watching. And the footsteps. He had heard footsteps. And the reflection in the old butcher shop window of a man across the street, watching one minute and gone the next. Had that not been his imagination playing tricks on him?
He stared at the pot again. He would never have used such a huge pot. He could fit a small pig in the thing. It overlapped onto two burners. He didn't even remember owning a pot that big. Why would he need one that large?