The_Amazing_Mr._Howard (8 page)

Susan turned to Michael. “I’ll get it,” he said, while pushing out of the chair.

“Children are so much fun,” she said. “Why didn’t you ever get married and have a few of your own?”

His wife, Sophie, had been a slender flower he nourished for almost forty years until the plague took her life. The daughter of an Italian merchant who migrated to Vienna, she had the smooth olive skin of her people, thick dark hair, and eyes the color of rich earth. He remembered making love to her on the bed, an afternoon sun streaming through the open window, curtains dancing as a cool breeze blew past. Her lips tasted of mountain berries. He looked straight at Susan and smiled. “If I had found a woman like you, then perhaps.”

She dismissed him with a wave. “Did you hear that, honey?”

Killgood walked over and sat beside her. He put an arm across her shoulders. “Should I be jealous?”

“Of course,” Mr. Howard answered, watching Reann and Michael return. “One day I might come along and steal her from you.”

Michael clanked five glasses onto the table.

“I believe you have one too many glasses there, chief,” Killgood said.

“Come on, Dad, just a taste.”

“I began drinking wine when I was much younger than Michael,” Mr. Howard said.

“Yes, and look how you turned out.”

“This is true. You do not want to follow in my footsteps, young man.”

Michael slumped onto a chair. “I can’t wait until I’m twenty-one.”

Mr. Howard snatched the bottle off the table and held out his hand. “I believe you were sent to fetch a bottle opener, yes?”

“Oh yeah,” Michael said. He reached into a pocket and pulled out the opener. “Here you go.”

Reann took a seat beside her brother, her attention on Mr. Howard. “You know a great deal about wine, don’t you?”

“I am not an expert per say,” he answered as he worked the opener into the cork, “but I have some experience buying and selling wines.” He recalled a warm sun on the back of his neck as he strolled through the vine-covered slopes northwest of Vienna. The smell of grapes carried on a breeze blowing in from the Alps.

“And the tasting,” Susan added.

The cork popped out of the bottle. “Yes, that too.” He poured wine into four glasses. “Best to let it breathe for a bit.”

Killgood picked up his glass and drank the wine in three long swallows. He wiped wine from his lips.

“Or not,” Mr. Howard finished.

Reann lifted her glass and sniffed. “It has a lovely bouquet.”

Killgood reached for the bottle. He refilled his glass and offered a mock toast. “To better days.” He slurped as he drank.

Susan watched her husband with a forlorn expression. It was obvious he suffered, but why? Could it be job related? Being a homicide detective had its stresses no doubt, but in their town, he probably didn’t work more than one or two murders a year. No, something else consumed his thoughts like a dancing flame. Reann stared into her glass of wine, seemingly oblivious to her surroundings
. Yes, of course, it is because of her bruise. Ryan has hurt her and she won’t admit it. Knowing the truth without being able to prove it drives a cop crazy.

Time to lift the dark veil that had fallen over them. “So, Michael,” Mr. Howard said, “tell me about your girlfriends? You must have many young women chasing after you.”

Susan and Reann both laughed softly. Killgood traced the lip of his glass with a finger.

Michael’s chin sank toward his chest. “Come on, Professor, it’s not like that.”

“Why? Do you not want the young women to chase after you? Or would you rather chase them?”

“He’s in love with a cheerleader,” Reann said, the word cheerleader slipping off her tongue with disdain.

“Hey!” Michael protested.

“Wendy Pepperidge,” she continued.

His eyes narrowed and a soft growl rumbled in his throat. “Thanks a lot.”

Mr. Howard hid a smile behind his glass. “Nothing to be ashamed of Michael. I am sure young Wendy is beautiful. She must make your heart beat like a drum.” He took a sip of wine and sat the glass on the table. “Do you know the origin of the name Wendy?”

Michael stopped glaring at his sister. “Please don’t tell me it has something to do with one of your ancient monsters.”

He shook his head. “No, nothing so romantic I am afraid. The writer J.M. Barrie created the name when he wrote Peter Pan.”

“Is that true?” Michael asked.

“It is.”

Reann snickered into her free hand. “So, I guess that makes you Peter Pan.” She took a sip of wine.

Susan jumped out of her chair. “Honey, the swordfish!”

Everyone looked toward the grill where smoke poured from the charred fish.

“Not again,” Reann groaned. She slouched in her chair.

Michael stood and turned to his mother. “Backup plan?”

She looked at Killgood hunched over his wine glass, sighed, and then at Michael. “Backup plan.”

***

Mr. Howard rubbed his stomach. “I have not enjoyed delivered pizza in years. Thank you.”

Susan offered a furtive smile. “As I recall, we ordered pizza the last time you came over for a barbecue.”

“Yeah,” Michael said reaching for the last piece of pizza, “we love when Dad cooks on the grill.”

Killgood offered a weak grunt.

When everyone finished eating and cleared the table, Susan steered the kids inside the house. “I’m sure your dad and Mr. Howard would like to visit on their own.” She paused in the doorway. “Shout if you need anything and thanks again for the wine. It was delicious.”

He dipped his head. “You are most welcome.”

A smile flashed over her mouth before she disappeared inside the house. He had always considered Susan Killgood a kindred spirit because they both were teachers. She had taught at a middle school for almost twenty years and somehow managed to keep her sanity. Young adults in their early teens were most disagreeable. They thought only of sex and mischief, but were too young to truly understand sex, and too old to be making the kind of mischief they wanted. Pimple-faced boys stared in mirrors and imagined themselves modern-day Valentinos. Beautiful young women did the same thing and imagined themselves ugly and unworthy. No, he most definitely could not tolerate the obnoxious behavior of middle school students. At least half of his class would disappear under mysterious circumstances in the first week.

Silence moved between them. Killgood stared into the darkness where crickets chirped. A bug zapper crackled at the neighbor’s house. Mosquitoes buzzed around Mr. Howard’s ears, but would never land on his skin. They seemed to comprehend his stolen blood wasn’t what they needed. The air smelled of smoke and mowed grass. After perhaps a minute, Killgood turned to him and sighed. “It’s Reann.”

He nodded. “Yes, I noticed the bruise. Very brave of you to have me over considering the circumstances.”

“I trust you’ll keep this to yourself.”

“You can count on it.”

Killgood ran a hand over the top of his head. “It’s her fucking ex-boyfriend Ryan. I never liked the scumbag.”

“You are a policeman. Arrest him.”

He guffawed. “I’d like to do more than that.”

An image of the detective digging a grave in the moonlight popped into his head. “What does Reann have to say about it?”

“She’s confused.”

“As to be expected. She must love him to have had his child.”

Killgood smiled. “You possess the chivalry of a knight in a modern world that respects nothing. Young people fuck and have kids all the time without understanding what love is.” He massaged his eyes. “We managed to talk her into moving back home.”

“That is a positive step.”

He stopped rubbing his eyes and cast a hard glare. “Now she’s thinking about returning to him.”

“And you worry he will hurt her again?”

“It’s not a matter of if, but when. I’ve spent most of life protecting people and now I can’t protect my own daughter.” He smacked a mosquito on his forearm. “Sometimes when I’m worrying about Reann, I think of Stephanie Coldstone. I won’t let that happen to Reann.”

“So, you believe Stephanie Coldstone is dead?”

“She had no reason to run off.”

Mr. Howard tapped a finger against his lips while absorbing this information. The only thing which would dampen an investigator’s passion for a case was the passing of time. The longer he delayed the investigation, the better. But this case was different. As Killgood correctly pointed out, she had no reason to run from home. Her parents did not abuse her. She wasn’t pregnant or feeding a drug habit. She came from a wealthy family and they would pressure the investigators until the discovery of her body. Perhaps even the discovery of her bones wouldn’t satisfy their need for vengeance. Coercion would continue. The investigation dragging on, months, maybe even years. He’d stepped into a pile of dung with no way to clean it from his shoes. “Detective Willard must be under tremendous stress.”

“Yeah, he is, so take it easy on him.”

“What do you mean?”

Killgood finished his wine and reached for the bottle. “I realize you don’t like Willard. I don’t care for him myself. And he sure as hell doesn’t like you.”

“Is that what he told you?”

“Isn’t it obvious?”

Mr. Howard lowered his gaze and to pretend humility said, “I am only trying to help.”

“Yeah, I know you are, but Willard thinks you’re full of crap.”

“Because I am a psychic?”

Killgood smiled. “Yeah, that too.”

He suspected Willard wanted him off the case but was meeting resistance from Killgood and possibly his own superiors, who tried to deflect the heat coming from Stephanie’s rich family and the media. Time to test his theory. “If Willard wants me to stop, I will stop. You may be right about the girl. She may be dead and if that is true, there is nothing I can do to help her. I do not claim special powers, nor do I seek publicity. If Willard is somehow threatened by me, if he believes his job will be easier with my absence, then perhaps, I should step away.”

“He can’t get rid of you even if he wanted to.”

“What does he intend to do?”

“He’s consulting an FBI profiler.”

“So, Willard also believes she is dead.”

“We’re investigating as if she is still alive.”

Mr. Howard raised his glass until the remaining wine captured the glow of the house lights. A yellow flare settled over the blush like a Barcelona sunset melting upon the Mediterranean Sea. “As you should.”

Killgood shifted uncomfortably in his chair. “You haven’t had any more visions about her have you?”

“Are you asking if I have seen anything that would lead me to believe she is dead?”

“Yeah… I guess I am.”

“No,” Mr. Howard answered. “To my knowledge Stephanie Coldstone is alive and well.”

“You will tell me if you experience anything?”

“Indeed.”

The doorbell rang. Killgood twisted that direction, his jaw set. Reann’s voice carried outside. She spoke quickly as if trying to make a point. The muffled voice of a man responded. A child called out for Mama. Killgood pushed out of his chair. “I’d better see what’s happening.”

Mr. Howard followed him toward the backdoor. The quiet conversation inside the house exploded into shouting.

“Damn you, bitch. I do everything for you and this is the shit I get?”

Reann offered a quiet reply.

“I don’t give a damn if your daddy’s a cop.”

Killgood pushed open the door. “What the hell is going on?”

Susan rushed into the entry ahead of them. A tall man in his twenties hovered over Reann, who clutched a little girl with wide, terrified eyes. His right arm was cocked and ready to deliver a blow. “Get away from her!” Susan shouted. She grabbed Reann by the arm and pulled her toward the family room.

The man lunged at Reann. Mr. Howard rushed to block him. The man blinked twice, eyes flaring at the sight of an old man in his way. “Who the fuck are you?”

“You must be Ryan,” Mr. Howard said, gauging the anger in his eyes.

Ryan ignored him. “Reann, get your ass back here.”

Killgood flew past Mr. Howard. He pointed a revolver at Ryan’s head. “Give me a reason to pull this trigger.”

Ryan smirked. “You don’t have the balls.”

Killgood’s hand trembled as he cocked the trigger. “Let’s find out.”

Mr. Howard smashed a fist into Ryan’s gut. He doubled over and clutched his stomach. “Son of a bitch,” he groaned.

“Get out of this house,” Killgood said, pressing the barrel of the pistol against Ryan’s forehead.

The young man glared at him for a moment before straightening. “You’ll get yours.” He pointed at finger at Mr. Howard. “Same for you, freak show. I don’t give a damn how old you are. I’ll fuck you up.”

Killgood growled under his breath. “You heard me, asshole.”

Ryan kicked over a coat rack. “You’ll see me again.” He stomped out the front door, slamming it behind him.

Killgood eased down the hammer on his gun. He pressed against the wall and swallowed hard. “Jesus Christ, I thought I’d actually have to kill him.”

Susan and Reann peered out from the family room. “Is he gone?” Susan asked.

Killgood nodded. “For now.”

Reann hurried to her father and embraced him. Tears welled in her eyes. “I’m sorry, Daddy, I’m so sorry.”

“Do you still want to live with that loser?”

She shook her head. “No way.”

Gail clung to one of Susan’s legs as she surveyed the scene, fear and confusion etched on her face. Mr. Howard went to her and bent down. “You must be Gail. I am Mr. Howard, a friend of your granddad.”

She scooted behind Susan.

“It’s all right, sweetie,” Reann said, wiping tears onto the back of her hand. “Mr. Howard’s not going to hurt you.”

“She has every right to be afraid given everything that has happened. Besides, I am a stranger to her. A very odd stranger at that. Yes, she is wise to show caution.” He turned to Killgood. “I should be going.”

“Don’t run off,” Susan said. “You haven’t tried my cheesecake.”

“If I eat more food, I will most certainly grow fat. Thank you for your kind offer.”

“I’ll see you out,” Killgood said.

They walked to his Mercedes and stopped at the edge of the yard. The air was hot and sticky. Sweat beaded along Mr. Howard’s hairline. Two cats battled in the darkness, hissing and screeching. Someone shouted for them to shut up followed by a bottle shattering against pavement. An orange cat ran through the glare of a streetlight. “I hate cats.”