“I’m fine,” I said sheepishly.
The announcer was saying, “So the Kings win it with thirty seconds left in overtime…”
“I should have known,” said Frank, coming over to give me a hug.
I looked up at him. “You’re tired. Let’s just go over to your place and I’ll fix you something there.”
He seemed tempted for a brief moment, then said, “No, I promised you dinner out tonight, and that’s what we’re going to do.”
I frowned. It was easy to see that he was exhausted. He had worked long hours all week, and the case he was on now — the murder of a four-year-old girl — had been especially hard on him. He was usually able to distance himself emotionally from the grisly business he had to deal with at work, but this case had bothered him. He bottled up most of his agitation over it, but it seemed to me that effort was wearing him down as well, and from time to time I caught glimpses of how much it had disturbed him.
On top of the strain of this case, the last few weeks had been rough ones for another reason: Frank wasn’t getting along very well with his new lieutenant, Dave Carlson. Lieutenant Carlson was an ambitious man, and I suspected he was somewhat jealous of Frank’s popularity with both the other cops and their captain, John Bredloe. Carlson and Frank had already had a couple of minor run-ins, and Bredloe had backed up Frank both times. That didn’t score him any points with the lieutenant.
“I’m willing to take a rain check on the evening out,” I said.
“Get a sweater, it’s cool outside.”
Okay, so he wanted to go out. We went to an all-night cafe, Bernie’s, which is not far from my house. The food was good, but despite the fact there wasn’t much of a crowd, the service was pathetically slow.
“I talked to my mom,” Frank said. “She doesn’t have a problem with having you join us for Thanksgiving.”
That didn’t sound quite the same as boundless enthusiasm, but maybe he was too tired to convey her level of interest in having me there. Besides, I had made up my mind about it anyway.
“Great, I’ll be happy to be with your family for Thanksgiving. Thanks for inviting me.”
His face went quickly from puzzled to pleased. With a little food and coffee in him, Frank perked up a bit, but we were both ready to head for home. I looked around. If our waitress was in the room, she was wearing a cloaking device.
“You know, Frank, I have thought about our growing old together — I just didn’t think we were going to do it in Bernie’s.”
“Yeah, I wanted dessert, but I’m afraid to order it; we’d be here ’til I’m pensioned.”
“Don’t bother,” I said, reaching into my bag and pulling out a Snickers bar — the little gift I had bought for him at the checkout stand. “Have at it, sweet tooth.”
He grinned in appreciation. “You know, Irene, I think I might satisfy one other craving tonight as well.”
“You taking up smoking?”
“One more guess.”
The waitress chose this moment to reappear.
It was about 1:30 in the morning by the time we got back to my house. We captured Cody and I grabbed my clothes and overnight bag. We decided to go to Frank’s place in one car — he would bring me back in the morning.
As we made our way up the walk to his house in the early hours of All Saints’ Day, we both saw something that made us stop and stare.
Mrs. Fremont’s lights were on, and her front door was wide open. Even from where we stood, we could see the crudely drawn goat’s head on the door.
6
“STAY HERE!” he said, running across the lawn to Mrs. Fremont’s house. I thought of following him anyway, but just then Cody gave a pitiful yowl from his cat carrier, and I realized Frank had set it down near the driveway.
I heard Frank calling Mrs. Fremont’s name, and I turned back to see him pulling out his gun before going into the house.
I quickly put Cody inside Frank’s house, then went next door. “Frank?!” I shouted at the bottom of the steps, not wanting him to mistake me for an intruder. Something told me that whoever had been here was already long gone, and that Frank wasn’t likely to find anyone in the house. I was half-right.
From the doorstep, I could see Frank at the end of the hallway, bent over something in an odd way; he hadn’t responded when I called. As I walked toward him he looked up suddenly, an expression of anguish on his face. Before him, on the floor, Mrs. Fremont lay face down in a pool of blood. On the floor next to her, someone had drawn a circled pentagram in blood.
“Don’t touch anything,” he said, his voice strained. He stood up, and I saw that she had taken some kind of crushing blow to her head. As I stared down at the body, Frank reached over and turned me away. “Let’s go home — I’ve got to call this in.” I held on to him and somehow we stumbled back to the house.
I sat numbly while he went to the telephone. He was visibly upset, but he took a minute to regain his self- control and was able to put the call in without betraying emotion of any kind. He stood there, staring at the phone for a moment, then walked over to me and took my face in his hands. “Please stay here. I’ll be back as soon as I can,” he said.
I felt unable to do anything but nod. He seemed so calm, but something in his eyes hurt to look at. For a moment, he looked as if he were ready to say more, but he dropped his hands and turned and left quickly.
Cody found me sitting on the couch, and jumped up into my lap. I thought of Mrs. Fremont and the conversations I had with her not twenty-four hours ago, of how alive and vibrant she was then. Endless questions crossed my mind, questions without any possibility of being answered at that time.
The goat’s head and the pentangle made me think of Sammy and her coven of witches. Was Satanism on the
