'No… not really. There's something about him… the way he bends forward… Certainly is nothing to look at.'
Jack Wiggins stared at his wife. 'I was just thinking he's the type that might turn a young girl's head.'
'Him? Oh, you mean the young one. I'm talking about the other fellow – the professor.'
Jack looked at his wife condescendingly. 'This is why I say women don't make good witnesses and never should be jurors. Nobody's talking about that Professor Harmon. He committed suicide. They're talking about the Legler fellow.'
Mrs Wiggins bit her lip. 'I see. Well, guess you're right. It's just… oh, well…'
Her husband got up heavily. 'When'll dinner be ready?'
'Oh, not long. But it's hard to worry about food when you think about little Michael and Missy… God knows where… You think you just want to help them. I don't care what they say about Nancy Eldredge. She never came in the store much, but when she did, I liked to watch her with the kids. She had such a nice way with them – never upset, never cranky, the way half these young mothers are. It makes our little annoyances so unimportant, you know.'
'What little annoyances do we have?' His tone was sharply suspicious.
'Well…' Mrs Wiggins bit her lip. They'd had so much trouble with shoplifters this past summer. Jack got so upset even discussing it. That was why, all day, it just hadn't seemed worthwhile to tell him that she was absolutely certain that Mr Parrish had stolen a large can of baby powder from the shelf this morning.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
The five-o'clock news was on in a modest home down the block from St Francis Xavier Church in Hyannis Port. The family of Patrick Keeney was about to start dinner. All eyes were glued on the small portable set in the crowded junior-size dining-room.
Ellen Keeney shook her head as the picture of Michael and Missy Eldredge filled the screen. Involuntarily, she glanced at her own children – Neil and Jimmy, Deirdre and Kit… one… two… three… four. Whenever she took them to the beach, that was the way it was. She never stopped counting heads. God, don't let anything happen to them, ever, please. That was her prayer.
Ellen was a daily communicant at St Francis Church and usually went to the same Mass as Mrs Rose Kennedy. She remembered the days after the President and then Bobby were killed when Mrs Kennedy would come into the church, her face lined with grief but still serene and composed. Ellen never watched her during Mass. Poor lady, she had a right to some privacy somewhere. Often Mrs Kennedy would smile and nod and sometimes say, 'Good morning,' if they happened to walk out after Mass at the same moment. How does she stand it? Ellen wondered. How can she stand it? Now she was thinking the same thing. How can Nancy Eldredge stand it?… especially when you think that it happened to her before.
The commentator was talking about the article in the Community News – that the police were trying to track down the author. His words barely registered on Ellen's mind as she decided that Nancy was not responsible for the death of her children. It simply wasn't possible. No mother murdered her flesh and blood. She saw Pat looking at her and smiled at him faintly – a communication that said, We are blessed, my dear; we are blessed.
'He got awful fat,' Neil said.
Startled, Ellen stared at her oldest child. At seven, Neil worried her. He was so daring, so unpredictable. He had Pat's dark-blond hair and grey eyes. He was small for his age, and she knew that worried him a little, but from time to time she reassured him. 'Daddy's tall and your Uncle John's tall, and some day you will be too.' Still, Neil did look younger than anyone else in his class.
'Who got fat, dear?' she asked absently, turning her back to gaze at the screen.
'That man, the one in front. He's the one who gave me the dollar to ask for his mail at the post office last month. Remember, I showed you the note he wrote when you wouldn't believe me.'
Ellen and Pat stared at the screen. They were looking at the picture of Rob Legler following Professor Carl Harmon out of the courtroom.
'Neil, you're mistaken. That man has been dead for a long time.'
Neil looked aggrieved. 'See. You never believe me. But when you kept asking me where I got that dollar and I told you, you didn't believe me either. He's a lot fatter and his hair's all gone, but when he leaned out of the station wagon, he had his head kind of pulled down on his neck like that man.'
The anchorman was saying, '… any piece of information, no matter how irrelevant you may consider it.'
Pat scowled.
'Why do you look mad, Daddy?' five-year-old Deirdre asked anxiously.
His face cleared. Neil had said, 'like that man'. 'I guess because sometimes I realize how hard it is to raise a bunch like you,' he answered, running his hand through her short curly hair, grateful that she was here within his touch. 'Turn off the television, Neil,' he ordered his son. 'Now, children, before we say grace, we will pray that God sends the Eldredge children safely home.'
Through the prayer that followed, Ellen's mind was far away. They had pleaded for any information, no matter how irrelevant it seemed, and Neil had got that dollar tip to pick up a letter at General Delivery. She remembered the day exactly: Wednesday, four weeks ago. She remembered the date because there was a parents' meeting at school that night and she was annoyed that Neil was late for the early dinner. Suddenly she remembered something.
'Neil, by any chance, do you still have the note the man gave you to show the post office?' she asked. 'Didn't I see you put it in your bank with the dollar?'
'Yes, I saved it.'
'Will you get it, please?' she asked him. 'I want to see the name on it.'
Pat was studying her. When Neil left, he spoke over the heads of the other children, 'Don't tell me you put any stock
She suddenly felt ridiculous. 'Oh, eat up, dear. I guess I just have a case of nerves. It's people like me who are always wasting policemen's time. Kit, pass me your plate. I'll cut up the end piece of the meat loaf just the way you like it.'
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
It was all going so badly. Nothing was working as he'd expected. That foolish woman coming here and then the little girl; having to wait till she woke up, if she woke up, so that he could feel her twisting and pulling from him. Then the boy squirming away from him, hiding. He'd have to find him.
Courtney had a feeling of everything slipping away from him. His sense of pleasure and expectation had changed to disappointment and resentment. He wasn't perspiring any more, but the heavy sweat still clung to his clothes and made them unpleasantly sticky against his body. The thought of the boy's big blue eyes, so like Nancy 's, didn't give him anticipatory pleasure.
The boy was a threat. If he escaped, it would be the end. Better to finish with them both; better to do what he'd done before. In an instant he could remove the threat – seal off air so that lips and nostrils and eyes were covered – and then in a few hours, when the tide was high, toss their bodies into the churning surf. No one would know. Then he'd be here safe again with nothing to threaten him; here to enjoy her torment.
And tomorrow night, with all the threat gone, he'd drive to the mainland. He'd go around dusk, and probably some little girl would be walking alone and he'd tell her he was the new teacher… It always worked.
His decision made, he felt better. Now all he wanted was to be finished with this threat. That child, recalcitrant like Nancy… troublesome… ungrateful… wanting to escape… he would find him. He'd tie him and then get the thin sheets of velvety plastic. He'd made sure to have a brand that Nancy could have bought at Lowery's. Then he'd seal it on the boy first, because the boy was so troublesome. And then… the little girl… right away too. It was too dangerous to even keep her.
