Dead Guilty

‘‘Okay. We’ll think about it.’’

Frank laughed. ‘‘I’m glad we got that settled.’’

Diane was about to kiss him when Star bounced into the room. ‘‘Jennifer wants me to go out to WalMart and maybe a movie. Her mother says it’s okay.’’

‘‘Who else is going?’’

‘‘Maybe Jessica and Stephanie.’’

‘‘Who’s driving?’’

‘‘Jennifer. She’s kind of on her way to pick me up.’’

‘‘She kind of is, is she? Go ahead, but be back by ten forty-five, and no controlled substances.’’

‘‘Uncle Frank, you know, that was funny the first thirty times you said it. I’ve never done drugs.’’

‘‘No smoking of anything that I call a drug and you don’t.’’

‘‘I told you I gave that up. You know, I could just give you a glass of pee every time I come home.’’

‘‘That’s an idea. Have a good time, and don’t be late.’’

Star already had a purse in hand, a small black cro chet fringed thing she hung over her shoulder and across her chest. She’d changed from jeans and black tee-shirt into a short black skirt and black blouse. She kissed Frank on the cheek.

‘‘I’ll be here if you need me,’’ he told her.

Star turned to Diane. ‘‘You really meant it, didn’t you, about Paris and the clothes?’’

‘‘Yes.’’

She almost broke into giggles again. ‘‘Wow. Thanks. I mean it.’’ She bounded out the door at the sound of a car horn.

‘‘Star seems to be doing well.’’

‘‘Most of the time she is. She cries at night some times. She doesn’t want me to know.’’

Diane understood Star’s grief. That was one reason she made the offer. Trying to deal with grief and get your life back is one of the hardest things to do. Star had lost both her parents and her brother to a mur derer and had been accused of committing the crime herself. It was going to take her a long time before she stopped crying into her pillow.

* * *

It was after midnight before Diane returned home. Star had come home on time, and Diane had to con fess, it was a relief to see her walk through the door. Diane tried to imagine what it would have been like waiting up for Ariel to come home from a date, and her eyes misted over. She sometimes still cried into her pillow too.

The policemen were on duty, parked in front of her house. She parked and got out with the coffee and doughnuts she’d gotten for them on the way back and handed them through the window.

‘‘Thanks. We appreciate this.’’

One of the policeman walked her to her apartment, apologizing along the way. ‘‘Jim and I are just really sorry about the mix-up last night.’’

‘‘This whole business has all of us baffled,’’ said Diane. ‘‘I appreciate your being here.’’

He walked with her inside and to the stairs before going back to his car. Diane decided that there may be something to the theory about getting to a man’s heart through his stomach.

She walked up to her apartment and went in. It was stuffy. She hated running the air-conditioning when she wasn’t there, but this wasn’t good either. She turned on the air and went to the bedroom, changed and settled into bed.

She was almost asleep when a voice out of the dark ness said, ‘‘I really want to talk to you.’’

Chapter 36

Diane didn’t realize she had shot out of bed until she was halfway out her bedroom door. She made it to the front door and grabbed at the safety latch. Too slow. He grabbed her from behind and held her in a tight grip. She got out half a scream before a hand clamped over her mouth.

‘‘I just want to talk. I’m not going to hurt you.’’

Diane kicked, but with bare feet she did little dam age. Dammit, I’m stronger than this. She wrenched her body around, throwing them both to the floor. She hit her head on the hard floor, stunning her for a second, but her body was on automatic. She scrambled to her feet and raced for the bedroom, intending to lock her self in and call 911. But he was too fast. Before she could close the door, he hit it with enough force to knock her backward. She fell to the floor and rolled under the bed.

She saw the shadow of him on his knees grabbing for her, sliding under the bed after her. She rolled out, got to her feet, grabbed the radio on her nightstand and brought it down on his head as he crawled out from under the bed.

His struggle to rise was hampered by still being half under the bed. She hit him again, harder, dropped the radio and ran. The safety was unlatched from her first attempt at escape so all she had to do was turn the locks and bolt from her apartment. As she ran down the stairs, she hoped the police hadn’t decided they had to go somewhere else. She ran down the walk and into the street, each step hurting her bare feet. Half way across the street the police saw her.

‘‘What is it?’’ they shouted.

‘‘He’s in my apartment.’’

‘‘Stay here.’’ They jumped from the car and Diane

climbed in the backseat, breathing hard. Bile rose up in her throat and she felt sick to her stomach.

Diane wore a fleece short-sleeved nightshirt that came halfway between her knees and thighs. The last place