LOOKING BACK-50 YEARS AGO
New Paradise Coffee Shoppe to open for Memorial Day weekend. This new brick, fireproof building is the most complete business place of its kind on Eastern Long Island. Not only will the new store have all modern appliances that are usually found in an ice-cream parlor, but it will also be equipped with the latest machinery for the manufacture of ice cream, for the cold storage of meats and vegetables for the restaurant, and an efficiently equipped kitchen. A Japanese chef has been engaged.
FIFTEEN
It was no longer believed by anyone that the A carved on the victims' chests meant Adulteress. After all, how could a five-year-old commit adultery? Waldo Hallock was convinced that the A stood for the killer's name, first or last. The anger he'd experienced at the two previous murders now turned into a full-blown rage. Part of the fury was because of the victim's age-Hallock was sure he could never survive the death of one of his children-and part was because the state police had been brought into the case. Special Agent William Schufeldt, twenty-nine years old, was now calling the shots. For the first time in his career Hallock had some sympathy for old Charles Gildersleeve. Funny how things came full circle. But Schufeldt or not, the chief had plans of his own.
On Sunday morning Colin found himself in the Unitarian Universalist Church. It was strange for a number of reasons-he hadn't planned it, he hadn't been inside a church since his wedding, and he was in a new place and not feeling particularly panicky. Still, he'd protected himself by sitting in the last row opposite the door.
The service, he'd read on the notice board outside, began at eleven, the Reverend Ann Winters presiding. It had not escaped Colin's attention that the Reverend Ann Winters might be the reason he was here. Even so, he was sure it wasn't the sole reason. Or was it the soul reason? He smiled at his own joke.
The need to be in a church came from spending the weekend thinking nonstop about Nancy and the kids, plus the murders here in Seaville. It was difficult for Colin to talk to anyone about the latest killing. The murder of Mary Beth Higbee reminded him too much of the murders of his own children. The same question that had haunted him at the time of his own tragedy baffled him now: What kind of monster could kill an innocent child? He had no answer. He never would. And once again he was faced with writing the story; he wasn't sure if he could do it.
Colin looked around at the congregation. It was small, perhaps forty or fifty people. Quite different from Our Lady of Sorrows. Or the Catholic church at the end of Fifth street, where he lived now. Those churches were always packed.
A middle-aged man and woman sat down in the pew in front of him. When they were settled they turned around.
'Good morning,' the man said, holding out his hand for Colin to shake.
'Good morning,' the woman said.
'Good morning,' Colin replied, shaking the large hand, nodding to the woman.
The man said, 'Glad to see you here.'
'Thank you,' Colin answered, slightly nonplussed by the friendliness of these two. After the couple turned back he noticed people all over the church shaking hands, smiling, talking to each other in a normal tone of voice. He thought back to his Sunday mornings as a teenager, lolling around in front of the church with his friends, smoking that last cigarette, exchanging notes about their Saturday night dates. But when they entered the church there was no more talking, no laughter. Church was a solemn affair. And no one ever looked glad to be there. It was different here. He could feel it.
The organist began to play, and Annie Winters appeared from a side door to the left of the altar. She crossed behind the pulpit, sat down in an ornately carved wooden armchair, and looked out at her congregation.
Colin felt something stir inside him when he saw her. She was dressed in a tan suit, red silk blouse, and brown pumps. Her wavy blonde hair shimmered in the sunlight coming through the windows. He wished now he'd been able to sit up front, see her better.
When the Prelude ended Annie walked to the pulpit. 'Good morning,' she said.
'Good morning,' the congregation replied.
'Although it's a beautiful day,' she said, 'I'm sure that none of us is particularly joyful in light of recent events. In my sermon this morning, as you've probably noticed in your program, I will try to deal with sudden death and its repercussions.
'Now I would like to welcome any new people and invite you to join us after the service in the parish hall for refreshments and conversation. Please sign the guest book, which is on the piano, if you haven't done so before. And if you have any questions, please feel free to ask me or any member of the congregation.
'Today Deborah Bard will light the Chalice.'
Annie returned to her chair as a young woman with one long braid rose from the front row and went up on the altar. On the railing was a large metal plate with a candle in the center. Deborah struck a match and lit the candle on the first try.
But Colin wasn't looking at Deborah Bard; his eyes were on Annie. Technically she wasn't a beautiful woman- not the kind who makes you turn around on the street or take a deep breath when you first lay eyes on her-but she was damned attractive and especially so up there behind the pulpit as Reverend Ann Winters.
Annie announced the hymn they were to sing, and with the rest Colin rose, opened the book, and began singing 'The Morning Hangs a Signal.'
How long had it been since he'd sung anything? He'd always enjoyed singing. He had a good rich baritone and sang with the glee club at Ann Arbor. But that was fifteen years ago. Then he remembered standing around the piano at Christmas with the Myrons, the Stimpsons, and the Lanes, singing carols. That had been his last Christmas with Nancy. By the end of the hymn he was feeling depressed, but when Burton Kelly, the organist, played 'Brother, Can You Spare a Dime?' while the collection was taken up, he was somewhat cheered.
In the course of the silent meditation and prayer he found himself thinking of Mary Beth Higbee, Ruth Cooper, and Gloria Danowski, and wondering who would be next. He had no doubt that it would happen again and no faith that the state trooper was going to crack the case.
The chorus, ten men and women, sang 'Movin' On,' and then Annie came to the pulpit to give her sermon. Colin was enthralled. It was not only what she was saying but how she was saying it. She had a mellifluous voice and it washed over him, making him feel peaceful. Her ideas were original and fresh. By the end of the sermon there were tears in his eyes. He wiped them away with forefinger and thumb.
After the final hymn the congregation began filing out from the pews and going up toward the altar, where Annie waited to greet them. Colin was torn. He wanted very much to shake her hand, tell her how much the sermon meant to him, but he wasn't sure he wanted to join the others in the hall. He stayed in his place, staring down at his shoes, deliberating. And when he looked up again, the church was empty except for Annie.
'I'm glad you joined us today, Colin,' she said. 'How about some coffee?'
He rose slowly, like an old man, then found himself walking briskly down the aisle toward her.
'Thank you for a wonderful sermon,' he said. She offered her hand and he shook it, holding it a moment longer than he should have.
In the hall Annie was immediately approached by a man and woman, and he was left standing to one side. But Burton Kelly rescued him and took him first to the large table that was laden with food, and then to the coffee maker.
A number of people he knew by sight came over to welcome him and engaged him in conversation. Colin thought these people were interesting-mavericks, independent thinkers. Now he understood why Mark and Sarah came to this church from time to time; he knew he'd be coming back, and not just to see Annie. He liked the atmosphere here, felt right at home.
By the time he'd finished his second cup of coffee, and a heated discussion about nuclear war, most of the people had left. He put down his empty cup and walked toward Annie who was saying good-bye to two young
