Colin took a slug of coffee, stalling for time. 'Couldn't I do it by phone?'
Hallock looked surprised. 'An old newspaperman like you ought to know the personal touch always works best.'
'Right.' He felt nauseated; too much coffee.
'What's up, Maguire? You don't look so hot.'
He knew he'd have to tell him. 'Waldo, I don't mean to let you down but, I… I can't go to Bellport. Ever since my family was murdered… I get these panic attacks. I can't go too far from home.'
'You mean like acrophobia?'
'Agoraphobia,' he corrected gently. 'Sort of. But obviously I can leave my house. I just can't go too far away, and not with anybody else in the car.'
'No big deal,' Hallock said. 'You check into Higbee and Carroll, I'll do the other two.'
'Thanks.'
Hallock waved his hand in dismissal. 'Look, we all got problems. Anyway, sooner you can get on to those, the better.'
'You really going to Florida?'
'Why the hell not?'
'When?'
'Tomorrow, maybe. I'll go down to Bellport today, see what I can find out about the…' He glanced down at his piece of crumpled paper. '… the Bennetts. Ethel and George. Think you can do some of this today?'
'Sure.' He'd hoped to see Annie later, but that was tonight.
'Okay. You going to tell Griffing you're working on this with me?'
'I don't see why I should.'
'Good.'
Colin walked with him to the front porch. 'But I don't think Mark would care.'
Hallock started to say something then changed his mind.
'What?'
'Nothing.'
'Come on, Waldo, that sucks.'
'It'd just be better if you didn't say anything to anybody. About us working on this thing.'
'Especially Mark?'
'No. Just anybody.' He pushed open the screen door.
Colin thought Hallock was lying. 'Okay, I'll keep it quiet.'
Hallock said, 'You get any leads today try me later at the motel. Room one-thirty-one.'
Colin watched Hallock drive away. Some kids were coming down the street, wearing bathing suits and carrying a rubber raft. It was a beautiful day, seventy-five degrees, but Colin knew the water in the bay would still be cold. Kids never minded how cold the water was. He remembered how he and Brian would stay in the water for hours, fingertips shriveling, bodies almost blue, and still they wouldn't come out until their father or mother threatened punishment. For a moment Colin longed to be a boy again, free from problems. It was hard to believe there'd ever been such a time in his life. The last years had cast such a pall over everything he sometimes felt life had always been dark and dreary. But now there was Annie, a bright spot in an otherwise dim existence.
Back in the kitchen he lifted the phone and dialed her number, surprised as he realized he'd committed it to memory.
– -
Annie's phone rang.
He said, 'Don't answer that.'
She was shaking from anger and fear. The phone continued to ring and she looked toward the kitchen. 'I want to answer my phone.'
'No,' he said, rising from the gray velvet couch and crossing the room in three long strides. Steve Cornwell towered over her, his face of oversize features like a caricature, the black hair neatly trimmed. He wore a green cotton jacket, blue polo shirt, plaid slacks with a white belt, and white loafers. 'I don't want you to answer the phone because I'm here to talk. Get it?'
She nodded and backed away from him.
'Good. Sit down.' He pointed to the rocking chair. She sat while he remained standing. 'Why don't you give up the ghost, Mrs. Winters.'
She tried to remain cool, her voice even. 'It's not Mrs. Winters. As I've told you many times, it's Reverend Winters or Annie. Winters is my maiden name. What is it you want?'
The phone stopped ringing.
She looked toward the kitchen, futilely trying to will her caller to come to the house.
'Are you divorced?' he asked, ignoring her question.
'You know I'm not. My husband died. I asked you what you wanted. If you don't tell me or get out of here, I'm going to call the police.'
He gave a short hoot of laughter. 'So why don't you use your dead husband's name? It seems unfaithful to change it just because the poor guy's dead. You should have mentioned that in your sermon.' He laughed again, showing large teeth like a mouthful of shells. 'Funny you should pick fidelity for your sermon today.'
Annie felt a sharp stab of guilt. 'Steve,' she said, trying to sound reasonable, 'what's this all about?'
'I think you know.'
'I don't know.'
'I think you do,' he insisted. 'I've got my eye on you, Miss Winters. All the time.' Cornwell pulled a pack of cigarettes from his pocket, tapped one out, and returned the pack.
'I don't like people smoking in my house.'
'Don't you? That's too damn bad.' He lit the cigarette, blew out the match, and dropped it on the rug.
Furious, Annie started to get up.
'Stay where you are,' he commanded, eyes like two bullet holes.
'I want to get you an ashtray.'
'Sit down,' he ordered.
What if he's the killer? she thought. What if this is it? She knew she wasn't ready. Softly, she asked, 'Just what do you want?'
'I want you out. I want you back in the kitchen where you belong.'
'You're incredible.' Was this really why he was here? she wondered. Was that all?
Cornwell tapped the cigarette with a long finger; ash fell to the rug.
Trying not to react, she looked at her watch. 'I'm expected at dinner and I'm already late.'
He went on as if she hadn't spoken. 'I've put up with you as minister week after week, listened to your trite sermons, watched the others fawning over you, but now I've had it.'
'I don't understand.'
He smiled. 'I'm going to get rid of you.
Her heart slammed in her chest.
'I might as well tell you I saw you with that reporter last night.'
'So?' She could feel a small rivulet of sweat making its way between her breasts.
'So,' Cornwell said, dropping more ash on the rug, 'one thing leads to another. And when it does, you've had it. Just like that.' He snapped his fingers, loud.
Annie flinched.
He smiled with satisfaction.
She felt a curious sense of relief. If he was the murderer, he was not going to kill her. At least not at this moment. 'I'm going to dinner now.'
'Goodbye.'
'You are not going to stay here while I'm gone,' she stated.
'No?'
'No.' Annie looked into his eyes, met his hatred, and didn't turn away.
Cornwell shrugged, breaking the stare. 'I don't want to stay here anyway.' He dropped the cigarette on the
