it!”
My dashboard clock said 2:52. Eight minutes until the security guy showed up … if he did. Ever so slowly, inch by inch, I leaned forward to look out the windshield. If I could see them, I could figure out how to drive off without incident. Kells Way was a dead end. If these two guys ? whoever they were, whatever their intentions ? were in front of me, I could rev the ignition, throw the van into reverse, and zip backward up the street. If they were behind me on Kells, I could make a U-turn and accelerate across someone’s driveway to get past them.
Spotlights shone down on the homes, driveways, and lawns on each side of the street. John Richard’s house boasted spotlights above the garage that did not quite illuminate the two darkened stories of the rambling, beamed structure. Nothing out of place appeared on his blacktop. Then I noticed several cans that looked as if they’d been discarded to one side of the driveway. Farther over, almost to the stone entryway that was topped by an expansive burgundy awning, I could see the bottom of a ladder. Why would John Richard have left a ladder out? He hated doing home repairs.
Inching forward slowly in my seat, I strained my eyes to see more. A figure was moving through the trees. Then I made out someone on the ladder. A car door slammed, and the movement under the trees abruptly stopped.
“Hurry up, man! What’re you doing, getting high on fumes?”
This whisper came from high on the ladder. From the same direction as the car door, a motor started up. Someone was going somewhere. The guy under the trees scrambled up the ladder rungs, and I heard the unmistakable hiss-s-s of a spray-paint can.
It was the country-club vandals.
The car that had started around the circle above Kells revved and moved. Was it the security man? I couldn’t tell. Headlights coursed along the left side of the street, the dead end, then John Richard’s house.
One of the vandals was at the bottom of the ladder. The other was at the top. Young men, lean and tall, dressed in dark colors. In the approaching headlights a dripping, crooked word painted in brilliant yellow appeared above them. KILLER
17
I shivered again. Perspiration sprouted on my forehead and palms. The vandals who had caused so much property damage in the club area were spray-painting their verdict on John Richard’s house. Or maybe it was something they’d seen. Well, I’d forgotten the cellular phone and couldn’t call the cops. So these guys would have to make their point to law enforcement on their own. I was getting out of here.
I pumped the accelerator, turned the car key. The motor strained, didn’t turn over, died. I’d flooded the engine. I turned the key again, didn’t pump the gas. This time the engine whined and died again. Footsteps thudded across John Richard’s lawn. Dammit all, anyway.
Frantically, I rolled up my window. But I couldn’t reach across in time to close the one on the passenger side. A lanky figure in a black ski mask pulled up the lock, wrenched open the door, and scrambled in. I could smell the sweat on his body. They’re kids, I told myself. Don’t panic. Behind the black mask the vandal’s eyes glared menacingly at me. He grabbed my upper right arm.
“Get out of the car,” he hissed angrily. “And shut up.”
“Let go,” I said evenly, tugging away from him. “I was just sitting here because I went out for a drive ? “
His fingers bit into my arm. “Shut up and get out.”
“Stop pulling on me and I will,” I replied in a quiet, nonthreatening voice that I hoped didn’t betray how furiously my heart was hammering. To my astonishment, the figure in black loosened his grip slightly. I shed the tablecloth and hopped awkwardly onto the street.
“Watch her,” Vandal One ordered Vandal Two. In the streetlight I could see Vandal Two was brandishing a tire iron. “I gotta check her van,” the first guy said. “See if she’s got some kind a weapon or night-vision camera in there.”
“That’s ridiculous, of course I don’t,” I snapped. “I’m just a caterer.” I strained to see up the street. The passing car had disappeared without turning down Kells Way. Where was the security man?
“Oh, yeah?” said Vandal Two, a smirk in his voice. He twirled the tire iron inexpertly. “Kinda early for fixin’ breakfast, wouldn’t you say?”
“Listen, guys. The man who lives here, the guy who was arrested? He’s my ex-husband.”
“Really,” said Vandal One. He spat. “What, this guy’s in jail, you’ve got an old key, you figure you’ll go in and pick up a few things while he’s not around?”
“No. That’s not why I’m here.”
Vandal One leered ominously. “Then why are you here?”
When in doubt, tell the truth. “I couldn’t sleep. I went out for a drive.”
Vandal Two’s eyes sparked behind the mask. He raised the tire iron. “You’ll sleep if I knock you over the head.”
The words were out of my mouth before I could pull them back. “Hey, tough guy! I thought you were so worried about the security man driving up!” This warning earned me a rude shove on the shoulder. I stepped back and said, “Why’re you, here?”
Vandal Two stabbed a finger at the house. “Can’t you read? We know he did it.”
In the darkness it was almost impossible to see the ugly yellow word. “Ah. Killer. How do you know that?”
“Wouldn’t you like to know. We see lots of things.”
I shrugged. But if these two knew anything about the attack on Suz … “How ? “
“Wait a minute,” exclaimed Vandal One, “you said you’re a caterer? I read about you.”
I said mildly, “And you are… ?” When he didn’t answer, I went on. “So why are you so certain my ex-husband killed her?”
“You think we have time to tell you anything?” , erupted Vandal Two. To his compatriot he urged, “Come on, let’s get out of here.”
“I’m married to a cop,” I announced hastily. “If he catches you, he’ll ream both of you out so bad i you’ll get a life sentence for shoplifting when this is over. Both of you,” I added, stalling for time. Where in the world was that security guy, anyway? “But if you’ll talk to me about why you think my ex-husband is guilty ? “
The guy with the tire iron waggled it in my face. “I know why you’re here. Insomnia, my ass. That doc goes down, I’ll bet you inherit this house. You’re too shy to gloat over your loot in the daylight, but you just couldn’t sleep until you got a good look at your new place.”
I was tempted to ask: Just how much of that paint did you inhale, anyway? But there was no telling these two anything. No telling them that, come those circumstances, Arch would inherit. Not that my son would want this enormous place. Not that my son would want anything besides having his parents alive and well and out of jail. But I needed to know if they had seen something Friday night. And where was the security man? Why did no neighbors seem to hear me out here arguing with vandals?
I made a decision. The vandals probably wouldn’t hurt me, despite the pop Vandal Two had given my shoulder. These two were cowards, which was why they defaced other people’s property at night. Still, they were angry young cowards, so I would have to be careful.
I took a tentative step toward my van. “I want to go home. Are you going to tell me why you think my ex- husband murdered that woman? Or do you want the cops swarming all over here tomorrow with their fingerprint equipment? Actually,” I said offhandedly, “they’ll probably do that, anyway. A murder investigation is a whole different ball game from cleaning up graffiti, guys.”
Vandal Two lifted his chin mockingly. “You’re just dying to know, aren’t you?”
“Yeah. I am.” Vandal One pressed forward. “We saw him,” he said, his mouth so suddenly close to mine, I trembled in spite of myself. His breath smelled of potato chips. “The Korman guy left that night in a white Jeep. He’s gone two minutes and then comes back in the Jeep, only slower this time.”
“What time did he do this leaving and returning? Where were you when you saw all this?”
“Oh, bitch, what do you think I am ? Rodney King with a video camera?”
“Rodney King didn’t videotape ? “
“Shut up,” growled Vandal One. “The doc leaves in his Jeep. About ten minutes later he drives up again, but the lights are off.”
