When Phil finished photographing the tracks, he set about making moulages by spraying the ground under the window with a fixative.
“I’ll need some water,” Phil said. “To mix the plaster. Once that’s done, you two can go on. Damp as it is tonight, it could take an hour or two for the plaster to set.”
“What’s your guess as to shoe size and type of shoe?” Rachel asked.
“Looks like an athletic shoe of some kind. Maybe a size eight or nine. Small for a man. I’d say there’s a good chance these are a woman’s footprints.”
She had waited until after midnight before she drove to St. Elizabeth’s, the lure to return here too powerful for her to deny. But it wasn’t all that great a risk, was it? Not when no one had any idea that she had created a shrine to the past here at the old school. She always parked behind the building where no one would see her car. Being careful and ever vigilant, she never took her own safety for granted.
She made her way down into the basement. Using a high-beam flashlight with a stand attachment, she illuminated the row of lockers. If things had gone as she’d planned this evening, she would have a souvenir from Martina to place in her locker. But the woman was smarter than she’d given her credit for being.
When she had telephoned her tonight, as she stood in the shadows of Martina’s backyard, she had planned on luring Martina outside so that she could kill her.
Are you upset that you’ve blown your diet by eating candy? You should have answered on the first ring. That way, you wouldn’t have spilled your candy all over the floor.
She had been so sure that after she let Martina know she could see her, that she was watching her, Martina would open the back door and search for her. But no, instead of coming outside looking for her caller, Martina had slumped down on the floor and refused to answer the phone again, after she apparently had called Rachel.
You were too smart for me this time. But next time…
The reunion was now less than a week away. It would be only days until they all united at St. Elizabeth’s. The senior classes from St. Lizzy’s, Western Catholic, and Washington High. All the boys and girls now approaching middle age. Twenty years and a lifetime of experience lay between those teenagers and the men and women they were now.
But she would bet her life that none of them had forgotten Jake Marcott or the night he had died.
You’re unforgettable, Jake.
But you knew that, didn’t you?
I certainly haven’t forgotten you. I remember how much I loved you and how much I hated you. And I’ll never forgive you for making me kill my baby.
Our baby.
If you’d taken me to a real doctor for the abortion, I wouldn’t be sterile. You took everything from me. Everything.
Now I’m going to take everything away from them. Those smug girls who thought they were better than me. Those lucky women who found men to love them and had babies and have lived wonderful lives.
Rachel and Dean sat inside his T-bird, the windows rolled down and the top back, but before he got a chance to start the engine, Rachel said, “Kris wears a size seven shoe, or at least she used to. And I believe Lindsay wears a six and a half.”
“I thought you had ruled them out completely as suspects.”
“I have. I was just thinking out loud, running over shoe sizes in my mind.” She turned in the leather seat, her safety belt unsnapped. “I wear a six.”
“Cinderella feet.”
“What?” She eyed him quizzically.
“Tiny feet. Glass slipper,” he said by way of explanation.
“Oh.” Then she charged ahead, still on the subject of shoe size. “I have no idea what size shoes the others wear. We can rule out Martina. She couldn’t fake being that terrified. So that leaves DeLynn, April, and Bella.” Looking directly at Dean, she asked, “Have you ever paid any attention to their feet?”
“No, I can’t say that I have.”
“DeLynn is tall and slender. I’d think she’d wear at least an eight. And I seem to recall that April has rather large feet. Maybe a size nine. I have no idea about Bella.”
“Why don’t we wait until Phil has a definite size for us before we play this guessing game,” Dean said. “Once we know a definite size, we can investigate.”
“What do you think they’d do if we asked to see in their closets to look at their shoes?”
Dean reached across the console and grasped Rachel’s shoulder. “Let it rest for tonight. Phil will call us in the morning. In the meantime, we both need some R & R after the day we’ve had. I’ll take you home-”
“I don’t want to go home.” The words flew out of her mouth before she gave the implication any thought. “I-I’m not offering or asking for anything more than just not to be alone. Understand?”
He nodded. “Buckle up.”
He fastened his seat belt. She did the same. Then he started the engine and zoomed the T-bird out into the nighttime traffic. The wind whipped around them, warm and balmy. When he kicked the sports car into high gear, all of Rachel’s senses came into play: The feel of the evening breeze. The sound of the T-bird’s motor and the hum of traffic. The mixed and mingled scents of the big city. The blurred lights and buildings as they zipped by at high speed. The taste of desire and fear in her mouth.
Neither of them spoke on the drive from Martina’s house to Dean’s apartment. Screeching into his designated slot, he parked the Thunderbird in an underground garage. After bringing up the windows and top, he got out, rounded the hood, and opened the door for her. She looked up at him and smiled. He held out his hand.
She put her hand in his and climbed out of his car. “Nothing like death to make you need to prove just how alive you are,” she said.
“Is that what you think this is all about?” He raked the back of his hand over her cheek.
She sucked in her breath. “Maybe, at least in part.”
“And the other part would be?” He took her hand and led her away from the locked car and toward the elevator.
“Needing sex,” she admitted.
He punched the Up arrow button and the elevator doors swung open. Once inside, he hit the Six button, the doors closed, and the elevator began its ascent.
“Nothing personal about it?” he asked, waving his hand between them. “You and me or you and anybody, as long as-”
She put her hand over his mouth. “It’s not like that and you know it.”
They gazed at each other, the connection between them sizzling. She eased her hand away from his mouth.
“I don’t understand you, Rachel. I thought you weren’t into meaningless one-night stands.”
“You’re the one who said we shouldn’t mistake need and want for love,” she told him. “You’re the one who didn’t want to get involved.”
The elevator stopped and then opened on the sixth floor. Without saying a word, Dean waited for her to exit; then he got out, took her hand again, and silently led her to his apartment door.
He took his key ring from his pocket, unlocked the door, and reached around her to flip on the overhead light in the small entry hall. She felt him behind her, his chest to her back, his breath warm on her neck.
“Come into my parlor.”
Said the spider to the fly. Shivering, she hesitated for a millisecond, then when he nudged her into action, she entered his bachelor flat. Nothing fancy. White walls. Wooden floors. Sturdy, masculine furniture. Not overly expensive. Not cheap.
“Come on in and make yourself at home,” he said. “Want something to drink?”
She shook her head.
“So how do we play this?” he asked. “Up-front and honest? Or subtle and coy?”
“I’m not good at playing games.”