absent?”
“He calls. I never call.”
“Well, he’s much too sick today, don’t you think? What time does he call?”
“Eight-thirty.”
“You’d better not be lying.”
“I’m not.”
“Does he drive to work?”
“Yes.”
“Alone?”
“Yes.”
“No car pool, nothing like that?”
“No.”
“You’d better not be lying. Which car does he drive?”
“The Buick.”
“Okay. Now, what about Charlene’s school? When does it start?”
“Eight-thirty.”
“How does she get there?”
“Walks.”
“With friends?”
“Yes.”
“Do they come here?”
“No.”
“You sure?”
“They’re along the way. She meets them along the way.”
“Okay. What about you? Do you work?”
“No.”
“Got any appointments today?”
“No.”
“Expecting any visitors?”
“No.”
“Okay. I’ll be back in an hour and we’ll make a couple of calls.”
He picked up the spool of adhesive tape he’d left beside the phone, tore off several short strips, and taped the woman’s mouth
shut.
In the bathroom, he opened his robe and urinated. As his pee splashed into the toilet, he stared at Charlene in the tub.
“And how are you this fine morning?” he asked.
She didn’t answer.
Albert flushed the toilet, then returned to the master bedroom. He found a drawer full of socks and put on a pair. Then he
went downstairs.
His bloody clothes were heaped on the living room floor. He picked up his jeans, reached into a front pocket and brought out
the keys to Milton’s car.
On the kitchen table, he found Charlene’s purse. The Mustang keys were inside it.
He used the kitchen door to go outside. The morning was chilly. He shivered as he walked around the house, inspecting the
area. A tall stockade fence enclosed the backyard. The front yard was open at the front and along one side. The other side,
by the driveway, was sheltered from the neighbor’s house by trees heavy with yellow and orange leaves.
The neighborhood seemed pretty quiet.
He saw no one.
He went into the garage and climbed inside Charlene’s Mustang. When he sat down, the robe fell open exposing his legs to the
cold. He adjusted it. His hands shook violently, but he managed to push the key into the ignition.
The engine’s roar echoed through the garage.
Albert backed the Mustang out of the garage, stopped it on the driveway in front of Milton’s car, then pulled forward, veering
to the right. He parked the Mustang just outside the garage, directly behind the Buick.
After that, he drove Milton’s car into the garage and shut the door.
So much for the hot car, he thought. Nobody’ll think much of seeing Charlene’s car out on the driveway.
Back in the house, he entered the storage room off the kitchen and raised the lid of the freezer chest.
At the far end, separated by a carton of Rocky Road ice cream, were the soiled bottoms of a pair of white socks. Albert thumped
a fingertip against one of the heels. The foot inside felt solid like a frozen steak.
“And how are you this morning, Mike? I’m fine, thank you. Enjoying your hospitality. Yell if you need anything.”
Chuckling, Albert lowered the freezer top and latched it.
FIFTEEN
A TROUBLED YOUTH
Ian, alone in his classroom, heard the door open and shut. Instead of looking up, he continued to read the theme.
“Mr. Collins?”
At the bottom of the last page, he wrote, “Good ideas, but watch your word choice. Was isn’t the only verb in the English language.” He drew a B at the top, set the paper aside and looked up. “Oh, hello, Charles.
How’s our favorite poet?”
“Okay, I guess. Would it be all right to talk to you?”
“Sure. Come on in.”
The boy walked slowly, bent at the waist as if his bowels were cramped.
“Do you feel okay?” Ian asked.
Charles shook his head.
“Have you seen the nurse?”
“No. She wouldn’t be…they told me at the office that this is your conference period.”
“They told you the truth.
“He calls. I never call.”
“Well, he’s much too sick today, don’t you think? What time does he call?”
“Eight-thirty.”
“You’d better not be lying.”
“I’m not.”
“Does he drive to work?”
“Yes.”
“Alone?”
“Yes.”
“No car pool, nothing like that?”
“No.”
“You’d better not be lying. Which car does he drive?”
“The Buick.”
“Okay. Now, what about Charlene’s school? When does it start?”
“Eight-thirty.”
“How does she get there?”
“Walks.”
“With friends?”
“Yes.”
“Do they come here?”
“No.”
“You sure?”
“They’re along the way. She meets them along the way.”
“Okay. What about you? Do you work?”
“No.”
“Got any appointments today?”
“No.”
“Expecting any visitors?”
“No.”
“Okay. I’ll be back in an hour and we’ll make a couple of calls.”
He picked up the spool of adhesive tape he’d left beside the phone, tore off several short strips, and taped the woman’s mouth
shut.
In the bathroom, he opened his robe and urinated. As his pee splashed into the toilet, he stared at Charlene in the tub.
“And how are you this fine morning?” he asked.
She didn’t answer.
Albert flushed the toilet, then returned to the master bedroom. He found a drawer full of socks and put on a pair. Then he
went downstairs.
His bloody clothes were heaped on the living room floor. He picked up his jeans, reached into a front pocket and brought out
the keys to Milton’s car.
On the kitchen table, he found Charlene’s purse. The Mustang keys were inside it.
He used the kitchen door to go outside. The morning was chilly. He shivered as he walked around the house, inspecting the
area. A tall stockade fence enclosed the backyard. The front yard was open at the front and along one side. The other side,
by the driveway, was sheltered from the neighbor’s house by trees heavy with yellow and orange leaves.
The neighborhood seemed pretty quiet.
He saw no one.
He went into the garage and climbed inside Charlene’s Mustang. When he sat down, the robe fell open exposing his legs to the
cold. He adjusted it. His hands shook violently, but he managed to push the key into the ignition.
The engine’s roar echoed through the garage.
Albert backed the Mustang out of the garage, stopped it on the driveway in front of Milton’s car, then pulled forward, veering
to the right. He parked the Mustang just outside the garage, directly behind the Buick.
After that, he drove Milton’s car into the garage and shut the door.
So much for the hot car, he thought. Nobody’ll think much of seeing Charlene’s car out on the driveway.
Back in the house, he entered the storage room off the kitchen and raised the lid of the freezer chest.
At the far end, separated by a carton of Rocky Road ice cream, were the soiled bottoms of a pair of white socks. Albert thumped
a fingertip against one of the heels. The foot inside felt solid like a frozen steak.
“And how are you this morning, Mike? I’m fine, thank you. Enjoying your hospitality. Yell if you need anything.”
Chuckling, Albert lowered the freezer top and latched it.
FIFTEEN
A TROUBLED YOUTH
Ian, alone in his classroom, heard the door open and shut. Instead of looking up, he continued to read the theme.
“Mr. Collins?”
At the bottom of the last page, he wrote, “Good ideas, but watch your word choice. Was isn’t the only verb in the English language.” He drew a B at the top, set the paper aside and looked up. “Oh, hello, Charles.
How’s our favorite poet?”
“Okay, I guess. Would it be all right to talk to you?”
“Sure. Come on in.”
The boy walked slowly, bent at the waist as if his bowels were cramped.
“Do you feel okay?” Ian asked.
Charles shook his head.
“Have you seen the nurse?”
“No. She wouldn’t be…they told me at the office that this is your conference period.”
“They told you the truth.
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