Killer's Diary Page 16

  “How’s the coffee today?”

  Charles shrugged. “The same.”

  Peg stepped closer and Charles shut the notebook.

  She observed that the cover was identical to the notebook she had purchased. It gave her a rush. At that moment, she knew she would succeed with her mad scheme.

  “What are you working on?” she asked.

  “Just writing.”

  “Do you come here often? I usually buy my coffee at the bookstore. Is the coffee here any good?”

  Charles sighed, a signal that he was in no mood for conversation. “I suppose.”

  “I can’t believe how many different types of coffee there are. Cappuccino, Frappuccino, mocha…so many choices, how do you choose? Well, I guess I’ll go pick something. Today’s my lucky day. I have a coupon in my purse…”

  Peg grabbed her purse and swung it upward, striking Charles’s cup of coffee. The coffee toppled off the table and into his lap.

  “Jesus!” Charles leapt up from his chair, the crotch of his jeans soaked.

  “I am so sorry!” gasped Peg. “Oh my God, I am such a klutz.”

  Charles attempted to wipe the mess with a napkin.

  “Oh no, I’m really sorry,” said Peg. “Did it get all over you?’

  “I’m going to need more napkins,” grumbled Charles. He headed for the counter, bow-legged and still dripping.

  Peg had less than one minute to conduct the switcheroo.

  She reached into her handbag and took out the new green notebook. She exchanged it with the one on the table and slipped Charles’s notebook into her handbag.

  When Charles returned, nothing looked out of place. He had fistfuls of paper towels. He continued wiping his pants and the chair. An employee came over with a mop and began working on the floor.

  Peg offered Charles a five-dollar bill.

  “Here—please—take it—buy yourself another cup of coffee. I feel terrible. I hope I didn’t burn you.”

  “No,” muttered Charles. “I’m okay.”

  “I guess I better go before I cause any more damage,” said Peg. “Next time you come into the Book Shelf—free cup of coffee. My treat.”

  Charles didn’t respond. He didn’t accept her five-dollar bill, either. He was still wiping his pants, fighting to control his anger.

  “Okay, bye,” said Peg. “You can send me the bill.” She gave one last glance at the notebook she was leaving behind.

  Then Peg’s heart seized up for a moment.

  She saw an orange price tag on the cover—she had forgotten to remove it. It stood out like a bright blemish, an obvious difference from the notebook she had just nabbed from him.

  She turned to Charles. He was looking at her. Then his gaze left her face to see what she had been staring at…landing on the notebook cover.

  Peg turned and left.

  She didn’t look back. She nearly knocked into a woman with a tray full of coffees. She pushed open the front door and hurried out of the café to the sidewalk.

  Peg walked swiftly, then advanced into a slow jog. She thought to herself, Boy, that was close…

  Bang! Peg turned to see Charles emerging from the coffeehouse, slamming through the door, his face twisted with rage.

  Peg ran.

  Oh my God, he’s going to kill me!

  She ran through the crowd, zigzagging through openings between clumps of pedestrians, firmly clutching the handbag that contained the green notebook. She had to lose him.

  Up ahead, several people waited at the curb for the light to change. A steady flow of traffic chugged past them.

  Peg made a sharp left turn and headed down another street. She wished she had her running shoes on. Her thick heels slowed her down and she feared that he was gaining on her.

  A fear that was confirmed when she heard his footsteps hitting the pavement behind her—getting louder and closer.

  He wouldn’t dare kill me in front of all these people?

  Charles grabbed Peg by the wrist and she let out a short yelp, jerked toward him like a dog on a leash.

  In a series of swift movements, he took the handbag, dug inside and retrieved the notebook.

  Then he stared at her, hard, eyes blazing.

  “What the hell is wrong with you?” he said through clenched teeth.

  For a response, Peg could only offer, “I…I…”

  Charles continued to look her over for a moment. Then he grunted in disgust, spun around and left. He headed back the way he had come. In seconds, he disappeared into the busy sidewalk crowd.

  Peg rubbed her wrist where he had grabbed her. It was red. Her arm ached from being yanked.

  She faced the direction where he had been, no longer seeing him, but still feeling his presence all around her, the fierce eyes, the tight grip.

  Fear penetrated her skin, but she refused to let him get the best of her.

  “Screw you, Charles,” she said quietly. “This is only the beginning.”

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Ellen was stocking the magazine racks to start her morning at the Book Shelf when Peg walked over and said, “Hey, girl, what’s going on?”

  “Not much,” said Ellen. “What’s going on with you?”

  “Oh…nothing,” said Peg. “Same old same old.”

  Peg remained standing there, as if she had something more to say but didn’t know how to say it. Ellen finished refreshing a row of home and gardening publications, then turned to Peg and said, “What?”

  “I’ve been thinking about our conversation last night,” said Peg.

  Ellen looked at her warily. “You’re not going to try to talk me into that notebook-swapping scheme again, are you?”

  “No,” said Peg, rubbing her wrist.

  “Good.”

  “But, listen, I do think you need to take a deeper look at your situation.” Peg stepped closer, lowering her voice. “The more I think about it—I don’t think you should continue dating Charles.”

  “Why?”

  “Well, because of all the things you told me.”

  “But I don’t know for sure if he’s connected to those killings. What if I’m wrong? It’s a pretty big assumption. You know I have a crazy imagination. I read too many books.”

  “Then let’s forget the murders for a minute. Apart from that, you have to admit, he’s just plain weird. He’s damaged goods. Didn’t you say he had a messed-up childhood?”

  Ellen bristled, feeling a rush of defensiveness. “You can’t blame someone for having a messed-up childhood. You can’t just write them off because of something they couldn’t control, what people did to them. So he has psychological scars. That doesn’t mean he’s ruined and should be thrown out like garbage.”

  “Whoa,” said Peg, hands raised, palms out. “Sorry. I didn’t know this was a sore spot.”

  Ellen said, “I don’t want to make any rash decisions. More than anything, I feel…confused. I have all of these feelings for him, but I’m also just not sure about so many things.”

  “Do you want some honest advice?” said Peg.

  Ellen sighed. “I suppose.”

  “You’re a good-looking young woman. You don’t have an ounce of fat on you and I hate you for it. When you pay attention to your hair, dress up in good clothes, maybe highlight your eyes a little bit, you become a real catch. But here’s the problem. I’ve known you for a while. I see how you interact with the customers and other people. You’re shy. You have no confidence. No initiative. You walk around staring at the carpet. You look like you’ll jump out of your skin if anybody touches you.”

  Ellen said, “Gee, thanks.”

  “Hey, honest advice,” said Peg. “I’m just saying…there’s no reason you can’t go out and meet a lot of guys. You’re your own barrier. You need to break through and experience more…how should I say this…you can’t just fall in love with your first boyfriend. You have no reference points. Of course he’s going to be the greatest, the one and only. But I think you can do
better for yourself. You should move on.”

  “I don’t spend all day looking at the carpet,” said Ellen.

  Peg rolled her eyes. “That’s not the point.”

  “No. I know. It’s true. I’m not running around with a new boyfriend every week like some people.” She stared at Peg.

  “Touché,” said Peg. “I’m not the perfect role model. But maybe there’s something in between slut and wallflower.”

  Ellen started to say something, then broke out laughing. “Boy, you just tell it like it is, don’t you?”

  “Look at that nice smile when you laugh,” said Peg. “Christ, I hardly ever see it. Your whole face changes.”

  “The slut and the wallflower,” said Ellen. “I think that would be a great title for a book.”

  “Do you see my point?”

  “Sort of. You’re saying I’m defending Charles because I’m desperate.”

  “No. Let’s review the situation. Charles writes all this crazy shit in a notebook. Right?”

  “Well, yes. But no crazier than half the books we sell.”

  “And you said he gets violent. That’s not a good sign.”

  “He punched out somebody who was harassing me in a bar. He was just sticking up for me.”

  “Sure. And the next time he loses his temper, maybe it’s your face he’s punching in.”

  “I can’t imagine that.”

  “Why are you protecting him? Is it because he’s good-looking with a good bod? Because I can get you good-looking with a good bod.”

  “It takes more than that to turn me on.”

  “Okay. What if I throw in a good sense of humor and a lot of money?”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “His name is Pete Brent. I told you about him last night.”

  “Ah. So that’s what this is all about. You want to fix me up.”

  “I’ve told him about you.”

  “And he didn’t run off screaming?”

  “He’s been in the store. He’s seen you. He says you’re really cute.”

  “Really?” Ellen couldn’t help feeling intrigued. “What day was it? What was I wearing?”

  “It doesn’t matter. He window-shopped and he liked what he saw. I told him you were into books, kind of quiet, and he’s cool with that.”

  “You make it sound like reading books and being quiet is some sort of disease.”

  “No. The point is, he doesn’t care if you’re not outgoing. He’s sort of quiet too, sometimes.”

  “What does he do?”

  “He’s an engineer. It’s a small company, but he makes really good money.”

  “How do you know so much about him?”

  “He’s a friend of a friend.”

  Ellen thought about it. She still had a date scheduled that night with Charles—Chinese food and a movie at her place. Just the thought of sharing the couch with Charles gave her a rash of goose bumps—the good kind.

  “I’m not interested,” she told Peg.

  Peg displayed her disappointment openly. “Really?”

  “Give me some more time to see where things are going with Charles.”

  “Well,” said Peg. “Here’s the thing. Pete and Kevin—the guy I’m dating—are dropping by the store today at two.”

  Ellen tensed up. “Then I won’t be here. I don’t like being pressured.”

  “You have to be here. It’s your job to be here. If he needs help finding a book, you’re going to help him.”

  “You are so pushy.”

  “You need a push.”

  “I think you need a push,” said Ellen firmly.

  Peg looked at her, surprised. “Are you suggesting getting physical? Maybe I was wrong about you. You don’t need anybody to bring you out of your shell. You’re already getting more aggressive.”

  “I’m sorry,” said Ellen, trying to contain her anger.

  “Don’t be sorry,” said Peg. “I kind of liked it. You should have seen yourself—you even stood up straight with backbone. That’s what I’ve been talking about.”

  Ellen turned back to the magazine racks. “I have to finish with these magazines or Terri’s going to be on my case.”

  Sometime shortly after two p.m., Ellen heard Peg greeting friends at the bookstore’s front entrance. She tried to make a quick dash for the back room but in doing so stepped into view, a critical mistake.

  “Hey, there’s Ellen. Come here and meet Kevin and Pete!” called out Peg.

  Ellen stopped in her tracks and said “Damn it” under her breath. She turned and flipped on the smile that Peg had liked so much. She walked over.

  “Hi,” she said. Peg stood with two young men, both good looking in a clean-cut, frat-boy kind of way. Which one was Pete?

  Peg introduced them to her. Pete was tall and tan with blond hair and longish sideburns. He wore a ski jacket with a chair lift tag dangling from the zipper.

  “Pete just got back from Aspen,” said Peg. “That’s why he’s tan in Chicago in March.”

  “It’ll be gone in a week and I’ll be pasty again,” Pete said.

  Ellen felt self-conscious, knowing that Pete had seen her previously and allegedly called her “cute”.

  I wonder if I look cute today? Why did I wear these crappy old slacks and shoes?

  Pete talked about the vacation he had taken with his brother. Kevin talked about a ski trip he had taken to Wisconsin, laughing as he described wiping out after too many beers. Ellen didn’t ski, so she had nothing to contribute to the conversation. She listened and smiled and nodded.

  “Are we still on tonight?” Peg asked them.

  “You bet,” said Kevin.

  Peg turned to Ellen. “We’re going to O’Dell’s for drinks. You should join us.”

  “Yeah,” said Pete. “Join us.”

  His personal invite startled her. He seemed nice enough, and he was handsome. But she wasn’t about to break her date with Charles.

  “Thanks,” said Ellen, “but I can’t. Maybe some other time.”

  Peg shot her a look that read, You’re blowing it, fool.

  “Okay, some other time,” said Pete.

  “I want to get trashed,” said Kevin. “Next week I gotta start studying for my actuarial exam.”

  After Kevin and Pete left, Ellen tried to slip away. She combed the store looking for a customer to assist, but Peg caught up with her first.

  “He practically asked you out!” Peg exclaimed.

  “He said ‘join us’.”

  “You know what he meant.”

  Ellen considered telling Peg that she already had a date planned with Charles, but decided not to go there. She didn’t want to open up another discussion about Charles.

  “At least tell me you’ll consider joining us.”

  “I’ll consider joining you,” said Ellen, repeating Peg’s words in a flat tone.

  “Gee, you’re welcome.”

  “Chitchat, chitchat,” said Terri, approaching them, clapping her hands. “Break it up. This isn’t the social hour. Peg, your friends have left, so let’s get back to work.”

  Peg and Ellen parted, scooting in separate directions.

  Ellen avoided Peg for the rest of the day, but every now and then Peg popped into view to blurt comments like, “Pete’s family has a summer home on Lake Geneva,” and “You’ll change your mind…”

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Ellen worked on ambience.

  She busied her mind with creating a clean, warm and inviting environment in her humble garden unit apartment. She fretted over the right music to play on the stereo and the appropriate volume, the best lighting level—dim but not dark—and even the position of the pillows on the sofa. She straightened the books in her enormous bookcase, which almost covered an entire wall. This was her beloved gateway to escapism. She wondered how many books she owned by now. Thousands? She cleaned the shelves of extraneous clutter and straightened the spines.

  Charles would soon arrive for a date, fea
turing Chinese food and a movie rental, which left plenty of room for other things. The more she thought about Pete, Peg’s well-intended but misguided effort to introduce her to a shallower, simpler man, the more Ellen felt her heart gravitate back toward Charles.

  Charles had a magnetic presence, dark certainly, but accompanied by a hungry and powerful passion that could only grow out of heightened sensitivity and a wounded past. The two of them experienced a charged connection that few couples could match.

  Tonight she would rid herself of any suspicions that Charles was connected to the recent killings. When she really cleared her head and thought hard about it, the notion was ludicrous. Still, she couldn’t settle down until all doubt had been erased from her mind. After some wine and closeness, she would delicately ask him about some of the inconsistencies in the things he had told her.

  She would tell him about trying to reach him at Technor. She would mention the attempt to visit his condo. Maybe she would even remark about the similarities between the recent murders and the book See No Evil, just to observe his reaction.

  The old Ellen would not have been brave enough to bring those things up. But she would push them out, study the response, and conduct her own analysis. She didn’t need Peg or Detective Jack or anyone else.

  She was strong enough to stand on her own two feet.

  The knocking on her door caused her to spring up from the couch, seized by an almost breathless excitement.

  She hurried to let Charles in.

  As he stepped into her apartment, she spontaneously kissed him. His face was clean-shaven, his hair neatly combed. He wore a bright sweater.

  But his response to the kiss was flat. He didn’t even smile.

  Ellen said, “I can open the wine now, or we can go get a movie first.”

  Charles closed the door behind him. He looked down.

  “What?” she said. “Charles, what is it?”

  “We need to talk.”

  “What’s wrong?”

  He advanced into the living room, then paced in a semicircle before coming to a stop.

  She walked over to him. “Charles? Are you okay?”

  He looked up at her. His eyes fixed on her, hard and serious. “What was this little scheme you cooked up with your friend this morning?”