Play Dead, Page 9

  She had been sitting at her desk, her leg shaking as it usually did. A happy, goofy smile, the smile of a woman starting to fall heavily for a man, kept inadvertently leaping upon her face. Laura psyched herself up, working up the nerve to go through with it. Finally, she reached for the phone, called David at the Garden, and invited him over for dinner this Friday.

  'Are you cooking?' David asked.

  'Of course.'

  'Let me see if my Blue Cross is paid up.'

  'Stop being a creep.'

  He paused. 'I'd love to but . . .'

  'But?'

  'I can't on Friday. Can I take a raincheck?'

  Disappointment gushed through her. 'Sure,' she managed.

  'I have to go to this fundraiser.'

  Her heart beat wildly in her chest. She mentally chastised herself for her behavior, for hoping that he would invite her to go with him to the fundraiser. It was just that she wanted to see him so much.

  'Listen,' he continued, 'I have to get back to practice. I'll speak to you later.'

  Laura heard the phone click. She waited for the dial tone to return, and then the annoying noise that tells you that your phone is off the hook followed. After another minute or two passed, she put the receiver back into its cradle.

  He had not asked her to go with him.

  Sleep became an infrequent visitor for Laura that Friday night. Why hadn't David invited her to the fundraiser? Didn't he need to see her too? Or was she rushing this whole thing too fast? After all, they had only been seeing each other for two months. Maybe he was not ready to make any commitments. Maybe he did not feel the same way she did.

  Laura showered and dressed early Saturday morning. Needing something to take her mind off David, she headed into the office and started to wade through last month's financial statements. Earnings were up almost ten percent from the previous year, which was a full four percent better than Laura had anticipated. Content with that, she sat back and grabbed the Boston Globe. When she hit the society page, she found a photograph of David at the fundraiser.

  With another woman.

  Laura felt a hand reach into her chest and grab her heart. The mystery woman was a stunning, older blonde whom the Globe identified as Jennifer Van Delft. Ms Van Delft had her arm locked around a tuxedo-clad David, who was smiling like a lottery winner and described by the paper as Jennifer's 'escort.'

  Escort. That son of a bitch.

  Tears began to work their way into her eyes. She continued to stare at the picture. Why was she crying? What the hell was she getting so upset about? Had she really been stupid enough to think that there was something special between them, that David cared for her more than his other girlfriends?

  There was a knock on the door. Laura moved quickly. She folded the newspaper, wiped away her tears, smoothed her Svengali business suit, and regained her composure. 'Come in.'

  David came through the door with a smile, not unlike that in the photograph, smeared across his handsome face. 'Good morning, beautiful.'

  'Hello,' she said coldly.

  David crossed the room to kiss her but she turned away, leaving him only room to buss her cheek. 'Something wrong?' he asked.

  'Nothing. I'm just busy that's all. You should have called first.'

  'I thought maybe we could grab some lunch together.' Laura shook her head. 'Too much work.'

  Puzzled, David watched her go back to work as though he weren't there. 'You sure nothing is wrong?'

  'Positive.'

  As he shrugged, David noticed the Boston Globe sitting on her desk. A knowing smile came to him. 'Does that upset you?' he asked, pointing at the newspaper.

  She looked up at the headline. 'What? The fire in South Boston?'

  'I'm talking about the picture of me inside.'

  'Why on earth would that upset me?' she asked. 'I don't own you. You're free to do as you please.'

  He chuckled lightly. 'I see.'

  'But I do think we should mellow out for a while,' she continued.

  'You do?'

  'Yes.'

  'Can I ask why?'

  'This relationship is getting way out of hand.'

  David sat down in the chair in front of her desk. 'So you want something a little more relaxed -- one of those flexible relationships.'

  'Flexible relationships?'

  'Right. We make no commitments. We see other people -- all that kind of stuff.'

  Laura's leg would not stop shaking. 'Yes.'

  'I see,' he continued. 'So you're not upset that I was at the fundraiser with another woman?'

  'Me?' she replied. 'Not at all.'

  'But, Laura, suppose I don't like your flexible relationship idea. Suppose I don't want to see other women. Suppose,' David went on, 'I told you that for the first time in my life I am in love.'

  Her heart soared and fell at the same time. She swallowed and looked away from his piercing gaze. 'Then I would probably say that you're not ready for that type of relationship.'

  'Witness last night?' he asked.

  She nodded, her wet eyes still afraid to move toward his.

  'Laura?'

  She said nothing.

  'Look at me, Laura.'

  With a struggle, her head rose, her eyes meeting his.

  'The woman in the picture was Jennifer Van Delft. Her husband is Mr Nelson Van Delft. Does that name ring a bell to you?'

  It did, but Laura could not place it. She shook her head.

  'He is the principal owner of the Celtics. Every year, his wife asks me to help her with the muscular dystrophy fundraiser. Her husband was out of town. He asked me to escort her. That was all.'

  Laura said nothing.

  'But let me go on so I can remove any doubt,' he continued. 'Let me say something I've never said to another woman. I love you. I love you more than anything in the world.'

  Surges of emotion ricocheted through her, but she still could not get her mouth to open.

  'No response, Laura? Don't you understand what I'm saying? I love you, Laura. I don't want to be away from you.'

  Her leg was going like a jack-hammer. It can't be true. It has to be a trick. 'I . . . I'm really busy right now, David. Can't we discuss this later?'

  David shook his head. 'I still can't get through to you, can I? I thought I had. I really thought I had. But you're still that fat little girl who can't handle being the awesome beauty. You're still that fat kid who's afraid to lose control of a situation, afraid to let someone else in because maybe you'll get hurt again. But what about now, Laura? Are you still in control?'

  She tried to answer. She really wanted to answer . . . His face reddened, his tone getting louder. 'Nobody can truly love you, isn't that right, Laura? You think your beauty blinds me to the real you, that someone can only love the outside image of you, but that's bullshit. Are you really that insecure, Laura? Do you really think that I don't know what that's all about, that I haven't met a hundred beautiful women who just wanted me because I could stuff a ball through a hoop?'

  He stopped. His breathing came in quick spurts. He shook his head, anger seething through him, and headed for the door.

  'David?'

  His hand moved away from the knob but he did not face her. 'What?'

  Again, there was no answer. David turned toward her and saw that she was crying. 'Laura?'

  The tears came faster now. 'I'm so scared.'

  'Laura . . .'

  'I'm scared about how I feel,' she said, her chest heaving from her sobs. 'About how much I love you.'

  He quickly moved back toward her and took her in his arms. 'So am I, baby. So am I.'

  'Please don't hurt me, David.'

  'Never, my love. I promise.'

  Never, my love. I promise. The words echoed from the past into the present.

  'Please don't hurt me, David.'

  'Never, my love. I promise.'

  But David had lied. He had left her and that, after all, was what she had always feared most. Laura pushed his face from
her mind and continued driving, concentrating as hard as she could on the road in front of her. Fifteen minutes later, she put on her blinker and turned.

  The house.

  Why had she come here? Why did she do this to herself? She felt tears start to come. Why? It was just a building. A building shouldn't make her cry. It was just a secluded three-bedroom house with two and a half baths. Nothing to cry about unless you thought about all the shattered dreams that lay crumbled on its floors.

  She got out of the car and headed to the front door. It was another beautiful summer day, the humidity not as bad as it could sometimes get. She strolled up the path, took out her key . . .

  The front door was unlocked.

  She knew that David had locked it before they eloped. She turned the knob, walked in, turned off the alarm. Well if the alarm was still set, then how . . . ? She dismissed the worry with a weary shrug. If they had been robbed, she really did not care very much. She stepped into the living room. The house was still, the silence swallowing her. The room was bare, but of course that was how it had been before they left.

  Two months ago, she and David had purchased the house. There had not been much time to do furniture shopping. Just a few things -- enough so that they could move in immediately when they returned from Australia. After all, they were supposed to have a lifetime to do the rest.

  She moved toward the stairs. The paint was still unfinished in many spots. She smiled sadly, remembering how David had insisted that they should paint the inside by themselves. The experience had turned into a major fiasco -- paint splattered everywhere but where it was supposed to go. Laura's hand gently petted the wall over the area where David had painted. Then she turned away. It would be bad to keep this house, to live here without David. There were not yet too many memories, but worse, there were unfulfilled dreams here, potential memories of the life she and her David would have shared. This was the place where their love would have continued growing, where the children she so wanted would never be born and raised.

  'How many children do you want, David?'

  'Now? Today? Don't you think we should wait?'

  'I'm being serious. How many?'

  'I don't want children.'

  'What?'

  'I want to have rabbits.'

  'Rabbits?'

  'That's right, Laura. Rabbits. Three to be exact. One of each sex. And I think we should raise them Hindu.'

  'But I'm Catholic and you're Jewish.'

  'Exactly. This way we won't fight.'

  'Can't you be serious for one minute? This is important to me.'

  'Of course, my love.'

  'How many children do you want?'

  'How many do you want?'

  'I want a lot,' Laura replied. 'Five, ten.'

  'You?'

  'I want to have children with you, David. I want to have children right away.'

  'Not today. I'm tired.'

  'Be serious. Think of how much fun it will be -- cute little Davids running around the place.'

  'Does sound kind of cute,' David admitted.

  'And little Lauras too.'

  'Yuck. Poor kids.'

  'Keep it up, Baskin, and you're going to get slugged.'

  He took her in his arms. 'Laura, we are going to have the best family in the whole wide world. You, me, little ones, a couple of disposable goldfish, a family dog, a barbecue in the backyard -- the whole Rockwell painting.'

  'Mean it?'

  'Yeah, I mean it.' He squeezed her tighter. 'I promise you'll have plenty of little ones running around here.'

  Laura continued to walk up the stairs. At the top, she veered into the master bedroom, ignoring the room down the hall which was supposed to one day be their first nursery. She saw the king-size bed they would never again share and an icicle punctured her heart. She glanced to the left. Her eyes opened in pain. Her knees buckled. Near the window, underneath its sill, David had left one of his overturned, ripped sneakers. She walked toward the sneaker that David had once worn, that he would never wear again. He would never see this house again, never smile again, never laugh again. Never. That was always the word that crushed Laura like a helpless insect.

  Never.

  Oh God, please let David come back to me. Please let him hold me again. I'll do anything you ask. Please . . .

  The morning seemed to laugh cruelly at her prayer. She turned away from the sneaker and that was when she noticed that someone had been in her desk.

  The house had indeed been broken into. But that did not worry her. There wasn't much to steal. She and David had bought the bed, the desk, the refrigerator, a kitchen table and some chairs. That was about it. Nothing easy to haul out of here either. And who cared about that stuff now anyway?

  The thief had rummaged through their desk.

  Everything was in disarray. They must have been searching for money or a checkbook or . . . She hobbled over to the desk and opened the top drawer. Three hundred dollars in cash and David's NCAA Championship ring were right on top. Untouched. Puzzled, Laura spotted David's photo album. Why would that be out? She opened it. Nothing unusual. Everything was in its -Hold it.

  She looked closer. There were several tiny, ripped-up pieces of a photograph caught between the pages. Someone had torn up one of David's photographs. She closed the book and found two more pieces on the floor.

  She scanned the rest of the desk. The intruder had also rifled through their schedule diary. But for what? Why would someone look through that? Laura looked at the page left open. David had written the words, 'GETTING MARRIED!' across last week. He had also written down their flight number on Qantas Airlines and the name of the hotel in Palm's Cove.

  She did not touch the book. Instead she reached for the phone, thankful that they had ordered it to be turned on so it would be all set when they came home as Mr and Mrs Baskin.

  She dialed T.C.'s number. But he was not there. The dispatcher told her he was out for a few hours. She left a message and glanced at the cover of the photograph album. No. She did not yet possess the strength to open the book, to see his image. Laura headed down the stairs and got into her car.

  The man stood over the patient. 'Look at all those goddamn bandages. You look like a mummy or that guy in the Invisible Man movie.'

  No reaction from the patient.

  The man wondered if he should tell him about the latest surprise. He decided against it. The patient needed all his strength to recover. It would be a mistake to upset him with something that was beyond his control. 'Are you feeling okay?'

  This time, there was a nod.

  Progress. 'Those bandages uncomfortable?'

  A shake of the head.

  The nurse sat in the chair beside the bed. 'That's the way he's been acting all week. He never speaks.'

  'Maybe he's not supposed to,' the man replied. 'Maybe it's not good for his vocal chords.'

  The nurse shook her head. 'That's where you're wrong. I've watched over millions of these guys. By now, they're all talking like crazy, you know, about their problems and stuff. But this guy? He doesn't say a word. Kinda makes the job boring, you know?'

  The man nodded and turned his attention back toward the patient. 'I've got to be heading back otherwise people will wonder. Do you need anything?'

  Another shake of the head.

  'I'll be back with the doctor in a few days. Take care.'

  Underneath a bandage, a tear slid from the patient's eye.

  Chapter 6

  T.C. turned the knob. 'You left the lock just as it was?'

  Laura nodded.

  'Who else has a key?'

  'Nobody.'

  'Was it locked when you left for Australia?'

  'Yes.'

  They stepped into the foyer. 'And nothing was disturbed down here?'

  'Right.'

  'Show me the upstairs.'

  He followed her up the stairs and into the bedroom.

  'Here's the desk,' she said.

  'You sure David didn't mess
it up?' T.C. asked. 'He was never known for his tidiness.'

  'I'm positive,' Laura replied. 'I specifically remember that right before we left I opened the drawer to take out our plane tickets. Everything was neat and in place.'

  T.C. examined the desk. Whoever had done this was in a rush. The intruder had rummaged through the top drawer, pulling out papers, books, whatever. But he had left the money and the ring. Why? T.C. studied the few pieces of a photograph that were in the area. Where was the rest of the photograph? Chances are the intruder had destroyed the picture and accidentally left a few pieces behind in his haste. But why? Who?

  He pulled out a magnifying glass, feeling like a poor imitation of Sherlock Holmes. He placed it near the small pieces. It was an old photograph, a black and white that had begun to yellow from age.

  'Do you know what was in this picture?' he asked.

  She shook her head. 'I could go through the photo album and try to figure it out.'

  'If you feel up to it.'

  'I do,' she lied.

  'Then take it with you. We can go over it later.'

  T.C. quickly checked the rest of the house. First, he scanned the upstairs, followed by the kitchen and den. Lastly, he went over the basement. There was nothing out of place. No sign of forced entry. When he was finished, he met up with Laura at the front door.

  'I don't mean to dwell on this,' he said, 'but this is a rather sophisticated lock and alarm system. How many keys did you make up for this place?'

  'Just two. I left this one in my apartment before we left.'

  'And the other?'

  She swallowed. 'David had the other one with him in Australia.'

  Judy contemplated her sister. Despite the years and the recent anguish that had ravaged her face and body, Mary was still gorgeous by any man's standards.

  The two sisters sat in Mary's bedroom. It was tastefully decorated in the latest style, whatever that was. Judy noticed that the furniture looked like it had been sculpted out of fiberglass. The bookshelf was jammed with all the latest reading. Mary read all the time, though Judy knew that she did not really enjoy it. Books were props to Mary, her way of telling the world that she was more than a pretty face and gorgeous body. For as long as Judy could remember, Mary had always worried about her image, sure that she had been labeled a 'scatterbrain' because of her physical perfection.

  In truth, Mary Ayars was neither an intellectual nor an airheaded stunner. Judy had been told that everyone had a special gift. If that was true, Mary's was beauty and she relied heavily -- too heavily -- on this asset. True, it had given her much and had always made her the center of attention, but it had also made her somewhat superficial and in the end, her beauty had caused uncontrollable disaster.