Ring Around the Rosy Read online

  Those daggers she threw at him hurt almost as much as the slap. Dave put his hand to his cheek. He had to admit, she packed quite a wallop. He chuckled. Pretty and a temper, too. Why didn’t that surprise him?

  He never had a witness slap him before.

  Hell, maybe he even deserved it, taunting her like that. He hadn’t really considered her a suspect, but it was part of the job. He had to check all avenues. What he would’ve liked was to ask her out. Damned if he knew why. Something about the way she looked after she slapped him. Contrite? Scared? Maybe. Satisfied, too. She had spunk. He’d give her that. He had to quit this. He didn’t have time for such nonsense.

  Take her out. What was he thinking? It was against his policy to become involved with a witness. Even if it wasn’t, he didn’t want or need a relationship. But something about her…

  He shrugged. For a minute, he thought about giving her back the bracelet, but decided against it. She had an attitude. Let her stew for a while. He still couldn’t believe she had the guts to slap him.

  Chapter Two

  Susan’s mouth watered the minute she pushed open the door of Meliti’s Market. She loved this place. Loved the yeasty smell of fresh-baked bread and the sweet, fruity scent of pastry and pies mixed with the aroma of garlic, onions, pepperoni, and spicy tomato sauce. An Italian restaurant couldn’t smell any better.

  She turned down the volume on the transistor police radio attached to her belt. Her dates hated it. Few asked for a second date. Not that she cared. If they couldn’t understand the importance of hearing about a breaking story and arriving first on the scene, then she didn’t need them.

  Besides, it was hard enough to break into this business without the complication of building a relationship, too. She was tired of “Fluff pieces.” While writing about ground breakings paid her bills, it wasn’t the type of work she dreamed about. She hated appointments. She wanted the spontaneity, adventure, and excitement of real journalism. She wanted a real assignment.

  Chasing fire trucks and police cars was the blood and guts of reporting. The crime scene investigation, like last night — that’s what quickened her pulse, made the adrenaline flow. That’s what made her feel alive. Ernie, her editor, even said he loved her story. But if one of the other reporters had gotten theirs in on time with even half as many details, hers never would have made the paper, no matter how good.

  Bringing her mind back to grocery shopping, Susan pulled out her list.

  At the bakery section, old Mrs. Meliti chatted with her for a few minutes. The sweet, portly, gray-haired old woman, everyone referred to as a little pudge, spoke with a loud, grating voice that carried throughout the store. The woman had a penchant for gossip and one-sided conversation. Never listened to anyone. Talked to hear herself talk. Usually, Susan avoided her, but today, she had a little time and wanted to forget the phone call. Who better to take her mind off it than Mrs. Meliti?

  “Wasn’t it horrible about that nice man, Mr. Lucas?” Mrs. Meliti tsk-tsked. “He come in here every day. He only just lives around the corner. Such a nice man, always with a kind word, never too busy to talk. I save him cannoli, his favorite. He say I remind him of his grandmamma, even though I’m not old enough.” Mrs. Meliti wiped her eye with the corner of her apron. “You remember him, no?”

  Susan remembered him, all right, but right now it wasn’t a pleasant memory. Not the way she’d seen him last night. She nodded. Mrs. Meliti didn’t expect a response, anyway. Susan looked around while she pretended to listen. She loved this store. Like many others in the area, it was a family-owned business. Angelo Meliti ran things. His wife and old Mrs. Meliti did all the baking. Amanda, Angelo’s daughter, stood at the register looking bored, and Tony, Angelo’s son, a good-looking guy with wavy black hair and an infectious smile, looked busy behind the meat counter. Female customers nicknamed Tony ‘Mr. Personality.’ Susan watched him flirt shamelessly with a customer.

  “Our Anthony will be going off to college soon.” Mrs. Meliti changed the subject. “Eh, lookit him, that boy — so handsome. He gonna break lots of hearts some day. Heh, he probably already has. But he’s a good boy. He’ll make a fine husband when the time come.”

  Susan couldn’t help but smile at the pride in the old woman’s voice. She nodded her way through the conversation, and at the first opportunity, excused herself to finish shopping. Mrs. Meliti would talk all day if you let her. Susan could only handle so much.

  * * *

  “Hey, Horace.” Susan waved at the building’s maintenance man on the way into her apartment. How that man ever got any work done sure was a mystery. He always seemed nearby when she came in, as if he guarded the place.

  “Hey, Susan, great story in this morning’s paper.”

  “Thanks, Horace. How are you?” Usually, she liked talking to Horace. He reminded her of her grandfather, although Horace looked nothing like him. Horace, a thin, almost frail-looking man with a bald head, was the total opposite of her stocky grandfather, who still had a full head of silver hair. Maybe it was his quiet voice and easygoing manner. But sometimes he rambled on about this tenant or that one, and she’d had enough gossip for one day.

  “I’m okay, on my way to fix the sink in Mrs. Anderson’s kitchen. I don’t know what that woman does, but it seems I fix it at least once a week. You take care.” Horace picked up his toolbox and hurried down the hall,

  Of course, it was Mrs. Anderson, and if truth be known, they were sweet on each other. Mrs. Anderson used her leaky faucet and other things to lure Horace to her apartment. Susan shook her head and giggled. Those two were worse than teenagers. Why didn’t they just get together already? At their ages they sure wasted a lot of time. Oh, well. To each his own.

  The minute Susan opened her apartment door, the message light on her answering machine caught her attention. It looked like everybody and their brother had called. She pressed the play button and listened to her messages while she put her groceries away.

  The first, a telemarketer, wanted to sell her a new roof. The second, she replayed twice to make sure she heard it correctly.

  “Susan, I’m giving the follow-up on that murder to Dan Hill. He’s a seasoned reporter. I’ll talk to you later,” Ernie Price, her editor, said.

  “A seasoned reporter!” Susan stomped her foot and threw the bread on the counter. “He can’t do that! That’s my story,” she yelled while the third message, a congratulations, from her aunt, played.

  “That’s not fair.”

  Bella jumped off the counter and hid under a chair.

  At the fourth message, Susan froze. That same raspy voice from the early-morning caller came through the machine. “Remember,” the harsh voice said “Jack be nimble...tonight.” Then the line went dead.

  Susan’s hands shook as she dialed the number Detective Morgan had given her. She had to hang up twice after hitting the wrong buttons. Finally, she got it right.

  “Dave, uh, Detective Morgan.” Goose bumps broke out on her arms. Her stomach tensed. She tried to shake off the feeling of impending doom. “It’s me, uh, Susan Weston, he called again. He left a message.”

  “I’ll be right over. Don’t erase that tape.”

  * * *

  Without waiting for a reply, Dave hung up, got into his car, flipped on the siren, and rushed over to Susan’s. She could be in danger. They had no idea what they were dealing with. One man was already dead, if this caller was indeed the killer.

  “Damn it, it sounds like he’s going to kill again, and soon.” Dave smacked his hand on the steering wheel.

  Just what he needed — a serial killer. As if dealing with one murder wasn’t enough. He pulled up in front of Susan’s apartment and threw open the door as he shifted into park and pulled the keys out of the ignition. He flew up the steps and flashed his badge to Horace, who let him in. Without waiting for the elevator, he took the steps two at a time. Why he felt the need to rush, he had no idea. The guy only called. It wasn’t like he was in there trying
to kill her.

  He slowed down, caught his breath. This was insane. What the hell was wrong with him? It was more than the case. He had never reacted like this before. It was Susan. She had this strange effect on him. He wanted to see her again, and this was the perfect excuse. Still, he had to take these calls seriously.

  He knew damn good and well that wasn’t it. Hell, he didn’t even believe these calls were real. More than likely some nutcase trying to make a name for himself, trying to get noticed. He walked up the last flight of stairs. She wasn’t in imminent danger. No reason to panic.

  At the top of the stairs, he stopped to catch his breath and smiled. He really couldn’t wait to see her again.

  * * *

  Susan sat with Bella curled up on her lap, half afraid to move.

  Why her? Why had this crazy person singled her out? She wasn’t even an experienced reporter.

  The doorbell rang, and she looked through the peephole to make sure it was Detective Morgan, who’d obviously gotten past the security door again. She unlocked the door, and before she had a chance to ask, he pushed his way in.

  “Where’s the tape?” The worry lines on his face deepened.

  Susan closed the door and crossed her arms. “Well, hello to you, too.” The man absolutely infuriated her with his rudeness.

  “Sorry. Hello.”

  Susan pressed the playback button. “You’ll have to listen to a couple of others first.” Her body trembled while they listened to the tape. She hated this. What had come over her? She needed to find the calm, steadfast, good-in-a-crisis woman, she remembered herself to be.

  The evil in that voice got to her. She walked away and stood in the doorway, studying Detective Morgan. His dark good looks somehow calmed her. The worry lines around his eyes told her he took this caller seriously.

  He drummed his fingers on the counter while he listened to the telemarketer and shifted his weight from one foot to the other during her editor’s comments, and straightened up when the sinister voice came on. After listening to the message, he pulled the tape from the machine.

  “I have to take this.” He put the tape into an evidence bags and sealed it,

  Susan nodded. She understood a little about police procedure. “No problem; I have other blank tapes.”

  “The phone records showed the first call came from a nearby phone booth.” Dave arched an eyebrow. “Funny, it’s just down the street. Wouldn’t have taken much for you to make a call like that on your way home.”

  The statement didn’t justify a comment. Hopefully, her glare spoke for itself.

  “Is there someplace you can stay for a few days? This might be a crank, but it sounds like the real thing. Right now, we have no way of knowing.”

  She shook her head.

  Did he really think she called herself? What a jerk. Anger welled up in her. “Look, just go! If I get any more calls, I’ll let you know.” She grabbed a bottle of juice from the refrigerator and slammed the door.

  “And, I’m not leaving. No one’s going to scare me out of my home.” Besides, she had work to do — another feature article — and she needed to talk to Ernie. She had to convince him not to take her off this story, especially now. If these calls were real, this was going to be big. It might be her ticket into the big time, but first she had to prove herself.

  Why didn’t he leave? Why was he standing there, staring at her? The phone calls had shaken her more than she cared to admit, but she’d be damned if she’d leave her home. And like she told her mother, killers don’t go after reporters. She was his contact person. His call warned of the next victim, not threatening her.

  “Okay,” Dave said. “I had a feeling you’d be stubborn. If he calls again, you know what to do. And Susan...” He pointed at the windows. “Cover those windows. We don’t know who we’re dealing with. He killed once. He has nothing to lose.” He turned to leave. “Oh, by the way, it might not be a bad idea to listen to your editor. Let a more experienced reporter take over this story.”

  “This is my story!” She slammed the door behind him as he left, almost hitting him in the back. Now he had overstepped his bounds.

  Who did he think he was, telling her what to do? Bad enough she had to deal with Ernie.

  If she was a man they wouldn’t tell her what to do. She pulled open the door. “No one’s taking this story away from me. I’ve worked too hard for it,” she yelled after him and slammed the door again.

  * * *

  “Why doesn’t that surprise me?” Dave looked back and smiled. “I’ll try to check back with you later,” he said to the closed door.

  Still, he couldn’t help worrying about her. If this caller was legit, then she was being stalked by a killer. So why had he let her think she was still a suspect? He saw how the call affected her. The poor thing was terrified. Yet, he continued to bait her. If he wasn’t careful, she’d slap him again.

  Amazing how she controlled herself, tried to hide it. Still, he saw the fear in her dark eyes. She was putting on a front. For some reason, he liked when her defenses were down. Something about her struck him as too independent and cocky for her own good. But it scared him, too.

  If this guy knew her phone number, he knew her address, as well. And the fact that he made the phone call from a nearby phone booth made Dave wonder if he watched her, even now.

  Maybe it’s a good thing the call scared her, too. He hoped she wouldn’t do anything stupid like try to meet this guy. This was one woman, who didn’t need a man to tell her what to do, and she wasn’t going to leave or give up that story. She definitely had a stubborn streak in her.

  Well, he tried. That’s all he could do. Maybe he’d have one of the guys keep an eye on the building. Best he could do was to keep close tabs on her. She didn’t need to know about it.

  He hurried down the steps, not bothering to wait for the elevator.

  * * *

  Dave’s attitude confused Susan. One minute, he acted like she was the prime suspect, the next he seemed concerned for her safety. She threw a pillow across the room. Bella ran and hid under the couch.

  “Damn, damn, damn,” she shouted to the empty room. “I can’t believe he considers me a suspect. Give up my story. Who did he think he was, anyway? If he hadn’t heard Ernie say that, he would never have thought of it.”

  Susan picked up the pillow. Why had she let him get under her skin that way? Throwing things wasn’t going to solve anything. But she’d show him.

  She’d show them all, somehow or another.

  And she’d show Detective David Morgan that she didn’t commit the murder. Although right now, angry as she was, the thought of strangling him wouldn’t be too difficult. A shiver ran down her spine. How could she even think something like that? Damn that man. Even angry, she never wanted to kill anyone before. He just made her so flipping mad, and he was so good-looking.

  Susan shook her head. Not a good way to think. A relationship with someone like Dave would only complicate her plans. Better to stay away from him.

  She picked up the phone. “May as well call Ernie and get that over with.” She dialed the editor’s number and argued and pleaded with him to no avail for almost twenty minutes. “Come on, Ernie, you know I can handle it.”

  He wouldn’t budge. ”I’m giving the follow-up to Dan Hill.”

  Any mention of the phone calls would be pointless. Ernie wouldn’t change his mind, and he’d probably think the calls were cranks. She wasn’t sure, herself, so no point in mentioning them. Besides, the last thing she needed was Dan Hill interviewing her and hanging around. No thanks. Not with his superior attitude. He’d made it to the top before her only because he was a man, and Ernie gave him the best stories. Nope, she didn’t need Dan hanging around.

  “And, Susan, don’t forget your appointment with Mark Drake.” Ernie reminded her of the feature story on the new botanical garden before he hung up.

  Ernie knew she could hold her own. Why wouldn’t he let her follow up on this story?
Any first-year journalist could do it.

  Fluff pieces. That’s what he assigned her.

  Susan looked at her watch and realized she only had an hour before the appointment. Shoot! She hurried to meet Gary Rosenberg, one of the paper’s photographers. Not her favorite person to work with.

  A picture of Gary came to mind. Not bad-looking, medium build, sand-colored hair. He wasn’t much older than her. He just wasn’t her type. She liked Gary okay, and they worked well together, and he always acted professional and efficient, but he was too quiet for her. Definitely not her type. She liked the tall-dark-and-handsome types. Outspoken, sure of themselves. Like Detective Morgan. No way could Gary hold a candle to him.

  Good grief, she was only working with Gary. Why was she comparing everyone all of a sudden? She’d better get that detective out of her mind, and darn quick.

  Still, she couldn’t get a picture of Gary out of her mind, either. Nondescript was probably the best way to describe him. If he entered a room, no one would notice, and if he left, no one would miss him. But he always treated her polite and friendly. Once he even hinted about a date, but she didn’t take the bait.

  She sighed. This was going to be a ho-hum story about the new Botanical Gardens. Though they were beautiful, they held no attraction for her. Flowers were not her thing.

  Susan found it difficult to write about something that held so little interest to her. But privilege held its ranks, and until she advanced to the top, it paid the bills. She and Gary were meeting with the Garden Director Mark Drake and Horticulturist Jeff Hollings at three o’clock. It promised to be a long, dull afternoon.

  * * *

  She pulled into the parking lot and hurried to the gardens. Gary stood at the entrance and looked at his watch, but smiled.

  Okay, so she was a little late. What was the big deal?