Making Up for Lost Time
In the morning Ronnie and Merri were at it again faithfully in the kitchen, working up egg and cheese bagels topped with a slice of tomato, the optional fruit cup, fresh-squeezed orange juice, and coffee. The coffee was over an hour old, and Ronnie apologized. Rosie loaded hers up with milk and sugar, and it tasted just fine. For a while, in fact, she’d never felt better.
However the morning was soon ruined with the news that Uncle Jerry had not gone into work. Though Ronnie’s nose only looked scratched today, apparently there were still some things the family had to work out. In other words, everyone was still in trouble, and Rosie wondered if they would make it out to the movies that night as planned.
He came into the kitchen while Rosie and Merri were cleaning up. Andy and Ronnie sat at the table, and he circled around to Ronnie´s left.
“Looking good, Ron. It makes you look tough.”
Then he got him in a headlock and pressed down with the other arm as he examined the nose more closely and Ronnie squirmed.
“You’ll live,” he said, kissing his forehead before releasing, a hand still on his shoulder. “But if you take that thing you shouldn’t have again, you might not.”
He looked at Andy.
“I didn’t even touch it.”
“I don’t want anyone in my den,” he announced as he approached Merri by the sink. “That includes our guests. It’s my room — stay out.”
Merri cringed as he reached for her, and they shared a most uncomfortable embrace. He kissed her cheek and whispered something in her ear. Then it was over.
“Does your father have a den at home?” he asked Rosie, and she nodded.
“Are you allowed in there?”
“Yes.”
He smiled. “Your father is a nice guy. But I’m not. Stay out of my den,” he reiterated to all before leaving.
Ronnie got up and followed him out to the entryway, and from the sound of it, kept going right up the stairs.
“Mommy! Mommy!”
Without a word Merri returned to her chore. Rosie followed suit, and Andy got up to help.
Pretty soon: “My God in heaven!” Aunt Ann was coming down the stairs.
“Jerry, my God in heaven!”
“What is it now.”
“What did you do to him?”
“Nothing.”
“He grabbed my head!” Ronnie exclaimed from the landing. Upon hearing his voice the other three ventured out to the entryway.
“I had to check his nose, didn’t I?” asked Uncle Jerry, looking up at Ronnie, whose hair was still mussed.
“If I had asked, would you have let me?”
“My God — this has to stop. You all have to get along!”
“I didn’t do anything!” said Uncle Jerry.
“Don’t ever touch my head again,” Ronnie barked before leaving the railing.
Uncle Jerry looked at Aunt Ann and shrugged.
Merri tapped Rosie on the shoulder and they were gone without Andy, back through the kitchen and then Nana’s wing. They stole down the hallway which ran off to the left of the back door; Rosie had never done more than glance down it. There was a room at the end and they went inside. Merri switched on the light and closed the door.
“She never comes down here.”
It was a small room crowded with cardboard boxes and folded-up beach equipment, old clothing and off-season stuff, Merri explained. Rosie’s nose wrinkled at the distinct scent of mothballs.
“In the summertime, it’s crammed with all our winter stuff.”
She crept around several stacks of boxes, Rosie following closely, and arrived at a sliding- door closet, opening one side. Christmas storage: a lawn Santa grinned up at them demonically from the dim interior, surrounded by a large folded silver tree, some wreaths and boxes and bags of ornaments. There was a space in the middle large enough for one body, along with a flashlight, a few books, a flat-looking container of ginger ale, and an open box of Cheez-its.
“This is my secret spot eleven months out of the year,” Merri said, reaching up to the shelf to rearrange a few things, and producing a large shoebox marked Rugged Mountain Hiking Boots. Rosie knew there were no boots inside.
They cleared an area near the center of the room, then sat down on the floor. Merri held the box solemnly between her criss-crossed legs.
“I have to tell someone,” she said. “It may as well be you. But I have to warn you: what I say will put you in danger, even more than you already are. On the other hand, I’ll be doing you a favor. This way you’ll be ready. Look at this…”
She opened the box and removed a folded newspaper. This morning’s ‘Times,’ she said. A headline on the lower part of the front page proclaimed: “STRANGLER STRIKES AGAIN.”
Apparently on Sunday there’d been another murder: a Connecticut women’s fitness instructor in her own apartment during broad daylight. Before Rosie could learn more Merri put it aside and pulled out the Stamford Register, the top of the front page just a big ‘4.’
“That’s the number of victims,” she said as she leafed ahead to an editorial column by a man named Steve Earley, whom she admired greatly.
“We think the same. Especially in this case. He says right here: ‘NYC is obviously jealous. They want their own strangler, and are making a concerted effort to take ours…’
“The first murder took place in New York,” she went on to Rosie. “But the last three, including yesterday’s, happened around here. I know this guy is local, and so does Steve Earley. I called the newspaper office but he’s never in. I’m going to write him a letter, and tell him what else I know.”
“What else do you know?” Rosie had to ask.
“That Jerry is the strangler, you idiot. Look what he did to Robbie. My guess is he couldn’t help himself. Plus Robbie took his gun. But now I’m really worried because of what he said to me when he tried to hug me. He said he loved me. He’s trying to butter me up. He must suspect I know something…”
There was a noise out in the hallway and both girls jumped and scrambled into the closet. Merri slid the door closed and put them in darkness as Rosie stood unevenly on the books, trying not to breathe.
A faint rustling of paper out in the hallway… Rosie’s heart fluttered as the door to the room suddenly opened. Someone was standing in the doorway, listening. Rosie thought she might faint if not cry out. Merri gripped her hand in a vice.
“Shhh…”
As if in slow motion the door of the closet slid open and light poured over the frightened girls. Merri raised the flashlight to strike, but held off.
It was only Barbara, Nana´s spinster caretaker. Rosie nodded to say hello. Barbara reached down into her bag and pulled out a strange-looking red fruit.
“Want a pomegranate? Nana loves them. You need a knife, though. I bought a half-dozen…”
She dropped the fruit into the bag and opened it to show them piled up like so many little severed heads. Rosie gasped and struck the bag from the bottom and they went flying off in all directions, Barbara saying it was alright as she gathered them up. Merri grabbed the shoebox and newspapers from the floor before the girls ran out.
They left the evil hallway behind and dashed down the back stairs, into the dark side of the basement, where Rosie was suddenly overcome with paralyzing fear. She wouldn’t budge until Merri went ahead into the playroom, had switched on the tv, and sat down on the sofa bed. Only then did Rosie emerge from the darkness, paler than usual.
“Get over here RoseMarie,¨ Merri said, ¨ I’m not done.”
¨Don’t call me that, Meredith.¨
¨Fine, get over here.¨
They sat at the edge of the bed in the dull morning light of the sliding glass doors and the vast hardpack outside, the small flickering black-and-white images before them.
“I don’t believe you,” Rosie said at last.
“That is your choice.”
“Why don’t you just call the police?”
“Because I don’t have any hard evidence, dummy. That’s why I need to get in touch with Steve Earley, and put him on Jerry’s tail. Maybe he can hire a private detective. They’re awfully expensive, you know…a hundred dollars a day and up.”
“If Uncle Jerry thinks you suspect him, won’t he just try to kill you?”
“He’s too smart for that. A murder in his own home? That would compromise him. No, he’ll try to throw me off track and butter me up. I expect lots of sweet words, hugs and kisses, gifts — he’ll drive me right up the wall.
“Look at this…” Merri dug out a sheet of paper and a pencil from the box, then closed the lid to have a solid surface to write on.
“Hold on…”
She listed yesterday’s date below three others on the sheet, and then a brief summary of details beside it: estimated time of death, location, victim’s name, occupation, and object used. The object used yesterday was ‘Jump Rope.’
“Which most likely belonged to the victim, or could be found at any five-and-dime store,¨ she said. ¨In case you’re wondering if he used one of mine. He didn’t.”
Rosie scanned the previous listings: cold and clinical, but taken as a whole, placed you right at the scene of the crime. The final listing, at the far right of the page, was Alibi.
All four alibis were the same: ‘At the office.’
“Uncle Jerry works in New York City, right?”
“Yes, but that doesn’t mean he’s there when he says he is.”
“What does he do again?”
“He sells men’s suits for that big fancy company. Or someone else sells them. Jerry’s an executive now. Look — the cop was killed at eight-thirty on a Friday night, and Jerry was supposedly at the office. Tell me, who stays at work until eight-thirty on a Friday night? And who goes in on a Sunday?”
“Maybe he does, maybe he really likes men’s suits.”
“He likes ‘em alright,” Merri said. “And he likes making money. I’m half-Jewish myself, so, I would never say… But, you know?”
Rosie didn’t know.
“Do you think we’ll still go out to the movies tonight?” she asked.
“Sure, we will. Jerry won’t go — he never does. And it won’t do us any good to stay behind and keep an eye on him, we wouldn’t be able to follow if he left the house.”
“Does anyone else know he’s the strangler?”
“No, and you’re not going to tell them.”
