Autumnal Tales, page 9
“Thanks,” said Singer, allowing her head to loll back.
“And the whole time, you never heard a thing.”
“Sorry.”
“I’m not looking for acknowledgment, I’m pointing out to you the fact that you push yourself too hard. You’ve got to take things in stride, not all at once. That way lies a nervous breakdown, lady.”
“You’re right, Alex,” Singer agreed. “And I really appreciate the concern. You don’t know how good it feels to have someone who worries about me.”
“Now you sound like a newlywed!”
“Do I?” There was a hint in the tone of her voice, one Alex wasted no time in recognizing.
“Now don’t start that again; you know how I feel about that. Why ruin what we have by getting married?”
“It’s okay, Alex,” she said, rising at last. “I’d rather have you like this than not at all. Now, you said something about dinner?”
“Through the door, Madam,” said Alex with a playful swipe at her bottom in the way of directing her toward the kitchen.
Laughing, they slid into their accustomed places at the table and began handing each other the courses. Fifteen minutes later, sipping their coffee, a contented silence had settled over them, a regular occurrence that Singer usually looked forward to except this time, for some reason, she felt edgy. When she mentally tallied the events of the day for some item that might have caused her uneasiness, she couldn’t find any so she shrugged the feeling off and sipped a bit more coffee, studying the lines in Alex’ face.
She’d never realized just how empty her existence had been until the day Alex had come into her life; but on retrospect, how could it have been otherwise? After her initial success with local police departments, she was swamped in work from the FBI to Interpol, leaving her a virtual recluse in her Boston studio. Finally, she decided to distance herself from it all, thinking that maybe miles from the city, she would be bothered only by the most important requests. Well, after buying the farmhouse, it had worked just as she figured, except that now she was isolated from ordinary people with more free time on her hands. She’d been on the verge of moving closer to one of the larger towns in the area, when Alex stepped into the picture.
What friends she had visited her infrequently, and the men she had known turned out to be too involved in their careers to bother about spending weekends out in the middle of nowhere with her. She’d almost convinced herself that she enjoyed the solitary life when she met Alex, Alexander Sloane, at the unveiling of a sculpture she had donated for use on the town’s common. He was there as a spectator and the way they met still seemed like something more out of a romance novel than real life. She was just coming down from the bandstand after the dedication when her foot caught and she tripped. Her heart only had time to skip a single beat before she felt the pressure of strong arms around her waist, steadying her. Minutes later, she and Alex were sharing a drink at one of the concession stands and a few weeks later, they were sharing her home. She still wasn’t sure exactly what he did, teaching maybe, because he had a real flair for history; but he could talk on almost any subject, an ability that kept conversation from getting stale.
“Penny for your thoughts, dear,” said Alex suddenly, peering over the brim of his cup.
“Same old story, thinking about you.”
“Aww, you’ll make me blush…!”
Two hours later, the mellow mood they had cultivated after dinner still lingered as Alex poked at the glowing embers in the fireplace. Straightening, he rubbed his hands against his trousers and returned to the sofa, picking up his glass of wine on the way. Singer made room for him and settled back with her cheek on his shoulder and her arms around his waist. She felt his body move as he tilted the glass to his lips, finishing the wine. Presently, his hand began to stroke her hair and she felt the pressure of his lips against her head; in another second, his face was buried in her hair. “Mmm, you smell like leaves,” she heard him say, as if from a great distance. Drowsy after wine and a warm fire, she snuggled closer. Slowly, as if fearful of waking her, he undid her jeans and pulled them gently free of her body. Her eyes closed, she felt his calloused hands move across her exposed flesh raising goosebumps and drawing her lips instinctively to his. After that, she never knew it when he at last carried her to bed…
She gasped and sprung erect.
The room around her was still in darkness with only the tumble of bed sheets and the silhouette of Alex’s body pale in the moonlight. Singer took a deep breath and held her head in her hands. Something had awakened her, but she was not at all sure what it was. With a vague feeling of uneasiness, she lay back down and tried to sleep but found it impossible. Giving up, she decided to get dressed and do some work in the studio. Downstairs, a single cup of coffee was all she needed to tide her over till breakfast.
In the studio, she found the sketches she’d begun to study the day before lying on the counter where she’d left them. Strangely, it occurred to her that there was some relationship between them and the feeling of uneasiness that had awoken her earlier. She didn’t care for the notion because, ghoulish as her work might seem to others, she made her living by it and didn’t need to start getting squeamish about it at this late date.
Sighing, she stooped to the old safe beneath the counter and spun the combination lock. Pulling on the door, she opened it and removed the strongbox inside. It was her practice to always secure whatever remains and information she received from the police; they were after all, evidence in a criminal investigation. Getting to work, she’d almost completed her first clay model of the face by breakfast time.
That afternoon, Singer drove into town to do some errands. At the grocery store, she met Sheriff Dunlap who stopped and helped her put her bags in the trunk of the car. When he’d finished, he pushed his hat back on his head and said, “I hear you’re working on another case, Miss Longen.”
“That’s right sheriff, for Maxfield County.”
“Must be Matt Brookit’s garden corpse.” He leaned against the car and folded his arms. “Did he tell you anything about the feller?”
Singer supposed he meant the owner of the skull. “No, not really.”
“Well, I can’t say anything about Brookit, but I’m kinda thinking that it might have something to do with the woman who was found murdered on the property a few months ago.”
“Sounds reasonable; I’m sure Sheriff Brookit has considered the same possibility.”
“Of course, but you see, I think there might another connection between this new find and another case I’m working on here in Lennoxfield. For that reason, I’d like to take a first hand look at the skull.”
“Sorry, sheriff. You must know as well as I do, that I can’t let you do that, you see…”
“You see, it’s none of your business Dunlap,” interrupted a voice from the far side of the car. A thin, mustached man stood there, his arms resting on the roof of the car. Seems you can’t let old Brookit alone since he beat you out in that Penner girl’s disappearance.”
“Seems to me you’re sticking your nose in where it don’t belong, Flynn,” said Dunlap menacingly.
Flynn laughed and moved around the car toward the store. “Tell it to the town council, Dunlap. And Miss, just ignore the man.”
Dunlap grimaced at Flynn’s back and jammed his hands into his pockets. “Don’t mind Flynn, miss. He was the only member of the town council who voted against my appointment as sheriff. Still carries a grudge. Anyway, if you can think of anything you might legally tell me about the skull…”
“I can’t, but if you want, I can ask Sheriff Brookit…”
“That’s all I ask,” said Dunlap, touching the brim of his hat.
She watched as the sheriff moved on down the sidewalk before finally getting into her car and pulling away from the curb.
Singer had been too busy finishing her errands to think much about the encounter with Dunlap until she started the drive back home. At that point, her mind became filled with thoughts of Dunlap’s interest in Brookit’s case. Was it only professional jealousy as councilor Flynn had suggested or was he genuinely interested in a connection between his own case and Brookit’s? She still had not resolved the question by the time she arrived at the farm and approached the house. She was trying to hold a bag of groceries in one arm while trying to find her house key in her free hand when all thoughts of the competing lawmen were banished from her mind. The back door stood ajar and a smashed window pane showed where someone had reached in to unlock it. Immediately, her heart went to her throat as she pushed the door fully open and peeked into the kitchen. Inside, except for some shattered glass beneath the door, nothing seemed to be disturbed. But after moving from the kitchen into the living room and then to the bedroom, she was convinced the house had indeed been burglarized. Money was missing from her bedroom dresser with signs that other furniture had been rifled through. In addition, her studio had been similarly searched with obvious signs of tampering around the safe. Singer breathed a sigh of relief when she found that it had not been opened. At last, she placed a telephone call to the local police and afterward to Sheriff Brookit.
An hour later, Singer found herself the unfortunate host to both Sheriff Dunlap and Sheriff Brookit. By that time, her head had begun to pound with their incessant questions and her patience sorely tried at the more frequent swipes they made at each other.
“So if you’ll just shut up Brookit, I’ll get on with the business at hand,” Dunlap was saying with growing impatience.
Brookit shrugged and leaned on the safe.
“So, Miss Longen,” Dunlap continued, “you say everything was just as it is now when you got here?
“Yes,” sighed Singer.
“And the only item missing is a total of fifty-two dollars from your bedroom dresser?” She nodded. “And the safe wasn’t broken into?”
“No.”
“Well, maybe we ought to take a look at the insides just in case; some of these fellas are pretty sharp, breaking into things with never a mark…”
“I don’t think that’ll be necessary, Dunlap,” protested Brookit. “It’s Maxfield County property we’re talking about here, property I’m responsible for and I’m satisfied that it’s still safe.”
“Didn’t I tell you to stay out of this?”
“Just the same, Dunlap, the girl doesn’t open the safe; at least not while you’re in the room. Now, if you want to make sure its contents are undisturbed, you can leave the room while we…”
Dunlap moved dangerously close to Brookit, who stood his ground. Nearly face to face, both men stood silent for a moment then began to argue again, exacerbating Singer’s growing headache. The whole disagreement was nearing shouting levels when a third party interrupted and separated the two men.
“I think that’ll be enough gentlemen,” said Alex, a strong hand on either man’s shoulder, forcing them apart.
Surprised, Dunlap shut up. Brookit, looking embarrassed and realizing his loss of temper, did likewise and apologized.
“Who are you?” asked Dunlap.
“Alex Sloane,” said Alex, a hint of defiance in his tone.
“What are you doing here?”
“I’m a…friend…of Miss Longen’s.”
But the hesitation in Alex’s voice didn’t escape Dunlap’s notice.
“You didn’t tell me that there was someone else here with you, Miss Longen,” said Dunlap.
Singer, despite herself, felt her face grow warm. “Alex wasn’t here when I arrived, he must’ve just come in.”
“That’s right officer, I just pulled up outside and saw the cruisers,” said Alex. “What’s going on here?”
“We’re investigating a burglary, Mr. Sloane,” explained Dunlap. Then, turning to Singer, he asked, “Miss Longen, I think I’m done here for now, but you and Mr. Sloane will have to come in to the station tomorrow to fill out some forms and answer a few more questions. In particular, I’ll want to know who your acquaintances are in the area. Frequently, it turns out that it’s someone the victim knows that’s involved.”
“I understand.”
Brookit coughed and said, “I think I ought to be leaving now.” He began moving to the door but stopped before reaching it. “Dunlap, just make sure you don’t open that safe or I’ll have a warrant on you faster than you can sneeze.”
Dunlap mumbled something and turning to Singer said “Don’t forget, I want to see you in my office tomorrow…both of you” before leaving himself.
Singer sighed and rubbed her head. “You came in the knick of time, Alex, I was about to lose it.”
“No sweat, but why didn’t you call me sooner?”
“I did, but there was no answer at your extension.”
“You should have had me paged.”
She shrugged her shoulders. “Didn’t think of it.”
“Understandable under the circumstances. Want to lie down?”
“Yeah…think I’ll take a couple of aspirin too.”
“Do that; I’ll get a little something ready for supper and clean up.”
“Why do I love you?” she said, and hugged him before going to bed.
The next day, Singer found herself at the Lennoxfield police station located right next to town hall on Main Street. Through the station’s front windows, she could see the bandstand on the town common where she and Alex had first met. Thought of Alex made her tighten her hold around his waist as they stepped up to the duty officer’s desk just inside the door.
“I’m Singer Longen and this is Alex Sloane,” she told the officer. “Sheriff Dunlap asked us to come in this morning?”
“Oh, right, I’ll tell him you’re here.”
The officer got up and poked his head into another room and said something Singer didn’t hear. In another moment, he was back with Dunlap not far behind.
“Glad to see you,” he said. “I just have some routine paperwork for you to fill in. When you’re done, I’d like to see you in my office. You first, Miss Longen.”
Singer didn’t care for having to meet with the sheriff by herself, but decided it was easier for him to ask some questions without Alex in the room. When she finished filling out her forms, the duty officer ushered her to Dunlap’s office and closed the door behind her.
“Please sit down, Miss Longen,” said the sheriff motioning to a chair beside his desk. “How long have you known Mr. Sloane?”
“Not long,” admitted Singer, nonplussed at the abruptness of Dunlap’s question. “We met last spring.”
“Does he live with you?”
“I think that’s a rather personal question, sheriff,” said Singer, unaccountably embarrassed.
“It’s a question I have to ask, Miss Longen,” explained Dunlap. “I have to check up on anyone who might possibly have access to your home.”
“Well, then…yes, Alex has been living with me. I mean he still has his own place in Brady, but he’s only there once in a while when he needs to get something.”
“Mm hm. Has he ever done anything to make you suspicious, that there was more to him than he lets on?”
“I know what you’re getting at, sheriff, but no, he’s never done anything the slightest bit out of the ordinary unless you consider being in love with me out of the ordinary.”
Now it was Dunlap’s turn to squirm.
“Uh, no, I don’t. Now then, who else do you know in town or has been up to your place to visit?”
A few minutes later, Singer emerged from Dunlap’s office and it was Alex’s turn to go in. He blew her a kiss before the door closed behind him. She’d made her way through the latest issue of Time when the station door jingled and Brookit stepped in.
“Hello, Miss Longen,” he said, touching his hat. “Was just down to your place to assure you that you don’t have to volunteer anything to Dunlap that you don’t want to. Got a court order from Judge Sewall here that says so.” He waved an envelope he had in his hand.
Just then, the door to Dunlap’s office opened and Alex and the sheriff stepped out.
“What are you doing here, Brookit?” asked Dunlap.
“Just dropped in to see Miss Longen here, but as long as you’re in earshot, I want to let you know that this court order says for you to keep your hands off that skull.”
Dunlap took the writ and read over it, frowning.
“You win, Brookit,” he said all too easily for Singer’s taste. “Now you can leave.”
Brookit smiled and opened the door with a jingle. “Just so’s you understand, sheriff,” he said, and left.
“Is it okay for us to leave too, sheriff?” asked Alex, his arm around Singer’s shoulders.
Dunlap nodded. “Thanks for coming down,” he said, and stood looking outside long after the couple had vanished from sight.
Late that night, a cool breeze chilled her as it glided over her still damp skin. A full moon shone blindingly across the sheets as Singer tried to find a position she could sleep in. She and Alex had made love earlier in the evening, and the soft drowsiness that seized her afterward seemed to promise a full night’s sleep, but it was only a couple of hours later that her mind forced itself awake, again with a vague uneasiness she sensed rather than knew was related to her work with the skull. Refusing to give in to the subconscious proddings of her mind to rise and go back to work in the studio, she tried to drive them off by concentrating on her recent lovemaking. But again and again, visions of the work she had completed earlier in the evening intruded into her thoughts. She had finished her sketches and model sheets, the first rough model and the final clay bust when the first feelings of unease crept upon her. And thinking about it now, hours later, she realized that the reason for her discomfort was that its likeness was somehow familiar to her; a familiarity that haunted her dreams and yet refused to reveal itself.
Deciding at last to stop resisting, she yielded to the impulse to get up and dragged herself out of bed. Moving to the window, she paused only long enough for the autumn breeze to dry the perspiration from her body before bringing down the sash. Scooping up her things from the floor where Alex had tossed them before getting into bed, she dressed and went to her studio.
“And the whole time, you never heard a thing.”
“Sorry.”
“I’m not looking for acknowledgment, I’m pointing out to you the fact that you push yourself too hard. You’ve got to take things in stride, not all at once. That way lies a nervous breakdown, lady.”
“You’re right, Alex,” Singer agreed. “And I really appreciate the concern. You don’t know how good it feels to have someone who worries about me.”
“Now you sound like a newlywed!”
“Do I?” There was a hint in the tone of her voice, one Alex wasted no time in recognizing.
“Now don’t start that again; you know how I feel about that. Why ruin what we have by getting married?”
“It’s okay, Alex,” she said, rising at last. “I’d rather have you like this than not at all. Now, you said something about dinner?”
“Through the door, Madam,” said Alex with a playful swipe at her bottom in the way of directing her toward the kitchen.
Laughing, they slid into their accustomed places at the table and began handing each other the courses. Fifteen minutes later, sipping their coffee, a contented silence had settled over them, a regular occurrence that Singer usually looked forward to except this time, for some reason, she felt edgy. When she mentally tallied the events of the day for some item that might have caused her uneasiness, she couldn’t find any so she shrugged the feeling off and sipped a bit more coffee, studying the lines in Alex’ face.
She’d never realized just how empty her existence had been until the day Alex had come into her life; but on retrospect, how could it have been otherwise? After her initial success with local police departments, she was swamped in work from the FBI to Interpol, leaving her a virtual recluse in her Boston studio. Finally, she decided to distance herself from it all, thinking that maybe miles from the city, she would be bothered only by the most important requests. Well, after buying the farmhouse, it had worked just as she figured, except that now she was isolated from ordinary people with more free time on her hands. She’d been on the verge of moving closer to one of the larger towns in the area, when Alex stepped into the picture.
What friends she had visited her infrequently, and the men she had known turned out to be too involved in their careers to bother about spending weekends out in the middle of nowhere with her. She’d almost convinced herself that she enjoyed the solitary life when she met Alex, Alexander Sloane, at the unveiling of a sculpture she had donated for use on the town’s common. He was there as a spectator and the way they met still seemed like something more out of a romance novel than real life. She was just coming down from the bandstand after the dedication when her foot caught and she tripped. Her heart only had time to skip a single beat before she felt the pressure of strong arms around her waist, steadying her. Minutes later, she and Alex were sharing a drink at one of the concession stands and a few weeks later, they were sharing her home. She still wasn’t sure exactly what he did, teaching maybe, because he had a real flair for history; but he could talk on almost any subject, an ability that kept conversation from getting stale.
“Penny for your thoughts, dear,” said Alex suddenly, peering over the brim of his cup.
“Same old story, thinking about you.”
“Aww, you’ll make me blush…!”
Two hours later, the mellow mood they had cultivated after dinner still lingered as Alex poked at the glowing embers in the fireplace. Straightening, he rubbed his hands against his trousers and returned to the sofa, picking up his glass of wine on the way. Singer made room for him and settled back with her cheek on his shoulder and her arms around his waist. She felt his body move as he tilted the glass to his lips, finishing the wine. Presently, his hand began to stroke her hair and she felt the pressure of his lips against her head; in another second, his face was buried in her hair. “Mmm, you smell like leaves,” she heard him say, as if from a great distance. Drowsy after wine and a warm fire, she snuggled closer. Slowly, as if fearful of waking her, he undid her jeans and pulled them gently free of her body. Her eyes closed, she felt his calloused hands move across her exposed flesh raising goosebumps and drawing her lips instinctively to his. After that, she never knew it when he at last carried her to bed…
She gasped and sprung erect.
The room around her was still in darkness with only the tumble of bed sheets and the silhouette of Alex’s body pale in the moonlight. Singer took a deep breath and held her head in her hands. Something had awakened her, but she was not at all sure what it was. With a vague feeling of uneasiness, she lay back down and tried to sleep but found it impossible. Giving up, she decided to get dressed and do some work in the studio. Downstairs, a single cup of coffee was all she needed to tide her over till breakfast.
In the studio, she found the sketches she’d begun to study the day before lying on the counter where she’d left them. Strangely, it occurred to her that there was some relationship between them and the feeling of uneasiness that had awoken her earlier. She didn’t care for the notion because, ghoulish as her work might seem to others, she made her living by it and didn’t need to start getting squeamish about it at this late date.
Sighing, she stooped to the old safe beneath the counter and spun the combination lock. Pulling on the door, she opened it and removed the strongbox inside. It was her practice to always secure whatever remains and information she received from the police; they were after all, evidence in a criminal investigation. Getting to work, she’d almost completed her first clay model of the face by breakfast time.
That afternoon, Singer drove into town to do some errands. At the grocery store, she met Sheriff Dunlap who stopped and helped her put her bags in the trunk of the car. When he’d finished, he pushed his hat back on his head and said, “I hear you’re working on another case, Miss Longen.”
“That’s right sheriff, for Maxfield County.”
“Must be Matt Brookit’s garden corpse.” He leaned against the car and folded his arms. “Did he tell you anything about the feller?”
Singer supposed he meant the owner of the skull. “No, not really.”
“Well, I can’t say anything about Brookit, but I’m kinda thinking that it might have something to do with the woman who was found murdered on the property a few months ago.”
“Sounds reasonable; I’m sure Sheriff Brookit has considered the same possibility.”
“Of course, but you see, I think there might another connection between this new find and another case I’m working on here in Lennoxfield. For that reason, I’d like to take a first hand look at the skull.”
“Sorry, sheriff. You must know as well as I do, that I can’t let you do that, you see…”
“You see, it’s none of your business Dunlap,” interrupted a voice from the far side of the car. A thin, mustached man stood there, his arms resting on the roof of the car. Seems you can’t let old Brookit alone since he beat you out in that Penner girl’s disappearance.”
“Seems to me you’re sticking your nose in where it don’t belong, Flynn,” said Dunlap menacingly.
Flynn laughed and moved around the car toward the store. “Tell it to the town council, Dunlap. And Miss, just ignore the man.”
Dunlap grimaced at Flynn’s back and jammed his hands into his pockets. “Don’t mind Flynn, miss. He was the only member of the town council who voted against my appointment as sheriff. Still carries a grudge. Anyway, if you can think of anything you might legally tell me about the skull…”
“I can’t, but if you want, I can ask Sheriff Brookit…”
“That’s all I ask,” said Dunlap, touching the brim of his hat.
She watched as the sheriff moved on down the sidewalk before finally getting into her car and pulling away from the curb.
Singer had been too busy finishing her errands to think much about the encounter with Dunlap until she started the drive back home. At that point, her mind became filled with thoughts of Dunlap’s interest in Brookit’s case. Was it only professional jealousy as councilor Flynn had suggested or was he genuinely interested in a connection between his own case and Brookit’s? She still had not resolved the question by the time she arrived at the farm and approached the house. She was trying to hold a bag of groceries in one arm while trying to find her house key in her free hand when all thoughts of the competing lawmen were banished from her mind. The back door stood ajar and a smashed window pane showed where someone had reached in to unlock it. Immediately, her heart went to her throat as she pushed the door fully open and peeked into the kitchen. Inside, except for some shattered glass beneath the door, nothing seemed to be disturbed. But after moving from the kitchen into the living room and then to the bedroom, she was convinced the house had indeed been burglarized. Money was missing from her bedroom dresser with signs that other furniture had been rifled through. In addition, her studio had been similarly searched with obvious signs of tampering around the safe. Singer breathed a sigh of relief when she found that it had not been opened. At last, she placed a telephone call to the local police and afterward to Sheriff Brookit.
An hour later, Singer found herself the unfortunate host to both Sheriff Dunlap and Sheriff Brookit. By that time, her head had begun to pound with their incessant questions and her patience sorely tried at the more frequent swipes they made at each other.
“So if you’ll just shut up Brookit, I’ll get on with the business at hand,” Dunlap was saying with growing impatience.
Brookit shrugged and leaned on the safe.
“So, Miss Longen,” Dunlap continued, “you say everything was just as it is now when you got here?
“Yes,” sighed Singer.
“And the only item missing is a total of fifty-two dollars from your bedroom dresser?” She nodded. “And the safe wasn’t broken into?”
“No.”
“Well, maybe we ought to take a look at the insides just in case; some of these fellas are pretty sharp, breaking into things with never a mark…”
“I don’t think that’ll be necessary, Dunlap,” protested Brookit. “It’s Maxfield County property we’re talking about here, property I’m responsible for and I’m satisfied that it’s still safe.”
“Didn’t I tell you to stay out of this?”
“Just the same, Dunlap, the girl doesn’t open the safe; at least not while you’re in the room. Now, if you want to make sure its contents are undisturbed, you can leave the room while we…”
Dunlap moved dangerously close to Brookit, who stood his ground. Nearly face to face, both men stood silent for a moment then began to argue again, exacerbating Singer’s growing headache. The whole disagreement was nearing shouting levels when a third party interrupted and separated the two men.
“I think that’ll be enough gentlemen,” said Alex, a strong hand on either man’s shoulder, forcing them apart.
Surprised, Dunlap shut up. Brookit, looking embarrassed and realizing his loss of temper, did likewise and apologized.
“Who are you?” asked Dunlap.
“Alex Sloane,” said Alex, a hint of defiance in his tone.
“What are you doing here?”
“I’m a…friend…of Miss Longen’s.”
But the hesitation in Alex’s voice didn’t escape Dunlap’s notice.
“You didn’t tell me that there was someone else here with you, Miss Longen,” said Dunlap.
Singer, despite herself, felt her face grow warm. “Alex wasn’t here when I arrived, he must’ve just come in.”
“That’s right officer, I just pulled up outside and saw the cruisers,” said Alex. “What’s going on here?”
“We’re investigating a burglary, Mr. Sloane,” explained Dunlap. Then, turning to Singer, he asked, “Miss Longen, I think I’m done here for now, but you and Mr. Sloane will have to come in to the station tomorrow to fill out some forms and answer a few more questions. In particular, I’ll want to know who your acquaintances are in the area. Frequently, it turns out that it’s someone the victim knows that’s involved.”
“I understand.”
Brookit coughed and said, “I think I ought to be leaving now.” He began moving to the door but stopped before reaching it. “Dunlap, just make sure you don’t open that safe or I’ll have a warrant on you faster than you can sneeze.”
Dunlap mumbled something and turning to Singer said “Don’t forget, I want to see you in my office tomorrow…both of you” before leaving himself.
Singer sighed and rubbed her head. “You came in the knick of time, Alex, I was about to lose it.”
“No sweat, but why didn’t you call me sooner?”
“I did, but there was no answer at your extension.”
“You should have had me paged.”
She shrugged her shoulders. “Didn’t think of it.”
“Understandable under the circumstances. Want to lie down?”
“Yeah…think I’ll take a couple of aspirin too.”
“Do that; I’ll get a little something ready for supper and clean up.”
“Why do I love you?” she said, and hugged him before going to bed.
The next day, Singer found herself at the Lennoxfield police station located right next to town hall on Main Street. Through the station’s front windows, she could see the bandstand on the town common where she and Alex had first met. Thought of Alex made her tighten her hold around his waist as they stepped up to the duty officer’s desk just inside the door.
“I’m Singer Longen and this is Alex Sloane,” she told the officer. “Sheriff Dunlap asked us to come in this morning?”
“Oh, right, I’ll tell him you’re here.”
The officer got up and poked his head into another room and said something Singer didn’t hear. In another moment, he was back with Dunlap not far behind.
“Glad to see you,” he said. “I just have some routine paperwork for you to fill in. When you’re done, I’d like to see you in my office. You first, Miss Longen.”
Singer didn’t care for having to meet with the sheriff by herself, but decided it was easier for him to ask some questions without Alex in the room. When she finished filling out her forms, the duty officer ushered her to Dunlap’s office and closed the door behind her.
“Please sit down, Miss Longen,” said the sheriff motioning to a chair beside his desk. “How long have you known Mr. Sloane?”
“Not long,” admitted Singer, nonplussed at the abruptness of Dunlap’s question. “We met last spring.”
“Does he live with you?”
“I think that’s a rather personal question, sheriff,” said Singer, unaccountably embarrassed.
“It’s a question I have to ask, Miss Longen,” explained Dunlap. “I have to check up on anyone who might possibly have access to your home.”
“Well, then…yes, Alex has been living with me. I mean he still has his own place in Brady, but he’s only there once in a while when he needs to get something.”
“Mm hm. Has he ever done anything to make you suspicious, that there was more to him than he lets on?”
“I know what you’re getting at, sheriff, but no, he’s never done anything the slightest bit out of the ordinary unless you consider being in love with me out of the ordinary.”
Now it was Dunlap’s turn to squirm.
“Uh, no, I don’t. Now then, who else do you know in town or has been up to your place to visit?”
A few minutes later, Singer emerged from Dunlap’s office and it was Alex’s turn to go in. He blew her a kiss before the door closed behind him. She’d made her way through the latest issue of Time when the station door jingled and Brookit stepped in.
“Hello, Miss Longen,” he said, touching his hat. “Was just down to your place to assure you that you don’t have to volunteer anything to Dunlap that you don’t want to. Got a court order from Judge Sewall here that says so.” He waved an envelope he had in his hand.
Just then, the door to Dunlap’s office opened and Alex and the sheriff stepped out.
“What are you doing here, Brookit?” asked Dunlap.
“Just dropped in to see Miss Longen here, but as long as you’re in earshot, I want to let you know that this court order says for you to keep your hands off that skull.”
Dunlap took the writ and read over it, frowning.
“You win, Brookit,” he said all too easily for Singer’s taste. “Now you can leave.”
Brookit smiled and opened the door with a jingle. “Just so’s you understand, sheriff,” he said, and left.
“Is it okay for us to leave too, sheriff?” asked Alex, his arm around Singer’s shoulders.
Dunlap nodded. “Thanks for coming down,” he said, and stood looking outside long after the couple had vanished from sight.
Late that night, a cool breeze chilled her as it glided over her still damp skin. A full moon shone blindingly across the sheets as Singer tried to find a position she could sleep in. She and Alex had made love earlier in the evening, and the soft drowsiness that seized her afterward seemed to promise a full night’s sleep, but it was only a couple of hours later that her mind forced itself awake, again with a vague uneasiness she sensed rather than knew was related to her work with the skull. Refusing to give in to the subconscious proddings of her mind to rise and go back to work in the studio, she tried to drive them off by concentrating on her recent lovemaking. But again and again, visions of the work she had completed earlier in the evening intruded into her thoughts. She had finished her sketches and model sheets, the first rough model and the final clay bust when the first feelings of unease crept upon her. And thinking about it now, hours later, she realized that the reason for her discomfort was that its likeness was somehow familiar to her; a familiarity that haunted her dreams and yet refused to reveal itself.
Deciding at last to stop resisting, she yielded to the impulse to get up and dragged herself out of bed. Moving to the window, she paused only long enough for the autumn breeze to dry the perspiration from her body before bringing down the sash. Scooping up her things from the floor where Alex had tossed them before getting into bed, she dressed and went to her studio.
