It had been Burton Kelly who'd brought her the article. He was waiting for her at her office, the newspaper under his arm.
"I have something to show you," he said.
She smiled, trying to make him feel less awkward about having been rejected by her. "Come in, Burton. Aren't you working today?"
"I'm going in late."
She sat at her desk, swiveling the chair around to face him. "What can I do for you?"
His face was stony. He held out the paper. "Have you seen this?"
"No, not yet."
He handed it to her.
"What is it?"
"Read it."
She tried to decipher Burton's expression, but she couldn't glean anything from his face. Yet something made her afraid. Glancing down at the paper she saw Colin's picture. He looked terrible- gaunt, his eyes staring straight out. And then she read the headline.
When she finished the article she asked calmly, "Why are you showing this to me, Burton?"
His mouth twitched to the left. "I think that's obvious."
"Is it?"
"He's a dangerous man."
"I don't see where it says that."
"It's clear. All you have to do is read between the lines."
She stood up, slapping the paper back in his open hand.
He was startled. "I thought you'd want to know. I mean, under the circumstances."
She didn't ask him what he meant; she knew. "Is there anything else, Burton? I have a nine-fifteen appointment, so if there's nothing else I'd like to get ready for it."
He pressed his lips together, tugged at his belt, hitching up his pants. "You're playing with fire," he said.
"Burton, what I do with my personal life is no concern of yours. Now if you'll excuse-"
"It's a concern of the board's, though."
"Is that a threat?"
"Just some friendly advice. You'd better watch your p's and q's."
"Thanks for the advice." She pointedly looked at her watch.
"All right, I'm going. But don't say I didn't warn you."
When he was gone she had immediately dialed Colin's number. It was busy.
And now it was half an hour past the time he was expected to dinner. She knew that he wasn't coming, had known it most of the day.
The shock of reading the newspaper account had lessened. She supposed the worst part of it was that he hadn't told her the truth. As she'd said to Peg when she called, "I thought we had a real rapport, that there was a basic honesty between us."
Peg said, "Give me a break, Annie. Would you have told Colin if things had been reversed?"
"I think I would have. I mean, why not? It isn't as if he was guilty."
"Annie, the murderer has never been caught. I guess there's still some suspicion about him. Or at least it was there between the lines."
She'd wanted to shout at Peg, tell her she was just as bad as Burton Kelly. But she hadn't. She got off the phone and read the article again. This time she saw that the implication was there.
But her main concern was what Colin must have suffered at the time, still suffered. She couldn't imagine anything worse. When Bob had died she'd been devastated. She tried to think what it might have been like if he'd been murdered, but couldn't. And in Colin's case there were his children. It was almost impossible to know what she would have felt in his circumstances. Surely rage. Bitterness. And frustration. She was amazed that Colin functioned as well as he did.
During the day ten people came in to show her the article and sixteen phoned to tell her about it. So it wasn't odd that Colin had taken his phone off the hook. If she'd gotten calls, he must have too. But why hadn't he phoned her? Surely he must have known she'd be on his side. Still, he might have felt embarrassed by not having told her the truth. And maybe he was trying to protect her by not appearing at her house.
Well, that was foolish. They were friends, weren't they? Were Colin anyone else she would have gone to his house and tried to comfort him. She was, after all, a minister.
The night was cool. She slipped a sweater over her shoulders and went down the back steps. Behind the wheel she faced a truth. She wasn't going to Colin as a minister, she was going to him as a woman. And it felt perfectly fine.
LOOKING BACK-50 YEARS AGO
On Wednesday of this week the Ladies' Sewing Society of Seaville celebrated its 90th anniversary by serving a delicious supper to nearly 150 guests, after which a most appropriate program was rendered. The original constitution states that its object was to furnish and beautify the House of God and also to promote social and friendly intercourse in the village. The initiation fee was 12 cents for the ladies and 25 cents for the gentlemen.
TWENTY-NINE
When Colin finally connected with Mike Rosler, telling him about the article that had appeared in Newsline, pretending to ask for advice, he'd found he was unable to come right out and accuse Mark of the murders. In fact, he told himself he was crazy to think Mark could do something like that. But later in the conversation, when he'd begun complaining a bit about the job, Mike offered something that made Colin suspicious all over again.
Mike said, "Tell you the truth, Colly, I don't know how you can work for the guy."
"Why do you say that?"
"I know I haven't seen Mark for a few years, but last time we had lunch all he could talk about was some chick he was balling. Christ, it was boring. It was like the guy was obsessed, you know what I'm saying?" "Amy?" "Huh?"
"The woman, was her name Amy?"
"Amy? Lemme think… no, not Amy. I can't think what it was." "Try," Colin urged.
"Why? What difference does it make what her name was?" "I just want to know, Mike."
"Hell, I don't know. Lemme see. It started with a G, I think. Yeah, G. An old-fashioned name, too, It wasn't Gertrude. Or Greta. Grace! Yeah, that was it, Grace." "When was this?"
Mike said, "What's up with you? First you're calling me about some Indian symbols and now you want to know the name of some broad Mark had a couple of years ago. What the hell's going on?
“Hey, does this have anything to do with the murders? Mark's chick, I mean."
"No. Do you remember when this was, Mike?"
"A couple of years ago, I told you."
"Since he lived out here?"
"No, before, when they were living in Philly."
With Colin refusing to tell Mike why he cared who Mark was having an affair with a few years ago, the rest of the conversation deteriorated quickly and they'd hung up on a somewhat sour note.
Learning about Grace further convinced Colin that he really didn't know Mark at all. Adultery and murder were two very different things, but it was Mark's deceit that was so cunning, making Colin feel that anything was possible.
After Colin had come back from the library he'd spent the day lying on his bed, looking through old magazines, smoking. It was seven o'clock when he faced the fact that he wasn't going to Annie's and he wasn't going to call. He couldn't drag her into this. If he called she'd say she wanted to see him. She was that kind of woman. It was best to do nothing, let her off the hook. So when there was a knock on his door at eight he thought it was Mark again. Still, he was cautious and asked who it was.
"Annie," she said.
He was in an old sweat suit and socks that had holes.
"Colin? Are you there?"
There was no choice. He opened the door. "What're you doing here?"
"Say, that's a terrific opening gambit!"
He laughed, "I'm sorry."
"Are you going to let me in?"
"Of course." He locked the door behind her. "You shouldn't be here."
"Why not?"
"Aren't you the one who told me people talk, know where everybody is at any given moment?"
"It's only five after eight."
"It's not the hour I'm worried about. It's you being here at all, with me." He ran a hand through his black hair trying to finger- comb it. "Sorry I'm such a mess."