He even started dating again. Something he thought he would never be able to do. He was currently seeing a woman Brian hooked him up with at a business function. Tracy Harris. He liked her, and he could tell Tracy was wildly attracted to him. It felt good. But it was hard getting used to. He was taking it slow, one step at a time.
He stepped back from the mirror and examined himself. He was gaining some color again, and while he wasn’t the golden tan he’d been of his youth, it was an improvement. His muscle tone had crept back and, with a combination of getting back into his eating habits and exercise, he’d been able to bring his weight back up. Only this time all caution had been thrown to the wind in regards to his food intake. Where before he wouldn’t have been caught dead eating beef, he craved McDonald’s and Carl’s Jr at least twice a week now. The jogging and assorted other cardiovascular exercises he’d implemented helped to burn off some of the extra calories and fat he was getting.
He smiled at his reflection in the mirror. Doing good!
He turned away from the mirror and noticed the blinking light of his answering machine. He wondered briefly if it was Tracy. Curious to hear the message, he crossed the bedroom and pressed the PLAY button. The tape rewound.
The voice that came out of the speaker wasn’t one he recognized. It was a male and appeared hesitant. “Uh… Mr. Walters? This is Officer Tom Hoffman from Warwick Township in Lititz, Pennsylvania. I’m the Chief of Police here in town. Could you please return my call as soon as you can? It’s very urgent. My number here is… area code 717-626-1500. Don’t worry about the time difference. I’ll be up, and I’ll be home. Please call me… thank you.” The sound of a phone being hung up, and then silence.
Vince looked down at the answering machine, puzzled.
Lititz, Pennsylvania. His mother lived there—at least, as far as he knew she did. He hadn’t spoken to her in over five years, and the last time he had she’d still lived there. Since then, he tried not to think about her, much less keep in touch. She’d made it clear to him the last time they’d spoken that he was pretty much not wanted in her life.
He stood before the dresser, the message echoing through his brain. The only explanation he could think of why a small town sheriff from his mother’s town would call him was if something had happened to her. He reached for the answering machine and scrambled for a pen and scrap paper as the tape rewound. He replayed the message, jotted down the number, then sat down on the bed and put his hand on the phone with sickening dread.
What else could it be? he thought. Something’s finally happened to her. She finally went over the edge from overzealous religious nut to bona fide psycho. Maybe she killed a gynecologist. Or maybe her church group turned into one of those militias and the FBI was holding her and her friends on weapons charges. He stopped the mental debates on what possibly could have happened, and picked up the phone to call Pennsylvania.
The phone was picked up on the fifth ring. “Hello?” It was Mr. Hoffman’s voice.
“Officer Hoffman, this is Vince Walters returning your call.”
“Oh, yes, Mr. Walters.” Recognition immediately set in the lawman’s tone of voice, as well as a tinge of hesitation, as if he had bad news and didn’t want to be the messenger. “Thank you for calling me back.”
“What’s happened?” It was the first thing he could think of to say. Why else would a law enforcement official from Lititz call? It was ten o’clock at night in that part of the country. It had to be his mother.
“I’m afraid I’ve got some bad news for you, Mr. Walters,” Hoffman said, gravely.
“Please, call me Vince.”
“All right, Vince.” Tom Hoffman paused. Then he took a deep breath, as if he was composing himself. “I’m afraid I’ve got some bad news,” he said again. His voice cracked slightly.
“What is it? Is it my mother?” Vince’s heart was racing.
“I’m afraid your mother has been murdered, son.”
Vince sat on the bed, the news of his mother’s death settling over him. It should be affecting him more than it was, but it wasn’t. It felt as if the news Chief Hoffman had delivered was more along the lines of, I regret to inform you that your appointment with your accountant has to be changed—is Saturday morning okay? Or, the kids down the street from your house stole your garbage cans; would you like to press charges?
“Vince? Are you there?”
“Yes, I’m here. What did you say?”
“I said, your mother has been murdered.” There was a sense of awkwardness on the other end of the line, as if Chief Hoffman wasn’t used to delivering this kind of news. Vince supposed he wasn’t. He’d lived in Lititz for a little over a year, and the most local law enforcement had to put up with was catching speeders on Route 501 and breaking up the occasional bar fight at the local tavern.
“How?” Vince asked. “What happened?”
That seemed to break the tension. “Well, we’re investigating it now as a homicide because that’s certainly what it looks like. It appears to have been a breakin gone bad. Her neighbor, Jacob Harris, found her when she failed to show up to church that day. The door was busted open and the place was ransacked. They found Maggie in her bedroom.” Chief Hoffman’s voice was deadpan. “She was slashed up pretty bad. The coroner thinks she probably bled to death.”
“My God,” Vince said. He was shocked.
“Nothing appears taken,” Tom Hoffman continued. “At least not yet. The place was a mess; drawers pulled out and rummaged through, cabinets opened and stuff spilled out, sofa cushions slashed open. Crap everywhere. They even tore apart the attic. Nothing valuable appears to have been taken, but then your mother didn’t appear to have anything of value anyway.”
“No, I don’t think she did,” Vince said. As far as he knew, his mother had disavowed all worldly things years ago.
“Anyway, Lillian Withers suggested I call you,” Sheriff Hoffman said. “She said that you’d been estranged from your mother for quite some time, but she felt you should know.”
The mention of Lillian Withers cut through the din of shock that Vince felt over hearing the news of his mother’s death. He managed a slight smile. He’d always liked Lillian, even though she was cut of the same fundamentalist Christian mold of his mother. He didn’t know why he liked her; perhaps it was the gentle way she listened to him when he was growing up, the times she baby-sat him when he was ten years old and mother had that awful job at the factory. This would have been when they were living in Toronto, Canada. Man how time flies, he thought. But there were other reasons why he felt a special fondness for Lillian above all the other people Mom had chosen to surround them with when he was growing up. She’d provided a human touch and voice when all that was shoved down his throat was hellfire and damnation. And in a world devoid of love—especially from his mother—that went a long way.