Devil's Waltz Part 50

Cindy laughed and said, "You're tickling me. . . . Isn't that odd, under the sink all this time?" She gave an uneasy smile. "Guess that doesn't make me much of a housekeeper. Sorry you had to go looking for paper-I usually notice when the roller's low."

"No problem," I said, realizing there'd been no dust on the box.

Pulling out a cylinder, I rolled it between my fingers.

Ca.s.sie said, "Peh-il."

"No, it's not a pencil, honey." No anxiety. "It's just a . . . thing."

Ca.s.sie reached for it. I gave it to her and Cindy's eyes got wide. Ca.s.sie put it to her mouth, grimaced, lowered it to the paper and tried to draw.

"See, I told you, Ca.s.s. Here, if you want to draw, use this."

Ca.s.sie ignored the proffered crayon and kept looking at the cylinder. Finally she threw it down on the table and began to fuss.

"C'mon, sweetie, let's draw with Dr. Delaware."

My name evoked a whimper.

"Ca.s.sie Brooks, Dr. Delaware came all the way to play with you, to draw animals-hippos, kangaroos. Remember the kangaroos?"

Ca.s.sie whimpered louder.

"Hush, honey," said Cindy, but without conviction. "No, don't break your crayons, honey. You can't-C'mon, Ca.s.s."

"Uh uh uh." Ca.s.sie tried to get off Cindy's lap.

Cindy looked at me.

I offered no advice.

"Should I let her?"

"Sure," I said. "I don't want to be a.s.sociated with confining her."

Cindy released her and Ca.s.sie made her way to the floor and crawled under the table.

"We did a little drawing while we were waiting for you," said Cindy. "I guess she's had enough."

She bent and looked under the table. "Are you tired of drawing, Ca.s.s? Do you want to do something else?"

Ca.s.sie ignored her and picked at the carpet fibers.

Cindy sighed. "I'm really sorry-for before. I . . . it just . . . I really blew it, didn't I? I really, really screwed things up-don't know what came over me."

"Sometimes things just pile up," I said, s.h.i.+fting the Insuject box from one hand to another. Keeping it in her view, looking for any sign of nervousness.

"Yes, but I still blew it for you and Ca.s.sie."

"Maybe it's more important for you and me to talk, anyway."

"Sure," she said, touching her braid and casting a glance under the table. "I could sure use some help, couldn't I? How about coming out now, Miss Ca.s.sie?"

No answer.

"Could I trouble you for another iced tea?" I said.

"Oh, sure, no trouble at all. Ca.s.s, Dr. Delaware and I are going into the kitchen."

Cindy and I walked to the door of the nursery. Just as we reached the threshold, Ca.s.sie crawled out, tottered upright, and came running toward Cindy, arms outstretched. Cindy picked her up and carried her on one hip. I followed, carrying the white box.

In the kitchen Cindy opened the refrigerator door with one hand and reached in for the pitcher. But before she could pull it out, Ca.s.sie slipped lower and Cindy needed both hands to hold her.

"Why don't you concentrate on her," I said, placing the box on the kitchen table and taking hold of the pitcher.

"Let me at least get you a gla.s.s." She went to the open cupboards across the room.

The moment her back was turned, I conducted a manic visual scan of the fridge. The most medicinal thing on the shelves was a tub of no-cholesterol margarine. b.u.t.ter was in the b.u.t.ter compartment, the one marked CHEESE held a packet of sliced American.

Taking hold of the pitcher, I closed the door. Cindy was setting a gla.s.s on a place mat. I poured it half-full and drank. My throat felt raw. The tea tasted sweeter than before-almost sickly. Or maybe it was just my mind, lingering on thoughts of sugar.

Ca.s.sie watched me with a child's piercing suspicion. My smile caused her to frown. Wondering if trust could ever be regained, I put the gla.s.s down.

"Can I get you something else?" said Cindy.

"No, thanks. Better be going. Here." Offering her the box.

"Oh, I don't need it," she said. "Maybe someone at the hospital can use it. They're very expensive-that's why Dr. Ralph used to give us samples."

Us.

"That's very nice of you." I picked up the box.

"Well," she said, "we sure can't use them." She shook her head. "How strange, your finding them-kind of brings back memories."

Her mouth turned down. Ca.s.sie saw it, said, "Uh," and squirmed.

Cindy replaced the pout with a wide, abrupt smile. "h.e.l.lo, sweetie."

Ca.s.sie poked at her mouth. Cindy kissed her fingers. "Yes, Mama loves you. Now let's walk Dr. Delaware bye-bye."

When we got to the entrance I stopped to look at the photos, realizing there were none of Chip's parents. My eyes settled back on the shot of Cindy and her aunt.

"We were walking that day," she said softly. "Along the dock. She used to take lots of walks. Long ones, for her diabetes-the exercise helped her control it."

"Did she have it pretty much under control?"

"Oh, yes-that wasn't what . . . what took her. That was an S-T-R-O-K-E. She had really great control-careful about everything that went into her mouth. When I lived with her, I wasn't allowed any sweets or junk. So I never developed a taste for it, and we don't keep much around the house."

She kissed Ca.s.sie's cheek. "I figure if she doesn't get a taste of it now, maybe she won't want it later."

I turned away from the photo.

"We do everything," she said, "to keep her healthy. Without health, there's . . . nothing. Right? That's the kind of thing you hear when you're young but it's only later that you start to believe it."

Anguish filled her eyes.

Ca.s.sie wiggled and made wordless sounds.

"True," I said. "How about you and me getting together tomorrow, right here."

"Sure."

"When would be a good time?"

"With or without . . . H-E-R?"

"Without, if possible."

"Then it would have to be when she's asleep. She generally naps from one to two or two-thirty, then goes down for the night at seven or eight. How about eight, in order to play it safe? If that's not too late for you."

"Eight's fine."

"Chip will probably be able to be here, too-that should be good, don't you think?"

"Absolutely," I said. "See you then."

She touched my arm. "Thanks for everything, and I'm really sorry. I know you'll help us get through this."

Back on Topanga, I pulled into the first gas station I saw and used the pay phone to call Milo at work.

"Perfect timing," he said. "Just got off the phone with Fort Jackson. Seems little Cindy was sick all right. And back in '83. But not pneumonia or meningitis. Gonorrhea. They drummed her out because of it, on an ELS-entry-level status. That means she served less than a hundred and eighty days and they wanted to get rid of her before they had to pay benefits."

"Just because of a dose?"

"A dose plus what led up to it. Seems during the four months she was there, she set some kind of record for s.e.xual promiscuity. So if she's fooling around on hubby, that just means she's being consistent."

"Promiscuity," I said. "I just finished my home visit and this was the first time I got a sense of her s.e.xuality. I arrived early, on purpose-curious about why she didn't want me out there until two-thirty. She'd let her hair down. Literally. Was wearing short shorts and a T-s.h.i.+rt with no bra."

"Coming on to you?"

"No. In fact she seemed really uncomfortable. A few minutes later she spilled some dirt on her clothes, hurried off to change and came back dowdied up."

"Maybe you just missed her boyfriend."

"Could be. She told me one-to-two was Ca.s.sie's nap time and Chip teaches a cla.s.s that day from twelve to two, so what better time for an affair? And the bedroom smelled of disinfectant."

"Masking the smell of love," he said. "You didn't see anyone? Pa.s.s any cars speeding away?"

"Just the pool man pulling out of the driveway next door-Oh, s.h.i.+t, you don't think?"

"Sure I do." He laughed. "I see the worst in everyone." More laughter. "The pool man. Now there's your basic SoCal thang."

"He was next door, not at her house."

"So what? It's not unusual for those guys to service several pools on one block-that far out of town, he might do the whole d.a.m.ned neighborhood. More ways than one. Do the Joneses have a pool?"

"Yes, but it was covered."

"Get a look at Mr. Chlorine?"

"Young, tan, ponytail. The sign on his truck said ValleyBrite Pool Service, with an I-T-E."

"He see you pull up?"

"Yup. He stopped short, stuck his head out the window and stared, then gave this big grin with the thumb-up sign."

"Friendly, huh? Even if he'd just screwed her, he may not be the only one. Back in the army she was no nun."

"How'd you find out about it?"

"Wasn't easy. The army buries stuff just on principle. Charlie spent a lot of time trying to get into her file and couldn't. Finally, I swallowed my pride and called the colonel-only for you, bucko."

"Much appreciated."

"Yeah . . . To his credit, the a.s.shole didn't gloat. Hooked me right up with an unlisted military number in D.C. Some kind of archive. They had no details-just name, rank, serial number, and her ELS designation, but I was lucky to get a records officer who'd done rice-paddy duty same time as me, and I convinced him to call South Carolina and find me someone to talk to. He came up with a female captain who'd been a corporal back when Cindy was a grunt. She remembered Cindy very well. Seems our gal was the talk of the barracks."

"It's an all-female base," I said. "Are we talking lesbian promiscuity?"

"Nope. She messed around in town-used to go on leave and party in the local bars. It ended, according to this captain, when Cindy hooked up with a bunch of teenagers and one of them happened to be the son of a local big shot. She gave him the clap. Mayor paid a visit to the base commander, and bye-bye. Sordid little tale, huh? Any relevance to the Munchausen thing?"

"Promiscuity's not part of the profile, but if you consider it another form of attention seeking, I guess it would be consistent. Also, Munchausens often report incest in childhood, and promiscuity could be another reaction to that. What definitely fits the profile is early experience with serious illness, and V.D. wasn't her first. The aunt who raised her was diabetic."

"Sugar screw-up. Interesting."

"Wait, there's more." I told him about finding the Insujects and showing them to Cindy.

"I thought it might be the confrontation we've been waiting for. But she didn't show any guilt or anxiety. Just puzzlement about what they were doing beneath the sink. She said they were leftovers from the aunt-something she thought she'd gotten rid of when she cleaned out the aunt's house after she died. But there was no dust on the box, so that's probably another lie."

"How long ago did the aunt die?"

"Four years. The doctor the samples were sent to was the aunt's physician and boss."

"Name?"

"Ralph Benedict. h.e.l.l, for all I know, he's the mystery lover. Who'd be better at faking illnesses than a doctor? And we know she goes for older men-she married one."

"Younger ones too."