Stone Cold Dead by James Ziskin (android e book reader txt) 📗

headlights of the school bus appeared over the crest of the hill in the distance. It was about a half mile away, and I knew I had only a few moments left to question her.

“What about Darleen’s father, Mr. Metzger?” I asked. “You said he was scary. What did you mean by that?”

“Nothing,” she said. “Here comes the bus. I should go now.”

“You’ve still got a minute,” I said. “No sense waiting in the cold. What happened at the sleepover?”

She thought about it for several seconds then said she’d promised not to tell.

“Susan doesn’t want you to tell, is that it?”

Carol nodded. My face remained calm even as my insides roiled. How could I get her to talk before the bus arrived?

“I think Mr. Metzger is kind of scary, too,” I said. “He stared at me with those eyes. I didn’t like it one bit.”

“He came into our room,” said Carol suddenly. “We were talking and giggling when we were supposed to be sleeping, and Mr. Metzger came into the room without knocking.”

“And? What happened?”

“He told us to quiet down and go to sleep.”

“What’s wrong with that?” I asked.

“Then he came over to the big bed where we were and kissed Darleen good night.”

I turned up my nose at the thought of that man kissing his stepdaughter good night, but I still didn’t see how that qualified as scary.

“On the lips,” added Carol.

Worse. I know some people kiss their children on the lips—midwesterners, I’d heard—and there’s nothing untoward about it. But I could never understand it. My parents had been free enough with good-night kisses, but they always planted them on my cheek or forehead.

The bus was just a hundred yards away when Carol turned to me, almost in desperation, and made me swear not to breathe a word to anyone.

“I promise,” I said. She hadn’t really told me anything I would want or need to share. “I won’t tell about the good-night kiss.”

But I soon found out that her plea for my silence wasn’t for what she’d already told me, but for what she was about to say.

“Darleen always has a bath before bed. She said her father insisted on it. So after Mr. Metzger kissed her, he kind of sniffed her head a bit, and told her to go have her bath. She didn’t want to, since us girls were all there, but he made her go. When I went to find Darleen twenty minutes later, Mr. Metzger was standing outside the bathroom, looking through the crack in the door at Darleen. He caught me and stared at me, real mean-like. I was so scared. I ran back to bed.”

The bus arrived at the mouth of her drive, and Carol opened the passenger door. The dome light came on and she glanced at me in terror for one brief moment. Her cheeks were red, and her eyes were wet.

“Please don’t tell anyone I told,” she said and jumped from the car to run for the bus.

“Miss Stone,” said Irene Metzger, clutching her sweater to her throat as she stood in the doorway. “I wasn’t expecting you. Please come in.”

The Metzger house was a drab collection of worn-out furniture, faded wallpaper, dim lights, and stale odors of fabric and farmers. It was chilly inside; the fireplace yawned empty and cold in the center of the sitting room, and the potbellied stove in the corner sat in disuse, as if forgotten or broken.

“Let’s go to the kitchen,” said Irene Metzger. “It’s the warmest room in the house.”

She offered me a cup of coffee from a chipped enamel-coated pot on the counter next to the giant utility sink, used for laundry and dishwashing. We sat at the wooden table, and Irene Metzger lit a cigarette.

“Have you come with news about Darleen?” she asked.

“Actually, I wanted to ask more than tell,” I said.

She looked disappointed.

“Well, I’ve spoken to the sheriff, the assistant principal, the bus driver, Joey Figlio, your neighbors, and Darleen’s friends.”

“And?”

“So far, not much to go on. No one will admit to having seen her after three o’clock that Wednesday.”

“What about that teacher of hers? The music teacher who was so sweet on her?”

“Mr. Russell?” I asked, and she nodded, taking a deep drag on her cigarette.

“He claims there was nothing improper about his relationship with Darleen. The assistant principal backs him up on that.”

“Then why did he telephone her at night?”

“Ted Russell phoned Darleen?” I choked. “Are you sure of that?”

Irene Metzger tapped her ash into a tin tray before her. “I don’t know. That’s who I suspected it was. He called lots of times, or someone did. Used to call her in the evenings. It drove Mrs. Norquist to distraction.”

“Just to be clear,” I began, “you can’t say for certain that Ted Russell telephoned Darleen, but you suspect it. Why?”

“Well, her friend told me.”

“Which friend was that? Carol Liswenski?”

Irene nodded. “I could always count on Carol to tell me the truth when Darleen was unwilling. Carol told me about the rumors going around school about him and Darleen. When I asked Darleen, she denied it.”

“But you believed Carol, not Darleen?”

“Well, yeah,” she said, a tad defensive. “You know how it is with girls. They lie when it suits them.”

I thought about Carol and her reluctance to talk. Sure, I’d managed to get her to tell me about Mr. Metzger, but I sensed she was holding back on what happened in the parking lot the day Darleen disappeared. If she’d opened up to Darleen’s mother, why not to me? I resolved to corner her again and get an answer out of her.

“Is your husband at home?” I asked.

“No, he’s out in the fields. He’s an early riser.”

“Will he be back soon?”

“I’m afraid not,” she said. “Why do you insist on talking to him?”

“Can I find him outside somewhere?” I asked, ignoring her.

“He’s building a new shed for the horses and cows. Out by Rasmussen’s property line. He said he was pouring cement today.”

“In this cold? Isn’t that