Free Haunting Refrain by Ellis Vidler Page A

Yes, that was it. The idiots kept the big front doors locked, but the maintenance man unlocked the back door about seven every morning.
    He started the computer and began arranging his information into a timetable. He typed in 7:30, the time Kate usually showed up. Then he added 8:00 to the maintenance man’s column. After Kate and before anyone else arrived, the man left for forty-five minutes and went across the street to the restaurant. He did the same thing every morning. The Players never showed up before lunch.
    If he parked a block or two away, he could use his own car, not have to call on Polly again. Because he would be long gone when it happened, and it would look like an accident.
    Descending into his basement, he thought about the situation and selected the tools he would need. Just one or two more things, and he could pick those up anywhere. He carefully replaced the tools.
    Planning, that was the key. He returned to his computer and detailed his plan. He thought better when he could see the neat lines of crisp letters, marching with military precision across the screen. When he had worked it all out, he closed the hidden file in the computer and turned on his security system.
    He drove to a Home Depot several miles away. It was a busy place, open late. They’d never remember him.   He bought a large pair of bolt cutters and a heavy leather tool belt, rather like an apron. He was grateful for the activity. Waiting gave him indigestion.
    Back at his house, he packed the tools in the belt and experimented with the bulky leather under a worn denim jacket he had taken from a Goodwill donation box—let the police try to trace that! The bottom of the belt hung out, but he found that by rolling the apron tightly around the tools, he could tie it around his waist so it couldn't be seen. That way, the tools didn’t clink against each other, either. He was ready. All he had to do was pick the time. Soon.
    * * *
    Venice , in a blur of paisley, was waiting on the porch when Kate got home. “I knew you were on your way, so I took a chance and got out of the car.”
    “I’m impressed. You should get a purple heart for bravery.” Kate unlocked the door and led the way in. “Come in.”
    Venice adjusted her shawl and followed Kate in. “I think you mean a bronze star for bravery. You have to be wounded to get a purple heart.” The shoulder strap of her tiny purse caught on the doorknob and she stopped to free herself.
    “Bronze, then,” Kate said, kissing the old woman’s cheek. “You can read photography magazines while I dress.”
    “What are you wearing?” Venice , suspicious, angled toward the stairway.
    “I thought I'd wear the jeans without holes since Martin is going. I don't want to embarrass him.” Kate didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. She knew she was in for a fight.
    “You're impossible. John has never seen you dressed attractively. And,” Venice added in a knowing tone, “I found out a little about him today. He's divorced, but that can't be helped.”
    “So am I.”
    “Yes, but you were married to a pompous . . .” She hesitated, then found her word. “A vampire. That's what J. B. is. He would take your life's blood if he could. You were shriveling into nothing—a nonperson—when I found you.”
    “I was not, and he's not that bad. But that's beside the point. I am having a meeting with John, not a date.” She started up the stairs, but could see that Venice had more to say. Still hoping to discourage her, Kate stopped with one foot on the step. “Okay. Let’s hear it.”
    “He cooks.”
    “What? Who?”
    “He cooks. John Gerrard is a very good cook. You should give this man serious consideration.” Venice cast a significant look toward Kate's kitchen. “Wear something nice.”
    “I don't care if he does windows. I'm not dressing up. He won't even be there till after we've eaten. I told him I was too busy to come earlier.”
    “Oh, Kate. I despair of your future,” she