The Savage Kind by John Copenhaver

Author:John Copenhaver
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Pegasus Books
Published: 2021-10-05T00:00:00+00:00

JUDY, NOVEMBER 2, 1948

As soon as we were in the Closses’ parlor, Philippa turned sheet-white, began perspiring, and started giving me big eyes. She’d recognized him. Closs was the man in Miss M’s apartment. The gray ghost. Of course he was—and probably worse! And we were getting somewhere until Elaine, high as a kite, cranked up the music and began careening around the room, babbling about a bird or something. Was it for show? A distraction? Then, she invited Philippa to Cleve’s funeral, but not me. She made a point of it. What was that about?

Shaking it off, I focused on my next question for Closs: “Did Cleve know something about our teacher, Miss M? Do you have some connection to her? Is that what all this is about?”

Philippa snapped her head around.

Elaine clutched her needlepoint to her chest.

Closs stepped toward me, looming, his prominent eyebrows and Cro-Magnon forehead jutting out. “It’s time to go.”

“And what about this?” I said sharply, snatching Miss M’s art deco moon pin out of my pocket. “We found it in her apartment, smashed. She wore it at school all the time. Was it something you gave her?”

Elaine recoiled, and Closs grabbed me above the elbows, his eyes locked on mine, and jerked me toward him. He was strong, and for the first time, I was scared of him. He stared at me for a beat, eyes trembling, and growled, “Go!”

Elaine croaked, “Howard!”

“I’m not asking again,” he shouted, spit flying. His fingers dug into my upper arms, and he began dragging me toward the door. I bared my teeth, flung my arms around like a maniac—maybe crazy is catching—kicked his shins, and tore away. Flushed and panting, we circled each other like wild animals at an impasse. The hyper piano and blazing sax roared along like a stampede about to level us. His features narrowed like he was trying to concentrate, to impress a feeling on me, or send a telepathic message. I tried to read him. Was he angry? Afraid? Desperate? Sad? Whatever it was, it wasn’t coming through, and I didn’t know what to do, so I just stood there.

Philippa’s hand was in mine, gripping me, tugging at me. She was pleading, “Let’s go! Let’s go!” I didn’t move at first. Closs’s eyes were glassy, brimming, and a tear streaked down his cheek. A tear! What the hell? Bewildered and light-headed, I gave in and allowed myself to be pulled out of the room. Philippa tore our coats, hats, and scarves off the rack, and we flew out the front door.

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