Scott Wittenburg - The May Day Murders

By the time they headed back to this house, Ann found herself puzzled and a little taken aback by Jerry’s gradual change in demeanor. In the span of just thirty minutes, he had somehow become less a casual acquaintance and more like a man with a mission-a suitor trying to win her heart.

She wasn’t sure how to respond to all of this and she sensed that at some point Jerry Rankin was going to put her in a compromising position. He seemed to have suddenly forgotten their prior agreement-that she had no intentions of establishing a romantic relationship with him and that they were only seeing each other on a no-strings basis. Admittedly, she had come to like Jerry Rankin a great deal as a person and no doubt felt physically attracted to his suave good looks. But she didn’t love him and knew in the back of her mind that she never would. Jerry Rankin was simply a pleasant diversion from her otherwise unsettled life since breaking up with Sam, she now acknowledged, and she wondered how on earth she had let things go this far. How had she let herself go against her better judgment and encourage Jerry as she had?

Karen Whaley. She was one of the reasons. Karen had been Ms. Encouragement from day one, coercing her to get on with her life and have some fun. “Don’t let him slip through your fingers,” she had told her in her typical know-it-all tone of voice.

And then there was Shelley Hatcher. Wasn’t that really why she’d started going out with Jerry on a regular basis? Because Sam had started fooling around with Shelley again and she wanted to somehow get back at her ex-husband?

Just as they approached the house, another thought occurred to Ann: the romance novel that she had been reading. This was yet another reason why she had gone so far with this. She had let a silly romance story transform her into some kind of giddy schoolgirl! She quickly glanced down at her white mini skirt and funky Reeboks. Appropriate attire for a forty-year-old woman? Come on, Ann! She wanted to laugh out loud as she realized that she had not only let her waning youth get the best of her but she had been in a sense living vicariously thorough the heroine of that stupid romance novel all this time. Middle aged woman gets married, gives birth to child, gets divorced, moves away with child, meets tall, handsome stranger, has her doubts about “love on the rebound” but nevertheless gives it a shot, and eventually allows stranger to seduce her to his country retreat…

Jerry suddenly gave her hand a squeeze as they approached the porch. “Feeling hungry?” he asked.

“Famished,” she heard herself reply with a forced smile.

Ann felt a pang of guilt as they walked up to the door. Jerry was probably the most considerate man she had ever met and the last thing she wanted to do was to hurt him. He had done more for her in the relatively short period of time she had know him than she cared to admit to herself. Not only had he made her feel like a whole person again, but he had been there for her when she needed a man around the house and a shoulder to cry on. Plus he had helped to get her mind off of Marsha, if only for a little while at a time.

As Ann recalled her lifelong friend she felt a wave of sadness sweep throughout her entire body. She suddenly realized that Jerry had in a sense helped to fill that void left after Marsha’s death by merely entering her life and giving her something optimistic to look forward to. And, as selfish as it seemed, she’d found herself feeling much better after having learned that he too had recently lost a loved one-his wife. This discovery had all of a sudden made her feel less alone in the world and no doubt had helped establish a sort of common denominator between herself and Jerry.

Could Jerry Rankin have come along at a better time? she thought.

And had he not come along when he had, where would she be now? How could she have dealt with all of this turmoil without him?

She felt him let go of her hand as he opened the door and held it open for her. As she stepped inside, she realized that she owed Jerry a lot. And although she knew that she was going to have to end it between them soon before either of them got into this any deeper, she vowed to herself that she would let him down very gently and very gradually. It was the least she could do.

“Have a seat,” Jerry said when they entered the kitchen. “Would you like something to drink?”

Ann strode over and sat down on one of the stools at the mahogany bar that divided the kitchen from the dining area. “A glass of water, if you don’t mind.”

“Coming right up!” he replied jovially. Jerry went over to the one of the cabinets to get a glass, added ice and filled it with Evian. He handed it to Ann.

“Thanks,” she said.

They made small talk as Ann watched Jerry prepare a gourmet lobster dinner. An hour and two glasses of wine later, Ann caught herself staring at Jerry’s paintings on the wall again. There was something about them, the composition, the subjects themselves, something, that drew her curiosity. She knew that Jerry had noticed her staring over at them more than once but it was fairly evident that he didn’t wish to discuss them, or he would have said something. Ann wanted to ask him about two of the paintings in particular-although they were obviously abstract in nature, it appeared as though the women in both paintings were being observed by the viewer through an opening-a window in the first canvas and through a jagged hole of some kind in the second one. Both of these ‘objects’ constituted the foreground of the paintings creating the illusion that the women were in the distance beyond the respective openings. The impassive expression on their faces and the manner in which they were looking off to the side suggested that the women were totally unaware that the Observer was watching them-as though they were being peeped at. Voyeurism? Ann thought. Was that what Jerry was implying in the paintings?

“I have a surprise for you,” Jerry suddenly announced.

Ann flinched. She peered across the table at him.

“A surprise?”

He nodded. “But before I give it to you, you have to promise me that you’ll use it… tonight.”

Ann tried to imagine what it could be. What could he possibly give her that she could use tonight? she wondered.

“OK, I promise,” she said, playing along.

Jerry stood up, smiled at her peculiarly then went over to the kitchen pantry and opened the door. A moment later he was back, carrying a gift-wrapped box. Before he handed it to her, he said, “Remember, you promised me that you’d use it tonight.”

“I know,” Ann said. “But you really shouldn’t have, Jerry.”

He smiled and handed her the box. Ann felt a little embarrassed and uncomfortable as she removed the ribbon and tore off the gift-wrap. She cast him a sidelong glance when she opened the box and saw what was inside: a lavender bikini swimsuit.

“Jerry! You tricked me! How on earth can I possibly use this tonight?”

He cocked his head in the direction of the Jacuzzi. “Right out there.”

“But Jerry…” Ann protested.

“You promised, remember?”

“Yes, but, I never dreamed-”

He placed a hand on her shoulder as his expression became serious.

“Listen, Ann. You don’t have to if you don’t want to, of course. I’m not really trying to put you on the spot. I honestly thought that you may want to try out the tub tonight, so I bought you the swimsuit as sort of an afterthought.” He snickered. “I knew you wouldn’t do it if you had nothing to wear! Anyway, it’s up to you. I’d just like to add that you’re not going to believe how relaxing it is out there with that soothing hot water loosening up those taut muscles. It’s like heaven.”

Ann smiled. “You don’t have to give me the hard sell, Jerry. I’ve been in a hot tub before.”