Garwood Village by Robert F. Clifton (romantic novels in english TXT) 📕

“You'd do that?”, asked Wallace.

“Yep. Hell I'm fifty-seven years old. What do I have? An old house with a shaggy old cat. A cleaning woman who comes in three days a week and you. In Rockingham I'd have maybe a wife or at least a friend to spend the rest of my life with and most of all someone I care for. If I don't, I might end up like you and damn if I want that”.

“Thanks a lot. When do you plan on leaving?”

“Right after Christmas. Why?”

“A couple of reasons. First, I have to record on tape all that I have in the files. Second, and most important is the fact that this killer has struck just about ninety days a part. However, I can't count on that. I figure that for the Halloween murder the killer used the presence of people on the street enabling who ever, the ability to move from the street to the apartments. My guess, and I hope I am wrong is that the next murder will occur either in December or January. Christmas Eve or New Years Eve are two dates that present opportunity with people either delivering presents or out celebrating the New Year. If it's New Years Eve you'll be in Australia and I won't have you here to listen to my ideas”, said Wallace,

“Right now my plan for News Years Eve is to hopefully celebrate a new life. No disrespect Robert, but if there is another murder either at Christmas or New Years, I'm still going to Australia. The county also has a medical examiner. He can help you”.

“Yeah, you're right Doc. Go, enjoy yourself. Ask that woman to marry you. I wish you all the luck in the world. And, if both of you have time, see if she can give me a profile of the killer”, said Wallace as the waiter brought them their turkey dinners.

“I said I would. It's the least I can do for you, knowing that I won't be solving your cases when I retire”.

“Oh, it is you that solve my cases. I still can't see you sitting on your ass drinking a beer while cheering on an Australian football team”.

“If I do it will be for the Rockingham Rams”, said Edwards.

“Still, they're not the Philadelphia Eagles”, Wallace replied.

“No they're not. The Rams win”.

On December twenty-eight, nineteen seventy five, Robert Wallace stood in the Philadelphia International Airport concourse of United Air Lines. He walked to the large plate glass window and watched the 747 lift into the air carrying Manfred Edwards towards Los Angeles. When the airplane was out of sight Wallace turned and walked away heading for the escalator . He now faced the hour ride back to Nautilus Beach alone. Somehow he welcomed the solitude. Riding alone would give him the opportunity to think, to run the memory of what little facts and evidence he had in relation to the three murders. “Evidence be damned”, he thought to himself as he stepped off of the moving steel steps and headed for the parking garage. “What I need to know is what makes this bastard tick. Is it a he or a she? What's pissing this sick son of a bitch off to the point that they want to kill and kill only women in Garwood Village”?

Doctor Manfred Edwards felt the air pressure in the cabin change as his ears began to open and close as the Quantas Airline he was on turned and began to come in low for a landing. Curious, he looked out through the small thick, glass in the window by his seat. Looking down he gazed upon Perth, Australia for the first time in over thirty years. Looking through the clouds he saw the Indian Ocean, then the shoreline and the docks in the bay. It was the same bay that years ago he took off and landed the U.S. Navy PBY he was to pilot during the war. The Quanza aircraft then flew over the oil refinery and storage area situated on filled marshland. This was either new to him or a place that he did not remember. Then looking forward he saw first the outline of the city of Perth, then the houses, the homes, the buildings. Then, there was the screeching sound the aircraft tires made as they touched the concrete landing strip along with the jolt as tons of steel and aluminum contacted earth. The sounds of jet engines increased as the pilot slowed the plane as it began to taxi to the assigned gate. Edwards was again in Perth and she would be waiting for him. His heart began to pound as he stood like the others waiting patiently to disembark.

Manfred stood enduring the long procedure of having his baggage checked by customs after showing his passport and passenger card required by Australian Immigration. As he did he turned his head from time to time looking out into the concourse looking for Sharon. A slight panic feeling came over him. He suddenly realized that she would not appear as the last time he saw her. Thirty years had probably changed them both. He was no longer the tall, slim, Navy officer she once knew and made love with. Now, he was the tall, be speckled doctor with the stomach bulge. Still, he searched for her even though his attention was interrupted by the immigration officer asking him question after question. Finally, he was cleared and after closing his suitcase he picked it up off of the examining table and walked out into the large concourse. Standing near the area separated by maroon velvet ropes stood a woman with a smile on her face. He was right. She too had changed. At age eighteen she had had long, black hair that either draped over both shoulders or hung down her back. Now, at age fifty five although still dark, with only a few gray hairs her hair was cut short with soft waves, appropriate for a woman in her fifties and a professional psychologist. At five feet four inches tall she was still slender. The only wrinkles he could see were under her eyes, a result of years of enjoying the outdoors in the sunlight.

Manfred walked up to her and set his suitcase and shoulder bag on the floor. He knew what to say, but he didn't know what to do. Should he take her in his arms and kiss her? That's what he wanted to do, but after all these years was it appropriate?

“Hello Manny. How was your flight?”, asked Sharon, breaking the silence between them.

“Between Hawaii and Brisbane? Long. From Brisbane to Perth? Quite nice. How are you Sharon? My, you're still as beautiful as the last time I saw you”.

“How nice of you to say that. However, for a man who thirty years ago told me of his love and has repeated it time and time again in his letters to me would, one would think, take me in his arms and kiss me”.

“I thought you'd never ask”, said Edwards as he held her in his arms and kissed her. After the kiss he still held her close. Enjoying the feel of her in his arms and the smell of her hair, remembering those same feelings thirty years ago. Finally, he released her. “How have you been?”, he asked.

“Just fine, busy at times and tired, but it is a good tired. I enjoy my work. Now, instead of standing here in the middle of the airport why don't we go to the car. You can ask all the questions you want on the drive home”, said Sharon.

As they made their way to the parking area they made small talk. Edwards asked questions about things that he remembered when he was last in Australia. Sharon answered with, “It's still there” or “They tore it down in nineteen fifty”. Finally she stopped beside a white, nineteen seventy five Holden Kingswood Sedan. “Here we are”, she said reaching into her pocketbook for her keys.

As Edwards waited for Sharon to open the trunk. He looked over the automobile. “Nice car. One thing's for sure, it's large and wide”, he said.

“I prefer a full size automobile, just as I prefer a Holden”, Sharon replied.

“And, may I say an excellent choice. You do know that the Holden is made by General Motors? What it really is, is a full size Chevrolet”, said Manfred.

“Here we go. You're doing it again”.

“Doing what?”, asked Edwards.

“Implying, that anything American is equal to or better than anything Australian. You did that thirty years ago and I think you did it just to annoy me”.

“If I am and if I did then I'm sorry”.

“You're forgiven. It's not your fault that you were born a Yank”.

Edwards laughed as he placed his luggage in the trunk of the car.

As Sharon drove on the Kwinana Freeway, Edwards looked out of the car window, seeing palm trees in the distance. “Ah, palm trees. I remember them. That's something that doesn't grow in New Jersey”, he said.

“Really? I've seen pictures of palms taken in America”, Sharon replied.

“If you did they were probably growing in Florida or California. New Jersey weather is too cold in the winter for palms to thrive”, Edwards explained.

“There's something that wasn't here when you were”, said Sharon, as she slowed down so he could take in the view.

“You're right. When did they build the golf course?”, he asked.

“Nineteen forty-seven”.

“Stop the car. Are they kangaroos I see on the fairway?”, he asked.

“Oh yes. At times they are a bother and we have to chase them out-of-the-way”.

“Do you play?”, he asked.

“Once in a while and badly I'm afraid”.

Sharon put the car in drive and proceeded on to her destination.

“Does your aunt still live at six Derwent Place?”, he asked.

“Amazing! You even remember the address, but no, she moved to Perth after she married. She sold the house”.

“How could I forget the address. I remember everything about those two weeks we had together. Do you?”

Sharon smiled, and said, “I remember that you took advantage of me. Me being a slip of a girl nineteen years old seduced by a Yank Navy officer”.

“As I recall, you wouldn't leave me alone that first night. I didn't get any sleep at all”.

“Sure blame me, the fallen woman”, said Sharon laughing.

Manfred rode quietly looking at the houses on the streets of Rockingham. When Sharon turned on to Malibu Road he began looking in earnest, searching for number sixty-eight, the address he had sent all of his correspondence to nearly over the past three decades. He smiled as Sharon drove into the paver brick driveway. There before him was a red brick single dwelling home with a tile roof. Manfred noticed the chimney, indicating a fireplace inside. The yard was immaculate. A manicured lawn, neatly trimmed shrubs and two large, blue, ceramic pots containing flowering plants were placed near the doorway.

Sharon shut off the ignition then turned and looked at him. “We're here. This is my home”, she said.

“My oh my. I remember that years ago you sent me a photograph of the place, it was in black and white. That picture didn't do your house any justice”.

“I vaguely remember that photo. It was taken years ago. I've made several improvements to the place since then. Now, I expect that it is the way I've always wanted it. Come, let's get your luggage and go inside”.

Edwards entered Sharon’s home. He stopped and placed his luggage on the white tile floor making sure it was out-of-the-way. Then, he stood looking and admiring the high ceilings and the smoked glass windows that went from floor to ceiling in both the living and dining rooms. As he stood there Sharon walked past him and entered the kitchen. Placing her pocketbook on the counter she opened it and dropped her car keys inside. “Are you hungry Manfred?”, she asked.

“No”, he answered.

“A drink perhaps. Do you still prefer scotch and soda?”

“Not until dark”,