Sounds of Murder

Chapter 5

Chapter 5

Oh, how good his arms felt around her. She wanted to just stand there in his embrace forever, but after a few moments, she pulled back. Rocky was appropriately named. He was a large, burly man, with short brown hair and stubble on his craggy face. He took her books and her purse from her shoulder and set them on the kitchen table. Then he carefully removed her jacket, placing it over the back of the kitchen chair. With his arm tightly around her shoulder, he guided her towards the bedroom.

"Oh, God, Rocky," she cried in a small voice, "It was awful. You just can't imagine."

He sat her down on the edge of their bed and with ritualistic care bent down and removed her heels, placing them neatly to the side. Then, quietly, he brought her a robe and nightgown which were hanging from a hook on the bathroom door.

"Where's Angie?" she asked.

"She wanted to talk to you, but I told her you had to stay late for something. She went to bed hours ago," he said.

"She wanted to talk to me?" she asked.

"Yeah," he said, "Something about a car. Don't ask."

"Did she finish her homework?"

"Early," he said, "Then spent most of the night trying out different hairdos or whatever you women do."

Their daughter was just beginning her college career. She had been a good student in high school-and never engaged in any of the typical adolescent problems such as drinking, drugs, or wild partying. Even so, Angela was a handful and her attitude was often belligerent and morose. She never seemed to fit in and her friends were few.

"Where's Candide?" she wondered, looking around for her usual little greeter.

"Under the bed, asleep, I think. Now," he said, "Quit stalling, soldier. Get those clothes off and into your jams." She obeyed robotically, her eyes staring straight ahead. When she was comfortably clothed, she leaned back on the bed where Rocky had piled some pillows against the headboard.

"I need to talk to you," she said, whispering.

"I know," he said, touching her shoulders gently but firmly, "Wait just a minute." He went quickly into the kitchen and returned almost immediately with a cup of steaming liquid.

"Hot chocolate with latte foam just like you like," he pronounced softly. "I thought it would help calm and relax you."

She took the steaming cup of warm liquid and sipped it slowly.

"Thank you," she smiled up at him. "You're the best."

He rounded the bed and propped himself up next to her. Rocky had spent most of his life as a career military man-an Army sergeant-a cook to be exact. They had met in graduate school at a new student orientation. Their chemistry had been instant and they had married within a year of meeting. When Pamela had continued on for her doctorate, Rocky had been happy to remain at the instructor level with his Masters' degree and be a house husband, caring for their young daughter. He made good use of both his teaching skills and his military training to mold his students. Pamela always felt secure with him because he approached all crises with calmness and firmness. She knew she would need his fortitude in the coming days.

"Now," he said, looking straight at her. "Tell me what happened."

"I found her," she said, gulping. "I mean, one of my students actually found her, but..."

"Wait a minute, Babe," he interrupted. "You'd better start at the beginning. All I know is that someone died and you had to stay late."

"Right," she nodded. "It was Charlotte. Charlotte Clark."