At first we sort of stood there, swaying stiffly. Then I found myself letting my head fall on his shoulder, and feeling like nothing could ail me, at least for a while.
“This isn’t a date,” I muttered.
I let myself drift to a real nice place, where I felt love and hope and dreams were still there to reach for.
“To tell the truth,” I told Raleigh, “I’m glad you stopped by.”
“Me, too.”
Then I felt him hold me close. A tingle raced down my spine, one that I almost didn’t recognize anymore.
“You’ve got it, don’t you, Raleigh?” I said.
“What’s that, Lindsay?”
Soft hands.
Chapter 51
KATHY AND JAMES VOSKUHL were having their first dance — and to break with tradition, it was a rocker.
The driving beat of “La Bamba” jolted through the brightly lit atrium of the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame in Cleveland.
“Everybody!” the groom shouted. “Rock and roll! Join us!”
Hip young girls with dyed hair and wearing shiny green and red prom dresses — sixties style — swung around on the dance floor, their partners in retro silk shirts, Travolta-like. The bride and groom, having changed into party garb, joined in, butting thighs, whooping, arms in air.
It almost ruined everything, Phillip Campbell thought.
He had wanted her in white.
And here she was, sweaty red-streaked hair, cat-eye-shaped glasses, a tight green dress.
This time, Kathy, you’ve gone too far.
Forty tables, each with the likeness of some rock and roll icon as a centerpiece, filled out the Great Hall of the museum. A glittery banner that hung from the glass roof proclaimed: James and Kathy.
After a loud crescendo the song ended. A throng of sweaty wedding guests milled back toward their tables, catching their breath, fanning themselves. Waiters in black waistcoats scurried about the room, filling wine-glasses.
The bride went over and embraced a happy couple in formal dress. Mom and Dad. Phillip Campbell couldn’t take his eyes off her. He saw her father give her a loving look, like, We’ve come through a lot, honey, but now everything will be all right. Now you’re part of the club, trust funds and Country Day, little peach-haired grand-kids.
The groom wandered over and whispered something in Kathy’s ear. She squeezed his arm, flashing him a smile that was both affectionate and coy. As he walked away, the tips of her fingers lingered, as if she were saying, I’ll be right along.
With a hitch of his belt, the groom drifted out of the main hall. He glanced back once or twice, and Kathy waved.
Campbell decided to follow, hanging back at a safe distance. He went down a wide, well-lit corridor off the atrium. Halfway down, James Voskuhl glanced back once, cautiously. Then he opened a door and went in. The men’s room.
The killer moved forward. No one else was in the hall. He felt an irrepressible urge building with force.
His fingers made their way into his jacket pocket, touched the cold heel of the gun. He flicked the safety off. He could no longer control what was going on inside his head.
Go in, a voice dared him. Do it.
He entered a filmy, sallow light. No one at the urinals or sinks. The groom was in a closed stall. A pungent smell filled his nostrils: marijuana.
“That you, love?” the groom’s affectionate voice called out.
Every wicklike nerve in Campbell’s body stood at attention. He mumbled something barely audible.