Are You Afraid Of The Dark   ::   Sheldon Sidney

His gun had a silencer on it, and-" Greenburg was looking at her in confusion. "I'm sorry. I don't understand what-" "The carjacker. I called 911 and-" She saw the expression on the detective's face. "This isn't about the carjacking, is it?" "No, ma'am, it's not." Greenburg paused a moment. "May I come in?

"Please."

Greenburg walked into the apartment.

She was looking at him, frowning. "What is it? Is something wrong?" The words would not seem to come. "Yes. I'm sorry. I-I'm afraid I have some bad news. It's about your husband." "What's happened?" Her voice was shaky.

"He's had an accident." Diane felt a sudden chill. "What kind of accident?" Greenburg took a deep breath. "He was killed last night, Mrs. Stevens. We found his body under a bridge along the East River this morning." Diane stared at him for a long moment, then slowly shook her head. "You have the wrong person, Lieutenant. My husband is at work, in his laboratory." This was going to be even more difficult than he had anticipated. "Mrs. Stevens, did your husband come home last night?" "No, but Richard frequently works all night. He's a scientist." She was becoming more and more agitated.

"Mrs. Stevens, were you aware that your husband was involved with the Mafia?" Diane blanched. "The Mafia? Are you insane?" "We found-" Diane was beginning to hyperventilate. "Let me see your identification." "Certainly." Detective Greenburg pulled out his ID card and showed it to her.

Diane glanced at it, handed it back, and then slapped Greenburg hard across his face. "Does the city pay you to go around trying to scare honest citizens? My husband is not dead!

He's at work." She was shouting.

Greenburg looked into her eyes and saw the shock and denial there. "Mrs.

Stevens, would you like me to send someone over to look after you and-?" "You're the one who needs someone to look after you. Now get out of here." "Mrs. Stevens-" "Now!" Greenburg took out a business card and put it on a table. "In case you need to talk to me, here's my number." As he walked out the door, Greenburg thought, Well, I handled that brilliantly.

I might as well have said, "Are you the widow Stevens?"

* * *



WHEN DETECTIVE EARL Greenburg left, Diane locked the front door and took a deep, shivering breath. The idiot! Coming to the wrong apartment and trying to scare me. I should report him. She looked at her watch. Richard will be coming home soon. It's time to start getting dinner ready. She was making paella, his favorite dish. She went into the kitchen and started to prepare it.

* * *



BECAUSE OF THE secrecy of Richard's work, Diane never disturbed him at the laboratory, and if he did not call her, she knew it was a signal that he was going to be late. At eight o'clock, the paella was ready. She tasted it and smiled, satisfied. It was made just the way Richard liked it. At ten o'clock, when he still had not arrived, Diane put the paella in the refrigerator and stuck a Post-it note on the refrigerator door: Darling, supper is in the fridge. Come and wake me up. Richard would be hungry when he came home.

Diane felt suddenly drained. She undressed, put on a nightgown, brushed her teeth, and got into bed.

In a few minutes, she fell sound asleep.

* * *



AT THREE O'CLOCK in the morning, she woke up screaming.



CHAPTER 2

IT WAS DAWN before Diane could stop trembling. The chill she felt was bone deep.

Richard was dead. She would never see him again, hear his voice, feel him hold her close.

And it's my fault. I should never have gone into that courtroom. Oh, Richard, forgive me… please forgive me… I don't think I can go on without you. You were my life, my reason to live, and now I have none.

She wanted to curl up into a tiny ball.

She wanted to disappear.

She wanted to die.

She lay there, desolate, thinking about the past, how Richard had transformed her life…

* * *



DIANE WEST HAD grown up in Sands Point, New York, an area of quiet affluence.

Her father was a surgeon and her mother was an artist, and Diane had begun to draw when she was three. She attended St. Paul's boarding school, and when she was a freshman in college, she had a brief relationship with her charismatic mathematics teacher. He told her he wanted to marry her because she was the only woman in the world for him. When Diane learned that he had a wife and three children, she decided that either his math or his memory was defective, and transferred to Wellesley College.

She was obsessed with art and spent every spare moment painting. By the time Diane graduated, she had begun selling her paintings and was acquiring a reputation as an artist of promise.

That fall, a prominent Fifth Avenue art gallery gave Diane her own art show, and it was a huge success. The owner of the gallery, Paul Deacon, was a wealthy, erudite African-American who had helped nurture Diane's career.

Opening night, the salon was crowded. Deacon hurried up to Diane, a big smile on his face. "Congratulations! We've already sold most of the paintings! I'm going to set up another exhibition in a few months, as soon as you're ready." Diane was thrilled. "That's wonderful, Paul." "You deserve it." He patted her on the shoulder and bustled off.

Diane was signing an autograph when a man came up behind her and said, "I like your curves." Diane stiffened. Furious, she spun around and opened her mouth to make a sharp retort, when he went on:

"They have the delicacy of a Rossetti or a Manet." He was studying one of her paintings on the wall.

Diane caught herself just in time. "Oh." She took a closer look at the man. He appeared to be in his mid-thirties. He was about six feet tall, with an athletic build, blond hair, and bright blue eyes. He was dressed in a soft tan suit, a white shirt, and a brown tie.

"I-thank you."

"When did you begin painting?" "When I was a child. My mother was a painter." He smiled. "My mother was a cook, but I can't cook. I know your name. I'm Richard Stevens." At that moment, Paul Deacon approached with three packages.

"Here are your paintings, Mr. Stevens. Enjoy them." He handed them to Richard Stevens and walked away.

Diane looked at him in surprise. "You bought three of my paintings?" "I have two more in my apartment." "I'm-I'm flattered." "I appreciate talent." "Thank you." He hesitated. "Well, you're probably busy, so I'll run-" Diane heard herself saying, "No. I'm fine." His smile widened. "Good. You could do me a big favor, Miss West." Diane looked at his left hand. He was not wearing a wedding band. "Yes?" "I happen to have two tickets for the opening of a revival of Noel Coward's Blithe Spirit tomorrow night, and I have no one to go with.