by Nora Roberts
“I feel like I'm not in control.” It was a feeling he remembered too well from his Jack Daniel's days and one he didn't care for. “Something's going on, and I need to …” His words trailed away when he spotted a car pulled off the road into the trees. “Stay in the car,” he murmured. “Doors locked, windows up.”
“But I—”
“You slide over in the driver's seat. If it looks like trouble, I want you to peel out. Go for Bud or Mick.”
“What are you going to do?” He leaned across, unlocked the glove compartment, and took out a gun. “Oh, my God.”
“Don't get out of the car.”
He left her, moving quickly, quietly. She understood exactly what it meant to have your heart in your throat. She couldn't swallow, could barely breathe as she watched him approach the dark car.
He glanced at the plates and memorized the number. He could see figures inside the car and movement. Just as he reached the door, there was a woman's high-pitched scream. He wrenched open the door and found himself pointing his .38 at a man's naked ass.
What was taking so long? Clare wondered. Why was he just standing there? Orders or no orders, she had a hand on the door handle, ready to spring out to his aid. But he had turned away from the parked car and seemed to be talking to a tree. She was nearly faint with relief when Cam started back.
“What happened? What did you do?”
Cam put his head down on the steering wheel. “I just broke up, at gunpoint, the copulation of Arnie Knight and Bonny Sue Meese.”
“You—oh, God.” With her hands still pressed to her mouth, Clare began to laugh. “Oh, God. Oh, God.”
“You're telling me.” With as much dignity as he could muster, Cam started the car and headed for home.
“Were they just fooling around or really, you know?”
“You know,” he muttered. “You could call it coppus interruptus.”
“Coppus. I like that.” She threw her head back, then instantly sat up again. “Did you say Bonny Sue Meese? But she's married to Bob.”
“No kidding?”
“Well, that sucks.”
“I can now guarantee that she does.”
“That's disgusting, Rafferty Bob doesn't deserve to have his wife out in some other man's car at two o'clock in the morning.”
“Adultery isn't against the law. That makes it their business, Slim.”
“I wish I didn't know.”
“Believe me, seeing it is a lot worse than just hearing about it. I'm never going to be able to look Arnie in the face again without seeing …” He began to laugh, saw Clare's expression and choked it off. “Sorry.”
“I happen to think it's sad. I talked to Bonny just the other day, and she was showing off pictures of her children and talking about drapery fabric. I don't like knowing that all that domestic bliss was just a front so she can sneak out and screw around with Arnie. I thought I knew her.”
“People aren't always what they seem. That's just exactly what I'm having to deal with. Besides, I probably just scared the fidelity back into Bonny Sue.”
“Once you cheat, you can't take it back.” She rolled her eyes. “Christ, I sound self-righteous. A few weeks in this town and I start thinking everything should be a Norman Rockwell painting. I guess I wish it could be.”
“Me, too.” He slipped an arm around her. “Maybe, with a little luck, we'll come close.”
Chapter 23
CLARE MADE THE TRIP to the hospital at least three times a week. Usually she found Lisa's brother, one of her parents, or a friend sitting with her. But the last person she'd expected to find stuffed into the chair beside the bed was Min Atherton.
“Clare.” Lisa smiled. Her injured eye was unbandaged now, and though it was puffy and red, there was no permanent damage. Her leg was still propped in the mechanical cast, with the second surgery scheduled for the second week in June.
“Hello, Lisa. Mrs. Atherton.”
“Nice to see you, Clare.” But Min looked disapprovingly at Clare's choice of jeans for a hospital visit.
“Mrs. Atherton came by to deliver some flowers from the Ladies Club.” Lisa gestured to a copper pot filled with spring blooms. “Aren't they lovely?”
“Yes, they are.”
“The Ladies Club of Emmitsboro wanted to show Lisa that the town cares.” Min preened. The flowers might not have been her idea, but she had fought tooth and nail for the right to deliver them. “Why, we're all just sick about what happened. Clare will tell you that we're a quiet town with traditional values and decent morals. We want to keep it that way.”
“Everyone's been so kind to me.” Lisa winced as she moved, and Clare walked over quickly to rearrange the pillows. “Your Dr. Crampton drops by to see how I am and just to talk. One of my nurses is from Emmitsboro, and she comes in every day—even on her day off.”
“That would be Trudy Wilson,” Min said, nodding.
“Yes, Trudy. And of course, there's Clare.” She reached out for Clare's hand. “Someone from the market sent me a basket of fruit, and the sheriff has been here over and over. It's hard to believe this ever happened.”
“We're shocked,” Min said breathlessly. “I can tell you that each and every person in our town was just shocked and appalled by what happened to you. Why, we couldn't be more upset if it had happened to one of our own girls. Doubtless it was some crazy person from out of the county.” She studied Lisa's open box of chocolates and chose one. “Probably the same one that killed Biff Stokey.”
“Killed?”
Clare could cheerfully have pushed Min's face into the chocolates. “It happened weeks ago,” Clare said quickly. “It's nothing for you to worry about.”
“No, indeed,” Min agreed and helped herself to another chocolate. “You're safe as a bug here. Just as safe as a bug. Did I mention that my husband and I made a sizable donation to this hospital a few years ago? Quite sizable,” she added over a coconut cream. “They put up a plaque with our names on it. This is one of the finest institutions in the state. Not a thing for you to worry about while you're here. And there are some who say Biff Stokey got what he deserved, though I don't hold with that view. Being a Christian woman. Beat him to death,” she said, and it was hard to say if the relish in her voice came from the information or the chocolates. “It was a gruesome and horrible thing.” She licked a bit of cherry syrup from her finger. “The first murder in Emmitsboro in nigh onto twenty years. My husband's very disturbed about it. Very disturbed. Him being the mayor and all.”
“Do you—you think it could have been the same person who attacked me?”
“That's for the sheriff to find out.” Clare sent Min a warning look, but the woman just smiled.
“Yes, indeed. We're mighty pleased to have Cameron Rafferty back. 'Course, he was a wild one as a boy. Racing around on that motorcycle and looking for trouble.” She laughed and plucked up another piece of candy. “Finding it, too. Why I know there was some who figured he'd end up on the other side of the bars. Can't say I didn't have some concerns at first, but it seems to me if you're looking for a troublemaker, it makes sense to put another on the scent.”
“Cam's had over ten years′ police experience,” Clare said to Lisa. “He won't—”
“That's true,” Min interrupted. “Worked down to D.C. Had some trouble down there, I believe, but we're pleased to have him back. Emmitsboro's not like Washington. I watch the Channel Four news every night and just shudder. Why, they have a murder down there every blessed day, and here we are with only one in twenty years. Not that we don't have our share of tragedy.”
Pop went a butter cream into her continually working mouth.
“I don't think Lisa wants to—”
“I'm sure the child can't help but be interested in our sad times,” Min interrupted. “Clare would be the first to agree about our tragedies, the way her father had that terrible fall some years back. And just last year, the little Meyers boy drank that industrial cleaner. Lost five youngsters five
years back in a car wreck—not that it was anyone's fault but their own—and old Jim Poffenburger fell down his cellar steps and broke his neck, of course. All for a jar of watermelon pickles. Yes, indeed, we have our tragedies. But no crime.”
“It was so nice of you to drive all the way up here,” Clare said firmly. “But I know what a busy schedule you have.”
“Oh, I do my duty.” She patted Lisa's hand, and her fingers were sticky. “We girls have to stick together. When one of us is attacked, all of us are attacked. The Ladies Club isn't only concerned with bake sales and raffles.”
“Please tell the rest of your group how much I appreciate the flowers.”
“I'll do that for sure. I'd best be going back to put supper on. A man likes a hot meal at the end of the day.”
“Give the mayor my best,” Clare told her.
“I will.” She picked up her white patent leather purse. “I've been planning on dropping by, Clare.”
“Oh?” Clare pasted a smile on her face.
“Now that your … friends have gone back to New York. I didn't like intruding when you had company.”
“That's very considerate of you.”
“I must say, I was glad they didn't stay longer. You know how people talk.”
“About what?”
“After all, dear, that woman is black.”
Clare gave Min a blank look. “No, really?”
Sarcasm skimmed over Min's head like a balloon. “As for me, I haven't got a bigoted bone in my body. Live and let live, I say. I even had a black girl from over in Shepherdstown come in to do my house once a week last year. Had to fire her for laziness, of course, but that's neither here nor there.”
“You're a regular humanitarian, Mrs. Atherton,” Clare said tartly.
Min beamed at the praise. “Well, we're all God's children under the skin, after all.”
“Sing Hallelujah,” Clare murmured, and Lisa had to hold back a chuckle.
“But as I was saying, I was going to drop by to talk to you. The Ladies Club would like you to speak at our monthly luncheon.”
“Speak?”
“About art and culture and that sort of thing. We thought we might even be able to get a reporter down from Hagerstown.”
“Oh, well …”
“If you're good enough for the New York Times, you're good enough for the Morning Herald.” Min patted her cheek. “I know how important publicity is, being a politician's wife. You just leave it all up to me. Don't you worry about a thing but wearing a pretty dress. You might go by Betty's and let her see to your hair.”
“My hair?” Clare ran a hand through it.
“I know how you artists are—bohemian and all, but this is Emmitsboro. Fix yourself up and talk a little about art. Maybe you could bring a piece or two to show off. Might be the paper would take pictures of it for you. Come by the house Saturday, about noon.”
“This Saturday?”
“Now, Clare, you remember the Ladies Club has their luncheon the first Saturday of every month. Always has, always will. Why, your mama was chairwoman three years running. Don't be late, now.”
“Yes—no—”
“You'll be just fine. Now, you take care of yourself, Lisa. I'll come back and see you real soon.”
“Thank you.” Lisa waited until Min had departed before grinning. “Maybe I should call a nurse.”
Clare blinked. “Are you feeling sick?”
“No, but you look as though you've been run over by a truck.”
“In a pansy dress.” On a long breath, Clare plopped into a chair. “I hate ladies′ luncheons.”
Lisa laughed. “But you're going to get your picture in the paper.”
“Well, then.”
“She's quite a … woman,” Lisa said.
“Emmitsboro's first lady and resident pain in the ass. I hope she didn't upset you.”
“No, not really. She just wanted to gossip. The business about the murder….” Lisa looked down at her leg. “I guess it should make me realize how lucky I am.”
“Dr. Su's the best.” At Lisa's lifted brow, she continued. “I checked him out. If anyone can get you back in pointe shoes, he can.”
“That's what Roy says, and my parents.” Lisa smoothed the sheet. “I can't think that far ahead, Clare.”
“Then don't try.”
“I'm a coward.” She smiled a little. “I don't want to think about tomorrow, and I keep trying to block out yesterday. Before Mrs. Atherton came in, this chant kept playing over and over in my head. I tried not to hear it, even though I knew it might mean something.”
“A chant.” Clare reached for her hand. “Can you tell me?”
“Odo cicale ca. Zodo … zodo something. Gibberish. But I can't get it out of my mind. I guess I'm worried something got knocked loose in my brain and the doctors haven't found it yet.”
“I think it's more that you're remembering something. Parts of something. Have you told Cam?”
“No, I haven't told anyone yet.”
“Do you mind if I tell him?”
“No.” Lisa lifted her shoulders. “For whatever good it might do.”
“The MacDonald girl is beginning to remember things.” Mayor Atherton dipped his fork delicately into his hot apple pie. “Something may have to be done.”
“Done?” Bob Meese tugged at the collar of his shirt. It was too tight. Everything was too tight. Even his boxer shorts were binding him. “It was dark. She didn't really see anything. And the sheriff, he's watching her. Real close.”
Atherton paused and smiled benignly at Alice when she came over to refill his coffee cup. “The pie is excellent, as always.”
“I'll pass that on. Be sure to tell Mrs. Atherton that those flowers the Ladies Club planted in the park are pretty. A nice touch.”
“She'll be glad you like them.” He forked up another bite of pie, waiting until she moved to her next table. Absently, he tapped his foot to a Willie Nelson number. “We're not yet sure what she saw,” he went on. “And the sheriff is hardly a genuine worry.”
Bob took a sip of his coffee and fought to swallow it down. “I think—that is, some of us think, that things are getting a little out of hand….” He stumbled to a halt, struck dumb by the flash in Atherton's eyes. Cold fire.
“Some of us?” Atherton said gently.
“It's just that—it used to be …” Fun was the word Bob was groping for, but it seemed miserably inappropriate. “I mean, it was just animals, you know. There wasn't any trouble. There was never any trouble.”
“You're too young, perhaps, to remember Jack Kimball.”
“Well, no. I mean, that was just before my time. But in the last year or two things have started to change.” Bob's gaze darted around the room. “The sacrifices—and Biff. Some of us are worried.”
“Your fate is in the hands of the Master,” Atherton reminded him mildly, as he might remind a recalcitrant student to complete an assignment. “Do you question Him? Or me?”
“No—no. It's just that I—some of us were wondering if we shouldn't ease back a little, let things calm down. Blair Kimbal's been asking questions.”
“A reporter's curse,” Atherton said, with a gentle wave of his hand. “He won't be here long.”
“Rafferty will,” Bob insisted. “And once it comes out about Sarah—”
“The whore got what she deserved.” Atherton leaned forward, his expression pleasant. “What is this weakness I see? It concerns me.”
“I just don't want any trouble. I got a wife and kids to think of.”
“Yes, your wife.” Atherton settled back again, dabbed his lips with a paper napkin. “Perhaps you'd be interested to know that your Bonny Sue is fucking another man.”
Bob went dead white, then beet red. “That's a lie! A filthy lie!”