The sound of something exploding ricochets off the walls upstairs and reverberates over the arched beams above our heads.
This ceiling might not hold.
Gaze shifting from Dean to Colleen, and to her belly, I make the choice, knowing it’ll haunt me for the rest of my life. I sling my arm around Colleen’s back and help her up the stairs, staggering, supporting her weight, praying the stairs hold long enough for us to escape. I’m not going to be able to carry her far. The flames are hellish in the kitchen. Wheezing and tightening the blanket around my mouth with one hand, I guide Colleen into the living room with the other. She grips my shoulder painfully tight and hobbles through the scorching heat.
Once we’ve burst out into the clean, sweet, fresh air, sirens wail in the distance. Ice-cold rain carried by wind gusts smack into my face and soothe the heat that’s burrowed into my skin. A safe distance away, the media van sits at the curb, and someone jumps from its sliding door, camera in hand. I hope they were already recording; I would hate to have done all that for nothing.
As I hear parts of the house splinter and collapse behind us, I realize we need to get far away, fast.
“Come on,” I say, holding most of Colleen’s weight. “We’re almost there.”
“Thank you…” She doubles over, coughing. “You saved me. You’re an angel.”
“Thanks.” If I wasn’t coughing myself, I would laugh. The sirens are closer now. “Real help is on the way.”
We reach the edge of the grove, and the acrid scent of mud stings my nose. As we collapse to the ground, soaked and stunned, I realize we’re on top of Joanna’s grave.
I wonder if any of us will ever be free from the series of lies and tragedies that led us here. As I watch Ravenwood burn with a blood-red glow, I think I know.
DETECTIVE SHAW
Sipping my coffee outside Colleen’s hospital room, I watch Michael scoot his chair closer to her bed and cling to her hand while she sleeps. I hate this place—Karen and I spent too much time here. The sterile aroma of bleach and latex gives me the creeps and dredges up my worst memories.
Michael was released this morning, all charges dropped, and we’ve spent the last day waiting for Colleen to recover enough to give us all the details about what happened.
“I’m surprised you haven’t rubbed my nose in it,” Patel says from beside me. He’s blowing on a cup of steaming cafeteria sludge. “I guess I’ll say it first: you were right, and I was wrong. Michael Harris was innocent.”
“We’re too old for told-you-so games, but…” I bury my smile in a drink. “Told you so.”
I check the time. A little after four in the afternoon. Colleen’s only woken up for a few brief moments, just long enough to smile each time she gets a look at Michael.
“He’s been asking what happened,” I say. “It’s time we tell him.”
Patel nods and rises. He tosses his coffee cup and strides into the room without an invite. “Knock, knock,” he says.
“Please don’t wake her.” Michael looks up, the purple smudges beneath his eyes indicating he hasn’t slept. “It’s good for the baby that she rests as much as possible.”
“Let’s step outside, then.” I motion toward the hallway outside her room. “We won’t take up too much of your time.”
He lowers his head to her hand and plants a kiss on her pale knuckles, then follows us into the hall.
“Did your lawyer inform you of what’s been going on?” Patel asks.
“Not really.” Michael shoves his hands in his jeans. “He just said I was free to go, and Colleen was here. I came as fast as I could.”
“Your girlfriend suffered a traumatic incident,” Patel says dryly. “She’s lucky to be alive.”
At the mention of her name, we all look into Colleen’s room.
“Although she’s been in and out of consciousness since she arrived here,” my partner goes on, “the recording she had on her phone, along with Rachael’s testimony, gave us a good picture of what happened. I’m sure she’ll share all the details when she’s feeling stronger, but from what we can piece together, Dean Lewis murdered your wife. It sounds like jealousy drove him to it. Apparently he and Joanna were having an affair, and he couldn’t handle the fact that she wouldn’t run away with him.”
“Dean killed Joanna?” Michael shakes his head. “No. Not possible.”
“Afraid it’s true,” I respond. “Your wife’s wedding ring was found in one of the cabinets in his parking garage. There were a few shovels in there as well. We’re waiting on DNA results, but we’re fairly certain we’ve found the murder weapon.”
Michael blinks at me, disbelieving.
“We still have to fill in some holes,” Patel continues. “Dean Lewis’s body was discovered in the wine cellar of your home. There was a near-lethal dose of sedatives in his veins. Looks like he and your girlfriend got into some kind of scuffle. Maybe she confronted him with what she suspected and he knew he had to silence her. The gist of it is that he had some kind of a psychotic break and fell down the stairs. Cracked his head on the tile. Knocked him out cold. When Rachael saw the smoke and came in to rescue your wife—”
“Rachael?” Michael repeats, seemingly having trouble catching his breath. “Rachael pulled Colleen from the fire?”
Patel’s eyes shift to mine, as if to ask which one of us should handle this part.
“That’s right. Rachael said she was on her way to San Francisco when she realized she’d forgotten something at home. She turned around, drove back, and noticed the smoke. It’s too bad she didn’t arrive sooner. Another few minutes might’ve made the difference in saving your home.”
“My lawyer told me about Ravenwood,” Michael says grimly.
“You can always rebuild,” I offer, though I know it’s not helpful. Patel and I had visited the smoking ruins that morning. There wasn’t much left. “We’re still waiting for the fire department to determine the cause, but they’re pretty sure it started in the kitchen.”
“None of that matters now,” Michael says, and I believe him. “I don’t give a damn about Ravenwood, or the property, and I don’t give a damn about Dean—not if he did what you say he did. The doctors say Colleen has some bruising, and her leg is broken, but other than that, she and the baby are going to be fine. That’s the most important thing.” He pauses, and then asks, “How’s Rachael? Is she okay?”
“They admitted her overnight, as a precaution,” I answer. “She left earlier today. No major injuries, but she’s spooked.”
“Pulling your friend out of a fire—and having to leave somebody else behind—might do that to you,” Patel interjects.
“She gave us a number for us to reach her if we had any questions,” I add. “From what I understand, she’s left her husband. She’ll be staying in the city for now.”
Michael blows out a shaky breath. I swear he appears twenty years older than the day we met.
“So, what now?” he asks, staring into her room.
“We’ll finish our investigation, tie up any loose ends,” I say. “They’ll keep Colleen here for observation, to make sure the baby is safe. Then you both can get out of the spotlight for a while.”
He glances up at me, then smiles. His whole face seems to light up. “Then if we’re all settled here, I’m going back to my girlfriend.”
He shakes our hands—mine first, then Patel’s—and walks away.
“Murderer overdoses, takes a spill down the stairs, knocks himself out, and a fire takes care of the rest,” Patel grumbles. “Can’t get much cleaner than that.”
“Well,” I begin.
“What?”
“There’s still the question of why Joanna got her tubes tied. Why do something that drastic and not tell her husband? Or her lovers?”
“Why do
women do anything?” Patel laughs. “Who cares, anyway? That has nothing to do with why she was killed.”
“Maybe. But what about that necklace? Where’d it come from? Why’d Joanna have it around her neck if she wasn’t the religious type?”
“That again?” Patel groans. “Maybe the counselor gave it to her, maybe she stole it. Doesn’t matter. There aren’t many cases that tie up as neatly as this one did. Let this necklace thing go or it’ll drive you crazy.” He pats me on the back and heads down the hall toward the exit. “Speaking of crazy, did you ever finish that Rubik’s Cube?”
“No, not yet,” I admit, keeping pace with him through the lobby. “Every side is finished except for one, and no matter what I do, one square in the corner won’t line up.”
Patel breaks into another laugh. “Maybe one day you’ll figure it out. But today, buddy, you’re buying lunch to celebrate my new promotion.”
MICHAEL
As Colleen’s eyelids flutter, and then finally open, I slide to the edge of my chair and squeeze her hand.
“Hey,” I whisper. “How are you feeling?”
She licks her lips and bats her eyes as if she’s having trouble keeping them open. “Better. Are the detectives gone?”
“Yeah, it’s just you and me now.” I kiss her cheek, her nose, and wish I could hold her in my arms. “You were so brave, baby. So brave.”
Swallowing hard, she tries to sit upright. I arrange the pillows behind her and use the remote to tilt the bed. She winces, holding on to her side. “How long have I been here?” she asks, her voice so weak that my heart aches.
“Long enough. I’m ready to go home.” I squeeze her hand again. “What about you?”
She nods. Her eyelids droop, and for a moment I think she is going to sleep again. “But they said…Ravenwood…we don’t have a home to go back to.”
“Shh,” I say, stroking her cheek. “Home is anywhere we say it is. For now, it’ll be a hotel in the city, but soon we’ll find a new home—one that fits our new family perfectly.” I had been stunned and hurt to read about Joanna’s procedure in the autopsy report, but it proved that I never would’ve had a family with her. She’d deliberately robbed me of that. Now, with Colleen, I can change everything. “I don’t want you worrying about anything anymore. All that matters is that you and our baby are safe.”
She smiles faintly, closing her eyes. “Say that again.”
“All that matters is that you and our baby are safe.”
A tear rolls down her cheek. “You have no idea how much I’ve done—how much I’ve hoped and prayed that we’d be able to move forward. I love you so much, Michael….”
Wiping the tear away with my thumb, I swallow down the ache forming in my own throat. “I love you, Coll. Everything’s going to be all right.”
“It’s going to be better than all right,” she murmurs. “Our story will have the perfect ending.”
“It’s our beginning,” I agree, and kiss her. When I finally pull away, she’s smiling at me with more happiness than I could possibly deserve.
But when she reaches up to touch my cheek, she winces. “The doctors told me I’m going to have to take it easy for a while,” she says. “I’ve been thinking—I know I wasn’t keen on the stay-at-home-mom role before, but I think I’d like to give it a try. I think that I’d like to raise our baby full-time. Would that be okay, Michael?”
“Nothing would make me happier,” I assure her. “I’m so glad we’re on the same page.”
“What do you mean?”
As I brush my fingers over her hand, I perch on the edge of her bed. “I assumed you wouldn’t want to come back to work once we had the little one, so I hired someone to take your place.”
At that, she frowns. “What—you mean at the office?”
“I have a new personal secretary. She said she knows you, actually. Recognized you from a picture on my desk. She said she worked with you at your previous job, and that last summer, my company was all you talked about.”
All the color drains from Colleen’s face. “Who?”
“A girl named Tiffany. I think she’s going to be a perfect fit.” I pause. “But, sweetheart, why didn’t you ever tell me you worked at a women’s clinic?”
COLLEEN
“In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit.” I dab two fingers to my forehead. Center of my chest. My left shoulder. My right. “My last confession was in July, six months ago. Before I begin, I need to ask you something, Father.”
He lowers his head toward the screen dividing us. “Of course.”
Outside the confessional, the church is filled with attendees for Joanna’s funeral. I can hear people speaking in low, grieving voices. A few seconds ago, I slipped out of the pew, telling Michael I needed a moment to myself, and my heart hasn’t stopped pounding since.
“Is it true that you are bound, as a man of the cloth, to keep my confession secret, no matter the sins I’ve committed?”
“I am,” he says.
“Even if they’re mortal sins?”
“Mortal sins are a deadly offense against God, but He will forgive every sinner who is truly sorrowful. The sinner must confess, complete penance, and set a firm resolution not to commit the sin again.”
“I see.”
“If you are ready to repent, rest assured the sacramental seal is inviolable. Sins confessed to me still remain between you and the Lord—I am merely the vessel you will use to cleanse your spirit. Now, what sins have you committed that you would like to share with the Lord?”
I take a deep breath, inhaling the scent of oil and candles, and try to meet the gaze of the priest sheltered behind the screen. I can’t see his face, only the wispy white hair that falls down the sides of his head, and the deep crease lines etched around the corners of his eyes and mouth. Outside the confessional, another priest begins a prayer for Joanna to comfort everyone who loved her. I cringe at hearing her name.
“Lord forgive me, I have committed three sins,” I confess softly. “The first way I’ve displeased God is by lying. During the application process at my job at a clinic, I used my mother’s maiden name rather than my own. It was a rash attempt at reinvention, to forge a new identity after running from a man who didn’t treat me well. I didn’t want him to find me, and I thought—well, I thought it’d be easy to become someone else. Like shedding one skin and trying on another.”
“And what consequences came from executing this sin?”
“I never heard from him again,” I say, satisfied. “I’d done what I set out to do: eliminate him from my life. But after a couple months, my boss at the clinic started asking questions. I hadn’t thought the details through. By the time he confronted me, though, I’d already committed my second sin.”
As the priest crosses one leg over the other, the wooden bench groans beneath his weight. “Which was?”
I wring my hands together in my lap. “Coveting my neighbor’s wife. Only she wasn’t technically my neighbor, and it wasn’t she that I coveted, but her husband. She was my very first patient when I was training to be a therapist. This woman had everything I’d ever wanted, right in the palm of her hand: wealth, beauty, a perfect husband. But she didn’t appreciate any of it.”
The mourners mumble “Amen” as one voice.
“Envy is one of the seven deadly sins,” the priest whispers, “but it’s not a mortal one.”
“Yes, Father, but I haven’t finished.” I pause, glaring at the screen. “She lied to her husband, cheated on him, took him and the lifestyle he gave her for granted. Then she deceived him in the worst imaginable way: she made certain she could never get pregnant again. She committed these sins without remorse, and acted against my advice. It wasn’t just envy that drove me to take action—Father, she deserved it.”
“Oh, my child—”
“That’s my third sin, Father. I took from her what she took from him: God’s precious gift of life.”
“Let me make sure I understand,” the priest whispers, after a stunned silence. “Are you saying the mortal sin was—”
“Murder.” I refrain from smiling as our baby tumbles inside me. “And now I’m giving her husband what he deserved all along—a perfect wife and a perfect child.”
He mumbles something—a sick, hoarse sound—and then squirms in his seat and clears his throat. “My child, taking a life is the most grievous of sins. God takes these offenses very seriously.”
Someone is speaking at the podium about Joanna, and the voice echoes off the walls of the church. I hear Joanna’s name again and again, and I can’t wait for the day when they stop celebrating her.
“I understand, Father, but it had to be done, and God made it easy to execute. The woman trusted me. I advised her at the clinic for weeks. On the day of her last appointment, July sixteenth, I stole two bottles of medication from her purse while she went to the restroom. When she returned, I asked her to meet me to talk outside of the clinic. As friends. Of course, I had other plans.”
Someone begins playing “Amazing Grace” on guitar, and everyone sings along. I swear I hear Michael’s voice rising above the rest.
“She suggested an evening stroll through a cypress grove in Point Reina, and I told her I’d bring coffee. I spiked hers with enough Valium and Vicodin to kill her—because that was what had been prescribed to her, you see. Everyone would believe she overdosed, and that’d be the end of it. I took an Uber to meet her. We walked at dusk, winding through the trees along the dirt trails. She’d given the clinic a false name, but that night, she told me the truth about her identity, her real name, and Michael’s too. We sipped our coffee together on the trail overlooking the ocean. At the time, I had no idea I’d been standing mere feet away from the place I would lovingly call home.
In Her Shadow Page 31