by Meg Tilly
“Mick.” Sarah smiled. Her warm gaze alighting on him made him feel like he was standing in the midst of a brilliant rainbow bathing him in love. He swore he could hear birds start chirping in the trees like some cheesy soundtrack. “What are you doing here?”
Mick suddenly felt a little foolish. What am I doing here? Sarah is obviously fine. “I . . . uh . . .” he said. “I had a feeling, was scared you were in danger, so I tore out of the police station like a madman, went to the hotel, Phillip’s office, and ended up here.” But instead of laughing at his imaginings, Sarah got misty-eyed.
“Mick,” she said. She stepped forward, and he wrapped her in his arms, no matter that her clothes were soaking wet, covered in mud, and she had a tea towel tucked in the neck of her blouse like a bib. She nuzzled her muddy face into his neck and inhaled deeply. “Thank you. You are such a sweetheart, racing here to try to save me. Did you hire that helicopter?”
“Yeah.”
She beamed at him. “You’re the best. I’m so glad you’re here. There is so much to tell you! So much has happened, but first”—Sarah gestured to the elderly woman behind her—“there are a couple of people I want you to meet. Mick, this is my auntie Jane. Jane, this is Mick.”
“Lovely to meet you,” her aunt said. Sarah’s aunt seemed to be a real sweetheart.
Sarah tugged his hand. “There’s someone else I need to introduce you to. Come inside.” Her eyes were sparkling like the brightest of sapphires, full of joy and love. And he didn’t want to tamp it down, but there were things she needed to know.
“Wait. Sarah.” Mick glanced over her shoulder down the hall. No telling where in the house Phillip was, but if his suspicions were founded, Sarah might be in danger. “We need to talk first.”
She looked bemused. “Out here in the rain? Wouldn’t it be nicer inside with a warm cup of tea?”
“It’s about Phillip,” Mick said. “I was at the police station and—”
A low moan escaped the older woman’s lips. “Oh no. What else has he done . . . ?” Her elegant posture had evaporated. Her chest was caved inward slightly, as if the weight of the world had descended upon her shoulders.
“I’m not sure, ma’am, but I . . .” Mick turned to Sarah. “I’m concerned,” he said, not wanting to worry the older woman unnecessarily. “I was thinking about last night. When the police first arrived at Vicki’s house, they took Kevin and me to different areas to question us. But I overheard a little. The man can yell pretty loud.”
“Tell me about it.” Sarah rolled her eyes.
“Anyway, sitting there in the police station after you left, a few questions started niggling at me with regard to Vicki.”
“I didn’t get a chance to tell you before you popped me in that taxi, but Detective Docherty told me she died at the hospital. They believe she was poisoned. They’re waiting to get confirmation from the lab.”
Mick nodded. “That ties into what I was thinking as well.”
Sarah’s aunt took a half step back, clearly stunned. “Vicki’s . . . dead? Oh, dear Lord . . .”
“I’m sorry, Auntie Jane,” Sarah said. “Everything happened so fast, I didn’t get a chance to tell you.”
“Oh no . . . Poor Vicki.” The elderly woman started to weep. “Phillip killed her, didn’t he? My husband was a monster. How could I have lived with him for all these years and not known the depths of his depravity?”
The woman was obviously very distraught. “I’m sorry, ma’am. Didn’t mean to cast aspersions. Nothing’s for certain. However, I did contact one of the detectives who are looking into the matter. They should be here shortly to speak with your husband. A few questions have popped up is all—”
“No.” Sarah’s aunt’s voice was bitter, but it carried the ring of conviction. “He killed Vicki, all right. Just like he murdered Ryan and Barbara in cold blood, and he would have killed Sarah if we hadn’t stopped him.”
Mick felt as if someone had poured a keg of liquid nitrogen over his head. Took a moment to unfreeze his brain, his ears, and his lips. “I’m sorry, what?” he said slowly. “Come again?”
“That’s what I wanted to talk with you about,” Sarah said. “Come inside where it’s warm. We’re having a cup of tea while we wait for the police to arrive.”
61
The mythical cup of hot tea never materialized. No sooner had they shut the front door than a plethora of cop cars squealed into the circular drive with their lights flashing and sirens wailing. When Sarah peered out the window, an officer’s voice came blaring over the PA system, ordering her to “step outside with her hands up.” She complied. However, Mick and Auntie Jane exited with her, complicating the matter. She didn’t know where to look. There were so many police officers. They were spread out, their guns yanked from their holsters and trained on the three of them. Another cop was in ready stance, supervising Mick’s helicopter pilot’s descent from the aircraft. The pilot nonchalantly swung out of the helicopter cabin as if gun-wielding police were a daily occurrence. “Are any of you armed?” The policeman’s voice boomed over the PA system, startling Auntie Jane, who emitted a little shriek, her hands fluttering like autumn leaves into the air.
“No,” Sarah said, her voice clear and strong. Determined not to be scared, to never cower before a member of the police force again. “None of us are.”
“What about you, sir?” came over the PA, as if Sarah’s answer was suspect.
“I’m unarmed,” Mick replied, all three of them keeping their hands in the air. “What is this about?”
“And you, ma’am?” the police on the PA asked, as if Mick hadn’t asked a question.
“No. I’m not packing a gun,” Auntie Jane quavered. Under normal circumstances, Sarah would have found that statement from her sweet little aunt hilarious. “Or anything else that could do bodily damage.” And suddenly Sarah’s mind flashed to Phillip’s body with its bashed-in head, and the humor of the situation vanished. She and Auntie Jane were in deep shit.
“We received a report that shots were fired at this location. Which of you fired the shots?”
“None of us fired any weapons,” Sarah replied. “Officer, we called 911. Maybe someone else called in as well—”
“Is the shooter inside?”
“No,” Sarah said. She refused to be scared even with all the saliva in her mouth having beaten a hasty retreat. “He’s in the back garden—”
“Secure the area,” the head cop yelled with a jerk of his head. Some of the cops started moving; others stayed where they were, guns still trained on the three of them.
“The shooter is—” Sarah started to explain, but the front doorknob rattled. “There’s a child inside. Please, put away your weapons. You’re going to scare her!”
“Get down on the ground,” the cop on the PA boomed. “Hands behind your head.” It was a little more difficult than it sounded, getting facedown on the ground with one’s hands in the air. Sarah managed, but she was pretty sure there were going to be colorful bruises on her elbows, and it was extremely uncomfortable given the recent burn marks on her stomach. Several cops had swiveled. Their weapons were now trained on the opening door.
“Please, I beg you, put your weapons away.” The police didn’t move from their ready stance. “Lilly!” Sarah called. “Shut the door. Stay inside!” She didn’t hear the door shut, but she was praying that Lilly hadn’t come outside.
“Mommy?” Lilly’s voice piped up. Sarah’s heart stopped. Oh God. Lilly is on the front stoop. And on the heels of that horror came an odd sort of joy. She called me Mommy. We didn’t have a chance to tell her. How does she know? But then Lilly padded over to Auntie Jane. “Mommy, why are you lying on the ground? Is this a game?” And then Lilly carefully lay down on the circular driveway between Auntie Jane—whose face was looking a little gray—and Sarah, and with an angelic smile, Lilly put her chubby litt
le child arms behind her head, too.
62
“I still can’t believe they didn’t arrest me,” Sarah’s aunt Jane said for the millionth time that week.
“If they had, Auntie Jane”—Lilly had picked up on the change of names and status with remarkable ease—“we would have come to visit you, and I’d have let you have my favorite blanket to comfort you so you wouldn’t be scared.”
Jane chuckled and covered Lilly’s little hand with hers. “You’re such a little character. Thank you, Lilly. Luckily, there was no need for such heroics.”
Mick looked at the faces of the people seated around the dining room table in the Four Seasons Gotham suite. Family, he thought. This is what it’s like to have a family. They were having a quick bite of pizza before heading out to the New York premiere of Retribution. Last week, after the police had vacated her home, Jane had fallen apart. Sarah had decided that it would be too anxiety-producing for Jane to stay in the Westchester home. “You’ll come back to the hotel with us,” Sarah had declared. “Mick, honey, call the hotel and sort something out.” So he had. They’d packed the helicopter to the gills and returned to Manhattan with Sarah’s daughter, Lilly, and her aunt Jane in tow. The amount of luggage that was required for Sarah’s aunt and one small child boggled the mind. On the LA side, turned out, Bob the intern was a cat person and was happily ensconced on the pullout sofa bed in Sarah’s apartment so Charlie wouldn’t have to acclimate to a new person and a new place.
For the first few days Jane had clearly been in shock. Mick didn’t blame her. In the course of an afternoon, Jane not only had killed her husband of almost forty years but also learned he had murdered her best friend. Add to the mix the murder of her best friend’s husband, the attempted murder of Sarah, and the possible murder of his secretary and lover for the last twenty-eight years . . . It was a lot to take in. Jane’s elder son, Daniel, had flown in with his wife, Kendra, on Saturday. Stephan, the younger son, arrived on Monday, which had helped enormously. They had rallied around Jane, shored her up, and dealt with the funeral arrangements. Burial. No service. Just Jane, her sons, Sarah, and Mick. Jane had been quite adamant that Lilly not attend. So, Flora, Lilly’s devoted nanny, took her to the Transit Museum, which was followed by a visit to A La Mode Shoppe for an ice cream sundae with all the fixings. After Phillip had been laid to rest, Jane seemed much better, as if a burden had been lifted from her shoulders. The color returned to her face, she wasn’t weeping anymore, and Mick no longer had to keep a fat wad of clean tissues at the ready.
“The police felt it was an open-and-shut case of self-defense,” Sarah said for the umpteenth time as she helped herself to another slice of oozy gooey burrata pizza. “You saved my life.” Mick folded his third slice of pepperoni and bit into the tomatoey, cheesy, spicy goodness. It’s true. New York pizza is the best. The crust has just the right amount of chew and crisp, a texture thing. He was glad Jane’s offspring had declined to join them for pizza and had gone to the restaurant downstairs for dinner. More tasty goodness for me. Mick had gotten Jane’s family tickets to the premiere, the after-party, and had arranged transportation, which gave them the freedom to come and go as they wished. Many people imagined these shindigs to be glamourous affairs, but generally it was just a lot of in-house schmoozing and boring as hell.
“I like pizza,” Lilly chimed in. The kid sure packed a lot of food into her small little body. She had single-handedly devoured almost an entire margarita pizza.
“Last night,” Jane continued. “As I was lying in bed, it suddenly crossed my mind that perhaps after Phillip had knocked you off, he was going to do away with me. Plant us both under that northern red oak tree.”
“I’m sure he wouldn’t have, Auntie Jane,” Sarah said firmly, but Mick knew her well enough to know she wasn’t so certain.
“I don’t know about that.” Jane shook her head. She thought about it for a moment and then shrugged, like it was of no more consequence than whether one preferred trout to bass. “By the way, I’ve decided I want a fresh start. I’m going to sell both the New York apartment and our home in Westchester.”
“They do say that you shouldn’t make any big life-changing decisions for the first six months after a death in the family,” Sarah said, handing Lilly the final slice of margarita.
“In normal circumstances, yes. However, I think this”—Jane swirled her hands in the air—“requires an entirely different approach. Those places are permeated with him, with memories, his things, his temper tantrums. It’s my turn now.” Jane dabbed her mouth daintily with her napkin and then stood, shoulders back, her chin held high. “I’m not going to wait another day to begin my life anew. I am going to get dressed to the nines and go to your fancy premiere. And I intend to enjoy myself. What a novelty it will be to socialize without feeling Phillip’s disapproving glare at my back, always kicking me under the table or jabbing his bony elbow into my ribs. I hated that. Never could relax. Always watching my words. As if he were the great arbitrator of what constituted appropriate conversation.”
“He was a mean old man,” Lilly said with a scowl, which was so ferocious it made everyone laugh.
The doorbell rang. “That will be Flora.” Sarah was still chuckling as she rose, crossed the room, and opened the front door of the suite.
“Flora!” Lilly hopped out of her chair. She ran over to her nanny and tugged on her hand. “Come on in. We’re having pizza!”
“I can see that,” Flora replied, laughing affectionately down at Lilly’s sauce-smeared face.
“We have plenty.” Sarah waved her hand toward the dining table laden with pizza boxes. “Help yourself.”
“Hi, Flora,” Jane said, dabbing her napkin against her lips. “Thanks for taking the train in.” She pushed away from the table. “Well, I’m off to get beautified for the big night. Wish me luck! After all that pizza, I hope I don’t have difficulty squeezing into that glorious dress Sarah made me buy.” Smiling happily, Jane blew Sarah and Lilly kisses, wiggled her fingers at Mick, and then disappeared into her bedroom.
* * *
* * *
“What are you grinning about?” Sarah asked as she stepped out of the shower and wrapped herself in one of the hotel’s big robes. He would need to purchase a couple of those robes to bring home, as the sight of Sarah in one conjured memories of the very first time they’d made love. The stitches in her hand had been removed that morning, and throughout her shower, she had kept up a running commentary about how wonderful it was to no longer have to wear the protective covering while bathing. How grateful she was that her abdomen was healing so nicely, and that she was finally able to withstand warmer water and what a blessing it was. And all the while his heart was full to overflowing listening to her happy chatter about all the good in her life, this woman, who had been to hell and back, talking about blessings. No wonder he loved her.
“What?” Sarah nudged him with her hip. “Are you laughing because I look goofy?”
“No.” Sarah was wearing a shower cap to protect her new haircut for tonight, but that wasn’t why he was grinning.
“You look too pleased with yourself,” she murmured, wrapping her arms around his waist from behind, nuzzling his neck. “You’ve got to be up to some kind of mischief.”
“I can’t tell you.” He turned from the mirror, where he’d been halfway through shaving.
“No secrets,” she said, tugging on his towel, both of them remembering what had happened the last time she’d done that. However, things were different. They were getting ready to go to his premiere and couldn’t be late. Lilly was sprawled on her belly in the next room playing a rousing game of old maid with Flora. “Tell me,” Sarah demanded as imperious as a queen, which just made him burn for her even hotter.
“Later.”
“No. I can’t wait until later, when your eyes are dancing with such suppressed glee. I’ll die of curiosity. And
besides, what if you forget what you were thinking about?”
“All right,” Mick said. “But I don’t want to hear any complaints about this later. Shut your eyes.” Sarah shut her eyes, a huge smile on her face, and Mick thought his heart would burst into a million pieces, he loved her that much. “Keep them closed until I tell you to open them.” She nodded, and there was something of Lilly in her face as she stood there, her eyes shut, trusting him totally. Mick opened the bathroom drawer and removed the ring box from where he had hastily stuffed it when he heard Sarah’s footsteps approaching the bathroom. Mashing the iconic Tiffany Blue shopping bag that held his other purchases as well. Earlier, when he had slammed the bathroom drawer shut, a tiny corner of blue got caught. He had quickly covered it with his knee. Once Sarah was in the shower, he had slid the drawer open a crack and crammed the telltale scrap of blue inside while Sarah’s back was turned.
“I heard rustling,” Sarah had said. And for the first time in his life, Mick knew what the joy and anticipation of Christmas felt like, and waves of gratitude welled over him and made his heart ache with joy and his eyes hot. He flipped the ring box open with his thumb as he lowered himself to one knee.
“Open your eyes,” he said softly.
She opened her eyes. “Oh . . . oh . . . oh . . .” Sarah whispered softly, bouncing up and down, her hands to her mouth almost as if she were in prayer.
“Sarah Audrey Rainsford, you have lit up my world. What was once a palette of grays and beige now has every color of the rainbow and then some. I never knew what love was before you. I’d never known it was possible, and yet I find myself so very deeply in love with you. I love you more than breath itself. And I am hoping and praying that you will be willing to do me the great honor of accepting my hand in holy matrimony?”