by Lisa Jackson
She clicked off, furious. Nope. She wasn’t going to let him get to her. Not now, when the stakes were so high. Oh, Lord, Bethany.
Drawing a breath, she threw a last glance at the fading moon and set her jaw. She’d known it from the beginning. She was going to have to kill him.
Chapter 24
Rory awakened to morning sunshine streaming through Liam’s bedroom window and the faint intermittent buzz of a number of texts showing up in her phone. She checked her cell and saw the messages were from Charlotte, clearly with Darlene’s help:
Good morning Mommy!!!! the first one read, along with a string of emojis.
The second was, I love YOU!!!!, more emojis.
And the third was simply: Come home soon
She checked the time and saw it was almost eight, then looked over at Liam, who was still sound asleep. No wonder. Tired as she was, they’d made love twice before she’d fallen asleep, and then once more right before dawn, where she’d initiated it by running her fingers along his jawline, reveling in the stubble, waking him up. In the glow of city lights through his window, his lazy smile had brought one to her lips as well. After that, they’d come together with kisses and touches and slow-building desire.
But now they had to go.
Duty and reality called.
“Wake up,” she whispered in his ear.
One of his eyes opened and then, as the second lid raised and he focused on her, he grinned. Over a yawn he asked, “What time is it?” and stretched, dragging the covers from her.
“Eight. Well, actually eight-oh-seven if you want to be precise.”
“Are you always this sassy in the morning?”
“Precise. I’m just precise.”
“Yeah, right.” Another yawn. “I turned my phone off.” He rubbed a hand over his face, waking. “Didn’t think I’d sleep this late.” He glanced at her again, as if finally realizing that they were together in his bed after a night of lovemaking. He grinned wickedly, then reached out and caught one of her curls, smoothing it between his finger and thumb. “Good morning,” he said.
“Good morning to you.” Then seeing a glint of desire in his eyes, she eased off the bed and headed to the shower. She really didn’t have time for anything . . . but she glanced over her shoulder, caught him watching her naked backside, and couldn’t help herself. She gave a quick lift of her brows and it was all the encouragement he needed. He bounded out of bed to join her.
* * *
Half an hour later, shaved, showered, and dressed, Liam joined her in the bedroom, where she was searching through her suitcase, pushing clothes aside. “I’m sure I packed my makeup. I wouldn’t have left it.”
“You don’t need it.”
“I think I should maybe try to cover the bruises.”
“You’re beautiful the way you are.”
“And you’re full of it. I could scare someone with the way I look. Aha! There you are.” She set the makeup kit aside and, rocking back on her heels, eyed his extra closet where’d he kept her clothes. “You got room? For . . . y’know, a few more of my things?”
Sitting on the end of the bed, tying on a shoe, he nodded. “Yeah. Sure. Do it.”
She grinned at him, walked to the closet, reached in and moved a couple of pairs of jeans to one side, then stopped to pull out the letter-size manila envelope she’d seen the first time she’d rifled through her own clothes. “What’s this? I noticed it the other day.”
Liam drew a sharp breath, finished tying his shoes and said, “Wedding pictures.”
“You mean, from the day—” She dropped them onto the floor as if they’d burned her.
“Yeah. The photographer captured the moments right before the shooting while we were all waiting for you . . . and a few afterward, I think, before he knew what was happening. I gave copies to the police, but those are mine. . . ours.”
Her eyes rounded. “Do they show . . . Aaron?”
“I haven’t looked at them in years, but yeah. Afraid so. I think there’s one or two of him. On the ground. Already hit. My father falling. The photographer quit taking pictures almost immediately, so they’re not . . . visually horrific. They’re just . . . knowing how it all turned out, they’re hard to look at.”
“Okay.” She couldn’t take her eyes off the envelope, now that she knew what was inside.
“Here,” he said, walking over to her. He picked up the envelope and slid the photos out onto the top of the dresser, glossy photographs catching that fateful moment in time. Rory stood rooted to the spot, forcing herself, though her body wanted to recoil. Carefully, she reached a hand out and moved aside the top picture: one of Liam, Derek, and the minister waiting at the end of the petal-strewn aisle. The photographer was at the opposite end of the aisle from the would-be altar, and the next photo encompassed all of the crowd. Vivian in her yellow dress and hat. His father moving down his row toward the aisle. Then Geoff in the aisle, talking to Liam. The next was of Aaron’s back, and another shot of him, but farther away as he’d traveled down the aisle.
Rory paused, her stomach tight. In the next photograph, Aaron had dropped to the petal-strewn ground and Geoff was standing with a surprised look on his face, his mouth an O. The next two pictures caught the father of the groom falling while the crowd looked around frantically, heads turned in different directions.
“My God,” Rory whispered. She took several steps backward and sank onto the end of the bed, collapsing as if her bones had melted.
“I know.”
Tears filled her eyes, but the images remained burned into her brain. She couldn’t speak for a second, but then felt some relief, that finally she’d been able to glimpse those frantic, mad moments that had changed the course of their lives forever. “I’m glad I saw them,” she said, as he quickly scooped them up and put them back in the envelope.
“Yeah?”
She nodded and swiped at her tears. “I needed to see. I just . . . I don’t get why it happened.”
“Pete DeGrere did it for money.”
“But whose money?”
Liam shook his head. “The police have been working on that for years. They checked all our bank accounts, but nothing. No big withdrawals.”
“They checked my mother’s, too.”
He swept up his phone from the nightstand. “So, unless someone took out smaller bills over a long time, it wasn’t anyone we’re related to.”
So there they were, back to the beginning again with all the same unanswered questions. “Who then? Cal? It just doesn’t—”
“Holy Mother of God,” Liam whispered, cutting her off as he stared at his phone’s screen.
“What?” Rory’s head snapped up. She was on her feet in an instant, trying to see what had caused the cords on the back of his neck to appear and his color to drain. “Liam?”
Scrolling through his texts, he let out his breath. As he turned on the ringer, his cell rang in his hand. Clicking on, he said in a shaking voice, “Derek? God, what the hell happened?”
Though Liam was holding his phone to his ear, she heard the rumbling, excited tone of his brother’s voice, though she couldn’t make out what he was saying. “Slow down,” Liam said, his voice a harsh whisper, his jaw set as he pressed “speaker” and then:
“. . . trying to get hold of you! Police are going to be at your door! Van Horne’s on the news, blaming you! Says you killed her!”
“What?” Rory whispered, clasping her hand over her chest. “Who?” Then she knew. “Bethany?”
Liam was struggling to process. “When—did this—”
“Middle of the night. Threw herself off her balcony. Just like our jumper!”
Liam was shaking his head in denial, staring at the phone as if he didn’t believe the words his brother was speaking. “But that Teri Mulvaney, her death was a homicide. You heard Mickelson. Forensics said—”
“Hell, Liam, who knows? They could be wrong! Or not. I don’t know. None of us even knew the woman at the construct
ion site. But Beth is different. We all know—er, knew—her.”
“Amen to that,” Liam said.
“Look, you and I both know that Beth was distraught over Rory showing up again. And about you breaking up with her. Man, she thought she was going to marry you.”
Rory cringed at the words, the thought that Bethany had actually been so morose as to take her own life.
“She wasn’t suicidal.” Liam was pacing the length of the bedroom, the cell phone held in front of him.
“I don’t know that. You don’t know that. Maybe she did do it. Her father thinks so.”
“He thinks she committed suicide? I thought you said—”
“He blames you for breaking it off with her! Says that’s the reason she killed herself!”
“Oh, God. My God.” Rory’s knees would barely hold her. She sank onto the bed again and cursed herself for ever running from the wedding or returning. Whatever she did turned out badly and someone died. But Beth?
“She was angry when I last saw her. Not distraught . . . Beth’s not like that. She’s—”
Bang, bang, bang.
Rory jumped at the sound of a fist hitting the door of the penthouse. “The police,” she said aloud.
“That your door?” Derek asked.
“Yeah.” Liam was already out of the bedroom and Rory was on his heels. Derek said, “Get that. Whoever it is. Call me back. Jesus Christ . . .”
Liam clicked the off button and headed for the front door. He could scarcely think. He peered through the peephole, then said to Rory, “Brace yourself. Derek was right.” He opened the door and Detectives Grant and Susskind filled the outer hallway. Homicide detectives.
“I just heard about Beth,” he said. His voice sounded strange, even to his own ears. “Derek called. My brother said it was suicide.”
His phone rang in his hand again. He recognized Mick Mickelson’s number.
“We’d like to talk to you about Ms. Van Horne’s death. Can we come inside?” Grant asked. There was no trace of comraderie in his manner any longer.
Liam shook the cobwebs from his mind. “Sure, yes, but . . .” He looked back at Rory. “I need to run an errand. Take my wife back to relieve the babysitter and take care of our daughter. Can I meet you at the station in . . . about an hour?”
Grant nodded and Susskind said, “Since you already know that Ms. Van Horne is deceased, can you tell me where you were last night?”
“Here. First at my parents’ house with all of my family, and then Rory and I came back here.”
Susskind’s eyes slid to Rory. “We came right here after the meeting.”
“And what time was that?”
“I don’t know, but it was dark. After nine,” Liam said. “Look, just give me a little time and I’ll come to the department.”
“Fine,” Grant said. “An hour.” Liam wondered if the two men were going to tail him, if they seriously thought he would have had anything to do with Beth’s death.
Grabbing his keys off a nearby table, Liam couldn’t help but ask, “You’re with the homicide department. I thought it was . . . my brother said it was suicide.”
Susskind answered, “We’ll go over it all at the station.”
“Okay.”
Liam shut the door behind the detectives as they left, and stood in shock for a moment. Rory was holding herself up by one hand on the edge of the kitchen counter. “What’s going on?” she asked. She looked as if she might crumple. “Beth? Oh, God, why Beth?”
“I don’t know.” He crossed the area between the hallway and kitchen and wrapped his arms around her. “But we’ll get through this.”
“Are you sure? I mean suicide? Because of you and me? Or else she might have been murdered? You’re right. They were homicide detectives.”
“Shh. It’ll be okay,” he said, knowing he was lying. “Maybe this is all wrong. Maybe it was just a horrible, unfortunate accident.”
“You don’t believe that,” she said, her breath hot through his shirt.
She was right; he didn’t believe it for a second.
* * *
“Call him again,” Shanice said. They’d taken separate rooms at a local Holiday Inn and were sharing coffee and croissants at another food cart. Mick had been on the phone with Zach Pitman about Bethany Van Horne’s gruesome death, which was all over the news. He’d gotten as many details as his friend could supply. Now he was trying to reach Liam Bastian.
“He’s not picking up.” He finished his coffee and crumpled the cup in a fist. “Bet Homicide’s with him.”
“Zach said it was definitely a homicide.”
“Zach said nobody knew jack shit yet, but Van Horne’s father is a man possessed. He blames Liam Bastian, alternately wants the police to arrest him, and then wants to talk to him himself. He’s at St. Vincent’s. Heart palpitations.”
“Call Bastian again,” she repeated, tossing her empty coffee cup into a nearby receptacle.
Mick did as she suggested, and once again got Liam Bastian’s voice mail. “I’m not leaving another message.”
“What do you think about her death?” This was also a question Shanice had voiced several times.
“What I don’t think it is, is suicide. Pitman said Van Horne was upset about her breakup with Bastian, but he didn’t see any signs that she was going to do anything drastic. Neither did her mother, who is at the hospital with Mr. Van Horne, barely holding it together herself. Bethany was their only child.”
Shanice shook her head. “So, if it’s homicide, who did it?”
“Well, let’s figure that out. First, I want to go down to the station and make a pest of myself. Get Homicide to listen to me. You with me?”
“Mick, being a pain in the ass is what I live for.”
“We might get thrown out.”
She offered up a thin smile, showing a bit of even white teeth. “Gotta be more than that to scare me.”
* * *
At the Bastian estate, Charlotte rushed out to meet their car and her unbridled joy brought tears to Rory’s eyes again. She brushed them away and put on a bright smile—well, it was a weak smile but she gave it her all. Darlene, in flowing pants and an orange peasant blouse was right behind her granddaughter, making sure of her safety.
“Hey, bug,” Rory said, sweeping the little girl into her arms, squeezing her and laying a big kiss on her cheek.
Charlotte wriggled in her mom’s arms. “We have breckfuss. Come on!” She wanted down immediately, so Rory put her back on the ground and Liam walked up to her. “Hey, Char,” he said, half kneeling to look the little girl in her face.
“My name’s not Char!” She glared at him as if he’d grown horns.
“Not into shortening her name,” Rory explained.
“Charlotte it is,” Liam said, and the little girl narrowed her eyes at him, taking stock because he’d been with her mother.
“We have breckfuss!” she announced, then shot back toward the house, past an older car with a missing bumper. Candace’s, Rory surmised as Darlene hurried after the disappearing child.
“She’s precocious,” Rory explained.
“Don’t know where she gets that,” he said, trying to lighten the mood when they both were preoccupied with Beth’s death. Standing on tiptoe, she kissed him on his cheek. “Hang in there.”
“You, too. I’ll see you later. I don’t know how long it’ll take, but I’ll be in touch.”
“Looks like I’m getting breckfuss and you’re not.”
He managed a faint smile. “I’ll find something.”
He kissed her on the lips, a long one, then slid into the open door of his Tahoe, closed his door and took off. Trying not to dwell on Beth’s death or the pictures she’d seen of Aaron’s murder on the day of her wedding, Rory followed Charlotte and Darlene inside. At the kitchen door, Darlene suddenly hesitated.
“Grandma? Grandma!” Charlotte called.
“Be right there, honey,” Darlene yelled back.
&n
bsp; She grabbed Rory by the arm and pulled her into an alcove near the dining room, but Rory said, “I know about Beth, Mom. Derek called Liam.”
“It’s been terrible. Stella and Vivian, and Geoff, too. We’re all stunned. Can’t believe it.”
Rory heard Candace’s voice from the kitchen and asked, “When did Candace get here?”
“Almost from the moment we heard. Vivian left in a panic to see Javier. She uses every opportunity to throw herself at him, apparently, though she can never take those children with her anywhere.” She heard herself and pressed a hand to her mouth. “That was mean. I think I must be channeling Stella. She’s in a state, too.”
“Where is she?”
“In her rooms. She’s actually going to see her doctor, who seems to have open office hours when it comes to the Bastians. But, oh, maybe that’s for the best,” she said, checking over her shoulder, peering through the open door to the kitchen but finding no prying eyes. In a lowered voice she said, “I think she needs some medication. Something to calm her down. She and Geoff, they just don’t seem to ever communicate or get along.”
This, from the wife of Harold Stemple, Rory thought ungraciously.
“And right now . . . Geoff’s in his den, at least I think he’s still there. He went into his study early and hasn’t come out.” She drew a shaky breath. “My Lord, the tragedies that surround this family! Rory, there’s an aura here that I haven’t felt before. And it’s not good. Not good.”
“It’s called grief, Mom.”
“No, it’s something more. Seriously, Rory, I’m worried. I think we should take Charlotte and leave as soon as possible.”
“Leave this house?”
“Yes!” Darlene looked over her shoulder again.
“Well, I’m with you there. I don’t really want to stay here. You were the one that wanted me to reconnect with Liam.”
“Was that a bad idea?” she challenged.
“No. It was a good idea, actually,” Rory said. “It’s just, I’d like to be out from under their . . .”
“Thumbs?”
“Watchful eyes.”