Her head was pounding. She poured herself a glass of water and downed a Valium from the high cabinet next to the sink, trying to shake off the feeling that someone was watching her.
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12
Blaire was on the way back to the Four Seasons from Gordon’s when Kate called. By the time she got to the house, Kate looked frantic, dark circles under her eyes.
“Kate, what’s going on? I got here as fast as I could.”
Blaire didn’t miss the large black bruise on Kate’s cheek, but before she could ask about it, Kate grabbed her hand and pulled her toward the stairs.
“It’s an email on my desktop upstairs. I’m waiting for Detective Anderson to call me back. Come on.” Kate held on to the railing, wincing as she favored her left leg.
“What happened to your face, and why are you limping?” Blaire asked as she followed behind.
Kate stopped and turned. “I fell off my horse yesterday.”
“What?” Blaire exclaimed.
Kate sighed. “It was stupid. Simon and I were riding, and Napoleon got spooked. He threw me.” He waved her hand. “I’m fine. Just a bruised ankle.”
“Thank God you’re okay. You have to be more careful!” Blaire wanted to tell her she was crazy for going out riding alone with Simon, but she didn’t know how Kate would react.
When they reached the office, Kate plopped down into the chair. Blaire leaned over her shoulder to look at the screen.
“What . . .” Kate trailed off. “It was right here. It’s gone!”
Blaire leaned in to look at the screen. “What do you mean, it’s gone?”
“I mean it’s not there.” Her voice rose, hysteria edging it. “How could it just disappear?”
“I don’t know. Check the trash. Maybe you deleted it?” Blaire suggested calmly.
Kate frantically looked through her deleted emails. “Nothing. I can’t believe this! It was an audio file. ‘Pop Goes the Weasel,’ but the words were about me. ‘Dead goes the doctor.’ ”
“Okay, okay. Deep breath.” Blaire gave Kate’s shoulder a firm squeeze as she took a deep inhale herself and let it out slowly, a model for Kate to follow. “Let’s go back downstairs and see if you can write down what you remember.”
Kate turned and put her hand over Blaire’s, squeezing it as she got up from the desk.
When they got to the kitchen, Blaire saw Kate’s hand shaking as she pulled a pen and pad from the drawer. The landline rang, and Kate hesitated before answering it. “Hello?” She listened to the voice on the other end. “You saw it too? Okay, thank you.” As she hung up, she said, “Detective Anderson is on his way back.”
“It’s late. Where’s Simon?” Blaire asked.
“He had a business dinner tonight. I tried calling him, but he’s not answering.”
Business dinner my ass, Blaire thought. But she wanted to let Kate worry about one type of threat at a time—or maybe, at least only worry about one person at a time—while she dug in further to the nature of Simon and Sabrina’s relationship.
They sat across from each other, and Blaire tried to think of a way to ease into what she had to say. “Listen, Kate. You know I told you I was going to start doing my own research for the case?”
Kate nodded.
“Well, I went to Gordon’s tonight under the guise of hiring him.”
“You went to his house?” Kate asked, her brows raised. “I’ve never even been there.”
“Yeah. I told him I could only meet at night. I wanted to get a look around.”
“Oh-kay.”
“Someone vandalized his car while I was there, and he left me alone, which gave me the chance to snoop around.”
Kate leaned forward with a furrowed brow. “You searched his house?”
“Don’t worry. Gordon will never find out. The important thing is what I found.”
“What was it?” Kate asked, her voice almost a whisper.
Blaire tapped the photo icon on her phone and handed the device to Kate. “This.”
Kate took it from her, and all the color drained from her face. “What is this?” she breathed.
“Pictures of you.”
Kate’s hand flew to her mouth. “He’s been following me around?” She flicked through the images. “These were taken in the summer. I’m wearing a sleeveless top here. And this one is just a few weeks ago. He’s been doing this for months . . .”
“There were hundreds of photos in a file. I only had time to take pictures of a few. He’s got all kinds of equipment too, cameras, telephoto lenses . . .” Blaire wished she’d been able to look through all of them.
Kate handed the phone back to Blaire. “How could I not have noticed him following me around? Am I really that unobservant?”
Blaire patted her hand. “He could have been really far away, with the equipment he has.”
Kate shook her head. “Still, I never noticed someone watching me . . . Do you think he’s the one? Could he have killed my mother?” Her breath was ragged, and her hands were shaking.
“I don’t know. He’s obviously still obsessed with you, but I don’t see why he’d want to hurt Lily. Could he have been stealing money from the trust?”
Kate shook her head. “No, he doesn’t have enough control of it on his own. Besides, he doesn’t need it. His family is very well off.” She shuddered. “This is like that crazy project he did years ago. The one I told you about.”
“I think you’d better tell Anderson about it, too.”
As if she’d conjured him by saying his name, the detective walked into the kitchen through the swinging door. He nodded at Blaire and then turned to Kate.
“The email disappeared from our computer as well, but we did download the audio file before it disappeared.”
Kate was shredding a napkin in her lap. “That horrible voice. And the chorus—dead is the doctor.” She looked at the detective. “How could it just disappear?”
“There are services that allow you to send self-destructing emails. Our tech department will contact your email provider to see if the email can be found on their server. This is the email for your foundation, correct?”
Kate nodded. “Yes, it’s easily found online.” She paused a moment and then spoke again. “Detective, my father is not tech-savvy at all. I hope you’re still working hard on looking at other suspects.” Her voice had a hard edge.
What was she talking about? Blaire gave her a quizzical look.
Anderson merely nodded. “Of course. We’ll continue to make sure to get screen shots and recordings on our end.”
Blaire had never seen Kate look so haunted, at least not since Jake’s death. It was clear she was shaken to the core.
Blaire drew her gaze from Kate and turned to the detective. “I have something to tell you as well.” She felt uncomfortable under his scrutiny, watching his eyes narrow. “Gordon Barton has been taking pictures of Kate without her knowledge for months. Hundreds of them. I saw the folder at his house tonight.”
“How did you happen to see them?”
She shrugged. “He stepped out of the house for a moment, and I took a look around his office.”
Anderson scowled. “You have no business snooping around people’s things. That’s a good way to get hurt.”
Blaire felt like saying, If you were better at your job, I wouldn’t have to.
Kate bit her lip. “This type of thing is not unprecedented with Gordon.”
Anderson frowned. “Can you elaborate on that?”
“It was a long time ago. We were just kids. But back when I was in eighth grade, he showed me a photography project he was working on. He’d used a telephoto lens to take pictures of his neighbors in their houses.”
Anderson raised his eyebrows. “What kind of pictures?”
Kate shook her head. “Not those kinds of pictures. Nothing sexual or inappropr
iate. But . . . just normal goings on—people cooking, watching television. He called it something like Urban Mundane.”
Anderson heaved a sigh and shook his head. “How old was he?”
“Fifteen, probably?”
“Socially aberrant behavior like that often escalates. I’m very concerned to hear that he’s been following you around.” He looked at Blaire. “I’m going to need you to sign an affidavit confirming what you just told me, so we can get a warrant to search his house. In the meantime, I’ll assign an officer to watch him, and we’ll take another look at his alibi.”
“I’m firing him immediately,” Kate said. “I don’t want him anywhere near me. I’ll have his partner take over until we can find another firm.”
“Please don’t do that just yet. I don’t want you”—he stopped and leveled a stare at each of them—“either of you, to say a word to anyone about this, especially him. If Mr. Barton is our man, we don’t want to alert him. He could get rid of evidence before we’ve had a chance to search his house. We’ll get the warrant as soon as possible.”
“Fine,” Kate said. “But once you have the evidence, he’s gone. I don’t care how far back our families go.”
Blaire cleared her throat. “I think Gordon is a creep, but I don’t see what he would gain by killing Lily. Besides, if he’s obsessed with Kate, why would he want to hurt her? It seems more likely he’d go after Simon.”
Anderson gave her an appraising look. “You don’t know what kind of sick logic people have. Just stay away from him. Both of you.”
Blaire wanted to bring up Simon, but she knew it wasn’t the time. She chose her words carefully. “What about Sabrina? She’s an old family friend of Simon’s, right, Kate?” She looked at Kate. “She’s made it clear you’re not her favorite person.”
Color rose to Kate’s face, and Blaire couldn’t tell if she was embarrassed or angry. “I don’t know,” Kate began. “I mean . . .” No one spoke as the implication filled the air. Kate turned to look at Anderson. “I’ve told you a little about her. Again, I’m not sure why she’d go after my mother.” She fidgeted in her chair before she spoke again. “I’m wondering . . .” She stopped, and Anderson gave her a questioning look.
“There was a car accident the summer of my junior year in college. We’d been at a party.” Kate hung her head. “My boyfriend was killed.” She looked up at Anderson. Anyway, I’ve felt like his parents always blamed me. They came to Mother’s funeral. I was surprised they were there. They live a couple hours away now, in Pennsylvania. Do you think they could have something to do with this, that they might want revenge?”
“You said this happened when you were in college?”
“Yes.”
“That was what? Fifteen or more years ago?”
Kate nodded.
“It’s highly unlikely someone would wait so long to exact punishment, but if you give me their names, I’ll check it out. I’ll let you know if I think you have cause for concern.” He stared back at Kate, his expression inscrutable. “I’m glad you told me about them, because you never know.”
A chill went through Blaire.
“That’s the problem. I’m beginning to trust no one and think everyone is possibly the murderer,” Kate said, clearly exasperated and exhausted.
Anderson nodded slowly. “Everyone is.”
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13
After Anderson left, Kate tossed and turned, finally falling asleep a little past midnight. Even the Valium wasn’t helping. And then the dream came back. She was driving up, up, up to a steep bridge that became almost vertical, her nausea growing the higher the car went. Then she reached the top, and the car perched precariously, tipping back and forth until it was propelled forward and she was plummeting, faster and faster, toward the hard pavement.
The dream had once come almost every night, but she hadn’t had it in years, not after all the therapy and work she’d done to deal with her anxiety.
She called Blaire. “The dream came back.”
There was a sigh on the other end of the phone. “Oh, I’m sorry. It’s no wonder, though. Do you want me to come over now instead of waiting till dinnertime?”
“Yes, but no. Dad’s coming over this morning, and we have to go over some estate business.” She didn’t want to fill Blaire in on Anderson’s crazy suspicions.
“Okay. In the meantime, why don’t you try some meditation? Try and clear your mind.”
Kate heard Annabelle’s sweet voice calling as she ran down the hallway to Kate’s room. “Mommy, Mommy,” she yelled, and came tearing into the room, jumping onto the bed. Hilda was right behind her.
“I’ve gotta call you back,” she told Blaire and disconnected.
“It’s all right, Hilda. Time for some cuddles. I’ll bring her down for breakfast in a bit.” She wanted Annabelle all to herself.
Hilda smiled and nodded. “Good. She loves her mommy time. I’ll go downstairs and make some oatmeal. Would you like some too?”
“No, I’m fine. Thank you, though.” She turned to Annabelle. “Come here, you little monkey.” Kate plopped onto the bed and pulled her daughter into her arms. For the next ten minutes, as they wrestled and laughed, she forgot about all the danger and uncertainty surrounding her.
Hilda knocked on the door and stuck her head in. “Would you like me to get Annabelle dressed now?”
“I want to put on my bathing suit,” Annabelle said.
“It’s too cold for swimming, pumpkin. How about some snuggly pants and a sweater?” Kate suggested.
Hilda reached for Annabelle, and Kate reluctantly handed her over. She pulled a warm sweatshirt over her T-shirt and followed the tantalizing aroma of brewing coffee to the kitchen, pouring the steaming black liquid just as Hilda came into the room with Annabelle. A few moments later, Harrison arrived.
“Granddaddy!” Annabelle cried when she saw him come in.
“Good morning, my little peach. How are you today?”
“I was going to go swimming, but Mommy says it’s too cold.”
“I’m afraid she’s right. I have to talk to Mommy for a little bit, but how about if we play Candy Land afterward?”
Annabelle pouted for a moment and then solemnly nodded. “All right.”
“Good. Now sit down and finish your breakfast,” Kate said, then stopped and stared at her daughter. She turned to Hilda. “Where did you get that sweater? I’ve never seen it before.”
Hilda shrank back at the accusation in Kate’s voice, and her brow creased. “From her drawer.”
Kate felt a chill go through her. It was a green Christmas sweater with the words “Mice Scream for Ice Cream” stitched below a little mouse in between two red-velvet ice cream bars. The red in the bars reminded Kate of blood, and the mice immediately brought to mind the ones in her bathroom.
“Take it off her!” Kate insisted.
Annabelle started to cry.
“Kate, take it easy.” Harrison picked Annabelle up and hugged her. “Sweetheart, Mommy needs to see your sweater.”
“I don’t wanna take it off! I like it!”
“I’ll be right back,” Kate said, and she ran to Simon’s office and burst in. He was typing on his laptop.
“Did you buy Annabelle a Christmas sweater with a mouse on it?”
He looked up. “What? No.”
She was keyed up, out of breath. “It was in her drawer. Hilda put it on her this morning. Come see.”
He followed her back to the kitchen, but Annabelle and Hilda were gone.
“Where’s Annabelle?” Kate demanded.
Her father walked over and put his hands on her arms. “Hilda took her upstairs to get her changed, like you told her to.” He walked over to the island and picked up the sweater. “Here.”
She grabbed it from him and shoved it at Simon. “Look. Don’t those ice cream bars look like blo
od? And the mice . . . ? This was in her room! That maniac was in our daughter’s room!”
Simon looked at the sweater and then back at Kate. “Kate, your mother gave this to her. She brought it over right after Thanksgiving, and you said something about her starting Christmas early this year, remember?”
Kate was seized by fresh grief. Images of her mother that day, her arms full of packages, saying “Wait till you see the darling things I picked up for Annabelle,” flashed through her head.
Kate had told her Christmas was only a few weeks away, and suggested Lily wait to give the packages to Annabelle then.
Lily had thrown her hands up. “These are clothes for Christmas. And besides, no child wants clothes on Christmas morning. Look at this dress!” She’d held out a red-and-green-plaid dress. “Won’t she look precious?”
She’d bought so many things, Kate must have missed the sweater. She’d have to apologize to Hilda for her outburst. Taking a deep breath, she looked at her husband and father. She was hot with shame at having reacted that way.
“I’m sorry. I guess I’m just a bundle of nerves. You must think I’m nuts.”
Simon gave her a sympathetic smile. “Of course not. We’re all on edge. It’s okay.”
His kindness endeared him to her for a minute, but she still couldn’t let her guard down.
“If you’re okay, I think I’ll head back to my office, all right?”
She nodded and turned to her father. “Well, now that that’s settled,” she said, trying to lighten the mood. “How about we go to the family room? There’s a fire going. Would you like a coffee?”
“I’d love one.”
The room was large, but with several intimate seating areas, it still felt cozy, with its warm oriental rugs and river stone fireplace. Over the mantel hung a Turner landscape, a work that had been in Kate’s family since the 1800s.
“I always enjoy this room,” her father said, walking to the floor-to-ceiling windows.
He headed to the deep cushioned sofa facing the fire and sat at the far end from Kate, casually resting his arm on its back. Kate looked at her father’s strong profile, the nose that was straight and proud. His dark hair had never lost its thick waviness, but the gray had taken over when he was in his early fifties. He was a great bear of a man, and she pictured her parents dancing together as they often did, her mother like a slim goddess in his muscular arms. He took a sip of coffee and placed the cup on the table in front of them. “So.” He turned to look at her. “You sounded upset on the phone last night. What is it you wanted to talk about?”
The Last Time I Saw You Page 11