The FBI Thrillers Collection

by Catherine Coulter

  Savich pulled her very gently into his arms, settling her on his lap. Dr. Chu never released her left hand. Lily lay against him, her head on his shoulder. She felt Sherlock’s fingers lightly stroking her hair. She drew a deep breath and said, “I remember so clearly slamming head-on into that poor redwood, thinking in that split second that the redwood had survived at least a hundred years of violent Pacific storms but it wouldn’t survive me.

  “I remember hearing the blaring of the horn, so loud, like it was right inside my head. And then there just wasn’t anything.”

  She pulled back and smiled, a beautiful smile, clean and filled with self-awareness and hope. “Now, this is a very strange thing, Dillon. The brakes didn’t work. Did someone try to kill me?”

  Since Dr. Chu was still holding her hand, Lily wasn’t frightened. Actually, she felt good all the way to her toes. Her smile didn’t fade a bit with those awful words.

  “Yeah,” Savich said, looking directly into her eyes. “Probably so. Isn’t that a kick?”

  “Now,” Dr. Chu said, “let’s just go back and see how it happened that you ended up in the hospital with all those sleeping pills in your stomach.”

  Lily felt peaceful and excited at the same time. “Yes, let’s go back.”

  6

  Hemlock Bay, California

  “All right, MAX, whatcha got?”

  Sherlock walked over, looked down at the laptop screen. “Oh, dear, he’s not doing anything. You don’t think he’s becoming MAXINE again so soon, do you, Dillon? He’s in a mood?”

  “Nah, MAX is still a he, and he’s just concentrating. He’s going to turn up something for us.”

  “You hope.”

  “MAX just shuddered a bit. That means he’s digging deep. Is Lily asleep?”

  “Yes, I just checked on her. She didn’t want a pain pill. Said she didn’t need it. Isn’t that amazing?”

  “Lily told me that a doctor who could make her feel good without hurting her was sure an improvement over a husband who can’t. She said she still feels better for having met her.”

  “Since Dr. Chu didn’t hold our hands, we’ll have to work out our stress at the gym. Too bad.” Then Sherlock laughed. “Remember when she asked Dr. Chu to marry her? That was good, Dillon. She wants out of this mess.

  “Now, according to Mrs. Scruggins, Tennyson will be home in about two hours. She told me she’s making a vegetarian dinner just for you—her special zucchini lasagna, and an apple-onion dish that she assured me would make you hum and help you keep your, er, physique perfect. I think she’d like to see you on a calendar, Dillon. What do you think?”

  Savich just laughed, then smacked MAX very lightly on his hard drive with the palm of his hand.

  “Not going to commit yourself, are you? Okay, she’s got a big crush on you, Dillon. I think it struck when she saw you in your T-shirt this morning, your pants zipped up but not fastened. There was lust in her eyes when she said your name. She had her hands clasped on her bosom. That’s a sure sign of palpitations. She wants you.”

  Savich cocked a dark eyebrow at his wife. “Don’t go there, Sherlock, it scares me too much.”

  She thought about how she felt whenever she saw him in a T-shirt—or less—and didn’t doubt Mrs. Scruggins’s fast-beating heart one bit. She lightly touched her fingertips to the back of his neck and began to knead.

  MAX beeped.

  “He’s jealous.”

  “No, that was a burp. Well, maybe he’s telling me he’s distracted, what with you draped all over me.”

  Sherlock leaned down to kiss the back of his neck, then just grinned at him as she did some stretching. “It really is time for the gym. Do you think there’s one here in Hemlock Bay?”

  “We’ll find one. Tomorrow morning, if Lily’s still feeling fine, we’ll go get the kinks out and lower our stress levels.”

  She stretched a bit more, rubbing the back of her neck. “You think Tennyson was giving her pills to make her depressed, don’t you? You think he changed the pills back, just to be on the safe side since her big brother Fed was here.”

  “Sounds good to me. After Dr. Chu couldn’t get anything conclusive about Lily’s so-called attempt to commit suicide right after Beth’s funeral, I’m thinking that maybe she never tried to kill herself at all.”

  “It was strange how Lily sort of remembered, but she didn’t really. If she didn’t do it, then it had to be Tennyson, and that was the bastard’s first try. They’d been married all of four months, Dillon. That’s incredibly cold-blooded. It makes me really mad. Let’s prove it so we can pound him.”

  “We’ll try, Sherlock. Here we go. Good work, MAX.”

  Both of them read the small print on the screen, as Savich slowly scrolled. A couple of minutes later, Savich raised his head and looked up into Sherlock’s blue eyes.

  “Not really all that much of a surprise, is it? So, our Tennyson was married once before, just like he told Lily. Only thing is, he didn’t bother to mention that his first wife committed suicide only thirteen months after they’d tied the knot.”

  Savich hit his palm against his forehead. “I’m an idiot, Sherlock. I shouldn’t have given him the benefit of the doubt, shouldn’t have respected his privacy. Some brother I am after that bastard first husband of hers. After Jack Crane, I should have opened every closet in his house, checked his bank statements for the past twenty years. You know something else? All I had to do was flat-out ask Tennyson just how his first wife died.”

  “He probably would have lied.”

  “It wouldn’t have mattered. You know I can tell when someone’s lying. Also, I could have done then what I’m doing now. My holding back, my respecting Lily’s decision, could have cost Lily her life. I want you to flay me, Sherlock.”

  Sherlock was twining one curly strand of hair round and round her finger, a sure sign she was upset. He immediately took her hand between his two large ones. She said, “I’d just as soon flay myself, Dillon. Do you think Lily would still have married him if she’d known that the first wife killed herself?”

  “We can ask her. You can bet she’ll be asking herself the same question, over and over. But the thing is that this is now, and her eyes are wide open. Eleven months ago she believed she loved him, thought she’d found a really wonderful father for Beth. If Tennyson had told her, she’d probably have felt sorry for him—poor man—losing his wife like that. She probably would have married him anyway. If I’d told her, it probably would have pissed her off, she’d have resented me, and she would have married him.”

  “Okay, so no flaying. You know, Dillon, sometimes we women do think with our hearts, not like you men, who think with your…well, that’s better left unsaid, isn’t it?”

  He grinned up at her. “Yep, probably so.”

  “All of it was an illusion. Look, the first wife—her name was Lynda—was rich, Dillon, had a nice, fat trust fund from her grandfather. Oh, my, she was only twenty-five.”

  “Ah, just read this, Sherlock.” Savich stroked his fingers over his jaw and added, disgust thick in his voice, “That immoral bastard. It usually comes down to money, doesn’t it? Daddy got himself into a mess and so his son tries to bail him out. Or maybe it was both of them in the mess up to their necks. That sounds more likely.”

  “Yes,” Sherlock said. “It’s so mundane, really, just a couple of greedy men trying to get what they want.”

  Savich nodded as he read to the end of MAX’s information. He sat back a moment, then said, “It seems very likely to me that Tennyson killed his first wife as well as trying to kill Lily. Was Daddy in on it with him? Very likely. Doesn’t matter. I don’t want to take any more chances. I want Lily out of here. I want you to take her to that very nice bed-and-breakfast we stayed at once in Eureka. What was it?”

  “The Mermaid’s Tail, just off Calistoga Street. It’s late fall. Tourist season is over so they’ll have room. What will you do?”

  “I’m going to have a nice vegetarian dinner w
ith Tennyson. I love lasagna. I’m going to see if I can get him to admit to anything useful. I really want to nail him. I’ll join you and Lily later.”

  He rose and pulled her tightly against him. “Take MAX with you. Keep after him to find out all he can about Daddy Frasier’s efforts to get that public road built to the lovely resort spot on the coast he’s so hot to build. Without the state legislature passing it, the project would be doomed. He’s having trouble. Maybe they ran out of bribery money.”

  “Don’t forget the condos he’s planning, too—Golden Sunset.”

  “Yes, lots of potential profit from those as well. Elcott Frasier has lots and lots of bucks already invested. I wonder if they ran into more roadblocks. Maybe that’s why they wanted Lily out of the way. They were in deep financial trouble again. Now, let’s get you guys packed up and out of this house.”

  But Lily didn’t cooperate. She was awake, she still didn’t hurt very much at all, and she was very clearheaded. She smacked her palm to the side of her head and announced, delight and wonder in her voice, “Would you look at me—I’m not depressed. In fact I can’t imagine being depressed. Nope, everything inside there is rattling around clockwise, just as it should be.”

  They were in the hallway outside her bedroom. Lily was dressed in loose jeans and a baggy sweater, hair pulled back in a ponytail, no makeup, hands on hips, reminding Savich of his once sixteen-year-old sister who stood tall and defiant in front of their parents, who were dressing her down but good for her latest bookie scheme. “No, Dillon, I won’t just turn tail and leave. I want to read everything MAX has come up with so far. I want to speak to Tennyson, confront him with all this. It’s my right to find out if my husband of eleven months married me only to kill me off. Oh, dear. There’s a big problem here. Why would he do it? I don’t have any money.”

  “Unfortunately, sweetheart,” Savich said, his voice very gentle, “you are very rich. All us kids tend to forget what Grandmother left us.”

  “Oh, my Sarah Elliott paintings. You’re right, I forget about them, since they’re always on loan to a museum.”

  “Yes, but they’re legally yours, all eight paintings, willed to you. I just e-mailed Simon Russo in New York. You remember him, don’t you? You met him way back when he and I were in college.”

  “I remember. That was way back in the dark ages before I started screwing up big time.”

  “No, you were screwing up then, too,” Savich said, lightly punching her arm. “Remember that point spread you had on the Army-Navy game? And Dad found out that you’d gotten twenty dollars off Mr. Hodges next door?”

  “I hid out in your room, under your bed, until he calmed down.”

  They laughed. It sounded especially good to Sherlock, who beamed at both of them. Lily depressed? It was hard, looking at her now, to believe that she’d ever been depressed.

  Lily said, “Yes, I remember Simon Russo. He was a real pain in the butt and you said yeah, that was true enough, but it didn’t matter because he was such a good wide receiver.”

  “That’s Simon. He’s neck-deep in the art world, you know. He got back to me right away, said eight Sarah Elliotts are worth in the neighborhood of eight to ten million dollars.”

  Lily stared at him blank-faced. She was shaking her head. “That’s unbelievable. No, you’re pulling my leg, aren’t you? Please tell me you’re kidding, Dillon.”

  “Nope. The paintings have done nothing but gain in value since Grandmother died seven years ago. Each of the four grandchildren got eight paintings. Each painting is worth about one million dollars right now, more or less, according to Simon.”

  “That’s an enormous responsibility, Dillon.”

  He nodded. “Like you, I think the rest of us have felt like we’re the guardians; it’s our responsibility to see that the paintings are kept safe throughout our lifetimes and exhibited so that the public can enjoy them. I remember yours were on loan to the Chicago Art Institute. Are they still there?”

  Lily said slowly, rubbing her palms on the legs of her jeans, “No. When Tennyson and I married he thought they should be here, in a regional museum, close to where we lived. So I moved them to the Eureka Art Museum.”

  Savich said without missing a beat, “Does Tennyson know anyone who works in the museum?”

  Lily said very quietly, “Elcott Frasier is on the board of the museum.”

  “Bingo,” Sherlock said.

  • When Tennyson Frasier walked through the front door of his house that evening, he saw his wife standing at the foot of the stairs, looking toward him. She watched his eyes fill with love and concern. But it didn’t take him long to realize that something was up. He sensed it, like an animal senses danger lying in wait ahead. His step slowed. But when he reached Lily, he said gently, as he took her hands, “Lily, my dear, you are very pale. You must still be in pain. After all, the surgery wasn’t long ago at all. Please, sweetheart, let me take you up to bed. You need to rest.”

  “Actually, I feel fine, Tennyson. You needn’t worry. Mrs. Scruggins has made us a superb dinner. Are you hungry?”

  “If you’re sure you want to eat downstairs, then yes, I’m hungry.” He sent a wary look to his brother and sister-in-law, who had just walked into the entrance hall from the living room. “Hello, Sherlock, Savich.”

  Savich just nodded.

  “Hope you had a good day, Tennyson,” Sherlock said and gave him a sunny smile. She hoped he couldn’t tell just yet that she wanted to strangle him with his own tie.

  “No, I didn’t actually,” Tennyson said. He took a step back from Lily and stuck his hands in his pockets. He didn’t take his eyes off his wife. “Old Mr. Daily’s medication isn’t working anymore. He talked about sticking his rifle in his mouth. He reminded me of you, Lily, that awful hopelessness when the mind can’t cope. It was a dreadful day. I didn’t even have time to come visit you before you left the hospital. I’m sorry.”

  “Well, these unpleasant sorts of things occasionally happen, don’t they?” Sherlock patted his arm and just smiled at the disgusted look he gave her.

  Savich winked at her as they walked to the dining room.

  Tennyson tenderly seated Lily in her chair in the long dining room. Lily loved this room. When she’d moved in, she had painted it a light yellow and dumped all the heavy furniture. It was very modern now, with a glossy Italian Art Deco table, chairs, and sideboard. On the walls were five Art Deco posters, filled with color and high-living stylized characters. Tennyson was no sooner seated than Mrs. Scruggins began to serve. Normally, she simply left the food in the oven and went home, but not this evening.

  Tennyson said, “Good evening, Mrs. Scruggins. It’s very nice of you to stay.”

  “My pleasure, Dr. Frasier,” she said.

  Sherlock, who was watching her pile food onto Lily’s plate, knew that Mrs. Scruggins wasn’t about to leave unless she was booted out. “I couldn’t very well leave when Mrs. Frasier was coming home, now could I?”

  Savich nearly smiled. Mrs. Scruggins wanted to hear everything. She knew the air was hot, even if she didn’t know the reason, and would become hotter.

  Lily took a small bite of a homemade dinner roll that tasted divine. She said to her husband, “Oh yes, Tennyson, you’ll be pleased, I hope, to hear that I didn’t try to kill myself by running the Explorer into the redwood. Actually, neither the brakes nor the emergency brake worked. Since I was on that very gnarly part of 211, I didn’t stand a chance. Doesn’t that relieve your mind?”

  Tennyson was silent, frowning a bit over a forkful of lasagna, beautifully flavored, that was nearly to his mouth. He swallowed, then said slowly, his head cocked to the side, “You remembered, Lily?”

  “Yes, I remembered.”

  “Ah, then you mean that you changed your mind? But it was too late because then the brakes failed?”

  “That’s it exactly. I realized that I didn’t want to kill myself, but then it didn’t matter, since someone had evidently disabled the brakes
.”

  “Someone? Come on, Lily, that’s absurd.”

  Savich said easily, “Unfortunately, the Explorer was compacted the very next day after the accident, so we can’t check it out to see if it is or isn’t absurd.”

  “Perhaps, Lily,” Tennyson said very gently, “just perhaps you’re wanting to remember something different, something that could alleviate the pain of the past seven months.”

  “I don’t think so, Tennyson. You see, I remembered while I was under hypnosis. And then when I came out of it, I remembered the rest of it, all by myself. All of it.”

  A thick eyebrow went straight up. Savich had never before seen an eyebrow do a vertical lift like that. Tennyson turned to Savich and spoke, his voice low and controlled, but it was obvious to everyone that he was very angry. “You’re telling me you took Lily to see a hypnotist? One of those charlatans who plant garbage in their patients’ minds?”

  “Oh, no,” Sherlock said, taking Lily’s clenched fist beneath the table. “This doctor didn’t plant anything, Tennyson. She simply helped Lily to remember what happened that evening. Both Dillon and I were there the whole time, and he and I are very familiar with hypnotists as part of our work. It was all on the up-and-up. Now, don’t you think it’s strange that the brakes didn’t work? Don’t you think it’s at least possible that someone disabled them from what Lily said?”

  “No, what I think is that Lily disremembers. I’m not sure if she’s doing it on purpose or if she’s simply confused and wants desperately for it to be this way. Don’t you see? She made up the brakes failing so she wouldn’t have to face up to what she did. I don’t think the brakes failed. I certainly don’t think anyone cut the lines. That’s beyond what is reasonable, and her saying that, claiming that that’s what happened, well, it really worries me. I don’t want Lily to even consider such a thing; it could make her lose ground again.

  “Listen, I’m a psychiatrist—a real one—one who doesn’t use hocus-pocus on people to achieve some sort of preordained result. I am not pleased about this, Savich. I am Lily’s husband. I am responsible for her.”