Love Me If You Must apam-1

by Nicole Young

  “I wish I could take your advice,” he said. “But I’m turning over a new leaf. After everything you know about me, I’m sure it’s hard to imagine that I really love you, but I do.” He paused, hanging his head. “But timing was off by about five years and one marriage. And by trying to force things to go my way, I created a monster.

  “As soon as Rebecca got wind of the divorce papers, she was back in Michigan, staying at the house, threatening to turn me over to the authorities if I didn’t withdraw my petition. My crimes add up to twenty-five years or more. She loves to hold that over my head.”

  I thought of the twenty-five red roses David had given me, and the morbid card I’d found to go with them. David didn’t seem deranged enough to create such an elaborate charade. And yet, if he were capable of murder . . .

  “I’m sorry, Tish,” David said. “I know I led you to believe Rebecca was the one to file for the divorce.”

  “Why didn’t Rebecca want a divorce? She’s been gone a year, hasn’t she?” I asked, hoping to shed light on his diabolical thought patterns.

  “As long as we’re married, she figures she can control me, even from across the country. But Michigan is a no-fault state. She can’t stop the divorce process once it’s started. Only I can. I’d risk prison, deportation, and even death to be free of her.”

  So, David had filed for divorce and pretended Rebecca had been the one to file. Probably hoping I’d be a sucker for his puppy-dog eyes.

  I’d fallen right into his net.

  “Rebecca really can’t turn me in to the authorities without implicating herself,” he said. “And the penalty for her crimes adds up to far more than twenty-five years.”

  There was a shuffle and a shadow behind David. Then from nowhere, an object hit the side of his head with a sickening crunch.

  46

  I screamed.

  David’s silhouette disappeared from above the ledge. I heard muffled thumps as his body settled against the floor on the other side of the cistern wall.

  Then came hard breathing. But not from David. Some shriller quality to the sound made me think of a woman.

  “Tish,” a voice said in barely a whisper.

  Chills attacked me.

  The sound of scuffing on stones. A face appeared above the cistern. Wisps of blonde hair shone golden in the pale light.

  “Tish is what they call you, isn’t it?” The alluring voice was unfamiliar.

  I squinted to see the face, but couldn’t make it out in the dim light.

  “We haven’t met,” the speaker said, “but we’re practically neighbors. I used to live around here.”

  I thought about Jack’s insistence that the woman who used to live here entered the house with Dietz the night of his murder. Perhaps this was the woman he’d been thinking of.

  And from the confident toss of her head and the evil dripping in her voice, I could only conclude that she was the illustrious Rebecca Ramsey.

  But if Rebecca really was still alive, then who was buried at my feet?

  “Sorry you had to see that.” Rebecca hefted a spade and laid it along the top ledge. She set a flashlight next to it.

  I squeezed back a bout of guilt. David had tried to warn me about his power-hungry wife. Now he was dead because I hadn’t believed him. The fatalities that could be in some way attributed to me had grown to outrageous proportions.

  But I’d have time to wallow in self-pity later. Figuring out how to escape the cistern alive was the immediate issue.

  I rubbed my arms in an attempt to thaw my muscles. If I could move, I could reach the hammer. Then I’d have a fighting chance against this lunatic.

  Rebecca hoisted herself onto the ledge and sat there. Her legs dangled into the cistern. She rested one hand on the shovel. With the other, she picked up her flashlight and shone it in my face.

  I squinted and held up a hand against the light.

  “My, my,” she said. “You really do look like Sandra Jones. How ironic.”

  She flashed the light at the bottom of the cistern. The exposed diamond cast glimmering beams on the stones of the tomb. I glimpsed the hammer, close to the cistern wall, between my captor and me.

  “I see you and Sandra have already met.” Rebecca pointed the light back in my direction. “How did you know she was under there?”

  I shrugged. “A hunch, I guess.” No sense giving away my own shaky sanity. It was all my imagination, wasn’t it, brought on by a guilty conscience, finally cleansed?

  Rebecca kicked her legs casually against the cistern wall. “Too bad David had to end up pulling a ‘Sandra.’ Guess religion does that to people.”

  “I don’t know what you mean.” My body vibrated with cold.

  “Sandra was my right-hand woman. You could almost say she made me what I am today. She taught me everything I know about schmoozing the system. And with David’s help manipulating computer records and manufacturing endorsements, I built a dream life for myself. You should see my penthouse in L.A. And if you think that silver Corvette is something, you’d love my new Jaguar.”

  “Sounds like you didn’t have much to do with your own success.” I made a show of sitting on my bottom, nonchalantly extending both legs toward the hammer.

  “Behind every great woman there are a few dead bodies. It’s the only way past the glass ceiling.” Rebecca let go of the spade and flipped her hair back. “I wish it didn’t have to be that way. But when people know your intimate secrets, they have to be able to keep them for life. That holy roller stuff doesn’t have a place in the real world. You want to suddenly get a social conscience, then you better be ready to die for it.”

  Rebecca directed the light across Sandra’s grave. “Anyway, she asked for it. I warned her not to ruin my life. I worked hard to get where I am, and no backbiting wench gets in the way of my plans.” She laid the flashlight across the ledge and gripped the shovel. Her knuckles shone white. “It was her choice. She could have just played along. But she had to try breaking it off. Then she threatened to turn me in.”

  With a leap, Rebecca was in the cistern. She crouched low and threatening. The handle of the spade twirled in her hands. Metal flashed in the light.

  “If Sandra could have kept her mouth shut a little longer, maybe she could have had a proper funeral, instead of being buried under cement in a hole in the basement.”

  Rebecca lifted the shovel over her head and smashed it on the concrete. Sparks flew from the impact.

  I screamed and jumped, imagining Sandra’s head directly beneath the blade. My ears rang in advance when I thought about that shovel against my own head. I felt the hammer beneath my shoe. I inched it toward my hands, all while cowering in utter fear.

  “Casey was smart. She kept quiet about everything Sandra told her, so she got the nice, quiet death. Martin wasn’t so smart. Not to mention my idiot husband.”

  “How did Martin cross you?” I might as well keep her occupied while I planned my attack.

  “Greed was Martin’s tragic flaw. He tried to blackmail me. So I simply said I knew where Sandra’s diamonds were. I led him down here, and the rest is history.”

  “And you poisoned Casey?”

  “It was easy. I injected small doses of arsenic right into her jugs of supposedly pure water. It’s in your water now too. I thought I’d be nice and let you go just as quietly. Too bad you couldn’t mind your own business.”

  My fingers touched cold metal. I gripped the hammer in my hand.

  With a shriek, Rebecca took a step and swung the spade. I leaped forward and slashed at her shin with the hammer. Her shovel hit the rocks where my head had been, echoing through the basement along with her cries of pain.

  Rebecca fell backward. She leaned against the shovel and stood. I twirled, wound up, and threw the hammer at her face. She dodged the weak throw and bad aim with hardly any effort. I reached for the abandoned chisel next to me and clenched it in my hand.

  Rebecca came at me. Her shovel looked like a spear a
imed at my heart. I rolled to the side. The blade hit the wall, driving the handle into Rebecca’s stomach.

  She grunted and came at me again. I spun away at the last second, avoiding her crashing blow.

  The cistern grew foggy. The fever took its toll. I didn’t know how long I could avoid the inevitable. It would be so easy just to give up and let her finish things. What did it matter, anyway? No one would even miss me.

  On instinct, I jerked to the left. My ears rang from the sound of metal on cement. That one had been close. I dug deep for the strength to keep fighting.

  Rebecca lifted the shovel. While it hung in the air, I attacked. Momentum took us both to the ground. I heard a dull thunk as I landed on top of her on the hard concrete. I scrambled to pin her arms beneath my knees, a move I’d learned in prison. I held the chisel over her head, ready to plunge it into her neck if necessary.

  But Rebecca never moved. A wet patch formed beneath her head.

  I gulped in deep breaths, half crying, half laughing. The cistern grew gray with fog. I slid off Rebecca and onto the concrete floor. I curled into a ball and thanked God I was still alive.

  47

  I woke in my cot with a pounding headache. Winter sun poured gray into my meager master suite. I must have passed out in the cellar. Apparently someone found me and put me to bed.

  I sat up. Throbbing blasted my ears. My cell phone danced on the wood planks as if it had a life of its own. The whole house vibrated. At first I thought the din came from an approaching train. But as the cobwebs cleared, I realized a jackhammer pummeled the concrete one floor below.

  I rolled over and covered my head. They were digging up Sandra.

  Memories of the night in the cellar engulfed me. I didn’t yet have the strength to look back. Pain knifed through me at even a vague recollection.

  The knot in my throat gave way to tears.

  I must have cried myself back to sleep. The next time I woke up, I felt refreshed. The reverberation of the jackhammer was gone from both the basement and my mind.

  Off in the kitchen, a spoon clanked against a pan. I smiled. My neighbor Dorothy must be fixing me breakfast. My stomach gurgled at the thought of food. I couldn’t wait to get some nutrients into my system. The fever had left me weak and groggy. It would probably be a day or two before I was back to myself.

  I sighed. A day or two before I could get back to the business at hand, renovating the Victorian.

  I thought about the months of work ahead of me, and waited for that swell of anticipation I always got midway through a project. The feeling never came.

  Today something inside me felt different. Did it really matter if I gave the house a total facelift? It was kind of homey just the way it was. Maybe there didn’t have to be a master suite on the first floor with a whirlpool tub and walk-in closet. Maybe the bedrooms and bathroom upstairs were sufficient for some mom, dad, and kids. And as far as a rec room in the basement went, why not let someone who actually planned on living here decide what to do? Maybe a new owner would rather have storage down in the basement. I’d gotten a good start fixing this old place up. Someone else could take it from here. I definitely needed some time off. I needed a place to heal. Not Cancun, but someplace that felt more like home.

  I swung my legs over the edge of the cot. I was wearing my oversized tee-and-shorts pajamas. I must have been pretty dead to the world if I couldn’t even remember changing my clothes.

  I stood up, shaky and light-headed. I slipped a sweatshirt and sweatpants over my sleeping gear and walked to the kitchen.

  I leaned against the doorway and shook my head in surprise. Brad stood in front of the stove, stirring some concoction. He bent over the pot in concentration. A red-and-white checked apron protected his jeans and heather sweatshirt.

  “No, you don’t,” he said to the contents. The brew sizzled over onto the burner and sent up a cloud of steam accompanied by the salty smell of burnt chicken broth.

  I giggled to see the oversized man hunkered over the rebellious blend.

  Brad turned my way and straightened. “Welcome back, Sleeping Beauty.”

  “Hey, thanks. What’s cooking? I’m starved.”

  “I bet you are. I’ve got some homemade chicken noodle soup for you.”

  “Did you make it, or did Dorothy?”

  “I’m insulted. It’s my own recipe.”

  “Is it safe to eat or should I have my Tums on standby?” I asked.

  “I see you’re back to your old self.” He tapped his spoon on the edge of the pan.

  “You’re right. I’m sorry.” I hung my head. “I’m trying to turn over a new leaf.” Those were the same words David had used . . .

  I pictured the spade meeting the side of his head, the sickening clunk at contact, and the thud of his body landing on concrete. I bent over double, sick from the vision.

  Brad raced to my side. “What’s wrong? Here, sit down.” He helped me to the floor.

  Sobs wracked my body as I let the memories come. Brad sat alongside me and let me use his shoulder for a Kleenex. He smoothed my hair, calming me. After a few minutes, I caught my breath. Then I asked the question I’d been dreading.

  “Is David dead?”

  Brad rested his hands on his lap. “He’s got a nasty concussion, but he’s still kicking.”

  I nodded my head, relieved.

  Brad tapped his thumbs together and continued. “David’s looking at deportation after he serves a reduced sentence for helping convict Rebecca. He can place her at the scene of the crime the night of Sandra’s murder. He even kept the shirt Rebecca was wearing when she killed Sandra. Fished it out of the trash for a time like this. With bloodstains and dried concrete all over the fabric, I’d say Rebecca is going to spend a long time behind bars.”

  I remembered the dark puddle beneath Rebecca’s head in the cistern. “So Rebecca’s going to be okay?”

  He leaned his head back against the cabinet. “She’s in custody at St. Joe’s Hospital. Cracked her skull pretty good, but she’ll recover.”

  I guess I was glad she was still alive. She’d have gotten off the hook too easily if she had died. This way, she’d have lots of time to think about her crimes.

  But that would be years of reform and reflection down the road. I should know.

  I caught Brad’s eyes. “I guess I passed out. Who found me?”

  “Jack. He was prowling around the basement window again. He saw you and Rebecca going at it with a shovel, and he ran to get me.” He nudged my shoulder with his. “And it’s a good thing he did. If you’d have laid there on the concrete much longer, you’d have been dead from fever.”

  “Yeah.” I felt my forehead. “It cleared up pretty quick, though. I feel great today.”

  “You’ve been zoning in and out of sleep for nearly three days. No wonder you feel better.”

  “I was out for three days?”

  “Completely zonked. Dorothy, Tammy, and I took turns keeping watch over you.”

  I grabbed his arm. “How’s Tammy doing? Last time I saw her, she was on the verge of making a big mistake.”

  “Everything’s okay. She’s back on track. And she’s giving you credit for helping her figure things out. David thanks you as well. You’re a bigger influence around here than you realize.”

  It was nice to imagine I could be an influence of any kind, especially a good one.

  Still, Brad’s words brought a tweak of sadness. I knew I couldn’t stay in Rawlings. Things hadn’t gone according to plan. But more than that, I felt a restlessness.

  My cue to move on.

  “And Sandra?” I asked.

  “She’s tucked in safe down at Lakeside Cemetery. There’s a memorial service for her tomorrow, if you’re up for it.”

  “Yeah. I wouldn’t miss it.” I paused, thinking. “Hey. Do you happen to know if she was wearing both shoes when they found her?”

  “As a matter of fact, she was only wearing one. They found the other shoe, along with the m
urder weapon, behind the museum garage. How did you know about the shoe?”

  I shrugged. “Would you believe me if I said x-ray vision? Anyway, I’m just glad Sandra will have a proper burial.”

  I owed Sandra a huge debt. I felt free for the first time in my life. Free of my past, free of guilt, free to accept God’s love. I was only sorry it took her death to bring about something that should have been obvious all along. I snuggled against Brad’s shoulder, recording the moment for future reflection. My heart would have a rough time letting go of his always-there-for-me brand of friendship. And I knew I could lean on Tammy and Dorothy too, as I mopped up my latest mess. Loving David had certainly taken its toll. I’d put my heart on the line and ended up getting soaked. Only time could wring out my disappointment.

  I angled my head toward Brad’s cheek. “How about taking me to church with you Sunday? I’m up for a new adventure.”

  Brad drew in a deep breath. His arm looped across the back of my neck. “Tish. I’m so glad you’re safe.” His mouth nuzzled my hair. “You know I love you, don’t you?”

  His words burned.

  I pivoted until I was facing him on the floor. I looked into his eyes. They crinkled in the corners when he smiled. But he wasn’t smiling now.

  I swallowed. “Brad. I’m sorry. I just . . . you know, now just isn’t a good time.” My voice died for lack of better words.

  He pulled me close until my head rested against his chest. “Well, even if you don’t love me, you can’t stop me from loving you.”

  I smiled into the warmth of his body. “Love me if you must. But I can’t give anything back right now.”

  “I know.” He took me by the arms and held me where he could see me. “But I’ll be waiting for the day you can. After all, you’re the first woman to accept my invitation.”

  That Sunday I walked through the door of the Rawlings Community Church. No thunder rumbled. No lightning bolted across the sky. Instead I felt a sense of belonging as hands reached out in greeting.