by Jill Winters
"Ding, ding, ding!" she said mockingly. "That's right. Formerly Gertrude Swain—now I'm Gertrude Tailor. Divorced women can keep their married names, can't they?"
Jeez, how stupid did Billy feel? She'd never even known Katie's grandmother's first name. That could've saved her a lot of trouble.
"Please," Des begged, croaking out the words, "please don't hurt me."
"What do you want?" Billy said, panicked. "Please let Des go. He didn't do anything."
"Yeah—we'll just all forget all about this," Seth said, taking Billy's hand in his and squeezing it with fierce affection. Billy gripped it back, praying that God would get her out of this. God, please, I don't ask for much.
Okay, I do—but this time I mean it.
"Oh, I'll be happy to let him go," Mrs. Tailor said, "after I'm safely gone." She motioned with her head for Seth and Billy to go into the back. "C'mon, move or I slit his throat right here, right now."
They followed her orders for Des's sake. Des was whimpering a little in pain from the knife point, and hunched over sideways, while Mrs. Tailor practically hung on him to keep her knife pressed to his neck. "You two, get in the freezer," she ordered Billy and Seth.
Billy held her hands up and started moving backward to the walk-in freezer. "But I don't understand this," she stammered. " I mean, what happened? Have you been after Ted all this time?"
"I haven't been after him at all. I moved on—left my conniving family behind and started over. Of course, that's not to say my view of the world wasn't tainted. But when I saw Ted at the jubilee... what can I say? I couldn't resist the opportunity to give him what he had coming," Mrs. Tailor said, then muttered, "No-good fortune-hunting bastard."
"But he must've recognized you at the jubilee," Seth asked, backing up slowly alongside Billy. "Why didn't he say anything?"
Mrs. Tailor barked a harsh, hateful laugh. "You'd think he would've recognized me, wouldn't you? My heart almost stopped when I saw him at the jubilee. I couldn't decide if I should confront him or just leave before he had a chance to see me. But when he came up to me, I knew he'd seen me. I thought he was going to try to apologize, and I was going to tell him what I really thought of him. Only he didn't recognize me. He didn't want to apologize. He wanted a drink. And you know what he said to me?"
"No, what?" Billy said, because no one else did. She and Seth were poised at the door to the walk-in freezer, while Des had terror imprinted on his face as Mrs. Tailor pressed the blade harder against his neck.
"He said, 'Hey, Grandma, go make yourself useful.' I almost died. Here I was his wife, that motherfucking asshole!"
"Oh, man, that's messed up," Des agreed, even though he was still at knife point. But he was right—it was messed up. Ted Schneider had been a class-A jackass!
Mrs. Tailor nodded and bitterly continued, "I was furious—livid—so I'd been a few years older than him. But to not even recognize me? Well, what can I say? I snapped. The next time he came around, asking me about the nuts, I remembered how severe his allergy was. And I knew chocolate was his weakness, so after he talked to Georgette I fixed a paper plate of double-fudge brownies and took it to him. He never saw it coming."
"But wait," Billy said, confused. "Georgette's fudge brownies don't have nuts in them."
"They do when you crush up nuts, mix them with caramel, and drizzle it on top." Ob. "I thought the whole matter was closed, but when I heard you talking to your aunt about how you'd been digging into Ted's death, the threats you'd gotten—and how you were going to keep digging—"
"So you sent me the note," Billy said as she put it all together. Mrs. Tailor had been working the day that Aunt Pen had come into the bakery, but Billy hadn't paid her any mind. She never did; she was just a sweet, harmless old lady. Or not. "But the letter was from Churchill."
"I mailed it from Churchill to throw you off. It wasn't exactly brain surgery," Mrs. Tailor remarked. "Now get in the freezer!"
"Please, Mrs. Tailor, you don't want to—"
"I'm warning you, Billy," she said, "I like you, but if you don't cooperate, Des here is going to end up with a hole in his throat the size of a muffin." Des groaned at the disturbingly graphic, yet timely metaphor, and Billy and Seth obliged, quickly darting inside the icy-cold, pitch-dark freezer. "And shut the door behind you," Mrs. Tailor snapped.
"Please, Mrs. Tailor, you'll never get away with this. Donna's just upstairs," Billy cried as Seth swung the freezer door shut.
"Actually, Donna left early," Mrs. Tailor called out. "I told her I'd lock up for her. What a fortunate coincidence, huh?"
In the icy darkness Billy shook and shivered, and Seth pulled her close for heat. Running his hands over her body, he tried like crazy to warm her up. "I'm so sorry," he whispered. "I had no idea she was working tonight." They could hear Des pleading on the other side, and Seth felt fucking awful for him. Christ, he'd never meant for this to happen when he'd come to tell Billy what he'd learned. It never even occurred to him that Mrs. Tailor would be working at the bakery tonight. Goddamn it! He was solely responsible for what was happening; if Billy or Des got hurt, it would be all his fault.
God, Billy... He couldn't let anything happen to her.
"I can't believe this is happening," Billy whispered, still trying to process everything that was happening. Mrs. Tailor—Katie's grandma—a killer? And that begged the question...
"What about Katie?" she called out, not knowing whether Mrs. Tailor had heard. Teeth chattering, she tightened her arms around Seth, trying to absorb his strength, needing him to settle the fear still skittering along her nerves. With a little less vigor, she called again, "What about Katie?" Did she have any idea about all of this?
No, she couldn't; Katie was too sweet and bubbly for the darkness of murder.
"I'll get in touch with Katie in good time," Mrs. Tailor called through the freezer door. "And when I tell her everything, believe me, she'll understand. Sorry it turned out this way, everyone. I really did like you all, but life's tough all over. Believe me, I should know."
There was a loud bang and then silence.
"What's happening?" Billy whispered frantically, not sure if she and Seth should come out. What would Mrs. Tailor do to Des if they did? Or maybe she'd already done it.
"Let's go," Seth said, taking her hand and tentatively leading her out of the freezer.
Mrs. Tailor was gone.
"Oh, my God, Des!" Billy cried when she saw her coworker lying on the floor.
"She must've knocked him out with that," Seth said, pointing to the big metal pan that had rolled under the sink. While Billy raced over and crouched down beside Des, Seth grabbed the phone on the wall and called 911.
"He's still alive," Billy said on a breath. "Oh, thank God."
After practically throwing the phone back on its hook, Seth pulled Billy into his arms, trying to take the cold from her, trying to take away her shiver. "It's all right," he said gently, rocking her quivering body tightly in his arms. "It's over, sweetheart."
Chapter 30
Later, when they were lying together in her bed, with Pike Bishop lounging at the foot, they talked about everything that had happened. Pressing her head against Seth's chest, Billy murmured, "Poor Katie. She'll be devastated if her grandmother goes to prison."
"If they catch her," Seth said, remembering that the last they'd heard, the cops were sending out an APB on a little old lady with white hair. Something told him that Mrs. Tailor would slip away—disappear—just as she'd done thirty years before.
"So does this mean that Katie was related to Ted?" Seth asked now.
"No, no. After leaving her family, Mrs. Tailor—Gertrude—met Jeff Spiegal. She married him, but never took his name. He had a thirteen-year-old son when they got married."
"Katie's dad," Seth supplied with a nod.
"Right. Katie mentioned once that her grandfather, Jeff, died several years ago. I guess Gertrude won't be collecting his pension now that she's on the lam... but somehow she'll
probably manage."
"Man," Seth said on a sigh, "what a night." After he ducked his head down to kiss her neck, he said, "Sorry, I need to shave."
"I like it," she said, smiling at the feel of his roughened cheek against the underside of her jaw. "You know, I still don't understand why Ted left Aunt Pen before he'd gotten any money off her. Do you think maybe he had an attack of conscience? Like maybe he saw how sweet and caring she was, and he couldn't go through with it?"
"Yeah, that's definitely possible," Seth said.
"And so he gave her his 'someone's after me' getaway line early?"
"Maybe," Seth said, looking into her eyes, smiling at her sweetness, her warmth, and how much she wanted to believe that. And hell, maybe it was the truth, but they'd never know now, and some wounds were best unopened. Most, in fact.
"I guess I should just let all this go," Billy said, as though realizing what Seth knew, too. The past was the past—the future was now. Cuddling closer, she tightened her arm around his stomach and sighed into his chest. "I love you so much," she whispered.
"I love you, too, baby," he said, and drifted off to sleep.
* * *
When Billy got to Mark's apartment she didn't expect to find it vacant. She'd come here to tell him it was over, and in a bizarre way he'd stolen her thunder. "Hello?" she said, walking in slowly. Her voice echoed and boomeranged back to her. What the hell was going on? Did she have the wrong address? She'd been there only a couple of times, when they first started dating, but she was sure this was the place.
"Can I help you, miss?" She spun around and saw a short, balding man standing in the doorway. "I'm the landlord."
"Oh, yes. Do you know where the guy who lives here is? Mark Warner?"
"Right, Warner. Decent tenant. But he moved out over a month ago."
"He did?"
"Broke the lease, said he had insufficient funds."
What? That was crazy. "Well... where did he go?" she asked.
"He left a forwarding address," he said. "Not sure what it is, offhand."
"Oh, please, it's really an emergency. I'm his girlfriend, sort of."
His eyebrow quirked up at that. A girlfriend who didn't know he moved. That smacked of psycho-ex syndrome. Still, she smiled sweetly at him. "Please?"
"Follow me," he said, and led her to his apartment on the first floor.
"I'll wait out here," Billy said, when he went inside, leaving the door open.
After rifling through some papers on his desk, he said, "Oh, here it is," and handed her a slip with an address in Natick.
The suburbs?
* * *
An hour later Billy sat parked in her parents' car in front of a pink house with a picket fence. A sickening feeling roiled in her stomach. Dear God—Mark was married.
Now she understood why he could hardly ever get together on weeknights. Why he never wanted her to come to his apartment—or the love nest that he'd had for show in the beginning of their relationship. She wasn't sure why he'd gotten rid of it, because obviously he couldn't really have had insufficient funds. Not with the fast-paced, lucrative position he always said he loved so much.
Just then a horrible thought popped into her mind. That time his cell wasn't working, and she'd called him at another number, another woman had answered. Oh, God, that had been his wife! She felt dirty, nauseous—fuming—but she pulled herself together, stormed out of the car, and charged up to the front door.
She rang the doorbell. It was Sunday, so Mark wouldn't be working. Come on, open up, you bastard!
"Billy?" he said, obviously shocked when he swung open the front door. "W-what are you doing here?"
"Mark, what in the hell is going on here? I went to your apartment and found out you moved? A month ago? That this is where you live?"
"I can explain," he said quickly.
"Yeah, so can I. You're married."
That stopped him short. "No, I'm not," he said, furrowing his eyebrows.
"You're not? But then—"
"Mark, I'm not going to tell you again!" a woman's voice called from inside the house. "Pick up your clothes!"
"Okay, Mom!" he called back to her, his smile faltering as he braved a slow glance back at Billy. "I moved back in with my parents," he said.
"You did? But Mark, why would you keep that a secret from me? I don't understand this."
"I lost my job," he explained with a hapless shrug. "I ran out of money."
"When did you lose your job?"
"About a week after our first date."
Her eyes shot up. "But whenever I ask you about work, you say it's going great."
"Well, I like to stay positive." So he was a liar.
"But you always said work was the reason you could never do stuff on the weeknights, or sleep over at my place."
"Well, my curfew's eleven, but my mom really doesn't like me out on school nights." So he was a mama's boy, to boot. In fact, now she realized it had been his mom who'd answered the phone that night. "Billy, I'm sorry I lied. I just didn't want you to know that I lost my job and that I had to move back home. I didn't want anyone to know."
"But Mark, you could've told me. And you have so many friends—couldn't anyone help you out? Let you crash with them till you got back on your feet?"
He looked a little perplexed at that. And then Billy grasped the obvious: Just because he knew a thousand people didn't mean he was close to a thousand people. In fact, it almost guaranteed that he wasn't. Now it made sense why Mark had been so thrifty lately—especially the night he'd made them split fries and a soda from Burger King, then horded the free ketchup packets.
Shaking her head, she said, "Oh, wow... I never saw any of this coming."
"So I guess we're done, huh?" he asked plaintively. But he clearly saw the writing on the wall. There wasn't that much between them in the first place, and their relationship had been full of lies, anyway.
"Yeah, we're done," she agreed. "But I hope things work out for you."
"Thanks. You, too."
Before she turned to go, she reached into her wallet and pulled out Kip Belding's card. "Here, maybe this guy can help."
"Oh, thanks," he said, and took the card.
Sure.
On the way down the steps, she paused, then angled her head back. "By the way... how do you feel about hospitals?"
* * *
"Did you ever get the feeling that you've been going through life without paying attention?"
"What do you mean?" Seth asked, rubbing her shoulders, sitting behind her in his tub. They had a bottle of Shiraz and candlelight. Billy sank happily against him, feeling his erection pressed against her bottom, turning her on already.
She sighed. "I just mean, in just a couple weeks, I found out that half the people I know have been living a lie of some kind or another. Melissa, Mrs. Tailor, Mark. What's next? If I find out you are, I'll die," she threw in quickly, flashing him a small but hopeful smile.
Smiling back, he kissed her shoulder, then leaned his cheek against it. "I'm not. What you see is what you get, I swear." A thrilling anticipation bubbled inside her, because what she saw was already too much to hope for.
Epilogue
One year later
"Exactly how many times can we 'christen one desk?"
Seth laughed into her neck, kissed her gently there, then mumbled something into her naked shoulder.
"What?" Billy said, giggling and pushing him up so she could hear. She was lying on top of the desk with her robe open, and Seth was lying on top of her with his jeans undone.
"I said, its your fault for being all over me," he replied, grinning.
She let out a laugh. "I just came in to kiss you good morning!"
"Well, there you go."
"Seriously..." she said, pushing out from under him. "We've gotta get ready." Seth had gotten up early to work on putting Billy's studio together, as he had every morning for the last month. They'd transformed the guest room in the Churchill house
into a studio for Billy, which had meant ripping up the carpet and carving out a larger window for more light. Seth had built her a large tilted desk for her to draw on, and bought her an easel for her to paint on.
Her business was still brand-new, but it was growing quickly in Churchill, especially with Greg Dappaport's connections. She'd done portraits for the polo club, and afterward members of the yacht club had wanted to commission her, too. Apparently they all had the same self-aggrandizing flair for interior design—but hey, it worked for her.
Seth had helped her lease an empty shop on Main Street, where she sold landscape paintings she'd done, framed in all sizes, and painted portraits upon arrangement. The local junior high had called her last week and asked if she'd come in and do a painting workshop for the kids. Things were definitely coming along. Plus, Seth had assured her that come summertime, the tourist trade would give her shop a jolt into the black.
And she trusted his judgment, of course, because he was still a savvy business consultant, even though he'd sold his Seattle firm to come back to Churchill. In fact, right now he was laying the groundwork for a new company based in Massachusetts. Honestly, Billy didn't know how he did it all... or how she'd gotten so lucky.
Sometimes she missed her job at Bella Donna, but she still stopped in. In fact, she'd ordered her wedding cake last week. While she was there, she'd chatted with Katie—who still claimed that she didn't know where her grandma was. (Nobody truly believed that.)
"Come on; let's hurry," she said, smacking his butt now, and looking ultrainnocent when he glanced back at her. They were meeting Corryn and Joe at the Churchill Art Gallery, where Dappaport was unveiling Billy's newest mural, on the side of the building that faced the water. Her first one had gotten such great reception that she couldn't pass up the chance to work for Dappaport again. She always remembered how Dappaport saw something in her—believed in her—before he really had any reason to, and she couldn't help thinking that underneath his silk neckerchiefs and fake accents, he was actually one of the most genuine people she'd ever met.