Dark Homecoming

by William Patterson

  “There’s so much that I had to learn on my own,” she said, standing over him. “For one, that Dominique was a vain, unpleasant woman who nobody but Mrs. Hoffman seems to have liked. I spent my first several days here convinced that everyone was judging me for not being as pretty or as a good or as accomplished as she was.”

  David just sighed and covered his face with his hands.

  “You never told me about her death,” Liz went on. “I had to hear from Detective Foley that there had been an inquest . . . and that you had to testify.”

  “Liz,” David said from behind his hands. “Please stop.”

  “I’m sorry if this is painful, David. I really am. But we can’t go on with so much unspoken between us. We’re still practically strangers, you and I. If we’re going to make a go of this marriage, we have got to start speaking honestly with each other. We have to be here for each other. We can’t retreat. We can’t hold back. We can’t run away.”

  Her husband looked up at her. He looked as if he might cry.

  “Oh, David,” Liz said, suddenly overcome with sympathy for him. She sat down beside him, taking his hands in hers. “Don’t be afraid to talk to me. I love you.”

  “I shouldn’t have left you,” he said weakly. “I’ve been so . . . caught up in proving myself to my father . . . that I put that ahead of what was best for you. And for us.”

  “Was that the only reason you went away, David?”

  He looked off across the room. “I suppose . . . coming back here was harder than I thought.”

  “Did you love her that much, David? Or was it that you didn’t love her at all?”

  “I . . . Oh, Liz, please don’t make me talk about it. Not yet. Not so soon after I’ve come home.” He took her in his arms. “Please. Let’s do what you suggested. Let’s go upstairs and make love. There’s time for talking later. For now, please, darling, let’s be the newlyweds we are.”

  She held his gaze for several seconds before replying. “All right, David. But on one condition.”

  “What’s that?”

  “Tonight that portrait of Dominique in the stairwell comes down.”

  He hesitated only a second. “Of course, darling. It should have come down long ago.”

  What made them turn at the moment, Liz didn’t know. There was no sound. No sense that anyone was in the room. But turn they did, both at the same time, to face the doorway into the foyer.

  There stood Mrs. Hoffman, her plastic, expressionless face watching them.

  “Mrs. Hoffman,” David said, standing up. Liz thought he seemed afraid.

  “Mr. Huntington,” the housekeeper said. “Welcome home.”

  “Thank you.” He looked down at Liz and grabbed her hand. “My wife and I don’t want to be disturbed for a while. Will you have a couple of the boys bring my luggage up to my suite? It’s still in the car outside.”

  “Of course,” said Mrs. Hoffman.

  David tugged at Liz’s hand to follow him as he moved across the room. She complied.

  “And afterward,” David went on, just as they were passing Mrs. Hoffman in the doorway, “have them take down the portrait in the stairwell.”

  “Very well,” Mrs. Hoffman said, not missing a beat, her eyes not making contact with Liz’s. “And where shall we store it?”

  “You can burn it for all I care,” David said.

  Liz saw the flicker of outrage in the housekeeper’s eyes, but it lasted just a second. Then Mrs. Hoffman turned and headed down the hallway.

  Liz and David started up the stairs.

  “You know what I think, darling?” David asked as they passed Dominique’s portrait, Liz looking at her predecessor’s big dark eyes for the last time. “I think we should throw a dinner party.”

  “A dinner party?”

  “Yes,” he said. “It’s time everyone sees that you are my wife now.”

  “Who would we invite?”

  “All the Palm Beach ladies who are so eager to get a look at you.”

  Liz smiled. “I met Mrs. Delacorte at Roger’s gallery.”

  “Oh, definitely Mrs. Delacorte, but all of them. Mrs. Clayton. Mrs. Merriwell.” He smiled at her. “We’ll even invite Roger and my parents.”

  Liz felt a moment of apprehension. “Whatever you think, David.”

  “I think it’s a grand idea.” They had reached the top of the stairs. “It’s time everyone saw just how happy we are.”

  He kissed her, hard, hurting her lips. Liz felt how strong her husband was, how powerful his arms were wrapped around her. He could snap her in two, she realized, like a twig.

  Then he led her down the hall and into their bedroom, locking the door behind them. They made love, three times in a row, for the next six hours straight.

  33

  “Mr. Huntington, if I could just have a few minutes of your time . . .”

  Detective Joe Foley saw the look Roger Huntington exchanged with his assistant when he came through the front door of his gallery. The young man—he’d said his name was Karl—shrunk back against the glare of his employer. Roger seemed extremely perturbed that Karl had allowed the detective to wait here for him. The assistant sat there with a remorseful look.

  “Detective,” Roger said, turning his attention to Foley, “I’m preparing for an opening here in a few days . . . I’m incredibly busy.”

  “I promise it will only take a few minutes,” Foley replied.

  “I don’t have a few minutes.”

  “It would really help me in the investigation I’m doing.”

  “Oh, all right,” Roger said, sighing and giving in. “Karl, hold all my calls. I’ll take the detective into the lounge.”

  “Yes, sir,” Karl said. Foley figured the kid was going to get a lecture for not finding a way to get rid of the nosy policeman. But Foley knew the power of flashing that badge of his. It made most people very cooperative.

  Most people. Not everyone. Foley’s badge didn’t seem to have any effect on Roger Huntington, who made it very clear he resented this intrusion into his day. Once they were settled in the lounge, the door closed against any eavesdroppers, Roger gestured for Foley to sit down.

  “Would you like some coffee?” Roger asked. “Tea?”

  “No, thank you. I promised you this would be quick.”

  “All right then. How can I help you?”

  “I’d like to ask you a couple of questions about your sister-in-law.”

  “Liz? What’s Liz done to draw your interest?”

  “No, not that sister-in-law. Your late sister-in-law.” He paused for just a second. “Dominique.”

  “Dominique?”

  “Yes. According to the inquest notes, you saw her on the day of the accident.”

  “Why are you asking about Dominique? I thought you were investigating the deaths of Audra and Jamison.”

  “Oh, I am.”

  Roger laughed derisively. “Are you suggesting there’s a connection between two barbarous murders and Dominique’s accidental drowning on her yacht?”

  “Oh, I’m not suggesting anything. Just asking questions. Is it true you saw Dominique shortly before she went out that day?”

  Roger shifted uncomfortably in his chair. “Yes. I told everything I knew at the inquest. If you’ve read it, you have all the information. Ask your chief. It was Chief Davis, working for the D.A.’s office, who conducted the inquest.”

  “Oh, yes, I remember that well. The chief did it as a special favor for the D.A.”

  “Yes, so all the information I have is already down in that report.”

  Foley scratched his chin as he stared at Roger. “It’s just that there are a few inconsistencies in the report. I’ve been reading it over.”

  “What kind of inconsistencies?” Roger acted as if he didn’t believe him.

  “Well, the report of Captain Hogarth, for example. The man your brother and his wife regularly employed to captain the yacht.”

  Roger sniffed. “Hogarth? He’s a drunk. Chi
ef Davis noted that. He discredited Hogarth’s testimony.”

  “Yes, I know, but it’s just peculiar. Hogarth at first testified he didn’t take the yacht out that day. But later he backtracked and said, yes, he was at the helm, taking Mrs. Huntington out on the water . . .”

  “I’m well aware of the change in his testimony. He was clearly angling to try and pull some kind of shakedown of my brother. It was an attempt to get money. Extortion. The guy should be locked up. Ask Chief Davis. He discredited Hogarth’s second testimony.”

  “But I’m confused. What kind of shakedown of your brother could Hogarth engineer by changing his testimony?”

  Roger shrugged. “I have no idea. Ask the chief. Ask my brother.”

  “The official inquest determination was that Mrs. Huntington took the yacht out on her own that day, that she was alone on board when the accident occurred. So that means she was fully capable of steering the yacht on her own?”

  “There wasn’t much Dominique wasn’t capable of doing,” Roger said.

  “So I take that as a yes? She could captain the yacht on her own?”

  “Yes.”

  “And you saw her that day, just about an hour before she went out?”

  “Yes.”

  “And she told you she was going out on her own? That she was not asking Hogarth to take her out?”

  Roger hesitated. “I gave my statement to the inquest.”

  “If you don’t mind, Mr. Huntington, I’m asking you to give it to me again.”

  “Yes!” Roger snapped. “She said she was going out alone.”

  Foley nodded. “That’s all. Thank you for your time.”

  Roger stood. Foley started to do the same, then sat back down. He loved pulling this little trick.

  “Oh, wait,” he said. “There was one more thing.”

  “What’s that?”

  “Are you aware of the actual statements Hogarth made in his second, discredited testimony?”

  Roger glared down at him, a version of the same angry look he had given his assistant earlier. “All I know is that he said he did take Dominique out that day.”

  “Why would he say such a thing, do you think? It left him open for possible accusations of negligent homicide, that he steered the yacht out into stormy seas and then couldn’t manage it, resulting in Mrs. Huntington’s death?”

  “I have no idea. He’s a drunk and a crook. You’ll have to ask him if you want to know.”

  “I intend to.”

  Roger stared down at him. “Does Chief Davis know you’re reopening the inquiry into Dominique’s death?”

  “Oh, I’m not reopening it. Just asking questions.”

  “Well, are you through with me now?”

  Foley finally stood so he could look Roger straight in the eye. “I will be, once I tell you what Hogarth actually said in his second testimony, since you say you don’t know the details.”

  Roger said nothing, just continued to meet Foley’s gaze.

  “He said that he thought he was taking Mrs. Huntington out alone, but once they were out at sea, he realized a man was on board. He heard voices. Angry voices. A great deal of shouting. He looked down and he saw a man on deck—a man he identified as your brother. But he didn’t see Dominique anywhere. All at once, Hogarth reported, a storm came on—he’d never seen waves so high—and he had to concentrate on keeping the yacht steady. So he never had a chance to speak to your brother. The storm only got worse, and eventually Captain Hogarth lost control—the yacht was capsized. He grabbed a life jacket and made it back to shore safely. But as far as he knew at the time, both Mr. and Mrs. Huntington had been lost with the ship.”

  “Well, that’s absurd, isn’t it?” Roger asked. “Because David was very much alive back at Huntington House when the Coast Guard reported finding the capsized yacht.”

  “They never found its lifeboat.”

  “They never found half the things that were on the yacht, including Dominique’s body. Are you trying to imply that David threw his wife overboard, then made it home in a furious storm in a lifeboat?”

  “I’m not implying anything. I’m just asking questions.”

  Roger laughed. “Hogarth’s story is ridiculous! Now that I know the details, it was clear he was trying to get some money out of David. Everyone back at Huntington House could, and probably did, attest for his whereabouts that day. I’m sure that’s why Chief Davis discounted Hogarth’s second testimony. In my opinion, he should have arrested him for attempted extortion.” He sneered. “Really, Foley. You should have spoken to your chief before coming to talk to me. He’d be able to answer you better than I can.”

  “I plan to speak to the chief.” Foley smiled. “Well, thank you for your time, Mr. Huntington. Good luck with your upcoming opening. Quite an eccentric collection of art, if I might say so. I got a peek on my way through.”

  “Naomi Collins is a very hot artist at the moment,” Roger said, opening the door and striding back out into the gallery. “At least she is considered so among those with an appreciation and understanding of art.”

  “I’m just a country boy, so what do I know?” He followed Roger out of the lounge. “I imagine your brother and his wife will be here.”

  “I’ve invited them,” Roger said, not turning around. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, Detective, I really am very busy . . .”

  “Of course,” Foley said. “I can show myself out.”

  Roger disappeared down a hallway without another word.

  Foley gazed at one of the paintings on the wall. A girl with no arms staring at him with enormous purple eyes.

  Yes, indeed, eccentric. Who’d ever buy such a thing? Where would you possibly hang it? Over your couch? In your dining room?

  Foley shuddered.

  34

  Rita couldn’t quite believe what she was seeing when she arrived at Huntington House for work the next morning.

  Carrying freshly laundered sheets upstairs, she paused on the landing. The portrait of Dominique was gone!

  In its place was merely its outline, a large dusty rectangle. The blue wallpaper that had been behind the portrait was a more vivid color than the sun-bleached paper around it.

  So it had finally come down . . .

  Rita heard a voice from the top of the stairs.

  David’s voice. Talking on his cell phone.

  She hurried up to the second floor. She spotted David in his study. His back was to her, and he was giving instructions in Dutch to some overseas business colleague. She slipped into the room without him noticing, closing the door behind her.

  Setting the sheets in her arms down on a chair, she moved quietly across the room to her intended target.

  As soon as David ended his call, Rita’s arms snaked around him.

  “Jesus Christ!” David shouted, shaking her off and looking back at her.

  “What’s the matter, David?” Rita purred. “Aren’t you happy to see me?”

  He glared at her, saying nothing.

  Rita smiled. “Don’t you realize why you had such a sudden and overpowering desire to come home?”

  “Rita,” he seethed, “I told you to leave me alone . . .”

  “I left you alone all day yesterday, even though I was dying to see you.”

  “Look, Rita . . .”

  “Really, David. Haven’t you stopped to wonder? Why did you feel so compelled to come home, David? It was me. Admit it. You were thinking of me.”

  Rita knew it must be true. The doll that Variola had given her . . . it had enabled her to break the spell on David and allow him to once again feel his love for her. While she refused to win him back through hocus-pocus, all the doll really did was liberate David so he could admit the truth . . . that he loved her.

  But his face appeared far from loving.

  “Get this through your head, you stupid, stupid girl,” he snarled. “I didn’t think of you. I never thought of you! The only time you came into my mind was when you so inappropriately called
me on my private phone to tell me about my brother.”

  “David, I know you love me . . .”

  “Look, Rita, I tried to be kind to you. I tried to be careful of your feelings. But you just won’t get it!” His face was beet red. “I don’t love you! I never loved you! I used you, Rita! I was an unhappily married man and I used you! Get that through your head!”

  It was as if David had physically struck her. Rita took a few steps back, staggered.

  “I came home because I was concerned about my wife,” David told her. “My wife—to whom I intend to remain married. My wife, whom I love very much.”

  “No . . . it was me . . . me who brought you home . . .”

  David pushed past her. “One more scene like this, Rita,” he told her, “and you are fired.”

  He pulled open the door and stormed out into the corridor.

  Rita didn’t know what to do, what to say, what to think.

  That doll Variola gave her . . . it was worthless!

  Variola was a fraud!

  But so was David.

  He lied to me all that time, Rita thought. He let me think he loved me when he was just using me.

  His words echoed in her ears.

  I never loved you! I used you, Rita! I was an unhappily married man and I used you!

  In that instant, all of Rita’s affection for the man mutated. Soured, corroded.

  Changed into hate.

  Now she didn’t want his love.

  Now all she wanted was revenge.

  Rita picked up the sheets she had set down on the chair. When the moment was right, she decided, she would tell that dear, sweet little wife of his all about her husband’s affair.

  David had asked her to be Liz’s friend. And good friends told each other things they needed to know, didn’t they?

  Then she’d go back to Detective Foley. She’d reveal everything she knew. She’d tell him what Jamison had revealed to her the night he was killed—that Audra had been killed right in this very house, and that Mrs. Hoffman, quite possibly with David’s knowledge, had had the body moved out to the grounds.

  Wouldn’t Detective Foley love to know that? Wouldn’t little Liz love hearing it, too?

  Oh, the scandal Rita would bring to Huntington House.