To the Grave

by Carlene Thompson

  Dana took a deep breath. “I want to tell you that the pediatrician sent Mary to the hospital.”

  “Why?”

  “Why? Ken, don’t you remember how bad she felt this morning?”

  “No, not really,” he said vaguely.

  “She barely ate and she said her stomach hurt. We sent her to school anyway. They called me two hours ago saying Mary was really in pain and feverish. The pediatrician saw her immediately and sent me directly to the hospital. He thinks she has appendicitis.”

  “Appendicitis!”

  “Yes, Ken. She told me her tummy has hurt since the middle of the night. If this has been going on for a while, there’s a danger of her appendix rupturing, so she’ll need an appendectomy soon. You have to meet me here now.”

  “At the hospital?” Ken asked distractedly. “You want me to come to the hospital now?”

  “Of course now.”

  “Dana, people were lined up outside the gallery at ten this morning because of the Arcos exhibit. This place is full of people. I can’t leave now. Besides, you have all the insurance information and her birth certificate and—”

  “What would I need her birth certificate for?”

  “I don’t know.” He spoke away from the phone, telling someone he’d be with them in just an instant. “Dana, Bridget and I are too busy to even think straight. This is the biggest day we’ve ever had. You can handle this thing with Mary. I don’t know why you’re even calling me. You and Dr. What’s-his-name know more about Mary’s condition than I do. Besides, he’s such an alarmist—she’s probably just fine. The other doctors will see that and there won’t even be an operation. Anyway, I’m busy as hell, so get a handle on things and get back here as soon as possible. I need you.”

  “Oh, you need me, do you?”

  “Sure I do. I told you we’re crowded as hell. I tell you, I can get double, maybe even triple the asking price for some of Arcos’s work.” He muttered to someone else again and then spoke distractedly to Dana. “Give Mary a kiss for me. Get back soon. I tell you, Dana, this is the great time for me!”

  For you, Dana thought furiously after he’d hung up. Not for Mary, not for me. For you. He used to think when he married a woman from a well-heeled background, that had been great for him. Since he’d bought the rights to all of Arcos’s work, though, now had become the great time for him—maybe the greatest.

  Dana looked blindly down the busy hospital hall, her gaze hardening as her mind focused on the handsome, self-involved, unethical man to whom she’d given so much for so long. She didn’t even realize she spoke her single thought aloud: “Well, Ken Nordine, we’ll just see how long your latest great time lasts.”

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  1

  Black silk tulle and lace. La Perla. Opium perfume. She’d discovered the perfume was Opium.…

  “Dr. Gray, are you even listening to me?”

  “Of course I am.”

  “Because if I’m boring you, I can just leave!”

  “You’re not boring me, Mrs. Tate,” Catherine said patiently.

  “I know this is Wednesday and I just saw you on Monday,” Mrs. Tate went on with embarrassed irritability, “but I thought you’d want to hear this news as soon as possible.” She gave Catherine a hard look. “If you’re interested, that is!”

  “I’m very interested.”

  “You don’t act like it. You’re not saying much of anything.”

  “Mrs. Tate, how can I react when you haven’t told me your news?” Catherine heard the edge in her voice and tried to look fascinated. “Please tell me what’s happened to upset you so much this afternoon.”

  “My husband—I caught him in the act!” the woman announced triumphantly.

  Catherine blinked at her, wondering how she could sound elated at this news. “You caught him having sex with his secretary?”

  Mrs. Tate scowled. “Having sex? No! Having lunch!”

  “They were having lunch together?”

  “In his office. Just the two of them. With wine!” She made the wine sound like a third guest. “What more proof would I need?”

  “Did they have a whole bottle of wine?” Catherine asked, feeling stupid but at a loss for anything intelligent to say to this earth-shattering news.

  “Well, not sitting there on the desk. But they had full glasses. Fancy glasses, not those cheap tumblers we have at home. I’ll bet those glasses were real crystal he keeps hidden away for their secret meals.” Mrs. Tate squirmed on the couch and Catherine briefly worried that the woman’s glee might cause her to lose control and have an accident. “Oh, I’ve got him now!”

  “What did they say when you walked in on them?” Catherine asked.

  “They said ‘hello’ normal as can be and asked me if I’d like a glass of apple juice.”

  “Apple juice?”

  “They were trying to fool me. I can certainly see the difference between apple juice and a fine white wine!” Mrs. Tate peered at her. “Can’t you?”

  “Well, maybe, in the right light…”

  “Maybe? A lady like you? You’d damned well know the difference. They couldn’t fool you. And they couldn’t fool me, either! I’m no country hick that doesn’t know anything about wine and such and can be outfoxed by the likes of them!” Mrs. Tate gleamed at her perceptiveness. “You would have been proud of me, Dr. Gray. I stayed cool as a cucumber. I acted casual and I was pleasant and…”

  While Mrs. Tate rattled on about her astonishingly polished performance in front of the damning evidence of her husband having a sandwich lunch with his secretary, Catherine’s mind wandered back to last night. When James had returned from the kitchen with drinks and aspirins, Catherine had sat rigid on the bed.

  “This is Renée’s,” she’d accused, holding out the black baby-doll night set to an amazed James. “It’s La Perla. Do you know how expensive La Perla lingerie is? Well, I do. This little number must have cost hundreds of dollars. And it smells like Opium perfume. Opium. I remember that once Renée said she only wore Opium. Perfume, not cologne. I found the lingerie in the corner between your dresser and chest of drawers.”

  “Then it isn’t Renée’s,” James said firmly. “It can’t be Renée’s.”

  “It belongs to another woman?”

  “Of course not!” James walked toward her, gazing at the lingerie set as if it were a poisonous snake. “The only other woman who’s been here since I moved in is you.”

  “Renée bragged to someone I know that she only wore La Perla lingerie. And the tag inside says it’s from New Orleans. Did you sleep with her week before last?” Catherine asked furiously.

  James had looked indignant. “Catherine! How could you even think—” James broke into near laughter, making her angrier. “This is ridiculous!”

  “Oh?” She held up the lingerie again. “Is this ridiculous?”

  “I don’t know how that got here! Where did you find it?”

  “On the floor in the corner between the dresser and the chest of drawers.”

  James stalked toward the spot and peered down into the shadows. “Here?”

  “Yes.”

  “Why would that”—he gestured toward the lingerie—“be lying in this corner?”

  “Uh, let’s see. A woman dropped it?”

  “I see. No doubt it was the woman who cleans this place once a week.”

  “James Eastman, if you dare start making jokes I will leave right this minute.”

  “In what? Your nightshirt?”

  Catherine looked at the delicate, expensive La Perla lingerie, then her own knee-length, long-sleeved nightshirt and burst into tears.

  In an instant, James sat down beside her, holding her tightly. “Catherine, darling girl, what are you thinking?”

  “I’m thinking what any woman would be thinking.” Catherine snuffled. “I know I’m not oozing with sex appeal like Renée, but to think that you’d turn to her the minute she comes back to town is just … is just…”

&n
bsp; James held her away from him, his expression darkening. “What the hell are you saying?”

  “That she let you know when she came back to Aurora Falls. That you must have—”

  “That I must have what? Invited her here and gone to bed with that tramp that almost ruined my life? Is that what you think of me?”

  “Well, no, but you have to admit that the evidence is fairly damning.”

  “The evidence? Some kind of skimpy nightgown lying in a corner of my bedroom is evidence that I slept with my ex-wife? And what makes you so sure it’s hers?”

  “Oh, there have been other women?”

  James grimaced. “I swear, I’m going to shake you if you don’t stop accusing me of being with other women,” he said with a shade of amused exasperation in his voice. “How could you think I’d even look at another woman when I have you? You’re smart, and tender, and kind, and generous, and funny, and beautiful, and—” He broke off and drew a deep breath. “Have you been suspecting me of making love, or even just having sex, with other women?”

  “Well…” Catherine sniffled. “No.”

  “You haven’t wondered if I might be tempted to have sex with another woman?”

  “I never thought about it. Does that sound egotistical?”

  James looked at her intensely, then smiled and kissed her forehead. “No. It sounds like the woman who knows I love her more than anyone in the world—the woman who knows I would never intentionally jeopardize our relationship. Doing such a thing would never cross my mind.”

  Catherine was so touched by his words, she lowered her gaze. “Then I’m sorry I suspected you, even for a moment. I don’t know what made me fly off the handle like that.”

  “Love,” James said softly. “Love isn’t casual, Catherine, and people in love don’t take each other for granted. Occasionally their passion makes them jump to conclusions.” He paused as if thinking. “My God, I don’t think I’ve ever sounded so pompous in my life.”

  Catherine grinned. “That’s all right. We’re both emotional right now.”

  “Pronouncements on the nature of love aside, though, what makes you so certain that night-thing belongs to Renée?”

  “It’s the kind of night-thing she would wear. And I told you, it was bought at a shop in New Orleans. It smells of her favorite perfume and the perfume isn’t stale and old. It could be leftover from a couple of weeks ago when she was in Aurora Falls.”

  James finally took the lingerie in his hands and held it to his nose. Then he nodded. “I remember this perfume. Frankly, I was never crazy about it, but Renée loved it. You’re right, though. I’m not a perfume expert, but I can tell this scent isn’t old. It’s not fresh, like what you put on every day, but it’s not old, either.” His eyebrows drew together. “Catherine, the lady who cleans this place is meticulous. She’s worked for me for five, maybe six years. She was here last week and if she’d found it—which she would have—she would have left it on the bed. This thing was not in the corner of my bedroom last week.”

  “Then…”

  “Then someone planted it here,” James said easily, his voice calm. “Someone broke into the town house and left this for one of us to find.”

  Catherine came back to the present with a jolt. It was mid-afternoon the next day and she was in her office listening to Mrs. Tate grow loud with pride as she recounted a nonstop narrative of today’s events.

  “I sat there like a lady through the rest of their lunch. I kept thinking how proud you’d be of me for throwing such a scare into them without saying one mean word, and it’s all because of you. I did what I thought you’d want me to do, Dr. Gray.” Mrs. Tate was beaming at Catherine. Then her smile wavered slightly. “You are proud of me, aren’t you?”

  I haven’t heard a word the woman said for the last ten minutes, Catherine thought, feeling regret and shame. Mrs. Tate’s situation could have degenerated into one of chaos, even violence. Instead, the woman had held on to her feelings and acted reasonably because of her influence. Wasn’t that the effect she’d hoped to have on her patients? And here she was, thinking about her problems with James and not even listening to Mrs. Tate’s drama.

  “I think you acted wisely.”

  Catherine realized her voice was flat, her praise tepid. The woman looked understandably disappointed. Catherine knew it was vitally important for her to encourage more of this moderate, reasonable behavior on her patient’s part, and she’d just failed badly. Determined immediately to correct her mistake, she threw at Mrs. Tate a gleaming smile. “In fact, I think you did wonderfully!”

  2

  “Someone left a present at my town house.”

  James opened his briefcase, removed a clear, sealed plastic bag, and leaned forward to lay it on Eric Montgomery’s desk. Eric picked up the clear ziplock bag, looking closely at its folded contents. “What is it?”

  “A sexy nightie.”

  “A nightie? A little kid’s sleeper?”

  “Hell, no!” James said hotly. “You can see that it’s black and I said it was sexy!” He glared at Eric and then relaxed slightly. “You were joking.”

  “Just a little. I was trying to calm you down, James. You’re talking so loud everyone can hear you, even though my office door is closed. Also, you look like you want to hit someone.”

  “I do. Catherine found it.”

  “Bummer.”

  “Is that cop lingo?”

  “It is at this moment, particularly since you described the outfit as ‘sexy.’ By the way, Marissa calls this kind of thing ‘lingerie.’ I’m glad you put it in that ziplock bag so we didn’t lose any trace evidence. Can you describe it?”

  “It’s black, as you can see. There are bikini underpants and what Catherine called a baby-doll top—both pieces transparent. The brand is La Perla, which she also told me is very expensive. I already knew that, although I didn’t tell her. You see, Renée had some La Perla lingerie. Also, it has a tag with the name of a store in New Orleans. It smells like the perfume Renée used to wear. Opium. I bought so many bottles of it for her I’ll never forget the name. The smell isn’t fresh, like it was just put on a day or two ago, but it isn’t stale and musty, either.” James looked earnestly at Eric. “Did you find this in the cottage?”

  “I haven’t publicly released information about what we found in the cottage, but I’ll tell only you—please don’t spread around the news yet—that we found Renée’s car in the garage of another cottage. There were suitcases in the trunk. This thing could have been in one of those suitcases.”

  “Don’t you have a list of what was in the suitcases?”

  Eric looked at James for a moment and then said slowly, “Yes, but it’s filed away. I’ll look it over later, but I think you’re right. I remember a few pieces of sexy lingerie were found, and although the guys who did the forensics work on the car said everything smelled like perfume, it was Robbie who came out for a look at the suitcase contents, took one whiff, and immediately said, ‘That’s Opium by Yves Saint Laurent.’”

  “These women really know their perfumes.”

  Eric smiled. “Well, some of them. My mother has worn one scent my whole life. I don’t think she knows anything else exists.” His smile disappeared. “Where did Catherine find this?”

  “In my bedroom. It’s small. The dresser is against one wall, the chest of drawers against the other, but there’s a corner space between them. The nightie was lying in the corner.”

  “And Catherine just happened to look in that corner?”

  “Catherine will only keep one dresser drawer with a few things in it at my town house. That drawer is right beside the corner. I guess she was looking for something in it, smelled the perfume, and looked into the corner.”

  “Ohhh,” Eric said slowly. “Only one drawer and it happens to be beside that corner?” James nodded. “Then I’d say whoever put this ‘gift’ in the corner had gone through all the drawers and seen that one contained Catherine’s things—one right next
to that corner, where she could hardly miss either seeing it or catching the scent.”

  “My God, you’re right,” James said slowly. “We ate at my place, but we didn’t get there until around six thirty. We were getting ready for bed around ten—early for us, but we were both tired. That means someone could have been in the town house as late as five thirty or six. It’s already dark by then.” James frowned. “But who knew Catherine was going to stay at my place Tuesday night?”

  Eric shrugged. “Can you think of anyone you told?”

  “No. I don’t remember telling anyone. It’s not the kind of thing I broadcast.”

  “Maybe Catherine mentioned it to someone. I’ll ask her.” Eric picked up a pencil, then laid it down. “I assume you’ve checked your locks.”

  “This morning I looked and saw no sign of a break-in, but then I’m not an expert. I called a locksmith to change the locks by early this afternoon.”

  “Good. I’d like for our forensics people to go over the place before the locksmith comes, though.” James nodded. “I wish we had a team like the ones on television.”

  James grinned. “I doubt if there are any teams like the ones on television. They’re magicians. In real life, test results don’t come back within a couple of hours. Criminalists don’t interrogate ‘persons of interest’ and they sure as hell don’t make arrests.”

  “But that’s what a lot of the general public has come to expect of police departments and people think we’re being lazy or don’t know our jobs just because we can’t work the miracles they see on TV. Oh well.” Eric suddenly gave James a penetrating look. “You said Renée wore this Pearl—La Perla lingerie and that this piece came from a shop in New Orleans. Was it familiar to you? Do you remember her ever wearing it?”

  James’s cheeks colored. “I don’t know. I don’t really pay attention to stuff like that.…” Eric’s sharp gaze remained fixed. “Okay. I recall something that looked like it. She’s been gone a long time. We stopped sleeping together months before she left, but … well, I remember her catching her engagement ring on it and it made a little tear in the lace at the top. It was hardly noticeable, but she got so upset … otherwise it wouldn’t stick in my mind. So many of those lace and satin or chiffon or whatever things look alike, you know.” Eric’s stare could have pierced stone and James sighed in defeat. “Yeah, Eric, it has the tear. I remember the damned thing all too well.”