“Stop!” James nearly shouted, holding up his hand. “God, this is driving me crazy. I was sick in Pittsburgh. I didn’t go anywhere!”
“So you’ve said.” They glowered at each other, and then Eric said evenly, “Come on, James. Don’t act like you know nothing about how criminal investigations are conducted.”
A male nurse opened the door and glanced in the room. As they both looked at James, Eric noticed his paleness and the lines that had deepened around his eyes.
“I know it’s still visiting hours,” the nurse said to Eric, “but Mr. Eastman needs to rest. I’m sorry, sir, but I’m afraid I have to ask you to leave now.”
“Okay,” Eric said quietly, knowing he’d pushed James almost as far as he could. “May I stay long enough to ask Mr. Eastman two more questions, though?”
The nurse looked doubtful, but James said, “Yes. I’m not dying. I can certainly answer a couple of questions.” As soon as the nurse backed out and closed the door, James asked, “So what do you want to know?”
“First, have you gotten a chance to tell Renée’s parents that she’s dead?”
“I talked to Audrey, Renée’s mother, on Monday and told her Renée had been murdered. She claimed not to believe me. “Finally, I demanded to talk to Gaston, Renée’s father. Audrey said he was in Europe and she wouldn’t let me disturb him,” James continued. “I didn’t believe her. I don’t think Gaston was in Europe then or now. Still, I haven’t heard a word from him and I would have expected something from him. Maybe he doesn’t know Renée is dead. All I know for certain is that he must be found and told that his only child has been murdered. Considering my condition, I’ll leave finding him to you, whether he really is in Europe or if he’s in the United States. I am not Renée’s husband anymore. I’m not going to act like I am by tracking down her father. That’s your department.” He waited an instant. “Second question?”
Eric paused for a moment, wondering if he should just let things go for now. But he couldn’t. In a soft, emotionless voice, he asked, “Why didn’t you divorce Renée when she was still in Aurora Falls?”
James lowered his gaze. “Mostly arrogance, Eric. When I married her, I was young and full of myself. I thought I was damned great, to put it bluntly. I wouldn’t listen to anybody because I thought I knew more than anybody.” He laughed ruefully. “God, was I wrong. I knew it less than a year after our marriage. Sooner. Still, I just couldn’t admit it.”
“Finally, I started acting with some guts, like I should have from the beginning, and told her I’d charge her with adultery. And I had proof—not a lot, because Renée could be covert when she wanted—but I had enough proof to win a divorce.”
“And that’s when she left?”
“No. She thought I wouldn’t do it—the humiliation factor again. She said she’d fight me, start rumors about my family, claim I’d physically and emotionally abused her—” James sighed. “I probably wouldn’t have gone through with it, even though my parents had told me they didn’t care about a little embarrassment. After all, both their families had lived and been respected in Aurora Falls for over a hundred years, while Renée was … well, hardly admired.”
“That’s putting it lightly.”
“Still, I procrastinated. I told myself I just couldn’t bear to put my family through such mortification, but looking back, I realize that was only partly true. I couldn’t bear to put myself through such mortification.” James looked at Eric, shame in his eyes. “That’s the truth, hard as it is to admit.”
Eric nodded. “I know it must have been hard for you to admit.”
“Then you understand.”
“I understand, but…”
“But?”
Eric remained quiet for a few moments. Then he said, “My grandfather used to quote a passage from Proverbs:
“‘Pride goes before destruction,
And a haughty spirit before a fall.’
“In this case, James, I’d say the pride you had in the past has caused a lot of destruction in the present and that’s just not easy to forget or excuse.”
4
Bridget blinked twice and cast a blurry look at her bedside clock: 11:45. She yawned.
Earlier, she’d asked Ken to spend the night at her house, but he’d been afraid Dana would find out. “But she said she was staying all night at the hospital again,” Bridget had argued.
“Maybe she will, and maybe she just said that so she could come back to the gallery at two in the morning and find me gone,” he’d told her. “Dana’s clever and I know she already suspects this affair.”
“This affair?” Bridget had asked. “How many have there been?”
After a moment, Ken said softly, “Bridget, I’ve been married to Dana for a long time. It hasn’t been easy. In fact, at times it’s been pretty damned miserable. There have been other women. Casual affairs.”
“Oh. Well, I guess it was silly of me to think … I mean, a man like you trapped with a woman like her…” Her voice had started to waver. “But I know about Renée Eastman. People say you loved her.”
Ken emitted a harsh laugh. “Love? Renée? She was nothing to me. Nothing.”
“And me?”
“I love you. I wish there had only been you—ever. You know that. Why do you sound so insecure tonight?”
“You’ve been acting strange lately—it’s so different than you’ve ever acted with me before now. Ken, tell me the truth. Have you changed your mind about being with me?”
“After all we’ve been planning these last few months? After all we’ve already started doing to secure our future? Would I go through all of that with some woman who meant nothing to me?” His voice grew more intense. “I intend to get rid of Dana and make you my wife just as soon as possible.”
“Then what’s wrong?”
“I guess the tension of this situation is getting to me. I have to be so careful, Bridget. The Nordine Gallery isn’t mine—it belongs to both Dana and me.. I don’t want to lose half of it.”
“I know you don’t, but when you sell the Arcos paintings—”
“Shhh. Let’s not even talk about them yet. We have to be patient, sweetheart. Everything is too new, too tentative.”
“You mean our relationship?”
“No, I mean the business angle,” he said sharply, then more softly, “If Dana divorces me on the grounds of adultery, I’ll lose half the value of the gallery, and I will not lose this place!” He sighed. “I feel a migraine coming on.”
“Maybe all this worrying you’re doing about the gallery brought on the migraine,” Bridget said softly. “I know you’re tired of talking about this, but can’t you just buy Dana’s half of the place?”
“Well … not right away. I’m not a rich man, Bridget.”
“Not yet. You will be after you sell Arcos’s paintings. You’ve arranged everything so Dana won’t get a penny from them. You’ll be rich then.”
“Well-off, but not rich. And things can always go wrong.”
Anxiety touched Bridget’s voice. “You mean they might? You may not get any money from the paintings?”
“That doesn’t matter to you, does it?”
“Well … no, of course not.”
“You love me for me, don’t you? You’re not pretending to love me because you think I have a lot of money or I will have a lot of money.”
“Ken, you know I’m not pretending. I’ve always known you aren’t rich. And the Arcos thing was a fluke. We didn’t know he’d become such a success. ”
“But when we got involved, you thought I was well-off.”
“Yes, but…”
“Do you love me at all? Or are you just attracted to me? Or worse, are you just entertaining yourself? Is that it, Bridget? Am I just entertainment?”
“Entertainment? What are you talking about? I love you!”
“It’s easy to say you love someone.”
Bridget, for the first time during her affair with Ken, was becoming uneasy a
bout him. So far, he’d been the kindest, gentlest man she’d ever known. She’d felt so safe with him, so loved. But now?
“She said she loved me, too, but she left,” Ken snarled.
“She?” Bridget asked carefully. “Who are you talking about?”
After a moment, Ken said in his normal voice, “Bridget, please forgive me for tonight. I sound crazy.”
“No, just different,” she said without conviction. “You’ve been acting different all week.”
“I think the Arcos murder threw me. There’s so much to arrange for you and me, and Dana is such a harpy but so damned smart. I have to be alert twenty-four/seven. I’m just tired. I’m going to take my migraine medicine and go straight to bed.”
“I think that’s exactly what you should do.”
“Once again, sorry for being so weird tonight. I have a lot on my mind. Soon it will be nothing but caviar and roses and wonderful times for Ken and Bridget Nordine.” She smiled. He knew calling her Bridget Nordine pleased her. “Call me in the morning—not too early—to let me know you’re not sick. I’ll worry about you all night.”
“I’ll be fine, Ken, really.”
“I won’t be able to relax until I know that for sure. You’re too precious to me. See you tomorrow at the gallery.”
Bridget lay in the dark, thinking. What had sent Ken into a tailspin tonight? Maybe it had something to do with these murders. After all, one had been of Renée Eastman. But he hadn’t loved that woman. She hadn’t meant anything to him. Or so he said.
Bridget sighed and tried to reason herself into calmness. It had been a hard day. Lots of people had visited the gallery and Dana hadn’t been around to help. Ken was only suffering from a bad headache probably triggered by exhaustion. Bridget felt beat, too. All she wanted was to lie down on a white velvet chaise longue with soft music in the background and someone to rub her feet.
Oh well, it was late—or very early in the morning—and Bridget’s energy was waning. She didn’t want to worry about Ken anymore tonight. He would be all right. And he did love her. She was certain he loved her. Maybe it wasn’t the “death do us part” kind of love, but it was enough love to suffice for now. Later, it would grow … and grow … and grow.…
Bridget dozed off, then awakened an hour later. She was hanging on the edge of sleep again when she heard a floorboard creak. It seemed to her nearly every floorboard in this little old house creaked. Temperature changes, she thought dully. Another creak. The temperature must be dropping. Late October, an unusually chilly night, her being awake at this time when she was usually in a deep sleep and didn’t hear anything …
Creak. This one closer. Creak.
Bridget sat up in bed. Although the room temperature was comfortable, she felt tiny chill bumps popping up on her arms.
I am not alone in this room, she thought abruptly.
Then she looked toward the curtains hanging over the bedroom windows. Cheap cotton curtains with not much more than gauze for a lining, they allowed a bit of light from a nearby streetlamp to seep in. Silhouetted against them, she saw a shadow. No, not just a shadow—a human shape.
Stealthily, she reached toward her nightstand. In the drawer she kept a .22 revolver given to her by a past lover to keep her safe. He’d even taught her how to use it, and she was a good shot.
The drawer barely made a sound as she slid it open. Her fingers touched the cool metal of the gun—
Before she could close her hand around the gun barrel, the silhouette shot across the small room, pressed a cloth over her nose and mouth, and pushed her head against the pillow. She kicked and twisted uselessly beneath the bedclothes, but she couldn’t move her head. She also couldn’t hold her breath any longer. She let in a tiny whiff of something cloying and sweet. She tried kicking some more, but that only made her more breathless. Into her mouth, her throat, her lungs, flowed the sweet scent.
And then Bridget finally went to sleep.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
1
“The private-duty nurse will be arriving there at ten o’clock tomorrow to get everything ready.” Dana held the phone handset, waiting for her husband to reply. “Ken, did you hear me?”
“A private-duty nurse?” he replied vaguely.
“Yes. They’re releasing Mary tomorrow around eleven. Don’t tell me you forgot.”
“No, I didn’t forget.” Pause. “A nurse?”
“I told you yesterday that I don’t feel competent taking care of Mary as soon as she comes home. They gave me a list of private-duty nurses and I hired one to stay with us for a couple of days. Maybe three. Frankly, I’d feel better if she’d stay all week.” Silence. “Ken, are you listening to me?”
“Huh? Oh yes. A nurse. For Mary.”
“Ken, what’s wrong?”
“Bridget didn’t come to work today.”
“Why?”
“I don’t know. She didn’t call. When she was an hour late, I called her. I only got her voice mail.”
“Oh. Well, maybe something came up—family troubles or something.”
“She doesn’t have any family here. Besides, she would have called me. I tried getting her again. Three times. Still just voice mail.” His voice rose slightly. “Dana, she’s over three hours late!”
Bridget had been late twice over the last year, but she’d always called to explain her tardiness. Still, annoyance rushed through Dana that Ken didn’t sound frustrated or even a bit angry—he sounded upset. “I’m sure Bridget is fine.”
“You don’t know that she’s fine!”
“The Bridgets of the world are usually fine, Ken.” Normally he would have snapped back at her sarcasm, but today he didn’t seem to notice. Silence spun out. “Ken, please stop worrying about Bridget. She’ll have a great excuse both for being late and for not calling you.”
“Do you really think so?”
Damn him! Dana fumed inwardly. Couldn’t he try to hide his feelings for the woman, even when talking to his wife?
“Yes, Ken. I’m absolutely certain. Now can we get back to the subject of your daughter?”
2
As Catherine drove home, she looked out the car window at the beautiful, clear autumn afternoon. She knew that after getting only three hours of fitful sleep last night and suffering from a crashing headache she should have canceled all of her appointments and taken off the whole day; however, she’d had two patients—one at one o’clock and another scheduled for two thirty—whom she felt she must see today. Both had reached serious points in their therapy, and her sense of responsibility far outweighed her fatigue. The sessions had gone well—especially one in which she believed her patient had accomplished a crucial breakthrough—and Catherine was extremely glad she hadn’t skipped, or even delayed, the appointments. Next to Marissa and James, Catherine’s patients were her priority.
But now it was almost four o’clock, and as she pulled into the garage Catherine felt almost too tired to exit the car and go into the house. All she wanted was to close the automatic garage door behind her, lie down on the front car seat, and go to sleep for about eight hours.
Wouldn’t that cause an uproar? she thought, and couldn’t help smiling. The surveillance cop would assume Catherine had gone inside the house. Marissa would arrive home, pull into the garage, see Catherine stretched out like a corpse in the car, and go berserk. As she climbed from the car and headed for the door leading into the kitchen, she let her thoughts run free, imagining official vehicles with sirens blaring and lights blazing converging at the Gray home. Eric would come, of course. And Robbie. Paramedics. Other deputies would be stringing a ton of crime-scene tape around the place. If the news shows got wind of it, television vans might be parked out front, reporters with microphones and camerapeople covering the lawn. The ever-vigilant Steve Crown and his wife would be stationed at their front window, Steve itching to come over and get involved, even though he hadn’t completely recovered from Nicolai Arcos’s attack.…
Lindsay barked
, startling Catherine out of her dramatic daydream. The dog rushed into the kitchen and barked again, tail wagging. “Hello, Lindsay,” Catherine said. “Sorry it’s not Marissa, but she’ll be home soon.”
Lindsay laid her stuffed penguin at Catherine’s feet and looked up expectantly. “Well, maybe you’re as glad to see me as you would be to see Marissa.” Catherine stooped and rubbed the dog’s ears, feeling her stomach clench at the dog’s display of affection. She’d felt so much horror, fear, and doubt the last few days, she felt as if it might not take much to tip her over the edge.
“Gosh, Lindsay, I think I’m on the verge of a crying jag.” She laughed shakily. “How about taking a nap with me?”
* * *
Two hours later, Marissa arrived home from work to find Catherine on her bed curled up in her bra and panties, partially covered by a down comforter, and Lindsay lying on the bed with her back against Catherine. They’re spooning, Marissa thought, smiling as Lindsay gently thumped her tail but clearly had no intention of getting off the bed.
Marissa crept near the bed. “Sorry, Lindsay, but your Catherine has somewhere to go and I’m her date. I promise we’ll both come back safe and sound.” She placed her hand on Catherine’s shoulder, gently shaking her. “Wake up, Sleeping Beauty. We have a wedding rehearsal to attend.”
Catherine whimpered slightly.
“Sorry, honey. You promised and you never break a promise if you can help it. You have to wake up now.”
Catherine moaned, her eyes remaining firmly shut.
“Catherine, we have to be at the church in an hour. Wake up.”
Catherine’s heather green eyes flared open and she burst out, “Oh shit, dammit, hell!”
Marissa took a step back, then dissolved into giggles. Her sister rarely used “bad” language, much less shouted. Even Lindsay jumped up and fled the room. “Does that mean you don’t want to get up or that I should get out of the area while I’m still on two feet?”
Slowly, Catherine’s eyes focused. “Oh. Marissa.” Then her eyes widened. “Oh, I’m so sorry!”
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