“For you,” Lawrence said. “If my son had run off with her a week before our wedding, it would have been the end of us. It would have destroyed me and that would have destroyed all your plans. You’d waited twelve years to become Mrs. Lawrence Blakethorne, and Renée was going to ruin it all for you.”
“She was going to ruin you.”
“And that would have ruined you.” His eyes bored into hers. “Did you know who killed Arcos and Nordine?”
“Oh God, no!”
“You’re lying.”
“Lawrence, how could I have known?”
“It was obvious their killer and the person who shot James was trying to avenge Renée.” He was silent for a moment. “Admit it, Patrice. You knew.”
“I … I wondered. His brain injury. His passionate attachment to her…”
“But you didn’t come to me with your wonderings. Instead, you let that boy go on killing and now,” Lawrence choked, “and now he’ll spend the rest of his life in a mental institution.”
“Well, at least you won’t have to watch it! You’ll be dead in two years. The strong, successful, macho Lawrence Blakethorne will be a twitching, jittering, drooling hunched-up being who can’t hold anything, who can’t walk, who can’t even swallow. That’s the perfect end for a man like you. What will the women think of you then when you won’t even be able to swallow!”
Suddenly Lawrence jerked Patrice’s arm, pulling her closer to the plane. She began to shout, then suddenly to whimper as Lawrence’s grip must have tightened. James rushed forward, but with an unexpectedly powerful thrust Lawrence pushed him backward, nearly knocking him down.
“James!” Catherine called helplessly as she stepped behind him, trying to steady him. “What’s he doing?”
“Putting her on the plane.”
“Patrice!” Catherine called, stunned by the brute force of Lawrence’s movements, of slender Patrice’s futile efforts to wriggle free of him to somehow break his grip. James started toward the couple again, but Lawrence kicked backward, this time connected with James’s leg, and sent him stumbling back to the concrete.
By now, Lawrence had managed to literally stuff Patrice into the cabin of the plane. Just like Patrice must have stuffed Renée’s body into that cistern, Catherine thought distantly. Lawrence slammed the door and began to start the plane.
“Oh no,” Catherine said faintly. “What’s he going to do?”
James simply stared as Lawrence, without looking at the instrument panel or picking up a microphone, took the plane to a runway, and began idling. Catherine could see Patrice struggling inside the cabin, but Lawrence held the back of her hair. She thought he might break Patrice’s neck.
Abruptly Catherine remembered the women of the bridal party getting ready in the Larke Inn suite. “Lawrence has business to take care of now, but in two weeks we’ll be walking on the Champs-Élysées,” Patrice had said gaily. “Think of it—the specialty shops, the cafés, the cinemas…” Incredibly, Catherine felt pain at the memory. There would be no Champs-Élysées for Patrice now.
Lost in the recollection, Catherine didn’t focus on the plane again until it began roaring down the runway. Around her, she saw workers gathering, stunned by Lawrence Blakethorne’s behavior, the danger of taking off without clearance. Catherine grabbed James’s hand, terrified to look at what might happen but unable to look away.
After what seemed an interminable time, the plane lifted and soared. The pale afternoon sun flashed on the wings and the plane circled and then headed straight ahead without gaining altitude. In one brilliant flash, sun sparkled on thundering water before Lawrence headed the Cessna straight into Aurora Falls, ending the whole tragedy in a giant ball of fire.
EPILOGUE
Two weeks later
“It’s a beautiful day and we’ve been hermits for the last couple of weeks. That’s not like a couple of workaholics like us,” James said. “How about going for a drive to clear the cobwebs out of our heads?”
“Do you have cobwebs?” Catherine asked. “I feel like I just have sand. I’d love to go for a drive.”
As they sped along, the seriousness gradually leaving their faces, James mentioned again how happy he was that Eric had won the election and was now Sheriff Montgomery. “I’ll be getting out of parking tickets right and left.”
“That’s what you think. Eric isn’t big on breaking the rules.”
She seemed to drift away for a moment, then snapped back when James mentioned Gaston. “Eric had someone at the morgue call him when Gaston came to claim Renée’s body. He cornered him and asked a few questions—there wasn’t much else he could do because Gaston hadn’t broken any laws. Anyway, the old pervert told Eric he’d come here to search for the person who’d killed his daughter. He told Eric if he’d found the person and had proof, he would have brought it straight to the sheriff.” He paused. “Both Eric and I have doubts about that last statement.”
“Well-founded doubts,” Catherine said. “With a man like Gaston, you don’t know if he just wanted to know who killed Renée, or if he would have murdered her killer. It’s impossible to know how he felt about her. Probably just possessive. He wanted to avenge her death because she was his property, not because he loved her. He’s incapable of love.”
“Well, at least he’s taken her home. And I think she’ll be placed in the Moreau mausoleum, no matter what Audrey says.”
They drove on in silence for a while. Then Catherine noticed they were traveling south, passing the Aurora Falls she hoped she would be able to look at again by spring without the dreadful memory of the explosion. On they drove, James slipping in a Tchaikovsky CD he knew she liked, until she began to recognize the remains of cornfields and remembered a bright October day when she’d traveled this way in Marissa’s red convertible Mustang.
“James, where are we going?”
“It’s a surprise.”
“No, it isn’t. James, I think you’re taking me somewhere I really don’t want to go.”
“You can make up your mind when we get there. For now, just give me the benefit of the doubt.”
Catherine sank unhappily in her seat, not at all surprised when James made a right turn just past the November ruins of cornfields. Finally they turned onto Perry Lane. Catherine remembered how annoyed Marissa had been that Catherine had yelled, “Turn right” and scared Marissa into slamming on the brakes in the middle of the highway, then tried to divert her anger by asking if the Beatles had done a song named “Perry Lane.”
Finally they swung a wide circle in the road, and after passing distant lines of trees varying from dark red to yellow to orange James pulled to the side of the road. For a moment he didn’t say anything. Then he asked, “Well?”
“This isn’t the same place—I mean I know it must be—but it looks so different from where the cottage was.”
“I had the cottage completely destroyed and all the trash hauled away along with the diseased evergreens. I had the land flattened and a big birdhouse put about a hundred yards north of where the cottage used to stand. I thought it could be sort of a focal point for what’s now the center of the lot. It always was the center of the lot, actually. Grandpa put the cottage nearer to the dock.”
“I see.”
“In the spring, I plan to have the dock rebuilt, build a fabulous boathouse, have the riprap replaced on the riverbank, put in a sturdy fence to separate the level ground from the riverbank, and lots of trees and shrubs planted for color and … well, interest.”
“What about the cistern?”
“It’s been removed, Catherine. Every last trace of it.” She stared at the spot where she remembered it being. “Your line of sight is off,” James said. “That’s quite a few feet from where it was. You see? You don’t even remember it that well.”
“Oh, I remember it. Maybe not the exact location, but I remember it.”
“Okay, I stand corrected. Anyway, I’m going to hire a landscape artist to design and plant a big p
erennial garden with brick walkways. That will completely cover the area where the cistern was. And hey, look at my grandmother’s apple orchard! The leaves on the trees are turning brown now. And to my way of thinking, it’s pretty small to be an actual orchard. It could be expanded. Let’s take a closer look.”
Catherine got out of the car slowly and closed her door. She had to admit that without the shabby cottage, the overgrown, diseased evergreens, the fallen shutters, the pothole-filled gravel driveway, the place looked entirely different. Although some heavy clouds floated over now and then, a pale golden sun still shone through onto the turning leaves of the trees. Even a few birds were already investigating the big birdhouse.
“What do you think?” James asked.
“Well … I’d like to say it looks better than it did, but actually, it doesn’t even look like the same place.” After a moment of silence, she said, “It looks like it could be beautiful.”
“Could be beautiful?”
“With the right house. Maybe a ‘Cape Cod,’” they said at the same time, then broke into laughter. “I guess great minds run the same.”
“Great taste runs the same.” James stepped closer to Catherine, putting his left hand in his jacket pocket and his right arm around her neck. “Do you think you might like to live out here? I know it’s farther from the center than you are now and there aren’t many neighbors, although I’ve heard that a few folks are buying up land out here with plans to level the old fishing cottages and build nice houses.”
“Are you telling me you’re going to build a house out here, James?”
“I’m telling you that I’ve given it a lot of thought. It all depends on one thing.”
“And what would that thing be?”
“On whether you think you’d like to live here.” Catherine could do nothing but stare at him. “Catherine Gray, I love you more than I thought I could ever love anyone. When I was young, I was too stupid to know it, but I hope time has taught me a few lessons.” Catherine felt her eyes fill up with tears. “My darling girl, will you at least think about marrying me?” Catherine burst into a hiccoughing sigh. “Good lord, is that a yes?” She nodded. “When you make up your mind, and if the answer is ‘yes,’ tell me when you’re ready for me to propose. I’ll get a ring.”
“A very big one.” She sniffled. “Yes. Ten carats at least.”
“Twelve.”
“Anything you say.” James glanced over the land where the cottage had once stood. “We don’t have to live here, you know. If you think you’d be the least bit unhappy, we can buy land at the other end of town.”
Catherine gave the three-acre lot a long look, picturing a beautiful Cape Cod house, a multitude of flowers in the summer, lights on outside evergreens in the winter. “I’d like to live here and raise flower gardens and expand the apple orchard and add peach trees and have lots of cats and dogs.”
“That’s all?”
Catherine frowned as if lost in thought. Finally, she said, “Oh, and I’d like to have at least two kids. Maybe three, sir, if you don’t think you’d mind.”
“I don’t think I’d mind at all.” James beamed, then leaned over, gently pushing her long hair away from her face. Just before his lips met hers, he whispered, “Catherine, dreams do come true. I know, because at last I have mine.”
Also by
CARLENE THOMPSON
Nowhere to Hide
You Can Run …
If You Ever Tell
Last Seen Alive
Last Whisper
Share No Secrets
If She Should Die
All Fall Down
Black for Remembrance
Since You’ve Been Gone
Don’t Close Your Eyes
In the Event of My Death
Tonight You’re Mine
The Way You Look Tonight
PRAISE FOR CARLENE THOMPSON
NOWHERE TO HIDE
“[An] entertaining, action-packed thriller.”
—Mystery Gazette
“This book provides fast-paced action, gripping suspense, a sweet rekindling of romance, and a solid mystery. Thompson is a skilled writer who does a fantastic job.”
—RT Book Reviews
YOU CAN RUN …
“Mary Higgins Clark fans, take note.”
—Kirkus Reviews
“A compelling writer who keeps the pace moving, the clues coming, and the outcome hidden until the unexpected conclusion.”
—Night Owl Romance Reviews
IF YOU EVER TELL
“A tense … engaging, romantic suspense thriller.”
—Harriet Klausner, BookReview.com
LAST SEEN ALIVE
“This story has plenty of suspense and an excellent mystery.”
—RT Book Reviews
“Gripping suspense.”
—Judith Kelman, bestselling author of Hush Little Darlings
LAST WHISPER
“The characters are so well drawn that the reader will feel like she knows them personally. Thompson offers suspense and an intriguing mystery.”
—RT Book Reviews
SHARE NO SECRETS
“Intriguing … brims with madness and creepy thrills.”
—RT Book Reviews
“Turns and twists make you change your mind about who the killer is and the ending is a real shocker. Get this one quick.”
—Rendezvous
“Thompson knows how to write gripping suspense and keep readers enthralled throughout. A great mystery with thrilling intrigue.”
—Fresh Fiction
“A chilling murder mystery with lots of twists, turns, and unexpected curves … one of the best romantic mysteries I have read … a great book that you don’t want to miss.”
—Romance Junkies
“A page-turner that will leave you on the edge of your seat … another wonderful thriller from Carlene Thompson … a must-read.”
—A Romance Review
“An intriguing tale told in a wonderfully fresh voice. Thomp-son has a truly unique style that blends beautiful prose with compelling plots … this novel reads like lightning—and has the same effect on the reader … Thompson has created sharp, smart characters with motives that drive the story along. They are enough to keep the story moving at a quick pace. Her voice has a sense of rhythm and a rustic beauty that lingers in the reader’s memory.”
—Romance Divas
“An action-filled read with plenty of twists and turns that will keep you guessing until the very end! This story is highly detailed with an array of in-depth characters that are smart, funny, and engaging.”
—Fallen Angel Reviews
IF SHE SHOULD DIE
“A gripping suspense filled with romance. Ms. Thompson has the reader solving the mystery early in the novel, then changing that opinion every few chapters. [An] excellent novel.”
—Rendezvous Review
“With engaging characters and intriguing motives, Thompson has created a smart, gripping tale of revenge, anger, and obsession.”
—RT Book Reviews
“A riveting whodunit!”
—Road to Romance
“In the tradition of Tami Hoag or Mary Higgins Clark, Thompson has created a gripping page-turner. The story line is engaging and the characters’ lives are multidimensional. This is literally a book the reader will be unable to put down.”
—Old Book Barn Gazette
BLACK FOR REMEMBRANCE
“Bizarre, terrifying … an inventive and forceful psychological thriller.”
—Publishers Weekly
“Gripped me from the first page and held on through its completely unexpected climax. Lock your doors, make sure there’s no one behind you, and pick up Black for Remembrance.”
—William Katz, author of Double Wedding
“Thompson’s style is richly bleak, her sense of morality complex … Thompson is a mistress of the thriller parvenu.”
—Fear
SIN
CE YOU’VE BEEN GONE
“This story will keep readers up well into the night.”
—Huntress Reviews
DON’T CLOSE YOUR EYES
“Don’t Close Your Eyes has all the gothic sensibilities of a Victoria Holt novel, combined with the riveting modern suspense of Sharyn McCrumb’s The Hangman’s Beautiful Daughter. Don’t close your eyes—and don’t miss this one.”
—Meagan McKinney, author of In the Dark
“An exciting romantic suspense novel that will thrill readers.”
—Midwest Book Review
IN THE EVENT OF MY DEATH
“[A] blood-chilling … tale of vengeance, madness, and murder.”
—RT Book Reviews
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
CARLENE THOMPSON has a Ph.D. in English and is a native West Virginian. To the Grave is her fifteenth book. She lives in Point Pleasant, West Virginia, where she spends her time writing and caring for the many cats and dogs she has taken in, including a lovable, blond, mixed breed canine named Lindsay, who also appeared in Nowhere to Hide.
Visit her website at: www.carlenethompson.net
This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, organizations, and events portrayed in this novel are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.
TO THE GRAVE
Copyright © 2012 by Carlene Thompson.
All rights reserved.
For information address St. Martin’s Press, 175 Fifth Avenue, New York, NY 10010.
www.stmartins.com
eISBN: 9781466801943
St. Martin’s Paperbacks edition / August 2012
St. Martin’s Paperbacks are published by St. Martin’s Press, 175 Fifth Avenue, New York, NY 10010.
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