Christine stroked his arm. “We don’t know that, so you calm down and think good thoughts, because it’s probably not Dara.” She glanced at Winter, who studied Jeremy with a faint frown. Obviously, he noticed the slightly childish tone of Jeremy’s speech, which did not belong to a man of twenty. She wondered if anyone had told the deputy sheriff that Jeremy Ireland was mentally disabled, that he had the intelligence of a twelve-year-old, although that age assignment was arbitrary. In many ways, he was not like a regular kid of twelve.
“I wanna know about the body,” Jeremy demanded.
“Let’s not talk about it now.” Christine tried to smile at him. “Let’s talk about it later when we’re home and comfortable.”
“I’m not a little boy,” Jeremy said solemnly. “I want to know what’s happening now.”
Christine sighed. No, at his level of intellectual development Jeremy wasn’t exactly a little boy. But he wasn’t an adult, either.
Winter came forward, hand extended. “I’m Deputy Sheriff Michael Winter. Glad to meet you, Jeremy.”
“Glad to meet you, too,” Jeremy said, shaking Winter’s hand. “Dara was sort of like my sister, but not really. Her father is our guardian.”
“Your sister told me.”
“So what’s goin’ on?” Jeremy asked edgily.
“Well, Jeremy, I’m afraid the flood has washed up something unpleasant,” Winter went on without a hint of condescension. “The body of a female wrapped in plastic. It’s been in the water a long time. We can’t tell a lot about it except that it’s the right height to be Dara and it has black hair. But it might not be Dara.”
“Why can’t you just look at the body and see if it’s Dara?”
“Because the body has been in the water a long time. There’s been decomposition. . . .” Winter looked at Jeremy’s frown. “The body has been damaged, Jeremy. In spite of the plastic wrapping, the water caused the skin on the body to—”
“Rot,” Jeremy supplied bluntly. “She’s all rotted down to bones.”
“Well, not completely—”
Tears welled in Jeremy’s eyes. “Christy, I feel sick.”
“Go to the bathroom and splash some cold water on your face.”
“Cold water won’t help if Dara’s all rotted—”
“The body hasn’t been identified,” Winter interrupted. “Jeremy, I want you to keep in mind that it may not be Dara.”
“But you said there was black hair.”
“Lots of people have black hair. It’s not proof that the body is Dara’s. Now do what your sister said. Go splash water on your face and think positive thoughts.”
“Positive thoughts?”
“Don’t think about it being Dara’s body until we know for sure. Stay strong. I’m sure everyone in your family is depending on you to be strong.”
Christine looked at Winter sharply. Was he making fun of Jeremy by telling him the family was counting on him? Was Winter patronizing him? But the deputy’s expression was open and guileless. Either he was a good actor or he was genuinely trying to give Jeremy strength and encouragement.
Jeremy nodded. “I’ll be strong; I promise.”
He turned and walked briskly toward the back of the store. When Jeremy closed the door behind him, Winter looked at Christine. “Miss Ireland, I’m sorry to have delivered this news. I’ll be in touch with your family as soon as I know anything. In the meantime, I’m trying to keep this as quiet as I can to spare Mr. Prince more grief, although it’s hard to keep a lid on news like this.”
“I know. So does Ames. But we appreciate your efforts, Deputy Winter.”
The deputy rose from the table, grabbed his poncho and hat, and strode out the front door, head bent against the cold, pouring rain. Christine stood staring after him as if his exit couldn’t possibly be the end of the scene.
“What’s wrong?” Reynaldo Cimino asked, making Christine jump. She hadn’t heard him enter the showroom. With his black hair, high cheekbones, and perfect smile, he looked more like a movie star than a gem artisan who created beautiful pieces for Prince Jewelry. He’d spent the first thirteen years of his life in Florence, Italy. At age twenty-eight he still had not completely lost the accent that so intrigued many of Winston’s female inhabitants. “Christine, Jeremy’s in the bathroom throwing water all over his head and saying he has to be strong, and you’re white as a ghost. What’s wrong?” Rey asked again.
Christine floundered for a gentle explanation to give the man who’d been in love with Dara three years ago when she vanished. He’d been frantic for weeks, then retreated into near-silence for several months. It was over half a year before he began seeing Tess Brown, whom he abruptly married. Most people thought he’d wed without love and on the rebound. Everyone was certain he’d never recovered from losing Dara.
Christine finally found her voice. “Rey, a body wrapped in plastic washed ashore. A deputy was here. He believes it might be Dara.”
So much for gentleness, Christine thought. The blunt words had simply spilled unchecked in a taut, crisp voice that didn’t sound like her own. Rey stared at her, his olive skin paling, his body going completely still as if he’d turned to stone. Finally he drew a deep breath and murmured, “He said the body was Dara’s?”
“He said it could be Dara’s. No official identification has been made yet. The body has been taken to the medical examiner’s in Charleston. Ames is on his way there to view the . . . remains.”
“Remains?” Reynaldo repeated roughly. “What identifiable remains would be left after three years in the water?”
“I don’t know. There was the plastic wrapping—did I mention the body was wrapped tightly in plastic? It’s horrible. . . .”
Christine trailed off as Jeremy reentered the showroom. His face was ruddy from the sting of cold water, and his shirt collar and the front of his hair were wet.
Rey didn’t seem to see him. “She was wrapped in plastic?” Christine nodded. Rey made the sign of the cross. “Mother of God.”
Jeremy went to him, touching his shoulder. “Maybe it’s not Dara. Don’t cry.”
“I wasn’t going to cry,” Rey nearly snarled.
“You looked like you were,” Jeremy said innocently. “Or maybe you just looked scared.”
“What would I be scared about?” Reynaldo demanded, suddenly hostile.
“Scared that it’s Dara. What else?” Jeremy asked.
Rey was pale as death, and a tiny muscle in his right eyelid twitched. “I’m going back to work,” he announced between clenched teeth.
“Never mind,” Christine said. “It’s four-thirty and pouring rain. We won’t have any more customers today. We’re closing early.”
“Thank goodness.” Rey stood motionless, but his hands had begun to tremble.
“Yes, I think that’s best,” Christine said inanely. “None of us could concentrate anyway.”
“You never liked her,” Reynaldo burst out. “What do you care?”
Christine’s eyes widened in surprise. “What?”
“You never liked Dara. You don’t really care that she’s dead.”
“Rey, that was a mean thing to say,” Jeremy chastised fervently. “Why do you want to hurt Christy’s feelings? She didn’t do anything.”
“Rey, Dara and I didn’t get along very well, but you can’t possibly think I wanted her dead.” Rey didn’t look at Christine. “Well, do you?”
Rey continued to look at the floor. “No. I’m sorry. I’m just . . . Hell, I don’t know how I feel.”
Christine tried to regain some of her composure and said evenly, “You’re shocked, like all of us.”
“Yeah, that’s it. Shocked.”
She wanted desperately to say something comforting, but she couldn’t think of anything appropriate. Rey had loved Dara. But he was married to Christine’s best friend. The subject was too sensitive. Instead she said woodenly, “Why don’t you go next door and make Tess close early?” Rey’s wife owned the adjoining b
ookstore, whimsically named Calliope for the antique musical instrument on display in her showroom. “Take her out for dinner at the Tudor Rose.”
“I went there for my birthday,” Jeremy offered. “Me and Christine and Ames and Patricia. They had really good food, and after I finished my meal waiters and waitresses brought me a cake and sang happy birthday to me. It was great.”
Rey looked at them angrily. “I can’t believe you two!”
“What?” Jeremy quavered. “What did we do?”
“Dara’s body is found and you want me to take my wife out to dinner and eat, drink, and be merry?”
“Rey, we didn’t mean to offend you,” Christine said. “It was just a thought, something to take your mind off things until we know something for sure. After all, we don’t know that the body is Dara’s. I thought you understood that.”
“I do. But still . . . if nothing else, out of respect . . .” Rey ran a hand over his forehead, then stalked to the coat tree and whipped free his raincoat. “I’m outta here.”
“Don’t let Tess see how upset you are,” Christine said.
“In here I take orders from you, Miss Ireland. Once I’m out that door, I’m my own man,” Rey snapped.
She and Jeremy watched Rey slam out the front door. Jeremy frowned. “He must be really mad to call you Miss Ireland.”
“No kidding.”
“Today’s been a real bummer, hasn’t it?” Jeremy asked.
“It sure has, and I can’t wait to get out of this store.”
“I don’t feel like working anymore, either. Hey, Christy, I don’t think Rey loves Tess as much as he loved Dara.”
“Unfortunately, I don’t think Dara loved him,” Christine said as she put on her silver-gray raincoat and drew the belt tight. “But she was very young.”
“Yeah,” Jeremy said. “But even if she didn’t love Reynaldo, she wouldn’t have loved me instead. Sometimes that used to make me mad.”
“It did?” Christine asked casually, although a finger of alarm touched her neck. “How mad?”
“Oh, pretty mad sometimes. Then she’d be real nice to me and I wouldn’t feel so mad anymore that a girl like her wouldn’t ever want me for a boyfriend. I guess it was okay just to be her friend.”
“Yes, sometimes it’s better just to be someone’s friend,” Christine said, hearing the false brightness in her voice. “Like Sloane and me. We were engaged and I wasn’t very happy. Then I broke the engagement, we didn’t get married, and now we’re good friends and I’m happy. Happier than I was when I was his girlfriend.”
Jeremy shook his head. “Sometimes I don’t get all this love stuff. Love like men and women have, not the way I love you and Rhiannon.”
“Me and Rhiannon?” Christine asked with a smile as she handed him his tan raincoat. “Who do you love more? Me or the cat?”
“I love you both the same,” Jeremy said with great kindness. Then his face grew troubled. “Do you think my dreams will stop now?”
“Your dreams?”
Jeremy slipped into his tan raincoat. He was as tall as their father, Edward, had been and just as handsome, but he and Christine had their mother Liv’s Scandinavian coloring. “I said something to you about my dreams a long time ago. You said not to worry, but now I wonder about them.”
“Tell me about the dreams again, Jeremy. I don’t remember all the details.”
“You weren’t paying close attention like you expect me to do all the time,” he said with reproach.
“I’m sorry. You’re right. So tell me once more as we lock up, and I’ll pay very close attention.”
“Okay.” Jeremy paused, gathering his thoughts. “Ever since Dara went away, I’ve been dreaming about water,” he said in a slightly anxious voice. “Dark, cold water that won’t let me see or breathe. And something that won’t let me move, something wrapped all tight around me. But in the dream, I’m alive. I know I’m gonna die and I’m awful scared, but I’m still alive.” A haunted look clouded his clear blue eyes. “I always thought I was dreaming about me, but now I think I was dreaming about Dara. But how could I have known she was in the water all wrapped up in plastic, Christy? How did I know?”
CHAPTER 3
1
Christine stiffened. “Jeremy, don’t tell anyone else about those dreams.”
Jeremy looked puzzled. “How come?”
How could Christine tactfully explain the conclusion some people might draw? Many thought the mentally challenged were capable of anything. Christine had been protecting Jeremy from that ignorant type for as long as she could remember. Now he was talking about dreams that might lead people to believe he’d killed Dara and thrown her body in the river, then didn’t have enough sense not to talk about it.
“People can misunderstand things,” Christine said casually. “They might not realize you were talking about dreams. They might—”
“Think I hurt Dara,” Jeremy interrupted sagely. “Some people are really mean.”
“Yes. And some just aren’t too smart.”
“Like me.”
“No, not like you. You’re smart in all the ways that count. A lot of other people aren’t.” They walked through the showroom to the storeroom and the rear entrance. “They get things all turned around in their minds, or they think they know a lot about subjects when they really don’t have a clue.”
“Is Deputy Winter like that?”
“I don’t know. I just met him.”
“He seemed nice.”
“Yes. But as I said, we don’t know him. So I especially don’t want you mentioning the dreams to him.”
“Because he’s the police?”
“Because we don’t know him,” Christine ended lamely. Of course because he was the police. Three years ago, Sheriff Buck Teague had been convinced Jeremy had done something to Dara. He was probably still convinced. God only knew what Deputy Winter thought. She could tell he was sharper than Teague. And he’d been a detective in Los Angeles before he came to Winston. Why he had come to Winston was a mystery. So was he. A mystery that could pose a threat to Jeremy if the body turned out to be Dara’s and Winter held the same opinion of the mentally challenged as Sheriff Teague.
“You look worried,” Jeremy said as they stepped out the back door onto the small parking lot. “Are you worried about my dreams?”
Christine raised her umbrella, then locked the back door of the store. “It’s been a bad day. The rain, the flooding, the body. I’m just a little depressed.”
“I don’t feel too happy, either.” They hurried to her small car in the rear parking lot. Jeremy tucked his rangy body into the bucket seat. She opened her side, shut the umbrella, tossed it onto the backseat, then climbed in to meet Jeremy’s look of childish appeal. “I really wish you’d get a car like Reynaldo’s.”
“That’s a vintage 1957 Thunderbird he spent about three years restoring. I’m not up to the job. It’s also expensive, and I just bought us a fairly big house.”
“And wouldn’t that T-Bird look cool sitting in the driveway?” Jeremy persisted winningly. “It’s even red, my favorite color.”
“I agree that it’s a great car,” Christine said, thinking of how much Dara had loved riding around in it when she’d dated Reynaldo. “Unfortunately, my uncool little blue car will have to do for now.”
“Well, maybe someday we can have one like Rey’s,” Jeremy said wistfully. “Christy, I feel real bad for thinking about food when Dara might be dead, but I can’t help it. I’m really hungry and nobody’s home.”
“Nobody? How do you know Patricia isn’t home?”
“This morning when she brought me to work she told me to fix a sandwich for dinner. She said she had to go out.”
“Out where? To dinner?”
Jeremy shrugged. “I don’t know. She doesn’t tell me things and I haven’t heard Ames asking her about being gone so much.”
“She’s gone a lot?”
“Yeah. Lately lots more than usual. Anyway,
I’m starving.”
“Me, too,” Christine lied. She certainly didn’t want to drop Jeremy off at the empty Prince home to scrounge dinner for himself and think about Dara. “How about going to Gus’s Grill?”
“Good. I’ll have a cheeseburger and a banana split.”
Half an hour later they sat in a dark green booth in the intimate Gus’s Grill, whose decoration scheme could only be described as eclectic, a mixture of the Mexican, Chinese, and French restaurants it had been in past lives over the last fifteen years. Christine was particularly fond of the renovated mural along one wall showing a woman in a kimono serving spaghetti and meatballs. They ordered loudly above the theme song from Exodus Gus had blaring over the speakers.
“I’ll tell him to turn the music down,” the waitress said to Christine after she’d repeated her drink order for the third time.
“Don’t hurt his feelings,” Christine said. “I know it’s his favorite song.”
The waitress rolled her eyes. “Gus’s feelings are made of steel. Couldn’t hurt ’em if you tried. And if I have to listen to that song one more time today, I’m going to hit him on the head with a frying pan.”
Jeremy laughed uproariously and the waitress smiled at Christine. She always tried to get a laugh out of Jeremy when they ate at Gus’s.
A few minutes later, when the waitress delivered their drinks and the music had been lowered a fraction, Christine asked Jeremy where he thought Patricia went so much of the time.
“Don’t know.” Jeremy noisily sucked Cherry Coke through a straw. “Nobody tells me anything. I get pretty bored and lonely at home, Christy. I only stay because Ames likes me around. Well, sometimes. Other times he acts like I’m invisible.”
Which wasn’t good for Jeremy, Christine thought. She knew her brother needed constant stimulation and a sense of purpose. She particularly disliked his being lonely. Ever since she’d bought a house late last summer, she’d planned to have him permanently move in with her. The basement was large and with an abundance of windows, giving it an unusual amount of daylight for a basement, and offered both inside and outside entrances. She’d decorated the whole area to look like a big loft apartment to give Jeremy a feeling of maturity and privacy while still living with her.
If She Should Die Page 4