Christine saw with dread that the garrulous minister had followed them to the cemetery. She hoped he’d keep the graveside service short, although he looked alarmingly energetic. The murmur she’d heard in the church rose again as people gathered, almost tiptoeing in their desire not to tread on any graves. Christine wondered if a person could really feel someone walking on his grave. She doubted it. She wanted to believe the dead moved on to a different plane where they didn’t feel the sharp edges of this world, especially when she thought of her parents.
The minister started out with gusto, and Christine felt a stab of annoyance that almost emerged as a groan. She diverted herself by looking around. Directly across from her stood Tess and Reynaldo. Neither had any love for Patricia, but Rey was Ames’s employee and therefore expected to attend. He looked distant, as if mentally he’d gone someplace else. Tess clung possessively to his arm. She’d done away with the brassy streaks in her hair, returning it to a soft, flattering brown. Her navy blue dress complimented her figure, and her makeup was skillfully applied to bring out the contours of her face. Except for a tiredness around the eyes, she looked prettier than she had for months. But she still doesn’t have Rey’s attention, Christine thought sadly. Had she ever really possessed his attention?
Ginger stood near Rey and Tess. When she saw Christine looking at her, she started to wave, then caught herself. Christine gave her a brief smile and shifted her gaze to discourage further inappropriate gestures. Streak stood between Ames and Wilma. Christine could only see his back, but that was enough to reveal a perspiring neck. His silver hair was dampened by the sweat, and small tremors rippled beneath the shoulders of his suit jacket. What an ordeal this must be for him, Christine thought. She hoped Ames appreciated Streak’s effort.
Just a couple of feet away from her stood Sloane Caldwell. He was impeccably dressed, as always, and looked tall and solid, although she noticed slight pockets under his hazel eyes, as if he were tired. He was extremely good-looking in a rough-hewn way, but she realized with a start that she far preferred the slender, high-planed face of Michael Winter. She’d once believed Sloane to be the handsomest man she knew. And they’d been so close. Now it seemed impossible that she and Sloane had ever been loving, shared secrets, planned a wedding and a future. It seemed as if he’d always just been her very good friend.
Beside Sloane stood a striking woman with auburn hair Christine recognized as the newest lawyer in Ames’s firm, Monique Lawson. She wondered how serious Sloane was about Monique. Christine really had nothing to go on, but something about Monique struck her as grasping. She wouldn’t be surprised if Sloane’s main attraction for Monique was his blueblood background, the family that had owned a magnificent house on the River Road outside of New Orleans, the teenage years spent in expensive prep schools, the friendships with people like John Kennedy, Jr., the Harvard education. But I’m doing a disservice to Sloane, Christine thought. He had much more to offer than an impressive background.
She felt warm breath in her ear as Jeremy whispered loudly, “Is that minister guy ever gonna stop talking?”
Christine dipped her head to hide a smile. Jeremy had merely whispered what everyone else was probably thinking, but she had to stop him before he continued in an even louder tone.
“He’ll be done in a minute,” she whispered back. “We have to stand still and be quiet or Ames will be mad.”
Another gusty sigh from Jeremy. Sloane saw the exchange and winked at her. She winked back and looked away.
Her gaze met Bethany’s. She looked beautiful in a hunter green suit. She’d pulled her chestnut hair into a French twist, and Christine caught the glitter of small diamond-cut gold hoop earrings. Travis had bought them for her at Prince Jewelry last Christmas. Bethany was one of the few people present who had come for Patricia, Christine thought. Bethany had been intimidated by Patricia, but she’d also grudgingly liked her. At least she hadn’t disliked Patricia or she wouldn’t have helped her restore Eve’s garden. Or rather, transform Eve’s garden into Patricia’s garden, which Patricia would never see in bloom.
Beside Bethany, Travis looked stiff and a bit washed-out. She’d first seen Travis Burke seven years ago when she’d taken Biology 101 at Winston University. She’d dreaded the class, having little interest in biology—especially the lab, where she knew they had to dissect a frog and a sheep’s eye—but Travis’s enthusiasm for the subject, his good looks, and his general charisma had won her over. She’d found herself studying not only because she wanted an A in the class, but also because she wanted this professor to think well of her abilities.
Christine had not developed a crush on Travis Burke, but she knew many of his female students did. He didn’t have the classic looks of Rey Cimino, but he had devil-may-care eyes and a rakish air that seemed irresistible to many girls. Girls like Dara. Dara, too, had groused about taking biology, but a couple of weeks into the course she’d asked Christine what she knew about Travis. By then Christine had become friends with Bethany, and she’d told Dara he was smart, handsome, and married. Dara had never mentioned him again, except to once say he was a charmer.
Charmer.
The word seemed to boom in Christine’s head as a scene from the past rose like something dragging itself up from a deep pool of dark water. She remembered being a senior in college and rushing to an appointment with a professor. As she’d dashed by the warren of offices at the top of Hadley Hall, she ran into Dara coming out of Travis Burke’s office. She’d looked flushed and beautiful. She’d placed her hand on Christine’s arm with uncharacteristic friendliness and said, “I’ve been in to see the Snake Charmer.” “Snake Charmer?” Christine had echoed. “That’s what some of my friends and I call him,” Dara had said. “He has all those awful snakes, but he doesn’t get bitten because he uses the same charm on them as he does on his women. God, he’s hot! The Snake Charmer.”
Christine’s mind came back to the cemetery with a jolt. That day she’d been worried about her appointment with the professor, fearing she was going to have to argue her way out of her first B, and she’d brushed aside Dara, never again thinking about the encounter. After all, Dara was man-crazy and indiscriminate in her tastes. She had crushes on a dozen men a year. What she’d said about Bethany’s husband wasn’t particularly important.
Or it hadn’t seemed important at the time. But Christine now realized Dara hadn’t just looked girlishly excited, she’d looked downright aroused, as if she’d just had a sexual encounter. And she’d called Travis “Snake Charmer.” Could he be the S.C. she’d written about in her diary? Christine desperately tried to remember exactly when she’d seen Dara coming out of his office. A wreath. There had been a small holiday wreath placed on his door by Bethany. She’d seen Dara coming out of the office right before Christmas break. Three months later, she’d disappeared.
2
Michael knew Christine had not seen him at Patricia’s funeral. He’d been purposely unobtrusive, doing what was probably a complete waste of time—studying people attending the funeral to see if anyone looked suspicious. Suspicious had never been fully defined for him, but many behavioral psychologists believe murderers like to come to their victims’ funerals to see the havoc they’ve wreaked.
So, he’d sat through the endless church service, stood through the endless graveside service, and noticed only two people who looked extremely “suspicious.” They were Streak Archer and, unfortunately, Christine. Streak Archer was a conundrum to him. Christine was not. She looked furtive and jumpy because she was miserably uncomfortable not being able to anticipate how Ames Prince would act toward her and Jeremy. Michael knew that was her problem, although Sheriff Teague had told him to watch her in particular. “And that half-witted brother of hers,” Teague had added. “He was supposed to be at a party at the Torrance house, but it would have been easy for him to slip out for a while. You’ll never convince me he didn’t kill Dara Prince. I’ve never trusted his kind, and that sister of his will do anyth
ing to protect him. Stop looking at me that way. I don’t want to hear any of your half-baked theories about how that big, dumb hulk wouldn’t hurt anyone. You don’t know a damned thing about him.”
Jeremy’s half-witted, I’m half-baked, Michael thought in amusement as he strained his peripheral vision to study the crowd without appearing to be looking at anyone. Teague’s got us all analyzed as “halves.” He probably considers himself the only person around who’s whole. If that’s true, Winston citizens are one messed-up bunch of people.
Christine caught sight of him just as Jeremy leaned down to whisper something to her. She tried to hide a smile, and Michael saw people around them doing the same. Jeremy had apparently whispered loudly but entertainingly. Then Christine had looked like she’d drifted off into space for a moment before coming back to earth with a bang. Her shoulders straightened, her eyes opened wide, and her lips parted. Michael watched as her intense gaze shot to the people standing directly across from her. He did his “looking without looking” routine and decided she was staring at either Bethany or Travis Burke with what could only be shock.
Something just came to her, he thought. She’d remembered something. Then he told himself he was an idiot. What was he now? A mind reader? A half-baked psychic?
When the service mercifully ended, Michael saw Sloane Caldwell approach Christine and Jeremy. The deputy lingered, studying other funeral attendees, particularly Streak Archer, who looked like he was ready to pass out. His mother divided her attention between Streak and Ames. Bethany and Travis Burke were making their way toward Ames Prince. Other people headed for their cars. Michael intended to continue uninterrupted surveillance until everyone attending Patricia Prince’s funeral left. His concentration dissolved, though, when Christine tapped him on the arm and said urgently, “I have to tell you something.”
He glanced at Sloane Caldwell, who was talking to Jeremy but looking at Christine. “Has anything happened today?” Michael asked, gazing into her troubled eyes. “Did you get another phone call? Something in the mail?”
“No. Nothing has happened to me except that I’ve remembered something.” Christine told him quickly about a memory of Dara walking out of Travis Burke’s office and that Dara and her friends called him Snake Charmer. “S.C. in the diary,” she explained unnecessarily, “it might not be Sloane Caldwell. It might be Travis Burke. If you’d seen the way Dara looked . . .” She shook her head. “I feel awful for telling you this, because Bethany is my friend, but I think Dara might have been involved with Travis, not Sloane.”
She seemed extremely agitated about having perhaps misdirected his attention to Sloane Caldwell, Michael thought unhappily. Maybe she still had romantic feelings for the guy and wanted to protect him. Then he told himself he was being foolish and unprofessional, overlooking the importance of what she was telling him about Burke because he was worried about her feelings for Caldwell, which he shouldn’t care about at all.
Except that he did.
“Have you ever heard anyone else call Travis Burke Snake Charmer?” he asked, dragging himself back to the subject.
“Snake Charmer!” Jeremy burst out behind him. “That’s what Dara called Travis. He doesn’t like me, but he sure liked Dara!”
Christine paled. “Jeremy, hush!” she hissed. “People will hear you.”
“What did I say wrong?” Jeremy asked in confusion. “I only said what’s true. Dara talked about Travis all the time and she called him Snake Charmer. I thought it was creepy that he keeps all those snakes, but she thought it was cool. She said he showed them to her—”
“I thought it was a really nice service,” Michael interrupted loudly, but he was too late. Bethany Burke was already backing away, her skin pale, her eyes blazing at a crimson-faced Travis Burke.
3
An hour later Michael wondered exactly how angry Christine was with her brother right now. He could tell she hated ever getting irritated with Jeremy, but she wouldn’t be human if she wasn’t supremely pissed off at him for blasting out that Travis was Snake Charmer, which had drawn Bethany toward them. But Travis couldn’t blame Christine or Jeremy for the questioning he was about to receive from Michael. That had been planned since last night.
He now called the Burke home and was glad when Travis answered. “I need to ask you some questions,” he told the professor. “They aren’t questions I think you want to answer at home. I’m willing to meet you someplace.”
“Questions about what?” Travis had asked nervously.
“Questions about a CD player.”
“A CD player? I don’t understand.”
“You will when we talk. And we will talk, so you might as well get it over with.”
“All right. My wife went to see her father. I’m babysitting. I can’t leave. You’ll have to come here.”
Michael hadn’t realized how far out of town Travis Burke lived. When he pulled up at the house, he saw a concrete block building about half an acre away from the back of a nice but simple ranch-style home. That building must be where Burke keeps his snakes, Michael thought. He knew herpetology was a hobby growing in popularity, but it wasn’t one he could fathom.
Travis opened the front door before Michael reached it. “I really don’t know what this is all about,” he began abruptly. “I don’t understand why you want to question me.”
“Let’s go inside. You are going to let me in, aren’t you, Mr. Burke?”
“Oh, sure. I didn’t mean to seem like I was barricading the door.” Travis seemed slightly breathless. “You want some coffee? I just made some.”
“No thanks. I had a late lunch before I came. Let’s just get down to business.”
“Yes. Certainly. We’ll sit in the living room. My wife will be back in an hour or so, though, and I think it would really disturb her to drive up and see a cop car parked out front. She’s always so nervous about Jan. That’s our little girl. She’s four. Taking a nap, now. Bethany would have taken her to see Hugh—that’s Bethany’s father—but he has a bad cold. Beth worries constantly about Jan catching something. She’s the most protected little girl in this city.”
“Little kids need protection and constant attention,” Michael said tersely. “I admire your wife’s dedication.”
“Well, so do I. Of course. I didn’t mean to sound critical.”
They had reached a medium-sized living room that was comfortably decorated. It didn’t look like the formal living room many people reserved for company. The magazines and newspapers scattered around a big leather armchair indicated this room was actually used.
“Do you have kids, Deputy Winter?” Travis asked.
Michael tried to keep his face expressionless. “I did. A little girl. She . . . died.”
“Oh. Damn. What a rotten break. I’m sorry.”
“So was I.” So much for stating the obvious, Michael thought but he could see Travis was too worried about what was coming at him to really notice anything Michael said about himself.
Travis made for the armchair as if it were a raft in the middle of the ocean. Michael sat down on a couch covered in a gay yellow-and-red country print. Beside him lay a coloring book and a lone green crayon. He picked them up and set them on a mahogany coffee table.
Travis glanced at the crayon and smiled. “Jan is in her green period. Everything she colors is green.”
“Little girls are sweet,” Michael said, bleakness in his voice. “I certainly miss mine.” He cleared his throat. “I know you’d like for me to get out of here before your wife returns, Mr. Burke, so I’ll get right to the point.” Michael took out his notebook and looked at it a moment, although he really didn’t need to. He wanted to see how nervous Travis Burke was going to get before the questions hit him. “You knew Patricia Prince, didn’t you?”
“Patricia?” Travis seemed completely taken aback, as if Patricia were an unexpected topic. “Well, slightly. My wife and she are friends. Well, not really friends, but Bethany’s been helping her with a ga
rden. Beth’s good friends with Christine Ireland and she introduced Beth to Patricia. I’ve really only been around her a few times. Patricia, that is.”
Michael nodded. “You know that the circumstances of her death are under investigation.”
“No. No, I didn’t know that. She fell. That’s what I heard. She just fell out of the barn loft.”
“Fell or was pushed.”
“Pushed? Nobody told me that. How do you know she was pushed?”
“I can’t go into all the details. The police have to keep a few things secret.” He smiled. Travis Burke tried to smile and failed. “You have a CD player, don’t you, Mr. Burke? A boom box?” He glanced at his notebook again. “A portable RCA CD and radio with digital tuner, Model RCD-one-three-three?”
Burke’s face went blank. Then wariness grew in his gaze. “Well, I did until a couple of weeks ago. It was stolen from my car.”
“You didn’t report it to the police?”
“I’d left the car unlocked, so I figured it was my fault. The car wasn’t damaged and nothing else was taken, and frankly, I just didn’t want to make a big deal over a CD player and have to fill out a lot of forms with the police. But how did you know about it?”
“Several years ago, the Winston police department offered to put identification strips on home furnishings, electronics, that kind of thing, so that items taken in burglaries could be tracked.”
“Oh.” Michael saw memory dawn in Burke’s eyes. “I’d completely forgotten about the ID system. Bethany had it done.”
“I see. Well, your boom box has turned up.”
Travis seemed to relax. “So that’s what this is all about? My boom box? Well, I’ll be glad to have it back. I was planning on buying a new one this week.” He stopped, the tension returning to his face. “But what does my CD player have to do with Patricia Prince?”
If She Should Die Page 29