For a moment, she didn’t speak. “I’m not sure I want to hear what it is.”
“Yes, I’m certain you’re right, but I have to tell you anyway.”
Linda had left the front door unlocked and I walked on in. I found her seated in the kitchen, elbows on the table, a blueberry muffin in one hand, her mouth working on half of it. She swallowed, giving me a sullen look. “Have a muffin. There’s coffee too.”
“Thanks.”
I poured a cup and took a muffin, then sat down next to her. She quickly shifted her chair back, as if I’d moved too close to personal boundaries.
“So, what did you find?” she asked.
“I found a letter-in a dresser drawer. Kelly wrote it. I’m assuming she wrote it not long before she died. I have it here. I’ll read it.”
“I can read. Let me have it.”
“No, I’d rather read it myself, because I don’t want you ripping it up or anything stupid.”
Linda stiffened, then glared at me. “That wasn’t necessary, was it?”
“We’ll have to see.”
“Huh,” she said. “Must be bad. Go ahead. Read it.”
I unfolded it and began. “ ‘I’m so scared, and God if my sister knew I’ve been screwing her boyfriend she’d kill me anyway.’ “ I looked up to gage her reaction, but her face was blank. I continued reading until I’d finished the letter.
Linda pushed her tongue into the inside of her cheek, then looked off to one side. “Well, that was a waste of time. It’s not true. Sounds like one of her stories. I’m surprised you believed it.”
“You’ve got to be kidding. She says she’s scared she’ll end up dead, and she is dead, and you think she was writing a story?”
“Yes, that’s exactly what I think.”
I shook my head.
“Case closed,” she said, standing. “So, are you and Trevor coming over for Thanksgiving?”
“Damn it, Linda. We have to talk about this.”
“No, we don’t,” she yelled back at me. “You want to talk about it. I don’t.”
“Someone killed her, and it obviously wasn’t Craig.”
“No, Kelly wrote it knowing we’d eventually find it, just to drive us crazy. She was a lunatic, a drug addict, and you just don’t want to see the truth.”
“No, I think you’ve got that backwards. Linda, we could be in a lot of danger-our own husbands.”
“Well, at least you included Trevor in the equation.”
“We don’t know who it is, but we sure as hell should try to find out.”
Linda stood there, her back against the counter, one foot tapping furiously. “It’s not Wolfgang.”
“Right, it’s not Wolfgang. Hard to believe you’d say that,” I said sarcastically.
“Let me see the letter.”
I held it back from her. “You can’t rip it.”
“Oh, give it here. I won’t rip the damn thing.”
I slowly handed it over, watching as she perused the letter.
“What is this box?” she asked.
“No idea. Probably something she found that would incriminate … whoever.”
She handed the letter back. “Has Trevor ever done anything that could even remotely make you believe he’s a murderer?”
Though I hated his guts at the moment, I had to agree it didn’t seem possible. “No, not really.”
“Not really? What do you mean, not really?”
“Nothing. I’m just … mad at him right now.”
“What about?”
“Don’t change the subject. It’s nothing.”
“So, what are we going to do? Turn them over to the cops based on this letter, something really dumb like that?”
“Of course not.”
She looked toward the ceiling. “Did you consider that it might be Josh? She did say-boyfriend-and she knew him too.”
“I thought of that.”
“Thought and dismissed it, sounds like.”
“It’s just so ridiculous. Josh and Kelly having an affair. Josh running her down. Come on.”
“Not any more ridiculous than the other two choices. Maybe it was an accident.”
I laughed at the absurdity of it. “An accident?”
“Well, not an accident, maybe.… Oh, I don’t know.”
I checked behind me and down the hall. “Where’s Wolfgang?”
“At work.”
“Oh.”
“Relax, Gwyn, he’s not hiding in a closet plotting to do away with us.”
I stared hard at her. “And that’s another thing. You cannot tell Wolfgang about this. I know you don’t think it’s him, and I honestly don’t think it’s Trevor, but the fact is neither of us knows anything. We have to be smart. Someone killed our sister and it’s not much of a stretch to believe they’d kill us too if they thought we knew something. We have to be the same, act the same, protect ourselves. I think we should hire a private investigator.”
“For Trevor and Wolfgang, or for Josh too?”
“Just our husbands.”
“I think for Josh too.”
“Linda, we’ve known Josh all of our lives. We played with him, went to school with him. Come on. We know hardly anything about our husbands, just what they’ve told us. We inherited a lot of money, and though I’d like to believe that Trevor would love me with or without it, I have to admit I rushed into this marriage. So did you. I’ve met Trevor’s relatives once, at the wedding. You and Wolfgang eloped. Both men are from out of state. There could be a ton of stuff we don’t know.”
“Okay, then we’ll start with Trevor and Wolfgang. We can always look into Josh later if nothing comes up with them. And I happen to know someone who can help us, someone reliable that one of my girlfriends used. Spied on her philandering husband. I’ll call her and get the guy’s number, make up some story she’ll believe.”
“Okay, let’s do that.”
I’d called Trevor earlier in the morning as he’d requested, continuing to act as if everything were normal, like I hadn’t noticed he’d slept with another woman in our bed.
“Well, there you are,” he’d answered happily. “I was wondering if you were ever going to roll out of bed.”
“It was an exhausting weekend. Sorry I was asleep when you left this morning.”
“My fault. I should have stayed awake for you last night. I should have glued my eyelids open, drank massive amounts of caffeine, whatever it took.”
“It’s okay. We’ll see each other tonight.”
“Ahh … it’s going to be pretty late. Morris is coming in, bringing another backer. I have to be there. There’s no way I can get out of it. Dinner and drinks, the whole nine yards. I doubt if I’ll be home before eleven.”
“Where are you meeting him?”
“Probably at the office, but could be he’ll want to go straight to dinner and talk there. I can’t say.”
“Which restaurant?”
“No idea, no fricking idea. God, how many times can I say I’m sorry? I want to make love to you in the worst way. I feel like I haven’t touched you in a month. I get hard just thinking of-”
I could hear only muffled voices now, Trevor with his hand over the receiver.
“Gotta go, Gwyn. I’ll call you soon, baby. Soon as I can.”
“Sure.”
Like so often in the past, he’d given me clipped answers concerning where he’d be. Most of the time all I knew was that he was “working late” or “out with clients” or that I “wouldn’t be interested in all the nitpicky details.” He was right. I hadn’t been. I’d trusted him. Why shouldn’t I? Didn’t he tell me he loved me all the time? Make love to me in a way that left no doubt? Wasn’t he home just often enough to allay any fears?
The private investigator was a good idea, and I was relieved that Linda had gone along with my plan so readily. Maybe I’d be able to find out who Trevor was fooling around with, then confront him, and be done with him. One big boot out the door.…
/> But as the day droned on and I sat lonely and incredibly empty in my studio, I realized I would miss Trevor horribly if it did all have to end, and I wondered if possibly something I’d done had driven him to betray me. I knew that was stupid, of course. Yes, he could have used some slight, some offense I’d committed, as an excuse to justify an affair, but that’s all it would be, an excuse. The affair would have been the primary goal.
But he wasn’t a murderer. He couldn’t be. Could he? I’d have sworn on everything I’d ever believed in that he wasn’t capable of anything so monstrous.
Of course, until I’d come home last night and found another woman’s perfume on my pillow, I’d have sworn he’d never cheat on me either.
Chapter 7
Thanksgiving was the twenty-third of November, four days since my trip to Denver, three days since the confrontation with Linda.
We were joining Linda and Wolfgang for dinner, and like the year before, they required only that we dress for the occasion and bring a big appetite. Still, Trevor and I brought wine, two bottles, a merlot and a chardonnay. The gathering would include only the four of us.
It had snowed earlier in the morning, so as I approached the walkway leading to their front door, Trevor was quick to take my arm, though I didn’t slow down to wait for him.
“Whoa, what’s the rush?” he asked. “Remember, I’ve got breakable wine bottles here.”
“Oh, sorry. I’m just cold. In a hurry to get inside.”
“I can see that.”
A huge wreath adorned their front door, and tiny multicolored Christmas lights twinkled around the entrance. Off to the right, in an elaborate manger scene set amidst a stand of evergreens, angels and wise men knelt and paid homage to baby Jesus.
I pressed the doorbell and it chimed softly.
Wolfgang swung open the door, greeting us. “Welcome, good to see you, Gwyn, Trevor. Come in. Come in. It’s cold out there.”
I nodded and stamped my feet on their bright Christmas mat.
Trevor helped me remove my coat, and I made small talk with Wolfgang for as long as holiday protocol required, then continued on inside, following the tantalizing aroma of roast turkey drifting in from the kitchen. Linda stood at the counter, tasting and arranging appetizing treats.
“Hi, Gwyn,” she said when she spotted me. “Taste this.” She held a stuffed mushroom up to my mouth. I opened obligingly and let her poke it inside.
“How is it?”
I chewed on the hot mushroom, then nodded rapidly.
“Good,” she said, smiling. “I thought so.”
Linda wouldn’t be cooking today, only supervising. She always hired someone to help out on special occasions. It wasn’t that she disliked cooking, but on the holidays she wanted to join the group and make merry.
Trevor entered from behind us with the wine bottles. “Happy Thanksgiving, Linda.” He kissed her on the cheek. “What would you like me to do with these?”
“Oh, how nice of you both. Thank you so much. Here, let me take them. I’ve already got two bottles open.”
He handed over the wine, then stood gazing at the food.
“Can you do me a favor?” she asked. “Can you take these out to the living room?” She handed him a silver tray of mushrooms and one of canapés. “I have my hands full right now.”
“Sure, no problem.”
She watched him leave, then lowered her voice. “Yes, shoo fly, shoo, and don’t come back. Why is it men always want to stick around the kitchen and get in the way? At least Wolfgang knows better than to come in here when I’m cooking.”
I glanced at the hired chef, a lanky older man Linda had used on other occasions. He didn’t look up from his stirring and seemed happy to be left alone.
“How are you feeling?” I asked.
“Fine.” She rotated her shoulder for me. “I still feel it a little, but less and less all the time.”
I looked back toward the door leading to the living room. “And did you talk to her?”
“Who?”
“You know.”
“Gwyn, not in the kitchen.” She motioned toward the cook, then whispered, “Big ears.” She took me by the arm. “Come on, I want to show you the new bathroom.”
She led me down the hall past the living room and on upstairs, then she stopped and turned to me. “I called my girlfriend, Sheila, and everything is set. I talked to the investigator just last night and we decided to do a background check on them, then go from there.”
“That’s all?”
“Well, if there’s a red light somewhere in their past it will probably show up there.”
“But I thought maybe he would follow them and see what they’re up to.”
Linda studied me. “I don’t understand. What would we gain by doing that? I don’t think they’re going around committing murders right and left. We would have read something in the papers by now.”
I rolled my eyes. “It just seems like we should try to find out as much as possible, as soon as possible. You know, bug their phones. I don’t know.”
“We’ll do the background check-for now. It’s what he suggested.”
“Did you tell him why we were asking?”
“Hell no. Why, did you think I would?”
“I didn’t think about it until just now. What did you tell him?”
“Just that I wanted to check out their past. I didn’t tell him more than that and he didn’t ask.”
I nodded. “Did he say how long it would take?”
“No, but he’ll leave a message on my cell phone when he’s got something.”
We walked toward the remodeled bathroom even though I’d seen it the last time I came to visit.
“You saw this already, didn’t you?” she said.
“Yes.” I peered inside at the new shower, white embossed wallpaper, and green and white striped towels. A painting I’d done for Linda of a marina lined with sailboats adorned the wall.
“We should get back,” she said.
The men were standing near the front window by the Christmas tree as we approached. Wolfgang held a glass of red wine. Trevor was reaching for another stuffed mushroom.
“So when do we eat?” Wolfgang asked with a smile at Linda.
“When it’s ready,” she answered, coming close to him and whispering something up toward his ear. He bent down to listen, then laughed.
“Hey, no secrets,” said Trevor, wagging a finger. “Very impolite.”
“She’s making lewd suggestions.”
“I was not.” Linda bopped him on the arm.
“Yes, you were.” He drew Linda into his waist and held her there.
I looked across to Trevor, my arms folded tightly to my chest.
“Gwyn,” said Wolfgang, “don’t look so stiff. Relax.”
I ignored him and nodded toward the Christmas tree, delicately ornamented in silver and gold. “Your tree is so pretty. I don’t even have ours up yet.”
“I didn’t do it this year,” Linda said, “what with the accident. Wolfgang wouldn’t let me.”
“I don’t know why she bothers,” he said, “too much work if you ask me.”
“I like decorating the tree,” she said. “It puts me in the mood for Christmas.”
“Seems silly,” said Wolfgang. “We’re not even going to be here.”
“You’re not?” I said. “Where are you going to be?”
“Hawaii,” said Linda. “Isn’t it great? It’s Wolfgang’s idea, a surprise Christmas present for me. He sprung it on me this morning.”
“How long?” I asked.
“Two weeks,” she said, “over Christmas and New Year’s. We’ll have the remodeling done by then and we’ll both need a break.”
“And,” said Wolfgang, “it will give her an excuse to buy a whole new wardrobe for her new enormous walk-in closet.”
“And for you to parade around in front of all the young chickees on the beach.”
Wolfgang raised his eyebrows. “Ha
dn’t thought of that.” He flexed an arm. “I’ll have to add a few extra reps to the workout.”
We turned our heads at the jingle of a small bell. The dining room table was now set with an elaborate array of food.
Linda leaned in toward me. “The bell is his idea, Renard, the cook. But I guess it’s better than yelling-hey, come and get it.” She shrugged.
On the table were platters of turkey, sliced ham, and roast beef, along with bowls of bean salads and tossed salads, asparagus and squash, twice baked potatoes and au gratin. And Linda was pleased to inform us that she had four different desserts out in the kitchen, so we’d better save some room.
Wolfgang pulled out a chair for Linda, and Trevor did the same for me. We toasted to the holiday season and almost forgot to say grace until I spoke up.
“Oh, yes,” said Linda. “Wolfgang, would you do it, please?”
“Me?”
“Yes, you.”
“Okay.” He bowed his head. “Thanks, God, for the really great food. And … and all the other stuff. Amen.”
Linda turned to stare at him.
“What?” he said.
“It’s okay. Next time I won’t ask. Let’s try that again.” We bowed our heads once more. “Thank you, dear Lord, for the bounty we are about to receive, and our many blessings. We pray for those less fortunate, that they too might enjoy this day, and we humbly ask that you feed the hearts and souls of those who need your guidance, and lead them to the path of righteousness in your name’s sake.…”
Finally, she finished the prayer and smiled.
After dinner and a round of desserts, we sat at the table drinking coffee. Wolfgang leaned forward on his elbows and addressed Trevor. “So, what are you and Gwyn doing over Christmas?”
“I don’t know. Skiing, maybe. I’d like to do a little of that.”
“Downhill?”
“Yeah, what else?”
“Sometime I’m going to take you out in the backcountry with me, ski the deep powder. You don’t know what you’re missing.”
“Sounds like too much work. What do I want to walk uphill for when I can take a chairlift?”
“You don’t have to walk uphill. I like to do it that way, but you don’t have to.”
“What do you mean?”
Her Last Letter Page 8