Eden's Baby

by Adrianne Lee

  “Can anyone verify that?”

  The only thing anyone could verify was that she’d stopped for gas sometime around 2:00 a.m. “I was alone.”

  “Too bad.”

  There was no mistaking the threat in his gently spoken words. Eden’s pulse stepped up a beat.

  “After Peter’s declaration...I needed to think.” Even though she spoke the truth, she heard how desperate and lame it sounded. There was an odd, tinny taste on her tongue.

  Kollecki referred to his notebook, flipped a page, then another. Slowly his gaze lifted. “I’ll ask you the same question I asked last night. Do you know where Shannon Smalley lived?”

  “Yes.” Last night she hadn’t known the significance of this question. Now she did. Bile climbed her throat. She swallowed hard. “Do I need a lawyer?”

  His eyebrows twitched almost imperceptibly. “That’s up to you.”

  Eden felt like a cornered mouse about to be eaten by the sly cat. Her fear escalated to terror. Somehow she managed to sound calmer than she’d thought possible. “I think I’d better call my attorney.”

  “All right.” He stood and gathered his tablet and pen.

  “Am—am I free to go?”

  The look in Kollecki’s dark eyes chilled Eden almost as much as his words. “For now.”

  Chapter Three

  As David locked his car, he glanced around the parking lot; just behind Front Street, it was shaped like a long salmon and accommodated the police station, the library, a small park and several businesses. There was an erratic flow of automobile and foot traffic.

  A petite woman hurrying from the police station grabbed his attention. Eden. He caught up with her as she reached her minivan. “Eden, I just heard.”

  She spun around, blinking at him. “David?”

  “I—” Her appearance eclipsed the rest of his thought; she looked as if she were on the verge of collapse. Dark circles underscored her eyes, a sure sign that she’d slept little, if at all He longed to pull her into his arms but resisted. This parking lot was too public and too close to the very department investigating her husband’s murder.

  “Why are you here?” She took a step closer to him. “Not to see Kollecki?” So Kollecki was in charge of this case, too. His stomach clenched. “I, ah, yes, I am.”

  Apprehension leapt into her eyes. “I didn’t tell him I was with you last night. I was hoping you wouldn’t mention it, either—at least until we could talk.”

  “I’m not seeing Kollecki about you.” David’s grip on his briefcase had his knuckles aching and his imagination working overtime, conjuring visions of the briefcase being transparent, the rose exposed to view. “It’s another matter altogether.”

  God, he prayed that was the truth.

  Eden’s eyes narrowed, and a frown furrowed her smooth forehead. “Shannon Smalley?”

  The moisture left his mouth. “How did you know?”

  She seemed about to say something, but a patrol car arrived and stole her attention. Apprehension reappeared in her eyes, and when she spoke, it was almost a whisper. “Not here.”

  “Where, when?” David lowered his own voice. “Name it.”

  Yet again her attention was diverted by a car pulling into a reserved police space. David glanced over his shoulder. The man who sat behind the wheel was staring at them. There was something familiar about him. “Who’s that?”

  “The detective who came to the house last night with Kollecki,” Eden whispered, then raised her voice loudly enough for anyone within earshot to hear. “Thank you for your condolences, Dr. Coulter. Beth is expecting me for lunch.”

  With that, she wheeled around and climbed into her van.

  He wanted to snatch her back, to kiss away her pain, her apprehension. Instead, feeling the same cold panic he’d felt at finding the rose, David stepped away from the van. The engine roared to life. He fell into step four paces behind the detective who’d been staring at Eden and him, recalling now that he’d been the other investigator on Marianne DePaul’s case.

  Detective Ron Tagg. That was his name. He was medium height with a reed-thin body, gray hair and, as David remembered, a reasonable disposition. Maybe he could talk to Tagg about the rose instead of Kollecki.

  But Kollecki insisted on being included. The three men sat around the oblong table in the windowless interrogation room. The rose, in its Ziploc bag, reposed on the table. Kollecki wrote David a receipt for it, then, handing it to him, leveled his cold, dark eyes at him.

  David hated the crawling feeling dealing with Kollecki gave him. “So, what do you think?”

  Kollecki’s gaze grew measured. “It may or may not be a piece of the puzzle.”

  “I thought it might be someone’s idea of a sick joke.” David tugged on his ear. The truth was, a part of him still clung to that idea. He wanted it to be a disgusting coincidence, wanted Kollecki and Tagg to confirm it.

  “Could be we’ve got us a copycat killer.” Tagg had the gravelly voice of a heavy smoker.

  “Copycat?” A sinking feeling dragged the bottom from David’s stomach. “You mean that Shannon, not Prescott, could have been the main target?”

  Tagg shrugged. “Could be someone just wants us to think copycat.”

  “Could be someone closer to home killed these people.” Kollecki puffed out his Santa cheeks. “How well did you know Shannon Smalley?”

  “Pretty well—as I told you last winter.” David squirmed uncomfortably on the straight-backed seat. Had Kollecki just questioned Eden in this drab room? “Shannon is...was the kid sister of a nurse who works in the U-Dub’s transplant wing. Denise Smalley is a friend of my secretary’s. That’s how I came to recommend her for the job with Dr. Dayton, and subsequently Shannon and I became friends.”

  Kollecki glanced at his tablet, then lifted his shrewd gaze. “My sources say you were more than friends. Any truth to that?”

  “None.” What sources? Disquiet twined David’s heart. “We were only friends. We had dinner together occasionally, but it was strictly platonic. In fact, I was supposed to dine with her last night, but she canceled at the last minute to be with Pete. I had no idea ‘Pete’ was Peter Prescott.”

  “You knew Prescott?”

  “No. His sister is my former patient, and his sister-in-law is presently a patient, but I’d never met the man.”

  “But you do know the beautiful widow.”

  It was not a question, and David disliked the implications. “You make it sound like I have a harem of women, Detective. I don’t. I do know a lot of women. Most of them professionally. But I seldom date. As to Mrs. Prescott—I just told you, her sister, Beth, is my patient.”

  Kollecki lifted a hand in an innocent gesture. “Hey, I didn’t mean to push any buttons, Doctor.”

  Like hell he didn’t.

  David guessed Kollecki had heard about Eden and him talking in the parking lot. Kollecki might not yet know how intimately Eden and he knew one another, but David feared it was only a matter of time before he found out.

  “If that’s all—” David tucked the receipt for the rose into his suit pocket and stood “—I have patients to see this afternoon.”

  “Of course.” Kollecki shoved up and out of his own chair. “And let’s not mention the rose to anyone else for now.”

  “All right,” David agreed.

  “But if any more of these show up—” Tagg grasped the Ziploc bag and shook it at him “—or if you recall anything else....”

  “I’ll let you know immediately.”

  Kollecki let him out the locked door that led to the parking lot. David wanted to go straight to Eden and figure out what was going on. But as he started toward the parking area, he encountered Denise Smalley standing outside the double glass doors that accessed the waiting room; she was leaning against the brick wall, smoking.

  Her hair, a mix of bleached and natural ash blond, was chopped in a longish crew cut that surprisingly flattered her pert face. Skintight jeans and a baggy sweatshir
t covered her compact body, and dark smudges stood out under her thick-lashed, sky blue eyes.

  “David?” Her voice cracked as she spotted him. “Why have they dragged you down here?”

  “I came of my own accord.” He wanted to snatch the words back the second they left his mouth. Kollecki had warned him not to discuss the rose with anyone, and here he was blurting out that he’d come to the police station of his own volition. He blew out a flustered breath and lied. “To see if I could find out anything more than was in the newspaper.”

  “I’m waiting to see Detective Tagg.” Denise took another drag on her cigarette. “Did they tell you anything?”

  “Nope.”

  She blew out the smoke, blinking furiously, something another woman might do to keep tears at bay. But Denise claimed she didn’t possess “fluffy female frailties.” Like crying. He suspected the truth was that instead of acknowledging her feelings, she stifled them, a dangerous kind of repression that too often found negative outlets.

  “You expect people to die.” If she felt any pain, her voice didn’t betray it. “It’s part of life. I deal with it week in and week out. But someone you know being murdered is so... ‘Twilight Zone.’”

  More than you know. David had a lump in his throat as big as the rose that now resided in Kollecki’s property room.

  The ash on the cigarette grew long as she leveled an odd gaze at him. “I didn’t even know she was seeing this Prescott guy. Or that they were engaged. The only man Shan ever talked to me about was you.”

  He stiffened. “Then you know we were only friends.” David pressed his lips together, his expression defying her to challenge his claim. Had Denise told Kollecki differently? Was she his source? “Have you spoken to Detective Kollecki?”

  “Oh, him! Wouldn’t tell me squat. But between you and me, my money’s on that wife of Prescott’s.”

  Without thought of the fallout it might incur, David leapt to Eden’s defense. “Eden isn’t capable of committing murder.”

  Denise glanced sharply at him. “Sounds like she’s got a champion.”

  “Not really.” David felt his face redden at the lie. “I’ve gotten to know her because of her sister. Beth Montgomery.”

  “I know whose sister she is. Friend of mine is Beth’s live-in nurse.” She lifted one eyebrow pointedly at him. “Has the widow Prescott ever rented your couch?”

  “No.” A nerve jumped in David’s temple. “Eden’s never been my patient.”

  Denise dropped her cigarette and ground it out with her boot. “Well then, maybe you don’t know her as well as you think you do, David.”

  David curbed his rising temper, offered Denise his condolences, then excused himself and headed to his car. She was overcome with grief, frantic for answers, talking nonsense. He did know Eden. Knew her well. But what if Denise had spouted her slanted views to Kollecki?

  He started his car engine and pulled out of his parking space. Too often in murder cases, the police had only to look to the victim’s spouse for their perpetrator. Was that what had panicked Eden? The fear that she might soon be arrested?

  He could only hope the rose had made a difference. Perhaps thrown another light on the evidence, diverted the focus from Eden, given the detectives something else to think about, someone else to look at.

  Had he just sacrificed himself in the name of love?

  Fear filtered through his thoughts and pulled a realization from some dark, hidden corner: what if this really wasn’t about Peter Prescott but about Shannon? About some “source” who was under the misapprehension that she had been “special” to him? Was he crazy to think that? Egomaniacal? Given his experiences last February, he didn’t think so.

  He wished he’d told Eden about the rose before he’d handed it over to Kollecki, but he’d wanted to spare her extra worry. On the other hand, it might have eased her mind to know there was more going on than met the eye. And now the detective had cautioned him not to tell anyone about the rose. Well, the hell with Kollecki.

  Eden and he needed to compare note. Maybe with pooled information, they could figure out what was going on. Driving back to Seattle, he dialed her number and again got the answering machine. He kept phoning all afternoon, between classes and sessions with patients, and later at home. Finally after eight that evening, someone answered.

  “Hello?” The voice was very like Eden’s but without the strength.

  “Beth?” he asked.

  “Yeah ... ?” Wariness laced her tone. “Dr. Coulter?”

  “Yes. How are you feeling, Beth?”

  “Sad.” To his trained ear, she sounded exhausted, but he knew part of that was the anemia. She asked, “Are you coming over?”

  “Maybe. Is Eden there?”

  “Sure. Eden! Telephone.”

  He heard Eden in the background. “Beth, I thought we agreed to let the machine pick up calls. I don’t want to talk to any reporter—”

  “It’s not a reporter. It’s Dr. Coulter.”

  There was a rustle of movement, then a long pause.

  “Eden?”

  “Yes?” She sounded as if he’d startled her.

  “Are you all right?” His grip tightened on the receiver.

  “I’ve been better.” She gave a nervous laugh.

  “Beth sounds anxious... and exhausted.”

  “Right on both counts.” Eden glanced at her sister. Beth’s face, a younger version of her own, was ghostly white and pinched with strain. Her raven hair brushed her shoulders, limp and lackluster, and her cornflower blue eyes looked sunken.

  “Would you like me to come over?” David asked.

  Eden’s pulse quickened. The memory of his gentle lovemaking sent delicious shudders through her, and two seconds passed before she regained her composure. She did want to talk to him, but not under Valerie’s watchful eye. “That’s not... a good idea.”

  “Is Valerie home?”

  “Yes.”

  Another long pause ensued.

  “Eden, about our talk ... where and when?”

  “I’m not sure.” If only she could unload her conscience now, over the phone. Make him understand she hadn’t really wished Peter would drop dead, hadn’t meant she’d orchestrate any such an action. She wanted to tell him what she’d decided after she’d left his house—before she’d found out about Peter—and question him about Shannon, warn him that the police might consider him a suspect.

  The knot in her stomach tightened. But just how wise was their meeting somewhere? What if the police were watching her at this very minute, or having her followed, or tapping her telephone?

  “Why not here?” David sounded impatient at her silence. “Tonight?”

  Beth moved closer, her look of eagerness dissolving into one of curiosity. The palms of Eden’s hands were damp, slick on the receiver. She turned away and lowered her voice. “I just don’t know.”

  “I’ll be home all night.”

  Valerie walked into the kitchen. Eden’s uneasiness bounced with new life. “I have to go.”

  She hung up. Beth asked, “Is he coming over?”

  “He, who?” Valerie inquired.

  Eden cringed, certain her sister would blurt out David’s name, but Beth’s nurse, Ariel Bell, saved the moment.

  “It’s nearly eight-thirty, Beth.” Ariel was nearing her thirtieth birthday but had the kind of face that would always look ten years younger—not as much pretty as it was precious. She wore her sandy blond hair mid-length in an unkempt style, her large gray eyes barely visible through a tangle of uneven bangs. A hot-pink uniform pantsuit accented her slender legs, hugged her voluptuous breasts. “I’ve got your bath ready.”

  Beth took a warm bath before bed each night. She nodded at Ariel. “You won’t get any complaints from me tonight. I’m beat.”

  The second Beth and Ariel were gone, Valerie turned back to Eden. She seemed about to pursue the “He, who?” issue again, but the doorbell rang. Eden started. Valerie jerked around, the phone
conversation forgotten. Annoyance colored her pale cheeks, and a curse formed on her pinched lips. “If that’s another reporter—”

  The press had been relentless. Valerie’s nerves had to be as ragged as her own. Eden took a calming breath as the ringing became more insistent. “Maybe we should let it ring, Val.”

  “Humph.” Valerie spun on her heel and, taking long strides, headed for the door. Rolling her eyes, Eden followed her into the foyer. Valerie peered through the peephole. “For the love of—it’s that horrid policeman again.”

  “Kollecki?” Eden’s stomach crawled into her throat. What did he want now?

  Valerie yanked open the door and addressed the man in clipped tones. “Detective. Have you figured out who killed my brother yet?” She glanced over her shoulder at Eden. “Or perhaps you’ve come to arrest one of us?”

  Eden held her temper and her tongue.

  “Not yet, ma’am,” Kollecki said.

  Valerie’s chin came up. “Then what do you want?”

  “We’d like to have a look around your house, if you wouldn’t mind.”

  “Look around my—? You mean search it?” Incredulity rang in her voice. Valerie stepped back, her body as stiff as a pole. “But Peter wasn’t killed here.”

  “Just the same...” Kollecki’s words had an oily quality, slick and persistent.

  A chill raced across Eden. Once, when she was thirteen, someone had broken into their apartment and gone through all the drawers, leaving her feeling violated. Even now, the thought of someone pawing through her clothing appalled her, but what it would do to Beth was worse. She moved into the detective’s view. He nodded in greeting, but there was nothing friendly in the hard set of his mouth.

  She felt as if he were pushing her into a corner. Irked, she lifted her chin and returned his measured gaze. “Do you have a search warrant?”

  “Do I need one?” Kollecki asked evenly, but there was ice in his tone.

  Tension hung like a pall between them.

  “Oh, really.” Valerie shook her head, lifting her hands in a dismissive gesture. “That isn’t necessary, Eden.”