by Joanne Fluke
“No.”
“Good!” Trish smiled. “I think it would be a mistake to rush into things. That’s what Mom did.”
Rick nodded. “She rushed to get married, and she didn’t even give Sam a chance to tell her he loved her. That was a big mistake.”
“Sam loved your mother?” Marcie looked at them in astonishment. “I didn’t know that!”
Trish shot Rick an angry look. “That’s because it was supposed to be a secret. And my bonehead brother is terrible about keeping secrets.”
“I’m not,” Rick protested.
“Yes, you are!”
“Says who?”
Marcie tuned out as the twins began to squabble. They’d work it out. They always did. And while they were working it out, she’d do her best to digest this startling news. So Sam had been in love with Mercedes! It did make sense. She knew how devastated Sam had been when he’d met her at the airport. And it explained Sam’s strange reaction when he saw her dressed and acting like Mercedes at the screen test.
Marcie sighed. Although Sam had plenty of confidence when it came to his legal profession, he might have been too shy to declare his love to Mercedes. And she could certainly understand why the twins loved Sam. He was a very likeable guy, and he inspired confidence. And he was very good with them, taking them to baseball games and picnics and amusement parks.
Just knowing that the twins had wanted their mother to marry Sam explained a host of things. Marcie was sure it was why they’d never let themselves get close to Brad. They regarded him as temporary, as the husband they hoped would be replaced. Now that they knew she was going to marry Brad and not Sam, they’d come around. They’d grow to love Brad once they were all together as a family. Marcie was sure of it. It might take some time, but she’d convince the kids to give Brad a chance to be a real father to them.
“No, you blew it.” Trish was still arguing with Rick. “It can’t be a secret, if Aunt Marcie knows it. Can it, Aunt Marcie?”
Marcie slipped her arm around Rick. “I think it can. I won’t tell anyone, I promise. I certainly won’t mention it to Sam, so you don’t have to worry about that. But how did you kids find out that Sam loved your mother?”
Rick hesitated and then he spoke up. “Sam told us. But he didn’t get a chance to tell Mom, and she went ahead and married Brad.”
“That’s right.” Trish nodded. “We really hoped Mom would wise up and divorce Brad so she could marry Sam, but she didn’t.”
“Wise up? What does that mean?”
Rick and Trish exchanged glances, and then Rick took over the conversation. “Brad’s okay, I guess. I mean, he’s nice to us and everything, but . . .”
“. . . but we always got the feeling we were in the way.” Trish nodded emphatically. “Brad didn’t really want us. He wanted Mom. And Sam would have been a real father to us, not just . . .”
“. . . Mom’s husband,” Rick broke in.
“I see.” Marcie nodded. “As a matter of fact, Brad talked about that with me. He said he was sorry he never got a chance to get closer to you. And now he’d like to.”
“Really?” Trish still looked dubious. “Are you sure?”
“That’s what he said. It was his idea to take you to Disneyland in the Rolls, you know. And maybe I shouldn’t spoil the surprise, but he’s planning to take all of us skiing for your birthday.”
“Wow!” Rick began to smile. “I always wanted to learn to ski! Do you know where we’re going?”
“Aspen. Brad made the travel arrangements before he left on his business trip.”
“Is Rosa going, too?” Trish looked concerned.
“Absolutely. I heard him order six tickets.”
“Six?” Rick counted them off. “Brad, and you, and us, and Rosa. That’s only five.”
“I know. Jerry Palmer’s going along. Brad says he used to live in Aspen, so he’ll show us around. They’ve got a couple of business meetings planned, but they’ll spend the rest of the time with us on the slopes. Do you mind?”
Trish shook her head. “We don’t mind. We like Jerry. He’s nice, and he really likes us. We think Jerry should get married and . . .”
“. . . have kids of his own,” Rick jumped in. “We felt really bad when Mom fired him.”
“Your mother fired Jerry Palmer?”
“Well . . . not exactly.” Trish gave Rick a warning glance. “She terminated their relationship because she needed to go with a bigger agency. Jerry’s small-time, and she needed an agent with more juice.”
“Juice?” Marcie looked puzzled and the twins laughed.
“Clout.” Rick explained the word. “She needed someone with more power, to get her better deals. That’s how they do things out here.”
“I see. And how did you know all this? Did your mother tell you?”
Trish shot Rick a warning glance, and then she replied, “No. Mom didn’t exactly tell us. But we . . .”
“. . . kind of overheard it.” Rick jumped in. “You know how it is, Aunt Marcie. If kids are really quiet, they get to hear a lot. The adults just forget they’re around.”
Marcie bit back a giggle. She was sure the twins had used that tactic quite often.
“Brad was pretty upset when Mom decided to go with someone else.” Trish volunteered more of the story. “We heard them discussing it from all the way upstairs.”
Rick nodded. “They were pretty loud at first, but then Mom talked him around. She was really good at getting people to see things her way.”
“I know she was.” This time Marcie had to laugh. She was well acquainted with Mercedes’s powers of persuasion. “Did I ever tell you guys about the time your mother talked me into pulling her to school on the sled? Or how she got me to pretend to be her, when she had made two dates for the same night?”
“No.” Both twins spoke at once. “Tell us!”
“Okay. But first you have to ask Rosa to make me a cup of hot chocolate. And while you’re at it, ask her to make some for you, too.”
“It’s a done deal!” Rick jumped up. “Come on, Trish.”
Trish let Rick pull her to her feet. “How about popcorn, Aunt Marcie?”
“Popcorn right before bedtime?”
“Why not?” Rich countered. “Popcorn goes really well . . .”
“. . . with hot chocolate.” Rick finished the sentence for his sister.
“You’re absolutely right.” Marcie smiled at them. “I’ll sit right here and wait. And if you ask me very nicely, maybe I’ll even tell you about the time your mother flunked a history test, and talked the teacher into giving her an A anyway.”
He could see her in the living room with the children. She looked like a mother as they sat on the couch in a tight family circle. Even the housekeeper was there, and they were all laughing at something she said. He wished he could hear her, but he couldn’t risk going inside the house. They couldn’t know he was here. No one could ever know.
He’d heard her say that the husband had gone on another business trip. He’d hidden in the rose garden, behind a flowering bush of White Masterpiece Tea Roses, to the left of the Sutter’s Gold they’d planted to replace the red American Beauty. He’d learned a lot about roses since he’d come to live with her. The gardeners had left the tags on, and since he was a compulsive reader, he’d gone from bush to bush, reading about their care and lineage. Directly in back of him was Blue Girl, a lavender hybrid tea rose, Latin name Rosaceae . It would reach almost six feet in height, if it was properly fertilized, watered, and pruned, and its flowers were large and shapely, generally one to a stem. Not that he cared. He’d never liked roses anyway.
From his vantage point in the rose garden, he’d heard everything she had said earlier, including the news about marrying the husband. That frightened him. She shouldn’t marry the husband. It was a terrible mistake. Never mind that it was almost like incest, although technically, it was not. The fault did not lie with her, or her lovely twin sister. It was the husband. He should n
ot marry again.
He sighed like the wind that swept down the hills and into the canyon. It was a sigh of knowing, and a sigh of regret. He was the only one who understood that the husband was mortally flawed. He was like a cog without teeth, or a wheel that was out-of-round. He could wreak terrible damage on an innocent and trusting wife.
What a happy family picture, a mother with two children gathered close, and a trusted family retainer smiling fondly at them all. How peaceful. How charming. It was a scene worthy of an expensive greeting card. Inside it would say, May the peace and serenity of love touch your heart and bring you everlasting joy. But how different this scene would be if the husband were standing behind her, his hand resting lightly on her shoulder. Then the message would read, What is wrong with this picture? And he would be the only one who could answer.
She turned then, toward the window, and his heart jumped up to lodge in his throat. She was so lovely, the image of his beautiful, dead mother. Could he save her? Was it too late?
He looked around with eyes that blazed, in a holy crusade to search for the red, ferret it out, and annihilate it before it claimed him in an agony of painful memories. It was here somewhere. He could smell it on the breeze, taste it on the tip of his tongue, feel its presence invading every cell of his body. But where?
The red roses were neutralized; he’d shredded the petals and let the air cleanse them. And her red bathing suit had disappeared, taken away on her poor drowned body by the men in the white coats. But there! He saw it! A taunting, grinning bundle of red on the table by the pool. And then the red mist began to swirl and rise, licking at his ankles like a hungry wolf. And he knew he had to destroy his old enemy before it had a chance to consume her.
There was one brief moment of clarity as he scuttled across the patio and snatched the red in his shaking fingers. A book. He could not destroy a book. His adoptive mother, the librarian, had taught him that it was a sin. But the inside could be removed, plucked from the womb of the red covers to stand alone and viable. For while it was certainly a mortal sin to destroy a book, it was only a venial transgression to neutralize its covers.
He placed the word child back on the table, and wrapped it carefully in the swaddling cloth of a towel that had been tossed on a chair. There. Soon it would be safe from the evil red. He would destroy the evil so that it could not threaten again.
Earth, air, fire, and water. The ancient elements. But which should he use? They might see the fire from the house, and come out to extinguish it before his merciful deed was accomplished. And the water was also a risk. The pool was clear and clean. They could see the red in its depths, and lift it out before the liquid destroyer had worked its healing magic. The air was here, all around him, but it would take days to destroy the sturdy leather covers. He would use the soft, dark, concealing earth. It would receive his red burden and hide it, until it was rendered harmless.
He took up the shovel and began to dig in the well-moistened earth. There was very little time left. The red mist was creeping up his legs, and it was fast approaching his groin. To keep from thinking about the awful consequences, he began to recite a nursery rhyme Miss Razel had taught him. One, two, buckle my shoe. Three, four, close the door. Five, six, pick up sticks. Seven, eight, lift the gate. Nine, ten, a big fat hen. He’d always giggled when she’d come to that part, imagining the Red Lady as a big, fat hen.
Now the hole was deep enough. He grabbed the despised red and dropped it in. Now he had to keep the shovel moving, and fill the hole perfectly, so the gardener wouldn’t notice. Another rhyme, and he would be finished. Only then could he give way to the compelling red mist.
There was pain mixed with pure determination on his face as he scooped up a shovel of the dirt and tossed it back into the hole. One, two ... Shame on you! You’re an ungrateful little boy, and you deserve to be punished!
No. He couldn’t give way. He had to concentrate on the rhyme to keep the shovel moving. Three, four, open the door. The door to the red room. Open it! He’s waiting for you! Now get on that bed and stop crying!
The shovel wavered in his shaking hands, but he forced himself to dump the dirt in. He couldn’t think about that now. It drove him crazy. The rhyme. Miss Razel’s rhyme would save him. Five, six, pick up sticks. Seven, eight . . . You’re late! I told you to come home right after school! Uncle Stan has been here for an hour, waiting for you! Nine, ten, a big fat . . . Ben. Uncle Ben, the worst of them all. Come here, little boy. You know what I want, don’t you? That’s a good boy. You be nice and still, and I won’t have to tie you down, hmmm? Now turn over. Ah, yes . . . and get ready. ’Cause here comes . . . Papa!
No! Never again! The red mist covered his shoulders, but he fought it back as he stomped down the earth, the way he’d stomped Uncle Ben, before he’d run away to hide with the rats in the alley. Never again. He’d seen to that. Uncle Ben was gone. And so was the Red Lady. And the red room was destroyed by the ancient elements. Now he was the powerful one, the one everyone respected—the Uncle!
He opened his mouth to shout his triumph, and the red mist crawled in, filling his nostrils, his lungs, and his mind. But that didn’t matter. He’d buried his prey, covered the evil red thing with layer upon layer of deep, dark earth, so that it could never again see the light of day. The red evil was dead, and he was alive. He was a survivor despite the tremendous odds.
Had he finally done it right this time? Would he be able to keep his mind and destroy the red mist inside him? It would happen one day. His adoptive mother, the librarian, had taught him that. It was the story of human initiative. From pauper to millionaire. From humble beginnings to president of the United States. It was the American Dream, and he was an American. If he tried and tried, over and over again, he would finally succeed.
For a moment, he thought he was going to win his final triumph. Right here. Right now. With his love inside the window, looking out into the darkness, where he protected her. But that was not to be. Not this time. He felt his mind start to shrivel and burn, and he cringed as the red fingers tightened. His mind was in a vise, caught firmly as the red fingers plucked, and tore, and squeezed out his essence, replacing his soul with a deep, black void.
CHAPTER 16
It had been one of those mornings when everything had gone wrong, and Marcie had trouble forcing a smile as she got into the studio limo. Rick had left his baseball card album out on the patio table, and when he’d gone out first thing in the morning to pick it up, he’d discovered that the cover was missing. The baseball cards were still intact, and Marcie had promised to buy him a new album, but it was disturbing. The only explanation Rosa and Marcie had been able to formulate was that a small animal, like a fox or a rat, had come into their yard through the security bars and dragged the leather cover off to eat it.
“What’s the matter, Marcie?” George turned to look at her as he stopped the limo just outside the gates, and watched to make sure they closed properly.
Marcie shrugged. “Nothing, really. It’s just been one of those weekends when everything goes wrong. The coffee grinder broke this morning, so I had to have instant, some animal ate the cover off Rick’s baseball card album and I don’t know where to get another one just like it, I set my alarm clock wrong, so I had to rush, and Brad’s gone on a business trip, and I wanted to ask him about some wedding plans.”
“Wedding plans?” George glanced at her. “Whose wedding plans?”
“Mine. I mean . . . ours. Brad and I are getting married.”
“You’re getting married to him?” George’s hands tightened so hard on the wheel, his knuckles were white.
“Yes.” Marcie gave him a happy smile. Talking about her wedding made her feel much better. “Everything is going to be so perfect, George. I’m staying right here in California, and we’ll be a real family. Naturally, we’ll keep the house. The school psychologist agrees that the twins need a sense of continuity, and I’d want to keep it anyway. It’s a beautiful place to live.”
George frowned and took his eyes off the road for a moment to glance at her. “Aren’t you . . . rushing into things?”
“I don’t think so. And we’re not getting married for at least six months. We want to give the twins plenty of time to adjust to the idea.”
“Okay.” George gave a brief nod. “Have you told the twins yet?”
“Yes. And they said they were happy for me. Of course, they’re not as delighted as they will be when they think it over, but they weren’t against it. Oh, George! Isn’t it wonderful?”
“Yes. It’s very exciting for you.”
George’s hands gripped the wheel even tighter, and Marcie could tell he was upset. “What’s the matter, George? Don’t you approve?”
“It’s not my business to approve or disapprove. I’m just your driver. But Marcie . . . I think it’s only fair to tell you that Brad is a suspect in your sister’s murder.”
“What murder?” Marcie gave a deep sigh. “You’re the only one who thinks that Mercedes was murdered. The police still say that it was an accident.”
They were nearing the studio, and George pulled out of traffic and parked at the curb. Then he turned to face her. “Look, Marcie. I know I don’t have anything concrete, but those threatening letters exist. I didn’t make them up out of thin air. And I’m positive your sister was murdered. I want you to be very cautious until I can prove it.”
“I am being cautious. I’ve got you to protect me, and I’m living in a house with a state-of-the-art security system. But I refuse to be paranoid, and I think you’re going overboard with this suspect list of yours. Brad didn’t have anything to do with Mercedes’s accident. You know that as well as I do. You only suspect him because he inherited money from her.”
“That’s true.” George nodded. “But don’t forget that he had the means, and he had a motive. He had the code to the security system, and he needed money for those thoroughbreds of his. Don’t forget that he assumed he’d inherit everything from Mercedes.”
“But he didn’t. I did!”