“No,” she said. “But you should be prepared to answer a few tough questions.”
“That’s not going to be nearly as much fun.”
“Josh, some things about you just don’t add up. I need to know why you—”
She broke off there, interrupted by the ringing of his cell phone. Josh yanked it out of his pocket, glanced at the panel. It was Arthur Stanton. “I have to take this,” he said.
“You can’t dodge my questions forever, Josh.”
“I don’t want to dodge any part of you, Beth.” He hit the button and brought the phone to his ear, hurrying out of the room as he did. “Art, it’s me? What’s up?”
“A lot. How are you holding up?”
“Fine. I’m fine. I’m not so sure about Beth, though.” He glanced back toward the kitchen to be sure she was still out of earshot. “I assume the local police chief has called you by now?”
“Not yet. Should he have?”
“She. Her name’s Parker, and she’s on to me. She’ll be phoning you to verify who I am. Tell her, Art.”
“Will do. We’re still working on the cause of that explosion, Joshua, but we have a result from the postmortem.”
“And?”
“It’s Marcia Black’s opinion that Maude Bickham didn’t die of natural causes. She believes Maude was poisoned. Death by succinylcholine.”
“Jesus.” He closed his eyes, racking his brain. “She found proof?”
“Her report says that a relatively new test, a liquid chromatography-tandem mass spectrometry procedure, showed—”
“In English, Art.”
Arthur cleared his throat. Papers rattled. “There’s evidence of the drug in Maude’s urine. Barely. Maude died before more than a trace worked through her system. Black said that a few years ago, this drug was completely undetectable. This test is still controversial. Sometimes the process of decomposition can leave traces of the same chemical. But given the circumstances…”
“What is it, anyway?”
“It’s curare based.”
“Curare? You’re shitting me.”
“No, it’s for real. Every hospital has the stuff. It’s used in surgery, paralyzes the patient’s muscles. They have to be on a respirator until it wears off, because the lungs are paralyzed along with everything else. Maude was basically frozen, conscious and aware, but unable to move or breathe. She suffocated, Joshua.”
Josh closed his eyes slowly. He couldn’t imagine a more horrible way to die, and it burned in his gut to remember Maude, how she’d looked, and to know she’d been conscious, aware, and helpless. God. Beth had been right; she’d seen the life, the awareness, in Maude’s eyes during those final minutes. It was like something out of a horror movie.
“Black said it had to be injected?” he asked.
“Yeah. She suspects someone mixed it with Maude’s insulin sometime prior.”
Which meant, Josh reasoned, that someone must have had access to Maude’s insulin. Somehow, someone had been in Maude’s house. On his watch.
And then it hit him—that night, when the neighbor’s cat had gotten inside! It flashed again in his mind’s eye. Maude opening the fridge for the cream, straightening her insulin vials. As if they were out of place. As if something had disturbed them.
He had found a basement window, open just a little. Jesus, he’d screwed up yet again.
“It also means she gave herself the injection while she was at Beth’s,” Arthur went on. “The reaction is too fast otherwise.”
“What about the team that was going over Beth’s cottage before it blew up? Did they find the vial? The needle? Anything at all?” Josh asked.
“No. They’d barely gotten inside when you called to warn them she was on her way, and then the place blew up. Your call probably saved their lives, you know.”
Josh sighed. Seemed he only managed to save lives by accident. “So the spent hypodermic, and any other evidence, was in the cottage when it was blown to bits,” Josh said. His voice dropped. “Or maybe not. God knows he had time to go back for it if he wanted to, while we were all at the hospital with Maude. Perfect.”
“What is?” Beth asked.
Josh spun around, wondered how long she’d been listening, then spoke to Arthur. “I’ve gotta go.”
“If someone murdered Beth’s best friend, Joshua, it was probably Mordecai Young. We’ve run Maude Bickham’s background. She didn’t have an enemy in the world. No one with a motive. Young must be there, in that town, somewhere.”
“I know.”
“Be careful. He’s deadly.”
“I know that, too. Thanks.” Josh hung up the phone, schooled his expression into something he hoped was casual and turned to face Beth.
She tipped her head to one side. “I take it that was your friend the ghoul, telling you what her inspection of Maude’s body turned up.”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“I heard something about a hypodermic that blew up with my cottage.”
He frowned and felt his heartbeat speed up.
“Maude was murdered, wasn’t she, Josh?”
“Look, you’re nervous. Given what you’ve told me about your past, I don’t blame you. But you’re projecting, Beth.”
She stared at him, her eyes seeming to pierce his skin, to see inside his mind.
“Okay,” he said softly. “Okay, I admit I asked a friend of mine to take a look at Maude’s body.” That was good, he thought, give her a little of the truth. Just enough. “I wanted it done discreetly, so as not to upset you or all her friends in this town, and yeah, to avoid having to go through formally requesting it. I just wanted to know what killed her. I loved her. Surely that’s understandable.”
She blinked slowly. “Who are you really, Josh?”
“I’m exactly who I say I am, Beth.”
She licked her lips, lowered her eyes. He didn’t think he’d sold her on that, not entirely, at least. But she was uncertain. “What did your…friend find out?”
He knew without question she would leave if he told her the truth. She would bolt, and he would have failed in his job. “There was some question about the needle tracks in her arms. I told them she was diabetic.” Then it occurred to him. “They wondered if she might have missed a dose of insulin or mistakenly taken two. Asked if I could get the vial or needle she used last so they could try to determine anything from those, but I told them they were probably in the cottage when it blew.”
Beth shook her head slowly. “She hardly ever forgot. She’d been living with diabetes for a long time, Josh. It was like remembering to brush her teeth.”
He nodded.
“Besides, we’d have noticed symptoms. And the doctor said it was respiratory arrest.”
“I know.”
She tipped her head slightly to one side as she studied him so closely it made him feel like squirming. “So are you ready to answer the rest of my questions now, Josh?”
He shrugged. “I’ll do anything you want, if it’ll take that suspicion out of your eyes. It hurts to see it there, Beth.”
She averted her gaze, pacing toward the fireplace. “I don’t want to hurt your feelings. It’s…it’s been a long time since I’ve trusted a man, Joshua. And every time I start to trust you, something comes along to fill me with doubts.”
“It’s your past causing those doubts. Not me. You’re judging me by what someone else did to you. But it’s okay. I’m willing to deal with your baggage if that’s what it takes.”
She thinned her lips. He thought she felt a little guilty, but not guilty enough to let it go. “Why didn’t you tell me she wasn’t really your grandmother?”
“Are you kidding?” He shook his head as if the idea were ridiculous. “If she found out, she’d have been crushed. I introduced myself as her ‘honorary’ grandson once, and she actually cried, she was so hurt.” He sighed. “Until he was six, Bryan didn’t know the difference between his real grandparents and his unofficial on
e.”
“So you’ve been close for a long time?”
He shrugged, trying to think ahead, to anticipate her questions, not let her trip him up. Beth was sharp, and damned if she wasn’t the most suspicious woman he’d ever met. “Yeah. Until the falling out.”
“And what was the basis of this falling out you and she had?” She was standing by the fireplace now, but she never took her eyes off him. God, those eyes. Huge and green and searching. They were hungry, her eyes. Longing for something he couldn’t have named.
He swallowed hard. “My divorce. Maude thought I should try to work things out with Kathy.”
“But you told me you were divorced when Bryan was still a baby.”
He nodded. “That’s true. But Maude didn’t cut me off entirely until my ex-wife remarried. It was only then she realized a reconciliation wasn’t going to happen. And she blamed me for Bryan being moved so far away she couldn’t see him anymore.”
Beth nodded slowly. He thought she was buying his story—so far. “She wouldn’t have cut Bryan out of her life just because she was angry with you, though.”
“No, of course not. Bryan was cut out of her life by distance. Maude wasn’t in any position to travel out there.”
She watched him as he spoke—so intently his flesh heated. She watched his eyes, the movement of his mouth as he formed words. She watched him the way a hawk watches a wounded rabbit. One slip, and she would swoop in for the kill, and his cover would be her prey.
“Maude’s more stubborn than that,” she said. “She wouldn’t have just let go.”
“Well, they kept in touch. Letters, phone calls.”
She nodded. “Then why are there no photos of Bryan?”
“I’m sorry?”
“Where are the school pictures, the holiday photos? Where are Bryan’s letters? Shouldn’t they be all wrapped up in a ribbon and tucked in a candy box somewhere? I went all through this place this morning, Josh, and I didn’t find a thing. Not a hint of Bryan or a hint of you.”
He lowered his head, unable to withstand the power of her probing stare. “Maybe she was angrier than I thought.”
“‘Life’s too short to waste time on a nasty thing like anger,’” she said. “That was one of her favorite sayings.” She shook her head slowly. “I can’t imagine Maude holding a grudge like that.”
“Well, I’ve known her a lot longer than you have.”
“Yeah. That’s true.” She wandered through the dining room and into the kitchen.
Josh followed. “Maybe she just couldn’t bear to have the photos around. Maybe they were too painful. Then again, this house is huge. Maybe you just haven’t looked in the right places yet.”
That was the easiest one for her to swallow. He could tell by the pause in her steps as she crossed the kitchen.
“Were you as close to Sam?” she asked.
Sam, Sam. Who the hell was—right, Maude’s husband. He dug into his brain for the conversations he’d had with the old woman. She’d filled him in on so many things, given him all sorts of personal details he could use to convince Beth he really was who he said he was. And then he remembered what she had told him about Sam.
“Sam…wasn’t as fond of kids as Maude was. I think that made me less fond of him.” He paced to the counter, poured himself a cup of the fresh coffee and sat at the table. “That’s why they never had children, you know. Sam didn’t want any.”
Beth blinked at him. “I didn’t think anyone knew that but me,” she said softly.
“I knew,” Joshua said. And it was the truth. Maude had told him. “And I think I always kind of resented him for it. She would have been a great mom.”
That did it. He had her. She believed him; it was all over her face. Thank God.
“Are you going to read that letter she left for you with her lawyer?” he asked.
Beth blinked, maybe surprised by the change of subject. She took the letter from the pocket of her jacket, slid her fingers along its edge. “I’m almost afraid to.”
“Go on. Read it.”
Licking her lips, she sank into a chair beside his, set the envelope on the table and slid it across to him. “You do it.”
“You sure?”
She nodded.
“All right.” Josh tried to hide his relief that the subject of his relationship with Maude had been successfully sidetracked and gently opened the envelope. He tugged the handwritten sheets from it and unfolded them. And then he read aloud. “‘Dear Beth, if you’re reading this, then I must be gone. On my way to some great adventure. And you probably know that my house, the place that has been my haven for more years than I can count, is yours. It’s my fondest wish that it will shelter and protect you as it has always done for me. A house isn’t just a pile of boards and nails, you know. Mine isn’t, at least. It has a soul, a life all its own. A life I’m entrusting to you.’” Josh looked up to see Beth wiping a tear from her eye. “You okay? Should I keep going?”
She sniffled, nodded.
He kept reading. “‘You have to live your life the way you see fit, I’m not such an old fool that I don’t know that. But I can tell you what I wish for more than anything else. I wish for you to return the gift I’ve given you by giving one to me. Fix the place up, Beth. Repaint the sign that hangs on the lawn and reopen the Blackberry Inn. Give life back to the old place and it will return the favor a thousand times. I guarantee it. It will breathe new life into you, too, Beth. Stop hiding from your past, and instead, look forward with open arms to your future. Open your heart again. You’ll never regret it. And know that I will always be grateful that you came into my life, and that if there’s a way, I will watch over you always. All my love, Maude.’”
Josh felt his own throat getting tight on those last words. He refolded the note, replaced it in the envelope and slid it back across the table to her.
Beth’s tears were flowing freely now. “She had a way of imposing her will on everyone. She really did it this time, waiting until I couldn’t argue with her.”
“She sure did.” He was uncomfortable with her weeping. He wanted to take away her pain. He got out of his chair, went around the table, put his hands on her shoulders. “Think you can do what she wants?”
She let her breath out in a rush—in response to his hands on her, he thought. “The furnace has to be replaced. It broke down three times last winter. The floorboards on the front porch, too. The whole place needs to be painted, missing shutters replaced, woodwork restained.” She shook her head slowly. “I could do it. It would take every bit of my savings and maybe a small loan to boot, but I could do it.”
“Will you?”
She closed her eyes. “I can’t even think about that until this thing with Mordecai is settled.”
“I don’t think you should wait. I think you should do what Maude said, stop running from the past, embrace the future instead. If you want this—stay and fight for it.”
She nodded slowly.
“What will you live on, if you drain your savings?”
“My tutoring provides a steady income. Not a lot. But I could take on more.”
He sighed. “I wish I could make this better.”
“You can’t.”
He swallowed hard, thinking the decent thing to do would be to offer to take his son and leave. It was her house now; they’d been Maude’s guests. Only they hadn’t really been her guests at all. She’d let them in only because he had convinced her Beth was in danger. Their presence here might have gotten the old woman killed. God, it knotted his insides to know that. If he offered to leave now, he was afraid Beth would take him up on it and end up the same way. He couldn’t risk that.
He had to save her.
“I have to call the funeral home. Chief Frankie said Maude made her own arrangements, but still—”
“I can do that for you,” he offered.
“I should order flowers.”
“I can do that, too. Right after I finish with the funeral home. Ju
st tell me what kind she would have wanted, and what you want on the card.” He was massaging her shoulders now, feeling like a trainer in a battered boxer’s corner.
She lifted her head, looking over her shoulder at him. “Maybe we could do it together.”
“Okay.”
“She liked daisies,” she said. “Those gaudy Shasta daisies in the bright, unnatural colors. I wonder if we can get them.”
“We can get whatever you need. If they don’t have them here, I’ll call someone in Manhattan and have them sent out here.”
She sighed, giving in to the pressure of his hands, and let her head fall forward. “I’m not used to accepting help like this. I’m not very good at it. And I’m not comfortable with it.”
“Yeah, well, I’m not asking permission to help you through this. I’m just doing it. So don’t start thinking you’ve got a choice in the matter.”
“I hope you are what you say you are, Josh.”
“That’s exactly what I am. Now, why don’t you go on upstairs, get showered up and changed? While you’re doing that, I’ll call the funeral parlor, and when you’re ready, I’ll drive you into town and we can go to the florist.”
“All right.” She got up from her chair, but faltered a little, gripping the back of it as if her knees were weak.
Josh closed his hands on her shoulders, and then, before he thought better of it, pulled her close, let her rest against him. She stiffened at first, but just when he was thinking this was a very bad idea, she relaxed and lowered her head to his chest, even, timidly, slid her arms around his waist. He closed his eyes against the feel of it even as he held her a little tighter. So small, so fragile in his arms. Amazing that this woman had survived that raid and a bullet from a high-powered rifle tearing through her. It should have ripped her in half. Should have killed her.
He had believed it had—believed he had snuffed out the very life he now held in his arms. That must be why it felt so good to hold her. It reaffirmed to him that she was alive when he could feel her, warm and breathing, her heart thudding strong and steady against his chest.
“I think I’m more afraid of you than I am of Mordecai,” she whispered.
The words hurt more than they ought to.
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