“Water broke about two hours ago,” Geneva panted. “Contractions coming every eight minutes or so. It’s too early. She’s not due for almost a month.” Panic shivered beneath the words.
“Three or four weeks early is nothing,” Ellie reassured her. “Nothing. Lila will be just fine. There’s an ambulance on its way.” On the words, she heard a siren’s whoop. “See?”
As the contraction eased, Ellie and Laurel helped her into a sitting position.
Laurel began struggling with the tape at Geneva’s wrists. “Need a knife,” she muttered.
Boone snapped open a Swiss Army knife type gadget and sliced through the duct tape. With a sigh of relief, Geneva pulled her arms to the front and wrapped them around her belly.
“It was Stephen Abbott,” she said, her eyes on Sheriff Boone crouched in front of her. “The Abbotts were stealing the antiques. He thought I knew what he was up to and locked me in here. I don’t think he’s playing with a full deck. That’s technical psychologist talk.”
Ellie chuckled. Geneva couldn’t be too bad off if she was making jokes.
“He said he’d come back to deal with me when it was dark.” Her voice caught. “It sounded like Mindy figured it out. I think he killed her. Do you think he killed Evangeline, too?”
Ellie brushed damp hair off Geneva’s brow. “Don’t worry about any of that. Save your energy.”
“We’ll find out,” Boone said, at the same time Laurel said “No.” Everyone looked at her, and she said, “I’ll explain later.”
Ellie was taken aback by the certainty in Laurel’s voice, but she was more concerned with Geneva and her baby at that moment than with murder. She urged Geneva to breathe as another contraction seized her, and counted off the seconds on her watch.
The EMTs rushed in then, and Ellie and the others backed away to let them work. One of them murmured when he saw the condition of Geneva’s wrists and hands. Within minutes, they had an IV line running and were trundling Geneva to the ambulance on a collapsible gurney while asking questions about the contractions and her due date. Their calm professionalism seemed to reassure her.
“I’m going with her,” Ellie announced and climbed into the back of the ambulance without waiting for permission. Geneva’s smile was her reward. She reached for Geneva’s hand and held it tightly. “I’ll be with you the whole way,” she promised.
“I’ll call Geonwoo,” Laurel called as the doors clanged shut, “and Dawn and I will meet you at the hospital.”
Boone charged away after the ambulance left, setting his troops in motion to find Stephen Abbott. As she and Dawn left for the Asheville hospital, Laurel saw an officer handcuff Nerys Abbott and load her into the back of his car. The woman looked deflated, her hair flat and head bowed, and Laurel felt a momentary pang of sympathy. Bitterness and resentment had taken the innkeeper far down a path she couldn’t have foreseen, and her retirement would be spent in a prison cell rather than walking on the Galveston beach and bonding with her grandchildren. Remembering the way Nerys had talked about her move to Texas and her next chapter, Laurel depressed the accelerator hard and cut the corner too close when turning into the hospital parking lot. Dawn grabbed the dashboard but didn’t complain.
They arrived to find that Geneva was still in labor with Ellie serving as her coach. A nurse assured them that everything was going fine and advised them to get something to eat or drink. “It’s a first baby,” he said, “and she’s in no hurry. It’s gonna be a while yet.” With a toothy grin, he gave them directions to the cafeteria on the second floor.
Dawn said she wasn’t hungry, so Laurel left her in the waiting room and headed downstairs alone. Emerging from the elevator, she bumped into Sheriff Boone. She bounced off his solid chest, and he steadied her with his hands on her upper arms. He smelled faintly of butterscotch and clean sweat.
“Whoa.”
“Sorry,” she gasped, absurdly aware of the strength in his hands.
“Good timing,” he said. “I put an APB out on Stephen Abbott and I was coming up to find you. You said you had something to tell me, and it sounded urgent.”
He released her and she felt momentarily bereft. “I was headed to the cafeteria,” she said quickly, to cover her confusion. “They say the baby won’t be here for a while, and I’m starving.”
“I could eat.” He led the way down a linoleumed hallway and she wondered how many meals he’d eaten in the hospital, waiting to interview a beaten, stabbed, or raped victim.
The cafeteria was a pleasant space with colorful molded plastic chairs, and plants and windows. Even at seven o’clock, a fair number of people in lab coats or scrubs carried trays or conversed at the tables as Boone and Laurel got in line. With a chef salad on her tray, Laurel impulsively gave into the appeal of a cup of chocolate pudding topped by a stiff dollop of whipped cream. It reminded her of childhood desserts, and she knew exactly how it would taste and feel on her tongue. The stress of the past few days had her craving comfort food. They paid and settled at a table near a dusty corn plant.
“So, talk,” Boone said, biting into his burger.
“You’re going to be pissed off that I didn’t tell you in advance,” Laurel warned, “so let’s stipulate that you’ve chewed me out and I’m sorry, but I didn’t think I had an option at the time.”
Boone looked at her from under his heavy brows. “I reserve the right to rip you a new one if I deem it necessary, Your Honor.”
Laurel bit her lip and talked, occasionally pausing for a bite of salad. She told him about her conversation with Ray Hernan and how she’d found him. Midway through her recital, Boone paused her with an upraised finger and called the station to issue orders for officers to proceed to Hernan’s address and pick him up for questioning.
“Consider me pissed off and yourself chewed out,” he said when he hung up.
His unsmiling gaze rested on Laurel’s face as she finished telling him what Ray had told her about Evangeline’s desire for revenge and her suicide plan. “She wanted one or all of us to stand trial for her ‘murder,’” she said sadly, “so she tried to frame us. I didn’t think to ask Ray, but I suspect he’s the one who bought the rat poison near San Antonio to implicate Dawn.”
“If you’d called me when you got his contact info, we would know all the details,” Boone bit out.
“The point is that Evangeline killed herself.”
“We have no proof of that.” He wiped ketchup off his fingers.
“You think I’m lying?” Laurel was hurt by the thought, but hid it. Boone was doing his job, and he was right: there was no proof, nothing beyond Ray’s confession as relayed by her. Any competent lawyer would object to it as hearsay, and she’d sustain.
“I didn’t say that.”
“You have no proof she was killed, either,” Laurel said, swinging into lawyer mode.
“In fact, I do.”
“Too much proof,” she responded quickly. “Pointing to too many people. Reasonable doubt. In fact, there’s such a cloud of reasonable doubt hanging over this case that you’ll never get a DA to take it to court even without Ray Hernan’s testimony.”
Boone pushed back from the table. “You may be right.” Standing, he loomed over her. From this perspective, the bags under his eyes seemed heavier, the lines carved around his mouth deeper. “The person who should go away for this is the one who pushed the vic ten years ago. She put in motion the chain of events that led us here.” His brown eyes pinned her. “I think you’ve figured out who it was.”
Laurel stilled. The whir of a soft-serve ice cream machine and snippets of conversations drifted between them. After a long moment, she dipped her head. “Maybe.”
“Are you going to tell me?”
“When I’m sure. I have to be sure.”
“I’ll hold you to that, Laurel,” he said. Unsmiling, he turned and walked out of
the cafeteria.
Thirty
Lila Marigold made her appearance shortly after eight thirty, at seven pounds even and twenty inches long. They all crowded in to admire the baby and congratulate Geneva when she and Lila were transferred to a room on the maternity ward. Laurel held the swaddled bundle, surprised by the baby’s solidity, awestruck by her tiny little nose and delicate fingers, and dazzled by the silky lashes fanning against her cheek as she slept. Holding the baby gave her a deep sense of peace, and she knew she’d made her decision. Blinking away tears, she reluctantly handed Lila back when a nurse shooed them out saying “Mom needs her rest.” Indeed, Geneva looked exhausted. Happy, but pale and shaky after her dual ordeals of imprisonment and giving birth. They left her facetiming with Geonwoo and promising to join them for a memorial to Evangeline the next day before they all scattered to their own states.
Laurel drove Dawn and Ellie back to the castle, taking the opportunity to fill them in on her meeting with Ray Hernan.
“I’ll bet he’s the one who sold Evangeline and Geneva the coke,” Ellie said.
Dawn’s phone ringing interrupted their exclamations and speculations. Puzzlement creased her face when she examined the number, and she murmured, “Sorry, I’ve got to take this.” She answered and listened in silence for several seconds, but then exclaimed, “Oh my God! How badly is she hurt?”
Laurel got a sinking feeling. The call was about Kyra, she was sure. She eyed her friend worriedly in the rearview mirror. After another thirty seconds of mostly listening, Dawn hung up.
“Tell us?” Ellie slewed in the front seat to see Dawn.
“It’s Kyra,” she said, voice trembling with tears. “She was in a car accident Sunday afternoon.”
“Oh no. Is she … ?” Ellie didn’t finish the question.
“She’s in the hospital in Alabama,” Dawn said, almost panting. A passing car’s headlights blanched her face dead white. “That’s where it happened, the accident. She’s going to be okay. A couple of broken bones—her leg and her scapula, a lacerated spleen. I didn’t catch everything. She was concussed and totally out of it. Her phone was destroyed in the crash. The police traced the license plate to our address, and the nitwit staying at our house found them Kyra’s parents’ phone number but didn’t bother calling me.” She ground her teeth. “Her parents assumed I knew, and they were surprised I hadn’t been in touch. That was them.” She waved the phone. “She—she woke up today and told them she was coming here, to surprise me. She’s afraid to fly, always has been, so she was driving. All this time, I thought—I thought she was—” Dawn pounded both fists on her thighs. “She’s going to be okay, she’s going to be okay,” she said, obviously trying to calm herself.
“Of course she’s going to be okay,” Ellie said, and Laurel smiled at her calm certainty. She made the tight turn between Cygne’s pillars and began guiding the car up the winding driveway. What a day.
Her smile faded abruptly when they came around the last curve to find a strange car parked in the circular driveway. They got out hesitantly.
“Police?” Ellie asked in a whisper as they neared the castle entrance. Gravel crunched loudly underfoot, undercutting their attempt at stealth.
“I don’t think so.” Laurel shook her head. Could Stephen Abbott have eluded the police somehow and returned to Cygne? She felt tension vibrating off the women on either side of her.
The porch light snapped on, casting a net of golden light that snared a dozen moths and other bugs. The women jolted to a halt. The door creaked open. Dawn grabbed Laurel’s arm. “We should—”
A man’s silhouette appeared in the doorway. Laurel took a step back, bumping into Dawn.“Ellie? Is that you?” a man’s voice called. “Where the heck is everyone?”
Ellie gasped. “Oh my God, he must have driven after all.” She hurtled toward the entrance and flung herself into his arms. “Scott! I’m so sorry. My phone was off because I was at the hospital. Geneva got kidnapped and had her baby, and Mr. A tried to kill her and Dawn, and the police arrested Mrs. A … ”
Laurel and Dawn followed more slowly and greeted Scott Ordahl, who was clearly bemused by his wife’s recital. Ellie suddenly burst into tears. “I’m so glad you’re here,” she said, clinging to her husband. He patted her back and made soothing noises.
“It’s been a long day,” Laurel said with a tired smile.
“A very long day,” Dawn echoed, her voice teetering on the brink of tears. “I’m going to pack and go to bed.”
Laurel and Dawn went around the embracing couple and headed back to their rooms. Light glowed from the sunroom, where Laurel presumed Scott had been sitting, but the rest of the rooms were dark. She flipped on every light switch they passed and refused to feel guilty about it. They had earned a little light.
Alone in the foyer, Ellie clung to Scott as if she’d never let go. “I’m so glad you’re here,” she said. He was warm and alive and solid, and tension drained out of her as he held her.
“Let me turn out the light and we can go to bed,” Scott said, disengaging himself and walking toward the sunroom.
She followed and paused inside the door while he retrieved the Aviation Week and Space Technology he’d left face-down on the coffee table. The table lamp highlighted the strong bones in his hand as he reached for the magazine and left puddles of shadow outside its golden circle. An earthy odor rose from the potted plants, richer, it seemed, in the near dark than during the day. It was the first time they’d been together in this room since Scott came to Cygne with her for spring break their junior year. So long ago.
“I saw you here,” she said, the words spilling out without prior thought. “You and Evangeline. On that couch. Well, not that one, since it’s new, but the one that used to be there. It had rolled arms, that revolting upholstery with the pink and yellow roses, and thirty years’ worth of suspicious stains.”
Scott turned slowly. Light winked off the lenses of his glasses, hiding his eyes. He was silent for a long moment, brow furrowed. “You never said anything.”
“No,” Ellie agreed. “I should have. Instead, I made love with you, and got pregnant, and married you and had the twins, and gave up my scholarship and my education.” The words spilled out, as if seeing Scott in this room again had dynamited the dam holding them back. The truth, at last. Out in the open. She took a rib-expanding breath, and there seemed to be more room inside her for air.
“You blame me.” He hadn’t moved, and the distance between them felt wider than an Olympic pool.
“I did.” She nodded. “For a long time. You and Evangeline.” An unfamiliar peace flooded through Ellie as she talked. “I blamed you, and especially her, for changing the course of my life, for me ending up near forty with no career, no focus, no purpose.” Scott started to interrupt, but she talked faster. “But I was wrong. I might as well give Evangeline credit for the boys, for nearly twenty wonderful years with you and them, for a life full of inconveniences and disruptions—too many moves!—but also lots of adventures and love.” She cocked her head. “Something about spending time with my friends this weekend, maybe Evangeline’s murder, has helped me take a good hard look at myself. Never a fun task.” She made a wry face. “Evangeline didn’t make me sleep with you, and you didn’t make me give up my education. I made those decisions. Me, myself, and I—no one else. Talking to Evangeline’s coworkers, I could see she let herself get bitter—she practically stewed in it. I mean, who works for an orthopedist if they’re stuck in a wheelchair? I don’t think I’d have done that, but if I only spent half as much energy figuring out who I wanted to be and making that happen as brooding about your one-night stand with Evangeline … ” She shot him a look. “It was just once, right?”
Scott nodded. Small clicks sounded from the windows and it took her a moment to realize it was insects batting themselves against the glass, attracted by the light.
�
��Well, if I’d done that, or if I’d had it out with you on the spot, or, well, not right on the spot, but if I’d told you the next week that I saw you and asked you what it meant to you—
“Nothing. Nothing.”
“—then I could have moved on.” She put her hands on her hips. “Well, moving on starts right here.”
“I’m sorry I cheated on you,” Scott said, taking a step toward her. “But, good God. You’ve been holding this against me for twenty years without ever telling me?” Hurt drew his brows together. “Letting me think we were good, solid, and now you tell me—” He balled his hand into a fist and struck his thigh.
His obvious pain and confusion and anger—totally justified—saddened her. She hadn’t been fair to him, to them. “I’m sorry,” she said, also taking a step. “It wasn’t fair. We are good. Better than good. It’s not like I thought about it every day, or even every month. Just now and then.” She licked her lips. “I’d be willing to see someone when we get back to the Springs—you know, a counselor. This is, well, probably too much to, on our own … A therapist might help us hash it through, teach us to communicate better, I don’t know. Elizabeth and Jamal worked with a woman they liked a lot.” With two feet between them, she added, “I want to have a career, maybe my own sports nutrition business. I don’t know for sure what I want to be when I grow up, but I want to be more than ‘Mrs. Commander.’”
“Go for it,” he said, his face relaxing. “When you get your business up and running, I’ll retire and be Mr. Whatever You Need Me to Be.”
She blinked away tears. “You’re already exactly who I need you to be—my Scott, my husband.” She bit her lip. “What if I’m a failure?”
He put his arms around her. “You’ve never failed at anything, Ellie. Quitting school to have the boys was not ‘failing.’ It was a choice, the right choice. You’re a better wife than I have any right to, and the best mother in the world. You’re a great friend, a good leader and organizer—how many Spouse Club events have you chaired, and how much money did you raise for the Boy Scouts and the swim team?”
That Last Weekend Page 26