“Rae, what the heck are you doing up there? They’ll be here any minute.” No time to think about alibis right now. I went downstairs and poured a bottle of red wine into a pitcher, then added cut-up lemons and limes, sparkling water, and fruit juice. I put the sangria in the fridge to chill. The chicken had been marinating since the night before, and the salad was made. I sliced some peaches that we’d grill for dessert. The whole time I was racking my brain, trying to recall where Luc was that night. Finally, I remembered. He’d been talking to Thalia and Garrett’s neighbor in Ross at close to eight, which meant he couldn’t have been in the city killing his sister. Whew.
Our friends arrived soon after, and I didn’t give the murder another thought for hours. We ate too much and drank a lot of wine, while their kids ran around with Jasper. After sunset, I lit lanterns and brought out sweaters so that we could linger a while longer.
When everyone had finally gone, Peter wrapped me in his arms. “Great party,” he said. I agreed. “We can clean up in the morning,” he suggested.
“Good idea. I’ll just bring in the plates from outside so the raccoons don’t swarm.” I was piling up the last of the dishes when it hit me. That phone call. When Joe Levine assumed I was Sonia. “Oh, God,” I said.
“What’s wrong?”
“Peter, I know how he did it.”
“Who did what?”
“Peter, I think Luc killed Thalia.”
He groaned. “Rae, I thought the detective shit was ending. I don’t want to hear about Thalia’s murder anymore.”
“But, Peter—”
“No! Stop it.”
“Peter, I know what happened with the phone call,” I said triumphantly. “It wasn’t Thalia who called me at 8:22. She was already dead. It was the murderer calling from her phone. I just assumed it was Thalia. Don’t you see, the murderer must have taken her phone . . . Oh, but then he must have put it back. Because it was with her body. Hmm. Yes, he must have put it back. Peter, I really think it was Luc! I need to find out where he was that evening.”
Peter was looking at me with an expression I’d never seen on his face before. I felt a chill run through my body. The phone rang, and I ran to answer it.
“Is this Rae?” asked a female voice.
“Yes.”
“This is Mary Lou. From Smitty’s. I hope I’m not calling too late.”
“Not at all. Thanks so much for calling.”
“No problem. What did you want to know?”
Peter was watching me. “Um. What did he look like? The man who spilled the drink?” I asked.
“Oh, that jerk. He was handsome. Tall and blond. About six foot two. Slim.”
My throat closed. Peter’s eyes were boring into me. I forced myself to sound normal. “OK, thanks very much.” Covering the mouthpiece with my hand, I said, “I’ll pay for the dry cleaning.”
Mary Lou was still talking. “He was staring at a blonde at the bar the whole time he sat with me. And then as soon as she left, he took off like a shot. Spilled his beer all over my new sweater. At least he left money for the drinks.”
“OK, thanks. Thanks very much,” I said again. I hung up. “A little accident at the shop,” I said in answer to Peter’s questioning look. “It’s all taken care of. Someone spilled something on a customer.”
I felt dizzy. I had been half right. The scenario was accurate. I just had cast the wrong person as the villain. But my brain was piecing it all together now. Peter knew about the first note because I had told him! And Peter needed money. The day after the party, when Thalia got the second note, Peter had left that morning. Taking the dog for a run, he said. Oh, God. I looked up to find him watching me. The stony look in his eyes filled me with profound terror.
“I need to run out to the store, honey,” I said. “I’m out of tampons.” Still he stared at me. “I’ll be back in a few minutes. Then we can finish cleaning up. I want to get there before they close.” I grabbed my keys and the dog’s leash and hurried out the front door to my car. I fumbled for a moment with the keys before getting the door open. Jasper jumped into the back seat. As I started the engine, I heard a tap on the passenger side window. I looked up to find my husband pointing a gun at my face.
CHAPTER 35
Peter motioned for me to open the car door. What if I refused? Could a bullet kill me through the window? Probably. I unlocked the doors, and Peter slid into the seat beside me. “Drive,” he commanded. As he directed me through the narrow, winding streets, my mind raced. Should I crash the car? Then what? As my mind scrambled for an answer, he instructed me to park. We were just outside of Deer Park. “Let’s take a little hike,” Peter said. “I know how much you like hiking.”
I stumbled out of the car. Jasper danced dizzily, thrilled at this nighttime outing. “Let’s go,” Peter said. I could feel the gun at my back. How did Peter have a gun? We started walking into the park. We had no flashlight. I thought furiously. If I could make a run for it, he might not be able to find me in the dark. But Jasper would bound right after me, I knew, making it impossible to hide.
We stumbled along, a small sliver of moonlight making the ground just barely visible. After several minutes of walking, the trail started to rise. I slowed my pace, but he poked the gun into my back again and said, “Keep going.” Maybe the gun had no bullets, I prayed. Was it the gun he had killed Thalia with? How many times had he fired it? How many bullets did a gun hold, anyway? I wondered. I tried to reason with him. “Peter, you know I love you. Can’t we go home and talk about this?”
“Keep walking,” he said.
I started to cry. “Peter, please.”
“Shut up.” I thought of Luc as I walked along sobbing. He’d never tell me to shut up. I hoped he’d speak at my funeral. I tried to imagine what he might say. I looked at the stars high above the peak of Mount Tamalpais. My last night on earth. At least I was in a place I loved.
“I know that you wanted me to do it,” Peter said. He sounded absolutely deranged. I suspected that it was pointless to argue with him. But at least he was talking. Maybe he’d change his mind about killing me.
“That’s why you told me about the note,” Peter said knowingly. “You told me Thalia was being blackmailed and that she’d pay. You told me, Rae. I knew you wanted me to do it. I always did know what you wanted, sometimes even before you did.” Then his voice became angry. “That bitch. She set me up. She didn’t leave the money!”
“So you killed her for the insurance money?” I wailed. “How could you?”
“What?” He laughed contemptuously. “No, of course not. I didn’t even know about the insurance money. That was a nice little surprise. You know what she said when she saw me in the park? She said, ‘I’m calling Rae. What were you doing with that girl at Smitty’s?’ That girl was nothing. I only sat with her because Thalia walked in. She was supposed to get on the goddamn bus! She was supposed to leave the fucking money! But no, she had to screw it all up.
“I couldn’t let her call you, could I? I grabbed her phone. I think that’s when she realized why I was really there. For the money, of course. I needed the money. We needed it. Do you have any idea how much money I owed? And the people I owed it to were not very nice people, Rae. They even threatened to come after you, to hurt you. We needed that money! That’s when she pulled out a goddamn gun. She was going to shoot me!”
So Thalia had gone to the park armed. I could have told her that wasn’t going to end well. “Peter, that makes it self-defense,” I said, seizing on something that might bring him to his senses. “That means it’s not your fault. You don’t have to—”
“She had to die,” Peter said matter-of-factly. “Because what was to stop her from telling you? I couldn’t have that, could I?
“I took off my raincoat and wrapped it around the gun. It barely made a sound when I shot her. And the phone. Well, that was clever, wasn’t it? I phoned you from the awards dinner because you said you were going to call the police. I wanted you to th
ink Thalia was calling. Of course, I had to put the phone back. I drove by after the dinner. The body was still there in the bushes. It was so easy—the perfect murder,” he gloated. “Except you couldn’t let it go, could you? Even when the police arrested someone. You had to keep—”
Hearing the rustling of an animal in the bushes, Jasper began to whine. “Shut up,” Peter said sharply as we continued on, the path quite steep and twisty now.
“That bitch was going to turn you against me.” His voice took on a note of hysteria. “Like she always tried to do. She was jealous of us.”
“Peter, I’d never turn against you. You know I love you,” I lied.
“Bullshit. If I gave you the chance you’d run so fast, and you’d take me down with you.”
I continued to sob as I stumbled along. Jasper tugged at his leash, oblivious to the danger. What would happen to Jasper after I was gone? Maybe Sonia would take him. Yes, I consoled myself. Sonia would take him. She wouldn’t let Jasper live with this monster.
We were coming to a steeper part now, with lots of switch-backs. I knew this area. I’d once crashed my bike on this very turn. Maybe Peter would stumble. If he did, could I get the gun from him? Probably not. The canopy of trees overhead was thick now, making it difficult to see. Suppose I jumped off the side, slid down the mountain. Then what? With a broken leg—or worse—I couldn’t get far. It was many, many hours until morning. He’d find me before then, before any hikers or dog walkers came along. My phone rang. I reached into my pocket.
“Let it ring,” Peter commanded.
I wanted to answer it and shout, “Help! My husband is going to kill me!” But I let it ring. After four rings, it stopped. A moment later it rang again.
“Shut the damn thing off. Now.”
I slipped the ringing phone out of my pocket to comply. I recognized the number. It was Detective Hernandez. What would happen if I answered it and screamed? Probably get shot in the back.
“Shut it off,” Peter said in a steely voice. I stood frozen, looking at the phone in my hand. My last link to help. Peter snatched it from me and tossed it toward the trees. It sailed off over the side of the path. The drop was so far that I didn’t hear it land. I wanted to keep him talking, buying me time. Maybe we’d run into someone, anyone, out for a moonlight hike.
Jasper stopped and poked his nose into a clump of ferns, whimpering with excitement. Then he gave a low, deep growl. “Shut up,” Peter said, and he kicked him. The dog let out a yelp. Without even thinking about it, I turned around and shoved Peter hard with both hands in the center of his chest, catching him by surprise. He stumbled, cursing, then slipped over the side of the trail, the sound of breaking branches mingling with his screams. I took off like a shot, running faster than I could have imagined, Jasper bounding at my heels. I didn’t stop until we reached my car. Gasping, I tried to pull open the door. It was locked. I felt in my pockets for the keys, then saw them lying in a heap on the floor of the front seat, where the contents of my purse had spilled out.
“Come on, boy,” I said, taking hold of the dog’s leash. I was too winded to run now, but I covered the ten blocks to my house at a near trot, looking over my shoulder every few minutes. Even though Peter was presumably lying at the bottom of a hill, I couldn’t shake the feeling that he was going to show up behind me brandishing that gun.
To my surprise, there were two Fairfax police cars in front of the house, lights flashing. I stumbled up the front stairs and opened the door. A uniformed police officer confronted me. “Are you Rae Sullivan, ma’am?”
When I nodded, he immediately got on his radio. “She’s here. We’ve got her.”
There was a crackling response that I couldn’t make out. “No, just her,” the officer said. More crackling. “Yeah, she’s OK.”
Zombie-like, I walked to the kitchen to make sure Jasper had water. There was Sonia, standing at a sink full of soapy water, washing dishes. When Jasper ran to his bowl and started slurping, Sonia turned and saw me. “You’re home!” she shrieked. “Oh, thank God.” She embraced me with fervor, soapy water running off her yellow rubber gloves. “Thank God. Thank God. They’re out searching for you.”
“What . . . What . . . How did you know . . . ?”
“Hernandez knew,” Sonia was saying. “He knew it was Peter, but he thought you were still in France. He was planning to make an arrest in the next day or two. But then when Joe Levine found out you were already back, he told Hernandez, who realized you were in danger.
“Excuse me.” One of the uniformed officers was standing in the kitchen. “Mrs. Sullivan, we need to take a statement. And Detective Hernandez is on his way,” the officer told me. “He was very happy to hear that you’re safe.”
Sonia peeled off the gloves and threw them on the kitchen counter. “Come, let’s go sit.” We went into the living room, and I sank onto the couch. It felt sublime to sit down. I recounted the harrowing events of the evening, with Sonia holding my hand.
When I was finished, the officer said, “Now about your husband. We need to locate him as soon as possible. Can you tell me where you last saw him?”
I shuddered as I remembered Peter’s icy voice and the gun at my back. “He’s on the trail. In Deer Park. Well, he’s off the trail, actually.” I tried to describe where exactly Peter might be, but the officer was clearly not a hiker—or, if he was, he’d never been on this particular trail. My landmarks of low-hanging manzanita and large boulders meant nothing to him. He tried to pin me down on mileage, but I had no idea.
Finally, Hernandez arrived. He conferred briefly with the officer, then sat down next to me. “I’m very glad you’re safe,” he said.
I nodded. “My husband probably needs help. I . . . I pushed him off the trail.” I could swear Hernandez was trying not to smile. “Please. Go get him.” For the second time, I tried to explain exactly where Peter was. I could hear a helicopter circling overhead. This was more drama than my quiet little neighborhood had ever seen.
Hernandez went and conferred with two other policemen, then came back to the couch. “Mrs. Sullivan, it would be very helpful if you could lead us to the spot.”
“No,” I said without hesitation. I couldn’t go back. I was tired, so tired, and Peter had a gun. And my thigh muscles ached from running. I leaned back into the soft couch cushions and closed my eyes.
“Mrs. Sullivan,” Hernandez said gently, “I wouldn’t ask you to do this unless I thought it necessary. You’ll be completely safe, I assure you. One officer will stay here with your friend and the other will come with us.”
“It’s OK,” Sonia said. “You go. I’ll stay here with Jasper. When you come back I’ll make you a stiff drink.”
“OK.” I got up wearily. Hernandez and one other officer drove to the trailhead, following my directions. Hernandez did a lot of talking on his radio—something about dogs and helicopters. “You were right, you know,” I said to Hernandez. “About the fraud at the gallery.” He pursed his lips but said nothing. “I knew—or at least suspected—something wasn’t right. But I kept quiet.”
Hernandez nodded. “That’s not important now,” he said. “What matters is that you’re safe and that we’re going to arrest your husband.” I felt an enormous relief at confessing to Hernandez, trivial as my sin was in the scheme of things. Maybe this was why people went to church, to admit their failings without being judged. We parked the car, not far from my Volvo, and got out, taking powerful flashlights from the trunk.
“This way,” I said. The moon was high now. We crossed the meadow. I inhaled the smell of eucalyptus. Mount Tam rose before me majestically. With the two men at my side, we started up the trail.
CHAPTER 36
The shop was bustling. If Thalia’s murder had been good for business, my attempted murder was even better. I’d hired three new part-timers, who were all terrific. And the funny thing was, I liked being in charge. I’d thought I couldn’t do it without Thalia, but in a way things were easier.
&n
bsp; Peter’s trial had been an ordeal. The fact that I had told him about Renata’s note to Thalia was twisted by the defense into an act of betrayal on my part. They tried to paint me as somehow complicit in Thalia’s death. Well, perhaps it was partially my fault. Perhaps I had set this all in motion. I’d have to live with that. Now that six months had passed, it didn’t hurt quite as much, although I still missed Thalia daily.
Peter was sentenced to twenty years in prison. Of course, I thought he should get life, but since Thalia had been the one with the gun, his lawyer successfully made a case for self-defense. Trying to kill me later was what got him the twenty years.
The Chronicle had reported every sordid detail of the lengthy trial. Barbara Abrams covered the story. Although I refused to grant her any interviews, she pieced together a flattering portrait of me as naive victim. “I never thought you were guilty,” she admitted in an email. “Sorry I dredged up all that past shit, but it’s what readers wanted.”
And she redeemed herself further when she phoned me one morning in November. “You’re going to love this!” she rasped in her gravelly smoker’s voice. “I’ve been revisiting that art fraud story ever since I met you. I did a hell of a lot of digging. My exposé is running tomorrow. You have to check it out. Turns out Hubert Grebe was in on it with that bitch boss of yours, Virginia! They’re arresting his ass in Santa Fe. Just goes to show, you can’t trust anyone, can you?”
Indeed.
“I’m going to take off a little early today,” I told my new assistant.
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