by Nora Roberts
He knew now that she and Julie MacBride had been twins, with Jamie the elder by seven minutes. Yet there wasn’t as much resemblance as he might have expected. Julie MacBride had owned a blazing beauty—despite delicate features and that golden coloring, it had flamed out and all but burned the onlooker.
The sister had quieter looks, hair more brown than blond that was cut in a chin-length swing and worn sleek, eyes more chocolate than gold and lacking that sensuous heavy-lidded shape. She was about five-three, Frank calculated, probably about a hundred and ten pounds on slender bones where her sister had been a long-stemmed five-ten.
He wondered if she’d been envious of her sister, of that perfection of looks and the excess of fame.
“Can I get you anything? Coffee?”
It was Tracy who answered, judging that she needed to do something normal before getting down to business. “I wouldn’t mind some coffee, Mrs. Melbourne. If it’s not too much trouble.”
“No . . . we seem to have pots going day and night. I’ll see to it. Please sit down.”
“She’s holding up,” Tracy commented when he was alone with his partner.
“She’s got a way to go.” Frank flicked open the curtains a slit to study the mob of press at the edge of the property. “This one’s going to be a zoo, a long-running one. It’s not every day America’s princess gets cut to ribbons inside her own castle.”
“By the prince,” Tracy added. He tapped his pocket where he kept his cigarettes—then thought better of it. “We’ll get maybe one more shot at him before he pulls it together and calls for a lawyer.”
“Then we’d better make it a bull’s-eye.” Frank let the curtain close and turned as Jamie came back into the room with a tray of coffee.
He sat when she did. He didn’t smile. Her eyes told him she didn’t require or want pleasantries and masks. “We appreciate this, Mrs. Melbourne. We know this is a bad time for you.”
“Right now it seems it’ll never be anything else.” She waited while Tracy added two heaping spoonsful of sugar to his mug. “You want to talk to me about Julie.”
“Yes, ma’am. Were you aware that your sister placed a nine-one-one call due to a domestic disturbance three months ago?”
“Yes.” Her hands were steady as she lifted her own mug. “Sam came home in an abusive state of mind. Physically abusive this time.”
“This time?”
“He’d been verbally, emotionally abusive before.” Her voice was brisk and clear. She refused to let it quaver. “Over the last year and a half that I know of.”
“Is it your opinion Mr. Tanner has a problem with drugs?”
“You know very well Sam has a habit.” Her eyes stayed level on Frank’s. “If you haven’t figured that out, you’re in the wrong business.”
“Sorry, Mrs. Melbourne. Detective Brady and I are just trying to touch all the bases. We have to figure you’d know your sister’s husband, his routines. Maybe she talked to you about their personal problems.”
“She did, of course. Julie and I were very close. We could talk about anything.” For a moment, Jamie looked away, struggling to keep it all steady. Voice, hands, eyes. “I think it started a couple of years ago, social cocaine.” She smiled, but it was thin and hard. “Julie hated it. They argued about it. They began to argue over a great many things. His last two movies didn’t do as well as expected, critically or financially. Actors can be a tender species. Julie was worried because Sam became edgy, argumentative. But as much as she tried to smooth things over, her own career was soaring. He resented that, began to resent her.”
“He was jealous of her,” Frank prompted.
“Yes, when he should have been proud. They began to go out more, parties, clubs. He felt he needed to be seen. Julie supported him in that, but she was a homebody. I know it’s difficult to equate the image, the beauty, glamour, with a woman who was happiest at home, in her garden, with her daughter, but that was Julie.”
Her voice cracked. She cleared it, sipped more coffee and continued. “She was working on the feature with Lucas Manning, Smoke and Shadows. It was a demanding, difficult role. Very physical. Julie couldn’t afford to work twelve or fourteen hours, come home, then polish herself up for night after night on the town. She wanted time to relax, time with Olivia. So Sam started going out on his own.”
“There were some rumors about your sister and Manning.”
Jamie shifted her gaze to Tracy, nodded. “Yes, there usually are when two very attractive people fire up the screen. People romanticize, and they enjoy gossip. Sam hounded her about other men, and Lucas in particular most recently. The rumors were groundless. Julie considered Lucas a friend and a marvelous leading man.”
“How did Sam take it?” Frank asked her.
She sighed now and set down her mug, but didn’t rub at the ache behind her eyes. “If it had been three or four years ago, he’d have laughed it off, teased her about it. Instead he hounded her, sniped at her. He accused her of trying to run his life, of encouraging other men, then of being with other men. Lucas was his prime target. It hurt Julie very much.”
“Some women would turn to a friend, to another man under that kind of pressure.” Frank watched her steadily as her eyes flared, her mouth tightened.
“Julie took her marriage seriously. She loved her husband. Enough, as it turned out, to stick by him until he killed her. And if you want to turn this around and make her seem cheap and ordinary—”
“Mrs. Melbourne.” Frank lifted a hand. “If we want to close this case, to get justice for your sister, we need to ask. We need all the pieces.”
She ordered herself to breathe, slowly in, slowly out, and poured more coffee she didn’t want. “The pieces are simple. Her career was moving up, and his was shaky. The shakier it got, the more he did drugs and the more he turned the blame on her. She called the police that night last spring because he attacked her in their daughter’s room and she was afraid for Livvy. She was afraid for all of them.”
“She filed for divorce.”
“That was a difficult decision for her. She wanted Sam to get help, to go into counseling, and she used the separation as a hammer. Most of all, she wanted to protect her daughter. Sam had become unstable. She wouldn’t risk her child.”
“Yet it appears she opened the door to him on the night of her death.”
“Yes.” Jamie’s hand shook now. Once. She set the coffee down and folded both hands in her lap. “She loved him. Despite everything, she loved him and believed if he could beat the drugs they’d get back together. She wanted more children. She wanted her husband back. She was careful to keep the separation out of the press. Beyond the family, the only people who knew of it were the lawyers. She’d hoped to keep it that way as long as possible.”
“Would she have opened the door to him when he was under the influence of drugs?”
“That’s what happened, isn’t it?”
“I’m just trying to get a picture,” Frank told her.
“She must have. She wanted to help him, and she believed she could handle him. If it hadn’t been for Livvy, I don’t think she’d have filed papers.”
But her daughter had been in the house that night, Frank thought. In the house, and at risk. “You knew them both very well.”
“Yes.”
“In your opinion, is Sam Tanner capable of killing your sister?”
“The Sam Tanner Julie married would have thrown himself in front of a train to protect her.” Jamie picked up her coffee again, but it didn’t wash away the bitterness that coated her throat. “The one you have in custody is capable of anything. He killed my sister. He mutilated her, ripping her apart like an animal. I want him to die for it.”
She spoke coolly, but her eyes were ripe and hot with hate. Frank met that violent gaze, nodded. “I understand your feelings, Mrs. Melbourne.”
“No, no, detective. You couldn’t possibly.”
Frank let it go as Tracy shifted in his chair. “Mrs. Melbour
ne,” Frank began. “It would be very helpful if we were able to speak with Olivia.”
“She’s four years old.”
“I realize that. But the fact is, she’s a witness. We need to know what she saw, what she heard.” Reading both denial and hesitation on her face, he pressed. “Mrs. Melbourne, I don’t want to cause you or your family any more pain, and I don’t want to upset the child. But she’s part of this. A key part.”
“How can you ask me to put her through that, to make her talk about it?”
“It’s in her head. Whatever she saw or heard is already there. We need to ask her what that was. She knows me from that night. She felt safe with me. I’ll be careful with her.”
“God.” Jamie lifted her hands, pressed her fingers to her eyes and tried to think clearly. “I have to be there. I have to stay with her, and you’ll stop if I say she’s had enough.”
“That’s fine. She’ll be more comfortable with you there. You have my word, I’ll make it as easy as I can. I have a kid of my own.”
“I doubt he’s ever witnessed a murder.”
“No, ma’am, but his father’s a cop.” Frank sighed a little as he rose. “They know more than you want them to.”
“Maybe they do.” She wouldn’t know, she thought as she led them out and up the stairs. David hadn’t wanted children, and since she hadn’t been sure she did either, she’d been content to play doting aunt to her sister’s daughter.
Now she would have to learn. They would all have to learn.
At the door to the bedroom, she motioned the two detectives back. She opened it a crack, saw that her parents were sitting on the floor with Olivia, putting a child’s puzzle together.
“Mom. Could you come here a minute?”
The woman who stepped out had Jamie’s small build, but seemed tougher, more athletic. The tan and the sun-bleached tips of her brown hair told Frank she liked the outdoors. He gauged her at early fifties and imagined she passed for younger when her face wasn’t drawn and etched with grief. Her soft blue eyes, bloodshot and bruised-looking, skimmed over Frank’s face, then his partner’s.
“This is my mother, Valerie MacBride. Mom, these are the detectives who . . . They’re in charge,” Jamie finished. “They need to talk to Livvy.”
“No.” Val’s body went on alert as she pulled the door closed behind her. “That’s impossible. She’s just a baby. I won’t have it. I won’t have anyone reminding her of what happened.”
“Mrs. MacBride—” But even as Frank spoke, she was turning on him.
“Why didn’t you protect her? Why didn’t you keep that murdering bastard away from her? My baby’s dead.” She covered her face with her hands and wept silently.
“Please wait here,” Jamie murmured and put her arms around her mother. “Come lie down, Mom. Come on now.”
When Jamie came back, her face was pale and showed signs of weeping. But her eyes were dry now. “Let’s get this over with.” She squared her shoulders, opened the door.
The man who looked up had folded his long legs Indian style. His hair was a beautiful mix of gold and silver around a narrow face that was tanned and handsome. The eyes of deep amber he’d passed to his younger daughter, and to her daughter, were fanned with lines and widely set under dark brows.
His hand, long and wide-palmed, reached out to lie on Olivia’s shoulder in an instinctive gesture of protection as he studied the men behind Jamie.
“Dad.” Jamie forced her lips into a smile. “This is Detective Brady and Detective Harmon. My father, Rob MacBride.”
Rob rose, and though he offered his hand to each detective in turn, he kept himself between them and his granddaughter. “What’s this about, Jamie?”
“They need to talk to Livvy.” She pitched her voice low and gripped his hand before he could protest. “They need to,” she repeated, squeezing. “Please, Dad, Mom’s upset. She’s lying down in your room. I’m going to stay here. I’ll be right here with Livvy the whole time. Go talk to Mom. Please . . .” Because her voice threatened to break, she took a moment. “Please, we have to get through this. For Julie.”
He bent, rested his brow against hers. Just stood that way for a moment, his body bowed, his hand in hers. “I’ll talk to your mother.”
“Where are you going, Grandpop? We haven’t finished the puzzle.”
He glanced back, fighting the tears that wanted to swim into his eyes. “I’ll be back, Livvy love. Don’t grow up while I’m gone.”
She giggled at that, but her thumb had found its way into her mouth as she stared up at Frank.
She knew who he was—the policeman with long arms and green eyes. His face looked tired and sad. But she remembered he had a nice voice and gentle hands.
“Hi, Livvy.” Frank crouched down. “Do you remember me?”
She nodded and spoke around her thumb. “You’re Frank the policeman. You chased the monster away. Is it coming back?”
“No.”
“Can you find my mama? She had to go to heaven and she must be lost. Can you go find her?”
“I wish I could.” Frank sat on the floor, folded his legs as her grandfather had.
Tears welled into her eyes, trembled on her lashes and cut at Frank’s heart like tiny blades. “Is it because she’s a star? Stars have to be in heaven.”
He heard Jamie’s low sound of despair behind him, quickly controlled as she stepped forward. But he needed the child’s trust now, so he laid a hand on her cheek and went with instinct. “Sometimes, when we’re really lucky, very special stars get to stay with us for a while. When they have to go back, it makes us sad. It’s all right to be sad. Did you know the stars are there, even in the daytime?”
“You can’t see them.”
“No, but they’re there, and they can see us. Your mother’s always going to be there, looking out for you.”
“I want her to come home. We’re going to have a party in the garden with my dolls.”
“Do your dolls like parties?”
“Everybody likes parties.” She picked up the Kermit she’d brought with her from home. “He eats bugs.”
“That’s a frog for you. Does he like them plain or with chocolate syrup?”
Her eyes brightened at that. “I like everything with chocolate syrup. Do you have a little girl?”
“No, but I have a little boy, and he used to eat bugs.”
Now she laughed and her thumb popped back out of her mouth. “He did not.”
“Oh yes. I was afraid he’d turn green and start hopping.” Idly, Frank picked up a puzzle piece, fit it into place. “I like puzzles. That’s why I became a policeman. We work on puzzles all the time.”
“This is Cinderella at the ball. She has a bea-u-tiful dress and a pumpkin.”
“Sometimes I work on puzzles in my head, but I need help with the pieces to make the picture in there. Do you think you can help me, Livvy, by telling me about the night I met you?”
“You came to my closet. I thought you were the monster, but you weren’t.”
“That’s right. Can you tell me what happened before I came and found you?”
“I hid there for a long, long time, and he didn’t know where I was.”
“It’s a good hiding place. Did you play with Kermit that day, or with puzzles?”
“I played with lots of things. Mama didn’t have to work and we went swimming in the pool. I can hold my breath under the water for an ever, because I’m like a fish.”
He tugged her hair, peeked at her neck. “Yep, there are the gills.”
Her eyes went huge. “Mama says she can see them, too! But I can’t.”
“You like to swim?”
“It’s the most fun of anything. I have to stay in the little end, and I can’t go in the water unless Mama or Rosa or a big person’s there. But one day I can.”
“Did you have friends over that day, to play?”
“Not that day. Sometimes I do.” She pursed her lips and industriously fit another piece
of her puzzle into place. “Sometimes Billy or Cherry or Tiffy come, but that day Mama and me played, and we took a nap and we had some cookies Rosa made. And Mama read her script and she laughed and she talked on the phone: ‘Lou, I love it!’ ” Livvy recited in such a smooth and adult tone, Frank blinked at her. “ ‘I am Carly. It’s about damn time I got my teeth into a romantic comedy with wit. Make the deal.’ ”
“Ah . . .” Frank struggled between surprise and admiration while Livvy tried to set another piece of her puzzle in place. “That’s really good. You have a good memory.”
“Daddy says I’d be a parrot if I had wings. I ’member lots of things.”