Truly, Madly

by Heather Webber

  “Interesting you’d jump to that conclusion,” Sean said.

  “It’s not a hard leap, Mr. Donahue. I wasn’t exactly a pillar of the community in my youth. And the last I saw Rachel, we had a huge fight—it’s been almost six years to the day I last saw her. It’s a logical jump to make. If you’ve tracked me down, someone must have told you about me. Maybe even about the fight Rachel and I had. There were quite a lot of witnesses.”

  “Did you kill her?” Sean threw out.

  Her eyes widened, and she shook her head.

  I took another route. “You’re a social worker now?”

  She gave a sad smile. “Talk about leaps, right?”

  I nodded.

  “That day I walked out on Rachel, I knew I had to change, that she was right.”

  “About what?” I asked.

  “That I was a worthless human being.”

  Harsh, I thought.

  “And I was. I decided then and there to change. I moved to Providence, went back to school. I met my husband, Mark, not too long after. I haven’t looked back.”

  “You never wanted to show Rachel that you changed?” I asked, relaxing a bit. There was nothing threatening about Elena Hart at all. Had she really changed? “You didn’t try to contact her in all these years? She was your childhood best friend, stuck with you through thick and thin. Didn’t you think she’d be happy for you?”

  She leaned forward, bracing her elbows on her knees. “I thought about it a time or two, but figured it was for the best I didn’t. I’d come a long way in terms of changing my life. I work part-time with a nonprofit adoption agency; I have the kids, my husband. I volunteer in the community every chance I get. I figured if I went back and Rachel was doing better than me, then I might feel inferior, that I could never be good enough to meet her high standards, and start slipping into that worthless person I used to be.”

  “Yet Rachel wasn’t perfect. She had an arrest record. She was your partner in crime,” Sean said.

  Elena winced. “I suppose I deserve that. Rachel was a follower, Mr. Donahue. She was so intent on changing my ways, she went along with whatever I said and did to make sure I didn’t get myself into too much trouble. And sometimes that backfired on her.”

  My knee brushed Sean’s leg, sending a sizzle clear up my spine.

  “We’re trying to gather as much information as we can to turn over to the police,” I said. “Michael Lafferty is the prime suspect in the case.”

  “Michael? Why?”

  “Motivation is a little fuzzy,” I said, not moving my knee. I liked the sizzle.

  I left out the part about me finding Rachel’s body, which in turn implicated Michael. I didn’t want to dwell.

  She frowned. “I’m sure you already know I had an infatuation with Michael Lafferty. One I’m not proud of. One thing I know for sure—Michael wouldn’t hurt anyone. He’s not the type.”

  “Did Rachel have any other enemies?”

  She shook her head.

  “No old boyfriends?”

  “She was always too busy working or trying to keep me in line.”

  “Rachel was found wearing the engagement ring Michael had given to Jennifer Thompson. Do you have any idea why she’d have the ring?”

  Elena’s head dropped. “Because of me.”

  “How?” I asked.

  “I’m so ashamed. I’ve tried to contact Jennifer several times to apologize and tell her the truth, but I can’t find her. Her family won’t tell me where she is.”

  I didn’t blame them a bit.

  “The truth?” Sean asked. “About what?”

  Taking a deep breath, she said, “Michael and I were never intimate. He passed out one night from drinking too much, and I had Rachel take a few snapshots that made it look like he and I had been together. I showed them to Jennifer and that’s what caused their breakup.” She pressed her fingers against the bridge of her nose. “I was horrible. Just horrible.”

  I didn’t disagree. And it was nice to get confirmation of the story Michael had told me—that he had stayed faithful to Jennifer.

  “Let’s just say I intercepted Michael’s mail one day.”

  “You stole his mail?” I asked.

  “Yeah, I did. When I saw it was from Jennifer, I couldn’t help myself. The ring was inside. On the spur of the moment, I took it.”

  “How did it end up with Rachel?” Sean asked.

  “I left it in the apartment when I moved out. I figured she’d get it back to Michael. Obviously she didn’t get the chance.”

  The explanation made sense but still didn’t cover why the ring had been on Rachel’s finger.

  “What happened to Jennifer’s cat?” I asked, not sure why I had to know.

  Her eyes slowly fluttered closed. They reopened, bright and shiny. She held up a finger, then walked out of the room. She came back a minute later holding an overfed tabby cat. “His name is Mikey,” she said, rolling her eyes. “As a tribute to Michael. I was going to return him to Jennifer, too, but like I said—”

  Sean cut in. “You couldn’t find her.”

  She nodded.

  I was relieved the cat hadn’t been hurt. But I suddenly questioned whether Elena had been as dangerous as she came across. Were hers empty threats? Or was she really a sociopath in disguise?

  I leaned forward. “Can I ask you a question?”

  “I guess.”

  “You have a trinket box that belonged to Rachel.”

  Suspicion clouded her eyes. “How do you know about the box?”

  I ignored her. “How did you get it? It was given to Rachel by a family friend—a sentimental item. Rachel would never give it away.”

  “You’re wrong about that,” she said, chin raised. The cat hopped out of her arms, trotted away. “She gave it me. It was my twenty-first birthday, and she couldn’t afford a present. She wanted me to have it.”

  I couldn’t think of another question. I looked at Sean, who stood. “I wouldn’t be surprised if you heard from the Massachusetts State Police soon,” he said, pulling open the screen door. “You have my card if you think of anything else.”

  I added, “Like if you can think of anyone who would want to do Rachel any harm.”

  She stood in the doorway, a frown tugging the corners of her mouth downward. “I’ve been thinking. I can’t think of anyone except . . .”

  I paused on the top step, looked back at her. “Who?”

  “The only person who truly hated Rachel was . . .”

  It suddenly hit me. “Jennifer Thompson.”

  Slowly, Elena nodded. “She hated us both. With good reason.”

  Marilyn Flynn was waiting for Sean and me.

  As soon as I knocked, she quickly pulled open the door. “Come in, come in,” she offered.

  “We can’t stay,” I said, holding out the storage key. It had been a long day, and I wanted to go home.

  I couldn’t stop thinking about Jennifer Thompson. What if she had kept a low profile because she was living in fear? Not of Elena but of being found out. What if she was guilty of killing Rachel?

  Was that why her parents were protecting her, too? From murder charges?

  “Did you find anything amidst Rachel’s belongings that will help the investigation?”

  I shook my head. “Not really.”

  “Did you find the trinket box?” Marilyn asked, her eyes hopeful.

  “Yes and no,” I said.

  She cocked her head in confusion.

  “The box wasn’t in storage. Elena has it.”

  “Elena?”

  “She claims Rachel gave it to her for her twenty-first birthday. Do you know if that’s true?”

  Marilyn’s face fell in disappointment. “I don’t know. I simply cannot believe Rachel would give the box away.” Tears welled in her eyes. “How could she?”

  “I don’t know,” I said softly, wondering if Elena had in fact stolen it. “I’m sorry.”

  “It would have been nice to ha
ve the box back, but if it’s Elena’s now, it’s Elena’s.”

  “Maybe you can ask for it back,” I said. “She would probably understand.”

  “I could never!” Marilyn shook her head. Soft white hair trembled.

  “I’m sorry. We should go.” I nudged Sean. “Thank you, Miss Flynn, for your help. I wish we could have been of more help. I hope this situation will be resolved soon.”

  She smiled grimly, as if knowing resolution would not bring any peace to her or to Ruth Ann Yurio.

  As Sean and I walked to his car, he reached out to hold my hand.

  Images rolled in front of my eyes lazily, and I closed my eyes against the vertigo as my body swayed.

  He pulled his hand away, steadied me. “Sorry, I forgot that happens. What did you see?” he asked flirtatiously.

  My heart beat crazily in my chest as if it was running scared. Can’t say I blamed it. Not after what I’d seen.

  “Lucy?” He nudged my chin. “What did you see?”

  I swallowed hard. “You and me in bed.”

  “I like the sounds of that. Why the frown?”

  “It was a hospital bed.”

  TWENTY-THREE

  Sean had been noticeably silent since I told him of my vision. We were almost to my cottage, and I had to admit the images I’d seen had freaked me out as well.

  “Are you okay?” I finally asked.

  “I’m fine.”

  I drew in a deep breath. I didn’t like not knowing where we stood with each other. I didn’t like not being able to speak my mind or to ask him questions without getting vague answers.

  Maybe Cupid’s Curse was already at work.

  Which made me that much crankier.

  I hated that curse.

  I drew in a deep breath, trying to put it out of my mind. Streetlights came on as dusk fell. I pulled out my cell phone, checked the screen to see if my parents had called. If they had, I wouldn’t know—my batteries were dead.

  I shoved the phone back into my bag, chastising myself for not charging it, and focused my attention out the window.

  7 times 6 is 42.

  144 minus 24 is 120.

  99 plus 99 is 198.

  297 times 3 is . . .

  I frowned, trying to calculate in my head, for some inexplicable reason getting stuck on what 9 times 3 was. I huffed.

  “Are you angry?” Sean asked.

  “Yes.”

  He laughed.

  “What’s so funny?”

  “You. Most women would have passively-aggressively answered that question.”

  “I’m not most women.”

  “So I’m learning. Are you mad at me?”

  “Yes.”

  He winced.

  “And at my parents, and at Preston Bailey, and at Michael Lafferty, and at the numbers nine and three.”

  Taking his eyes off the road, he glanced at me. “Nine and three?”

  “Don’t ask.”

  “And you’re mad at me, why?”

  I shifted to face him. “You’re a clammer.”

  “A clammer?”

  “It’s what Marisol, Em, and I call guys who don’t share. They clam up, leaving us guessing, leaving us to invent how they may or may not be feeling.”

  “Could I at least be a fried clam? I don’t like them steamed.”

  I punched his arm.

  “Hey!”

  “Avoiding is just another tactic a clammer uses. You won’t tell me about your scar, and you’re bothered by the vision I had, and won’t tell me why. Is my being psychic a problem for you?”

  He pressed his lips together. The flash of oncoming headlights highlighted the inner debate raging in his eyes.

  Finally, he said, “It has nothing to do with you, Lucy. I’m amazed by the ability you have.”

  “Then what is it?”

  “I hate hospitals.” He tapped the steering wheel with his thumb as he turned onto Route 3A. “When you said you saw us in a hospital bed it . . .” He shuddered. “I hate hospitals, so it would have to be something serious to get me there.”

  “The scar?” I asked.

  “About a year ago, while I was still with the fire department, I was on scene at a car fire. One minute I was pulling a hose; the next I was being rushed to the hospital. My heart had stopped. I blacked out. The guys on the scene had to shock me back to life.” He passed a slow-moving hatchback. “The doctors ran test after test. None of the news was good. I was diagnosed with cardiomyopathy, specifically ventricular tachycardia—a dangerous arrhythmia. The only way to keep me alive was to implant a defibrillator just under my collarbone. Electrical leads are attached to my heart, keeping me alive.”

  I longed to reach out, hold his hand, comfort him, but the last thing I wanted was to see the images of us in a hospital bed again.

  “My life changed that day. I changed. I was a firefighter and suddenly I couldn’t be. I was athletic, but now sports could kill me. My whole identity changed. Cara couldn’t deal with my mortality any more than I could, so that started falling apart. Sam’s the only one who seems to understand me, but even he treats me with kid gloves. And now that you know, you’ll probably do the same.”

  “Are you okay now?”

  “I have limitations, a hell of a scar, and have to see cardiologists every so often, but other than that . . .”

  Yeah, other than that. “I won’t treat you any differently.”

  “Yes, you will.”

  “No,” I protested.

  “I don’t want to be another stray you take in and rehabilitate.”

  “You’d rather be euthanized?” I joked.

  “You know what I mean.”

  I sobered. “Yes, I do. I’ll do my absolute best not to treat you any differently than I have been. I promise I won’t even think twice the next time I ask you to dig up a body.”

  He laughed. “I’m going to hold you to that, Lucy.” He paused a beat. “I’ve been thinking. What I want to know is what we were doing in the same hospital bed and whose bed was it? Mine or yours?”

  “I don’t know. You took your hand away before I saw the whole picture. I have a feeling there are some things better off not known.”

  “Do these visions scare you?” he asked.

  “The unknown scares me. I don’t know why I see visions of our future. It doesn’t fit with what I’ve known most of my life.”

  Flashbulbs split the air like lightning as we turned into Aerie’s private drive.

  Reporters crowded the car. Sean steered steadily, while I tried not to look at any one thing in particular.

  I would have thought the media would have abandoned post by now. Surely something else in this world was more exciting than my life.

  Shouting filtered through the window. Questions about Max, could I see if the Patriots would win the SuperBowl, if my father knew about my ability.

  The crowd closed in on the car. Someone off to the side caught my attention. My heart jumped into my throat, beat crazily. I craned my neck, but the person had disappeared. A tall woman, her long brown hair pulled back into a ponytail that spilled out of a ball cap. She looked a lot like Melissa Antonelli. Had it been her . . . or her look-alike sister, Jennifer?

  Either way, what was she doing here?

  “What’s wrong?” Sean asked.

  I took a deep breath. “Nothing.” Were my eyes playing tricks? It had been a long day. A long, enlightening day.

  As Sean pulled up to my cottage, I said, “I’m amused by the irony.”

  “Of?”

  “Us. Here I am, a commitment-phobic matchmaker who’s—” I caught myself before saying “falling for.” Nothing like tempting Cupid’s Curse. Or the Fates.

  “Who’s what?”

  “Who’s with a man with a broken heart. Literally.”

  He dropped his head back and laughed. “Thank you, Lucy.”

  “For what?”

  “For not tiptoeing around the heart talk. Nobody . . . no one talks about it. E
ver.”

  “I don’t know any better,” I said, shrugging. “So if I offend at some point, just let me know.”

  My front door opened, the light from inside framing Dovie’s graceful silhouette.

  “She’s probably put rose petals on the bed and has champagne chilling,” I quipped, opening my door. “Baby booties have probably already been ordered.”

  “She’s not knitting them herself?”

  I laughed until tears flowed at the thought of Dovie knitting.

  “What’s so funny?” Dovie demanded as we walked up the flagstone path.

  “You. Knitting.”

  Thoreau bounded out of the house, yapping and prancing around Sean’s feet. Sean bent and scooped him up.

  Dovie laughed. “That’s a good one.”

  She air-kissed our cheeks. “I came by to walk the pup. Noticed you hadn’t been home all day. I’d have made dinner, but didn’t know when you’d get back. You’re not answering your phone.”

  “The batteries are dead,” I said, pulling my phone out to recharge. Grendel sauntered around the couch, his tail straight in the air. He bypassed me completely and went straight to Sean, who’d sat down, Thoreau in his lap.

  This was a first. Usually Grendel attached himself to me immediately.

  “Your cat’s in love,” Dovie said. “Doesn’t take a matchmaker to see that.”

  “What?”

  “Look.”

  Grendel inched his way along the back of the chair, down the arm, and sidled into the crook of Sean’s arm, where he lovingly tapped Thoreau’s ear, purring.

  “Species and gender confused,” Dovie said. She gave me a hug and headed for the door. “I’ll let you two lovebirds be. There’s champagne in the fridge. Enjoy!”

  Sean said, “No rose petals?”

  “Pardon?” Dovie asked.

  He smirked. “Nothing.”

  Dovie pulled open the door. “Oh, LucyD, your parents called me. They couldn’t reach you.”

  “They called! When?”

  She waved a hand. “Earlier. They’re on their way back. Should be in sometime tomorrow.”

  It was as though a weight had been lifted.

  Dovie blew us a kiss. “Ciao!”

  “I’ve got to get back to Sam’s,” Sean said. “He’s due home later, and he’ll be wondering why my stuff is at his house.”