“Not to mention the mysterious stains on the dining room carpet.”
“Those, too.”
An awkward silence filled the space between us. He rose and tugged me to him.
My heart beat wildly as he looked me in the eye, lowered his head, and kissed me.
It felt so right, being with him. Why was I fighting against it? Why not give in and simply enjoy? Dance that dance? At least for a little while. What harm could that do?
We tumbled backward onto the couch, kissing, touching, exploring. I loved every minute of it.
When we broke for a breath, Sean said, “I should go.”
I didn’t want him to go. Yet . . . if he stayed, that might be the beginning of the end of us.
“Lucy? I should go?”
Reluctantly, I nodded.
He gave me one more earth-shattering kiss that promised more could be had if I’d just say yes. Tears clouded my eyes.
I rested my head on his shoulder. “What are we to each other? Does it even need a definition?”
“I don’t know,” he said, running his hand through my hair. “We’re something.”
“I have commitment issues,” I said in a rush.
His eyes shone with humor. “Noted.”
“I just felt the need to warn you.”
“Consider me warned.” The corner of his mouth lifted in a faint smile. “I guess that saves me my ‘I can’t make any promises’ speech.”
I should be happy about that. Oddly, I wasn’t.
He dipped his head and caught my bottom lip between his teeth, released it. “How about we take it slowly?”
I lifted my chin, pressing my hungry lips to his. “Some things should be savored?” I said between pressing my lips to his.
“Exactly.”
“I like the sound of it.”
“Me, too, Lucy.”
Our bodies molded to each other. I was all for slowing down. Some things shouldn’t be rushed.
As my toes curled, I tried to let all my thoughts go, just enjoy the wonderful kiss, the way I felt as though with him I’d come home.
But in the back of my mind I couldn’t let go of the worry. About losing him. Now not only because of Cupid’s Curse but also because of his heart.
I tried to block it out. Dance the dance, I reminded myself, wrapping my arms around his neck.
A loud purring broke us apart. Grendel was licking Thoreau’s face.
“I think my cat is molesting your dog.”
Sean laughed. “Thoreau doesn’t seem to mind.”
“It’s not going to be pretty when you two leave.”
“You’re going to miss me that much?” Sean teased.
Truth was, yeah.
But I’d see him tomorrow at work. After I stopped in to see Aiden. And met with Marshall Betancourt. I didn’t want to think about Elena or Michael or Rachel or Jennifer. I wanted to forget I was even involved in that case.
Except . . . Marilyn. I couldn’t stop thinking about the trinket box. She couldn’t ask for that box back . . . but I could.
As Sean went in search of Thoreau’s leash, I rummaged through my bag for Elena’s address and phone number. I borrowed Sean’s phone since mine was charging and the house phone was still disconnected.
“You’re calling Elena?” he asked, leash in hand.
I explained about the box.
His gaze softened.
“Don’t look at me like that,” I said, dialing.
“How’s that?”
“Like I’m a big sap.”
Elena answered on the third ring. Kids squealed with happiness in the background. I explained why I was calling.
“So you’d like me to give the box back to Marilyn?” she said.
“It would mean a lot to her.” I watched Sean trying to get Thoreau away from Grendel.
There was a long pause on the phone. “It’s the least I can do for Marilyn. It means much more to her than it does to me.”
“That’s great! She’s going to be thrilled. Do you mind if I pick it up? I wouldn’t trust it not to get broken in the mail.”
“Not at all. Tomorrow morning?” she ventured.
Grendel hissed at Sean. I covered the phone and made kissy noises, but Grendel ignored me. “I can’t in the morning.”
“I work Monday evenings; how about lunchtime?”
“Sounds great. Thank you again,” I said.
As soon as I hung up, I slipped the phone back into Sean’s pocket, letting my hand linger.
“Keep doing that and I won’t be going anywhere,” he said.
“What are you suggesting?”
“You know exactly what I’m suggesting.” In case I forgot, he whispered it in my ear, making my knees weak.
“That, Mr. Donahue, can’t be good for your heart.”
He slowly backed away, toward the door.
“Maybe not, but it would be a good way to go.”
TWENTY-FOUR
By the time I hit the road to meet with Elena, I was glad for the reprieve.
And reprieve it was. I’d been on the go most of the day.
My meeting with Aiden had only taken a few minutes. Marshall Betancourt had met me at work to go over my role in the Rachel Yurio case. He’d set up an appointment for me to meet with the Norfolk County State Police detectives and the Weymouth detectives later that day, to be interrogated and to give a statement. After that, I would hold a press conference at the police station.
After I had demonstrated my abilities, the Weymouth detectives were less inclined to believe I had anything to do with the murder, but wanted to put me through the paces nonetheless. Lucky me.
Suzannah had welcomed me this morning with a big hug and a reprimanding, “You could have told me!”
I’d puttered around the office, avoiding phone calls from the local media outlets, and finally decided to head to Elena’s. Sean would have come with me, but he was due in court to testify in a divorce trial.
“Jingle Bells” filled the air, reminding me that it was almost time to pull out my Christmas lights and decorations. I checked the screen. It was my mother. I’d never been so happy to see “Mum” pop up on my display.
“Lucy?” she said, the line crackling.
“Are you there?”
“. . . connection.”
“Hello!” I shouted. “Where are you?”
“Air—”
The line cut out. I immediately dialed her back, but it went straight to her voice mail.
When my phone rang a minute later I thought it was her, but much to my surprise it was Jennifer Thompson.
“I’d like to meet with you if possible,” she said.
“When? Where?” Had it been her in front of my house yesterday? Obviously she was in town.
“Somewhere private,” she answered.
A disturbing thought emerged. What if she thought I was the only one who could prove her guilt? Would she try to get rid of me? Was she the one who had killed Rachel?
Simply, I didn’t know.
And because I didn’t, she was on my suspect list. Adrenaline surged, prickling my skin. “Why privately?”
“I’d like it if no one knew I was in this area.” I read between the lines. “You mean Elena?”
“Yes. I’m sure you can understand.”
I could, based on what Elena had done in the past, and I couldn’t, based on the Elena I met yesterday. The mother, the social worker . . .
Before I agreed, I had to know if Jennifer had been at my house yesterday. I asked.
She seemed genuinely surprised. “Your house? No.” She laughed. “Though I’d liked to have been. My sister conned me into babysitting the terrors. My nephews. And I have to do it again today. Missy has yet another mysterious appointment.”
“Mysterious?”
“Ever since I got to town she’s been in and out. It’s not like her. Feels like she’s up to something. Maybe a surprise welcome home party for me.”
I turned onto Ele
na’s street.
Jennifer and I obviously weren’t thinking along the same lines. Because I suddenly realized that Jennifer’s motive for getting rid of Rachel extended to Jennifer’s family as well. Every member from her father down to her sister—all who would do anything to protect their “Jenny.”
“Your sister seems great,” I said, following the web my mind was spinning.
“She is.”
“And your whole family—they’ve really been protective of you.”
Her voice soft, she said, “They’d do anything for me.”
Including murder? It was a thought I couldn’t dismiss.
I pulled into Elena’s driveway, cut the engine. I agreed to meet with Jennifer that night in town at a little Thai place in the South End. I wouldn’t go alone and would stay just long enough to hear what she had to say—I owed as much to Michael.
After hanging up with her, I immediately dialed Sean, but his phone was off. I left a quick message about my suspicions.
51 times 3 is 153.
1089 divided by 11 is 99.
I knew I was in a high state of agitation when I started dividing. I hated division.
The one thing I couldn’t quite figure out . . . If it had been Jennifer or her family behind Rachel’s death, why was Elena still alive?
I pushed open the car door, squinted against the bright sunshine. Had it been because Elena moved away? Changed her life? Why give her, the main tormentor, a reprieve, but not Rachel?
It was a sticking point for sure. I wished Sean was here so I could talk it out.
I was headed up the walkway when I heard: “Back here!”
Elena stood at the side of the house, waving a trowel.
I followed a narrow path to the backyard. My feet protested mildly. The antibiotics had worked wonders, leaving me with only a few twinges and aches. It didn’t help that I’d opted to wear heels with my trousers today. I should have chosen flat-heeled boots.
There was nothing to blame but vanity.
“Just doing a little gardening,” she said, leading me around the back of the house to a small potting bench.
She wore tweed trousers, a deep purple blouse, a lovely floral silk scarf knotted around her throat, and gardening gloves. The bench was covered in gardening tools, plastic pots, and bits of soil.
She was tamping the edges of a planter brimming with mums. Slowly she pulled off the gloves. The trinket box sat on the corner of the bench. She picked it up and handed it over. “Is it true about you being psychic?”
“Good news travels fast,” I said.
“I went online last night to read about Rachel. There was an article about you, too, and that little boy you found.”
“It’s true, but I can only find lost objects.”
Her eyes widened. “Really?”
“Yes.”
She glanced at my hands. “Is that how you knew I had the box?”
“Guilty.”
“That’s incredible.”
“I’m still adjusting,” I said. “Even though it’s been fourteen years.”
The backyard sloped upward toward the train tracks. Near the back door, a small fenced-in area held a swing set and a sandbox. Colorful plastic toys littered the ground.
Elena was watching me. “No matter how much I clean up . . .”
“Kids are like that.”
“Oh, do you have any?”
For some reason an image of Sean and me in bed popped into my head. “No, but I worked for a day care once.”
“And I thought I had it bad, trying to keep up with the messes!” She nodded to the mums. “I put this together for Marilyn and Ruth Ann. As I recall, mums are Ruth Ann’s favorites.”
Fluffy white clouds floated by overhead. Holding up the box, I said, “Thank you again for giving this back to Marilyn. I don’t know if you’ve ever lost anything as sentimental as this, but I know she’s going to be thrilled to get it back.”
“I can imagine.” She held out her hand. “It’s been a pleasure meeting you, Ms. Valentine.”
As my palm touched hers, images flew. I closed my eyes, fighting the dizziness. In a flash I saw a storage unit filled with boxes, with a beat-up sofa, a small dinette set with two chairs, a small jewelry box that held a gold locket, its clasp broken, with two photos in it.
Pictures of Rachel’s parents.
Swaying, I opened my eyes, pulling my hand from hers. My heart pounded crazily.
“Are you all right?” she asked, setting the pot back on the bench.
There was only one way I could get a reading on that locket. If I touched the hand it belonged to . . .
Rachel.
I searched her face, looking for any trace of the young woman I’d seen in the grainy photo Sean had found.
As her gaze narrowed, I saw it in her eyes. The deep sadness.
“Rachel?” I said, not quite believing.
Her face paled. “H-how did you know?”
I clutched the trinket box so hard the jewels cut into my palms. “I saw your locket. I wouldn’t have seen it unless it belonged to you.”
She stifled a sob, leaned against the bench for support. “I didn’t know I’d lost it during the fight. I never would have left it behind, but knew I couldn’t go back for it.”
“The fight with Elena?” I ventured. I forced myself to relax.
Tears fell from the corners of her eyes. “It continued at our apartment after the scene at work. She was mad I was talking to Michael. Mad I’d told him the truth about the pictures we’d taken. Then she showed me the engagement ring she’d stolen from his mail. Waved it in my face, saying she was going to be Mrs. Michael Lafferty. The ring was a family piece, an heirloom. I told her she couldn’t keep it. I tried to get it off her hand.”
Shadows spilled across the yard as a cloud covered part of the sun. Swallowing hard, I said, “What happened?”
“She . . . she hit me. And I don’t know. Something snapped. I hit her over the head with a vase. She fell backward and smacked her head on the coffee table.” Lifting her gaze, she added, “Elena didn’t wake up.”
With the sun blocked, a chill came over me. “Why not call the police?”
“I was scared,” she said. “Terrified. I didn’t think they’d believe me. I made a rash decision. I knew Great Esker well. Elena and I used to go there all the time to drink. And Elena always pointed out that there were lots of places to hide a body there, deep in the woods. She was right. But I didn’t count on her being so heavy. I couldn’t drag her very far, so I had to bury her close to the entrance. It was late fall, so there were lots of leaves. I hoped no one would see the fresh digging.”
And they hadn’t. No one had known about the grave until I came along.
I tried not to let my nerves get the better of me. This was Rachel—kindhearted Rachel, as Tess and Marilyn and Michael had pointed out. Elena was killed out of self-defense. Why then was I so ill at ease?
“I couldn’t help but feel relief that she was gone,” Rachel was saying. “Elena couldn’t hurt anyone else. Yet . . .”
“What?” I prodded, wanting to know.
“All my life I knew how different we were. She was bad; I wasn’t. Not really. What I told you yesterday was true. I did spend most of my time trying to get Elena to see the error of her ways.”
“You were trying to convert her.”
“I always felt that people could change. If they just tried hard enough.”
It was a naïve outlook on the world, at best.
“But as I rolled Elena into the grave I dug, I suddenly realized that I wasn’t who I thought I was, either. That in the blink of an eye, I’d become Elena. I didn’t just hurt someone. I killed someone. You cannot imagine what that’s like.”
No, I couldn’t.
“I made a snap decision to bury myself in that grave as well. I knew no one would really miss me. My grandmother was no longer lucid, and Marilyn . . . Well, I did feel badly about her. But I knew what I had to do.”
“You took over Elena’s identity to finally make her a decent person? The person you always thought she should be?” I wasn’t by any means a psychologist, but that was a twisted way of thinking by anyone’s standards.
“It was surprisingly easy. Elena had no family, so I had no one to answer to. All I had to do was dye my hair, move away, and start over. As Elena. I’ve accomplished everything I set out to do. And more. Along the way I found what I’d always wanted. A real family. I’m living the dream, Ms. Valentine.”
“At Michael’s expense, Rachel. You have to talk to the police.”
Fingering a petal of the mum, she shook her head. “I can’t do that. No one can know. It would ruin everything,” she said, gesturing to the swing set, the toys.
In her eyes, I saw fear. And something else that had me suddenly very afraid.
“Well, that’s understandable,” I said brightly, backing up. I needed to go. Now. “But I hope you’ll change your mind, and speak to the police. I should be going.”
I spun around, but before I could even think to run, I was yanked backward, Rachel’s silk scarf around my neck. Surprisingly strong, she easily cut off my airway. The trinket box crashed to the ground, smashing on the brick patio.
“You can’t tell anyone!” she wailed.
Gasping for air, I jabbed an elbow into her rib cage. The scarf loosened enough for me to take a deep breath.
She bit out a cry as I stomped on her foot with the sharp heel of my shoe. I jabbed another elbow and reached behind me to get a fistful of hair. I yanked for all I was worth. The scarf fluttered to the ground as she screamed out.
I twisted sharply. Face-to-face with Rachel, I saw nothing in her face but pure raw terror. She would do anything to protect the life she was living. Even if it meant killing again.
I clawed, shoving her backward into the potting bench. The ceramic pot teetered, fell to the ground. It splintered on impact. Soil spilled out.
In the distance a crow cawed as Rachel grabbed a small pair of pruning shears from the bench.
My breaths came out in short puffs as I turned and ran.
I neared the corner of the house and suddenly lurched forward when my heel caught in the grass.
Rachel walked slowly forward, edging around me, the impossibly sharp shears at her side. She blocked the way to my car. To freedom.
Truly, Madly Page 21
