One Last Breath

by Lisa Jackson

  “No, no, you’re fine. I’m just your mother. Terrible, what happened. Cal . . .” She clucked her tongue. “Liam told me what happened.”

  “I never dreamed it was Cal who attacked me at the wedding.”

  “I know, dear. Neither did I.”

  “How do you feel about taking care of Charlotte at the Bastians’?” Rory asked in an undertone.

  Darlene glanced at Charlotte, who was peering out the doorway to the hall, apparently uninterested in the adults’ conversation. “It’s only temporary and anything can be endured for a short while. This way I get a chance to know my granddaughter better.”

  “Yeah, but . . .”

  “I’m just glad you and Liam are getting along.” She slid Rory a knowing look, which made Rory groan inside. “And anyway, what doesn’t kill us makes us stronger, or something like that. Who said that?” She whipped out her phone again, quickly poking at buttons. “Let’s Google it, shall we? Sounds like some statesman, like Churchill or . . . Oh, yes. Here it is: ‘That which does not kill us, makes us stronger.’ Nietzsche!” She let out a short sigh. “Well, of course.” As if she’d known it all along.

  “I just hope he’s right,” Rory said dryly.

  “He is, dear, you’ll see.” She nodded as if with an inner knowledge of all things philosophical. At least she wasn’t going into her psychic stuff . . . yet. And beyond that, Rory wasn’t certain Nietzsche’s observation was even true. She was pretty sure that if anyone could zap someone’s strength, it was Stella Bastian.

  “Besides, I called Stella,” Darlene announced.

  “What? You called her?”

  “Didn’t want to walk in there cold, and I wasn’t sure if Liam would be with us or not, so we . . . discussed the situation and I think you’ll find she’s amenable.”

  “Amenable . . . really.” Rory shook her head. “What did you tell her?”

  “That if she ever wanted to have a decent relationship with her granddaughter, she’d better start now. For all her faults, I think Stella is all about her kids and grandkids. So, maybe this isn’t exactly what she had in mind for Liam, but there it is.” She offered a beatific smile. “We’ll be fine, honey.”

  Dr. McMannis hurried in, to Charlotte’s delight; the little girl had truly bonded with the warm physician. McMannis gave out the familiar instructions to Rory about rest and hydration. “Just keep an eye on her, okay? The last thing we need is a relapse.” She flashed a smile, winked at Charlotte, then signed the release forms, and she was out the door again, walking briskly, lab coat billowing behind her, to leave Rory to sign the same forms and pocket her copy.

  “Okay, we’re outta here,” she said to her daughter.

  “Yesss!” Charlotte yelled. It was so good to see her usual, curious, almost hyper girl again, but Rory wondered how all of that would work with the Bastians. Darlene gathered a bag of her granddaughter’s belongings while Rory struggled to keep up with her four-year-old as she tore down the hallway to the elevators.

  In separate cars, they drove to a local fast food restaurant, where Charlotte sucked the catsup from her fries and ate less than a third of her portion of chicken nuggets. Rory wasn’t all that hungry, but managed to chase around leaves of a Caesar salad as Darlene tore into a turkey sandwich and side of fries. When Rory was nervous, she couldn’t eat, but when Darlene experienced even the slightest anxiety, she could mow through a seven-course meal, and that apparently hadn’t changed over the past five years Rory had lived in Point Roberts.

  Once the meal was over, Rory hauled Charlotte into her car seat, checked the address and route on her phone to remind herself where the Bastians lived (she’d been there exactly once before the wedding debacle), then drove to the Bastian home in the West Hills. On the way, Rory kept one eye on the rearview mirror, making certain Darlene, in her ancient Toyota, was following. The Camry was easy to spot as it was decorated with bumper stickers, and a crystal swung from the interior mirror, catching the light and casting colored beams to the rest of the traffic.

  Give me strength, she thought, pulling through open gates and parking in the circular drive. Darlene, crystal swinging with the wide turn, did the same. Liam’s Tahoe was nowhere to be seen—probably still dealing with this newest sabotage at the job site—but a Mercedes SUV squatted near the front door, blocking the drive. Rory parked behind the sleek white rig and braced herself.

  Stomach knotted, she managed to get Charlotte out of the car and corral her to the front door. Darlene joined them just as Rory poked the doorbell. Here goes nothing.

  A few seconds later she heard footsteps and then the door swung open. It was Liam’s sister, Vivian, dressed in a khaki skirt and white blouse, her hair twisted into a messy bun, earrings sparkling in the sunlight. Her gaze swung from Rory to Darlene, to Charlotte, and finally back to Rory. “The miracles of modern cosmetics,” she said dryly.

  “You heard what happened?” Rory asked.

  “Liam talked to Derek and he let us all know. Come on in.”

  As they stepped inside, Rory shuddered inwardly as the memory of Cal’s face, twisted in rage, the switchblade inches from her nose, skidded through her brain.

  “I hope that’s the end of it,” Vivian said. “Maybe now we can get some peace.”

  Rory realized she thought Cal was behind the shooting at the wedding. Maybe he was.

  “Well, Charlotte,” Vivian said, leaning down to the girl. “Looks like I’m going to be your Aunt Viv.” She straightened up and added, “I’m just about to head back to the office. Mom took my kids to the park and Dad’s in his den. I just stopped by for a sec—but let me show you to . . . the guest house. It’s not really a house, more like an apartment, but come on.”

  “Where do you work?” Rory asked, more to make conversation than anything else as Vivian led them through the house to a back hallway.

  “For Bastian-Flavel. First day,” she said dryly as she opened the door to a carpeted staircase, complete with windowed landing, that wound upward to a second-story apartment. An exterior door led to the backyard, and Rory made note of the pool as Vivian led the way up the stairs. “Once Dad thought this would be his home office, I think,” Vivian explained, “but . . . that was before . . . you know. Now he’d need an elevator, so Mom converted the space into guest quarters. So, here you are. Make yourselves comfortable. There are drinks, soft drinks, and beer, in the fridge and whatever else is stocked in the shelves. Towels in the bathroom and . . . oh, keys in this drawer.” She pulled open a kitchen drawer nearest the staircase. “If you need anything, just ask. If Mom or Dad can’t help you, there’s always me or the babysitter . . .” And she was off, hurrying down the stairs, footsteps fading, the door at the ground level closing with a soft thud. Less than half a minute later a smooth engine roared to life.

  “This is nice,” Darlene said, looking around. “And see? All that angst for nothing, and what a great place. It’s like brand-new.” She ran her fingers over the marble counter, then she, with Rory and Charlotte following behind, checked out the open living quarters. In the wide living area, two chairs and a low-slung couch clustered around a credenza and flat-screen TV. The kitchen was fully equipped and separated from the living room by a marble-topped island. French doors opened to a Juliet balcony overlooking the pool area. The bedroom was airy, and large enough for a king-sized bed and another oversized television.

  Charlotte was in heaven. “Can we go swimming?” she demanded, pushing her nose to the glass and looking down at the aquamarine water. Sunlight glinted on the surface.

  “Yeah, but not now. You just got out of the hospital,” she reminded her, though of course no one would know it. When Charlotte looked as if she might argue, Rory added, “Soon, I promise. But right now, I’ve got to run out for groceries and to try and wrestle our clothes and things from the police.”

  “Wrestle?”

  “I mean it might take a while. Wanna come?” she asked, and Charlotte started to say yes, but Darlene, standing behin
d her granddaughter, was shaking her head, and Rory was reminded that the rambunctious four-year-old was supposed to be taking it easy and resting.

  “Why don’t you stay with me and we’ll explore,” Darlene suggested. “It could be fun. Who knows what we’ll find? You’ve got cousins here and I just bet there are some toys and books if we hunt for them.”

  “I don’t know—” Rory said, but Charlotte’s curiosity was piqued, so Rory decided to take advantage of it. She didn’t really want to drag her kid to the police station, if it came to that.

  “You need some money?” Darlene asked.

  “No, I’ve got this. I won’t be long and you have my number.” She bussed Charlotte on the top of her head. “Be back in a flash.”

  Chapter 20

  Rory was wrong on that score. It took her nearly three hours with first a stop at the Laurelton Police Department (she’d wanted to get an update on Cal, if she could, find out if they’d learned anything new, but they were politely uninformative), then she’d had to wrangle with the manager of the Lamplighter in order to gather her belongings. She also stopped at an all-in-one store and bought some water toys, floaties, and a swimming suit for Charlotte she found on sale.

  As she picked up essentials of peanut butter, jelly, bread, cereal, fruit, and the like, she wondered just how long they would be staying with Liam’s family. Not long, she told herself as she placed her items on the checkout counter, refusing to look too far into a future that was murky at best. One night in Liam’s bed and a couple of days of being with him did not a lifetime make, she reminded herself as she hauled her purchases to her car where it sat baking in the sun.

  Liam seemed to get it that she wasn’t involved in the attack at the wedding and had forgiven her for fleeing and hiding out, at least temporarily, but there was still the matter of the mystery surrounding the shooting. On that issue she wasn’t completely in the clear with Seattle PD, but at least no one was trying to arrest her.

  Yet.

  She drove with the windows down, and worried her lower lip as she tried to piece together what had happened that awful day. Again. How many times had she wondered who had attacked the wedding party and why? Now that she knew about Cal, she considered if he’d been involved in the shooting, too. Or, maybe it was someone he knew? A partner in crime? She slowed for a red light, once again coming up with no answers. Cal was in custody, so maybe he’d break, come completely clean, give up whoever was working with him, if that was the way it had gone down.

  If he had a partner. But what if, as Cal claims, the shooter—DeGrere, the police thought—had been hired by someone else?

  A horn blasted behind her and Rory realized the light had changed while she was lost in thought. Shooting a quick glimpse into her mirror, she saw the driver of a silver SUV holding up his hands, fingers spread in a what the hell are you doing, lady? gesture of complete frustration . “Sorry,” she said aloud and hit the gas, but she wasn’t fast enough for him. He sped around her in the intersection, a flash of silver glinting in the sunlight . . .

  Her heart lurched as a memory assailed her. The wedding day. Running. Escaping. Confused. A silver SUV barreling in and spiraling toward the upper levels of a parking garage, nearly hitting her. Maybe gray? Not clean and shining like the one that just zoomed past her, but dirty. Had it been DeGrere’s? Racing to the scene of his crime? Or had it been someone else’s vehicle?

  Turning the fragment of recall over in her mind, she drove onward, and by the time she’d returned to the Bastian estate the July sun had reached its apex and was slowly starting its descent. She carried several bags up the stairs into the apartment, found it empty, and looked out to the pool. No one there. Fighting back a burst of panic that something had gone wrong, she remembered that she’d seen Darlene’s distinctive Toyota parked near the garage.

  “Everything’s cool,” she said, taking a breath, annoyed at her rollicking pulse. She hastened down the stairs to the main house and stepped into the back hallway. She was about to call out when Stella suddenly appeared.

  “Oh, hi,” Rory said awkwardly.

  Her mother-in-law . . . hard to believe they still shared that connection . . . looked her up and down, not mentioning her scrapes and bruises, though her gaze lingered on the left side of Rory’s face. Before anything more could be said, Charlotte came sliding around the corner, looking flushed.

  “You all right?” Rory asked, worried. She could feel the animosity radiating off Stella in waves. Well, Rory was pissed right back. No one ever said you had to like your in-laws. Though her relationship with Liam was tenuous, she was still married to him, and Stella could just chew on that.

  Darlene was right on Charlotte’s heels. “Oh, she’s fine. Just running around like a monkey, even though I try to tell her to take it easy like the doctor ordered.”

  Stella said coolly, “I’ll be in my rooms if anyone needs me.”

  A clamor of noise, and then Vivian’s two children came bursting into view as well, nearly running into their grandmother. “Charlotte!” the little girl squealed.

  “Mommy, they like to chase me!” Charlotte said, delighted.

  Stella tip-tapped away on heels, her blond hair swept into a chignon, her black sundress showing off toned calves and arms. A young woman came into view and attempted to shoo the children back toward the kitchen—the babysitter, Rory realized.

  Charlotte turned to follow after the children, but Rory grabbed her. “Hey, wait a minute.” Charlotte skidded to a stop and regarded her mother impatiently. “A hello kiss?” Rory asked.

  Charlotte’s face cleared and she hurried back, slid a kiss across Rory’s lips, then skittered after her newfound friends.

  “Been like that all morning,” Darlene said. “She’s really bounced back.”

  “I’m really glad you’re here. I don’t know what I would have done . . .”

  “Hey, she’s mine, too. She’s got a great aura. Reminds me of you, when you were little.”

  Rory nodded but didn’t respond. She owed her mother for stepping up and helping her. And even though she understood Darlene’s last observation was a positive one, she never liked tempting fate; continuing that kind of dialogue might set off a groundswell of pseudo-psychic comments and catchphrases.

  Darlene touched Rory’s arm in a conspiratorial way and jerked her head to indicate she should follow her back through the door and up the carpeted stairway.

  “Now that we’re finally alone. Tell me, how was last night?”

  “How do you mean?”

  “Well, you stayed with Liam. Is everything all right?”

  “Yes,” Rory answered cautiously.

  “Everyone thinks it’s because of you that Liam broke up with Bethany.”

  “For God’s sake. I wasn’t the reason.”

  “You sure about that?”

  “Yes.” Rory then launched into Liam’s distrust of the private detective, Jacoby, and his relationship to the Van Hornes, but Darlene had already ceased listening.

  “It’s just wonderful that the two of you have found your way back to each other.”

  “We’re a long way from that,” Rory protested.

  “Oh, I don’t know. You’re still married, a family now. He sees that, I’m sure. You were never supposed to be apart.”

  “Mom . . .”

  “I’m not blaming you for cutting out. Cal was stalking you. He attacked you! You had to do something. I see that, but now that we know who’s at fault here . . .” She broke off on a sigh and looked around, as if expecting someone to be listening. “I have something to tell you, and I don’t want you to get upset.”

  “I don’t like the sound of that. What?”

  “No, no. It’s fine. It’s just that . . . well, Everett contacted me.”

  “What?”

  “Shhh. He wasn’t the one following you. That was Cal. And Everett’s changed, I’ve told you he’s changed.”

  “Mom, I don’t know for sure if Cal was following me. I n
ever thought I saw him.”

  “Just hear me out. Everett’s coming down to Portland to clear the air. He’s hurt that you think he has any involvement in the shooting. We can talk to him together, if you like.”

  “I don’t want to talk to him at all”—she flashed back to the nights as a teenager and her fear that her oldest stepbrother would sneak into her room—“ever.”

  “I hear you. I just know that Liam wants to get to the bottom of what happened at the wedding, and I thought you did, too.”

  “Of course I do!”

  “We don’t know for sure who the shooter was. You remember, Harold, Everett, and I all took lie detector tests and we all passed, because we had nothing to do with the shooting.”

  “Yes, Mom. I know.”

  “Just talk to Everett. You’ll see. And you can eliminate him as a suspect.”

  Rory shuddered inwardly at the thought of seeing her stepbrother again. She hated that her mother was actually making sense about this. Trying to be rational, she said, “I need to talk to Liam about this.”

  “Great idea. Call him.” Darlene nodded her agreement. “He should meet with Everett, too.”

  “He’s working. I . . .” She didn’t know how to say that she didn’t want to bother him, that their relationship was too new once again, too fragile. She didn’t even know if they had a relationship. Maybe last night was just a one-night stand, a goodbye, or a response to high emotion after the fight in the motel room where lives were at stake. She didn’t want to be a pest, and she definitely didn’t want to see Everett. “When is he coming?”

  “He’s going to call me when he gets to Portland.”

  “Today?”

  “Well, I think so, I—”

  “Aurora?” Geoff Bastian’s distinctive voice shut Darlene off as if someone had cut off her tongue.

  Rory froze. “Yes?”

  She heard the squeak of his wheelchair, and a few moments later he appeared at the end of the hallway. His hair was a little grayer, his countenance stern, and, of course, he was seated in the chair, his legs useless though his upper body appeared strong and his eyes, as they drilled into her, looked sharp as ever. His mouth was a thin line, bespeaking his foul mood.