‘I’d sure appreciate it.’ Olivia heard noises, coming from upstairs. She put her wine glass down. ‘Look, I have to go. Some kind of thumping sounds coming from upstairs, sounds like all hell is breaking loose. Teddy’s upstairs taking a bubble bath, so I better go check.’
THIRTEEN
Olivia heard Teddy’s voice as she scrambled up the stairs.
‘Are you OK, Winston buddy? Are you all right? How is your head, let me kiss it. Good boy.’
The bathroom door was open. A flutter of cobweb hanging from the attic fan in the hallway caught Olivia’s eye. The attic fan was the one thing Olivia had never liked about the house. When she was a little girl, she had always wondered if there was something up there, watching her behind the grill. She thought about Charlotte’s story. The attic fan coming on in the middle of the night. Could some kind of intermittent connection cause something like that? Maybe Janet had turned it on herself.
‘Teddy? Are you okay?’
Teddy was out of the tub, naked and dripping and squatting beside Winston, who was covered in the chunks, shards and powder of shattered plaster. A two foot square of the bathroom ceiling had caved in, landing right on the dog.
Olivia grabbed a thick white towel and wrapped it around Teddy, pulling her daughter to her feet.
‘Don’t worry about me, Mommy, worry about Winston. The ceiling caved in on his head and he cried really loud.’
Olivia crouched down to pet Winston. No cuts, no obvious damage, just plaster in his fur. Olivia took a bit of tissue and wiped grit from his eyes. He stood up and shook like he did when he got his bath.
Teddy put her fists up under her chin. ‘It’s my fault, Mommy. He was scared to come in and I made him and then the ceiling came down on his head. Do you think he knew it was going to happen?’
‘Teddy, Winston follows you everywhere, it’s not your fault the ceiling caved in. Stuff like that happens in an old house. It usually means a water leak.’ Olivia craned her neck and stared up at the ceiling, thinking about the runaway cost of repairs. There was no sign of the telltale yellow discoloration that meant water collecting behind the scenes. Just wood slats and dirt, and an exposed support stud that looked, oddly, as if there were burn marks in the wood.
‘Teddy, is that stepladder still in your room?’
‘Want me to go get it?’
‘No, I will, you get your nightgown on and brush your teeth. And pull the plug in the tub so the water can drain.’
There were still boxes in Teddy’s room, and the ladder was in front of the built in bookshelves that Olivia and Teddy had been filling with Teddy’s entire collection of stuffed animals and Nancy Drew. Olivia took the ladder into the bathroom, kicking away some of the plaster. She was aware of Winston and Teddy, watching from the hallway, the sound of water draining in the tub.
‘Teddy, do you still have that flashlight under your bed?’
‘Yes, Mommy. Want me to get it?’
‘Please.’ Olivia was aware of the patter of bare feet on wood floors, as Teddy ran to her room, and then back.
‘Here you go, Mommy.’
‘Thanks.’
Olivia pointed the light into the gaping ceiling. The burn marks in the wood were letters. Burned in, like a brand. Some of the edges looked charred, and she thought of fires. Chris had smoke alarms all over the house. Had he been worried about fires?
‘Teddy, go back out into the hall with Winston, in case more of this plaster falls.’
‘What are you looking for, Mommy?’
‘Water leaks.’
‘Is that what made the ceiling crash?’
‘That’s the usual suspect.’
But there was no water, no dampness, no blue black sign of mold. Olivia touched the wood stud, found it dry to the touch. She climbed to the top step of the ladder for a closer look, shining the flashlight to study the burnt letters in the wood. Names. Some of them written sideways, some upside down. Two of the names she did not recognize – Allison. Bennington. But the other two she knew. Emily, her sister. And Jamison. McTavish’s cousin who’d suffered a debilitating closed head injury in a car accident, not too long after Emily disappeared.
Olivia played the light up and down the wood. And found one more name, a bit further up. This one looked different. This one looked new. The letters were so deeply branded that she could trace the grooves in the wood. Her brother’s name. Chris.
FOURTEEN
Normally, Olivia would have called Charlotte first thing to get the name of a plumber, she needed to find someone fast, but she wasn’t sure her sister-in-law was speaking to her right now. She was in her office, finding comfort in carbohydrates after five hours spent calling everyone on the client list to introduce herself and say hello. She and Teddy had stopped off at Panera’s for breakfast on the way to school, and Olivia had bought an apple pastry for her lunch.
There was precious little comfort to be had. There were a handful of clients who viewed a change in broker as traumatic as a divorce, and enough of them had such an unrealistic view of their investment portfolio that Olivia knew her predecessor had played them and made promises no broker could keep. Now the funds weren’t panning out, and she was going to take the blame.
The intercom alert dinged on Olivia’s computer.
Message from Robbie: Gentleman here to see you. Want me to blow him off or are you coming out of the cave? I know you didn’t want to be disturbed.
Message from Olivia: Name, Robbie? And ask him what he wants and if I can call him back.
A pause. Then:
Message from Robbie: He says he wants a brown eyed girl. Do you know this guy?
McTavish. Olivia fluffed her hair and thought about lipstick. She heard the voice before she’d slipped back into her shoes. He was singing as he thundered down the hallway. He would be, he’d serenaded her with ‘Brown Eyed Girl’ since the first time she’d turned him down for a date.
‘Hey, where did we go? Days when the rains came. Down in the hollow. Playing a new game.’
Olivia opened her office door and peered out into the hall.
He still had it. The presence. Barrel chested in the way of ex football players, thick brown blond hair waving just past his collar, mud green eyes. He wasn’t bad looking. But that wasn’t what turned heads. Maybe it was the boom of his voice, the way he loved to sing when he couldn’t carry a tune, or just the way that he engaged in the moment. When McTavish was smiling, you warmed at the fire.
Confidence, but not ego, not these days, and Olivia knew the secret – the high level of his intellect, the precision of his mind, cloaked by the crowd pleasing athlete, illegitimate, fatherless, everybody’s favorite son but no one to call dad. He and his mother shunned by their family because she had not gotten married, not had an abortion, not given up her child, just raised him, quietly, happily, right out in front of God and everybody, putting the lie to the pronouncements of doom.
The family had resisted the curly headed, chubby baby boy who would have toddled happily into their arms. By the time they were anxious to welcome the lauded football player, it had been too late – McTavish had been polite and distant, with everyone except Jamison. Jamison had been his hero, the cousin who loved him with the rough affection of a big brother until the accident, when their roles were cruelly reversed.
‘Brown eyed girl,’ McTavish said to Olivia, giving her that smile that always made you think he was up to something.
‘McTavish,’ Olivia said.
He opened his arms and folded Olivia into a hug that almost took her off her feet.
Olivia’s assistant, Robbie Arliss, followed down the hallway, and stared at McTavish as if she’d seen him somewhere before. She was tall and rangy, her look more Washington DC and political committees than Steel Magnolia. She’d let her fine soft hair go entirely white, and it aged her. Her face was tan, lined and thin, and she wore the kind of clothes favored by Republicans, right on down to the string of pink pearls. Olivia would bet money tha
t she had a credit account at Talbot’s. She was just drifting away when she looked back again at McTavish, and put a hand to her mouth.
‘You’re Vince Modello.’ Robbie put her hands on her hips and actually smiled. ‘Vince Modello. Quarterback for UT.’
‘That was years ago, my dear. Today I’m just a lovesick fool.’
‘Stop it, McTavish,’ Olivia said. ‘He’s kidding, Robbie, he’s not lovesick. He’s married.’
McTavish shook his head at her. ‘No, ma’am, he’s divorced. How about you? What happened to that damn metrosexual from New York?’
‘San Diego. Hugh and I got divorced a year ago. I have a daughter—’
‘Named Teddy, and an old dog named Winston.’
‘Let me guess,’ Robbie said. ‘High school sweethearts?’
McTavish shook his head as Olivia pushed out of the hug. ‘We didn’t date until college, after I blew out my knee. Olivia wouldn’t go out with football players, no ma’am, she wasn’t into jocks. But back in high school, Livie and I had a deal. I wrote her theme papers for English class, and she helped me cheat the math exams.’
‘Until I found out he was having Annabelle McClintock do the work. He never wrote a single word. She lived to serve, like all the rest, but if she’d known those English papers were for me, she’d have fired your lazy southern ass.’
McTavish gave Olivia the sideways smile. ‘Still jealous after all these years?’
‘You wish, McTavish. This is Roberta Arliss, by the way. My office manager.’
‘Call me Robbie. I saw every game you played. Still never miss. My husband has box seats.’
Vince shook her hand gently, careful of fragile, bird sized bones. ‘You bleed orange then, just like me.’
‘So tell me, why does she call you McTavish?’
Olivia did not particularly like being called she. As if she were not standing in spitting distance of them both.
‘Only Livie calls me that, and don’t bother to ask her why, she won’t tell you.’
Robbie edged closer to McTavish, giving Olivia her back. ‘You know, Greg always said you should coach, after what happened to your knee.’
‘Only in my wildest dreams. I’m pretty happy with Knoxville PD.’ McTavish absently touched the back of his belt where Olivia suspected he holstered his gun.
‘Still homicide?’ Olivia said. Vince’s dreams of the military life had died with the knee, so he’d moved on to the next best fraternity of men.
He nodded. ‘We’ve had some bad ones here, Livie.’
‘I know. Charlotte told me.’
‘You be careful at the house. Crime rate around there is picking up.’
‘McTavish, I just moved here from LA.’
He grinned. ‘That’s a point. So, you got a minute, Livie? I’ve got that paperwork you asked for.’
‘I’m actually on my way over to pick Teddy up from school. She’s going to Bearden, can you believe it?’
‘Just like you and me.’ McTavish glanced at his watch. ‘How about I drive you over? That sound good?’
Olivia nodded, fighting the urge to throw herself into his arms and tell him it sounded better than good. McTavish magic. She would have to watch herself with this guy.
FIFTEEN
McTavish was parked out front and Olivia laughed. ‘What is it with men and Cadillacs?’
‘Yeah, I’ve turned into an old fart. Is school really out this early?’
‘Not for half an hour yet. I just needed to get out of the office.’
‘You want to get a cup of coffee?’
‘Would you mind if we just go over to the school parking lot and wait? I promised Teddy I’d be there early. She’s got some issues with school phobia, and I want to keep her feeling secure until she gets settled in.’
‘We’ll park right up front, and get in before all the soccer mommies and SUVs.’
The school was no more than a three minute drive. McTavish looked across at Olivia and smiled. ‘It’s good to see you, babe. Outside of funerals, and all.’
‘You too.’
‘How are Charlotte and the girls holding up?’
‘They’re having a rough time. How’s your mom?’
‘Turning into an old lady. Eating breakfast at Long’s everyday.’
Long’s Drug Store was known for fluffy pancakes, three dollar breakfasts served on foam paper plates, and their loyal geriatric customer base.
‘Hey, be nice. Teddy and I have been there twice.’
‘Did you see my mother, adding up her bill with a little calculator, digging in her coin purse for a tip?’ McTavish eased the Cadillac into a slot at the front door of the school. He flipped off the engine, then reached for a brown envelope on the back seat. ‘This is it, Livie. Chris’s autopsy report.’
Olivia reached for the envelope, but he pulled it away. ‘First you have to agree to go to dinner with me this week. Some place special, so dress up.’
‘Bad idea, McTavish. Considering our history and all.’
He waved the envelope. ‘You’re the one calling in favors. Come on, Livie. Eleven years is long enough to hold a grudge. Time to let it drop.’
‘I don’t want to leave Teddy alone.’
‘My mom already agreed to come to the house and keep an eye out while we’re gone. And you know that even if you don’t love me, you love my mom.’
‘I do love your mom. So long as you get that you’re paying, and it’s not a date.’ Olivia snatched the envelope, and ripped it open. ‘I really appreciate this, by the way.’
‘Is there something about your brother’s death that has you worried?’ McTavish turned sideways, draping an arm across the back of the seat, his hand close to the collar of Olivia’s blouse. ‘Because you want to be careful there, Livie. About stirring things up.’
‘Don’t choke on it, McTavish, what’s on your mind?’
‘Just that it was a stroke of good luck, for Chris’s wife and kids, having a definitive verdict like this. Your brother’s insurance policy was less than two years old, which means it doesn’t pay out for suicide.’
‘You think my brother killed himself?’
‘It crossed my mind. Yours too, right? Isn’t that why you wanted the report?’
‘Maybe.’
‘Look, I talked to the ME about it this morning. Unofficially, by the way. He genuinely doesn’t think it was a suicide.’
‘How does he explain the SUNDS thing? I’ve never heard of it before. My best friend in LA is a PA and she’s never seen a case.’
‘The ME says he looked into your brother’s medical history. Talked to a doctor who treated Chris before he died. Initially, he was looking for heart disease, but when he opened your brother up – sorry – he said his heart was in beautiful shape right up until his death, the arteries oversized and clear, like you’d expect from someone who had been a nonsmoker and an athlete most of his life. He also said the medical records show your brother lost seventy-six pounds between that last medical visit and his death.’
Olivia nodded. ‘I know.’
‘So the ME was thinking maybe thyroid or stomach cancer. But there was nothing. Your brother was in good health, other than the strain on his system from the sudden loss of weight. Mainly his gall bladder was about to pop. There was also a huge build-up of cortisol and other stuff – the specifics are there in the paperwork. ME was thinking it looked like prolonged stress and sleep deprivation, which would dovetail with the sudden weight loss. But here’s the weird part. According to the records, your brother was diagnosed with night terrors and sleep paralysis before he died.’
‘Sleep paralysis? That’s a diagnosis?’
‘It can be. According to the ME, sleep paralysis can be hereditary. Did anybody else in your family have a history of this sort of thing?’
‘Not that I know of. And I don’t get how something like that could kill a healthy guy like Chris. I don’t even get what it is.’
‘The way the ME described it, the victim—
’
‘Would you mind not calling my brother the victim?’
‘Sorry. The patient feels awake, but he can’t move or talk. The ME gave me a lot of technical blah about nonreciprocal flaccid paralysis, but all it means is that the brain prevents a person from acting out their dreams, something or other to do with motor-neurons, which is basically a defense mechanism that keeps you from jumping out a window if you dream you can fly. It comes down to this – the patient feels awake, but he can’t move or speak. But it’s real. What happens is the person wakes up before the brain sends the signal to activate muscle contraction, which means you can’t move your body, thus the paralysis. Evidently, it’s very common to have hallucinations in this state. The hallucinations can be pretty . . . horrific.’
‘Horrific?’
‘Demons. Ghosts. Satan on your chest.’
‘Right. Nightmares, in other words. But that doesn’t kill you. My brother is dead.’
‘What happens with SUNDS is that things go one step further. The victim has no body movement – extreme muscle atonia is what they call it – and it can get so severe the cardiac muscles and the diaphragm paralyze. And if that was happening to your brother while he was awake, it would explain the histamines they found in the toxicology blood work.’
‘Histamines? What does that mean?’
McTavish touched her shoulder. ‘When someone dies in extreme pain or fear, the body produces histamines. Think of it as a stress measure of what a person goes through before death.’
‘Lay it out for me, McTavish. No pulling punches here. I want to know exactly what it was like for my brother when he died.’
McTavish rubbed his forehead. ‘The bottom line is this. Your brother was in a state of extreme fear and agitation right before he died. And while he was lying there paralyzed and afraid, he was experiencing myocardial infarction and severe breathing difficulties. There’s no way to tell which killed him first. He either strangled, slowly, or his heart gave out.’
The Piper Page 7
