by EC Sheedy
Camryn resisted the urge to, not so gently, remind him Gina was also her friend and instead said, “You look tired.” The truth. His eyes were ringed, hollow, and he was too pale.
He shrugged.
Camryn knew Seb had flown all night and that his insides were as knotted as hers. She also knew nothing in the world would have kept him from Holly’s funeral.
Unlike Gina. Thinking of her friend brought a surge of irritation along with worry. When she got back to Seattle, she’d march over there, welcome or not, and have a talk with her. There had to be some way of getting her out of that horrific house, getting her to live again. But she’d save those thoughts and plans for later; today was about Holly.
Her stomach rolled, and she again looked at Sebastian’s sad face. “Seb?” She touched his arm.
“Uh-huh?”
“Stay close, okay?” She told herself she was saying this for his sake, to give him something to focus on, but that was only half true. This was a day when a strong arm would be very welcome.
“Count on it, Cammie.” He squeezed her knee, then bent his head slightly to catch a directional sign.
Silence filled the car, and Camryn stared unseeing out the window, trying not to think, not to cry.
“Did you ever meet her husband?” she asked. Camryn had, but only once, when Holly, Dan, and she had crossed paths briefly at the airport. There’d been barely enough time to shake hands. She remembered Dan Lambert as a tall, lean, good-looking man with strong features—interesting, very sultry green eyes. Holly’s type, she’d thought at the time.
“No.”
“You think he’ll be here?”
His expression tightened. “Wouldn’t be much of a husband if he wasn’t.”
“Yeah, I guess.” Camryn turned back to the scene outside the car window, this time paying attention. The Forest Hills Cemetery, Holly’s final home, was beautiful, an unusual and intriguing mixture of serene and lively. There were people walking the paths, studying the gravestones. A young man sat under a tree, reading. An elderly couple stood looking over a pond, holding hands. Holly wouldn’t be alone here.
But the beauty of the place didn’t lighten her mood or ease her sorrow, because at the end of the drive, she and Sebastian would stop at the crematorium where she would say good-bye to her oldest and dearest friend.
They’d been friends since first grade, and until Holly’s sudden marriage and her move to L.A. a couple of years ago, there wasn’t a time they weren’t together; through their parents’ divorces, their fathers’ bitter business breakup, the death of Holly’s mother, Kylie’s magical birth. . . .
Like Holly had said, when you share Barbie-doll clothes, there’s no going back; you’re friends forever. She’d named them the Barbie Doll Club. When Gina came along that first year of high school, the club added its only other member—Gina Solari. When Holly and Camryn each gave Gina a Barbie doll for her fourteenth birthday, they’d all laughed, but Gina knew the doll made it official; they were a team, able to survive anything. It was Camryn, Holly, Gina—and Barbie—against the world.
And Adam, of course. They’d all had to survive Adam.
Camryn swallowed, refusing to cry. She wished Gina were here, that she hadn’t turned into a weird, frightened woman she barely knew anymore.
Damn it, they’d all become weird: Camryn with her single-minded baby quest, Gina with her sudden and inexplicable depression that brought her home to live with a mother she detested, Holly with her impotent but ongoing defiance of her father, and her hasty marriage.
Camryn swallowed, wiped her eyes, wishing regrets were tears that could be so easily swept away.
She’d barely seen Holly since she’d married and moved to L.A. Even their phone calls had become less frequent. Camryn sensed there was trouble in the marriage, but when she’d asked, Holly always cut her off. They’d make the usual arrangements for Camryn to see Kylie, then talk about nothing until it came time to hang up.
They’d grown apart, and Camryn had no idea why. But I’ll miss you, my friend, miss what we once had.
A few errant red and yellow leaves dusted the orderly driving path as Camryn and Sebastian entered through the gate leading to the crematorium. When they neared the circular driveway fronting the building, Camryn looked over at Sebastian.
Despite his perfectly tailored gray suit, close shave, and pristine white shirt, he looked ruined—like a man who’d been kicked while he was down. When he pulled the car into the last parking spot and pushed the gear shift to PARK, she put a hand on his arm. “She loved you, Sebastian. Don’t ever doubt that.”
He turned off the ignition, sat for what seemed an eternity. “Yes . . . She loved me in her way—just not the same way I loved her.” He shot her a glance, his face hard. “The truth is, in a sick, twisted way, I’m glad she’s dead, that it’s finally over between us. Maybe tomorrow I won’t get up thinking about her . . . wanting her. Wondering who the hell she’s with—”
“Don’t! Don’t go there.”
“I’m not a fool, Camryn.” He shook his head, opened the car door a couple of inches and looked back at her, his expression flint-hard. “It was always Adam. I knew that, and I’m guessing Lambert knew it, too.”
Camryn frowned, confused. “Adam is old news, Seb.” So old she couldn’t believe his name had even come up. But then Sebastian—all the Solaris—had long memories. But, God, this was reaching back to college. Ridiculous.
He gave her an impatient, pitying look, then snorted. “God, you’re naive, Camryn.” He opened the door and stepped out.
She had a mouthful of words, and her door halfway open by the time he got around to her side of the car. He left her no time to say them. Taking her arm firmly, he led her toward the two Ionic pillars fronting the entrance to the crematorium.
Camryn pushed Sebastian’s odd statement aside. Now wasn’t the time to think about Adam Dunn.
Today was all about Holly.
Dan sat alone in the first pew on one side of the Lucy Stone Chapel. Paul and Erin Grantman sat across the aisle. An organ played quietly in the background as the pews filled up, and everyone waited for the service to begin.
With well over a hundred people in attendance, the chapel was full—mostly with Grantman’s business associates. It looked to Dan as if only a handful of mourners were under sixty. Other than her father, Holly had few ties to Boston since her mother died. Boston was always more her mother’s town than hers—or Paul’s. Both of them spent most of their time on the West Coast at the home Paul had built on Lake Washington when Holly was a child. It was where Kylie was born.
Dan had considered taking her cremains back to Seattle, having the service there, but decided Holly would prefer it here, her ashes in an urn next to her mother’s. So he’d let Paul’s arrangements stand.
He heard carpet-muffled footsteps coming down the aisle from his left and glanced over his shoulder to see a man and woman walking down the aisle, obviously in search of a seat. He knew the woman instantly. It was Camryn Bruce, Holly’s friend. He remembered meeting her briefly at the airport, and seeing her face in a thousand of Holly’s photographs. He didn’t know the man but assumed he was her husband. As they drew closer, he stood, stepped into the aisle—as did Paul Grantman.
The woman went directly to Paul and hugged him fiercely. Dan heard her whisper something, but he couldn’t make out the words. The dark-haired man shook Paul’s hand but said nothing.
Camryn looked back at him, then crossed the aisle to where he stood. “You’re Dan. We met once,” she said in a muted voice. “I’m Camryn, Holly’s friend.”
He nodded. “Yes, I remember you.” And he did, particularly her deep blue eyes. Eyes now silvered with unshed tears.
She took his hand in both of hers, moved closer. “I’m so terribly sorry,” she whispered, her hands cold, her gaze fierce with pain.
“Thank you.” He gestured to the empty pew he’d stood from. “Please.”
The man with C
amryn gave him a cold look before touching Camryn’s elbow and gently urging her into the pew. She took the seat between them.
When the minister entered to begin the short service, she clasped Dan’s hand again, squeezed it, and gave him a sad, quick smile. Releasing his hand, she clasped her husband’s, and fixed her gaze on the minister, who was relating the story of Holly, age three, telling her mother she was going to the “Holy Woods” to make “mooies.”
Dan saw Paul Grantman straighten in his seat, saw the line of his mouth tighten as he reached into his pocket and pulled out a large white hanky.
Dan did not follow suit. He was done with crying, and a public show of it wasn’t his way. He swallowed and brushed his hair back. Sitting back in the pew, he listened stoically as the minister touched on Holly’s life from preschool to her tragic final moments.
Camryn Bruce wept openly but quietly beside him, shedding tears enough for both of them.
There was to be a short reception at the Grantman home after the service, and Dan didn’t intend to miss it. Finally, a chance to see Kylie.
When the last of the mourners headed for their cars, Dan stood with the Grantmans, Camryn, and Sebastian outside the chapel. Paul turned to Camryn. “You’ll stay at the house, dear. I insist. So does Erin.” He glanced at his attractive but oddly lifeless wife. “Don’t we, Erin?”
“Of course. We have lots of room.” Her pale blue eyes emitted neither welcome nor displeasure. Languid described Erin Grantman, Dan decided. Or better yet, lethargic.
“Thanks, Paul. Erin,” Camryn said, giving Erin a quick smile. “But I’m fine at the hotel. I’ll come by tomorrow when—”
“I said, I insist.” Paul paused. “I have some things of Holly’s there and I think she’d like you to have them.” He looked up at Sebastian Solari—whom Dan now knew wasn’t Camryn’s husband—and his expression became momentarily confused. “Your, uh, friend is welcome as well.”
“Thank you, but my flight leaves this afternoon,” Sebastian said, then added, “You don’t remember me, do you?” The fact didn’t seem to bother him a hell of lot, but then he’d been stone-faced since he’d slipped into the pew an hour ago.
Paul studied him, shook his head. “I’m sorry. No.”
“I dated Holly in high school. Final year.”
“Sorry,” Paul said again. “Holly dated a lot of young men. Too many.” He glanced at Dan, obviously lumping him in the “too-many” category.
Sebastian’s mouth tightened and he directed a dark glare at Dan. “Yes, she did,” he agreed. Turned back to Grantman, he said, “Maybe this will jog your memory—I’m Gina’s brother. Delores’s son? Sebastian Solari.”
“Ah . . . yes.” The older man looked as if the memory had the taste of a bad oyster, but he rallied. “You’re welcome to stay—at least for the weekend. I’ll send Maury to your hotel to pick up your things.”
“No, thanks,” Sebastian said. “Like I said, I have a plane to catch.”
“As you like.” Looking relieved, Paul turned to Dan, gave him the usual cold stare, and said, “You’ll stay. It’ll give us a chance to straighten things out between us. Be easier if you were close by.”
“Fine by me.” Dan would take any opportunity to see Kylie—and make damn sure he didn’t leave without her.
“Tell Maury where you’re staying. He’ll get your and Camryn’s things.” At that Paul glanced at his watch, then took Erin’s arm. “We’d better get going. We can’t leave our guests too long.” Erin did her slo-mo blink, smiled, and nodded. Together they walked to the black Mercedes limo.
Sebastian shot another cold glance at Dan, before saying to Camryn, “I’ll get the car, drop you at Paul’s before I leave.” He strode off, leaving them alone on the shallow steps.
She lifted her eyes to meet his. “Paul doesn’t like you,” she said.
Her directness stymied him for a second. Then he shrugged. “No.”
“He never liked any of Holly’s boyfriends. Not one. So you shouldn’t take it personally.” Her still tear-bright eyes looked amused.
Dan didn’t bother to say he’d been a bit more than a boyfriend. “I don’t.”
“Good.” She glanced in Sebastian’s direction, and Dan followed her gaze, saw the man get in the car and put his cell phone to his ear. Camryn looked back at him, annoyance creasing her brow. “You know, Sebastian dated Holly for two years in high school. They went to the prom together. They were absolutely inseparable. No way would Paul not remember him. Sebastian didn’t deserve that slight.” She shook her head, her eyes still fixed on the man in the car, filled with concern and frustration. “I know Paul adored Holly, but damned if he can’t be a real son of a bitch sometimes.”
Dan felt his lips twitch.
Camryn put a hand to her mouth, looked up at him.
“Sorry, I shouldn’t have said that. Foot-in-mouth disease. It’s chronic.”
“I don’t know. That’s what Holly called him from time to time. Said the description fit real well, considering his mother.”
Camryn took her hand from her mouth. “Oh God, I’d forgotten. Granny . . . Gertrude Penelope Grantman. Holly called her a ‘certified nasty’ and took off every time she showed up at the lake. We spent a lot of time hiding in my closet, as I remember.”
“Where’s Granny Grantman now?”
“Dead.” She came near to smiling. “Gone, as Holly used to say, in full drama-queen mode, to justice and her everlasting reward, a universe where everyone wore bigger diamonds, everyone drove a newer car, and everyone called her Gertie, a name she hated. So you’re right, Holly didn’t like her.” She looked up at him, and her tentative smile wobbled as a wash of tears filled her eyes. She closed her eyes against them. “I’m sorry,” she mumbled. “I’m finding this harder than I imagined. She was my friend, and I loved her.”
“As did I,” he said, He wasn’t lying. There had been love, just not enough of it.
She gave him a quick glance, then dropped her eyes. “Yes, this must be hard for you.”
He had the sure sense she didn’t believe him, and for the first time he had the urge to defend his feelings for Holly, and would have if he knew what the hell they were. Luckily, Solari brought the car to within a few feet of the stairs in time to stop him from stepping into that quagmire.
Sebastian got out of the car and walked up to them. “Ready?” he said to Camryn, his voice brusque. She nodded, and as she turned toward the car, Sebastian gave his attention to Dan, his expression unreadable. “I’m sure I should say something about your loss, Lambert, but I figure I’d be wading in a bit late. Unless I miss my guess, your real loss was months ago . . . about the time Adam Dunn started screwing your wife.”
Dan took the hit—the equivalent of a sucker punch from Muhammad Ali wearing an iron glove—but it knocked out his word-making ability.
Camryn spun to face them both, her eyes wide with shock.
Solari’s expression was unrepentant. “You going to tell me you didn’t know?”
Dan leveled off his breathing. “I’m telling you you’re out of line. Way, way out of line.”
He snorted. “Yeah, well when it came to Holly and Adam, there were no lines. They never could keep their hands off one another. They’ve been on again, off again since college. And lately very much on. Which makes you a . . . what’s that word? Cuckold. Yeah, that’s it.”
Dan took a step forward, his chest heaving with the effort to stop himself from taking a piece out of the asshole’s jaw. “Get the hell away from me Solari. Now!”
Camryn pulled on Sebastian’s arm, but he yanked it from her grasp. “I’m going, but before I do, I’ll tell you this. Holly didn’t love you, Lambert, and she sure as hell didn’t love Dunn. She loved me. She was set to leave you both—for me.” He poked his own chest, his eyes strangely bright, then said again. “Me! You got that?”
“Stop!” Camryn said. “Are you crazy?” She towed Solari back, out of fist range. Her eyes, when they met Dan
’s, pleaded for understanding. “Please,” she said. “He’s . . . grieving.”
Strangest goddamn grief Dan had ever seen.
“I’m not the crazy one, Camryn.” Solari’s eyes narrowed, fixed on Dan like fetid lasers. “The crazy one is either Lambert or Dunn. Because one or the other of them killed Holly when he found out about us. And with Dunn being nothing but a cowardly opportunistic bastard, my money’s on Lambert here.”
“Now you’re accusing me of killing my wife?” Who the hell was this guy?
“I’m saying you’re prime suspect material.”
“Sebastian! Shut up, for God’s sake! You don’t know what you’re talking about.” Camryn sounded panicked now, again tried to pull him away. He refused to budge.
Dan fisted his hands at his sides, all too aware of where he was—steps away from his wife’s ashes, not the place to beat a man senseless. His eyes on Solari, he said to Camryn. “Seeing that you can’t get him the hell out of here, I’ll have to.” He stepped into Solari’s face. “Move on, Solari. And do it now.”
The man took a couple of steps back. “I’m going—but you can take this to the goddamn bank, Lambert. If you killed Holly, you’re going to pay. I’ll see to it.” He shrugged free of Camryn’s grip and glared at her. “You coming?”
When she didn’t move immediately, he said, “Suit yourself.” He left her standing like a stick figure, got in the car, and drove off.
“Son of a bitch …” Dan stared at the backside of Solari’s car, breathing like a horse after a training run. Hell, he’d had trouble enough accepting Holly had taken one lover. But two . . .
Chapter 7
Camryn couldn’t get her bearings. She was standing on the cemetery grounds, having said good-bye to her best friend only minutes ago, trying to digest another friend’s words—words that accused Holly of being an adulteress and her husband—or lover—of killing her.
Nothing clicked into place. Except a name she’d never forget but had hoped she’d never hear again: Adam Dunn. And it was that name that made her certain Sebastian was wrong. Holly hated Adam.
