by Sheryl Lynn
“This is a nice place.” When Jeffrey pressed a kiss toward her mouth, she turned her head so he grazed her cheek.
She forced a broad smile she didn’t feel. What idiocy had ever possessed her to listen to a word out of Easy Martel’s mouth? This was the man she’d pledged to spend the rest of her life with. The soon-to-be father of her children.
He murdered his wife.
She eased onto a chair and set her purse on the floor next to her.
“What’s wrong, Catherine?” Jeffrey peered suspiciously at her face.
Lying had never come easily to her. She did better by ignoring the sore subject altogether. Focusing on a bread basket rather than his face, she shook her head. ‘I’m sorry I’m late. I had trouble finding this place. I never knew it was back here.”
“I forgot to warn you. All the streets have the same name. Compton Court, Compton Drive, Compton Circle. Typical Colorado Springs. But you’re here and you look gorgeous. I love it when you wear blue. Have I told you lately how beautiful you are?”
She smiled, though she ached inside. “Flattery will get you everywhere, big boy.” She placed her hand atop his. His broad smile deepened the crow’s-feet at the corners of his eyes—not bad-looking for a forty-year-old man.
A waiter arrived. Jeffrey ordered a whiskey and soda for himself and a glass of chardonnay for her. That he hadn’t consulted her bothered her. He always picked the restaurants where they ate. He ordered for her. If she failed to fully show her appreciation for his taste, he pouted.
Damn that Easy Martel!
In an expansive mood, Jeffrey told her about his hectic day. He filled her in on how his buyers had forgotten to mention some incidents of bad credit, so the underwriter wanted to reject the loan, but Jeffrey and his lender managed to save the day and the deal. A disturbing thought occurred to Catherine. Although she’d paid cash for her home, the transaction had required a full financial report. Jeffrey knew exactly how much money she’d inherited from her grandmother and how it was invested and how much debt she had and her earnings. Jeffrey also knew she was all but estranged from her parents. If she were to disappear, her parents wouldn’t find out about it for weeks or possibly months.
Realizing Jeffrey had asked her a question, she snapped her attention to him. “What?”
He exchanged an amused glance with the waiter. “My fiancée is an artist,” he said. “She’s always lost in fantasy land.”
Catherine’s cheeks warmed. “I’m sorry. Are we ready to order?” She hadn’t seen the menu yet.
“Caesar salad and pasta primavera? Or do you want to try the fajoli soup? It’s vegetarian.”
“Soup, please.”
After the waiter had left them, Jeffrey leaned closer to her. “Where are you tonight? You’re acting like a space case.”
“It’s the engagement.” She fingered her ring. “I’ve got so much on my mind, I can’t think straight. We need to set a date. You haven’t met my parents yet. That’s an ordeal we might as well get over and done with. The wedding! I’ve only been to one wedding in my life and I barely arecall the details.” She made herself smile when she looked at him. A warning voice in her head told her not to ask what she was going to ask, but Easy had planted the seed of doubt. It insisted on sprouting. “I’ve never asked you before…I realize…I mean, have you ever been married?”
Despite the low lighting, she watched a shadow cloud his expression. Then he laughed, reverting quickly to his usual sunniness. “Why do you ask that?”
His lack of denial made her want to run away. She lifted a shoulder. “There’s so much about you I want to know. I mean, you’re handsome and successful, it’s strange to think you’ve never been married. You are forty.”
He pulled a comical face. “Pshaw, dear lady! I have years to go before I wear the mantle of middle age. I’m thirty-six, just a kid.”
Don’t do this to me, Jeffrey, she thought wearily. “Even so, how have you managed to remain single? I can’t believe you haven’t had lots of girlfriends.”
“Do I sense the green-eyed monster raising its perky little head?” He plucked a bread stick from the basket and waggled it at her. “Don’t tell me you’re the jealous type?”
“I don’t know, Jeffrey.” She cocked her head. “Am I?”
“I’m flattered if you are. But I’m telling you, darling, you’ll make yourself crazy.” He handed her a bread stick with the aplomb of a gallant handing her a flower. “You have to get used to women calling me at all hours.”
She nibbled the end of the crunchy bread stick. He had evaded her question, simple as that. She straightened her back and tossed her hair. “Well, if you insist on playing coy, I’ll go digging. Marriage licenses and divorces are public records. I can find out your sordid past easily enough.”
She expected laughter to meet her haughtiness—she hoped for laughter. She prayed for him to dare her to go ahead and dig her way to China.
He flung the bread stick on the table with such force it bounced and broke in half. One piece fell to the floor. His eyes blazed. His entire body seemed to swell. “Who the hell do you think you are in threatening me?”
Catherine cringed. “I’m not! It—it—it was a joke.”
“If you don’t trust me, then let’s call the whole thing off. Just walk away, baby. I won’t stop you.” His words grated like steel against steel.
“Jeffrey!” She looked about, hoping no one overheard his icy, angry words. “I’m teasing. I don’t mean anything.” She reached for him, but fearfully, afraid he’d pull away. When he didn’t, she rested her hand on his wrist “You’re angry. Why?”
His shoulders relaxed slightly. He lowered his face and covered his eyes with a hand. Beneath her light touch, his skin seemed to quiver. “I should have told you.” He spoke so softly she had to lean closer to hear him.
“Tell me what?” she whispered.
“I’m sorry. I can’t do this.” He tossed his napkin on the table, pushed back his chair and rose. He gazed down his nose at her, his air aggrieved. “I thought you loved me, Catherine.”
“I do! Please, sit down. Don’t walk away. Whatever is wrong? You can tell me anything, Jeffrey. Please.”
Their waiter approached. “Is something the matter, sir? Can I get you something?”
Catherine tugged on Jeffrey’s hand. “Darling, would you care for another drink?” People were looking at them. She shriveled beneath their curious stares.
He dropped onto his chair as if his legs weren’t strong enough to support him. He pointed at his empty highball glass. “Get me another.” The waiter rushed away.
“Please, what’s wrong? What did I say that’s so terrible?”
“This is so painful for me.” He shook his head wearily. “Have you ever done something so awful, so…shameful, you just wish you could erase it from your mind?”
His pain wove a net around her heart. She added Easy Martel and his histrionics to the list of items she wished to forget. “It can’t be that terrible.”
“I was married.” The words emerged laboriously, as if it hurt merely to speak. “It ended tragically.” He cut a glance at her. “I should have told you about…her.”
“Tell me now. What happened?”
“I don’t know if I can. You’ll hate me when you find out what I did.”
Her breath caught in her throat. If he confessed to murder, then what? Call Easy? The police? She swallowed hard. “I won’t hate you.”
The waiter brought Jeffrey’s drink, fresh bread sticks, soup and salad. Appetite gone, Catherine poked a spoon through the chunks of vegetables, pasta and beans.
“Her name was Roberta. We were friends. I thought I knew her.” Moaning softly, he shook his head. “I know it sounds terrible, but I didn’t love her. I thought I did, but now that I’ve met you and found out what love is, I know I never loved Roberta.”
He’d told so many lies, but his pain and emotions felt genuine. “Why did you marry her?”
�
�Weakness. I was going through a bad time. The real-estate market dropped, I had debts. Every time I made a deal, it fell through. A customer was suing me and everyone in the office was getting mean. Roberta offered comfort.” He lifted his head and a wan smile tugged the corners of his mouth. “She was the only one who could make me laugh. At the time, I really needed to laugh.”
She sipped her wine. Her cheeks tightened at the sourness. “I see.”
“I know it sounds crazy, but I can’t even remember which one of us suggested getting married. It was, let’s run off to Vegas and get hitched. It made sense back then.” His chin quivered; tears glazed his eyes. “It was wrong, all wrong, right from the start.”
“So you got a divorce?”
He passed a hand over his eyes. “I wish to God I had.” He took a deep breath and drank from his water glass. He looked her straight in the eyes. “Roberta was an alcoholic and a compulsive liar. The day after we returned from Vegas, she announced she was going to be a housewife. A few weeks later I found out she had heavier debts than I did plus problems with the IRS. She’d been fired from her job on suspicion of embezzlement. She only married me because it meant changing her name and getting out of her debts.”
Catherine pressed her fingers to her lips.
“I knew there wasn’t a chance we could have a real marriage. I wanted a divorce, but Roberta went nuts. She tore up the house and hit me with a chair. When she cooled off, she promised to enter treatment. She begged for a chance to clean up. I didn’t feel right deserting her.”
“Did she stop drinking?”
“She tried. She would clean up, stay sober a few weeks, then go on a bender. She couldn’t hold a job. She’d steal my credit cards and take out cash advances. Strange men brought her home from bars.”
No wonder John Tupper needed someone to blame for his sister’s death—he couldn’t accept the truth about her life. “She was sleeping around?”
“I guess. I didn’t really care. I only wanted her sober enough to take care of herself. Finally I had enough and I gave her an ultimatum. Either she entered a structured program at a center, or she was gone. Forever. She said I was trying to lock her up and she walked out. I didn’t think much of it when she didn’t come back. I didn’t hear from her for almost six weeks.” His chest and shoulders hitched. “That’s when she asked me to meet her at Garden of the Gods.”
The short hairs lifted on the back of Catherine’s neck. “Why would she do that?”
“It was a special place for us. We’d have picnics there. She .loved to watch birds. Anyway, she told me she wouldn’t fight a divorce. She said she’d go to Vegas with me and we’d get a quickie. I thought she’d been in a treatment center, but when I got there she’d been drinking.” His voice cracked and he dropped his face onto his hands. His shoulders lurched as if in a sob.
Catherine patted his back and rubbed his shoulders, murmuring, “There, there. It’s okay. You don’t have to tell me any more. There, there.”
“I don’t think she meant to kill herself. She was trying to scare me, make me promise to take her back. But she kept getting closer and closer to the edge and weaving around…. She slipped. I tried to catch her, but it happened too fast.” The words trailed into a low moan.
She soothed him as best she could, assuring him over and over that she understood why he hadn’t told her about Roberta. She promised him it didn’t matter. What mattered to her was how much she hated herself for causing him pain. It was as if someone forced her to talk about Elizabeth—she knew how such wounds easily tore and bled.
Most of all she hated Easy Martel. He was going to pay for this.
Chapter Six
Catherine ran an extra two miles. She pushed her body to the limits by running as hard as she could up the hills and sprinting on the flat stretches. She sucked in huge gasps of thin mountain air, each cool breath burning in her hot lungs. The greyhounds kept pace, loping gracefully on either side of her. By the time she reached her driveway entrance her chest ached, sweat coated her face and dampened her T-shirt and her legs felt like jelly.
The exercise didn’t help—her life had dropped into the toilet and she didn’t feel one bit better about it. Dinner with Jeffrey had been a disaster. After he told her about Roberta’s tragic death, there had been nothing left to say. The evening had ended early. When Jeffrey kissed her good-night, she knew he’d forced himself to touch her. The aftermath proved worse. He hadn’t called her once in three days. She’d called him several times, usually reaching his voice mail. The one time she’d gotten through to him at home, he’d been cold, weary-sounding and noncommittal about seeing her again. He said she’d shaken him, and he needed time to think.
Time to think was. the last thing she desired. Jeffrey had lied about his age, his family and his work history. All that she could forgive, or pass off as a quirk, or even insist he see a therapist about his compulsion to lie—but she could not pass off his story about Roberta. At the restaurant, she’d been drawn by his powerful grief. With time to ponder, she realized his story didn’t match what the newspapers reported. According to the newspaper article, Jeffrey claimed Roberta had been posing for photographs when the rock beneath her feet crumbled and she slipped.
She could not decide if Jeffrey lied to the reporter in order to protect his mentally ill wife, or if Jeffrey lied to her in order to rouse her sympathy.
She wanted to get married, raise a family and live a quiet life. That wasn’t too much to ask. But no, Easy had to come blowing in like a hurricane with his crazy talk about murder. He ruined everything.
On top of all that, she’d been dreaming about him. Last night, she and he had been married, living in a cabin in the mountains. They’d talked about bears and how to dig a fishing hole. Then at some point, the dream had turned sexual and she’d been sixteen again, madly in love and hotly in heat.
Tension lingered despite the killer run, infusing her lower abdomen with frustrating heaviness, a reminder of what she may never feel again. Intermittent cramps taunted her.
She slumped along the driveway, kicking at gravel and reddish dirt.
When she rounded the curve and the house came into view, her resentment burned a few degrees hotter. A deadline loomed for the spider book artwork, but she’d been so restless and out of sorts she could barely concentrate. Her beloved house felt like a cage. That was Easy’s fault, too.
She unhooked the dogs from the leashes and let them run ahead. Thinking she should stick to dogs and avoid men, she followed them to the house. She worked the house key out of the small pouch she wore inside her shorts. Eager for water, the dogs jostled her legs.
“Wait a minute,” she chided them as she fitted the key in the lock and turned it. The door didn’t budge. Frowning, she turned the key the other way and heard the lock mechanism clack. The door opened easily. She’d left the door unlocked. She closed her eyes in self-disgust.
The dogs trotted to the water bowls and slurped noisily. Catherine showed more prudence, sipping from a glass of cool, not cold water. A chill rippled through her. It wasn’t more than sixty or sixty-five degrees this morning and the house seemed freezing cold. She started a pot of coffee.
The message indicator blinked on her answering machine. Catherine scowled. Easy called several times a day, leaving impassioned messages which she ignored. She pushed the play button.
Margaret’s voice crackled with indignation. “What in the world do you do at this time of the morning? Anyway, just to keep you up to speed. The producers for Halladay’s show decided they needed a hand in the book deal. They’ve tossed another lawyer into the mix to review the contract. I know he can’t possibly object to anything, but he’ll delay the finalization for a week or two. Hang in there. This deal is definitely going through!”
“Yeah, yeah,” Catherine muttered. “Just like everything else in my life is turning out so swell.”
Oscar suddenly skittered a side step and then froze, his ears pricked. Bent startled, too. Be
nt crowded the male greyhound and whined anxiously, low in her throat. Both dogs swiveled their narrow heads as if attempting to pinpoint the source of some threat.
“What’s the matter?” Catherine went to a window where she could see the driveway. She didn’t hear an approaching vehicle or see anybody walking on the property. “Is it Easy?” she asked the dogs. “Is that jerk following me again?” She stomped outside onto the deck. Leaning on the deck rail, she peered intently at the shadows beneath the trees.
If Easy showed up, she determined, she’d call the law. She’d have him arrested for trespassing.
Oscar barked. Catherine jumped. A mule deer trotted across the driveway. Huge ears twisting like radar dishes, the doe paused and stared at the house. Catherine lunged to the side and managed to snag Oscar’s and Bent’s collars. The deer leaped vertically, all four feet off the ground, and bounded back the way she’d come. The greyhounds howled in excitement.
“What would you do if you caught it, you silly things?” Their tails beat in furious unison while they begged her with expressive eyes and whimpers to let them chase the deer. The normally placid dogs strained and struggled while she wrestled them inside the house. She used her foot to close the door. As soon as she turned the dogs loose, they ran from window to window.
Tickled by their excitement, Catherine had her first good laugh in days. She pictured herself chasing through the woods after a pair of dogs who could run nearly forty miles an hour. If allowed, they’d pursue the deer for as long as they could see or hear it. They were magnificent dogs, but rather lacking in the brains department.
Chuckling, she went downstairs. The good humor faded while she showered. Today, she realized, she had to talk to Jeffrey. She had to confront him with what she knew. She refused to believe him a murderer, but had no choice except to concede he was a liar. She scrubbed hard at her body, wishing she could wash away the inner turmoil.
