by Sheryl Lynn
Easy wrote again: Is he threatening you?
Catherine made a negative gesture. “I don’t have the ring. I gave it to John Tupper. It belongs to him, not you.”
“The ring belongs to me. If you don’t return it, I will have no choice except to file a lawsuit. Let’s not get ugly, darling. Not after all we’ve been through.”
She gasped in indignation. “You go ahead and try!” She snatched the pencil from Easy’s hand and wrote, now he’s threatening!
“Before it gets out of hand, let’s get together and talk. Your place?”
“If you come anywhere near my house, I will call the police.”
Jeffrey laughed, the notes flat, lacking emotion. Yet, she sensed, he was enjoying himself immensely. She struggled for control, to calm her pulse and even the tones of her voice.
“Just what do you think the police will do?” he asked. “Until you return the ring, we’re engaged. I have every right to visit you whenever I wish.”
The oily threat behind the words made her flesh crawl. She watched Easy’s increasingly frantic efforts to get her to tell him what Jeffrey was saying. “I’ll tell you what, Jeffrey,” she said. “You tell me what you did with No-reen, and I’ll give you the ring.”
Easy’s eyes widened and his mouth dropped open. No! he mouthed emphatically.
“I know you kidnapped her to keep her from testifying against you. Did you murder her?”
A long pause made her wonder if he’d hung up on her. Holding her breath, she waited for the effects of her taunts.
“I have no idea what you’re talking about, darling. No-reen who?”
“Noreen Dawson. Did you kill her to shut her up?”
Easy threw his hands in the air and rolled his eyes as if beseeching the gods to save him from her foolishness. Catherine heard a slight catch, a subtle difference in Jeffrey’s breathing. She prayed he confessed before the minicassette in the answering machine ran out.
“Oh, yes, that Noreen,” he said. “Charming lady. But I fear I haven’t seen her in ages. Such a funny woman. Always getting herself into little pickles. Forget Noreen. I’m talking about you and me. When can I see you, darling? Tonight?”
“You come anywhere near me and I’ll—I’ll—”
“You’ll what, darling? Are you making threats?” He tsked. “It isn’t nice to make threats to the man who can have such a powerful influence over your career.”
Dread crawled through her like a cold, primeval beast She held the telephone so tightly, her hand began to ache.
“Your new boyfriend is bad for your career as well. Such a small world, isn’t it? Your high school sweetheart is now a private eye working for my former brother—in—law. What do you guess the odds are about such a coincidence occurring? A million to one?”
She spun about, her gaze finding the package containing the signed contracts, ready for mailing back to New York. “What are you talking—”
“I sense this is an inconvenient time. I’ll get back to you.” A click, and the connection severed.
She pulled the phone away from her ear and glared at the mouthpiece. “I hate him!” Dry laughter husked from her throat. “He’s acting like the aggrieved party.”
Easy replayed the conversation on the answering machine. Catherine despaired over how she squeaked and stammered as if she bordered on a nervous breakdown, while Jeffrey came across as perfectly calm and in control. He sounded like an ex-fiancé who wanted the engagement ring returned, and expected his former girlfriend to be reasonable about it.
“Did you hear that?” She rushed to the contract package and snatched it off the table. “He saw this. He’s going to do something horrible.” She returned to the door and her unhappy perusal of the night. “Is it too late to call the police about him breaking in? He all but confessed.”
Easy looked around the studio where Catherine had made remarkable progress in cleaning and organizing. She had scrubbed clean the dry-erase board. “Even if the cops find Livman’s fingerprints, it proves nothing. He had legitimate reasons to be in this house before.”
“He still has my keys,” she said. “That proves—”
“Nothing,” he interrupted. “It’s your word against his that you didn’t give him a set of keys. You can’t stay here, babe.” Faced with her hollow eyes and fearfulness, he felt helpless.
“Where am I supposed to go?”
“Your parents?”
“So I can listen to my father’s lectures about my deplorable taste in men and how I’m too stupid to live on my own? Besides, Mother will never allow the dogs in her house. Or even in the yard. You know how she is.”
Easy meant to rebut that her safety took precedence over her discomfort with her parents, but he remembered too well what her home had been like. The St. Clairs could make the pope wish he’d never been born. “You can stay at my place then. The dogs, too.”
“I can’t!” She swept her arms wide, indicating the studio. “I don’t have time to hide out from Jeffrey. I have to get this place in shape. I have a deadline. Besides, who’s to say your apartment is any safer than this house? Jeffrey knows all about you. He knows about us!” She sagged with her forehead against the door.
“Be reasonable.”
“I am reasonable!” She clenched her fists and let her head fall back. Her entire body went rigid in a silent scream. “He’s going to tell Doc Halladay about Elizabeth. Everyone will know what I did. They’ll know I have low morals—”
“Stop it!”
Startled, she hugged her elbows and stared at him.
“So what if Livman tells the publisher about Elizabeth? If anything, giving up the baby shows you have courage and character.”
She peered suspiciously at him.
“It’s true,” he said, and realized he meant it with all his heart. “What you did was incredibly brave. You could have taken the easy way out and had an abortion. You could have kept her and ruined her chances for a stable family. Instead, you made a sacrifice. You put her needs above your own. There’s nothing immoral about what you did. You have nothing to be ashamed of.”
Some of the tension faded from her shoulders. Her hands relaxed. She cocked her head, her eyes gone soft. “Do you mean that? Really?”
Without hesitation, he nodded. “I still wish I could have been there for you. I wish you’d told me. But you did the right thing and I admire you for it. You saved our daughter’s life.”
Pressing knuckles against her mouth, she turned away. Her back hitched.
“Doc Halladay loves kids. He’s all about kids. He’ll understand you did the right thing because you love kids, too.” Rather than go to her, he shoved his hands in his pockets. “You look worn-out. Get some sleep. The dogs and I will stand watch to make sure Livman doesn’t try anything funny.”
JEFFREY DIDN’T TRY anything funny the next day. Catherine received several phone calls where the caller hung up when the answering machine activated. She guessed Jeffrey tried to call her. She attempted to call her agent, but Margaret had gone to Los Angeles and wouldn’t return until Friday. She prayed she’d misinterpreted Jeffrey’s threat and he wouldn’t try to sabotage her work for Doc Halladay.
Easy hung around. He left once after arguing with her to accompany him to his home and office. She pointed out the shiny new locks on the doors, and promised if she even suspected Jeffrey was in the neighborhood, she’d call 911. While he was gone, she found herself pacing restlessly, unable to concentrate or settle on any task. Without Easy, the house felt empty, lonesome and incomplete. She brooded over what he’d said about Elizabeth. No matter how she examined his words, his tone of voice and his body language, she came to the same conclusion. He meant exactly what he’d said.
When he returned, he defiantly displayed a suitcase. He appeared ready to battle her to the death over his right to protect her in her home. When she graciously invited him to make himself at home, his surprise amused her.
In the days that followed, Catherine saw no
sign of Jeffrey. She mailed the signed contracts. She worked on the house.
She worried about being pregnant. As fear of Jeffrey faded, her fear of another irresponsible pregnancy grew. She wanted to run into town and buy a home-pregnancy test, but Easy refused to leave her side. Over and over, she practiced in her head how to tell him. Each time the voice of reason told her to wait, see if her fears were true.
She painted the parlor. She and Easy had moved all the furniture to the family room downstairs. While she rolled white paint onto the wall, Easy wandered into the room. He carried the telephone.
He examined her work. “I told you that primer would cover the wallpaper. It’s looking good.”
She used the back of her hand to swipe tendrils of hair off her hot face. Even with all the windows open, the room was so humid she felt slightly ill. Sweat dampened her T-shirt and made her hands slimy. “Who were you talking to?”
“Toni Johnson. There’s still no sign of Noreen. She’s talked to Lou Palmer and T.J. Whitehead, though.”
“Who are they?”
“The handyman and No-neck. They, of course, deny any involvement with Livman other than maintaining some rental properties.” His eyes crinkled in good humor. “She asked No-neck about the knot on his jaw. Turns out he had some wisdom teeth removed the same day I decked him. No wonder he went down so fast.”
“What about Jeffrey?”
“His attorney said Livman will grant no interviews, period.”
She loaded the roller with paint. She rolled paint on the wall until nothing came off the roller. Noreen’s anguished face flashed through her mind. She remembered Jeffrey’s strange comment about the woman always getting herself into pickles. He’d sounded so flippant, so uncaring about Noreen, the woman who could send him to prison for a long, long time.
“Tink?” He touched her shoulder.
“Jeffrey doesn’t have to kidnap Noreen, because he knows she’ll never testify against him.”
“Because she’s dead.”
She laid the roller on the pan. She paced to the window, and inhaled deeply of the fresh air. “She assured us over and over that she and Jeffrey weren’t having an affair. She swears she didn’t do it for money. What does that leave?”
He pulled at his chin, his expression thoughtful, but skeptical. “Getting herself in a pickle?”
“Exactly. Do you honestly think he’ll allow her, or anyone, to hold anything over his head?”
“She could go to jail for her role in the fraud.”
“Ha! He must know if Noreen squeals, Romoco will be far more interested in hanging him and getting their money back than in prosecuting her. It strikes me as really odd that she keeps doing business with him. I’ve seen how much she dislikes him. If she had any say in the matter, she wouldn’t have anything to do with him. And if she has the power to hang him, why does he keep putting himself in a position to remind her? She’s hiding something and it isn’t insurance fraud.”
“I’m biting, Tink.”
She lifted her chin, invigorated by the chance to do something other than hide from Jeffrey Livman. “I bet he didn’t have to go to her. She went to him and he’s helping her run. Let’s find her.”
“You’d make a great P.I., Tink.” Smiling, he picked up one of her paint-splattered hands. “It’s late. How about we finish up here, then first thing tomorrow, we’ll start looking.”
Having finished painting the deck, Easy joined Catherine in the parlor-turned-gallery. She liked working with him. He was quick, efficient and cheerful. He sang along to the music playing on the radio and teased her about nonsense. Together they finished with the first coat of paint in less than an hour. Working with him, having had him in her house for several days, also made her see how good they were together. They balanced each other. She was quiet, he was noisy. She appreciated his often raucous good cheer; he liked her usually dry humor. He had an energizing effect on her; she suspected she soothed him.
While cleaning up, the telephone rang. “I should sign up for caller ID,” Catherine said. “Isn’t there a way to block certain numbers?”
“Yep,” Easy replied.
The answering machine activated. After Catherine’s short message, Margaret’s excited voice boomed over the speaker. “You better be home, Catherine! The fan has been hit and you’re directly in the path of—”
Catherine snatched up the telephone. “I’m here. What’s going on, Margaret?”
“You tell me! Tabor Publishing and Doc Halladay are going ballistic. I don’t know what kind of crap you’re involved in, but I thought you had enough sense to keep it to yourself!”
Catherine had heard her agent angry before, but the anger had never been directed her way. Too flustered to reply, she huffed and picked at paint speckles on her arm while Margaret stormed about the deal falling through. When the agent finally paused to take a breath, Catherine found her voice.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Tabor and Doc Halladay both received faxes. Twenty-five-page-long faxes. They contain your entire sexual history, including the bits about illegitimate children and abortions, and the names of men who are suing you for infecting them with diseases. There are grotesque photographs of you with your current boyfriend. It’s disgusting! How could you?”
Catherine nearly dropped the telephone. She grasped the cordless unit with both hands and staggered to a chair. “How could I do what, Margaret? I haven’t done anything.”
“It’s all there in black and white. To sweeten the deal, the man who sent the fax claims he’s contacted every tabloid in the country. They’re panting to run stories about Doc Halladay’s book illustrator!”
Blinking rapidly, certain this must be a nightmare, Catherine gazed into space. “Jeffrey did this.”
If Margaret heard, she gave no indication. She ranted about Doc Halladay refusing to sign the contract and Tabor Publishing talking about filing a lawsuit and how all this might affect Margaret’s reputation and her other clients.
During another pause, Catherine said, “It’s all a lie, Margaret. Jeffrey Livman did this. He’s trying to ruin me.”
“Well, he’s done it!”
“But it’s all lies! Nobody is suing me. I haven’t had any abortions. Nobody could possibly have any disgusting photographs of me. I don’t do anything disgusting!”
“I’ve got another call. Goodbye.” The agent abruptly severed the connection.
Easy gently tugged the telephone from her hand. “What happened?”
“Nothing much. Jeffrey just trashed my career, that’s all.” Dizzy, she pressed the heels of her hands against her eyelids. “He sent faxes to Doc Halladay and the publisher. He even included photographs of me doing disgusting things.”
He jumped upright. “Where do you keep your photo albums?”
Realizing exactly what he meant, she pushed off the chair and hurried to the back bedroom she used as an office. She kept old yearbooks, albums and journals on a small shelf near the door. She glanced at the computer atop a desk. She didn’t use the computer much, but she’d taken classes in computer graphics and art. She knew how easily photographs could be scanned into a graphics program and manipulated.
She leafed through an album. Though her research photographs were meticulously organized, her personal albums were filled randomly. What she did do, though, was fill every space. She discovered several pages where photographs were missing.
“What did he take?” Easy asked.
“I don’t know exactly, but he obviously took enough.” She glumly studied a page where two photographs had been removed. She envisioned a sickening composition with her face transposed onto a pornographic scene. Returning her attention to the bookshelf, she noticed two yearbooks were missing. The book from her junior year in Colorado, and her senior college yearbook from Arizona State. Jeffrey could have pulled the names of any number of young men she’d gone to school with. If Tabor investigated they’d find people who knew her, but de
nied involvement. Denials which would sound suspicious. She slammed the album shut. “I’m going to kill him.”
“Livman lied and you can prove—”
“Prove what?” she interrupted. “If Doc Halladay chooses to believe me, then Jeffrey will sell the story to the tabloids. Do you think they care about the truth? It’ll make their year to use me to bring down Doc Halladay’s media empire.”
“You have a contract.”
“I’m the first to sign. Nobody else has.” She shoved the album back on the shelf and scrambled to her feet.
He reached for her. She slapped his hands away. “This is all your fault! If you’d kept your big nose out of my business, Jeffrey never would have resorted to these tactics.”
He gave a start. His eyes flashed black fire. “You’d have your million-dollar contract, but you’d be dead.”
“You never proved Jeffrey killed Roberta. You never proved anything!” She shoved past him and all but ran into the studio. Now stripped down to its bare essentials, it looked professional and efficient. “This is my life!” she yelled, spreading her arms. “Don’t you understand? I don’t have anything except my work Nobody will ever hire me again.”
“Tink, be reason—”
“Publishing is a small business. Everybody knows everybody else. Word of this will be all over New York within days.”
“You’ve always got me.”
“Right! Mr. Trouble with a capital T! You waltz into my life, destroy everything and I’m supposed to be thankful?” She grasped her belly with both hands. “For your information, hotshot, you’ve done it again.”
“Done what?”
“Knocked me up. I—” She clamped her mouth shut. Too late. She saw in his startled expression that he’d not only heard her hasty confession, but understood exactly what she meant. She stared at him; he stared back. A wide range of emotions swept over his expressive face: disbelief, amazement and concern.
“You’re pregnant?”
Anger disappeared as if she’d, pulled a plug. Without the fire to sustain her, she felt suddenly empty and weak. Realizing she continued holding her belly in a protective grasp, she dropped her hands to her sides. “I don’t—I’m not…I don’t know.”
