Jealousy

by Nancy Bush

  “It’s all right, Daphne,” Kate said, her voice surprisingly calm. “I dropped the lamp. Don’t come in here. Go back to the Disney Channel. I’ll be right there.”

  “Are you okay?” she asked, worried.

  “Never. Better.”

  As soon as she heard Daphne’s footsteps slowly receding, she turned her full attention back to Lyle. “I can see you’re thinking up a lie,” she said, surprising him with her hard tone. “It’s time for the truth. Give it over or I’m going to Abbott with what I’ve observed. I don’t care what he knows. I’m going to tell him what I know.”

  They stared at each other, both breathing hard.

  “What was in the package, Lyle?” she asked again.

  “Money.” The word popped out through trembling lips.

  Kate was trembling, too. Reaction. She could feel it in her thighs. “What for?”

  “A . . . payoff.”

  “To Lauren Paulsen. A nurse ... er . . . administrator or whatever at Cascade Place Assisted Living. Where Junior died?” The questions came hard and fast. She’d had a lot of time to come to her own conclusions. “What did you do to him?”

  “Nothing! No, no!” He lifted his palms, horrified. “I didn’t do anything to him. I miss him. I so miss him, you don’t know. . . .”

  “What was it for, then? The money.”

  “She was blackmailing me. . . .”

  “What for? How?”

  He stared miserably down at his toes.

  “Lay it out, Lyle. Lay. It. Out. I can’t just pull every fucking word out of your mouth!”

  “It was the will. Junior’s new will. Lauren was one of the witnesses. There was another witness at the place, too. Maura, or Maren, or something. But she was nice, whereas Lauren . . .” He inhaled and exhaled, girding himself. “She wormed her way into Junior’s good graces. Always doting on him. She knew he had money. She was always looking for a way to get her hands on his money.”

  “Did she manage to do it?” Kate asked, alarmed.

  “No . . . no . . .”

  “What about this new will, then?”

  “It’s not the one we’re using. Junior divided the new will into thirds for me and Layla and Lucy. He cut Dad out entirely. Asked me to take it to the lawyer, but Dad found out. He wanted to destroy it, and I told him I did, but it’s in a safe-deposit box. Lauren knew what it said, and she figured out it wasn’t being distributed to the rightful heirs and started demanding cash.”

  “How much cash?”

  “Ten thousand at a time.” His face twisted in pain. “When she needed more, she’d send me a pink-scarf message.”

  “I saw her in a picture wearing a pink scarf.”

  “Junior’s last gift to her, for being such a great helper,” he added bitterly. “He never knew what she was really like. She used the scarf as a signal to me that she needed more money.”

  Kate gulped down a deep breath, processing. She’d had so many terrible scenarios in her mind that this one almost didn’t seem that bad. Except Lauren Paulsen was a blackmailer.... “She’ll never stop asking for money.”

  “You think I don’t know that?” He made a sound of disparagement. “I took sixty thousand out of the company. Lucy knows about it. Dad thinks Lucy just screwed up. He’s never trusted her, but she’s smart. She won’t let up on me, but what am I supposed to tell her?”

  “Jesus, Lyle. You stole from the company?” This, on the other hand, was damn near treasonous.

  “Dad’s been taking money from the company in a larger sense, moving it to ‘investments,’ but I think he’s really bleeding the company dry. At this rate, there might not be anything left.”

  She’d always admired Abbott, but that admiration died a quick death. Now she was in survival mode. They both were.

  “What should I do?” Lyle asked her after the moment between them stretched out into eternity.

  “How should I know? You’re the one that got into this mess!”

  “Think of something, Kate,” he pleaded.

  He was weak. That’s all there was to it. She’d known it and ignored it. Told herself she loved him, and maybe she had, maybe she still did. “If you want my help, you’ll help me make a baby. No more turning your back on me. I mean it, Lyle.”

  “I haven’t . . . I’ve been kind of . . . off. . . .”

  “Well, figure out how to get on again,” she snarled. “You need a magazine? A picture of some hot chick like the one you were ogling at the benefit? Go ahead. Whatever it takes.”

  “The cost of another child is so . . . much.”

  “Oh my God. Are you really turning me down?”

  She was shivering from head to toe, from rage, from reaction, from the high of having all the power for once.

  “No,” he said. “I’m ready. I promise.”

  “It’s not exactly conception time, but there’s no harm tuning up,” she said, stalking across the room and locking the bedroom door.

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Lucy put on a pair of black slacks and a red sweater. Ripped them off. Tried on a pair of gray pants with a blue blouse. Ripped them off. Told herself she was an idiot. Found a pair of dark brown pants and a camel-colored sweater with a cowl neck . . . nearly ripped them off, then forced herself to keep them on.

  She was meeting Dallas for a late breakfast at a diner. And it was a meeting with Layla, and about Layla, nothing really to do with her at all. It was sad, sad how terrifically she wanted to impress him.

  He’s not interested in you, she scolded herself. He’s engaged, or was, or . . . He’s your lawyer, nothing more. Now you know why he couldn’t remember you. It’s a farce. A dark comedy. You shouldn’t even be thinking about him because someone killed your husband....

  Her blood chilled at the thought, and after a moment she took off the pants and sweater and put on her jeans, a black V-necked casual shirt, and a light gray rain jacket. She looked at herself in the mirror. Okay, maybe she had a little more makeup on than usual, but she looked ready for a diner.

  She was dropping Evie off at a friend’s. She’d tried to reach Bella but had learned she’d spent the night with a friend from her cheerleading days—her mother was hopeful—so she’d frantically made a playdate for Evie. Lucy had been pushing those playdates since John’s death. She was going to owe everyone big-time. Have to pay them back sometime in the future. Evie had suggested they all come next week to Stonehenge for Easter, but Lucy had put the kibosh on that. She hadn’t even spoken to her brother or father in a week. Easter at Stonehenge was not anywhere on her horizon.

  “You ready?” Lucy asked her daughter, who had been playing on her iPad.

  “Yep.” Evie put down the iPad, then ran to her room and returned with her stuffed dog.

  “We’re not taking Lisa,” Lucy said.

  “Yes, I am!” She clutched the dog closer.

  “Evie . . .” She was about to berate her for dragging the stuffed toy, which was looking worse for wear, its fur matted, everywhere she went, but she knew better. It was too soon after John’s death. They were all coping. Maybe she could wash the damn thing. “Fine. Bring it,” she said.

  “Her,” Evie corrected. “Bring her.” And they went to the car.

  Half an hour later, Lucy entered Lucille’s, the diner Dallas had suggested, spotted him in a booth in the back, and slipped into the seat opposite him as he stood up at her approach. Layla, naturally, wasn’t there yet.

  “How are you?” Dallas asked, reseating himself.

  “Good. Well.” She clasped her hands and put them on her lap. A young girl holding a coffeepot came by with a mug, but Lucy shook her head.

  Dallas had called her and related what September Westerly had learned from her trip to Wharton County, which was just more of the same as far as Lucy could tell. The new information was that Lyle had apparently had some kind of relationship with Brianne Kilgore, whose affections had turned to Jerome Wolfe, and she now considered Lyle a liar because he’d allegedly t
old Brianne’s father that Brianne was responsible for her infant brother’s death, which everyone knew was a lie.

  But Brianne had shown September where the angel of death mushroom was near at hand, and that seemed ominous. Sure, the mushroom grew all over the Northwest, but these were right next to Stonehenge at the “big oak.” Lucy thought she might even remember that tree. That couldn’t be a coincidence.

  Dallas had asked September if she felt Brianne was the poisoner, but September hadn’t been able to answer him. The facts were that a woman had called into the sheriff’s department on a disposable cell phone and told them to check for angel of death poisoning in the death of John Linfield. If it somehow had to do with Brianne Kilgore, it was unclear what the motive was.

  Lucy had pushed most of it aside. She was still consumed with the bad feelings she had over her father and brother’s betrayal, and she was still trying to work out what she felt about Dallas. Every time her mind touched on the lie she was withholding from him, it bounced away. She was going to have to tell him that he was Evie’s real father if she hoped for any kind of long-term relationship with him. What would he do when he found out? She liked their reconnection and she sensed he did, too. Was that built on guilt over what had happened in the past? Maybe. Maybe not. Whatever the case, she wanted to keep seeing him, and that meant she was going to have to find a way to tell him about Evie.

  “How’s your daughter?” he asked now, causing her to inhale sharply.

  “I think okay,” she answered, trying to smile. It was just normal conversation. Small talk. Nothing to freak out about. “She’s kind of hanging on to a stuffed animal that she’d pretty much forgotten about. Regression, I guess.”

  He nodded. She realized he was struggling with conversation a bit, too. Their history was something they were both getting used to. “I asked Layla to come to my office, but she suggested a more informal meeting with you, too.”

  “I’m glad to come.”

  Layla blew through the door at that moment, her hair tamed into a ponytail for once, her cheeks flushed. She could have checked with Lucy about a uniform; their clothes were nearly identical, though Lucy had left her hair down. She squeezed into the seat next to Lucy and said, “Sorry I’m late. I just came from Neil’s. He didn’t answer my knock. He’s been gone over a week and I haven’t heard a word from him. He hasn’t returned any of my texts.”

  “Is that weird?” Lucy asked.

  “He’s pretty good about responding, even when we were at our worst.”

  Dallas had been silent, listening. Now he looked around and said, “Maybe we should take this to my office.”

  “Why?” Layla asked, suddenly at attention. “Do you know something?”

  “It would just be more private.”

  “I’m okay with this,” Layla said, but she lowered her voice a bit.

  Dallas hesitated, then said, “I decided to look over your contract with him again, now that the situation’s changed. You gave him complete control over your embryos.”

  “Yes,” she said, waiting.

  Lucy leaned in a bit, wondering where this was going.

  “I sent Neil’s lawyer, Penelope Gaines, notice that we’re suing for custody of the embryos, and she called me and said, basically, that you had legally turned them over to Neil, which was the truth.”

  “Which is why I hired you,” Layla said.

  The waitress came by to take their order. Layla asked for a cup of decaf and Lucy decided she’d have the same. Dallas asked if they wanted anything else, but they both shook their heads. He waved the woman off and as she left, Layla said tensely, “Where are you going with this?”

  “Yeah,” Lucy agreed. Something about his tone was making her nervous, too.

  “Currently, Neil owns those embryos. How many were used and how many are left?”

  “I don’t know exactly,” Layla said. “It took on the first try. Naomi’s in her last month.”

  “So, make a guess,” he pressed.

  “Four, maybe?”

  He leaned back in the booth. “Luke’s been doing some research for me. He apparently found someone at the clinic who would talk to him about Neil and the embryos. My brother, the ex-cop who sometimes steps over the line . . .” Dallas shook his head. “It appears ... possibly . . . that Neil used them on another surrogate.”

  “What?” Layla breathed. “My embryos?”

  Lucy demanded, “Who?”

  Layla’s voice rose. “Is that even legal?”

  “You gave him custody,” Dallas reminded quietly.

  Oh, shit . . . Lucy thought. “Courtney?”

  They both looked at her, Dallas sober, obviously already twigged to that possibility, Layla confused, struggling to process.

  “No, she lost her baby. Neil told me she lost the baby,” Layla babbled. “He broke up with her. Maybe that’s why.”

  “Luke’s running Courtney down right now. She’s been surprisingly hard to find,” said Dallas.

  “Oh my God.” The color drained from Layla’s face. “Oh my God.”

  “We don’t know anything yet,” Lucy said.

  Layla moaned. “What if he lied? What if she’s still pregnant with my baby?”

  “Stop it,” Lucy said. “Dallas is working on it.”

  “What if he’s hiding her? Maybe he’s not on a trip at all. Maybe he’s with her and they’re planning to steal Naomi’s baby, too!” Layla’s voice rose, and Lucy grabbed her hand, holding hard.

  “Maybe we should have gone to your office after all,” Lucy muttered to Dallas.

  “We can go now,” he said.

  “No, no . . . let me think.” Layla struggled to compose herself, waved him back down. “Oh my God.”

  “I’ve got a call in to Penelope. She hasn’t called me back yet, but I’m going to find out what Neil’s real plans are and—”

  “I’m going to find out!” Layla declared, jumping to her feet. “I’m going to break down his door. He’s got to be back by now. I know where the key is. I should have used it while he was gone!”

  “Wait,” Dallas said sternly.

  “Courtney said she was having a boy. They did IVF. That’s the only way she’d know so early,” Layla said, her eyes moist.

  Lucy said, “Just wait. Just ... wait till there’s more.”

  “Layla, we’re working on it,” Dallas said. “Don’t do something that’ll jeopardize your case.”

  “I won’t. I’m not.”

  Lucy asked, “Are you sure?”

  “Yes . . . yes.” She turned to Dallas. “Thank you. I’m sorry I got into such a mess. Luce, I’ll call you later.”

  “Don’t go to Neil’s,” Lucy pleaded. “Stick around.”

  Layla shook her head and headed for the door. And she was gone.

  “I don’t like this,” Dallas said, frowning.

  “Neither do I.”

  “Will she be smart?” he asked.

  Lucy choked out a half-laugh. “I think so. She won’t do anything to lose a chance to have Eddie.”

  “If Grassley’s playing around with her child’s . . . possibly children’s . . . lives . . .”

  His words hammered into her. She felt almost dizzy.

  “You okay?” he asked.

  “I feel ... tired.”

  “You need something to eat.”

  She did. He was right. But she didn’t think she could eat a bite. But she didn’t want to leave either.

  She nodded, and he signaled for the waitress to return.

  * * *

  Layla waited for Uber. She should have asked Lucy for a ride. She should have pushed Neil for the truth. She should never have listened to him about anything! She’d gone to see Naomi twice this week, believing only good things for the future. Happy. She’d believed Neil!

  She’d been planning to give him her painting, for God’s sake!

  It’s a lie. It’s all been a lie. He was never going to marry you. He was lulling you, needing time to pass so he coul
d hide Courtney’s baby. She blurted it out at the benefit and he tried to buy you off ! He knew you would never allow it! He was trying to get you out of the way!

  “Don’t . . . don’t . . .” Layla warned herself as the silver Prius appeared and she got in the back. She told herself to go home but gave the driver Neil’s address, plugging it into the phone as well. She’d lied. She’d known she was going to his place as soon as she heard the truth about the embryos.

  Don’t go over the edge. Think it through.

  Layla closed her eyes. But she knew there was truth in there somewhere. She had a knack for these kinds of things.

  Neil lived in a condo in the Pearl, a converted warehouse where the units sprawled across one level, nearly three thousand square feet each. The exterior door required a key, but you could easily get someone to buzz you in. Once inside, there was a bank of elevators. Neil was on the eighth floor.

  Layla had no trouble being buzzed in. She eschewed the elevators and went right for the stairs, clanging up the steps until she got to the eighth floor. Neil always left a spare key behind a fake electrical outlet at the top of the stairs when he was out of town, unless he’d changed his ways since Courtney, but no, there was the outlet.

  Layla eased back the outlet cover and found the key. She crushed it into her fist, replacing the outlet, then pushed through the stairwell door to the eighth-floor foyer. Each floor had four units, one on each side of the building. She went to Neil’s door and pressed the bell. Distantly, she could hear it ringing inside. She waited, counting to sixty, then pushed it again, listening to its muffled peal.

  To hell with it.

  Threading the key in the lock, she thrust open the door to his apartment. Straight ahead was a vista through floor-to-ceiling windows to the rest of the Pearl. Neil’s view was east, toward the Willamette River and the Fremont Bridge. She could see the bridge’s white suspension cables capped by two flags at the top of the arch, one on each side, framed in her sight.

  She smelled something sour. Vomit?

  She walked down the entry hall and turned into the kitchen.

  Neil lay on the floor, eyes and mouth open, a small circle of throw up by his lips. Blood pooled beneath his head.