“Everyone understands,” Britt assured her.
As they passed the fourth pew, Britt noticed Lauren waiting anxiously, and then easing herself out of the pew and into the line of mourners beside Alec Lynch.
“Ouch,” said Zoe.
Britt realized she was crushing Zoe’s hand in her own. She let go of the girl’s hand and they were separated by the crowd as it surged out the front doors of the church. The snow flurries had stopped but the sky was still a blinding grayish white in color. As she stood at the top of the steps, Britt felt as if someone was staring at her. She scanned the crowd and then reddened as her gaze locked with that of a ruggedly handsome young man with a tanned face and wheat-colored hair that had been blown dry into a style of perfect, casual elegance. He was wearing a work shirt and a tweed jacket, and he looked as if he’d just stepped out of a Ralph Lauren ad. Britt looked away but she could still feel his gaze following her as she descended the steps.
Britt looked around and saw Zoe, at the foot of the steps beside her father. Alec, shadowed by Lauren, was standing to one side, accepting hugs and condolences. He rested one hand on Zoe’s narrow shoulder as if to keep her planted there. Britt walked toward them, but before she reached them, she could see out of the corner of her eye that the good-looking guy in the tweed jacket was approaching her.
“Miss Andersen?” he said politely.
She turned and stared at him in surprise. Up close, he looked younger than he had from a distance. Young, virile and voracious. She hadn’t had a man look at her like that in a long time—as if he wanted to devour her. It was undeniably flattering.
“Sorry to bother you. My name is Dean Webster,” he said. “I work for WGLC-TV. Someone told me you’re Donovan Smith’s producer in Boston?”
Taken aback, Britt frowned at him. “Who told you that?”
“Oh, no secrets in this town,” he said, grinning. His teeth were even and white against his tanned complexion. “Everybody knows it when there’s a celebrity in town.”
“I’m not a celebrity,” she said severely.
“Well, I’m a big fan of the show. I wanted you to know.”
“Thank you,” said Britt.
“I know you’re Mrs. Lynch’s sister. I’d like a chance to sit down and do an interview with you.”
A reporter on the make, she thought, a little embarrassed that she had mistaken his interest in her for attraction. “This is not the time,” she said.
“Could I give you a call? Do you have a cell phone?”
“I’ll call you,” she said firmly.
“Be sure you do,” he said, pulling a card out of his inside jacket pocket. “This is a big story. Ill really look forward to sitting down with you.”
Alec walked up to Britt, and Dean Webster assumed a somber expression. “Mr. Lynch. Sorry about your wife. Can we sit down and talk…?”
“No,” Alec barked. “You’re like a vulture.”
“Just doing my job,” said Dean, and he withdrew, winking at Britt.
“I hope you’re not going to talk to him,” Alec said.
Britt ignored his warning. “What is it you wanted?” she asked.
Alec frowned at the departing reporter. Then he looked back at Britt. “Well, I guess you heard. Our neighbors invited everybody over to their house for a little while,” he said. “They’ve got a nice place. He’s a big attorney. He’s the one that saved Zoe…”
“I know. That is very nice of them,” said Britt. “No trip to the cemetery, anyway. Where are you going to have Greta buried when the police release the body?”
Alec shook his head abruptly. “No burial. Cremation.”
Britt couldn’t conceal her surprise. It seemed redundant, even ghoulish, to cremate someone who had suffered and died in a fire. “Is that what Greta wanted?”
Alec shrugged. “It wasn’t something we ever discussed. You know. We figured we had years before we would need to think about such things.”
“But shouldn’t Zoe have a…headstone? You know, somewhere she can got to…”
“Visit her mother?” he said sarcastically “Her mother is dead. I don’t see that she’s going to find much comfort in visiting a headstone.”
“How do you know? Did you ask Zoe what she wanted?” Britt demanded.
t>
Lauren had come up and was standing a discreet distance from Alec. She was wearing a fake fur chubby over a black lace top, black pants and open-toe pumps. “Alec is only trying to do the right thing,” she said protectively.
“It’s okay, Lauren,” said Alec. “She doesn’t bother me.” He turned to Britt. “Leave your car and you can ride with us to the Carmichaels’,” he said.
“No, thanks,” said Britt. “I’ll drive myself.”
“You don’t know where it is,” he said.
“I’ll find my own way,” she said.
“Fine,” he said. “Zoe. Come on.”
Britt turned around and saw Zoe surrounded by a group of reluctant, puffy-eyed preteens. They were gazing at Zoe with a mixture of pity and admiration, as they tried to imagine themselves in her shoes, their own lives derailed by such a terrible twist of fate.
Chapter Seven
Following the black limousine from the church, Britt arrived at the Carmichaels’ and entered the house close on the heels of Zoe and Alec. Inside the house, there were groups of people in dark clothes, talking quietly. Zoe and Alec were immediately surrounded by friends, offering kisses and condolences. Britt felt distinctly out of place. A beautiful woman with honey-colored hair approached her. She was wearing a sleeveless, navy-blue shift, and the muscles of her arms were smooth and sculpted. “Are you Britt? I’m Caroline Carmichael.”
Britt smiled at her gratefully. “Yes. Nice to meet you. It was so nice of you to invite everyone,” she said to Caroline. “Especially with your husband just home from the hospital himself.”
“No trouble at all,” Caroline said. “Your sister would have done the same for me.” Caroline’s smile was tight and fleeting. “I presume you know everybody here.”
“Actually, no. I’ve only met a few of these people,” said Britt. “I’ve never been to Coleville before.”
“I heard what you said in church,” said Caroline carefully. “You and your sister didn’t… talk to each other often?”
“No, not at all,” said Britt. “I’m sorry to admit.”
Caroline’s stiff posture seemed to relax a little bit. “She was a lovely person.”
“I know,” said Britt. She looked around the room, hoping to see Dr. Farrar. She was still curious about the comment she’d made in the church about Greta’s suffering. She wanted to ask her about it, but apparently the Farrars had not come to the gathering. “Were you two good friends?” said Britt.
“We hadn’t known each other that long,” Caroline demurred.
Britt knew she should begin to wade into this crowd of people and introduce herself, but she was reluctant. “How is your husband doing?” she asked Caroline, stalling for time.
Caroline sighed. Despite her tumble of gleaming hair and her flawless, peachy complexion, she looked haggard. “Well, actually, it’s not as serious as it could have been. He cracked a couple of ribs. But right now, he can hardly get around. I set up a bed in his office for him, for the time being. It’s not very comfortable, but he can’t climb the stairs yet so we have to make do. He’s a terrible patient. He doesn’t want to stay put.”
“That’s rough,” said Britt.
“Especially with a baby on the way,” said Caroline.
Britt glanced at Caroline’s figure, trim in the navy-blue sheath, and frowned. If she was pregnant, she certainly wasn’t very far along.
Just then, Zoe rushed up to them. “Aunt Britt,” she said, smiling.
Britt felt as if she had been rescued. She put her arm around the girl. “How are you holding up?” she asked.
“Okay,” said Zoe. She turned to Caroline. “Can I see Mr. Carmichael? I want to thank him.
He did save my life.”
“Sure,” said Caroline. She led the way down the hall, through the dining room, where the table was set with a buffet of cold cuts, and a cluster of people were making sandwiches. Zoe politely greeted the people she passed, and then she edged away. Britt and Zoe followed Caroline into a sitting room. The television was blaring, and there, seated on the sofa, was a very pregnant girl, her slipper-clad feet up on an ottoman. She had a round face and large, blue eyes. Her bleached blond hair was pulled up into a bushy ponytail and she was wearing a maternity top with ducks and cows all over it. She was eating a chocolate bar as she stared at the program on the television.
“Hey, Vicki,” said Zoe shyly.
“Vicki,” said Caroline in a pleading tone. “Turn that TV down, we’ve got company here. Let me get you an apple. I’ve got some out there on the buffet. I’ll cut it up in pieces the way you like it.”
The girl on the sofa tore her attention away from the TV screen and looked up. “Hi, Zoe. It’s too bad about your mom. I wanted to come but my ankles were swollen.” Then, she looked at Caroline. “I don’t really care for an apple,” she said in a sweet, whispery voice. She brightened. “Can you get me something to drink?”
“Milk?” Caroline asked hopefully.
Vicki broke off another piece of candy and put it in her mouth. “Just a little cup of coffee would be good,” she said. “Black. Do you want some, Zoe? Shell get it for you.”
Zoe shook her head.
“Britt, this is Vicki Manfred. She’s our…guest. Vicki, this is Zoe’s aunt.”
“Where’s Mr. Carmichael?” Zoe asked.
“In his study,” said Caroline.
“He’s talking to the police chief,” Vicki announced in her babyish voice.
Zoe walked over and perched on the sofa next to Vicki. Kirby, the cat, jumped up and nestled in between them. “I was knitting you a scarf,” said Zoe. “But it got burned up in the fire.”
“That’s sweet of you,” said Vicki.
“The lady at the knitting shop gave me more wool for free. So, I’m gonna start again.”
Caroline studied Zoe as she petted the cat. “How is she doing?” she whispered to Britt.
Britt grimaced. “She seems…okay. But, I don’t know… I don’t really know that much about kids.”
“Well, I’m no help. I don’t either. This will be my first,” she said, glancing at Vicki.
Britt frowned. “Tour first?”
“Oh, I’m sorry. You don’t know. We’re adopting Vicki’s baby when it’s born.”
“Ah,” said Britt nodding.
The door to the study opened and Chief Stern emerged. He saw Britt and smiled, “Miss Andersen.”
“How are you today, Chief?”
“Fine. Thanks for your hospitality, Mrs. Carmichael. I have to get back to work.”
“You’re welcome. Zoe, go on in,” said Caroline. “I know Kevin wants to see you.”
“Hey,” said Vicki querulously. “What about my coffee?”
“Can’t you wait?” Caroline snapped. Then she altered her tone. “I’m getting it.”
“You go ahead, honey,” Britt said to Zoe. “Chief, may I talk to you for a minute?”
Chief Stern turned and looked at Britt. “Miss Andersen?”
Britt thought again about Dr. Farrar’s remark at the church. “Do you know if they found anything… I mean, any sign of illness in my sister when they were doing the autopsy?”
Ray shrugged. “I haven’t seen the autopsy report yet. I’m supposed to get it tomorrow. You can come by my office if you’d like to hear the results.”
“I would like to do that,” said Britt. “If it’s not a problem. Thanks.”
“Glad to oblige.” The chief shook her hand. “I’d better be getting back,” he said. “I’ll see you tomorrow.” Britt watched him as he walked out to his car. She decided she would take the opportunity tomorrow to ask the chief some questions about this fire. Just as Britt reached for the doorknob on the study door, she heard a little wispy voice behind her.
“When you see him, tell him they were fighting that night,” said Vicki, her eyes still glued to the television.
Britt felt the hair stand up on the back of her neck. She turned and looked at Vicki. “What?” she asked.
“Zoe’s parents. They were having a big argument.”
“The night of the fire?” said Britt. From where she was standing she could see Alec in the next room smiling and talking to people. “Really? You saw them arguing?”
Vicki shrugged, still gazing raptly at the television. “No. But I heard them.”
“What were they saying?” Britt asked. “Are you sure it was them?”
“I’m sure. His Mercedes was there. I couldn’t hear the actual words. Just that they were shouting,” said Vicki.
“Who was shouting?” asked Caroline returning to the room, balancing a cup of coffee.
“Vicki says she overheard my sister and Alec arguing on the night of the fire.”
“Really?” Caroline asked. “Vicki, what were you doing over there eavesdropping?”
“I wasn’t eavesdropping. I went outside to get some air. I took a walk in that direction,” said Vicki irritably. “Is that still allowed? Or am I an actual prisoner in this house?”
“Vicki, that’s not fair,” Caroline protested.
Britt frowned. “I thought they got along.”
Caroline shrugged. “Well, I guess there are arguments in every marriage,” she said diplomatically.
“Not like that,” said Vicki, rolling her eyes.
Caroline noticed Britt standing with her hand on the study doorknob. “Go on in,” she insisted.
Britt looked back at Vicki, who seemed to have forgotten her presence. Caroline excused herself and headed for a group of guests by the buffet table. This woman was a friend of Greta’s, Britt reminded herself. Obviously, she doesn’t think this argument was any big deal. Maybe it wasn’t, she told herself. But why didn’t Alec mention it to Chief Stern when he asked how they got along? Maybe that argument had something to do with why Greta was sleeping in the guest room.
Trying to put it out of her mind, Britt entered the spacious study which was lined with law books and framed diplomas. In the center of the room a bed had been set up. A ruddy-faced man in pale blue pajamas lay there, his lower extremities covered by a blanket. He was ordinary looking with buzz-cut, strawberry-blond hair, but, although his eyes were dull with pain, his gaze was unmistakably intelligent.
Zoe was clutching his fingers in her own. She turned and looked at Britt. “This is my aunt,” she said. “She works on TV. This is Mr. Carmichael.”
“Nice to meet you, Zoe’s aunt.”
Britt introduced herself, reaching out to shake Kevin’s hand. “I want to thank you,” she said, “for saving my nieces life. That was tremendously brave of you.”
Kevin shook his head. “I wish I could have done something to save your sister…”
“I appreciate that you tried. Believe me…” said Britt.
There was a short, awkward silence. Then Britt said, “My brother-in-law tells me you’re an attorney.”
Kevin nodded. “Criminal defense. I used to practice in Boston,” he said.
“Really? I live in Boston,” Britt said.
He looked at her warily. “No kidding.”
“I’m from the West Coast. I haven’t lived there long. It must be very different for you, working in a small town like this,” she said.
“I’m land of taking what I can get,” he admitted. “Most of the crime around here is of the misdemeanor variety.”
“Can I sit down?” Zoe interrupted.
Britt turned and searched the girl’s pale face. “Are you all right?”
“I don’t feel too good,” Zoe admitted.
“I’m sure you don’t,” said Kevin sympathetically.
“Maybe it’s time I took you home,” said Britt, putting an arm around her shoulders.
“Stop telling me what to do,” a shrill voice screamed from beyond the closed door. “I’m sick of you. I hate you.” Britt sensed instantly that the harsh voice belonged to Vicki, although it bore no resemblance to her babyish speaking voice. There was the sound of one door slamming and then, after a moment, another fainter slam.
“Oh Lord,” said Kevin with a sigh. “Here we go again.”
The door to the study opened and Caroline stood there helplessly. “Kevin, she just stormed out. All I asked her to do was drink some milk.”
“We ought to be going,” said Britt firmly.
“But you haven’t even eaten,” Caroline protested.
“I know,” said Britt. “But it’s been a tough day for Zoe. It was so kind of you both to have this gathering.”
“It probably won’t last much longer,” said Caroline. “Lots of people have already left.” She walked to the study window and peered outside. “Where did Vicki go? God, I hope she’s not smoking again. She can’t expect me to just stand by and let her suffocate my baby.”
“It was nice to meet you,” Kevin said to Britt. “Zoe, you need to take everything slowly now. And remember that you have friends who care about you.”
Zoe nodded shyly, and her lip trembled. “Okay,” Zoe said faintly. “I hope you feel better.”
“Thanks again,” said Britt, guiding Zoe toward the study door.
“If you see Vicki out there smoking…” Caroline said, raising a finger.
Kevin turned to his wife. “Caro, sweetie. You need to ease up on her. The baby will be okay. A glass of milk, even a cigarette more or less isn’t going to make any difference at this point.”
Britt located their coats and together they approached Alec, who was listening intently to an old man wearing a hound’s tooth cap.
“Excuse me, Alec,” she said, “I think maybe I should take Zoe home. She says she doesn’t feel well.”
Alec squinted at Zoe worriedly, placing a hand on her forehead. “What’s the matter, honey?”
“My stomach feels kind of bad,” Zoe admitted.
“Poor kid. If you want to wait a few minutes I’ll take you home,” he said. “There are a few more people I need to thank.”
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