The Night the Lights Went Out

by Karen White

  “That’s a shame. Because I have a .380 that’s small and easy to shoot and pretty accurate if you’re not too far away.”

  Merilee would have laughed if Sugar hadn’t looked so serious. And if Merilee thought she could remember how. “I know this is a bad idea, but please don’t try to stop me. I can’t really see that I have anything left to lose.”

  Sugar frowned. “Does your attorney know you’re doing this?”

  “No, and I’m pretty sure she wouldn’t approve.”

  “Probably not,” Sugar said. “And I agree that this is probably a bad idea, but at least you’re doing something. Too many people sit around with an open mouth waiting for a roasted chicken to fly in. I never thought you were one of those people.”

  Merilee frowned, then headed inside to grab her purse and her raincoat, carefully placing Lily’s pen on her nightstand before returning to Sugar. “I could drive you home if you’d like. It’s raining pretty hard.”

  As if to punctuate her words, a loud rumble of thunder shook the sky.

  “I’ll stay here and listen to Bob Van Dillen as I clean up the breakfast dishes and wait for your attorney to tell her where you’ve gone. How long do you want me to delay her? Just don’t make it too long in case Heather does something else.”

  Merilee gave her a grudging smile. “As long as you can. I’ve got a lot to say to Heather. And please don’t worry. She’s got staff, and I doubt she’ll do anything to me where there are witnesses.”

  • • •

  The guard at the gate of Heather’s neighborhood smiled in vague recognition, realizing he should know her yet too embarrassed to ask her for her name, and let her through with a wave. Merilee had prepared for several scenarios to get her through the gate, including begging, so she was pleasantly surprised it had been that easy.

  She remembered the first time she’d driven to the Blackfords’ house in the rain, the night she’d thought the meeting was there and not at the clubhouse. Dan had been there, and she’d seen his aloneness and, in retrospect, she realized, his unhappiness. She wished she could go back in time and tell him to leave then. To pack up and go somewhere, anywhere away from Heather. Maybe then he’d still be alive. Except this was real life, and there weren’t any do-overs. A lot of people lived their lives as if there were, but Merilee had never been one of them. And neither had Dan.

  She parked the car and turned off the engine, stopping her windshield wipers so that her view of the front door was quickly obscured with the heavy sheets of rain. This was a pointless exercise and she knew it. It was ill-advised and not likely to help her case. She’d simply run out of options.

  Without bothering to put her rain hood over her head, she left the car and walked calmly to the front door. It was only as she rang the doorbell that she realized she was still wearing Colin’s binoculars. They gave her courage somehow. Maybe they reminded her of Jimmy, or even of the magical properties Colin had given them. Either way, they gave her the strength to remain where she was instead of bolting back to her car.

  She heard the barking of the dog before footsteps on the marble. Glancing through the wavy lead glass, she saw Puddles bounding toward her, scratching at the glass. The sting of tears pricked the back of her eyes as she remembered the frightened barking from the night Dan died, the panicked look Puddles had given her as he’d led the way to his owner’s inert form in the water. She hadn’t been raised with dogs, but she’d seen his devotion and knew he grieved.

  Claire must not have recognized her at first because she opened the door, and when she tried to push it closed again, Puddles had already leaped out and had his front paws on Merilee’s chest in an attempt to lick her face. He was yelping ecstatically, greeting an old friend.

  She scratched the dog behind the ears and kissed him on the top of his head before turning to a worried-looking Claire. “I’m here to see Heather.”

  “You shouldn’t be here,” the young woman said. “Mrs. Blackford will be upset if she knows you came.”

  Instead of feeling afraid or intimidated, Merilee felt oddly free. Maybe it came from believing there was nothing left to lose. “I don’t care. Please let her know that I’m here and I’m not going anywhere until I speak with her.” Using the dog as her collateral, she latched onto his collar and moved forward into the foyer, not caring if she got rain on the black-and-white marble floors.

  Puddles continued to bark and cry and nuzzle her, as if he’d been starved for attention since Dan’s death, and it empowered Merilee further to feel the anger push away some of her sadness.

  “Is there a problem, Claire?” Heather appeared from the rear hallway, looking as if she’d just come back from a vacation on the coast of France rather than from three weeks of grieving a murdered husband. Despite its being November, her skin gleamed with a golden tan. Her hair and makeup were immaculate, and she was sporting a new, shorter hairstyle that flattered her face. She wore a dusty pink Chanel suit with matching pumps and was fastening a large pearl earring to her ear, making it obvious that she was on her way out. Puddles moved behind Merilee, as if seeking protection, and Merilee wished she could tell him that she felt the same way.

  Heather stopped when she saw Merilee and smiled. “What are you doing here?”

  “I want to find out why you’re trying to ruin my life.”

  She tossed back her head and laughed, and Merilee felt herself grinding her teeth again. Where had she heard that laugh before? “So dramatic, Merilee.” She turned to Claire. “Would you mind leaving us alone, please? I’d like you to call the police now, and tell them we have an intruder. And take that dog with you. He’s scratching my floors.”

  Claire gave Merilee a quick glance, then called for the dog. “Come on, boy. Let’s go back to the kitchen and get you a treat.”

  The dog’s ears perked up at this last word, and even though he glanced back at Merilee twice, the promise of a treat won out. He bounded toward Claire, steering clear of Heather as she faced Merilee.

  “I thought you’d already be in jail. Why are you here?” Heather asked, her face a perfect mask of righteous indignation.

  “You and I both know that I had nothing to do with Dan’s death, but you’re clearly trying to frame me for it. And I want to know why.”

  “You’re delusional, Merilee. You were having an affair with my husband and then you killed him when he made it clear he would never leave me for someone like you.”

  As hard as it was, Merilee kept her chin raised. “Dan was devoted to you, although I can’t see why. And you killed him. Even if you get away with murder, I just need to know: why me?” She took a deep breath, trying to still the panic she felt bubbling up her throat. “Please, Heather. We’re both mothers. Can you please think about my children? About what this would do to them?”

  “What about my children?” Heather screamed at her. “What about my two fatherless girls? Did you think about them before you murdered their father?”

  Either Heather truly believed what she was saying or she was insane. Which made Merilee suddenly very, very afraid. The sound of cars pulling up outside made Heather relax. With a satisfied look she said, “Good. Looks like the police are here to take you to where you belong.”

  Merilee understood then that everything was truly hopeless and she was no closer to an answer than when she’d driven up the steep driveway. But she wasn’t done trying. “Why, Heather? I just want to know why.”

  She turned around and opened the door right as Detective Kobylt and two uniformed police officers reached the top step. “Ms. Dunlap?” he said. “You are under arrest for the murder of Daniel Blackford. You’ll need to come with us now to the station.” One of the uniformed officers began to read her her rights as he handcuffed her and escorted her to his patrol car. Another car pulled up and she recognized her attorney, Cynthia Turlington, who rushed over. “Don’t say a word, Merilee, until I get there.�
��

  Merilee nodded, feeling only numbness. The officer put his hand on Merilee’s head as he helped her into the backseat. She was soaking wet and shivering but felt neither the rain nor the cold. Just . . . nothing.

  They drove in silence down familiar streets as Merilee stared out the side window at the soaking, gray landscape, the stripped trees mourning the warmth of summer. She felt an affinity for them, understanding what it was like to be laid bare.

  She replayed the scene in Heather’s foyer over and over in her head, hearing that odd, grating laugh and knowing it meant something. But the pouring rain clouded her vision, her panic muddling her thoughts, so all she could do was hear that laugh over and over, and wonder why.

  Thirty-four

  SUGAR

  As Sugar bustled about the kitchen, cleaning dishes and pans and wiping counters, she kept glancing at the phone, its long spiral cord hanging limply against the wall. She hoped Merilee would call her to let her know that everything was all right and that Heather hadn’t done something awful. Although it was hard to imagine that woman doing anything more awful than she already had. Sugar’s one consolation was that it was daylight and Heather’s staff would be there to prevent any violence from either one of them.

  The phone rang and she let herself sigh with relief as she dried her hands and lifted the receiver.

  “Sugar Prescott? This is Cynthia Turlington, Merilee’s attorney. I just saw you at her house a few hours ago trying to delay me, so thought I’d try there first.”

  Sugar decided it was better not to say anything, so she just murmured a greeting.

  Cynthia continued. “Merilee wanted me to let you know that she has been arrested and is being held until her arraignment. I’m trying to make that happen no later than tomorrow, since it’s Friday, and if it goes beyond that they can hold her over the weekend.”

  “That’s unacceptable,” Sugar said.

  “I know, and I agree. I’m going to do all I can to make sure she’s home tomorrow. Even one day in jail is too much, but I’m afraid it can’t be helped. She would like for you to call Wade Kimball and let him know.”

  “I’ll call him as soon as we hang up. Does she need bail money?” Sugar asked.

  “She’s asked me to contact her ex-husband. He apparently has ready cash, and Merilee believes he won’t say no.”

  “I would hope not,” Sugar said, her opinion of Michael rising slightly above that of a boll weevil, but still less than most human beings of her acquaintance. “I can bring her anything she needs from home.”

  “She said you’d think of that, but she doesn’t want you driving in this weather. She mentioned something about your newly returned Lincoln not being reliable in wet weather. Anyway, she said she’ll manage.”

  Sugar pressed her lips together.

  “I’ll keep you posted on any new developments. And please don’t worry. The case against her isn’t very strong, and she’s in good hands.”

  They said good-bye and Sugar immediately dialed Wade’s cell number. It went straight to voice mail, as did his office number. She left messages in both places, letting him know that it was an emergency and to call her back. Not that she would ever admit it to anybody, and not that she’d ever put an answering machine in her own home, but being able to leave a voice message was the best thing since sliced bread. So was indoor plumbing, but she wasn’t going to advertise that, either.

  With her thoughts somewhat more at ease after hearing the attorney’s reassurances, Sugar decided to vacuum and dust the whole house before returning to tidying the kitchen. Housecleaning always had a calming effect on her, and besides, Merilee would appreciate a clean house when she returned.

  Sugar popped back into the front room a few times to check on the weather. Carolina coastlines were underwater as the hurricane continued to churn. Although now downgraded to a Category 3, its power was still evident in the harsh weather it was dumping across three states. She checked her hearing aids, making sure the batteries were still strong, knowing without them she wouldn’t be able to hear a tornado siren even if it was going off right beside her bed.

  Sugar continued tidying the kitchen, wiping the crumbs from the table. The children had left the yearbook opened on the corner of the table, and not wanting to get any water on it, she picked it up. She was about to close it and move it to the clean counter when something caught her eye. Three letters spelling out “Moo” were big enough for her to see without her reading glasses, but everything else on the page was a blur. This had apparently been the page the children were giggling over.

  She put the book faceup on the counter, telling herself she’d get to it later, but found she kept looking over at it, curious as to what they’d found so funny. Finally, she put the sponge on the sink and dried her hands, then pulled her reading glasses from her pocketbook. Settling down in the chair with the yearbook opened on the kitchen table, Sugar studied the page.

  Printed in bold letters across the top of the page was the word SENIORS. She remembered flipping through these pages before with Lily. They were different from those dedicated to the underclassmen. Each student was given a third of the page for their photo, a quote, and a little saying about where they expected to be in ten years.

  Sugar only glanced at the photos on the page, barely pausing to read the silly aspirations of eighteen-year-olds—as if they had any idea about life at that age. Her attention was drawn to the bottom third of the right-hand page, the one with the word “Moo” written on the photo that Lily and Colin had been laughing at earlier because they said the person reminded them of someone they knew.

  The girl’s first name had been scratched out with black marker, making it indecipherable. Written in large letters underneath the picture was the single word “Daisy.” What must have been meant to be cow ears had been drawn on the sides of her head, and a cartoon bubble coming from the girl’s mouth had the word “Moo” written inside it.

  She stared at the face, past the brown hair, limp and dirty as it hung over the girl’s forehead. Her face was round, the hint of a second chin already appearing below a face covered with splotches of mild acne. But looking at the face, she could see exactly what it was that Lily and Colin had seen. The smile, the shape of the nose. The pretty blue of the eyes. Sugar’s gaze traveled to the section beside the picture, where the girl’s quote and aspiration were. The aspiration had been scratched out and something else written beneath it in black ink. “In ten years I will weigh six hundred pounds and be in the Guinness Book of World Records. And even then John Cottswold won’t know or care that I exist.”

  There were two short quotes and they’d been left alone. Sugar read them twice, the second time out loud.

  Revenge is sweet and not fattening.

  Alfred Hitchcock

  Revenge is a dish that tastes best when it is cold.

  Don Corleone, The Godfather

  Sugar sat back, feeling the tightness in her chest again, and wondered if her nausea was related to that or was simply from looking at the yearbook page. When she felt she could breathe normally again, she sat up and looked at the girl’s last name: Waters.

  With shaking fingers, she flipped to the index and went directly to the “W’s.” There was a long column of last names starting with “W,” but only one female, who had just two page numbers next to her name—one being her defaced senior page, which Sugar had already seen. She turned to the second page listed, surprised to find herself on the cheerleading team page.

  Leaning in closely, Sugar spotted the girl’s unmarked photo on the bottom right, the caption reading only Cheerleading Trainer. Sugar only knew what that was from what Lily had told her—how one of her teammate’s younger sisters was their trainer but complained when she had to refill their water bottles or touch dirty towels. There was a whole lot of difference between a cheerleader and a trainer, then. And looking at the plump, unsmiling g
irl in the photo holding a limp pom-pom, Sugar understood all too clearly the quotes she’d chosen for her yearbook page. Not just the irony that they were both about food, but that they were both about revenge.

  Holding on to the edge of the table, Sugar stood, waiting a moment for her equilibrium to return. She wished Wade would call her back so she could share what she’d just learned. She’d call the attorney, Cynthia, and let her know just in case. But first she had another phone call to make.

  The school directory Lily had given Wade and Sugar to look up Lindi’s phone number was still on the kitchen counter. She opened it and, after adjusting her reading glasses, began turning the pages until she’d reached the right letter of the alphabet. A low rumble of thunder rolled through the sky, the rain continuing to fall in heavy sheets as Sugar moved toward the phone and picked up the receiver. She carefully dialed each number, checking each time to make sure she had it right, then waited for someone to answer. The voice on the recorded message was as familiar as it was hateful, and Sugar enjoyed leaving her message probably more than she should have.

  “Hello, Daisy. We know who you are. It might not be enough to put you behind bars where you belong, but it’s certainly a good start. Revenge might be best served cold, but karma has its own icy boot, and you’re about to feel it up your backside.”

  With shaking fingers, Sugar hung the receiver in the cradle and sat back down in the chair to regain her strength. When she could breathe again, she picked up the phone to dial the attorney’s number, written carefully on the notepad by the phone, but heard only empty space. She hit the receiver twice before acknowledging that the phone was dead, a pole most likely taken down by the storm. For the first time in her life, she wished she had a cell phone.

  After putting on her raincoat and grabbing her pocketbook and car keys, she headed out into the storm and carefully made her way to the carport on the side of her house, where Wade had parked her Lincoln. He’d reluctantly returned that foreign car and given back her own—not promising that it would crank in wet or cold weather. There was only so much that duct tape and glue could accomplish, he’d said, and she wasn’t sure if he’d been entirely joking.