Riptide

by Catherine Coulter

  She couldn’t bear it, just couldn’t. She had to know, all of it. “Tyler, the girl in the wall. Was it Melissa Katzen?”

  He said, his voice indifferent, bored, “Yes, of course it was.”

  “But she was young, not more than eighteen when someone killed her. That was more than twelve years ago. Did you kill her, Tyler?”

  He shrugged. “Another faithless bitch, little Melissa. Everyone thought she was so sweet, so giving, so yielding. And she was with me, at first. I gave her attention, small presents—lots of them, all clever, imaginative. I told her how pretty she was and she soaked it up until one day she turned down my latest gift to her. It was a Barbie, all dressed to travel, ready to elope.

  “She didn’t want to tell anyone about us, and that was okay by me. I was going to laugh my head off when we came back married. She called me that night, asked me to meet her. She gave me back the Barbie, then told me she didn’t want to run away with me after all. She whined that she was too young, that her parents would be hurt if she ran off with me. I told her that she had to marry me, that no one else would, that I was the only one who really loved her.” He shook his head then, frowning at something he was remembering, at what he was seeing. He said slowly, “She became afraid of me. She tried to get away from me, but I caught her.”

  She could see him with Melissa in her Calvin Klein white jeans, the cute little pink tank top, see him, hear him trying to convince her, then screaming at her, then killing her. She knew she had to keep him talking. She couldn’t let him stop now. When he stopped talking, he would kill her. She didn’t want to die. She remembered then that Sheriff Gaffney was coming over, at least he’d told her he was. Sometime during the evening. Dammit, it was evening, right in the middle of evening. Where was he? What if he just left when no one answered the door? She was so afraid, she stuttered. “B-but Jacob Marley was here, wasn’t he?”

  “True enough.” He shrugged. “I put her in the shed out back, and then the next day, I got Jacob Marley out of the house with a phone call. He had a very old sister who lived in Bangor. I called and told him she was dying and asking for him, begging him to come to her. The old jerk left and I dug out the wall and put Melissa behind it. Then I bricked it back up. My dad was in construction before he fell off a building and he taught me a whole lot. I knew all about bricklaying. Then I left. You want to know something funny? Jacob Marley’s ancient sister died the very day he showed up at the old folks’ home in Bangor. He never even realized that it had been a fake call.”

  “Tyler, why did you bury Melissa in the basement wall? Why Jacob Marley’s house?”

  He laughed, and that laugh chilled her. “I was thinking maybe I’d call in an anonymous tip, tell everyone I saw Jacob Marley kill Melissa, then saw him with cement and bricks.”

  “But you didn’t.”

  “No. Maybe I’d left fingerprints somehow on her. I couldn’t take the chance.” Then he slashed his hand through the air. His voice lowered, his eyes darkened, became as intense as a preacher’s in a revival tent. “I wanted you to marry me, Becca. I would have taken care of you all your life. I would have loved you, protected you, kept you close forever. You could have been Sam’s mother. But once you were with me, you wouldn’t have spent all that much time with him. Sam would have understood that you were mine first, that he really had no claim on you, not like I did.”

  She was cold, so cold her teeth would soon be chattering. This lovely man who’d seemed so kind, so gentle—he was crazy, probably he’d been born crazy.

  “Melissa was only eighteen, Tyler. Both of you were too young to run off.”

  “No,” he said. “I was ready. I believed she was. She was faithless. She would have left me, just like Ann did.”

  How many other women had he believed to be faithless? How many others had he killed, then hidden their bodies? Becca looked around for some sort of weapon, anything, but there was nothing. No, she was wrong. There were about half a dozen bricks stacked against the gaping open wall, about six feet away from her.

  She took a step sideways.

  He said thoughtfully now, “I think I’ll bury you close to Ann. Out under that elm tree. But you don’t deserve a nice service, Becca, not like the one I did for Ann. She was Sam’s mother, after all.”

  “I don’t want to be buried there,” she said and took another step. “I don’t want to die, Tyler. I haven’t done anything to you. I came here to be safe, but I wasn’t ever safe, was I? It was all an illusion. You were just waiting, waiting for another woman to love, to possess, to imprison so she’d want out and then you could kill her, do it all over again and again. You need help, Tyler. Let me call someone.” She took another step toward the bricks.

  He began walking toward her. “I would rather have held you close, Becca. If only—”

  There was the sound of a car pulling up outside.

  “The sheriff’s here,” Becca said quickly. “Just listen. It’s over, Tyler. The sheriff won’t let you hurt me now.” She took another quick step to the side. Three feet, just another three feet. Tyler looked up and frowned when he heard a car door slam. He cursed even as he ran toward her, his hands outstretched, his fingers curved inward.

  Becca leapt toward the pile of bricks, went down on her knees, and grabbed one. He was on her then, his hands around her neck, and she slammed the brick against his shoulder. His fingers tightened, tightened, and his face was blurring above her. She raised the brick again, brought it upward slowly, and he twisted just as she heaved it toward him. It struck his face and he howled with agony, and his fingers loosened for just a moment. She gulped in air and struck again. He sent his fist against her head, and she saw blinding flashes of light, felt the pain sear through her head, knew she couldn’t hold on. She was losing and she would die because she wasn’t strong enough. She tried to raise the brick again but she just couldn’t.

  “You faithless bitch, you’re just like all the rest of them!” His fingers tightened around her neck.

  Sheriff Gaffney yelled, “Let her go, Tyler! Let her go!”

  Tyler was heaving now, his fingers strong, so strong, tighter and tighter now and she knew she would die.

  Then there was a shot. Tyler jerked over her. His hands fell away. She blinked and saw him turn slowly to face Sheriff Gaffney, standing in a cop’s stance, his Ruger P85 pistol held tightly between his hands. “Get away from her, Tyler. Now! MOVE!”

  “No,” Tyler said and lunged for her again. Another shot rang out. Tyler fell on top of her, his face beside her head. Dead weight, oh God, he was now dead weight.

  “Hold on, Ms. Matlock, and I’ll get him off you.”

  Sheriff Gaffney pulled Tyler away. He’d shot him once in the head and once in the back. He gave Becca a hand up. “You okay?”

  She was shaking, her teeth chattering, her throat burning, Tyler’s blood all over her, and the healing burn on her arm was throbbing fiercely. She smiled up at him. “I think you’re the most wonderful man in the whole world,” she said. “Thank you for coming in the house. I prayed and prayed that you would see all the lights on and come in.”

  “I heard little Sam crying,” Sheriff Gaffney said.

  “Hello?”

  A small, thin voice. It was Sam and he was standing at the top of the basement stairs.

  “Oh, no,” Becca said. “Oh, no.”

  “I told him to wait in the kitchen for me. Damn. Okay, I’ll get Rachel over here. Can you pull yourself together, Ms. Matlock? We’ll go upstairs and you can take care of little Sam until Rachel comes. He loves Rachel a whole lot, you’ll see. Just keep hanging in there, ma’am.” He shook his head, then said, “Jesus, I knew Tyler killed his wife, just knew it in my lawman’s gut, you know? But he also killed poor little Melissa twelve years ago. I wonder how many other women he’s killed who rejected him.”

  Becca didn’t want to know.

  Adam was stretched out on the sofa in his living room, a soft pillow under his head, a light afghan pulled to hi
s waist, so relieved that Becca was back safe and sound, staying in his house, her stuff scattered around, all at home now, that all he could do was grin. He didn’t want her to leave, not ever. He heard her moving about in his wonderful, fully equipped, very modern kitchen, making him a healthy snack, she’d said.

  The house was cool since he’d had the good sense to install central air conditioning when he’d moved in. Soon, he thought, he’d get that ugly green tile out of that second-floor bathroom. Another four days and his energy would come roaring back and he’d head right down to the tile store. The master bedroom was sort of stark though, with just a big black lacquer bed and a matching black lacquer dresser, a couple of comfortable black and white chairs, and a good-sized closet, nearly walk-in, he’d said to her, lots of room for both of their clothes.

  He’d had big plans for the bed the night before, about two hours after she’d gotten back from Riptide, and even though he couldn’t move a whole lot and his flexibility was nearly nil, and he’d tended to moan from pain as well as pleasure, it hadn’t mattered. She’d simply taken charge. He nearly shook the afghan off now just thinking of how she’d looked astride him, her head thrown back when she’d screamed out his name. And then she’d just fallen over on him and the pain had nearly made him yell again. But he’d just lain there, silent, holding her against him as best he could, stroking her smooth back, and then she’d slowly straightened, frowned at the sight of his rib, all yellow and green now, and said, “I nearly killed you, didn’t I? I’m sorry.”

  “Kill me again,” he’d said, and she laughed and kissed him and kissed him again and again, and loved him until he’d yelled again, this time not from any pain in his damned ribs.

  He felt good. He had plans for that bed again today, maybe in just about an hour from now. He was stronger today, maybe he’d be able to do a bit more moving around. He hadn’t been able to get his hands and mouth everywhere he’d wanted to last night. Ah, but today. His fingers itched, his mouth sort of tingled. And what about tomorrow and the next day? Maybe he’d just keep her in the bedroom until they had to leave for the church to get married, then right back here again. It sounded really fine to him. He wondered what Becca thought about mirrors everywhere.

  She brought him some iced tea and a plate of celery stuffed with cream cheese. She sat beside him and fed him between kisses.

  He realized suddenly that there was something different about her, something he couldn’t quite put his finger on. Then he realized what it was—she was hiding something from him. And her eyes, something different there—he realized, finally, that it was shock. Well, he supposed that nearly burning to death on the roof of her father’s house would leave its mark. Or realizing that a man she’d really liked was in actuality a madman. Or just maybe, he thought, his mouth tightening, that madman, Tyler McBride, had, in fact, hurt her or tried to, and she hadn’t seen fit to tell him.

  He ate another celery stick, eyeing her, then said, his voice all suspicious, his brows lowered, “You swear you didn’t lie to me? You swear that there was no real trouble up in Riptide?”

  She lightly stroked her fingers over his cheek. She loved to touch him. She particularly liked him naked so she could touch all of him, kiss all of him. She leaned down now and kissed his mouth, then straightened again. She said, all easy and blasé, “Nothing that couldn’t be handled. Sam’s all right. I can’t tell you how wonderful Rachel is with him. I knew they were close, but when she came running into the house, Sam left me in a flash and went right to her. I thought she would fall apart, she was so relieved that Sam was all right. Sheriff Gaffney told me that since there are no relatives, Rachel and her husband would very likely adopt Sam. I called up this morning, and she’s already got him an appointment with that child psychologist Sherlock recommended up in Bangor. Oh yeah, I also told Rachel she was probably a very conscientious, great real estate agent, but I would never ever rent another house from her again.” His frown was still in place. “Rachel laughed.” The frown lightened.

  Adam said, “Yeah, I’m relieved about Sam, too. But wait a minute, Becca. Back up here. You’re telling me that McBride didn’t try to hurt you when you told him you didn’t love him?”

  She stuffed another celery stick in his mouth and kissed him all over his face as he chewed. She whispered in his ear before he could talk again, “Nothing to worry about, really, Adam. It’s all over and done with. Hey, you do like the celery sticks?”

  “Yeah, they’re good. All three dozen that you’ve stuffed down me. Now, tell me about how Sheriff Gaffney had to shoot Tyler once he knew the skeleton was that girl Melissa Katzen. I’m not really all that clear on any of it. I want every little detail, Becca. No, no more celery sticks. Yeah, a kiss is all right, but hold off now. You’re not going to distract me anymore.”

  But she just kept kissing him until he was nearly heaving himself off the sofa. She said against his ear, “I used low-fat cream cheese, better for your arteries.”

  “Becca.” He grabbed a fist of her hair and pulled her close to his face. “Tell me the truth. What the hell happened up there?”

  “Adam, it wasn’t all that big a deal. Really, nothing worth mentioning except that Sheriff Gaffney really came through. He was the hero. I’ve probably forgotten lots of it because it just wasn’t that memorable. Really, the sheriff had everything under control. I didn’t even count. I wasn’t even important. Would you please stop your worrying and just forget it? I’m home now.” He felt her hand on his belly and he nearly lost it, but he didn’t. He let her go but his frown deepened. Before he could say anything, Becca smiled and said as she got up from the sofa, “Oh, my, just look at the time. Not enough time for me to have my way with you. But I do have a couple of minutes. Do you want me to give you a nice rubdown before I go to the hospital to see Dad?”

  He thought about her hand on his belly, moving south, and he nearly went en pointe. He said on a big sigh, “No, but how about an apple, Becca? I love apples.”

  She knew exactly what he was thinking. “I love you, Adam. Maybe when I get back from the hospital, we can play a game of Monopoly, or something, okay? But that means you’ve got to rest while I’m gone. Now, you just sit tight and I’ll get you that apple.”

  The phone rang. Adam stared after Becca, then picked it up. “Hello.”

  “Is this Mr. Carruthers?”

  “It is.”

  “This is Sheriff Gaffney, from Riptide.”

  “Hello, Sheriff. What can I do for you?”

  “I just wanted to speak to Ms. Matlock, make sure she was all right.”

  “Well,” Adam said slowly, staring toward the door, “there’s still some shock, you know, from what happened.”

  The sheriff sighed. “Understandable, of course, poor girl. I don’t mind telling you that it was pretty hairy there for a while, Mr. Carruthers. I’m sure it’s made your hair stand on end, hearing about her lying on the basement floor with McBride straddling her, choking the life out of her. She was hitting him with a brick, but it wasn’t working, she was getting too weak. The guy was strong, really strong. As you know, I had to shoot him, but even that didn’t stop him. He was over the top, completely whacked out, as my boys say, and all he wanted to do was kill her. I had to shoot him again and the guy fell right on top of her, covered her with blood. But it’s over now. All the questions answered. Ms. Matlock didn’t get hysterical, thank the good Lord. She’s a strong girl. As a man of the law doing my duty, I really appreciated that. And now she’s home, and I hear the two of you are going to get married. You’re a lucky man.”

  “Yes, Sheriff. Thank you.”

  “Any time. Well, do give my best to Ms. Matlock.”

  “You can be sure that I will, Sheriff.” Adam heard her breathing. She was on the line in the kitchen. She’d listened in, heard everything, hadn’t said a word. His heart was pounding slow, heavy strokes. He was so furious he couldn’t think of anything to say. Then he opened his mouth and shouted into the receiver at th
e top of his lungs, “BECCA!”

  She cleared her throat. “Ah, Adam, I’ve got to go to the hospital now.”

  He breathed deeply, got hold of himself, and said, “Not just yet. Bring me my apple. I’ll even give you a bite before I wash your mouth out with soap for those whoppers you told me.”

  “Sorry, Adam, the apples aren’t ripe enough. You know Sheriff Gaffney, he exaggerates, really, he—”

  “After I wash your mouth out, I’m going to maybe shave your head. Then if I’m still pissed off, I’m going to make you change that green tile in the bathroom, then—”

  “I’m outta here, Adam. I love you. Er, I’ll buy ripe apples while I’m out.”

  She hung up the phone.

  “BECCA!”

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events or locales is entirely coincidental.

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